#to make up for all the divorce gifs <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[mulderscully]

But do I really feel the way I feel?

[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ���s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[novy2sirius]

THE VENUS DEGREES

based on numerology

ෆ tw: trauma, food/eating

ෆ this is based on the numerical meanings (numerology) of these numbers not degree theory

ෆ the whole chart matters. take this with a grain of salt

VENUS AT 1°/10°/19°/28°: people with these venus degrees will be attracted to/date people that have more dominant and masculine energy. their beauty will be similar to aries beauty. defined features, thick brows, an intimidating stare, etc. these people can sometimes struggle with relationships and attract lots of conflict in their relationships or people that. these degrees can be good for wealth (especially 28°)

VENUS AT 2°: people with these venus degrees will be attracted to/date people that are more feminine or less aggressive. their beauty is very feminine and they often have beautiful body’s. they tend to have softer features rather than sharp ones. these people often end up marrying their soulmate. this is a great degree to have your venus at when it comes to romance and beauty. sometimes this can manifest as someone being a hoe

VENUS AT 3°/12°/21°: people with these venus degrees are attracted to/date people that are funny, outgoing, and that have a fun child-like energy to them. these people tend to have a youthful beauty and possibly a baby face. a lot also have bunny teeth. this degree is great for romance when it comes to communicating, but can indicate being cheated on a lot or being with people who lack responsibility before getting married and finding someone good for you

VENUS AT 4°/13°: people with these venus degrees are attracted to/date hard working people that can be stable on their own and don’t need to rely on anyone else for anything. they will not be with someone who brings a ton of chaos into their life long term. when it comes to their career they’re huge workhorses and actually enjoy working or usually have careers that they really love. these degrees in your venus are major wealth indicators as well

VENUS AT 5°/14°/23°: people with these venus degrees are attracted to people/date people that are on the more attractive side physically. they want someone who makes them feel like a free spirit and wants to travel the world with them and just go on lots of adventures and have fun. if someone tries to tie them down too much or rush into commitment it will be a huge turn off for them. physically these people tend to be very attractive to society. these people tend to be great entertainers as well

VENUS AT 6°/15°/24°: people with these venus degrees are often attracted to/date people that are homebody’s and want to chill with them all the time. they like people who are very caring, nurturing, and should ideally be with someone more family oriented. these people are really good in bed and know how to please their sexual partners. random, but these people tend to really love food and animals too. at times these people can struggle to find someone because they’re at home too much

VENUS AT 7°/16°/25°: people with these venus degrees are often attracted to/date intelligent people. you have to have something special about you for these people to like you. they are very picky. sometimes people with these degrees in their venus can be players since one of 7’s challenging traits is “falling weak to perversions”. physically these people tend to have glow ups when they’re older and don’t peak when they’re younger/in school. these degrees can be the hardest to have your venus in since 7 is a very challenging number for love in numerology. at very worst these degrees in your venus could indicate divorce occurring at least twice, but not that you’ll never be happy with your love life

VENUS AT 8°/17°/26°: people with these venus degrees are often attracted to people/date people that are powerful and confident. at times these people can be a bit controlling in relationships, but they are usually only this way because of past traumas. physically these people tend to be very beautiful unless they have a lot of unresolved negative karma which can show up in their appearance (especially with these degrees in venus). these people will experience lots of karmic lessons (more so than most) surrounding romance and may have a more challenging love life than most. they tend to end up in a happy marriage as long as they’re good people and don’t cheat

VENUS AT 0°/9°/18°/27°: people with these venus degrees are often attracted to people/date people that are introverted/shy, compassionate, charming, intelligent, and very attractive. they themselves also tend to very attractive to society. these people can make great models and become beauty symbols. they may have a challenging love life though (especially 27° venus’). a challenge these people often face in relationships is that they struggle to let go of grudges and can be dramatic at times. at worst because of their adaptive persona they will stay with people who aren’t good for them because they’re comfortable. career wise these people can become very famous though and are very artistically talented

VENUS AT 11°/20°/29°: people with these venus degrees are attracted to/date people that are emotional, intuitive, charismatic, athletic, or masculine. these people can make a lot of money from things related to expressing emotions such as acting or from their athletic abilities. besides 2° these are the best degrees you can have your venus at for romance and this indicates having a happy marriage

VENUS AT 22°: people with these venus degrees are very attracted to/date wise, confident, powerful, and hardworking people. they tend to come off as very old souls and also may date older souls too. spiritually these people are amazing manifestors and have the ability to manifest lots of material wealth in this life. random, but these people can make lots of money from being any type of builder (examples: body builder, architect, etc)

comment your venus degree and what content you want to see next!!

[u3pxx]

KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE! 💍💐‼️

my piece for the @aaweddingzine which is now open for leftovers!

extra stuff/commentary under the cut | like what i do? support me on ko-fi ❤️💜

i also ramble a lot more on the behind-the-scenes pdf for this zine that you can also get with your purchase >;^] i also drew some nifty matching icons for the zine! (hint: it's time for divorce)

you know me, i'm incredibly klapollopilled, of course i'm drawing these two suckers for the wedding zine! <3 something about klapollo marriage makes me incredibly emo so i'm very glad for the opportunity to go all out so i can be EXTRA emo about it 😈

if i remember right, i think this idea came to be when i thought about the image of klavier bursting into tears as he lifts up apollo's veil and it all went from there LOL (also so psyched i get to draw him in a barong tagalog <333)

everything got so much more ambitious, though, from that initial idea! i drew like what (i am counting the number of characters in the spread right now as i type) 40-ISH CHARACTERS ALL IN ALL?! (WHAT THE FUCKDFGDHJ) and i even had to cut out some of the characters i originally had in the sketch 😭 (sorry gumshoe, kay, and seb/eustace ....)

i drew this like a year ago and i'm still so proud of this piece! i don't think i can achieve this level of rendering again, it's been so long i forgot how to do it LMAO

(also i can never reopen the file for this thing again bc it makes clip studio want to dieeeee DFSGHDJ so many layers ...)

another thing, i was working on this in tandem with my piece for the mea culpa zine; do you know how funny it is to draw apollo having such a happy moment and then draw him dying 😭 the contrast, the whiplash

that's all i have to ramble about i think, i'm so so so amazed at this zine bc my zinemates truly made some spectacular pieces of art! :"^D if you have the chance, please do check it out! 💗

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 16TH CLUELESS ━━ megumi fushiguro + step-cest !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. megumi fushiguro + step-cest. are you totally buggin’ or is your college-goer, goody two shoes step-brother kinda into messing around with you? (7.6K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, enemies to lovers (?), step-cest, photos, videos, fingering, choking, praise kink, panty sniffing, body worship, riding stuffed animals, daddy kink, soft sex, unprotected sex, bimbo-ish + fem!reader, step-brother!megumi fushiguro.

୨୧ — director’s note. lets gooo another kinktober installment! i actually haven't written for megumi in ages and this is kinda long so...i hope this is okay? sorry this is late btw, please enjoy! <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

let’s get one thing straight. 

not all daddy’s girls are dumb.

on the contrary, you’re actually highly intelligent and thoroughly educated — graduating at the top of every single one of your classes in high school, despite negotiating a fair portion of your grades with your teachers. after school, however, you couldn’t quite figure out what you wanted to do and everyone else you knew spent their time growing up around you. daddy wanted you to go to college, get your degree so you could find your footing in the world…he would even pay for it too.

but like every other twenty-something year old girl your age, you were completely and utterly clueless about the direction you wanted to take.

perhaps that was the reason as to why your step-brother, megumi, annoyed you so much. indoctrinated into your family unit of two (yourself and your father, of course) — megumi had joined you to play happily-family when his mother married your father. their fast-paced union didn’t last long, however, for your parents were quickly divorced by the new year…and apparently, you can only divorce people. not children. meaning that your older step sibling had decided he would much rather stick around for the long haul.

it could even be said that megumi fushiguro was an even bigger daddy’s boy (or kiss ass) than you were a daddy’s girl. he went to college on daddy’s money, ate on daddy’s money and got jobs using daddy’s money and power. now, he’s some big time hot shot at an environmental law firm and it irks you just how much your father is pushing for you to be just like megumi. in everybody’s eyes, your step brother was the picture perfect child, an example to follow, a fine gem.

and since your father liked that so much; likes how responsible and diligent megumi is — it would explain why your older step-brother could get away with sneaking up on you in your own house (favourite child privileges). “what are you all dressed up for?” the husky lilt to his deep voice sends shockwaves through your system and a shiver down your spine, making you jump away from the fridge you’re rummaging through.

“a party.” you say frigidly. the dark haired male makes a face and you roll your eyes at him in a disapproving manner. as if megumi was in any position to judge you for your plans and late night endeavours. he was a boring old college student clinging to his younger step sister whilst you were doing society a favour and helping your friend get together with the guy she liked. 

it’s what you do! helping the less fortunate instead of studying for some boring piece of paper and graduate degree. 

you were such a good person. 

turning away from the cool air and dull hum of the fridge freezer, you tuck a few juices to be used as mixers for the party into your bag — ignoring the heaviness of your step brother’s admiral blue gaze as it slips over the curve of your waist, the expanse of your thighs and the bounce of your chest peeking out from your skimpy little get up. it’s funny, how you’ve never liked the way boys have looked at you in the past — but something about the way he drinks you in as if you’re the last glass of water on the plant makes your legs shaky and your breath turn short and…

“can i come?” 

with his lips pressed into a thin line and his emotions hidden behind the perfect mask of his perfect face — megumi slams the fridge door shut, to make you squeak again. his brows raising expectantly while he waits for your answer. “a-as if fushiguro.” you huff in annoyance, jabbing the older step-sibling in his shoulder as he towers over you. “aren’t you too old for house parties? i wouldn’t want you to cramp my style.” 

“i’m not that much older than you.” he laughs, it’s melodious sound sending a warmth through your body.

rolling your eyes, you snap back. “you’re old enough.” 

you make yourself small as you pass by him, attempting to escape his suffocating presence. he makes you feel weird, and you don’t exactly hate it — sure megumi is annoying, snarky and a little mean but he’s… attractive, like next level attractive. he’s got those dreamy sea-storm eyes that make you feel as though you’ll die and go to heaven, a sexy smirk that gets you hot and bothered even if it’s not directed at you. all of your friends have had crushes on your step brother at some point, ones that cause jealousy to brim just under the surface of your skin, pricking you like a thousand tiny needles. your jealousy totally doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to hook your friend up tonight by the way (lying to yourself makes you feel better).

however, feeling this way about megumi is wrong, nowhere near normal. anybody could have told you that — it’s just that your family relationships make things complicated and you don’t want to make this weird between you both. you’d never admit it, but you do enjoy the back and forth sibling-like banter the two of you have. would ruining that be worth it? even if your step-brother was like…everything you’d ever wanted in a guy; not like those snot-nosed, unhygienic, monkey-brained losers you used to go to school with. 

instead, megumi was smart, established and with his future practically set in stone. maybe that’s why you picked on him, why you acted like a spoiled brat whenever he was around, why you pretended to despise his every existence and wish he’d never become a part of your family. because megumi  constantly reminds you of your failures or what your future could be if you put your mind to it and actually tried. 

“maybe, college guys like me wouldn’t seem like such losers if you actually gave furthering your education a shot,” your step brother cuts through your thoughts, stalking behind you with his hands in his pockets as you leave the kitchen and head towards the foyer — getting ready to head out for the party. “just do what your daddy wants, angel. go to college, get your degree so he can get off my back and you can be smart like me. yeah?” 

“and why would i listen to you?” there’s nothing you can do to shake him — your older step brother tailing you as if he’s your own personal guardian. he stops walking when you stop walking, bumping into your back, while a shocked whimper lays flat on the seam on your lips. 

megumi passes you a jacket (which you slide on by yourself) whilst he chuckles again, the sound rumbling in his chest and through your body pressed hotly against his. “‘cause i’m your big brother.” his voice is almost scolding, playfully so, holding a darker tone that you almost recognise as lust whole his larger-than yours hands force their way down to the fat at your waist. “now c’mere, let me fix your outfit. can’t have you goin’ out like this…” megumi squeezes your hips, using his grip on them to spin you around so that you can face him. 

you expect him to tell you to cover up more — that your pretty white dress is too short and that you’re too promiscuous. what you don’t  expect is for the dark haired male to sink to his knees before you, soft and attentive fingers sliding up your inner leg to fix your thigh-highs as that have slipped down. you barely manage to choke back a needy moan. 

he doesn’t let up on the eye contact either; only serving to fog up your pretty little head. “s-step brother,” you manage to remind him gently, finding your voice. 

fushiguro rolls his eyes, poking his tongue into his cheek. “that was your take away, pretty girl?” he doesn’t stop touching you, going as far to peek his head up your skirt — pretending to finish fixing your socks despite the subtle press of his nose against your panties and pinging them against your backside once done fondling you. “there we go, better.” 

he even goes as far to pat your bum in accomplishment too. 

you feel pathetic for letting your step brother touch you in such a taboo way, failing to push megumi off. but he’s never been so bold and you’ve never wanted him more — craving megumi through an insatiable burning in your chest. there’s always been a sexual tension brewing between you both, fuelled by your banter, your rage and mischievousness but how could you act on it? 

megumi was practically family. your family. it would be weird. you couldn’t be anything more without crossing the line of what’s deemed acceptable and what isn’t for step siblings. you have to remember who he is to you, an older brother, a menace to your friends who crush on him and someone who had called you selfish once upon a time. 

finally snapping back to reality, you force yourself away from the tendrils of your step-brother’s grip — swiping your purse from the entryway table and storming towards the door. “you’re buggin’ gumi!” you squeak from the porch. “stop being weird a-and stay out of my room!”  

the door slams harshly as you vacate the property in favour of the party, practically running down the steps with a rapid shake of your head. doing anything you can to rid yourself of all thoughts concerning the enigma that is your older step brother.

the party doesn’t help, and instead ends up a total disaster.

your plan to set your friends up completely falls apart when your ex-best guy friend decides to make a move on you on the way home and drops you off in the middle of nowhere after rejecting him. to top it off, some asshole robs you for your fendi purse at a gas station and makes you lie down on the ground in your matching designer dress! 

the whole ordeal nearly reduces you to tears and forces you to call the one person you’d been trying to forget about all night. megumi. 

he picks you up without a word of protest, but you swear that you can feel his disappointment radiating off of him in thick, asphyxiating waves. “please don’t tell daddy,” you had sniffed, eyes big and teary. and megumi can’t bring himself to blame you or to be mad at you because you’re so sweet and sensitive and a little too good for this world. that and you have no idea how much seeing you cry fucks with his head. 

“you’re a smart girl, baby.” he’d replied softly — though his eyes were hard and his grip on the steering wheel even harder, indicated by the white of his knuckles. “you shouldn’t be messing around in places like this. it’s exactly why you should be in college.” 

like the good big (step) brother he is, fushiguro sneaks you back into the house without a word to your watchful father. instead, he spends the rest of the night comforting you with silly cartoons to heal your inner child. deep down, it means a lot — usually the two of you would argue over control of the remote, and he would always win. this time, megumi lets you be. 

“i don’t think i’m cut out for college,” you sigh after a moment’s silence, ren and stimpy providing the backing track to your vocalised thoughts. “‘m not much aside from my pretty face.” 

fushiguro rolls over so that you lay side by side, nudging you with his elbow playfully. “what would you do instead?” 

“i dunno,” growing bashful, you tuck your face into your shoulder — afraid that he might laugh. “start a fashion business, give people make overs? i think i’m good at that.” 

“you’re good at a lot of things, angel. and making people feel god about themselves is one of them,” rather than belittling your dreams, tearing them down like you’d expect — megumi encourages you, flashing you a small yet supportive smile. “you take care of people.” 

flustered by his praise, you lean into megumi’s side — playing footsie with him at the end of your bed shyly. “you’re better at taking care of me, though.” you whisper, nearly missing the way his eyes drop to your lip-gloss smudged lips. 

“yeah? s’what big brothers are for, right?” he whispers back, a breath’s width away from your lips, nose inches away from nudging yours as if he’s going to kiss you. he wouldn’t be your step-brother if he wasn’t so full of annoying surprises, instead of pulling you into a lip lock — megumi grasps at the remote on your other side in an attempt to change the channel to something more boring and scholarly. 

you protest in the form of a sibling play fight causing you both to roll around in the sheets — fighting for the remote or perhaps dominance over the sexual tension that thickens the air. heat rises throughout the room and your wrestling turns to megumi pinning you to your babyish pink sheets, straddling your waist. he grips your wrists, clasping them together between his large, veiny hands and forces them above your head.

everything happens so quickly, yet so slowly and all at once. one moment you’re fighting like siblings do and the next — megumi fushiguro is finally kissing you, tongue lapping at the crack between your parted lips from where you’ve gasped in shock. tasting every ounce and every essence of the remainder of your gloss, breathing weightily into your mouth as if it’s a relief to have it pressed against his own. you swallow everything he gives you and drink up his saliva as it pools into your mouth to the point where your head spins and you feel like he’s spiked you with arousal. 

this is wrong, on so many levels. as if you would ever make out with your step brother. but this isn’t some kind of twisted dream, it’s a reality you find yourself basking in. you pull megumi onto you by the roots of his dark hair, mewling each time your lips slot together perfectly and whining when his hips start to jut down to meet the softness of your tummy. or when his large hands push and pull at sensitive parts of your body. 

“you’re nothin’ like those college girls.” he tells you once you break apart for air. megumi’s nose nudges your cheek and his kisses dive lower into the crook of your neck while he waits for you to catch your breath. “you’re softer, prettier, you’re—“

he lets go of your wrists.

tilting your head back into your plush pillows, your shaky fingers tangle in the dark, unruly curls of your step brother’s baby hairs. “i’m what?” you tease through a series of pretty little moans, like music to megumi’s ears. you feel him twitch against your inner thigh and the temperature of his body spikes to a sweltering degree. 

“perfect.” his rough tongue swipes over your prominent collarbones and over the fabric of your dress, slipping under the crevice where your breasts meets your rib cage. using his teeth, fushiguro pulls down your dress until it inches off of your shoulders, revealing more of your skin marked with scars, beauty and stretch marks. it comes off easily, exposing you to a pair of hungry, murky blue eyes. the dress remains bunched at your middle.

you must be tripping out — you’ve never seen this look in your step brother’s eyes before. he stares up at you, lips swollen and breath ragged, as if you’re the last meal on earth he’ll ever get to taste. the sexual tension was never obvious to you, and while you’ve always found megumi weird — it didn’t mean you disliked his company. 

“quit staring,” you whine, arching your back into megumi’s touch as it drags across your searing flesh. “it’s weird…you’re making it seem like it’s a bad thing…” 

he yanks down the front of your dress, smooths down the valley between your breasts and over your tummy as they rise and fall with each of your baited breaths. “you don’t like it when i look at you, pretty baby?” then suddenly, his thumb slips back over your naked nipple, curling your sensitive areola before applying a gentle pressure that makes you jolt up the bed. “there’s nothin’ bad about you.” 

fushiguro’s grip runs down to your sides like an easy stream of water, grasping at any flesh he can while simultaneously pulling your hips up to meet his — slotting perfectly against your body to make sure you can feel how hard he is for you. “i’m not like those college girls you’re usually into…” comes your shaky whisper. “‘m too dumb.”

it’s weird, megumi’s never made you nervous until now. 

“no. you’re smart, you’re perfect… you deserve more than the guys that you’re into. you shouldn’t waste your time.” 

his steady hands slide over the curve of your ass, dip beneath the hem of your dress to play with your doughy thighs and every note of his praise is sung over your quivering body.

“so what?” you go on, stepping into the dark to explore whatever the fuck this is with your step brother. “i should waste it on college boys like you?” 

the tail end of your words are lost in a gasped breath as megumi nudges a knuckle against the crotch of your underwear — chuckling softly at the wetness that pools in the seat of them. “you would be if you came with me.” a sort of sick and twisted expression, morphs on his handsome face. one that’s usually so stoic and unreactive to your whines and mewls. but this version of megumi seems to like watching you squirm, revels in the way your hips buck up on instinct the further he presses his fingers between your sticky, viscous folds. “god, sweetheart. your princess parts are already so wet for me.” 

heat flashes across your face, accompanied by the unfamiliar twinge of lust you for megumi you feel buzzing beneath your skin and swirling with the blood in your veins. the way he coos down at you, eyes hooded and tone condescending — it only serves to cloud your judgement and your mind. you shouldn’t be doing this. but you want to. so badly. 

“shut up.” you huff and look away, eyes threatening to roll back into your skull as megumi flicks at your clit from over your skimpy panties. the more he plays with you, rubs at his little sister’s cute pussy, the more your thighs twitch apart — revealing the treasure between them to his dirty-minded gaze. 

the groan that follows vibrates around in the cavity of megumi’s chest before shooting down to your glistening core as it convulses under his fingertips. “you’ll miss me when i go back, don’t deny it.” he tells you like he knows you, voice horse with growing desire. “you should really come with.” 

you scrunch your nose up at his request — of course he would choose now of all times to be annoying and tease you about college. “as if, megumi.” you warn, though it’s hard to stay mad at him when he presses two fingers against your spasming entrance, azure eyes darkening at a stream of your arousal dampens your panties — defining the shape of your puffy folds even more. 

“yeah, yeah. i know, baby. not the time, huh?” megumi hums in amusement, gaze flickering up to your face to watch it twist with euphoria as he continues to pinch and rub at your cunt until your chest is heaving. “you want it that bad. wanna be touched so bad. pretty girls like you can’t do anything without their big brothers...” while he rambles over the drool replacing logical words on his tongue, your step brother pulls his hand away from your sex briefly to push past the lace scalloping on your underwear and access your wetness. “all this, ‘cause of me?” 

“all ‘cause of you.” you breathe the words out like they’re air and nod shyly at your own admission despite the high pitched, babyish tone. to let your stupid older step brother know how much he affects you is embarrassing, borderline humiliating, but you can’t help but fall into him. megumi rewards you with two fingers stroking their way past the tight ring of your entrance, curling instantly to explore your gummy, oozing walls and locate the exact spots that make you tick.

he presses a chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek, body hunched over your shaky one as if to shield the scandalous sight from the world. his little sister split open on his fingers, drenching him in her scent and her slick as fushiguro scissors them and fucks you silly. “mhm, that’s my girl. so nice for me and my fingers. i like you better this way,” he slurs, long and dark lashes (ones that you’d die for) fluttering against your skin as his digits move faster and faster within your selfish, ribbed walls. “when all you can do is cry and make those pretty noises, instead of being a little brat to me all the time.” 

fushiguro pauses his ministrations, forcing you to wriggle and writhe and chase your pleasure for only a moment. “m-megumi!” your hips jut upwards in an attempt to coax some friction out of him, anything on your pulsing clit or against your pleasure spots dotted along your insides. “p-please. fuck, gumi— i need it.” 

he only smiles, his thumb finding your clit and his fingers pick up the pace — bearing down on your g-spot with every thrust into your tight heat. “that’s what i like to hear, none of that back talk. just your pretty voice, beggin’ for me.” he sweet talks you over the dirty, lewd and squishy sounds from your thoroughly fucked cunt as they ring out into the sex tainted air. they form a chorus with your hiccups and pathetic bleats for more — and if your body is a choir, megumi fushiguro is the conductor. he guides you to the gates of heaven, feeds you pieces of pleasure from the grapevine of sun and you let him. 

because he’s your big (step) brother, and you trust him after all. 

“fuck, you’re so pretty. could watch you make a mess of me all night.” 

the bricks bliss build up in your lower tummy, cemented together by megumi’s relentless fingers pumping in and out of your slick sex. you’re the perfect vision, a sight to behold — darling gem eyes shiny with tears, tongue tied to the roof of your mouth by strings of saliva and your body doused with a glimmer of perspiration. your step brother can’t help but create a copy of you grinding against his hand on his mind. filing it away for later. 

pulling his fingers from your selfish heat, megumi brings his hand down against it in a harsh slap — his entire body shuddering at the surprised wail you let out, and the stream of juices that fly up his arm as a result. “ooh, baby. what a pretty noise you just made.” he laments with a rough voice, soothing over the spank with soft flicks to your swollen clit. “can you do that again for me?” 

he doesn’t give you the chance to answer, spanking your pussy again, and again and again until his head is heavy with the sounds of your broken moans and your panties are soaked all the way through — darkened by the running two of your sweet honey nectar that allow his slender fingers to slip back inside you with ease. 

they tease at your stimulated walls and push and pull your tight little hole — and you swear you can practically see the stars that line the night sky with every new sensation. fushiguro is in no better state, cock painstakingly hard and straining against the insides of his sweats while his cool midnight eyes drink in the way your hips stutter and struggle to keep up with the pace of his digits inside of you. 

“‘gumi… i think i—“ your words escape you, drowned out by your own pussy as it squelches around megumi’s fingers. 

he kisses your forehead, contrasting my soft compared to the way he stretches you open and preps you for his cock. “i bet that feets good, huh? you feel like you’re gonna cum.” his tone turns into a mocking one, deep enough to send shivers down your spine and threaten to knock down the wall of mounting pleasure in your lower gut.

tears teeter over the edge of your waterline, streaking a hot path down the apples of your angelic cheeks as your hips lift off the bed — chasing the high only your big brother could give to you. “feels so good, p-please let me cum, ‘gumi.” 

you look to him for reassurance and permission, hiccuping as megumi pulls his fingers out of you to trace from your clit and down the length of your juicy slit. pride swirls in his blazing chest when your body jerks at the sensation, hips running after the source of pleasure. you’re such a good little thing, so pliant and naive — following after your step brother no matter what he does to you. maybe you’re right, maybe you’re a little too dumb for college. but it doesn’t matter right now, not with the way your creamy entrance clenched down on fushiguro lovingly, pleading with him to let you cum.

you’re so close and he knows it, he’d have given into you if he weren’t trying to make this last. 

“actually, i want you to do something for me.” he stops right before you’re about to burst, dragging his fingers out of your pulsating pussy to smear your wetness across your tummy and thighs. 

a babyish blubber bubbles up on the swell of your pouty lips, coated in a layer of salt from your free-flowing tears. “w-what? m-megumi! i was so close!” you say in a petulant manner, squishing your thigh together and trapping his hand between them as if to coax him back into making you cum.

“so spoilt, more like.” your step brother bites back, almost punishing you by removing his body from yours so that he can rid himself off all of his clothes. he tosses them off the bed, but not before pulling his phone from his sweatpants and setting it to the side.

you swallow thickly when his cock springs free and slaps against his washboard abs. megumi is lengthier than he has girth, his balls heavy with an incredulous amount of seed saved up just for you. his tip is pink, almost bright red but coated in a layer of pre that’s no doubtedly smeared along the inside of his sweats but it’s a delicious sight to see nonetheless. 

now you really must be bugging. you’re most certainly clueless to have never thought of megumi this way before today. 

your throat bobs when he grabs hold of his rock hard shaft, hissing at the first few lazy pumps he gives himself.  “i want you to do something for me. then i’ll make you cum.” fushiguro proposes gruffly, locking eyes with you carnally. “put on a show for me princess, ride one of your cute little stuffed animals over there so i can make a memory for when i go back to college.” 

his ask doesn’t register in your pretty little head, and megumi figures he might have left you dazed from withholding your orgasm. or maybe you’re distracted by the way in which he fists his cock, spreading webs of milky white up and down his shaft and over his mushroomed tip with each movement. you hardly notice the fact that he’s reached for his phone, setting it to record using his free hand. 

“you hear me, pretty… fuck…girl?” he curses in a low moan, squeezing himself. 

this time, your attention shoots to his face while your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “y-you want me to… fuck my stuffie?” 

you ask megumi so innocently, head tilted to the side like a sweet little puppy dog and he swears he might bust to you right then and there. 

“fuck…yes.” 

“and you won’t touch me?” 

“not until i’m satisfied, princess.” 

and like the bratty little sister you are, dress pushed down to your middle and makeup askew, you huff at your step-brother — all while grabbing your favourite and biggest stuffed bear to tuck against the ruined treasure between your thighs. 

“you’re so fuckin’ mean, ‘gumi,” you try to keep your cool, but you’re too sensitive — lowering your twitching sex onto the soft toy slowly. “o-oh…”

he angles the camera perfectly to record you, zooming in on your cute little cunt as it slips and slides over the bear with ease.

even beyond the camera, you’re a sight for megumi fushiguro’s sore eyes, each of your curves and dips illuminated by the glistening beads of sweat that roll over the expanse of your skin – catching the low, warm yellow light from up above. he always knew that his little step sister was pretty, practically an angel, but up until now he’d relied soley on his dirty imagination to picture the way you’d look fucking yourself for him. the stuffed toy easily disappears between the meat of your pudgy thighs as you rock back and forth over it, nudging your clit against the nose of the fluffy brown bear.

“feels good, right?” he mumbles lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest. megumi can’t help but be engrossed in your every move, the soft jut of your hips and the bite down on your plump and shiny lips, the way in which your fingers dare to dance up the salacious softness to your curves and skin. “my pretty little thing. i can see why your daddy loves you so much. you’re such a good girl, listening to everything i say.”

megumi’s words waft over your mind like a thick fog of lust, darkening every pure thought you’ve ever had. your whole body twitches at their patronising air, dopamine crackling about in your skull and shooting down to the heartbeat swirling around your fluttering hole. it gushes and gushes, like an endless stream of erotica and glazes over the apex of your thighs like the shin of a sugary treat.

one that makes your step brother’s mouth water with anticipation.

each of your sweet mewls and whistle-tone bleats run through his ears like thick honey, rotting him from the inside out. perhaps that’s what makes megumi so perverted and what makes him crush on his perfect and prim little sister, you’re a fool to have not noticed it before. how he looked at you then and how megumi looks at you now, midnight blue and stormy orbs drowning with lust. your gaze flutters down to his cock, standing tall and flushed against his creamy white skin, neglected as it leaks all over his stomach.

“oh you like that, huh? you shake so much when i talk to you like that.” fushiguro starts to fist his cock faster, matching the speed at which you shakily circle your hips over the poor stuffed animal — panting as it’s fabric darkens with your wetness. “a daddy’s girl through ‘n through.” he teases while you throw it back for his phone.

sure enough, the camera picks up his warm chocolate voice as it coos its praises to you. such a good girl. ride it out princess. all of it fills you to the brim with wanton and desire, makes you crumble before the glaring lense of fushiguro’s phone.

“s-shut up.” 

“uh-uh. and you were doing so well,” your step brother sounds almost cruel, reminding you of the reasons you didn’t get along before today. acting like a school boy picking on his crush, being mean to her because deep down he knows that she likes it. that you like it. “don’t be rude baby. put on a show for ‘gumi.” 

he takes to palming himself more, precum slinging across his knuckles and down his thighs the more turned on he gets. it clings to every vein on his shaft, spreads to the weight of his balls and no doubt can be heard through the camera since slick and lewd noises of the both of you touching yourselves echo throughout your bedroom. megumi does his best to keep the camera steady, but he can’t help himself — following your movements and thrusting up into his closed fist to mock your pussy while you ride your stuffie for dear life.

you’re still so sensitive, but your big brother can tell you’re trying so hard to keep up for him — fighting off your next orgasm as it builds up strong in your lower belly. you want to please megumi, at the end of the day. a smart girl like you knows  “that’s it, keep it movin’ for me…god, you make me wanna cum.” 

you pout at the praise, rutting over the face of your stuffed animal as you breath heavy. it feels way too good, you’re overwhelmed by too many senses and megumi watching you spill your juices about the place doesn’t seem to help. dragging a hand up to your bare chest, you tweak your nipples and tug them until  a needy squeal dancing on your wobbly bottom lip — doing your very best to please the dark haired college student.

you want him to cum, want him to memorise the way your eyes roll back and your moans and quivers — you feel so beautiful beneath his heavy, desire burdened stare. “m-megumi,” you say for the millionth time that night, squirming before his very eyes while you dream on the nose of your precious toy. “i-i’m close!” your hips burn holding back you release, exhaustion and just intertwining in your veins — combusting in your lungs. 

clueless. you were absolutely clueless as to how it would feel falling apart under the caring gaze of someone who loves you so much. 

“yeah, pretty girl?” fushiguro hums gently, giving his cock one last squeeze at the base — cutting off the stream of ore that he dribbles from the source. “c’mere, i gotcha.” he shuffles over to you on the bed, catching you before you fall with his lips pressed to your wet babyish cheeks. “i’ll let you cum, but only on my cock. you’ve got to stay good for me, okay?” 

nodding timidly, you accept a few more kisses from megumi — the ones that he peppers across your face, before he manoeuvres you onto your side and nestles in right behind you. “say you want me,” the words coast along the back of your neck and your body erupts in goosebumps. his voice will always be like a dragon breathing life into a fire. sure to be careful, megumi lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his slender waist so that he can better access your sluice sex.

he tugs your underwear to the side with one hand and positions his cock at your entrance, sliding the length of his shaft through the strings of your arousal glueing your pussy lips together. both of you hiss in harmony when his bright red tip grinds messily against your pulsing pleasure bud. your unused hole clenches around nothing, pushing out juices as if to claim megumi. 

your head rolls back to rest on megumi’s broad shoulder and you reach a hand behind you to tangle in the dark mass of his sweaty locks — keeping him close. “i need you, ‘gumi. please.” you rasp weakly as his shaft breaches your silken walls, coating him in everything your body has to offer. you spoil megumi, giving him a moment to remember before he leaves for college again.

there’s a delicious residual burn from the way his girth stretches you out causing your cunt so selfishly squeezes down on every inch of your step brother’s milky cock. with a stuttered breath, fushiguro bottoms out until his balls are pressed hotly against your ass and his seedy mushroomed tip is just grazing your womb. 

“just what i wanted to hear,” he purrs into the shell of your ear — nipping it tenderly. you blubber softly into the satin pillows, prepped with a fresh set of tears as you push back onto megumi to meet the push and pull of his dick into your tight, creamy sex. “you’ve always needed me, pretty thing. my precious baby sister, relyin’ on me for everything. even this.”

your entire body burns bright with desire for megumi, you’re surprised you’ve gone this long without him before today. maybe you’ve always needed to feel his sticky tip grind against your juicy walls or his hot breath fanning against your shoulders and neck. you’ve always needed your step brother to guide you in the right direction. you’ve always needed megumi.

“f-fuck, g-gumi!” 

fushiguro fucks you slow and softly, pouring all of his affections into you — letting it buzz in the sex scented air between your salt slicked bodies. his fingertips leave their paw prints along your tiger striped thighs and soft tummy, he’ll kiss them better later, but for now he just wants you to know how much he’s always needed you.  “oh i know pretty girl, i know.” comes megumi’s low, bristling simper — adding to the stacks of pleasure cementing together in your lower tummy. “you’re so good, taking me just right. i’ve always known you’d be good for me.” 

your back arches away from the molten centre of your step brother’s chest but he refuses to let you run from him — wrapping a strong arm around your middle to anchor you and your pussy down on his throbbing cock. “i never wanted to ruin you.” he drawls hungrily, but that doesn’t stop the salacious buck of his hips upwards and the way his hands traverse over each of your perfect imperfections. “but you’re such a sweet thing… you always have been. god, baby, you drive me crazy.” 

fumbling around on the bed, megumi gasps at the phone and hits record once more — propping the device up on the nightstand opposite you so that he can remain hands free. “this body, this princess cunt… the way you grip my hair—“ as if on cue, your fingers tighten at his dark roots and tug him down for a sloppy, spit swapping kiss. “everything about you, s’perfect.” 

the room spins with ecstasy and your pathetic screams die in your throat at the feeling of megumi’s abs contacting against your back, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. you drip sweet nectar onto the sheets, his pelvis and his thighs — tainting him with your precious sin. everything burns with exertion and exhaustion, so you’re forced to slump against your big brother and rely on him to carry you to the high heavens of pleasure.

he doesn’t disappoint, cupping your swaying breasts as you jolt up the bed from the force of his pounding thrusts, flicking at your nipples while keeping himself tucked in your squishy insides. you’re pleasured from every possible angle and it’s all caught on grainy film for megumi to take to college when he leaves without you. 

“‘m so fucking happy… t-that our parents got divorced. s-so that i can…have you like this.” fushiguro tongues at the pulse point under your ear, giving you one hard thrust to emphasise the point, it makes you jump, pushing you that little bit closer to the edge. your step brother never stops pumping himself in and out of you, hardly giving you a second to breathe between sucking on your tongue and slapping a hand down on your slit. 

“aren’t you happy?” he goes on to ask, carving the shape of his dick into your raw sex. “take a deep breath for me, gorgeous.” 

megumi wraps a hand around your throat from behind, squeezing ever so slightly and your glistening doe eyes tear away from the camera to focus on him. you witness the stars align in his azure orbs, the adoration they hold for you and a cry-baby wail slips from between your cherry bitten lips in response. 

“look so pretty with my hand around your throat ‘n my cock in your pussy… look at that. it’s like your body was made for me.” he chimes up again, watching the drool deep from the corner of your mouth as it hangs open with dry moans, like a a cute puppy panting. “how lucky are we?”

“o-oh! gumi!” you sniff blearily, not caring that there isn’t enough air in your brain to think straight. you’re swallowing down his cock and he’s leaking fat droplets of precum against the ridges of your walls — only adding to your wetness. megumi can’t expect a single logical thought to escape you this way. “‘m s-so glad. s-so lucky! so happy! i-i love you.”

the stuttered admission brings out the worst in megumi, causing him to lose his shit. your panties are rubbing his shaft raw, your pussy’s so good that he feels like he’s fucking high, not to mention you sound so pretty he could die here and be the happiest man alive. a feral desire takes over your step brother, his snapping his hips into you so hard that your headboard repeatedly smashes against the wall.

your panties are completely soaked through at this point, equally as ruined as your cunt… but megumi doesn’t care. “love you too. my good girl, my good fucking girl.” he coos, his thrusts growing animalistic and erratic — your bodies dancing to the tune of desire as you chase release. “can you cum for me, pretty? wanna see it, bet you’re so gorgeous when you’re cumming for me little sis.” 

despite being fucked brainless, you still manage to do what you’re told — your hips back onto his from their own accord, puffy pussy locking down on megumi’s base to keep him inside. “i’m close… r-right there gumi!” you choke out.

“right here, baby?” is all he manages to respond with, moaning pornographically into your sweaty shoulder while he shifts the angle of his thrusts. “wanna feel you gush all fucking over me.” 

that’s all you need to hear before your toe curling orgasm comes crashing down on you like a large tidal wave. the knot in your tummy finally unravels and you break beneath the pressure of it all, waves of your juices splashing out onto the sheets and megumi’s pelvis — rewarding him for fucking you this good. you cum so hard that it’s enough to force megumi from your twitching hole, expelling a musky scent into the air.

“f-fucking shit, fuuuck me…” fushiguro stumbles off the edge not long after, using the seam of your panties to finish himself off while you twitch through the aftershocks of your high. he just barely makes it, fucking your underwear and nudging his sensitive cockhead against your abused mound until he’s filling the seat of your panties with fat globs of white hot seed. “jesus…’hmygod, baby. you’re such an angel...d-did so fucking well for me.” 

he peppers you with smooches until you’re calmed down enough to be rolled onto your back. megumi is careful to pull away from you, staying close while you sniffle and come back down to earth. he babies you throughout, lifting the rest of your dress over your head and waiting until you say he can move before grabbing you a spare shirt from your dresser.

“let me see you.” megumi whispers lovingly when he crawls back onto the bed to join you. he grabs his phone from the nightstand and ends its recording, pushing your thighs apart to snap pictures of your cum soaked undies and the thick white that clings to your fat pussy lips and clit. “perfect, you’re so perfect. 

“i am?” you whinge — camera shy. but you don’t tell him to stop, letting your older step brother rub his sensitive and overworked cock over your crotch, smearing the last evidence of your orgasms against you for a quick video. another one that’ll be added to his spank bank for later. “‘gumi…” you warn once you start to feel overstimulated.

he chuckles at how whiny you are, tugging your clean shirt over your head before he pulls you into his arms. “i got it, i’m sorry.” rocking you both back and forth, fushiguro kisses the crown of your head. “yanno… if you’re so serious about not joining me at college. i’ll try and convince your dad to let you stay in town. as long as you keep up your promise and try to start a business.” 

your heart skips a beat, and you cast a glance upwards at your step brother. “really?” 

“really. if it means that much to you.” 

sleep settles heavy in megumi’s bones and on his pretty face — one you didn’t realise you loved so much. “it does! thank you, ‘gumi,” you say quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “m-maybe you college boys aren’t so bad.” 

“oh come on now, didn’t me fucking you stupid literally just prove that?” 

“maybe.” 

“so you’ll come visit me at college then. since you like me so much.” fushiguro quips cheekily, narrowly missing your swat to his chest. 

you roll your eyes and try to unravel yourself from your step brother’s affectionate grip, but don’t hide your smile. “ugh! as if, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

but teasing megumi further only gets you dragged back into the sheets — two sets of laughter echoing throughout the room in what appears to be another sibling fight. 

except this time, you’re not as clueless. 

you know that something like this, and with megumi, means something much, much more.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Alastor x fem! reader

Background: (Y/N) is the elder Morningstar, and wants to fix her relationship with her dad. But her dad hates her boyfriend.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 - Finale

Allusions to sex, actual sex, angel being angel, and cannibalism

_____

Angel spit out his drink, "You're with Alastor?!"

"Yeah, thoughts?"

"And prayers, girl," Angel could never imagine a sweet girl like (Y/N) getting it on with the Radio Demon himself.

But everyone has their kinks, he supposed.

Alastor manifested behind her, and she immediately felt his presence. Pressing herself against him, he leaned into her warmth and kept his arms around her shoulders.

"How was your day, mon amour?"

"It'll be even better," She trailed off, turning around to face him, "when we meet my dad for dinner."

Silence.

And not even radio silence.

"Not to be rash, but I'm sure your father would sooner see my head on a pike than on my body," Alastor adored the fact that she was mending their bond, even more so when Lucifer makes the effort.

But announcing their relationship to him?

He could see it ending in flames.

"I know you two don't get along, but I thought a nice dinner might smooth things over."

"And if he disapproves of us?" He lifted her head upwards with his finger, bemused as to what her answer may be.

"Then he'll have to get used to it," (Y/N) replied, sending a shiver of excitement up his spine.

Only a feeling that the she-devil he was utterly obsessed with could provide.

"Ugh, can you guys go fuck somewhere else?" Angel said, "or at all? I can't imagine going a lifetime without dick."

Alastors eye twitch, "now that's our business, isn't it?"

"Okay, okay," Charlie spoke up, "you guys go get ready."

Charlie couldn't help but notice the change in Alastor. It had only been a few months, but being in her sisters presence alone has made him kind. Sure, the both of them would skin someone alive over an insult, but Alastor would rip out his own eyes if (Y/N) asked.

A perfect match.

(Y/N) dawned a black dress with a pearl necklace that Alastor bought for her. Well, she thinks he bought it but he actually stole it off of a fresh kill.

How sweet.

"Pumpkin! Oh look at you! You're as radiant as ever!" Lucifer fawned over his daughter as they made it to the restaurant, making it a point to ignore the red demon behind her.

"Catching strays?" Lucifer gestured to him.

"Lovely to see you again," Alastor retorted.

"Dad, why don't we go inside? And Alastor will be joining us," now, Lucifer didn't forget what he said. He recognized that the fearsome deer demon had the intention of claiming Princess (Y/N) as his own, but did his daughter return such feelings?

Honestly, Lucifer feared that.

Not it being Alastor persay, but his little girls being hurt.

He knew how awful it felt to go through the divorce with Lilith, and then her disappearance.

He didn't ever want his daughters to feel that way.

"So, Alastor, what do you do again?"

"I have a radio broadcast. Your daughter has actually helped me repair the studio after the attack," He laid his land on hers.

And Lucifer picked up Alastors hand.

And placed it away from hers.

"Uh, dad-"

"Look, if you two are fucking, don't tell me."

"Dad!" Her face burned red, "we aren't-that's not. . .I love Alastor, and he loves me. I want you to accept us both."

"Love? Whoa, whoa, whoa! Pumpkin, I don't think-"

"I'm not a little kid," She interrupted, "I'm a grown woman, and I'm able to make my own decisions. I want to be with Alastor because I love him. You may not think I know what love is, but I know it's what I feel with Alastor."

That's when he saw it.

That look.

Whilst (Y/N) was defending herself, defending their love, Alastor looked at her. Only her. And it was like he was staring at the nebula itself, seeing all its beauty in the Heir of Hell. His smile faltered, closing his mouth, and his eyes softened.

It's the same look that he used to give Lilith.

"If I ever hear that you've made her cry, or even laid a single hand upon her," Lucifer stared him down, "I'll make you disappear."

"A man true to his word. Looks like we have something in common," Alastor agreed, his hand back on hers. She gave him a smile, one that reminded him of Lilith.

The rest of dinner went off without any incidents. The small jab here and there, but no one died, and no one was stabbed. Lucifer learned more about his daughters business and how she lit up talking about it.

"You hardly ate, Alastor. Is something wrong?" (Y/N) asked when her father went to the restroom.

"Oh no, my dear. Just hungry for something else, is all," His eyes raked up her form, earning a cough from the she-devil.

Honestly, she didn't know where he was on his spectrum. She was fine never even being intimate, so long as he was happy, but this spark in his eyes lit a fire within her.

"O-oh. . .are you sure?" Believe it or not, (Y/N) had only had sex twice and both times she'd call it lackluster.

"I don't want you to force yourself if you don't want to," oh how innocent she was. Honestly, Alastor assumed he was aroace before he met the she-devil. Her ferocity - her chaos in fights, her genuine kindness, and her soul - itself brought out that spark.

There are moments where the carnal desire needs to be satisfied.

"Mon cher, I'd never ask if I didn't mean it."

That look, it made her softly gasp.

"Alast-"

"Ew."

Right.

Lucifer.

He showed up from his restroom break and found the pair giving eachother "fuck me" eyes.

"Could I eat my dinner without you groping my child?" Lucifer hissed, despite Alastor only touching her hand.

He blinked, thinking how he's never even groped a woman.

"Maybe."

Sick bastard.

_ _ _ ☆ _ _ _

"Fuck! Alastor!"

(Y/N) had never cum before, so Alastor being her first to ever do so and smiling away at her quivering legs made it so much better.

"Oh fuck. . ." She moaned weakly, his tongue slithering in and out of her to lick up every last drop.

"Al. . ." She was breathless, staring at his strained member. Reaching up to unzip his pants, he tutted as he grabbed her wrist.

"Al?"

"It's about you. Don't worry about me, amour," He purred, kissing the bite marks on her thighs.

"But you-"

Before she could detest further, wishing to satisfy him, the door opened.

"Oh my God, they were right! Alastor, you sly dog," Angel Dust was at the door, and Alastor quickly covered his beloveds' body with the covers before his horns started to grow and his back stretched.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Not before you make love to me, you're not," still in his demonic form, (Y/N) blew a gust of wind to slam the door shut.

Her body displayed on the bed, Alastor agreed.

"And stay in that form. It suits you."

[gloomwitchwrites]

IM FEELING ANGSTY TODAY so what about 141 who is in love with reader but they are in love with someone else <3

ANON! STRAIGHT TO JAIL!

But in all seriousness, I love some yummy angst. Make me suffer. Make the characters suffer. Let's all suffer a little bit. Hope you shed a tear or two (or don't).

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Presented in four double drabbles.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, alcohol, stalking, flirting, yearning, angst, suggestive themes, brief mention of intimate relations, divorce, co-parenting, nurse!reader

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The door opens, and your smiling face greets him. You look a bit tired, but even so, you're beautiful. John wants to snapshot this moment. To savor it.

“You’re early,” you breathe.

John shrugs. “That all right?”

He did it on purpose. The new boyfriend shouldn’t be home yet, which means John can have some time with you.

“Is that Dad?”

The familiar voice of his daughter and small feet slapping against a wood floor reaches him. She appears, arms outstretched eagerly.

“Hey there, dove,” chuckles John, lifting his daughter into his arms. “Ready to spend the weekend with me?”

She squeals with delight, her small arms wrapping around his neck. John glances at you, urging memory to resurface and seize you both.

But it is not to be.

The boyfriend appears. The man that came after the divorce.

John doesn’t blame you for moving on. His job drained the marriage into nothing.

But he still wants you.

“John,” nods the man in greeting.

“Is her bag ready?” asks John, addressing you and not acknowledging the boyfriend.

“Yes,” you reply, handing it to him.

John wants to say, “I love you.”

But he doesn’t.

“I’ll bring her back Sunday evening.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Vape smoke lingers in the air.

Kyle reclines on the sofa, his head on a pillow, scrolling his socials in the dim dark. The television is on, the volume turned low to create background noise. On the table next to him is a bottle of tequila, half-empty and warm. He takes a swig, savoring the burn.

Kyle’s gaze is glued to the phone screen, fingers tapping until he finds your page.

He shouldn’t do this. It’ll only upset him—making him yearn for something he doesn’t have and might never know. It’s a foolish endeavor. Heartbreak just for fucking kicks.

He gazes at your smiling face, of how perfect you are to him. It’s not fucking fair—even if he respects your choice.

You should be his. The two of you should be together.

But there is someone else. A man that Kyle despises but only because you’re not his. The bloke is a good man. He’ll take care of you. Treat you right. Be there when you need him and not away on another mission without any idea of when or if he’s coming back.

Kyle’s chest aches.

"Fuck," he sighs, locking his phone.

He reaches for the tequila.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“How bad is it, doc? Think I’ll live?”

Soap puts every ounce of devious flirtation he can in his tone. He’s putting it on thick.

He gives you his best smile, and he gets the exact reaction he wants.

Your head bows in embarrassment, a soft smile spreading on your face. Your touch is gentle, taking great care to wrap the wound on his bicep.

You’re flustered. It’s bloody adorable.

“You’ll live, sergeant,” you reply, voice a little husky.

It’s such a small thing, but Soap clings to it. To him, this is a sliver of hope. A possibility even though reality says otherwise.

Soap leans in a bit, pushing into your space which almost seems to worsen your flustered demeanor. “I took a hard hit.”

“You did,” you agree. “It’s good they brought you in.”

You have no idea Soap asked Simon to hit him harder during training just so he’d end up here.

But it’s not to be.

The man that has your heart arrives, strolling into the communal exam room without even glancing at Soap.

“You’re ready to go, sergeant,” you reply brightly, demeanor changing now that your boyfriend is here.

Soap’s stomach twists into a knot.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon sits in the dark in his home office. A slight twinge of shame paints his mood, like it always does when he watches the monitors.

He tells himself he does this to protect you. That he’s looking after you even if you’re not aware of his actions. This is just a precaution until you finally realize that you should be his.

Simon removes a cigarette from his jacket pocket. When it ignites, and that luscious burn hits his lungs, a calmness settles over him.

His actions are valid. This behavior is fine.

Simon settles back in his chair, gaze roaming over the different camera views. There are fifteen of them in total. Each one is in your home in various rooms. Infiltration and surveillance are something he’s fucking good at. And he’s done it here with excellent precision.

It’s some of his best work.

In your bedroom, you’re currently on your back, and completely naked. The wanker you call a “boyfriend” is thrusting like a bloody fucking idiot. It’s clear to Simon that this man only cares about himself.

Simon could make you come. He’d give you plenty of orgasms.

But you’re not his.

You belong to someone else.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

When You're Ready

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: being a single mom, the hard side of being a parent, overstimulation?

Summary: Being a single mother hasn’t always been easy, and life catches up to you whether you want it to or not. You have so much on your plate that you’re not even thinking about being in a relationship. Spencer likes you and he makes it clear that he’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes.

Square Filled: huddle for warmth for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Today could not be any worse than it is right now. You didn’t have time to brush your hair, you barely got your teeth brushed, your clothes are wrinkly because you forgot to iron them last night, the heater is broken in your house so all your daughter does is complain that it’s too cold, and you’re trying to get both her and yourself ready for the day.

“Mama, I’m hungry!” she whines.

“Food is coming, baby,” you say.

As you try not to cry, you plate more breakfast for her and set it on her tray. She immediately digs into the pancakes like she’s never been fed before. The TV is blaring in the living room as it plays yet another episode of Spongebob, her favorite TV show. Right now, that little sponge is giving you a massive headache. The coffee machine beeps for the tenth time, and you have an overwhelming urge to chuck it out the window. The machine has been broken for quite some time now but will make a cup of coffee every once in a while.

Today is not one of those days.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings and you just about stop and cry right there. What now? Who could this possibly be while you’re already running late for work? You leave Casey in the kitchen and walk to the front door. On the way, you almost slip on one of her toys, and you kick it harder than you should have. You open the front door and see your housekeeper standing there. You barely have enough to pay her since you had to downgrade a bunch of stuff since the divorce, but she stayed and accepted the new salary.

You’re honestly not sure what you would do without her.

“Oh, Shelly, it’s you.”

“Rough morning?” Tears well in your eyes at her question because you’re forced to think how this morning has been in a sea of bad ones. “Oh, Y/N, don’t worry about a thing. I’m here now.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and close the door behind her. You turn down the TV so that you don’t have to shout at Shelly. “Um, Casey has a field trip today. I looked at the weather and it’s going to be cold so make sure she packs a jacket. She’ll fight it but make sure she has one, okay?”

“Y/N, how long have I been looking after this little girl? I’ll be okay. Don’t you have work?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Here, let me.”

She fixes your hair until it looks presentable, and you give her a warm smile.

“Thank you. The coffee machine is broken. I’ll pick one up on the way home.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get a new one. I have a few other things to pick up at the store.”

“Okay. Bye, Casey! Mommy is off to work. I love you!”

“I love you!” she sings back.

Despite how hard it’s being a single mom, she always brings a smile to your face. Not only is it hard being a single mom, but you work in the FBI where your job is demanding and requires a lot out of you. It’s why you needed to hire Shelly. Before, she was here because your ex-husband paid to have her clean the house. You both had jobs and weren't home enough to keep up with it. Now with Casey, she’s a blessing in disguise.

Hotch makes it look so easy. Since Haley was killed, he’s been doing a good job at raising his son and being the Unit Chief. He has Beth and Haley’s sister, but it’s just him most of the time. You have no one but Shelly, and she only comes three times a week. Casey’s father fled the second you told him you were pregnant so you had to do this entire thing by yourself. All Casey knows is the team because you have them over ever so often.

She’s more familiar with Hotch since he brings Jack over for playdates because they are around the same age. Though, she loves Spencer more than anyone on the team. You’re only friends with him but he’s expressed interest in you. He’s made it clear that you’re on his mind, but you can’t be dating right now. There’s no time for boyfriends or flings or whatever Spencer would be. Your life is too complicated. Add in a toddler and a lawsuit for child support, and it’s too much for someone else to handle.

You told him this much, and he seems okay with being your friend. You still catch him watching you and blushing when you give him a compliment, but he’s been respectful of your boundaries.

You walk into work and notice everyone inside the briefing room. You practically throw your shit down on your desk and run to the briefing room.

“So sorry I’m late. Traffic,” you white-lie.

“It’s okay. We’re just going over updates on our cases and finishing files,” Hotch says.

The B Team must be out right now, and you sag your shoulders in relief. You need a chill day right now more than anything. After a rundown of the open cases, you take yours back to your desk to get started on them. Spencer does the same but he approaches your desk from the front.

You barely look up at him. “Oh, hey, Spencer.”

“Rough morning?” You scoff but don’t say anything. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. “How is Casey doing?”

“She’s good. She has a field trip today at the aquarium.”

Spencer is about to say a fact when he sees the look on your face. Maybe he shouldn’t be himself right now.

“That should be fun.” Again, you don’t respond. All you want to do is focus on your work and not on the headache you have. Instead of going back to his desk, he sits next to yours. “You know, if you ever need someone to watch Casey, I’m more than happy to do it. Even for an entire weekend. It’ll give you time to yourself.” You stop typing and look at him. “Only if it’s okay with you, of course. Or maybe I can come over and hang with her while you get some sleep or something.”

“What are you doing?”

“What? I’m just trying to help.”

It’s the way he said it that makes your back crack under the pressure. You know he doesn’t deserve this but you’re saying it anyway because he’s here.

“You’re not her father, Spencer!”

“I know, but--”

“Look, that’s nice of you to offer but I have been raising her by myself since she was born. Even before she was born. I didn’t need help then and I don’t need it now. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

You gather your finished files and walk away from your desk. Tears threaten to spill but you won’t let it. Not now.

“Okay,” Spencer says, his voice small.

Yep, you hate yourself now. Truth be told, he kind of scares you. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a man, and that scares you. He’s safe and predictable and dependable, everything you never had, not even with Casey’s father. He messed you up so badly that you learned you can’t depend on anyone for anything.

Not even Spencer.

After putting your files away, you slip into the bathroom and just cry. All this stress shouldn’t be good for you. The bathroom door opens and you immediately wipe the tears away. JJ frowns when she sees the tears, and you splash some water on your face to get the redness to go away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you could come over to my place at two instead of four. Will is having his boys come at two, and I figured my girls could be there at the same time to get coordinated with them.”

“What?”

“Please don’t tell me you forgot about my wedding. It’s next weekend. You’re my maid of honor.”

Shit. You completely forgot about that. You’ve been so focused on not breaking down that her wedding has completely slipped your mind.

“No, I didn't forget.” You wince at the lie. “Okay, it slipped my mind, but I will be there. Two, not four.” You’re about to leave when you remember Shelly telling you she is going out of town next weekend. You don’t have money for a babysitter. “Would it be okay if I brought Casey? Shelly is going to be out of town.”

“Yes, the more the merrier. I love Casey, and I know Henry does, too.”

“Thank you, JJ,” you sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m just stressed is all. I don’t think I slept more than a few hours each night, my hair needs a cut, I need an everything shower, and I don’t have time to do any of it.”

“Yeah, motherhood can be tough.”

“Tell me about it. Not to mention, I think I might have hurt Spencer’s feelings. I yelled at him. He’s just trying to help.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it. What did he say?”

“He offered to look after Casey for a weekend.”

“It might be good to take him up on the offer.”

You shrug. “I gotta get back to work.” You leave the bathroom and notice Spencer at his own desk. “Spencer?” He looks up and smiles when he sees you, making you feel even worse than you do. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or said those things.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. You were just trying to help.”

“The offer still stands if and when you want to use it. Think about it.”

The rest of the week is pretty chill since the B Team is still out, giving you and Spencer more time to strengthen your relationship. He shows up to work with an extra coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a smile just for you. He wants to make sure you eat because that’s the only thing he can do right now to help you.

On the day of the wedding, you know he is going to be right there in the audience. He agreed to look after Casey while you stand next to JJ, so you’re getting her dressed in her pretty pink sparkle dress.

“So, while Mommy is up with Aunt JJ, you’re going to be seated next to Spencer in the audience. Right there in the front.”

“I like Spencer,” she grins.

You smooth down your hair and smile. “Me, too.”

“Are you gonna marry him?”

“No,” you laugh.

“I bet he’d make a great dad.”

You choose not to say anything to that and lead her down the aisle where Spencer is seated. The wedding is located in JJ’s own backyard, but it’s perfect. It’s everything she’s ever wanted and more. Casey has a strict bedtime but the wedding goes past that, so naturally, she gets cranky by the time the reception happens. She’s hungry and restless, two things a toddler should never be at the same time.

“Just another hour and I promise, we can go home. I promised JJ we’d be here.”

“I’m hungry, Mama, and I’m bored.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

You look up and see Spencer approaching you two.

“Sorry, she skipped her nap today, and it’s past her bedtime. She’s just bored.”

“May I?” You nod. “Hey, Casey? Would you like to dance? Just one, and then maybe we can get some cake.”

“Okay,” she grins.

Spencer takes her to the dancefloor while you stay seated at one of the tables. He whispers something to her and she eagerly steps onto his shoes. He dances around in circles with her on his shoes, and she giggles happily. It doesn’t matter how much of a shitty week you’ve been having. She’s smiling and laughing and that means you’re doing a pretty damn good job. Spencer picks her up and holds her close so he can dance properly, and she leans her head on his chest.

Would it be so bad to let him in? Maybe not, but you’re clearly not in the headspace for it. Is he willing to wait? You don’t want to keep him from other relationships even though it doesn’t look like he’s rushing to be in one.

After two songs are over, Spencer lets her down. He whispers something to her and she runs off in search of either Henry, Jack, or both. He walks over to you and holds out his hand.

“Care to dance?”

“Yes,” you smile.

You grab his hand and he brings you to the dancefloor. The next song is a slow one, so he pulls you in close to him. One hand in yours and the other low on your back. Has he always smelled this good?

“Thank you for what you did. She likes you a lot.”

“I like her a lot.” He dips his head lower so that his forehead barely touches the top of your head. “I like her mother, too.” Your heart thumps but in a good way. It’s like everyone else around you disappears until it’s only you and Spencer. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

You look up at him with tears. “What?”

“If time and space is what you need, I’ll give it to you. Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“You might be waiting a while,” you whisper.

“I’m a patient man.”

You rest your head on Spencer’s chest and let the music guide you. He runs his hand up and down your back, creating a safe and warm aura about him.

“You make me feel safe,” you whisper.

Whether he hears it or not, he doesn’t respond. He just continues to dance with you long after the song has ended.

x

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[sherewrytes]

Ex husband Eren:

warning: smut, angst and whatever else my mind can come up with on a whim :)Son's name is Lennox

word count: 14070

I didnt proof read this, i just wrote

Ex husband Eren:

Eren wasn't sure how he went from landing himself the best woman he ever had in his life. It wasn't only your looks that drew him in. It was the way you cared for him when no one in his life did. You were the first person to show him love, care, the works. Part of him knew he should've been around more; said I love you more. He knew the divorce was his fault in the end

but that being said, he is determined to make up for lost time.

your pov

Today is Eren's pick-up day for your 3-year-old son Lennox. he's splitting image of him. The only difference is he's tanner and has curly hair. You were well trying to wrangle your son to get ready to spend the usual 3 days with his father. "Lenny, baby, Mommy has to get you ready to go see Daddy" You watch him smile and run off screaming obviously thinking you both are playing a game.

Eren’s POV

Eren watched you through the screen door as you tried to keep up with Lennox, who was darting around the room like a flash of tan curls and excitement. He could still picture the last time he tried to wrangle the little guy, getting lost in his joy. Lennox was so much like you in spirit, so much like him in looks—a constant reminder of everything Eren could have had if he’d just been the man you deserved. But the past three months had been eye-opening, pushing him to reflect on what went wrong.

Now, more than anything, he wanted to show you that he could change.

Your POV

"Gotcha!" you exclaimed, finally scooping Lennox into your arms as he squealed and laughed. "All right, mister, let’s get you packed for Daddy’s place," you murmured, knowing Eren would be at the door any moment.

You felt the telltale rush of nerves every time he came by to pick Lennox up. But you knew what this was about: Eren’s endless excuses to linger, his almost-too-frequent “accidental” brushes against your hand when he passed you something, the way his gaze lingered on you just a bit too long. Even now, a small part of you couldn’t ignore the slight thrill that ran through you whenever he looked at you with that hungry, brooding expression.

When the doorbell rang, you opened it to find Eren, a faint smirk on his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes moving over you in a way that felt all too familiar.

Eren’s POV

As you stood there, holding Lennox on your hip, Eren couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over you. God, you hadn’t changed—you were still stunning, more so now, with a soft confidence he hadn’t appreciated enough before. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to play it cool, but every part of him screamed to close the gap, to reach for you.

After a few minutes of small talk, Eren, still standing close, tilted his head. “You know,” he began, lowering his voice as his fingers lightly grazed the bare skin of your arm, “if you’re free later, maybe we could talk. Just us. I’ve missed you, and…I think we both know there’s more to say.”

As Lennox wiggled away from your grip, he made a quick dash for the lamp on the side table. "Lennox," you sighed, moving to stop him, but Eren took the chance to gently nudge you aside, his hand lingering on your waist just a bit longer than necessary.

"I got this," he murmured, stepping forward to deal with your son, who was now pouting up at him with a little frown that looked way too familiar.

“Hey, Lenny, remember what I said last time? Lamps are not toys,” Eren scolded gently, lifting Lennox into his arms. His tone was calm, but firm, his gaze softening as Lennox’s pout deepened, looking almost identical to yours when you were annoyed with him. Eren couldn’t help the slight smirk that tugged at his lips as he saw your reflection in your son’s stubborn expression.

“He’s a handful,” you muttered, crossing your arms and trying not to notice how easily Eren handled Lennox. It was moments like these that reminded you of why you’d fallen for him, back when things were simpler, back when he wasn’t so…absent.

“Wonder where he gets it from,” Eren quipped, casting a sidelong glance in your direction. When you rolled your eyes again, he chuckled, that low sound you used to love. "What?" he challenged. "You know, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Friends or not, that’s not something that changes."

A part of you wanted to brush it off, to laugh or scoff, but his voice was different this time—low and earnest, with a hint of regret and maybe something else. For a moment, it felt like you were back in the early days when he could sweep you off your feet with just a few words. You swallowed, trying to hold onto the resolve you’d built up over the past few months.

“Eren,” you started, keeping your tone firm. “You know why this doesn’t work anymore. We’re not the same people we were back then.”

He shifted, pulling Lennox close before meeting your gaze again. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss us. And it doesn’t mean I won’t try to fix things—no matter how long it takes.”

“You should go, Eren,” you said, your tone firm but with a hint of exasperation as you watched Lennox starting to rub his eyes. “You know he gets cranky if he doesn’t nap soon.”

Eren gave a sly smile, leaning just a little closer. “Or,” he replied softly, “I can just stay.”

“That’s not a good idea, Yeager.” You crossed your arms, trying to keep your tone steady, but his closeness made it difficult.

“Oh, so I’m ‘Yeager’ now? Not Eren?” His smirk widened, but there was something softer in his eyes. “Just my last name, huh?”

“It is your last name,” you shot back, holding your ground.

He let the silence linger, his gaze not wavering. “It’s yours as well,” he murmured, leaning even closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Was, Eren. It was.”

The words hit him harder than he’d expected, and for a moment, he stood there, at a loss. Then he sighed, nodding and glancing down at Lennox, who had started nodding off in his arms. “Right. But it doesn’t have to be that way,” he said softly, almost to himself.

His words made your heart skip a beat, but you quickly shook it off. "That’s in the past," you replied, taking Lennox gently from his arms and feeling the warmth of Eren's lingering touch. "Just…take him for the weekend, Eren.”

Eren nodded, but his hand reached out, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment. “I’ll see you soon.” He left with a final, lingering glance, and as the door shut, you couldn’t help but wonder if the past was as distant as you tried to make it.

Eren strapped Lennox into his car seat in his Matte black G wagon Lennox was giggling and smiling in the back seat heading back to his place. Eren wishes he didn’t have to leave their… y/n’s home.

Later, as the kids finally passed out after an eventful evening spent with Onyankapon's daughter Rummie and Connie’s son, Connie Jr., Eren sat around with the guys, unwinding with a couple of drinks. Inevitably, the conversation turned to wives and relationships, as it always did—except this time, Eren felt the strange, familiar sting of being the only single one in the room.

Ony smirked, scrolling through his phone. “Kaylah’s out clubbing tonight,” he muttered.

“Her too,” Connie chimed in. “Solene’s going with her.”

Ony shrugged. “Yeah, I heard they’re all going to that new place, Paradia. They even convinced Y/N to go.”

Eren’s jaw tightened at the mention of your name. “Wait. Who’s going?”

Ony shook his head, already seeing where this was going. “Not this again, Eren. Leave her alone, man.”

“Nah, nah, I just asked a question,” Eren muttered defensively, but there was an edge in his voice.

Ony glanced at him, exasperated. “That’s why she left your ass in the first place.”

Eren’s eyes darkened as he set down his drink. “And what do you even know about my marriage, huh?”

Ony didn’t back down. “More than you, apparently, ‘cause Y/N’s been complaining about your shit for years.”

Connie raised a hand, trying to de-escalate. “Yo, Ony, chill—”

But Ony wasn’t stopping. “Nah, someone’s gotta tell him.”

Eren clenched his jaw, barely able to keep his temper in check. “Tell me what, man?”

Connie sighed, glancing at Eren with a mixture of frustration and pity. “Eren, look—you’ve been neglecting her for years. Choosing to hang with us instead of being home with her, ignoring her calls when she’s just checking in…arguing over money when you both know that’s not even an issue for either of you. You act like she doesn’t mean anything to you, like she’s just there. You want me to go on?”

Eren was silent, his fists clenched, staring at the floor as their words started to sink in. He knew, deep down, that they were right. And yet, hearing it laid out like that hit him harder than he’d expected.

Ony didn’t hold back, his voice steady but with an edge that cut deep. “And let’s not forget about that toxic-ass friend of yours. The one who kept telling you to bail on her, hyping you up to act like she didn’t matter. You listened to him, man. When she needed you the most, when her dad was sick, you bailed. She went through that whole thing alone. You didn’t show up, didn’t even check in on her.” Ony shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. “You’re a real…fuck-ass nii—”

He cleared his throat, almost laughing bitterly. “We’ve talked about this with you for years. Hell, you even got into it with her brother because of that same ‘friend’—the one you let threaten her. Your wife, bro! And now, you wanna act mad because she’s out having fun, living her life?”

Eren tried to brush it off, tried to hold onto that defensive anger, but each word chipped away at the front he’d put up. Ony leaned in, eyes sharp. “How do you plan to fix any of that, huh?”

Eren looked down, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the table, Ony’s words echoing in his mind. “She met you when you had nothing, man. Look at your life now. She’s the one who was there, lifting you up, pushing you forward, making sure you had everything you needed. And how’d you repay her? By being a…a fuck-ass loser, gaming ‘til 3 a.m., blowing her off when she needed you the most.”

Eren clenched his jaw, the reality hitting him like a punch to the gut. He tried to keep his cool, but Ony wasn’t done.

“And now you’re saying you want her back? Now that she’s gone, you finally wanna try?” Ony’s voice softened, but the disappointment was clear. “Man, she’s out there living her life. You’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot more than just ‘want her back’ if you even think about being part of it again.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Eren muttered, struggling to find his footing. “I was dealing with a lot—”

Connie scoffed, shaking his head. “And you think she wasn’t? She married you, gave you a son, helped you get on your feet, twice. She was right there with you through everything. And what does she get? A husband who thinks she’s supposed to be grateful just ‘cause you didn’t cheat?”

Ony shook his head, his expression hardening. “Nah, man. You’re a full-on waste man. We’ve been your boys for years, telling you about this for years. But it’s like talking to a wall. You’re still friends with that toxic ass Elijah, aren’t you?”

Eren shifted uncomfortably, but Connie cut him off before he could respond.

“Did you even know he drove by your house talking wild about her when she was pregnant with Lenny?” Connie’s eyes bore into Eren’s, a rare mix of anger and disbelief on his face. “He was saying she’s gotta go, talking reckless, wishing her dead, man. And she told you about it, and what did you do? Took his side. You chose that trash over her, the woman carrying your son, the woman who’s been down for you from day one.”

Eren’s face darkened, guilt and anger mixing as he listened. He wanted to say something, anything, but the weight of his friends’ words left him speechless.

“Your own cousins had to step in to protect her,” Ony added, leaning back with a scoff. “And you? You did nothing. Didn’t even stand up for her. And now, here you are, mad that she’s finally out there living her life, trying to be happy. Man…fuck outta here with that.”

Eren swallowed hard, feeling the truth of every word, the silence that followed thick and suffocating. He could feel the resentment in the room—a long-standing frustration that had finally boiled over. And for the first time, Eren realized how far he’d let things slip away, and how much he’d lost in the process.

Eren leaned back in his chair, his hands running through his hair in frustration, his voice thick with regret. “Man,” he muttered, the weight of it all sinking in. “I messed up. I know I messed up. But… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Ony’s eyes narrowed, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. “Messed up? That’s an understatement, bro. How you gon’ be around a man who threatened your wife, huh? She wasn’t your ex-wife, not even your girl—your wife, man. How you gonna fix that?”

Eren opened his mouth to reply, but Ony wasn’t done. “You had a chance to protect her. To stand up for her. And you chose to do nothing. You don’t just get to walk back into her life like nothing happened.”

Connie leaned back, taking a swig of his drink, then sighed, shaking his head. “Ony, man, you’re wasting your breath. Look at him.” He gestured toward Eren, a sharp bitterness in his voice. “Eren cares about Eren. It’s obvious Y/N ain’t mean that much to him anyway.”

Eren’s chest tightened at Connie’s words, but he tried to defend himself. “She does, man, she—”

Ony cut him off with a harsh scoff, leaning forward. “E, tell it to someone who cares.” He let the silence sit for a moment before continuing. “You think you can fix this with a couple of ‘I’m sorry’s’? With a text, or showing up when it’s convenient for you? Nah, man. You’ve gotta do the work, and you didn’t.”

The sting of their words hit harder than anything physical, and Eren slumped back in his chair, the anger, regret, and frustration churning inside him. The realization that he had lost her—and possibly them—for good was something he wasn’t ready to accept. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how to make things right. He wasn’t even sure where to start.

Connie’s words hit hard, slicing through the room like a cold wind. He sighed, his tone heavy with frustration. “Why do you even still hang with that man, bro? Did you ever love Y/N, or was she just convenient ‘cause she loved you when no one else did?”

Eren froze, unable to respond right away. The question hung in the air, burning like a brand. His mind raced, but all that came out was silence. He knew Connie was right—he had let Elijah stick around for way too long, even though he’d known for years that the guy was trouble. He’d always had issues letting go of things, of people. But now, hearing it out loud, it made him feel like a fool.

And then, just as the tension threatened to suffocate him, Eren laughed—bitterly, almost hysterically. "Y/N told me this would happen. That she'd leave. She told me everything...but I have to repay her for everything she did for me, man." His voice wavered, but he tried to hold onto some semblance of pride.

Ony didn't buy it. “Maybe you can repay her by letting her go, Eren. Stop holding on like this is something you can fix by force.”

Eren’s heart slammed against his chest, panic bubbling inside him. “I can’t do that, man. I love her,” he said firmly, almost pleading, as though saying it out loud would make it true.

Connie burst out laughing, the sound sharp and mocking. “You’re funny, man,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You love her? You’ve been so busy with everything else that you didn’t even see her. You can’t just love someone when it’s convenient, bro. Love is action, not words.”

Eren’s laugh faltered. It was like a cold splash of water, the reality sinking in. He could say all the right things, but he knew it didn’t matter if he didn’t change, if he didn’t prove it. He was losing her, and the regret was like an anchor weighing him down.

Ony’s voice was low and steady. “If you love her, you need to let her be. Let her have the space she needs to breathe again. You can’t fix what’s broken by holding onto it too tight.”

But Eren wasn’t ready to hear that. Not yet. Not when everything inside him screamed to fight for her, to make it right somehow.

“I’m not ready to let her go,” he muttered, the words feeling like a confession he wasn’t proud of. “But I don’t know how to make things right either.”

Slight time skip.

The weekend with Lennox passed by in a blur, each moment spent with his son pulling Eren deeper into the quiet realization of how much he had messed up. Lennox was so full of life, so innocent, and every laugh, every hug, every small gesture made Eren’s chest ache with regret. He watched the way his son looked at him, as if he was the most important person in the world, and it made him realize how much he had taken for granted.

You had given him everything. When he could barely afford to feed himself, you made sure he ate. You were the one who supported him when he had nothing, when his dreams were just that—dreams. You fed him, clothed him, and helped him build a life, and he had been too blind to see it. You took away all his burdens, but in return, it seemed like he had left you with nothing but more.

Later that night, after Lennox had fallen asleep in his room, Eren found himself scrolling through your Instagram. He tried not to, but his fingers betrayed him as they tapped on the screen, his eyes scanning through the pictures and videos from your night out. You looked happy. You looked free, laughing with friends, living a life that didn’t include him.

The pang of guilt hit him again. It stung more than he expected. You had always been beautiful, but now, in these pictures, it was different. You looked so alive, so at peace. And it hit him hard—you never really smiled with him. Not like that. The way you smiled in these photos, the way you were carefree and glowing, was something he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was as if all the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders, and for the first time in a long time, you were truly yourself again.

Eren’s heart twisted in his chest. He had been so focused on himself, on his struggles, that he hadn’t even noticed how much he had drained you. How much he had left you to carry on your own while he just kept taking.

The thought of how much he had messed up, how much he had hurt you, hit him like a ton of bricks. You had given him everything, and he had given you nothing in return—not even the basic decency of truly being there. He had let you go, and now you were living your life, and he was left with nothing but regret.

His finger hovered over the screen, a text message to you sitting in his drafts, but he couldn't bring himself to send it. The words seemed empty, not enough to fix what he had broken.

Eren sighed, setting the phone down on the counter. The weight of his mistakes hung heavy in the air, suffocating him.

Your POV

You hadn’t heard from Eren all weekend, and to be honest, you were kind of relieved. The quiet had been nice, but it wasn’t without its own weight. You missed your little boy, Lennox, more than you cared to admit. The house felt too empty without him running around, causing chaos, or asking you a thousand questions. It was strange, the silence.

You figured if you called his iPad, he’d ignore the call as usual—typical Lenny. You chuckled to yourself, rolling your eyes. “Bad ass kid,” you muttered under your breath, but the thought of him made you smile despite yourself.

With a sigh, you decided to call Eren directly instead. Maybe, just maybe, you could talk to him about Lennox’s day. It’s not like you expected any real conversation, but you knew Eren wouldn’t ignore you. He picked up after three rings.

His face appeared on the screen, and you could immediately tell he was exhausted. Dark circles were under his eyes, his hair a little disheveled, and his expression was heavy.

“What’s up with you? Lenny wear you out with his antics?” you asked, trying to sound lighthearted, but there was a softness to your tone, a mix of concern and amusement. “I told you, he’s a handful.”

Eren let out a tired sigh, rubbing his face. “Lemme guess,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. “You called his iPad and he ignored you?”

You snorted. “You know he’s bad. You really think he’s gonna pick up for me?”

Eren’s eyes flickered for a second, a small, tired grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “He gets that from you,” he said, the words almost too quiet, like a fleeting moment of honesty.

“Yeah, right,” you said with a sarcastic smile, but your voice softened. “Put my son on the phone. I miss my baby.”

Eren hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. Then, with a quiet exhale, he shifted his camera and called out to Lennox, his voice a little more gentle. "Lenny, come here, bud. Mommy’s on the phone."

You waited eagerly, your heart tightening in your chest as you saw Lennox’s little face pop up on the screen. His eyes lit up the moment he saw you, and his smile made everything feel right again, if only for a moment.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed, his tiny hands reaching for the screen. "I miss you!"

Your heart melted. "I miss you too, baby," you said, voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips. "How’s your weekend with Daddy?"

He started talking a mile a minute, telling you about his time with Eren, his adventures with his toys, and all the little things he’d been up to. It wasn’t much, but to you, it was everything. It was the little pieces of him that made you feel close, even if you couldn’t be there with him.

Eren watched the exchange quietly, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to watch Lennox. There was something in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t just tiredness, not just exhaustion—there was a depth there, a mix of regret and yearning that made your chest tighten. But for now, you pushed that aside, just grateful to see your son smiling, happy, and alive on the other side of the screen.

You listened intently as Lennox babbled on about his day, your heart swelling with every word. The way he spoke with such enthusiasm, like the world was his playground. It was one of those moments where, despite everything that had changed, you could still find a piece of normalcy in the way he talked about his little world.

"And then when I woke up, Daddy was talking to Unca Connie and Unca Ony about mommy," Lennox said, his voice full of innocence as he continued recounting his weekend.

Your smile faltered for a brief second, and you looked at Eren. His expression was unreadable, but the way he was holding the phone, the slight stiffening of his posture, made something stir inside you. You raised an eyebrow, a playful yet pointed look on your face. "Oh, really?" you asked, curiosity mixing with a hint of sarcasm.

"Yah," Lennox said matter-of-factly, not picking up on the weight in the conversation. "Apparently they made Daddy look really sad. But then I watched Coco Melon with Rummie and CJ."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. "Coco Melon," you mused, "the cure for all things, huh?"

Eren didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the screen for a moment, his gaze briefly flicking between you and Lennox. You could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the conversation Lennox had just mentioned. It made your chest tighten a little, but you didn’t press it. Not yet, anyway.

Lennox, oblivious to the shift in the conversation, turned his attention to Eren with a sudden change of subject. "I want snacks, Daddy," he said, his voice demanding, just like any three-year-old who had a sudden craving.

Eren blinked, snapping back to the moment. He gave a small chuckle, the smile on his face genuine but tired. "Alright, alright, buddy," he said, his voice soft as he looked at his son. "I’ll get you something."

You could see the change in him when he looked at Lennox—his walls softening, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he focused on his son. It made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. You were reminded of the man he used to be, the man you had fallen for, even if it felt like a lifetime ago.

"How about some fruit and crackers?" Eren offered, his voice light as he moved toward the kitchen, still holding the phone.

Lennox’s face lit up. "Yay!" he cheered, clapping his little hands.

You smiled fondly at the interaction, but your mind was still spinning from what Lennox had said earlier. Eren had been talking about you with Connie and Ony? You wondered what exactly they had said to him. What had made Eren so sad?

Before you could dwell too much on it, Lennox’s attention returned to you, his voice suddenly small. "Mommy, when can I come home?"

The question hit you unexpectedly. Your heart twisted, and you had to swallow the lump that formed in your throat. "Soon, baby," you said, keeping your voice steady, though your eyes felt a little warmer than usual. "You’ll be back with Mommy before you know it."

You caught Eren looking at you for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. It was hard to tell if it was regret, guilt, or maybe just the weight of everything between you two. But for now, you held on to the moment, the quiet peace of seeing your son so happy.

Eren watched as Lennox dashed off toward the living room to grab his iPad, making zoom noises with each step, completely oblivious to the tension building in the room. He sighed, leaning back against the counter as he rubbed his forehead. "I don't know where he gets all this energy from," he muttered, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips as he watched Lennox run off.

You didn't let him linger on the moment for long. You weren’t in the mood for small talk or pretending that everything was fine. Cutting straight to the heart of the matter, you asked, "You talking about me with Connie and Ony, Eren?"

His smile faltered, and his shoulders tensed. He didn’t look at you immediately, eyes flicking toward Lennox before finally settling on you. There was a moment of hesitation before he sighed again, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice almost too quiet. "They were... trying to talk some sense into me. You’ve been on my mind a lot, and they know it."

You couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion that surfaced at his words. Part of you was relieved that he wasn’t trying to dodge the question, but the rest of you felt a tightness in your chest. You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to snap, trying to keep your voice steady as you asked, "And what exactly did they say?"

Eren ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his posture. "They… they made me realize a lot of things I didn’t want to face. About us. About how I treated you." His gaze flickered toward the ground, as if he couldn’t quite look you in the eye as he said it. "I messed up, Y/N. I know I did. And I didn’t want to hear it from them, but... they’re right."

You took in a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I’m not here to listen to your excuses, Eren," you said, your voice softer but firm. "I’m not some… I’m not some lesson to be learned from your friends. You had the chance to make it right a long time ago."

Eren nodded slowly, the weight of his regret sitting heavily between you both. "I know," he said, his voice low, like he was ashamed to say it aloud. "I didn’t show up when I should have. I was so caught up in myself, I didn’t see how much you were doing for me. For us. You were right... you deserved better than that."

The words hit you harder than you expected. There was so much history between you, so many moments you’d both buried under years of silence and unspoken resentment. But hearing him admit it, even just a little, stirred something in you—something that made you hesitate before responding.

"You don’t get to just fix it all with a few words, Eren," you said, your heart beating a little faster. "I’m not your savior anymore. You chose all this."

Eren’s eyes softened, guilt flooding his gaze. "I know, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I’m trying, Y/N. I really am. I’m not asking for you to come back, or anything like that. But I need to show you that I can be better, that I can do right by you and Lennox."

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, the weight of everything lingering in the space between your words. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but after everything that had happened, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late for that kind of redemption.

But then, as if to interrupt the tension in the room, Lennox came bounding back into the kitchen, holding up his iPad triumphantly. "I got it, Mommy!" he cheered.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, his energy pulling you out of the heavy silence. Eren’s gaze softened again as he watched Lennox, and for a brief second, you saw the man he used to be—the one who had cared, who had loved. The one who still wanted to do right by his son.

You exhaled slowly, giving him a small nod. "You’ve got a lot to prove, Eren. But for now, let’s just focus on him." You pointed to Lennox, who was eagerly awaiting your attention.

Eren nodded, his expression quiet but resolute. "I will. I promise."

You said your goodbyes to Eren and Lenny. Eren asked if he can keep Lennox longer, you said you will call him back later with an answer. you then called up your group.

You leaned back against the counter as you listened to the back-and-forth in your group chat. The sound of their voices was comforting, a small reminder that you weren’t going through this alone. But the frustration, the anger, that still lingered inside of you came to a head with Jaynae’s words.

Jaynae didn’t hold back, as always, but her words were sharp and right on target. "Eren is a fuck ass white boy..." she started, and you could hear the anger in her voice. "Like Y/N doesn't know. What has he done for Y/N really? Nothing, even now, he’s stressing her about how he cares now and shit... fuck him, and I’m saying that bold."

Solene quickly jumped in, trying to tone things down. "Jay, don’t say that. We’re all feeling this way, but you don’t need to be that harsh."

Reiner’s voice cut through the background, low and calm, as he spoke to his wife. "Babe, relax." You could hear the concern in his voice, but Jaynae wasn’t having it.

You stared at your phone for a moment, absorbing everything they said. The anger in their voices mirrored what you had been feeling for so long. But part of you didn’t want to hear it from them, even though you knew it was the truth. You knew it deep down. You were so tired of carrying the weight of Eren’s actions. So tired of forgiving him every time he came crawling back.

You spoke up, your voice steady but strained. "I didn’t want to tell you guys this, but Lennox said something tonight." You heard them go silent, waiting for you to continue. "He said that when Eren was talking to Connie and Ony, he sounded really sad, like he felt bad about everything. He said he was talking about me and how he messed up."

Kaylah was the first to respond, her voice soft but knowing. "So Eren finally gets it. Took him long enough."

Solene agreed with a sigh, adding, "Doesn’t matter, though. He doesn’t know how much you cried over his shit. How many nights you spent worrying about him, about the future of your family, while he was out there… just not caring."

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to defend him—because, in a way, you always did—but the truth was, you couldn’t anymore. You had given him enough chances, let him back in more times than you cared to count, only for him to mess it up again.

Jaynae’s anger was palpable through the phone. "He doesn’t get to come back and act like he cares now. He fucked up. And I don’t care if he finally understands or not. It’s too little, too late." Her words hit you hard, but you knew she was right.

You felt a pang of guilt for not being able to protect yourself sooner, for not realizing how much damage had been done. You’d let him back into your life each time, hoping things would be different, but they never were.

Reiner’s voice cut through the chaos of emotions. "Babe, relax. We know you’re mad, but yelling isn’t going to fix it."

Jaynae let out a frustrated huff, but she seemed to take Reiner’s advice. "Fine. But Eren needs to hear this. He needs to know that this isn’t just about him feeling bad. It’s about the years of bullshit he put you through. The neglect. The selfishness."

You nodded, even though no one could see you. "Yeah. It’s about time he realized it, but I don’t know if I can just forgive him, even if he gets it now."

Kaylah’s voice was warm, understanding. "Don’t force yourself to, Y/N. You’ve done enough for him. It’s his turn to make things right, but you don’t owe him forgiveness if you’re not ready for it."

Solene agreed, adding, "You have to do what’s best for you and Lennox. Don’t let him back in unless you truly feel he’s worth it."

You felt a small bit of relief in their words. You weren’t alone in this. You didn’t have to make this decision on your own. Your friends, your support system, were there, reminding you that you were allowed to be angry, to take time, and to protect yourself.

"I’ll call him back later," you said, finally. "But I don’t know what to tell him. I can’t just… go back to how things were. Not after everything."

Jaynae’s voice softened. "Do what you need to do, girl. We’ve got your back, no matter what."

You smiled slightly, feeling the weight of the support from your friends. Maybe you didn’t have to figure everything out tonight. Maybe you just needed time to breathe, to think, and to make sure that whatever decision you made, it would be the one that was right for you and Lennox.

For now, you just needed to focus on him, the only person who had been there for you through everything. And that was enough.

You sometime after the call to clean up the house, put away Lennox's toys and do a quick target run. your car was in the shop so you had to Uber there. Part of you with Lennox was here right now, he loved you guys' lil target runs. while picking up his lil snacks and stuff for yourself. You heard someone say, Mommy, you follow the voice to see Lennox running towards you and Eren not too far behind.

You stood there for a moment, the sight of Eren and Lennox in their matching sweat suits catching you off guard. The last thing you expected was to see Eren, out of the blue, walking toward you with a cart full of healthy snacks and juices for Lennox. You had come to Target for a quick run, and now you had to face him—looking tired, a little off, but still... there, with your son.

Lennox was practically bouncing with excitement, running up to you with a wide grin on his face. "Mommy!" he called out, his voice full of joy as he wrapped his tiny arms around your legs.

You bent down to hug him back, smiling despite the tension that was bubbling inside you. "Hey, baby," you said softly, trying to hide the little knot of unease that had started forming in your stomach. You glanced up at Eren, who was standing not far behind, pushing a cart of what looked like the same things you had in yours. Healthy snacks, juices... the usual, but with a few extras. The toy car was definitely a surprise.

Lennox pulled back from you, eyes sparkling as he tugged at your sleeve. "Daddy took me to get snacks, Mom, and a new toy car! I want a big one! Can I get a big one?" he said, excitement practically radiating off of him.

You glanced at the toy aisle in the distance, then back at Eren, who simply shrugged as if to say, "What can I do?" You raised your eyebrows at him, silently asking, Where is he going to put that thing?

Eren gave you a tired smile, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looked at you and then at Lennox, who was practically bouncing on his heels in anticipation. "Let’s get a smaller one for now, okay?" he said gently to Lennox, who immediately pouted but nodded his agreement.

Lennox’s little face scrunched up in disappointment, but he obeyed, knowing that once he got to pick something, it would be hard to say no to him.

Eren then looked over at you, his expression soft but tired. "Want me to take over for a bit? Just add the stuff in your cart to mine, and I’ll finish it up for you," he offered, his voice low but calm.

For a moment, you hesitated. Part of you wanted to refuse, wanting to maintain your independence, but then you saw the exhaustion in his face. You couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of sympathy for him, despite everything. He looked like he was trying, but... was he really?

You glanced at your cart, the small stack of things you had grabbed already, and then back at Lennox, who was happily distracted by a row of toy cars. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let him help for once, especially when you had your hands full with so much already.

"Fine," you said, keeping your tone neutral, but there was something in the way you said it that made Eren pause for just a second. You added the items in your cart to his, keeping your gaze on Lennox as he fidgeted and glanced between the two of you. "Just don’t go overboard with the snacks this time, okay?" You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Eren nodded, pushing the cart a little closer to yours. "I won’t," he promised, though his voice held a hint of the same weariness that was obvious in his posture.

It felt odd—standing here with him in Target, talking about mundane things like toys and snacks when just the other day you could barely stand being in the same room with him. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was an attempt, some small sign that he was trying to make things right. But was it enough? Was he enough?

You couldn’t let your guard down just yet, even if you wanted to.

You and eren walked through the aisles, picking up stuff for your son's and your respective houses. You paused for a moment as Eren casually placed another item in the cart without asking, his fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. The simple gesture brought a flood of mixed emotions that you quickly shoved down. You'd been trying to keep your distance from him, both physically and emotionally, but somehow—here you were. Walking the aisles of Target with him, the man who had been a stranger in your life not so long ago, doing things for you without hesitation, like it was just another day in the world you used to share.

You gave him a sideways glance. "You don’t have to do that. I can handle my own, you know?" you said softly, though you didn’t move to take the item out of the cart.

He didn’t look at you right away, but his voice was low and steady when he responded. "I know you can, babe...Y/N...but just… let me, okay?"

The way he said your name, soft but insistent, made something in your chest tighten. You didn’t respond right away. Part of you wanted to insist on doing everything yourself, as you always had. But another part of you—something deep down—wanted to let him help. To let him in. To stop carrying the weight of everything all on your own.

Before you could process any more of that, you heard Lennox laughing and shouting as he ran ahead of you both, waving snacks in his tiny hands at strangers and telling them, "Hi!" like they were his best friends.

"Hey!" you called after him, but it was no use. He was already off, running toward the next group of people to share his little treats with. You couldn’t help but smile, even though you were mentally trying to corral him from a distance.

Eren watched him for a moment before turning to you, his gaze more serious now, and you could feel the weight of what he was about to say. "You’re doing a great job with him," he said, his voice softer than usual. "You know that, right?"

You paused, trying not to let the compliment make you feel anything more than what it was—just words. But it still hit you in a way you didn’t expect. You’d been doing everything for Lennox on your own for so long, putting in the work and making sure he was always taken care of, even when it felt like you were running on empty. To hear it from him—it was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

"Thanks," you said quietly, your eyes briefly meeting his. "It’s not easy, but I try. He’s worth it."

Eren didn’t reply right away, but you saw the look in his eyes—a mix of regret, pride, and maybe even something else you couldn’t place. The whole situation felt surreal. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to understand the weight of everything you’d been carrying.

But before you could get lost in your thoughts, Lennox came running back, face lit up with excitement as he tugged on your sleeve. "Mommy! Mommy! I want this one!" He showed you a toy car, the same one he'd pointed out earlier.

You smiled at your son’s enthusiasm, even as you glanced at Eren, who was still standing beside you, silently watching the exchange. You could almost feel his presence like a quiet support, as if he was trying to be part of this moment with you. Trying to fix things, even if it was just in little ways.

"Alright, Lenny," you said, leaning down to his level. "Let’s grab it and then we can get going. Daddy and I still have some shopping to finish."

Eren’s voice cut through before you could get back up. "Let me take care of the toy. You grab the rest."

You met his eyes again, studying his face for any hint of insincerity, but there was nothing there. Just that tired, yet genuine look.

After a moment, you gave in, nodding. "Okay."

It wasn’t about the toy. It wasn’t about the groceries. It was about this—this moment where you were both trying to figure out what came next. Trying, in your ways, to make things work for Lennox. Maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

You were finally up at the register, you went to tell the cashier to pass you a divider to separate your items and Eren stopped you and paid and handled everything.

 Eren pushed the cart out with Lenny sitting it looking a lil sleepy. 

Eren asked 'Where are you parked."

 "My car is in the shop." 

Eren sighed. Lemme drop you home then "Eren it's fine I'll call an uber." Eren eyed you up and down and put all the items in the car while strapping Lennox in the car seat "Just get in yn...please"

You hesitated, your hand still hovering over your phone to call an Uber, but the look Eren gave you made you pause. His expression was somewhere between pleading and frustration, like he didn’t want to leave you to handle everything on your own. You could feel the weight of the moment—his insistence, the tension between you two that had never really gone away, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself.

You looked down at Lennox, who was already half-asleep in the cart, his little head drooping as he fought to stay awake. You knew you’d have to carry him from the cart to the car anyway, so maybe it would be easier just to let Eren drop you off.

"Please, Y/N," Eren repeated, his voice quieter now. "Just get in. I’m not trying to do anything. I just want to make sure you and Lenny get home safe."

His words caught you off guard, but there was sincerity in them. You could see it in the way he was carefully placing the bags in the trunk and strapping Lennox into the car seat, like he was trying to make up for everything that had happened.

You sighed, feeling a mix of exhaustion and confusion. The old part of you—the part that used to rely on him—wanted to say yes, wanted to just accept his help. But there was still that wall between you, that part of you that had been hurt too many times to let go easily.

"I don’t need you to do this, Eren," you said, your voice soft but firm. "I can handle it on my own."

Eren stood up, closing the trunk, and gave you a look that was almost... sad. His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he spoke again, this time more quietly. "I know you can. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help, Y/N. Let me do this."

You glanced at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was exhaustion and... maybe regret? You didn't know if it was enough to make you let go of your pride, but you could tell he wasn’t going to push any further.

With a sigh, you gave in, finally nodding. "Fine."

Eren’s face softened, relief flashing across his features, but he didn’t say anything more. He simply opened the passenger door for you and waited, stepping aside to let you in.

You climbed in, shutting the door behind you, and Eren quickly got in on the other side. As he started the car, the familiar hum of the engine filling the space between you, he didn’t say anything for a while. He seemed focused on the road, both hands gripping the wheel, his jaw tight as though he was holding something back.

Lennox was still half-conscious in the backseat, his little voice murmuring softly as he tried to stay awake. The car was quiet except for the sound of the road and your son's occasional mumble, but the silence between you and Eren felt different this time. Less cold, maybe even a little softer.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything—the past, the present, the things left unsaid. But for now, you let it go, and for the first time in a long while, you just allowed yourself to be in this moment.

Eren's pov 

She fell asleep in the passenger seat of my car. I took out my phone and took a picture of her then one of Lennox passed out in the back seat. I felt terrible.

While I was out there acting like yn didn't mean anything to me, putting fake friends above her. All she ever did was love me and try to learn to love me when I didn't love myself. 

Eren’s heart tightened in his chest as he stared at the photos on his phone. He didn’t care that it felt wrong to snap the pictures without her knowing—he had to see it. He had to remind himself of what he lost, of the love that had once been so constant in his life and now felt like a distant memory. The photo of Y/N, peaceful in the passenger seat, her hair falling across her face as she slept, made the guilt burn in his stomach. She looked so... content—something he hadn't given her in so long.

He stared at Lennox in the rearview mirror. His son, just like him, already fighting sleep, but the exhaustion won out. The sight of Lennox sleeping soundly made the pain cut even deeper. He wasn’t just hurting Y/N; he was hurting their son. Their family.

This is what I lost.

The words echoed in his mind, over and over, until they burned into his skull. He’d made a mess of everything. While he had been out there, pretending he didn’t need her, letting people like Elijah cloud his judgment and get in his head, Y/N had been there—always there. Loving him in the way that only she could. And what did he do? He pushed her away, took her for granted, chose everything and everyone else over her, and watched her slowly break apart.

What did she even see in him? What kind of man was he, that he let something so real slip away?

He turned the wheel, taking the turn toward her house, his fingers gripping the wheel with a mixture of desperation and regret. He didn’t know what else to do, or what to say. Words felt useless now. He had to show her, somehow, that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right. If she’d even let him.

But the thought of her moving on without him, of him being just another chapter in her past, gnawed at him. He hated it. The thought of her smiling, truly smiling, with someone else—someone who could love her the way she deserved—was unbearable.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and he forced the thoughts away.

No. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

He glanced over at Y/N, still asleep beside him, her breathing slow and steady. She had always been so strong—too strong for her own good. He didn’t deserve her, but he wasn’t going to let her go without fighting for her. This time, he wasn’t going to fuck it up. This time, he was going to show her that he saw her. That he valued her. That he loved her.

It was time to stop being the man who kept running away from his own feelings. It was time to be the man who could fight for the woman he loved.

The woman he still loved.

Your pov

He woke you up gently, letting me know he was here, his voice soft enough not to wake Lennox. You watched as he unstrapped Lenny from his car seat, carefully lifting him into his arms, his hands steady as he held our son close. He carried him inside with that effortless ease, like it was the most natural thing in the world, then went back out to bring in the bags.

You took Lenny to his room, and got him ready for bed, tucking him in and whispering a goodnight before slipping back out. When you returned to the living room, Eren was busy unpacking the bags, putting away all the things we’d picked out at Target, as if this was still his home too. The quiet between us was heavy, and you found myself glancing over, wondering what was going through his mind.

“About the stuff you were gonna take for Lenny,” you said, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, barely looking up. “I’m good for it. Just wanna make sure things are straight here first.”

you nodded, taking in his familiar expression, the hint of something behind those tired eyes. “Thanks, Eren.”

He paused, his gaze finally meeting mine. “Y/N… can we talk? Like, for real?”

His voice held a rawness you hadn’t heard in a long time.

Part of you wanted to tell him to leave, to protect yourself from whatever promises or apologies he had for you now. But another part—the part that still felt the sting of lost years and wasted dreams—was curious. Maybe, after all this time, he had something real to say.

"Alright," you finally said, folding your arms and leaning against the kitchen counter as he finished putting the last few items away.

He turned to face you, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking more like a man on the verge of spilling his soul than the self-assured Eren you once knew. “I know I messed up,” he started, his eyes finding yours with a mix of remorse and determination. “I didn’t just mess up... I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him get it out, though the words struck a chord.

“I took you for granted, Y/N. I was so focused on everything else—the guys, the business, my own pride—hell, I don’t even know what I was so focused on half the time. And the worst part? You were the one constant, the one person who showed up, who never quit, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away like he was ashamed. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or take me back. I know it doesn’t work like that. But... I need you to know that I see it now. I see what I did to you, and it eats me up inside.”

A lump formed in your throat as you looked at him, trying to keep your emotions in check. You’d waited so long to hear something like this from him, but now that he was finally saying it, it was almost too much.

He continued, “I’m trying to be better. For Lennox... and for you. Even if we never go back to the way things were, I need you to know that. And if I can ever make things right, if there’s ever anything you need, I’ll be there. I swear, I’ll be there.”

You took a shaky breath, glancing at the man in front of you—the man who, for the first time in a long time, seemed honest. Vulnerable. And maybe even a little lost.

“Eren…” you started, choosing your words carefully. “I needed this... a long time ago. I don’t know if I can ever forget the things we went through, and I don’t know if it’ll ever feel the same.”

He nodded, his expression a mixture of regret and understanding. “I know. I don’t expect you to. I just—thank you for hearing me out.”

There was a silence between you, filled with all the words you couldn’t say, all the apologies he could never fully express.

As Eren moved to leave, you felt something stir inside you, a mixture of anger and longing that you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Eren, wait,” you said sharply, and he froze, hand on the doorknob. He turned back, eyes searching your face with a glimmer of hope. “Stay,” you said, your voice softer this time. “I mean… for Lennox. He’d probably want you here when he wakes up.”

He hesitated, clearly surprised, but you saw the flicker of relief flash across his face. Eren nodded slowly, stepping away from the door and back into the room.

You crossed your arms, not fully ready to let your guard down. “Don’t think this changes anything,” you said, unable to stop yourself from letting the bitterness show. “This… confession or apology or whatever this is. You don’t get to just walk back in here like nothing happened.”

“I know that, Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance, especially not from you.”

You laughed, though there was no humor in it. “You think an apology can undo years of you putting everyone else before me? Making me feel like a fool for sticking by you?”

His jaw clenched, eyes hardening. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for it? I’m here because I want to make things right, not pretend that I didn’t screw everything up.”

You stepped closer, the tension between you sparking like electricity. “But you didn’t care when it mattered, did you, Eren? When I was crying, begging you to put us first—you were out there, with your boys or with some leech of a friend. And now, after all this time, you want to feel bad?”

Eren’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You don’t think I know what I did?” he shot back, his voice rising. “You don’t think I see it every time I look at you and realize that I lost the only person who ever gave a damn about me? I know I’m too late—I just can’t sit here and do nothing about it.”

You let out a shaky breath, the anger warring with an ache that had never fully left you. “You say that now, but it’s easy to regret it all when you’ve already lost. It’s too late to go back, Eren. You can’t just show up now and act like you’re some savior.”

He took a step forward, closing the space between you, his eyes intense, filled with something raw. “You don’t think I know I’m too late? I’m just trying, for once in my life, to do the right thing. Even if you hate me.”

Your chest tightened as he looked at you like that, with a fire in his gaze that was so familiar, so maddening. His presence filled the room, suffocating yet strangely comforting, a reminder of all the nights you spent hoping he’d say these words.

“I should hate you,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “I should hate you for all the ways you hurt me. And yet…”

He held your gaze, his expression shifting to something softer, more vulnerable. “And yet… what?”

You shook your head, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill. “I don’t even know anymore, Eren. Part of me wants to push you out and never see you again, and part of me…”

You trailed off, feeling foolish, but Eren’s hand reached out, brushing against your arm. The touch sent a jolt through you, reigniting emotions you’d tried to bury. His eyes softened as he looked at you, and you felt a pang of the old connection that had once been your everything.

“If there’s any part of you that doesn’t want me gone,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “then let me try. Even if it’s just for Lennox.”

You searched his face, torn between the anger, the hurt, and the memories. “Fine,” you said finally, voice thick with emotion. “You can stay tonight. But don’t think this is some invitation to waltz back into my life like nothing happened. You have to earn every bit of my trust back, and right now, you’re starting from nothing.”

Eren nodded, a glimmer of relief crossing his face. “I’ll take it,” he said softly, as if he knew the magnitude of what you’d just allowed.

You turned away, heading towards your room with one last look over your shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

It was 1 a.m., and sleep just wouldn’t come. You slipped out of bed and made your way downstairs, hoping maybe a glass of water or the stillness of the night would bring some calm. When you reached the back porch, you spotted Eren outside, sitting alone, his silhouette softened by the dim glow of his cigarette. You watched for a moment, noticing his lips moving, unsure if he was on the phone or just talking to himself.

“Man, I don’t know if I can handle this,” you heard him murmur, his voice barely cutting through the quiet night air. “I know I deserve this, but… I really love her.”

And then another voice came through the line—a voice you recognized all too well: Elijah.

“For what, her?” Elijah scoffed, his tone dripping with venom. “I been told you she ain’t no good. Her and her whole fuck-ass family. You think it’s her that’s got you where you’re at? It’s all you, man. She divorced you, took half of what you worked for, and you didn’t even want children in the first place.”

You stayed quiet, pulse quickening, curiosity and a hint of hurt holding you in place. You wanted to hear Eren’s response—needed to.

Eren sighed, his voice quieter, wearier. “Why you hate her so much, man?”

“‘Cause she ain’t shit, bro,” Elijah snapped, a hint of anger and arrogance. “She’s useless, ain’t ever taken care of you, ain’t no good.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Eren’s jaw clenched, his profile shadowed but strong. His reply cut through the tension.

“This is why I was tryna keep my distance from you.”

Elijah cursed, his voice harsh and biting, words meant to tear at Eren’s resolve. But Eren didn’t respond. His grip tightened on the phone before he muttered, “I’m good, man,” and hung up, letting the phone drop beside him. He leaned back, took another long drag from his cigarette, eyes lost somewhere in the distance, the weight of his thoughts heavy on his shoulders.

You stood there, unseen but unable to ignore the quiet intensity of the scene, a small crack of light on the depth of Eren’s struggle… and maybe something else.

You watched him quietly from the shadows, your heart pounding at what you’d just heard. Eren seemed worn down, his shoulders slumped as he took a long drag, staring out into the night. You didn’t know whether to feel vindicated, hurt, or relieved—maybe all of it at once. You’d suspected for a long time that Elijah was one of the reasons behind Eren’s distance, but to hear it confirmed felt like reopening an old wound.

After a few moments, Eren seemed to notice your presence. He turned, his eyes widening slightly before settling into a tired look, one you recognized as the same mix of shame and frustration that always appeared when he was forced to confront the mess he’d created.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, trying for a casual tone, though he seemed to sense there was no use in pretending.

You shrugged, stepping closer and crossing your arms. “Funny, I could say the same about you. Heard enough to know I was right about him.”

Eren exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping as he stubbed out the cigarette. “You don’t need to worry about Eli. I… I’m done with him.” He sounded as though he was convincing himself as much as you.

“Eren,” you began, searching for the words. “You kept him around for years, even when I told you what he’d been saying, even when you knew what he thought of me.” The words felt heavy as they left your lips, carrying the weight of all the nights you’d tried to explain why it hurt you that he valued Eli’s word so much.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. And I should have listened to you. Hell, I should have seen it myself. I was so wrapped up in trying to hang onto everything… my friends, my pride, my independence, that I didn’t realize what I was letting go of until it was too late.” He paused, his voice softening. “And now, it’s you I’m trying to hang onto.”

You crossed your arms tighter, steeling yourself. “Words don’t mean much, Eren. Not anymore.”

He looked at you with a kind of desperation that made your resolve waver, just slightly. “I know they don’t. But I need you to know that it’s not just words. I’ve been cutting off people who aren’t any good for me. I want to be better for Lennox… and for you, if there’s even a chance I could earn that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “It’s going to take more than just getting rid of people, Eren. You’ve hurt me in ways I can’t just forget.”

He looked down, guilt flashing across his face. “I know. And if that means we never get back together, then… then I have to live with that. But I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and charged, as you watched him, conflicted. His words sounded real, but the years of broken promises made it hard to trust anything he said. Still, the vulnerability in his eyes made it hard to turn away.

You finally nodded. “Then prove it. Not just to me, but to Lennox. Show me that this isn’t just another empty promise.”

Eren stubbed out his cigarette, his gaze softening as he noticed you by the doorway. Without a word, he reached over, taking your hand and pulling you gently onto his lap. You could feel the warmth of his embrace and the lingering scent of smoke as he held you close, his chest rising and falling beneath you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was scared to let go.

The weight of his words, his touch—it all felt like it was tugging you back into memories you’d tried to bury. His breath was warm against your neck as he murmured, “I remember you picking out the colours for every room, saying how you wanted a place Lennox could run around in, how you pictured us… growing old here. I couldn’t see it then, but I can now.”

You shifted slightly, feeling a pang in your chest. “Eren… we’re not the same people we were back then. You say you love me now, but where was that love when I needed it most?”

He pulled you closer, his voice thick. “I know I can’t make up for all the ways I failed you, but I’m asking for a chance to be better. To give you the love you deserved from the start.”

You wanted to keep your resolve, to remind him that you weren’t someone he could just pull close when it suited him. But the way he held you, the sincerity in his voice—it was everything you’d wanted to hear, but it also reminded you of every hurtful memory, every time you’d felt alone in a house that should have been filled with love.

“You think it’s that simple?” you whispered, half-pleading, half-defiant, trying to keep from giving in completely.

“No. It’s not simple. It’s going to take time, and I know you might never forgive me fully. But if there’s even a small part of you that still wants me, that still remembers why we fell in love in the first place… then let me show you. Let me prove I’m not that selfish guy who didn’t appreciate you.” He looked into your eyes, his hand brushing a stray hair from your face. “Please, let me stay… for you and Lennox.”

The weight of his words lingered, stirring up feelings you weren’t ready to face. But with his arms around you, it felt, for just a moment, like maybe things could be different.

You sighed, a mixture of frustration and longing swirling inside you. Maybe it was a mistake—one that would pull you back into the hurt and anger you’d worked so hard to get past. But as you looked into his eyes, so filled with regret and something that almost felt like hope, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You looked away, not wanting him to see the vulnerability you’d just let slip. “But don’t think this is a reset. Things can’t just go back to how they were.”

Eren’s grip on you tightened, and you could feel the relief in his touch. “I know. I don’t want things to be the way they were. I want them to be better. I want to… earn this. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

You held his gaze, seeing a glimmer of the Eren you’d fallen for—the one who’d been lost to pride, mistakes, and years of neglect. It felt like standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure would hold, but a part of you, buried beneath the hurt, was curious enough to see if it could.

“Just… don’t make me regret this,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath your ear, steady but strong.

Eren leaned down, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t. Not this time.”

As you sat together, the silence between you felt both familiar and new, like the beginning of something unsteady but hopeful.

Eren’s lips brushed against yours, gentle at first, testing boundaries, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. The kiss was soft, slow, filled with an ache you hadn’t felt in ages, like he was searching for something in you he’d lost a long time ago.

His hand moved to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly as he deepened the kiss. You could feel the hesitation in him, the desperation, and yet… you let yourself get lost in it, sinking into the warmth of him, the familiarity of his touch that still managed to feel brand new.

His other arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. It was like he was afraid to let go, like he knew this moment was fragile, and he didn’t want to shatter it. You could feel his heart pounding against yours, each beat reminding you of what you’d once shared—and the pain that had come with it.

You broke away, just slightly, catching your breath, looking up at him. His eyes were heavy with emotion, raw, and for a second, you saw the vulnerability he’d kept hidden for so long.

“Eren,” you whispered, barely able to say his name, feeling the weight of everything it meant.

“I’m not gonna mess this up again,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with certainty. He searched your face, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Eren kissed you again this time picking you up and carrying you to your bed, the one you shared with him. Eren looked around the room for a moment “You didn’t change anything in here much.

You laughed “Nah, I liked the decor.”

Eren slowly pulled your pants down your legs, drinking in the sight of your bare skin with hungry eyes. He nudged your thighs further apart, settling between them like a man starved.

"Baby, please," he rasped, voice raw with desperation. "I need you back. Need to feel you again, all of you."

He lowered his head, tongue flicking out to taste your slick folds. Eren groaned at the first intimate brush of your essence on his tongue, the flavour igniting something primal deep within him. He lapped at your feverishly, delving deep with each broad stroke.

"Fuck, you taste divine," Eren gasped, mouth glistening with your arousal. "Missed this sweet cunt, missed hearing you scream on my tongue."

He sealed his lips around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud. His fingers joined in the assault, pumping in and out of your dripping channel in tandem with the thrusts of his tongue.

"Take me back, love," Eren pleaded, the words muffled against your skin. "Let me worship this pussy, fucking ruin you for anyone else."

He added a third finger, stretching your wide, feeling your walls begin to flutter around the intrusion. Eren knew you were close, could taste your impending release, and he doubled his efforts.

"Cum for me, baby," he commanded, voice a low growl. "Let go and fucking drench my face."

Eren sealed his mouth over yours again, tongue delving deep, fingers curling just right. He could feel the telltale tremble in your thighs, the sharp inhale

Fuck Daddy Ouu..Right there, you groaned.

Eren groaned against your heated flesh as you cried out for him, your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He could feel you getting closer and closer to the edge with each stroke of his tongue, each pump of his fingers.

"That's it, baby," he rasped, words muffled against your soaked folds. "Let go, cum all over Daddy's face."

your hands flew to Eren's hair, fisting the brown strands as he relentlessly worked you with his mouth and fingers. your body began to quake, back arching off the bed as your release crashed over you in waves.

"F-Fuck, Eren!" you wailed, hips bucking wildly against him. Eren held you down, keeping his mouth firmly in place to catch every drop of your essence. He lapped up your release greedily, the taste and sound of her pleasure shooting straight to his aching cock.

As your tremors began to subside, Eren pulled back, licking his lips in satisfaction. He crawled up your body, hovering over you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

"Mm, delicious as always," he purred, grinding his still-clothed erection against your sensitive clit. "But I'm not done with you yet, baby girl. Still need to feel this tight little cunt wrapped around my cock."

Without warning, Eren sat back on his heels and yanked his pants down, freeing his straining dick. In a quick movement, he flipped you onto her stomach and lifted your hips, lining himself up with your entrance.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," Eren groaned, catching a glimpse of her swollen glistening clit as he positioned himself behind her. 

The sight of your delicate, wet folds, still flushed and slick from your recent orgasm, made his mouth water. He had to taste her again, had to feel her come undone on his tongue again.  

"Shh, relax baby," Eren cooed, his breath ghosting over your heated skin. "Gonna make you feel so fucking good."  With that, he dipped his head, extending his tongue to lap at your tender bud. Your sharp inhale was music to his ears as he started to work you over with long, broad strokes. 

He alternated between fast flicks and slow, deliberate licks, teasing you mercilessly.  "That's it, let me hear those pretty little moans," Eren encouraged, one hand reaching up to pinch and roll a pert nipple. "Gonna suck this clit, make you ride my face until you're seeing stars."  He sealed his lips around the sensitive nub, suckling gently before grazing it with his teeth. 

At the same time, he slipped two fingers into your dripping channel, pumping them in time with the thrusts of his tongue. 

 Your hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as Eren relentlessly stimulated yourr most intimate places. Your thighs began to tremble, a telltale sign of your impending climax.  "Cum for me, baby," Eren demanded, voice low and authoritative. "Coat my tongue with your cum. Let me drink you down like a good boy."

Your body convulsed as another orgasm ripped through her, her inner walls clamping down around Eren’s fingers as she came undone on his tongue. He lapped up her release greedily, swallowing every drop of her essence with a low groan of appreciation.

As her tremors began to subside, Eren slowly withdrew his fingers from her needy cunt. He crept up her body, pushing your braids to one side to press open-mouthed kisses along the column of your sweat-slicked neck.

"Thank you, baby," he rasped against her skin, voice rough with emotion. "For giving me another chance to show you how much I need you, how much I fucking love you."

Eren felt his thick cock poised at her entrance, the blunt head nudging insistently against her swollen folds. Then, with a single, powerful thrust, Eren sheathed himself fully inside her, stretching her deliciously.

"Shit, you feel incredible," he groaned, hips rolling into yours. "Love being buried in this perfect pussy."

You whimpered, trying to rock your hips back to meet his slow, deliberate thrusts. But Eren held you firmly in place, using his weight to pin you down.

"Ah ah," he tutted, delivering a sharp smack to her ass. "Patience, baby. Gonna take my time with you, make this last."

You keened, the edge of frustration, "Please, Eren," she begged, "I need it harder, faster. Fuck me like you mean it!"

"No, not yet," Eren refused, voice a low growl. "Gonna make love to you first. Gonna make this last, take my time worshipping this gorgeous body."

He dipped his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your whimpers of frustration. One hand slid up to cup your breast, fingers toying with a pebbled nipple.

"Relax, love," Eren murmured against her mouth. "Let me make you feel good. Wanna savour every inch of you."

He pulled back slightly, drinking in the sight of you spread out beneath him, skin glistening with sweat and hair mussed. The visual alone nearly undid him. Slowly, torturously, Eren rocked into your welcoming heat, each leisurely thrust burying himself to the hilt. He groaned low in his throat at the exquisite drag of your inner walls along his sensitive length.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, dropping his forehead to hers. "You feel so damn good. Could stay buried in this sweet cunt forever."

Eren's hands roamed your body as he continued his steady, unhurried pace - mapping the dips and curves of your waist, gripping your hips to pull her flush against him. His thrusts remained deep and measured, stoking the embers of pleasure in your core.

"Gonna make you beg for it," Eren promised darkly, a smug smile curving his lips. "Wanna hear you plead for Daddy's cock, for me to fill this needy little pussy up."

Eren's voice was a low, demanding rumble in your ear. "That's it, baby. Beg for me like you had me begging for you to take me back. Let me hear how much you need this cock, how much you need me."

He pulled her hips flush against him, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each deep, deliberate thrust. The friction was maddening, stoking the fire in her veins.

You couldn't hold back, not with the way Eren was touching her, not with the way he was filling you so perfectly. "Please, Eren," you whimpered, your voice cracking with need. "I need you. I need your cock, need you to fuck me harder. Please, Daddy, I'm begging you. Take me, use me, make me yours. Fuck me like you'll never let me go."

All you cared about was the feeling of him buried deep inside you, the promise of release hovering just out of reach.

Eren groaned, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. "Fuck, baby, listen to you. So desperate for Daddy's cock. Such a good girl, coming undone on my dick."

He shifted the angle of his thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every drive of his hips. Your moans grew louder, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him desperately.

"That's it, cum for me," Eren rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Cum all over my cock. Look at you, so fucking desperate for it," Eren growled, his voice a guttural rasp. "Need Daddy's cock splitting you open, don't you? Need me to fill you up until you're fucking drowning in it."

He changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting that sweet spot inside her that had you seeing stars. Your inner walls clenched around him, fluttering and grasping as if trying to pull him even deeper.

"Gonna make you cum so hard," Eren promised darkly, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each stroke. "Gonna flood this pussy, mark you from the inside out. Let everyone know who you belong to."

He leaned down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your needy whimpers and moans. you clung to him, nails raking down his back, leaving red welts in their wake.

"Do it," you gasped out, your voice raw and desperate. "Fill me up, make me yours. Fucking breed me, Eren."

The words seemed to snap something inside him, and Eren reared back, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The headboard slammed against the wall with each powerful thrust, the bed creaking in protest beneath them.

"Fuck, baby, gonna - shit, I'm gonna - " Eren's words cut off with a strangled groan as his climax hit him like a freight train. His cock jerked as his release overtook him. Thick, hot spurts of his seed filled your spasming cunt, marking you from the inside out. Your orgasm followed shortly after, your inner walls milking him for every last drop.

"Fuck, baby," Eren panted, his hips still twitching with aftershocks. "You're so fucking perfect, taking everything I give you."

He collapsed on top of you, blanketing your smaller form with his larger one. For a moment, they simply lay there, catching their breath as the afterglow washed over them.

Slowly, Eren pulled out, his softening cock slipping free from your well-used cunt. He immediately felt the loss, the emptiness that came with not being connected to you.

With gentle hands, he rolled you onto your back, gathering you close. Eren nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses to the sweat-slicked skin.

"I love you," he murmured, the words a raw confession. "Love you so fucking much, baby. Gonna spend the rest of my life proving it to you if you'll let me."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. But all he found was love, trust, and a tentative hope.

[harzilla]

ohh. Brain rot time.

Long lost sibling AU. Except Yuu is the lost sibling of one of our dear Twst boys. Like through magically shenanigans Yuu is pulled from the twst verse as an infant or toddler(or in Malleus' case an egg) and ends up in a magicless world. The world has no magic so they're forced to fit whatever the constraints of that universe are. So if for example, they were Riddle's sibling. They simply lack magic. But if they were a mer, beastman, or fae, then they not only lack magic but they were forced to become human. Yuu has no memories of twisted wonderland, no memories of their previous life. They only know the life they've lived with their adoptive family. Things like fairies, mermaids, and magic are nothing but fairy tales.

Until the day they woke up in the coffin at NRC. Okay, so turns out magic is actually real! Hey, Yuu's actually handling it okay(I swear game Yuu is extremely mentally stable if they're handling all the shit so well). The mirror, for whatever reason can't accurately read their soul. So they still think they don't have magic and want to go home to their magicless world.

Even if Yuu looks strikingly similar to their sibling, maybe nobody makes the connection because, duh, Yuu is from another world. Like even if Yuu looks like Leona or Azul for example, it must be a coincidence because duh, Yuu is human not a beastman or a mer. Nobody actually figures out Yuu is actually from the twst universe until whatever magic that caused them to be sent to another world as an infant and stripped them of their original identity finally wears off.

Like maybe something triggers it. Maybe fighting their sibling's overblot and saving their life(since an overblot can kill the mage it's attached to) is what triggers the magic to break.

Book two, after Yuu is knocked out by the spell driver disk and wakes up in the infirmary. Everybody is so focused on Leona that they don't notice that Yuu has sprouted a pair of lion ears on their head. Yuu doesn't even notice until they realize that everything is so much LOUDER and why does the room stink of medication so much?

Imagine book 3 and Azul's overblot has been defeated. Everybody's beat up and then Yuu suddenly collapse and they're having trouble breathing. People are panicking and then somebody notices that their skin is starting to change to grey and black and that the seams of their pants are starting to tear because SOMETHING is moving inside Yuu's pants. Maybe it's one of the twins who figures it out and yanks up Yuu's shirt and sees that they're sprouting GILLS on their torso. Poor Yuu is picked up and tossed into one of Octavinelle's tank where they finish transforming and surprise. Yuu almost looks like a carbon copy of Azul in that form. Even their hair changed color to the same shade as his in this form. Like maybe Azul and Yuu were the only two survivors of their clutch, but Yuu was lost or stolen and the lost of one of the only two children they have left was what finally triggered their parent's divorce.

Oh oh. Like imagine with Malleus. Insert shenanigans where Yuu ends up in their world much more down the line so they age at the rate of a human instead of a fae(or maybe they age like a fae but still look like a human so their family thinks they have some kind of medical condition that makes them age slowly, poor Yuu is the big family secret until they're old enough to be on their own). Let's say there's some shenanigans and Yuu and Malleus were twin eggs. The two of them when the eggs are close together they can communicate with each other(maybe if you listened closely you could hear the faint cooing or squeaks of the baby dragons in their eggs as they talk to each other). Yuu's egg is stolen and has just disappeared. Poor Malleus spends so long calling out to his other half, he's just a tiny baby in his egg and he doesn't understand why his sibling won't answer him anymore. Maybe as he grew he always knew something was missing. Even if he wasn't told about his sibling. He just KNOWS somebody should be there. Maybe that's why Yuu in that universe doesn't fear him. Because the both are naturally drawn to each other as their other half. Perhaps Yuu ends up waking up one day with their head hurting because somehow they're sprouting horns and their skin peeling because surprise! They've got scales starting to sprout all over their body.

Maybe book 6 Poor Yuu's hair just suddenly burst into flame when facing Idia's overblot because they're in S.T.Y.X. and there's so many phantoms and so much blot around that it finally overloads their system and triggers the curse to finally manifest in them. Poor Yuu went from a normal haircut to a ball of blue fire for hair.

Imagine going from being an only child or having maybe one other sibling to finding out you're actually Kalim's sibling and oh yeah, You actually have 30 other siblings. Kalim's taking it great and can't wait to introduce Yuu to their long lost family but it might take them a bit longer to process.

Being Riddle's sibling, Yuu might actually feel grateful they ended up in another world if they have decent parents because they're not sure they're ready to face Mrs. Rosehearts when they find out she's their bio mother.

Can y'all see my vision here? So much angst potential but so much comedy potential as well.

The shenanigans from the more emotionally constipated cast trying to navigate this new found relationship. Or trying to figure out how they're going to introduce Yuu to their family.

Then you got ones like Rook. Poor Yuu, hope they're good at learning French.

Edit: I've expanded on the idea more here https://www.tumblr.com/harzilla/761475981811777536/original-post-found-here?source=share

[gutsby]

Honor Among Thieves

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying Brooklyn’s most dangerous man was easy. Divorcing him proves to be a bit harder—particularly when you’re pregnant with his child.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Breeding kink. Hurt/Comfort/We-Almost-Just-Died-Sex. Morning sickness. Manslaughter. Brief coerced kissing. Beefy, mob boss Bucky is a possessive expectant father who just wants to make sure he knocked you up properly

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Bucky’s words reverberated like a shotgun’s report, skimming across two dozen feet of marble, glass, and stainless steel before reaching your ears on the opposite end of the room. He was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, and your back was turned to him. Lucky thing, too, or else he would’ve seen the smile threatening to tug at both ends of your lips—effectively blowing your cover.

“Really, I don’t have the slightest idea, Barnes,” you told him, and it took everything in you not to laugh. Having just narrowly preserved your composure, you continued, “You keep me locked in this prison all day and expect me not to find ways to entertain myself? Well, this is all it is.”

Like hell it was, you could already hear in Bucky’s head. Feeling him eye you up and down from the archway, take his first steps into the room, loosen his tie, most likely.

“Prison?” You registered a low scoff, and his voice was already so much closer than it’d been five seconds ago.

Your husband was striding as quickly as his smooth, dark, tailored suit would allow, and he was undressing as he walked. You could hear the clothes coming off but pretended not to notice. Instead staring more intently at the crab bisque simmering on the stove before you, you licked the spoon you were holding and hummed a little.

“Yes,” you answered, simply, “Prison.”

Bucky was by your side in no time at all. Up close, he smelled like rosemary, oakmoss, and gunpowder.

“Well, this is news to me,” he said. He dragged out the middle syllables of his words longer than was necessary, likely to make his move sidling up closer to you. The last sound had scarcely died in his throat more than a second or two before you felt an arm loop around your back. A hand coming to rest on your hip, then his voice, again:

“See, I never knew they built ‘prisons’ up in first-class penthouse apartments in Brooklyn. Must be pretty nice.”

Bucky stepped behind you, and you were half-certain the black suit jacket he’d come home wearing was fully removed. Again, you pretended not to see, or care.

“It’s a metaphor, James.” But your voice wavered.

“A metaphor?” Bucky’s head sank into the soft groove between your neck and your shoulder, and he kissed it.

“Yes.”

Your mouth made a sound more akin to a breath than a real, enunciated word, and you knew Bucky felt it too. He sensed this headstrong, no-bullshit façade of yours was sure to come crumbling apart any second, and each new brush of his hands and lips would be making it happen. Knowing this, he wasn’t in a rush to get the rest of his clothes off. He did, however, start to toy with yours.

“Tell me more. Am I really holding you hostage, doll?”

You took a ladle and started to stir, trying to stay cool. Meanwhile, your husband tugged gently on your dress.

“Hostage, housewife, same thing,” you muttered, low.

For once, it was Bucky’s turn to break character, as he laughed. It was short-lived and sweet, and he pressed another kiss to the skin of your neck, as if in apology.

“Right, right. I forgot. You were forced to marry me.”

“Right,” you shook your head, just slightly emboldened by the way you’d made him crack, if only for a moment, “I’m forced to marry you, move into this horrific little shanty in Brooklyn”—gesturing to the multi-million dollar apartment surrounding you both—“and then you leave me here, all by myself, with nothing to do while you go play Godfather with your mobster friends. It’s not fair.”

By the tail end of that last sentence, you and Bucky both were already grinning a little, coming to terms with just how ridiculous it sounded when you phrased it like that. Still, your husband seemed game to keep the bit going.

“Now that’s just not true,” he said, tone all faux offense.

You felt the soft snap of a ribbon coming undone, and in a second realized it was the satin bow holding the back of your dress together. The fabric loosened, and Bucky’s hands slid down your sides, over your front—of course.

“I didn’t leave you ‘by yourself’ at all, doll,” he said, and suddenly, his palms were fanning out, over something, “Gave you this baby to keep you company, didn’t I?”

The ‘something’ he was touching now was your belly. All soft and smooth and protruding out in a perfect little globe beneath your dress, no bigger than when he’d left for work that morning. Bucky treated the bump like it was a novelty all the same—like he was seeing it for the first time and couldn’t believe he was actually the one responsible for making it get like that. It had gotten to be a hobby of his, nearly, just how much he loved watching it grow. He had his fingers splayed out across your tummy virtually every chance he could get, and that didn’t stop whether you were out in public or sharing a moment in the comfort of home; he couldn’t get enough.

Which was why Bucky was right when he’d said you knew exactly what you were doing when he came home that day. You knew just the kind of effect that wearing a tight, white dress while cooking dinner would have on him, and you hoped it would rile him up just like this: with his hands roaming over every inch of your body, making soft, sweet circles along the swell of your belly, and kissing your neck again and again. Biting some, too. Getting so worked up he was all but gnawing at the skin as he drank in your scent and got lost to pure instinct.

If it wasn’t clear that Bucky had had a breeding kink before, you saw it written plain as day across his face every morning and night since he’d first learned you were pregnant. Like all the life force within him was just a byproduct of the knowledge that you were his—and this baby, growing bigger each day, was a mix of you both.

You hated to say it, but fatherhood suited your assassin-trained, mob-heading, bloodlusting husband better than anyone could have predicted in a million years or more.

Presently, Bucky flipped you around and sank to his knees. He slid you over to the counterspace area, away from the stove, and made sure to flip each knob to ‘off’ to make sure there wasn’t a chance you’d get burned. You cast one last look at the crab bisque and knew at once your hard work would have to be put on the back burner for now, because Bucky wasn’t hungry for that.

Still, you kicked a foot in soft, muted protest when you felt him slide his hands up your legs, under your dress, and start to reach for your panties. You let out a breath.

“I spent two hours perfecting the seasoning on that, Barnes,” you chided him, gently and without much admonition in your voice as you pointed to the soup, “You say you want a good little housewife but won’t even leave me un-fucked long enough to try any food I make!”

“And I’m very sorry about that, Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky replied, head disappearing beneath your skirt so he could take your underwear off with his teeth instead.

But, much like your reproach, your husband’s strained apology held less than half of its professed sincerity. Your blue cotton panties were discarded in a second, your hips pushed back against the cool white marble behind it, and Bucky, almost too cheekily, brought his head back up from underneath your dress just to steal a quick look at your belly, then up at you. He was smiling.

“Anything you make tastes amazing, honey. Daddy just needs to eat a little something beforehand, that okay?”

He already knew what you’d say. The sweet, shit-eating grin hovering over your lower half knew all that and more. Bucky just loved to tease, taking the hem of your dress between his index and thumb, and rubbing all the more tenderly, murmuring again, ‘That alright with you, pretty girl?’ and ‘My wife likes getting tonguefucked in the kitchen, doesn’t she?’ while his breaths spread over you.

You nodded that you did. Momentarily forgetting the three-course meal you’d had planned for him since early that morning, you let your knees fall limply apart from one another, and Bucky’s broad form filled the space in between. The fabric of your dress was snug, especially so over your belly. Your husband pushed the material up your hips and let it rest just high enough to expose your warmth to him. Angling your hips back the slightest bit, trailing his fingers up your thighs and inside them, gently, Bucky let out a low groan against your body, and you could feel the vibrations of it travel up your spine.

“I really am mean for keeping you here all day, aren’t I?” he teased, sliding the tips of his fingers between your glistening folds and watching you jolt in response.

“So— so mean. Bucky, please.”

Your voice was far more hoarse than circumstances would seem to beget; your husband had just eaten you out that morning. Nevertheless, your hand was trembling as it reached for his head. Your pull was taut and dire. While your fingers threaded in through his hair and your body opened itself more and more for him, you could feel that kind smile, even if you couldn’t see it. Frankly, the swelling of eight-and-a-half months made it difficult to see much of anything below the waist, but Bucky made sure to let you know he was there. By holding your hand, skimming his lips against your skin, starting, just then, to sink his fingers in toward the heat of your body, and softly pulling his face away so he could look up at you.

“Baby?” he breathed.

Your eyes locked with his as he slid two fingers inside you. The stretch alone was enough to put your brain on the fritz, but, fighting the first shockwaves of pleasure:

“Y-Yeah?”

He withdrew. Pressed them back in and let out a grunt.

“I need you to do something for me.”

You couldn’t fathom what that might be, but you nodded anyway. ‘Anything’ was what you managed to choke out.

“And you might not like it, doll.”

Your eyes widened some.

“O— O-Okay, what?”

Bucky’s fingers curled inside you, and a short, sharp streak of dizzying pleasure pulsed through your body. Your knees felt weak, and your mind even worse, but with what little resolve you had left, you were able to keep your eyes entirely open and fastened to his. A look that struck you as almost bittersweet crossed your husband’s features, and you saw his gaze soften again.

“I need you to wake up,” he said, calmly.

“What?”

Your toes curled tight underneath you, and the warmth between your legs leapt up to over a thousand degrees.

“Melaya, I need you to wake up.”

At the same time, your blood ran cold in your veins. Surely, you couldn’t be hearing him right if the voice he used was so gruff and low—and laden with a Russian lilt.

“Bucky? What— What do you mean?”

But you knew. Or suspected something of it anyway.

Now the sound from your own throat was hardly one that you recognized as yours, so shrill and high and strange—what could he mean by that? Why was he watching you in that way? Your husband wasn’t smiling so brightly anymore, and the once-gratifying conflagration between your legs had grown to an almost scorching degree, no longer nice, generous, or pleasurable in the slightest.

“We need you to wake up now, honey. Right now.”

His tone, too, was distorted. Grating.

“Bucky, I-I don’t underst—”

“WAKE UP!”

“WAKE UP!”

Natasha shook you hard, and it hurt.

She didn’t mean for it to. She just needed you up and out of bed, and you’d been asleep for almost fourteen hours.

You started at the fifth or sixth shake, nearly punching yourself in the face when you tried yanking a set of covers up and over your head and discovered, shortly, that there was none. You were splayed out on a bed in an as-yet unfamiliar home—Steve’s new place—and, while you slept, you’d kicked all of the blankets you’d been given the night before off your body and onto the floor.

Your eyes were wide as saucers as they darted to Nat’s.

There was no need to say what had happened—she knew these dreams were getting worse by the day.

It’d been a week since you fled your Brooklyn apartment in an all-out terror. A week since a senseless, short-sighted idea on your part had led to the discovery that your husband was once part of a HYDRA sleeper cell whose activation phrase turned him into an agent of total destruction at will. A week since you’d seen a half dozen bodies litter your living room floor, more still being bludgeoned by the so-called ‘Winter Soldier,’ as Bucky had formerly been known. A week since you’d sobbed in Natasha’s arms and begged her not to let you go back. A week since you’d been obliged to hide out in Steve Rogers’ new bachelor pad upstate, because, frankly, there was nowhere else you could safely live until this whole ordeal with Bucky was settled—if it ever would be.

A full week since you’d learned you were pregnant, too.

As far as you knew, your husband was wholly unaware of this fact, and of Steve’s most recent real estate purchase up in Buffalo, and you’d been existing in a semi-serene and largely dissociated state for the past seven days.

Your gaze adjusted to the light, and you blinked up at Nat, feeling damp in just about every place on your body. You looked down and found yourself drenched in sweat.

“Hydrate. Please.”

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a standing order: Nat holding out a glass of water and instructing you to drink. Though your first instinct was to make a face and shake your head—you’d found that any new fluids in your body this early in the morning would only get thrown back up when you made your first frantic trip to the toilet—you accepted it anyway. You drank three big gulps to appease the woman standing next to the bed, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled

“I’m gonna go puke now,” you said.

“Aim for inside the toilet bowl if you can,” Steve called out from the doorway. By the look on his face, you’d been doing a pretty shit job of aiming vomit lately.

“My bad, Rogers.”

You had a hand on your stomach, slowly easing back up into a seated position, when you heard something being flung across the room, followed by a ‘HEY!’ and a crash.

“Your aim sucks, too, Romanoff,” Steve griped, loudly, “And I was kidding. She can puke wherever she wants.”

By the door, a hefty hardcover book lay open on the floor. Apparently Nat’s options for projectiles had been limited.

“All good, Rogers,” you offered anyway. Fighting a smirk.

You were starting to stand, and your head felt as if you’d just taken your first steps off a rocking boat. Your other hand jumped to your mouth, and you muttered, ‘Fuck’ before brushing past Nat and her outstretched arms.

She held your hair while Steve retrieved the glass of water, as well as a towel. The unsightly first trimester ritual proceeded as it had for all of the last week, with Nat rubbing circles in your back and Steve making well-meaning but completely useless live commentary like, ‘Babies are a real pain in the ass, aren’t they?’ At the conclusion of each new stupid remark, Natasha would shoot a dirty look his way, but you never let her shoo him away. Through no conscious choice of your own, Steve had become something of a comfort blanket over the course of the past chaotic days. At the very least, you two were no longer at each other’s throats flinging accusations and exorbitantly-priced tumblers in the other’s direction, which was a marked improvement from where you were the day after you and Bucky’s wedding.

At length, you lifted your head from the toilet, and he daubed at your cheek with the towel—mostly just trying to wipe off spit and your own queasy-looking expression. He succeeded in clearing away just the former, but you forced a smile all the same, then shared it with Natasha.

Nat couldn’t smile back. In fact, the grimace on her face only etched even deeper, and her forehead creased.

“This is a horrible time to be asking you this, I know—”

“Nat, please.” Steve groaned.

Nat, what? There wasn’t a lot more that could catch you off guard after all the shit you’d come to see that week. Still, Nat’s breaths were both measured and slow, and you could see she was chewing on the inside of her cheek like she wasn’t quite sure how best to phrase her words. This, coming from one of the most astute legal minds this side of the Hudson River, gave you pause.

“Ask anything. I’m pretty numb, if you haven’t noticed.” You rapped on the side of your head for comedic effect, but neither Natasha nor Steve laughed or cracked a grin.

“How do you feel about filing for divorce tomorrow?”

At the sound of Nat’s words, you felt the bile jump back up your throat. You knew there wasn’t enough food or fluid to make much of anything now, but all the same, you craned your neck back over the toilet and retched. When nothing came out, as expected, you turned back.

“What?”

Natasha looked a little ill herself, but still, she continued.

“How do you feel about just…fast-tracking a divorce from him and taking off new? We’ll talk assets later.”

Assets? Fast-track? Divorce? What the fuck?

“What the fuck, Nat?” you repeated as much out loud.

It normally wasn’t your thing to be so blunt with her, but the inquiry certainly seemed to invite some extra candor. You swiped at your mouth for any excess spit that might’ve trickled out, crudely, and in a second, Steve was handing you the towel. Then helping you to your feet, holding your arm and lower back in a grip you could feel was secure. You were unsteady on your legs, so he and Natasha guided you over to the sink, where you could regain your bearings and freshen up a bit. Sneaking a look at your reflection in the mirror was a bad idea; your face was sallow, and the rest of your body had every appearance of being horribly weak, for lack of a better word. You caught a glimpse of a gash sitting just above your left temple and immediately looked away. Stupidly, you hoped Steve and Nat hadn’t seen it.

“He did that to you,” Nat said without missing a beat.

You winced, and you washed your hands, not looking up.

“I thought you said it wasn’t him. Soldat, you told me.” And for a second, your eyes flickered to Steve, whose expression was a touch more sympathetic, if not visibly discomfited now. Like he didn’t want to speak for once.

He did, anyway: “Doesn’t matter if it was Winter or him, really. Point is he hurt you while trying to protect y—”

“And yet, you asked me to forgive him just last week for killing my dad in the same type of rage,” you replied, and instantly regretted the accusatory tone you’d taken on.

Your anger was misdirected at Steve. It wasn’t his fault for sharing the truth about your husband’s—his best friend’s—past when you’d asked him. These were queries you’d made, helping to form justifications for your own decision to stay after what had happened in Madripoor. Obviously, Steve would be biased to help support his friend in a time of need. But now things were different; Bucky had never been activated as soldat and ended up hurting someone he’d loved before. Steve was free to change his mind after seeing that happen and urge you to leave, or at least reconsider, your marriage to Bucky.

The second look you gave him attempted to convey as much, a bit more apologetic as he and Natasha led the way out of the bathroom. Steve smiled and held your arm again, though you probably didn’t need it. You walked downstairs to the kitchen together. Over by the toaster, Sam was inspecting a charred bagel with a scowl

“Rogers, you really need to ditch this shit,” he said, gesturing to the rusted metal contraption that appeared to be from 1918, and had just burnt two bagels to a crisp.

“It was a gift from a friend, piss off,” Steve replied, grinning a little. Reaching for the blackened bread roll and even going so far as to take a bite, crunching loudly.

“Did your friend happen to fight in World War II?” Nat asked. She lent one look to the archaic machine but said nothing further, opting instead to take a seat at the kitchen table, where a sea of papers was strewn about.

Then, to you, “Come. Sit.”

Somewhere in your tentative stroll from where you stood to where she sat, and in the middle of the men’s toaster bickering, Sam called out that he’d have bacon and eggs ready in a second. Steve offered up his singed sesame bagel in the interim, and you told him no thanks. With a still slightly throbbing skull and a nauseous gait, you took the chair next to Nat’s and looked down at her papers.

Honestly, you thought your present condition might warrant some leeway when it came to holding off on the heavy-hitting topics first thing, but, to your surprise, Natasha slid a crisp white packet over almost instantly.

“Nat, what the fuck?” you groaned for the second time.

“Read it. Give it a second to digest, then we can—”

“No!” you cut in, pushing the packet back to her with a little more force than you’d meant, “I-I can’t. Not now.”

On the very first page, in bold and capitalized typeface, there was printed a brief string of words you’d never wanted—or thought you would ever need—to see:

‘VERIFIED COMPLAINT: ACTION FOR DIVORCE’

“It’s just the petition. No harm in taking a look,” Nat said.

You could hear a faintly gentler tone in her voice, even as you shook your head and looked away from the papers.

“I don’t want to. I can’t do this right now.” You kept shaking your head for a couple seconds after, turning your gaze instead to the bay window of Steve’s kitchen.

A nice, sprawling yard stretched as far as you could see. In the distance, a fuzzy white horizon was punctuated the slightest bit by the outline of a wood fence, but apart from that, the land was empty. The lot was secluded. Happy and effervescent in a nearly cloudless sky, the midmorning sun cast its rays without so much as the threat of a storm’s hinderance. You fixed your eyes on the clear expanse above and silently wished it would rain.

Before more than a minute or two had passed like that, Sam was approaching the table with two platters. Steve balanced four more by himself, watching the sway of one plate of scrambled eggs in his arms with a wary look before setting each one of the dishes on the table.

“Bon appétit,” Steve said, butchering his French just about as badly as Sam had the bagels. You and Nat thanked them both anyway and started clearing off the table, pushing papers away in favor of steaming plates. Sam and Steve sat down, and all of you began to eat.

While you dutifully piled on each scoop of eggs, bacon, sausage links, biscuits, gravy, and grits—far more than you knew you could feasibly consume—you wished again for a rainstorm, and maybe a quiet breakfast. One that wasn’t marred by talks of legal separation and lengthy battles in court, if you could help it at all. To this end, and perhaps against your body’s best interest, you shoveled two supersized spoonfuls of egg in your mouth, so that if Nat tried reviving those subjects again, you could put off the conversation by simply continuing to chew. You felt your stomach turn inside you but, stubbornly, ate more.

You had just swallowed it all, about to make way for a warm, flaky buttermilk biscuit, when a sound cut in, and your belly flipped again. Your teeth had barely sunk into the bread a second when Nat set her own food aside, then used two fingers to push something toward you.

“Just skim it. Let me explain what the process can be,” she said, tapping her index on the first line and meeting your eyes as if to plead. She had to have known she’d be met with resistance—from you, of course, but also Steve. She raised a defensive hand to him before he even cut in:

“Come the fuck on, Nat. Will you give her a break?”

“I’m saying this for her sake! I’m doing it for her.”

“And throwing divorce papers in her face over breakfast is really the best way of going about it? Is that for her?”

Sam swallowed whatever he’d been chewing on, glanced down at the top paper, and seemed to brace himself.

“Guys, is now really the right time—” he started.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Steve barked over him.

Natasha ignored the plainly disdainful look from the latter, lifted her hand off the paperwork and instead trained her gaze solely on you. Just like she had in Zurich. Focusing intently on your face, ignoring whatever Steve or Sam were saying in the moment, she turned to you and found your expression was stale. Unmoving. Frankly, half of what was running through your mind right then was how badly you wanted to puke again. As if the eggs had turned rotten in your gut the second they reached their destination in your GI tract, you felt a heavy, oppressive fog of nausea taking shape between your ears, and you just wanted everyone to stop talking.

Sam and Steve continued on without a hitch, agreeing vaguely but also appearing to bicker over other things, like when was the most appropriate time to have this conversation. Natasha was leaning in, reaching for your hand this time, and you knew she meant well. You would bet any large sum of money there wasn’t a malicious bone in her body, and she was doing this for your benefit. All the same, you were grateful when the front door swung back on its hinges, and a new person walked in. Nat, Sam, and Steve all suspended their conversations.

“Hey, wh—” the blissfully unaware, semi-stranger began.

“Sharon!” Steve cried, “Would you tell Romanoff she’s being a goddamn pest with no sense of boundaries?”

Sharon halted at the threshold of the house, skating a look between Nat and Steve at first, then Steve and Sam, then just at you. The look didn’t linger for long, and before you knew it, she was setting down a fistful of grocery bags and twisting her mouth into a frown.

“Will you shut up, Steve?” was her only response.

Sam rose from his chair and pointed as if to say, ‘Yeah, that’ before joining her in the foyer to help carry in the Wegmans bags. Natasha leaned back in her chair with a vaguely pleased look, and Steve just rolled his eyes. He slapped his palm overtop the stack of divorce papers still laying before you and, seemingly undeterred, continued,

“Do you think it’s fair for her to force divorce papers on this poor soul—” pointing to you, the poor soul, apparently, “—when it’s been a week since she left?”

Sharon started handing off the frozen stuff first, sliding a box of Stouffer’s across the counter to Sam, who then deposited it in the freezer. These exchanges took place in relatively quick succession, with Sharon only chancing a look toward the kitchen table once or twice as they did.

“I think she should do whatever the hell she wants,” she said, “And I think their divorce is none of our business.”

Fair enough take. One that you could respect, at the very least, even if you weren’t certain she particularly cared for you at all. You reckoned she had no reason to, and on the whole, appeared to be a pretty reserved person.

You wanted to add a word in her defense, reiterate to Steve that he didn’t have to go to bat for you, the poor, defenseless soul, right now. Instead of being able to speak, though, you felt an upsurge of something heavy in your throat. You clamped a hand to your mouth again, cheeks flushing with the heady sensation and also out of embarrassment, then pushed your chair back and stood.

“I— gotta—” you stammered, just audible to the table, through the wall your fingers had made over your lips.

You sprinted up the stairs without another word.

The first trimester ritual repeated, and ten minutes later, you re-emerged from the bathroom feeling two big spoonfuls of scrambled eggs lighter and still none the happier, healthier, or wiser. You took a peek in the full-length mirror at the other end of the room and discerned from a distance of ten feet that you looked like dogshit.

You flopped down on the bed face-first, heedless of the pool of sweat that still encompassed roughly half of it, and let out a weak, muffled breath into the sheets. Someone had been gracious enough to replace all the blankets and pillows you’d kicked off last night. When you heard a knock on the door, it sounded a lot like Nat’s.

You rolled to the side, eyes screwed shut in frustration.

“If you’ve come to tell me my marriage is a fucking dumpsterfire, I agree completely, Natasha. I’m dumb.”

A little huff of a half-laugh sounded from the doorway. You opened your eyes and saw Sharon standing there.

Up close, she looked a little paler than you’d remembered seeing her last in Switzerland. Soft beads of perspiration dotted her neckline from what had likely been a hot and arduous journey walking up the driveway with all the food, and presently, she seemed tired. She wore a simple gingham blouse that had her eyes shining with vibrance, though, and both hands, you noticed, were full—she had a mug in one and a spoon in the other. She smiled kindly.

“The mob tends to have that effect,” she said, strolling in. Setting the mug on the nightstand and easing the spoon into it, stirring, “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

You had no idea what all she knew about your marriage. You weren’t so sure you could extricate yourself from all the blame of having the thing go up in flames in four short weeks. Nevertheless, you smiled back and offered up something good-humored in return, like, well, I’m not exactly winning wife of the fucking year anytime soon.

Again, Sharon chuckled. It was small. She leaned back against the nearest armchair and, pointing to the cup she’d left to rest on the nightstand, said in a soft voice,

“Give that a minute. It’s hot.”

You glanced over and saw a little string that you guessed was attached to a teabag sitting at the bottom of the mug. The drink smelled like chamomile, maybe. You sat up, readjusted your pyjama top, then slid your socked feet underneath you so you could scoot closer to the edge of the bed. On a deeper inhale, you decided the tea was definitely chamomile. And too hot, as Sharon said.

“Thank you,” you told her.

“It’s not poisoned, I promise,” she replied. Letting out that funny little chuckle of hers—one too low to be considered a full laugh, but very close—and then, seeming to realize what she said might’ve sounded off, “Like— I heard what happened with Schröder. Him trying to drug you after the wedding and all…that. I— I’m sorry.”

Bad time to be making jokes, she appeared to chastise herself, but you just nodded along with the faintest grin.

“It’s OK. I’d pay money to be knocked the fuck out now.”

You grinned bigger, and she smiled too.

“It should make you sleepier, if you wanted to nap.”

You replied that you would, in fact, love to be unconscious right now if it meant not having to put up with all this bullshit morning sickness, and you slowly reached for the mug. Sharon stood up, and while you took your first sips, she fluffed the pillows behind you.

She was right. The tea felt like a hug. You settled under the covers and brought the cup to your lips once more, taking two big draughts before setting the drink aside. Yeah, that shit’ll put you right out, no drugs needed. You sank even further under the sheets and watched Sharon hover between the bed and the doorway, looking around as if trying to find something to do—some way to make herself feel more useful, if you had to guess from the pensive look in her eyes. Finally, she settled closer to the door and gave you one, fairly sanguine look. The warmth of your drink had already begun to nestle inside your weary bones, and your eyelids felt heavier. Still, you tried to return the sunny look before getting fully settled.

“Thanks again, Sharon. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She started to leave. In fact, she’d already made it three-fourths out of the room when something stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to you, and you looked up.

“This…probably doesn’t mean a whole lot coming from me, but—whatever you decide to do with Bucky…is okay. We’ll support you, whether you choose to raise this baby with him or do…whatever it is you want to do. Don’t let Nat or Steve or Sam or anybody tell you differently. It’s your choice, y’know, whether you wanna stay married…”

Sharon trailed off, and somewhere inside, you could tell she meant to finish with words like, ‘…even if you didn’t get to make the choice to get married in the first place.’ You appreciated it. You beamed with just your head poking out from over the covers and thanked her again.

And, before she left, for the second time, she stopped. She walked over to the nightstand and bent slightly at the waist, just enough to set something small down. You turned to the side and saw a vial—a minuscule tube—on the surface. Your eyes widened, realizing what it was.

“Sam picked it up in Madripoor. He said Steve had given this to you…to, uh, give to Schröder, and I thought you should have it back,” she said, pausing, “Just in case.”

You eyed the little vial of poison on the nightstand and nodded, still not completely understanding. Your head throbbed, your stomach was still turning, churning. Your brain was about ten blinks away from logging off entirely and drifting to sleep. All you could do, then, was repeat what Sharon had said as you exchanged one final look.

“Just in case.”

Your eyes closed, and you fell asleep very soon after.

You couldn’t have been out for more than an hour; you were sure of it. However, the next time you glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, you saw it read 11:04.

P.M.

Shit.

SHIT.

That chamomille tea was no fucking joke.

Just as your thoughts drifted back to Sharon, the conversation you’d shared, the drink she’d given you, the poison she’d left behind for you to keep, you heard her voice all over again—and now, not just in your own head.

Presently, she was standing over your bed again, though the room was much darker this time around. She pressed a finger to her lips, hey, please, please, be quiet, alright? At first you wanted to make a sharp and strangled sound. A cry for help? You weren’t sure. Didn’t know. Couldn’t see very much of the woman at all, except for the outline of her face from the moonlight streaming in through the window. She stared and ‘shh’ed’ some more.

And you were contemplating yelling out a loud obscenity in response to it when next she cut in, markedly gentler:

“Keep it quick. Nat and the guys will be back in thirty.”

You blinked hard into the darkness and waited for your vision, or else your still-missing voice, to return. It didn’t. You just stared back, eyelids going up and down and up and down like a goddamn idiot gone sluggish off one too many Quaaludes, and it was several seconds more before she gestured behind her, into the shadows.

You tensed under the covers, chock-full of terror. You squinted, and shrank, and might’ve nearly pissed yourself were it not for the intervening force of a face.

A familiar face.

Bucky’s face.

You leapt up from the bed, displacing each one of Sharon’s cool and careful warnings from your mind all at once. You didn’t mean to, and as soon as she’d shushed you again, you shut your mouth. Fell still. Sharon slipped out of the room, reminding you both, again, that you had to be quiet, and you had to be quick. Then it was just you and Bucky. Silence and slightly less than five feet of space between you two. Then, shortly, no space to spare at all, as you ran to meet each for a hug a second later.

Your head struck his chest, and it was hard. That, alongside the python’s squeeze he wrapped around your body, hugging you to him in the tightest embrace imaginable, had your mind reeling, skull pulsing just a bit. You pulled back and stood smiling up at Bucky, whose eyes were wide, drinking the sight of you in.

‘Are you hurt?’ were his first words.

You shook your head that you weren’t, still unable to talk.

“Why are you— Who— who brought you— I didn’t—”

It seemed Bucky was equally hard-pressed to form a sentence himself, while his eyes were roaming wildly, all over you. Looking for bumps or bruises or cuts, whatever the wound might have been. He stumbled to the lamp and flicked it on. You tilted your head left, reflexively.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you said. Sudden and swift, “I’m good.”

But you didn’t move your head too far to the right, either, for fear he might see the cut above your temple—the one soldat had caused when he’d pushed you to the floor, trying to protect you from a threat he couldn’t see.

As it was, your husband seemed to be too much in shock to see anything else apart from what stood immediately in front of him. He hugged you again. He kissed the crown of your head. He constricted your body so tight in his arms you felt a pressure start to build behind your eyes, and suddenly you weren’t so much pulling away as you were wrenching your body from him. When you met Bucky’s gaze again, the sweet blue irises were glossy.

“Nat wouldn’t say where you were, just that you were safe and needed to be…be alone for a while, but I—” He stopped, and it was as if he couldn’t even finish with the words, because his breath was stuck in his throat and his eyes were stinging too much. He looked down, briefly.

You wanted to reach for his hand but hesitated. He took yours a second later, holding extra tight as he continued:

“I thought I’d— thought you might’ve…left. I don’t know. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and then she— Sharon, she called me tonight, said you were here, so— so—”

You felt a pang of guilt holding his gaze, seeing how all the hurt that had come to accumulate behind those eyes over the last week went spilling, at length, into emotions he was either too overcome or sleep-deprived to express. The weight of this suffocated him, made him extra quick to speak his mind but slow to make sense of just about anything that was coming out of his mouth. He stopped, sucked in a breath, then pinched your hand in his, and you didn’t know what to do. You had no idea what to say.

“I was scared, Bucky.”

It sounded pathetic coming out of your mouth. Your husband nodded as though you’d just said the most profound thing in the world. His knuckles went white from just how hard he was gripping your hand, his head bobbed along in agreement, and for a moment, you winced to think that he might hug you again. Instead, the fingers tangled between yours just made a tighter knot.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said.

“You scared me,” you added, voice wavering.

Your left hand was going numb. You didn’t want to give him pause—possibly hurt his feelings—by freeing your touch from his, but that grip was brutal. Deathly rigid and unforgiving. Thoughts of Brooklyn and Madripoor came flooding back; Bucky was so much stronger than he realized. His tone, in contrast, was dulcet and soft.

“I didn’t know I’d get like that. I should’ve told you, doll.”

“I shouldn’t have tried the activation in the first place.”

You shouldn’t have tried digging into Bucky’s past all. When all there seemed to be at every turn was a brand new way for him to hurt you, or the people you loved, maybe there came a time when you had to stop asking questions altogether. Maybe that was what his mother and all the women who’d gone before her had known to do, what you had been too stupid to see all along. There was no knowing these men at all, only taking them as they were and learning to cope with what they became.

Bucky shook his head.

“No, doll, it’s not on you,” he murmured low. Still forceful

Thankfully, he released your hand to cup your cheeks, and he kissed your forehead. You felt your pulse in your palm, throbbing from where he’d held it. When he let go the second time, his expression was considerably softer.

“Listen, I’ll take you home, we can talk things over. As long as I know you’re safe, it doesn’t have to— to—”

Hey. He was already halfway toward the door before he realized you weren’t following him. He turned and gestured forward. He beckoned you, brows drawing in.

“Baby? C’mon.”

You didn’t budge.

Your feet were rooted in place, as though cemented to the floor. No matter how much you wanted to appease him, go along with whatever he asked, you couldn’t. You shook your head, and Bucky tilted his own, confused.

“Baby?”

“I’m leaving, Bucky.”

You couldn’t hear your own words slipping out between your teeth, only the blood rushing through your ears. Bucky stopped and turned to face you completely.

“What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What— what do you mean, ‘you’re leaving’?”

“I want a divorce.”

That part you did hear yourself. You wished you hadn’t.

You wished you hadn’t seen the light break off from Bucky’s eyes, expression going limp the instant your words registered with him. You nearly wished you hadn’t said them at all, seeing just how far his face fell and how hurt he looked by them—but quietly, from somewhere more rational-headed inside yourself, there was a voice reminding the rest of you that it needed to be done. You couldn’t keep pretending like this wasn’t what had had to come next. What you’d been skirting with Nat all day and hadn’t been able to bring yourself to admit before now.

Your husband still didn’t seem to be computing it fully. He walked closer to you, and his gait was unsteady.

“Divorce?”

Your vision was bleary; you hadn’t even realized tears had begun to brim at your waterline as you watched him.

“It’s what we need, Bucky,” you could barely get it out.

“I don’t,” he shot back, not missing a beat, “I don’t.”

“It’s what I need.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His voice was hoarse, face shifting from lax incredulity to one of a wince—screwed up in a way that said he felt ill. You shook your head but couldn’t look away from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated.

“It’s what I want,” you pressed on, just as sick yourself.

“You said what you wanted was me.” Again, Bucky’s voice splintered, and you could feel the pain in it.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.”

Gritting your teeth, unsure where else to fix your stare on his face but those eyes—while your own betrayed their feelings too easily, fraught with wet, rolling tears—you shouldn’t have been surprised when his went wider.

“What are you talking about?”

The question was short, sharp, and biting, spoken with such haste as might be mistaken for anger, but the eyes softened his look at once. The anguish painting them now as he stared back at you were a proof, beyond a doubt, that it was betrayal, not rage, which steered him. He turned, and it was as if he couldn’t see a thing but you; his elbow clipped the lamp and knocked it over, but still, he just stared. In turn, the ceramic appliance rolled onto its side, toppled the mug and the vial beside it, and all three went crashing to the floor. Bucky didn’t blink.

“Wh—” he started again, but you didn’t hear the rest.

You remembered Sharon. Heard a flash of her last admonition in your head—be quiet, be quick—and without thinking, you fell to your knees. You tried retrieving what pieces of chipped lamp and shattered mug you could, quickly. You spotted the small vial on the floor and shoved it in a pocket. Your hands swept over the broken pieces without any real idea of what you were doing—all except needing to clean Bucky’s mess—and then swiftly, stupidly, you tried picking it up by yourself.

Of course, a shard cut you. The little slit that was left in its wake could have been no wider than a fraction of an inch, but still, it bled. You looked down at the cut, just then starting to sprout red from left to right along the side of your palm, when a new sight crossed your vision. It was fast, too. All but thoughtless in the way it broke in, gripping your hand in his, and yanking you to your feet. Bucky hadn’t seen that you’d cut yourself, it seemed, and, out of instinct, had grabbed your hand to help you up. As before, his grasp was like a vice, and his thumb pressed right inside the lacerated flesh, sending a whole new maelstrom of pain shooting up your wrist and arm. Now, as then, he was heedless of his strength and his sheer, brute force, that he didn’t even see the effect of his grip. He just held on, held you, tighter, tighter, and—

“STOP!” you shrieked.

You shoved him off. Pried his touch off your palm and gripped your forearm in your other hand and pored over the sight, seeing the gash almost doubled in size from just where Bucky’s finger had sunk into the fresh wound. You let out a sharp, muffled cry through lips that tried to stay closed—remembering Sharon again. You shook your head, clenched your jaw, and tore off the other direction.

And when your husband reached out, eyes wide with their own shock and apologies, ‘Baby, fuck, I’m so sorr—’ you threw him off again. With your non-bleeding palm, you thrust your hand against his chest and pushed hard:

“Don’t touch me!”

When he reached for you again, as if by force of habit, you held up a defensive arm and sobbed out, ‘Stop!’

‘Don’t touch me, don’t—don’t—don’t fucking touch me.’

You screamed it. You didn’t mean to. Thinking only vaguely of the need to be quiet, and almost entirely on the stabbing pain in your hand, the imprint of Bucky’s touch on your body, and the blood trickling down your forearm, you darted into the bathroom and threw the door closed behind you. You locked it. You meant to.

Twenty minutes might as well have been twenty years in Bucky Barnes’ mind. In a moment like this, following yet another supreme fuck up on his part, he felt powerless. He had had to fight the instinct to barge into the next room over with every fiber of his being, and, making fists by his sides and pacing the floor and hating himself was all that seemed capable of occupying his mind just then.

He’d knocked on the bathroom door at least ten times. He’d been ignored each time, no matter the duration.

He still had your blood on his thumb, and it made him ill.

You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.

While he uncurled his hand from a fist just long enough to stare at the streaks of red stretched over his finger, he heard those words replay over and over again in his head. He’d said it—swore it—himself, and still your blood was turning a cool, dark, dry shade of crimson on his thumb.

This wasn’t how he’d meant for any of this to go. Still, notwithstanding his best intentions, none of it mattered. He’d seen a sincere look of fear in your eyes looking up at him, and nothing in the world would change what he’d done, or who he was. He’d caused you pain tonight, last week—though his memory of that was still so hazy and dark he hardly knew what else had happened, even now—and above all, he’d failed you as a husband, a protector.

You were likely curled up in a ball by the bathroom sink, cowering in fear because of him. The thought sent another tidal wave of nausea thrumming through his skull, a lump in his throat growing larger alongside it, and before he knew what he was doing, Bucky was striding back to the bathroom door. He banged his fist against it.

“Honey?”

No answer.

“Baby, please open the door.”

More silence.

The moment brought to mind a memory from the night you two had been married. How you’d fled to the en-suite bathroom and locked yourself in it; how Bucky had rattled the whole doorframe with the force of his knocks, demanding you come out. He’d hardly known you then. You hardly knew him now. The realization of this made the weight in his throat all the more excruciating as he stood, and, wincing with pain, Bucky kept knocking.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Pleading now. His voice was hoarse all over again.

Had he been the slightest bit more desperate and reckless, he might’ve been tempted to muscle through, kick the door in with his boot. But Bucky knew better. He could already guess how much that action would terrify you now, while tending to an injury that he himself had inadvertently made worse. Barreling inside would be neither romantic nor sweet, just sinking what may then be a lethal dose of salt in the deeper, metaphorical wound. He refrained. Instead of continuing to knock, he dropped his forehead to the door and closed his eyes.

“Please believe me, baby,” he tried again.

He’d said it so quietly he feared you might not hear it. Then, a little bit louder, ‘Please, please believe me.’

No sound to be heard inside but running water.

“You mean everything to me, doll.”

By now, his voice was clogged with pain, teetering on the brink of agony as he rested his hands on the door, and willed you to open it. Say something to him. Anything.

“I’d never mean to hurt you. Not in a million years.”

For a moment, he heard nothing more. Just how desperately he needed to hear a voice in reply could not be overstated. Craving a new sound worse than oxygen in his lungs. At first, when he heard something other than himself nearby, it nearly knocked him back with joy.

A voice right next to his ear, “But you did, didn’t you?”

The joy lasted less than a second.

The voice beside him was low. And close. Not coming from the other side of the bathroom door, as he might’ve reasonably expected from you, and not even in the tone of a female’s voice, as he might’ve seen, were Sharon to have appeared by his side. This new voice was deep, and masculine, and in his ear now, chuckling some as a gloved hand pressed the barrel of a gun to his temple.

Bucky didn’t blink.

You stepped outside not wanting to see him.

The bleeding had long since stopped, thanks to the aid of a cool, damp washcloth and a few minutes’ pressure, but even once it ceased, your legs were reluctant to carry you back. You dreaded the thought of having to resume your conversation with Bucky—of having to look him in the eye and tell him all over again that it wasn’t safe for you to be married to him. But you didn’t have much of a choice now, either. This wasn’t your honeymoon, where you could stay locked in the bathroom, try climbing out a window, and hope for the best like you’d done before. You had the man’s child inside you, for fuck’s sake.

That uncomfortable subject and at least a dozen more were already swarming your brain as you made your way out of the bathroom. You’d taken a few extra squares of toilet paper to press into the cut, were looking down at it with a tense, uncertain gaze as you ventured out, when you were obliged to stop just a few steps into the room.

“Hi, honey.”

It wasn’t Bucky.

Your eyes snapped up to the source of the voice in an instant, and, on seeing you were right—that it wasn’t Bucky but a gaunt, grinning blond with a gun to your husband’s head—you almost screamed at the sight.

You’d wanted to scream, anyway. It would’ve been the sane thing to do, and one that nobody could’ve blamed you for in the moment, you reckoned, but strangely the sound never came. You just stared at the two, eyes wide and jaw slightly more lax as your lips made an ‘o’. Bile jumped up in your throat. You wished it would choke you.

‘Please. Don’t.’ was all you could get out.

Johann Schröder’s smile stretched wider.

“Don’t what?”

The question was clearly meant to be derisive, rhetorical. Still, with your fingers trembling, you tried answering:

“Don’t hurt h—”

“Why?”

You watched the gun sink deeper against your husband’s face, and he flinched. Your stomach clenched inside you.

“Why shouldn’t I hurt him, hon? Seems like he’s gotten pretty damn good at doing it to you,” Schröder sneered.

His words stung. The grin didn’t flinch. And, as if to punctuate his sentence, or else remind your husband that he was tied to a chair and entirely at his mercy now, Schröder struck Bucky in the face with the butt of his gun. If an onlooker hadn’t known better, they might’ve mistaken you for the one who’d been hit, though—at last, you unleashed that scream, and you reached out for Bucky, hands open and pathetic and desperate to help.

“Think it hurt as bad as your hand?” Schröder hummed.

Your feet were stumbling forward, “He didn’t mean—”

Another resounding thud against Bucky’s skull, this time hard enough to split his lip in half. If he’d grimaced in the slightest, you would’ve seen the teeth smeared with blood. But, true to form, James Barnes didn’t wince. He hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge the blow as it landed. Just stared at you and, with eyes as hollow and deadened and faintly pleading as you’d ever seen them before, manifested their silent apology to yours—again.

“Bet he didn’t mean to hurt anyone as the Winter Soldier, either. Still couldn’t have felt too good for all the folks he butchered, though.” At that, Schröder’s sick amusement morphed into a laugh, and he was taking Bucky’s collar in his other hand. Shaking him lightly while he spoke.

“Couldn’t have felt all that great for your dad, I bet.”

The diversion turned to you, all toothy smiles and mocking eyes. He didn’t care. He let you stagger another step toward the two of them, even try to get your hands close to Bucky. But when you’d drawn too close, he stopped you cold. Not thinking much else in the moment, you made a move to push Schröder’s arm away, hard, and were shortly rewarded with a shove of your own. He knocked you sideways onto the bed, and you landed on the hand you’d hurt. Before you could let out so much as a sound yourself, Bucky’s voice tore in:

“Schröder.”

Schröder turned. He raised his Ruger to your husband’s head again, as casually as if he’d asked him for the time.

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch her.”

Schröder turned to you. Though he didn’t move the Ruger again, he did point his finger at your form, haplessly curled into itself amidst the covers and pillows.

“Why? Saving all the rough stuff for later, are we?”

You cowered as his free hand reached for you, and just as your husband’s eyes went wide and a vein nearly tore through his skin from how hard it protruded, you cried,

“What do you want?!”

Schröder stopped. He brought his hand to a halt just south of your thigh—and then he dropped his weight on the bed beside you. He gestured indistinctly, almost disbelievingly, toward Bucky. The latter appeared near-apoplectic, nails raking down either arm of the chair.

“What do I want?” Schröder quipped, incredulous, “What do you want, doll? To stay married to him?”

And you knew he’d intended the question to be hurtful; you knew it by the glint in his eye, the goading tone of voice and the look he’d flitted to Bucky—nondescript and yet saying a world more than words could ever convey. He knew what had gone on between you, had likely heard your last conversation in its entirety, and was now using it against you. Mostly to taunt, then to injure your husband with truths he hadn’t yet uncovered himself.

Schröder’s eyes were shining with sadistic delight as he took your hand in his. He didn’t waste another second.

“No, no, that isn’t what you want at all, is it?”

Ignoring the screech of Bucky’s restraints as he tried to lunge out of his chair. Hearing him curse when he failed.

“—you said you’re leaving him, right?”

Schröder slid the thin, glistening ring off the hand he’d been holding before you could even think to stop him.

“—said you want a divorce, is that it?”

Then his grin got so big and conceited and enlivened by the sight of pain working its way onto Bucky’s face that any good sense you’d had left inside you was abandoned in a blink. You didn’t hesitate, or else try and make a pass to retrieve your ring—you just hit the man in the face.

Your fist was small, and his chin was hard. You knew before you ever threw the punch that it’d probably hurt you more than him, but you did it anyway. It succeeded, at the very least, in catching Schröder by surprise and swiftly pissing him off. Seeing this and feeling a bit bolder, you were somehow able to dodge his hands when he lurched for you again. Inside, your own anger flared.

“Why the fuck do you care?” you spat.

You found momentary respite in the corner of the bed, sliding back against a wall that would only protect you for so long. As soon as Schröder regained his bearings, he had you back in his sights and his grasp just as quick.

He dragged you back. He pulled you up. He dug the tips of his fingers so hard into your side that you thought the flesh might tear in two across your ribs. But it didn’t. Crescent-like indentations did leave their mark in a grisly set of five, though. You felt the sting of it as Schröder loosened his grip, then sucked his next breath through his teeth as if calming himself. Your gaze only hardened.

“I care,” he said, once he’d completed this slow inhale. He replaced his touch by pinching your face in one hand and bringing it up to his, expression more like a snarl. Then, raising the gun to your face in his other hand, “because I made a deal with your father. Remember?”

You did. Your head jerked back by force of instinct, but he held it. From every direction, then, you had nothing to hear but the sound of your own pulse thrumming a fast, panicked tempo in your skull. You tasted blood in your mouth without a drop on your tongue. And, had that deafening fear and revulsion been anything less, you likely would’ve heard something else beneath it all.

Would’ve felt it, if you weren’t already so numb: Schröder’s hand sliding its way down your body, diamond ring still stuck to the tip of his index finger. You sensed it as though seeing yourself from another perspective—watching his hand trail lower, lower, lower until something in Bucky split in two and he bellowed:

“SCHRÖDER—”

He said something more after that; you were sure of it. You just couldn’t hear him, or see him, or discern much of anything else but your own racing heart as the man who’d just beat your husband twice and lifted a gun to your head proceeded to press his touch to your belly. Almost conscientious and gentle as he lowered it.

“Was this part of the deal, too, doll?”

Your eyes widened. Realizing—then feeling fear seize you completely. Forgetting the metal at your temple and shaking your head with a force, but slow enough that your husband wouldn’t see it. Meanwhile, across from you both, Bucky seemed more than sufficiently occupied by his own blinding rage—he spit a glob of blood to the floor and, with his teeth bared again, swore he’d kill him.

Over and over and over again, oaths of taking Schröder’s life and making it gruesome and painful and slow filled your ears, but none of it stuck, for either you or Schröder. Instead, your maniacal captor just smiled, leaning in.

“I said, was this part of the deal, Mrs. Barnes?”

The heel of his palm sank into your stomach, and as the shock of his first words began to fade, a pain replaced it. His hand made an impressive demonstration of flattening and forcing itself so hard against the skin that a flurry of stars cropped up in your eyes, and you cried:

“Stop! I-It wasn’t— just— just stop. Stop.”

“Stop? Was it part of the deal or not?”

Schröder bore down even harder.

“It just happened!” you keened. Unsure why you felt compelled to answer for what had gone on at all—addressing the baby in this awful, oblique way—though reckoning it had something to do with the pressure he was applying to your stomach. You tried to squirm back.

But your stuttering pulse and your pleading gaze and the ache in your stomach proved to be all too much for any real progress to be made. You’d scarcely moved off an inch before he drove his palm deeper, and with the agony of a body about to rupture beneath it, a shriek clawed out of your throat. Your mouth fell open, and for once, you couldn’t curtail the pain, or fear. Schröder’s hand had just forced the noise from your mouth, along with some mindless, broken pleas to stop pushing, it hurts, please, please, when the face above yours only brightened. Schröder’s cruel, snide mouth flashed a smile above you, and before you could whine again—

He kissed you.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second.

Still, the moment seemed to stretch indefinitely. And felt perverse. So deeply nauseating and unsettling to every last nerve, muscle, tendon, and bone in your body that the response it evoked could be nothing less than visceral. You didn’t need to think at all to shove him off. Whatever might’ve given you pause with a loaded gun to your head was forgotten in a second, and soon enough, you weren’t alone in letting your reproach be known.

It started off with a crack, then a harsh, crude splintering of wood. A violent rift, from what you could hear of it, and when you turned your head, your suspicions were confirmed: Bucky had snapped half the arm of his chair away from the seat, and his right hand was almost freed.

Whatever barrier he faced in being bound more than four times over with rope seemed immaterial to him now. He could strain as hard as he pleased—feel the coarse synthetic fibers dig into his flesh and leave streaks of red, if not break the skin itself—and any pain, as before, hardly appeared to register with your husband at all. He just muscled through it, thrusting his wrist even harder. The whole force of this movement rocked the chair on its legs, and just when you sensed it might collapse beneath his weight, you felt Schröder stand up. The man didn’t need to move too far or do much else other than drop his hold on you and flip his gun to point it at Bucky instead.

Even when he had, though, Bucky didn’t flinch. His hands were in fists and his drive was like a machine’s—he tried forcing his way out of the right hand’s restraints, and the second the wood gave way, he was shoving it off.

Blind to the firearm Schröder was holding, or his words:

“Stay where you are, Barnes.”

Bucky was just then shaking off the rope that had been loosened by the break in the wood, jaw still tight as ever.

“You’ve got three other limbs to free, my friend, just—”

Schröder was still speaking when you saw his finger slip to the trigger, and it seemed to you it was itching to pull.

“James, stop!”

That plea came from you. More of a strangled cry, really—no more pleasant for either man to hear than it was for your throat to shriek. It did, however, stop Bucky cold. Your husband paused just long enough to meet your gaze. And in it, you saw, at least, that he was all there, if not enraged. But not soldat, or anyone else but himself.

You sighed in relief, despite what seeing two red rivers seeping out of Bucky’s mouth might otherwise provoke.

It was him. You might’ve smiled if another hadn’t cut in.

Schröder seized Bucky’s wrist. With it, you saw his hand just as mangled and bloodied as his lips. Knuckles cracked, slit, and soon to be littered with bruises of every shade, he shocked you again by how calmly he took it. Even when Schröder sank a thumb inside a big, gaping crater of a flesh wound he’d found on the back of his hand, your husband didn’t blink; he just looked at you.

‘I’m sorry.’

When the barrel of the gun returned to his head—this time, at the rear, as Schröder had circled back around the half-broken chair and was leaning over him—you could see the apology lodged in his eyes on full display.

“For safekeeping.” The man wielding the gun seemed almost pleased as he dropped your ring inside the breast pocket of your husband’s shirt, before patting it gently:

“Now where were we?”

A beat. Bucky’s right hand twitched beside him, but evidently, he knew better than to move in that moment.

“Right, right—” Schröder pretended to be remembering, tapping steel to Bucky’s skull, “She’s leaving, isn’t she?”

More silence.

You wanted to speak, beg Schröder for mercy, anything.

“Do you know why that is, Bucky?”

But before you could utter even a word of protest, the voice pressed on. Schröder was leaning in his ear.

“—what you did to her?”

The baby. Brooklyn. All the bloodshed that had ensued last week, leaving your husband completely in the dark. Of course, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been himself, and was scarcely more able to control his actions as the Winter Soldier than he could in a dream.

To your horror, Schröder reached down for Bucky’s hand, and, still holding the gun to him with the other, lifted it.

Pointed it.

Pushed it closer to you.

“C’mon, Buck. You don’t want me touching her, right? Why don’t you feel for yourself what she’s been hiding?”

Your blood turned to ice. You’d never felt so immobile—paralyzed—in your life, but seeing the hands drift closer and closer and feeling defenseless to their course, your body went numb. Your limbs grew heavier than lead.

And when you felt the smug, smiling blond guide your husband’s touch toward your head, you understood it all.

You were perched at the edge of the bed a foot away. Schröder was nudging Bucky forward in his chair, urging him to reach out and tilt her chin a little, go on, that’s it. And neither one of you had a choice, so he touched you. His fingers, directed by someone else, were obliged to brush the skin of your chin, your jaw, your cheek, and your brow, before finally settling above your left temple.

Your husband felt the cut—touched the stitches.

You winced, but not from any physical pain. It was Bucky’s face as the tips of his fingers skimmed the wound. The look of chagrin that crossed his eyes. Then bewilderment. Fear, as plain as anyone could see it— was he the cause of that? Had the hurt been from him?

You couldn’t bear to answer him, so you looked away. It was Schröder, again, who had all the power to speak.

“Can’t remember pushing her down?” he said, tone dark, “Making her split her head open on the bedside table because soldat didn’t know his own strength—only that he had to keep her safe—and sensed a threat outside?”

Bucky shook his head. His face was grave.

Schröder kept making him prod the skin.

“It’s bruised here, too. You feel it?”

Your husband did, and you thought it might break him. So tender and forlorn were the eyes, raking over every spot where a touch, his touch, had left you hurt before.

If nothing else could bring you back to your senses, the wounded look in Bucky’s gaze was sure to get it done.

You hardly thought again, just croaked: ‘It’s not his fault.’

Schröder’s hand then descended your neck, your torso.

As if he hadn’t heard you at all—

“You already saw what happened to her hand.”

—and forcing Bucky’s touch lower still.

“But what about here?”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt your husband’s hand come to rest on your stomach.

It was like a fire had ignited in your lower half, and nothing close to the soft, pleasurable kind. Not the flutter felt in anticipation of a touch from your husband, not the desirous sort. In fact, you dreaded it now; seeing Schröder over his shoulder, urging him closer, making him flatten his big, broad, scorching palm over your belly.

What should’ve been the ecstatic scene you’d conjured in your mind at least a hundred times since marrying him—the picture of domestic bliss as you said it, smiling, I’m pregnant—was now nothing short of torture. Choice all but stripped from you here, forced to emerge inside this terrible place, you found yourself needing to shrink back, shake your head, look to Schröder’s stubborn, unyielding gaze and beg him not to make you do this now. Not now.

Not here, with Bucky’s skin a shade of glacial white and his eyes going wide, taking on a look you’d never seen.

“What do you—”

He stared hard at the hand on your belly, but it didn’t last for long. As if realization were trying to seep in, he couldn’t meet it. His eyes flitted back to your face.

“Baby, what’s—” he tried again, stammering.

“—right, that’s it, Mr. Barnes.” That was Schröder.

Satisfied in the suspense of the moment keeping your husband still, he lifted his hand from Bucky’s and snapped, that’s it, and clapped him over the shoulder.

Congratulating him before the truth had even sunk in.

“A baby, that’s right! You’re going to be a father, Buck.”

And how far was the look on Bucky’s face from the one you’d dreamed before. The lips you’d envisioned in a smile now twisting bleakly, parting slightly, and the eyes you’d once hoped to be bright and elated only staring back with rings of red enveloping the irises. Whatever tears formed at his waterline were decidedly not of joy.

Only guilt.

“You did it.”

Desperation.

More moisture in his eyes as his hand started to tremble across your stomach, voice hoarse and soft, “Is it true?”

You didn’t need to nod. You just watched him, let your own eyes fill with the worst, stinging tears you had felt in your life, and from the silence that followed, Bucky knew.

As if the life beneath his palm were something dear, but still too much for him to comprehend, he shook his head. He stroked his thumb over the cotton of your pyjamas and tried inching closer, as much as his restraints would allow him. Then, with words that were audibly strained, but always gentle, he lowered his voice—as if to keep the communication between you two, despite your position:

“I love you.”

His hand was still on your belly as he said it. He reached up to cup your face. Even lower than before, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

That much was evident from every look he’d given you tonight. Every move he made a de facto apology, all actions in the vein of atonement, it couldn’t possibly escape your mind or his that he knew he’d done wrong. It was only a matter of accepting this—maybe coming to terms with the fact that your life wasn’t safe in his hands—for the guilt plaguing Bucky to multiply. Paralyze him.

There was no better time for Schröder to strike. Just as the anguish had flooded Bucky’s face completely, and his hand had had to lower itself from want of strength, a sound split the air. Bucky was so lost in his thoughts that it didn’t even register at first, but the impact was real, and it was harsh: Schröder punched him squarely in the jaw. The next, swift snap was his nasal bone taking a blow, and breaking beneath it. Blood breezed down and into his mouth. Feeling warm, his lips and chin doused in a second, he sensed nothing else. He might’ve groaned.

He caught another swift right hook, and his mind went blank. Nothing of substance threatened to materialize between his ears, save for the rush of blood through and from his skull and the dim recognition of something ugly.

Something horrific.

He couldn’t protect you.

His body was as much an idle waste as it was a danger. Useless now, as he was tied to this chair, and a risk to your well-being even if he weren’t. The hazard was him.

Schröder hit him again, and Bucky realized that the ringing he’d heard in his ears was your screaming.

“I’m doing her a favor,” Schröder spat before shoving him back in the chair, almost knocking it sideways.

The blond advanced with ease. His knuckles were drenched in blood; none of it was his. When he reached for Bucky again, the resistance was slight, and a simple, firm grip on the collar was all that was needed to drag his frame to sit straight. Bucky was barely upright for a second before the next—and worst—blow struck his face. His whole head rang with it, reeling, but still, he could make out the words as they were spoken to him.

“She’ll never be safe with you, Barnes. Never—” and at the last, Schröder lowered his gun. Started to loosen the rope from Bucky’s left arm, “—I could free you now, and you still wouldn’t get within an inch of what you want.”

He nudged the rope away and let it fall to the floor. Bucky lifted his hand, but the effort was in vain. No sooner had a finger of his stirred than Schröder was delivering a kick to the chair and letting it splinter. Topple. Skitter a half-foot across the hardwood floor with Bucky’s ankles still bound to it, before finally, gracelessly, breaking apart.

Bucky was on the floor, blinking through a stream of blood and a sea of muddied thoughts when Schröder kicked the chair again. The rope slackened some more.

“Her own father knew as much, so he made me a deal to take her off of your hands. Settle his debts the way he should’ve done the first time around,” Schröder said, and now his tone was lower. Lethal as it ever was, and stern.

“I know how much you hate to lose your playthings, Buck, but this one’s better off with me, I promise.”

And, as if to emphasize his point, Schröder turned and reached for you. Bucky’s own hands were slow, fumbling in fits and bursts to get the rope unwound from his ankles, but they were determined. He just couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, the ringing to subside, or his brain, in its concussed state, to let him move with a little more agility. He’d been hit too many times. He could barely lift his head off his shoulders and hold it straight, so he was forced to stay where he was, keep at his task, and listen.

“You’re weak when you’re not soldat.”

Using his knuckles, Schröder brushed the blood that was evidently all Bucky’s across your cheek, and you flinched.

“When you make the switch, still…you’re inhuman.”

Then he tilted your head, making you show them both the mutilated, stitched-up flesh above your temple. Again, you tried to slink away, but his touch was firm.

“Don’t you think your bride deserves better than that? Your child? Forced to live in fear of that thing you are?”

Blood coursed down Bucky’s face, and his lips were curled apart in a grimace, mouth hanging slightly ajar. His eyes fixed their look on you. The rope was undone.

He’d just started to try and stand when the edge of his vision blurred. He felt the lacerations in his face pulse as one, and with it, half his sight went skewed to the left. Schröder couldn’t help but crack a smile seeing him stumble, pitch back, and barely catch himself on the bedside table. When he stood, he was mostly hunched.

“Look at you, Buck. You can’t try and save her like this,” Schröder taunted, drawing you closer, “So stop trying.”

The man’s hand was like ice holding your face. The grip grew tighter when he saw your husband limping your way, and before either one of you could move, the index of Schröder’s other hand had slid down to the trigger. He didn’t wait to give another warning before he did it—just pointed the gun and fired one shot over Bucky’s head.

His aim was good. The bullet missed your husband by less than an inch. The gun had gone off by your ear, and immediately, you seized the side of your head as a sharp, searing pain cropped up. Your skull was still ringing when you heard the thing discharge again, and you realized it had been aimed at Bucky’s neck. He’d ventured another step, and Schröder had fired a second round to graze the top of his shoulder. Crimson bloomed through his shirt.

Bucky should’ve stumbled again. He might’ve staggered back with a grunt of pain, lifted a quick, reflexive hand to feel the wound, but the sense of it all was slow to reach him. The moments that passed him were delayed just the same, as if the world around him were distorted—the fibers of time tugged and stretched before his eyes—and he could hardly keep himself straight. When he got another look down the barrel of the gun, he didn’t blink. Couldn’t see, really. It was all misshapen sights and sounds and a dim recognition that his mind was in a fog.

Somewhere from within that mist, he heard, faintly:

“I’ll go— I’ll go— I’ll go with you, I’ll go— just stop.”

Schröder turned to you, and the smile that he wore was cruel, but Bucky wasn’t able to make out the expression.

All he could see then, to the faintest extent, was you—your face, gripped hard in another man’s hand, eyes pleading and wet with tears, and a slightly slack jaw.

“Leave him for me?” Schröder repeated, sneering.

You nodded. Blinked. Rolled your tongue along the inside of your cheek before pulling it back and biting down once. There was a hint of a wince in your eyes, but, from what Bucky could tell, it vanished just as fast as it came.

Your lips parted again. Your eyes widened a little.

“So the girl has some fucking sense.” That was Schröder.

He’d had his weapon re-holstered and your face firmly seized in both of his hands in no more than a second.

What came next surprised no one, though the sensations of disgust and rage were as quick to turn a stomach as the shock would have done. Schröder bent down and, having pulled your face closer to his, kissed you again.

Schröder’s mouth was glistening with a grin and Bucky’s own blood—smeared all over your face from how hard he’d been holding you—when he looked up and turned.

“Sensible and sweet, isn’t she? Tastes like it, too.”

Bucky saw nothing but red. It wasn’t just blood crowding his vision now but violence and rancor and outright hatred, stirring his limbs to start moving again when the rest of his body was plainly too battered to venture an inch in that condition. He staggered again, watched you again, and had made it almost halfway across the room when another sight slowed him, if only for a moment.

Schröder’s lips were back on yours, as if to mock him, but what startled him, really, was the way you’d opened your mouth. You couldn’t mean it. Clearly. Schröder was gripping your jaw, forcing it open—it had to be—and he was coaxing your tongue out from inside and weaving it with his. Once more, time moved like molasses, and that was all your husband had had to see: you kissing him back, gripping his arm through the thick, black tactical gear, and still parting your lips more and more for him. Like you needed a touch, or something, worse than ever.

That stalled Bucky, though he was nowhere close to stopping now. Briefly preoccupied, and seemingly shocked as well that you’d accepted the kiss so eagerly this time, Schröder didn’t see the approach. If he had, he likely would’ve turned and made a move for his Ruger, but as it was, he had only to blink—and there was Bucky.

He hit him with a force that was blinding, directly to the side of his head so hard that he’d had no choice but to separate from you. Schröder was stunned one second and on the floor in the next. Bucky threw him there, kicked him down, and, wavering for only a moment to cock back the shoulder that’d been shot, he ignored the pain and punched the man again. And again. And again.

There was a callousness, an indolence, and an ease with which he was able to inflict the pain, that much was evident. What didn’t seem so natural, at least in Bucky’s mind, was the weight that was in his hands: Schröder’s body felt limp before he’d even landed the second blow.

The pressure grew heavier and heavier in his hands the harder, and more frequently, he delivered each hit, but for now, he didn’t care. Bucky kept on punching until the face beneath him was gnarled and bloody, and his own fist, too, slashed every which way with more cuts than he was able to count. He would’ve kept going—could’ve ignored the stabbing pain in his shoulder for as long as it would take to ensure the man was dead—but as it was, he refused to ignore the voice he heard. It was yours.

Muffled now, as your body was bent to the side and your head drooped lower still. Your voice was soft but clear:

“Bucky, please, stop.”

He did.

He dropped the man’s collar from his hands as soon as he’d heard you say it, and he turned away as if nothing had transpired behind him at all. His focus was on you.

“Baby—”

To his surprise, he watched you spit on the floor.

Your face was grim and almost sick, and you spit again.

The look grew even worse, and afterward, you didn’t waste a second more; you stood and left the room.

Bucky was stunned at first, and his instinct had been to follow. Then he heard a rattling sound beside him. He glanced down and paled, seeing Schröder there.

His face had turned blue much sooner than Bucky had expected—and not from any bruising but a lack of oxygen in his lungs. He was choking, foaming slightly at the mouth while he gasped for air. Surely, it hadn’t been the hits that caused it. The whites of Schröder’s eyes were as conspicuous as he’d ever seen them. Desperate.

Bucky swiftly got the sense that the life of his former captor was lost, and frankly, he didn’t care enough to watch him die. He left what remained of Schröder’s form to continue writhing on the floor, choking and sputtering for a breath that would never come, and went after you.

Downstairs, he found you hunched over the kitchen sink—spitting, retching, and trembling, too, but breathing.

You let the water from the faucet fill your mouth, and you rinsed again. You winced as something stuck your cheek.

Bucky drew closer, quickly, and when he was right by your side, he saw you spit a shard of glass into the sink. He looked over to the counter, and he spotted three more

They were minuscule, really. Nothing quite the size to leave a wound too deep, but sharp enough to cut your lips, your tongue, or the insides of your cheeks. When Bucky leaned in, he saw droplets of red joining the flow of the water beneath it. You coughed over and over again

“Don’t,” you croaked, seeing Bucky reach for the glass.

Before he could reply: “It’s the poison. From Madripoor.”

Your husband’s blood went cold in his veins. He didn’t touch the glass, but he did press closer to you, feeling his insides churn as the cogs started to turn in his head.

The vial of poison you’d been given to slip in Schröder’s drink at the Foxy Den—how the hell had you gotten it back? Why would you think you needed it, if he— but no, that couldn’t be the case. There wasn’t a shot you just—

“—put it in your mouth?” Bucky couldn’t curb the fear in his voice. He reached for you and spun you to face him.

“Did it kill him?”

Your eyes were wide for entirely different reasons. Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing; his mouth was dry.

“I didn’t want to kiss him,” you went on, voice shaking a little, “I didn’t— I just— I couldn’t get him the poison any other way. I knew he’d kiss me again, and when he did—”

“I know,” Bucky said. He smoothed the hair from your face, shaking his head. Feeling his stomach clench with fear and dread as he hurried to get a look in your mouth.

You’d snuck the vial inside your cheek, then crushed it between your teeth before Schröder had kissed you. You’d all but forced him to swallow the poison, shoving your tongue down his throat, but what of the stuff that remained? The rough, trembling fingers of Bucky’s hand were trying to pry your lips apart as gently as they could, ensure all the serum was out, but at present, you wouldn’t let him. You pushed back gently, though not too far to prevent your own touch from roaming his shoulder.

“The bullet—” you started.

“Barely nicked me,” Bucky cut in, “Baby, I need to see—”

That you’re safe. That you won’t be hurt in any way. He couldn’t finish the thought himself, having seen what the poison did to Schröder. Instead, he just held you closer and fought the lump that was starting to form in his throat. Adrenaline had worked well enough to clear his mind of the haze, but the rest of him was all high-strung.

Your clothes clung to you both, wet with blood and sweat. Your breaths were fast. Your expressions were feral, eyes no calmer as they scanned over the other’s form and soaked in every trace of what had happened. Bucky in his formalwear and you in something close to a chemise—like your honeymoon night all over again—you each got a glimpse of the gore ornamenting yourselves and let the room fall quiet, if only for a minute or two.

Your husband was the one to break the silence, at length, with cracked and grisly hands sliding down to your hips.

“You’re okay?”

His touch shifted you back in place to sit on the counter.

“I’m alright.”

You wanted to say more; assure him, in a voice as sedate as you could manage, that this wasn’t his fault. Whether he would believe a word of what you said was a separate question, but, at any rate, it didn’t matter. The next thing you knew, Bucky was slotting himself in the space between your legs and pulling you into his arms.

In spite of himself and all the wounds, he held you tight.

“You’re alright,” he repeated.

His face sank into the crook of your neck, and you felt his muscles contract again—pulling you closer—as he drew a shaky breath against your skin. You hugged him back.

“Are you?” Your voice was small.

In a blink, Bucky resurfaced. He lifted his head from your neck and, still holding you, hadn’t seemed to have heard.

“The baby,” he said quickly.

He stepped back. Lowered his gaze and his hands to trail over your hips and near your stomach, and he stared, as if trying to make sense of something dire. His blue eyes were wide, and they assumed such a look of panic that you feared a blood vessel might actually burst in one.

After all the great lengths he’d gone to, ensuring you were safe and taking extra precautions, on the off-chance you might be pregnant, here you were.

And there he went, sliding his touch lower and lower again until his hand was pressed into your belly, and the gaze you’d once thought soft before had all but melted into tenderness—delicacy. Complete, loving unreserve.

When his eyes met yours a second time, they were shiny.

Wet with the only kind of tears you’d want to see in them.

“You’re really…” he started, just to taper off, blinking.

And then his cheeks were dotted with the tiny, round droplets, and he’d finally ventured a smile for the first time in what seemed like ages and you couldn’t keep from reaching for him. The second you’d lifted your arms you were back in his, lips and nose smushed against the front of his stained white button-up and breathing deep.

Or trying to, anyway. Bucky had you squeezed so tight to his chest you had nothing but his shirt to inhale at first. You didn’t mind, and when he pulled away a moment later, you realized that your eyes, too, were filling up quick. You had to steel yourself against a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to emerge—the aftermath of a half-dozen traumas laid bare over the last hour—but the longer you were here, and the more your husband stared at you like that, the quicker your courage was depleted. In the span of five seconds, your senses were shot to hell. All you could think was what you could feel, and all you felt was Bucky: his arms and his hands and the raw, blistering heat between your bodies. The rest was noise.

It surprised you both when you kissed him. Physically, your mouth and his were hardly up to do it, injured as they were, but the impulse was strong, and it flowed between you. As soon as your lips latched onto his, Bucky was holding your face, molding his body to yours without so much as a second thought, and the mouth you met was sturdy. Hungry in the way it kissed back.

A string of words from Schröder flashed in your mind—‘Never be safe’—and you grit your teeth together, snagging the cusp of Bucky’s lower lip as you did it. He groaned. Before you could even try to apologize, though, he was gripping your face harder in his hands and coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. His front was still flush with yours, and your legs were starting to wind around his hips. Your husband nudged you back against the cabinets, and from the force of that push, you felt it.

Felt him.

Surely, it had had to take two very fucked up individuals to get all hot and bothered from a bloodbath that had just taken place; but, again, here you were—together.

And there you went, grinding your lower half with his.

“Doll?” Bucky broke out, word slurred just a little.

For a second, you thought he was going to stop you. Your eyes scanned his, and you were already planning to apologize for being so horny, it must just be the—

“You know I love you, right?” he breathed.

You blinked. You were about to nod, when you felt the bulge in his slacks start to rub against your barely-clothed heat, and something akin to a shockwave coursed through your frame. It couldn’t be helped. A monsoon of hyper-sensitized pleasure trembled over the skin in a way you’d never felt it before, and suddenly you were letting out a moan: a muffled cry of, ‘Yes, I-I know.’

Your husband swallowed and stared, slightly taken aback by the reaction his erection had produced. He’d never felt that either. At least from what he could remember.

The truth was that he’d never had a pregnant wife before—someone whose body was now extraordinarily responsive to his touch, nearly aching for him.

When you scooted your butt to the edge of the counter and dug your heels in the backs of his legs, humping him, almost, he got the idea. Bucky swallowed again.

“I love you too, I— I—” you started, already out of breath, “I just really need you to fuck me. Can you— please—”

Bucky didn’t need to be asked once, much less twice. He already had his belt, button, and zip undone before you could even look down, and then your own pyjama shorts were sliding off too. The counter was cool against your skin, but your husband’s warmth was more than enough to compensate for the loss. You smiled again, sheepish.

“It’s just…hormones,” you said, quieter toward the end.

You weren’t sure why you felt so ashamed to simply say, ‘James, I’ve been damn near insane with desire ever since you put a baby in me. Can you give me five more?’ But you did. You felt your cheeks start to heat as your lower half was left exposed to the air, and Bucky slipped his hand down between your legs, practically groaning:

“Honey, you’re soaked.”

There wasn’t one iota of shame in his tone.

He was more than happy to find you drenched beneath his touch. He had a smile on his face and a warmth bleeding from every fingertip as he caressed that soft, tender spot. You didn’t need to tell him what was on your mind, either. He sensed something was making you shy, and rather than have you say it aloud, he just touched you gentler, stroked the skin more affectionately, and tilted his head so only you could hear him, quiet as ever:

“That’s my girl. Feeling good for me?”

You felt your heartbeat between your thighs.

“My baby,” Bucky went on, voice dulcet and slow.

Your body was trembling at the edge, waiting. Impatient.

“My wife,” he said that with a smile, into your neck.

He lowered you onto his length, and you whined.

“Mother of my child.” The smile got bigger.

You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Feeling him slide inside the most precious, wet, pliable part of you, stretching you out, you couldn’t help the sounds you made. You felt full in a whole new way; the groan Bucky let out when you were impaled down to the base of his cock said he shared the feeling. He throbbed inside you.

“You’re—fuck.” Bucky’s words broke off at the sensation.

Your walls were as slick as ever, your body delicate, rolling your hips to the first gentle thrusts that his shaft carved inside. Neither one of you could last long like this.

Still, at the threat of sublime pleasure, you felt fear, briefly: Schröder’s implacable stare—and the thousands more like him in HYDRA. You couldn’t help but grip Bucky tighter, willing these thoughts away with the rhythm of your body over his. Feeling him fill you up, fuck you with quick, deliberate thrusts and hold you, ‘That’s it, take what you need, sweet girl, you’re okay.’

You wished you were. You wanted to be. With every stab of Bucky’s hips, you hoped this would be the last night you ever feared for you or your child’s life, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. This was everything your husband’s varied ‘enterprises’ entailed, and a life with him meant never knowing a day without it—fear.

The head of Bucky’s cock grazed an especially sensitive ridge in your walls, and you whimpered into his shoulder.

You smelled blood.

He pushed you back against the counter and pounded harder, breaths heavy and labored and gruff as he spoke:

“You’re okay, baby, it’s alright.”

Your mind tried clinging to that thought, nodding along as if to convince yourself. The pleasure grew stronger, and your body was hot. Everything was heightened. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes or his lips or his rough, bloodied touch from roaming you wherever he could reach, and he kept rutting his hips, assuring you gently, again and again, that it was all okay. He was right here.

The pleasure from the depths of your body was beyond your control—you couldn’t help it when the band inside of you snapped. You held Bucky closer and you moaned, more desperate and needy and soaking for him, taking something from him, and knowing the bliss you felt would only steal the dark thoughts for a moment or two.

Bucky’s eyes said it just the same. He couldn’t keep stuffing you full, feeling his pleasure hit its peak, and finally painting your insides without sharing that look.

You were less than halfway down from your highs when you felt him go still, panting fast, then hold your face.

“I love you.”

It was desperate. Hoping for something.

“I love you, too,” you told him, and you meant it.

But there was more. Both of you knew there was more.

“I can’t be married to you, Bucky.”

You didn’t know why it had to come out now, but the emotions were there—his gaze had all but drawn it out.

Still sheathed inside you, your husband tensed. He looked as if he might try and shake his head, but the movement was stalled by his own momentary shock. He’d known the words were coming, but the sound of you saying them now wasn’t any less jarring to hear. Before he could reply, you found yourself cutting back in:

“Not now, at least. We need some…time. To think.”

You weren’t sure what you were saying, just that your lips were moving and every new word was hurting him more.

“Even with Schröder gone, there are so many…dangers for both—or, all—of us, and I don’t know…I just can’t—”

—imagine bringing a child into a world like this. Like his.

You didn’t need to say it.

The pain in Bucky’s eyes already communicated as much, and the conviction in your own only convinced him that you’d meant it—and what you said was the truth. You couldn’t stay in a marriage that wasn’t safe.

Just as you opened your mouth to say something more, the man surprised you when he squeezed your hand.

Nodding, almost imperceptibly, in front of you.

“I can wait,” he said, “Whenever you’re ready, doll.”

His voice was hoarse, words strained from the lump in his throat as he spoke, but the message was sincere.

“Whenever you feel safe,” he added, softly.

You wanted to hold him again. Like before, your eyes began to well with something stinging and harsh, but the look you’d fixed on him was filled with nothing but love. You would’ve reached for him then, if he hadn’t moved his hand to his pocket. He felt around inside it, briefly.

Then Bucky retrieved your wedding ring.

Holding you up against him, pressed snugly into the counter with your legs still wrapped around his lower half, he pinched the silver band between his forefinger and thumb and held it up to you. It glistened in the light.

“The next time you wear it, I want it to be because you chose to marry me. Not for anything, or anyone, else.”

Nothing arranged, no game, no being forced to stay.

You nodded and had to blink through a layer of tears.

Bucky’s thumb traced the moisture, cupping your cheek in one of his hands. He’d had to keep blinking himself, and before you could reach for him, he kissed you.

“I really hope you marry me again one day, Mrs. Barnes.”

You smiled, having parted but still holding on.

“I think I would like that, too. One day.”

The next thing you heard was a sound at the front door: what sounded like a crash. Half a dozen sets of feet stumbling inside, crowding the foyer, making a loud, frantic clamor that you and Bucky knew only too well. The two of you scrambled to get your clothes back on as Steve, Nat, Sam, and Sharon all seemed to yell at once.

You had one hell of a story to tell them.

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[amyispxnk]

Silent Night

Summary - You're back from college for the holidays, and you've decided on exactly what you want for Christmas - Joel Miller's cock.

A/N: this was such a last minute fic im ngl rn. wasn't even planning on posting a Christmas fic, let alone my FIRST dbf joel miller smut?? anyway, i hope everyone enjoys. happy Christmas<3

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut, some good ole daddy kink, age gap (20+ years), Joel is pretty pervy in this, alcohol, divorce mentions. Not proofread because I'm tired

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

When you left for college all that time ago, Joel didn't have any strong feelings towards you. You were his best friend's kid, so naturally he saw you often, and got close with you. You were a sweet kid, kind, smart (more than him, he reckoned), and very.. determined when you wanted to be.

Now you're back for Christmas, and as he sees you exiting your dad's car, hurrying over to him, yelling “Joel! Joel! Oh, I missed you so much!” he realises how fucked up his mind might be.

Any normal guy who was reuniting with a girl he'd known since she was a teenager, and a girl he had at least 20 years on, would not be looking at how her tits bounced in her crop top, or how her leggings were tight enough to let him see just how perfect your ass was.

But Joel wasn't normal, he wasn't a good man, so he was looking for all of those things. If he'd actually been looking at your face, maybe he'd have seen you smirking. Maybe he'd have realised you wore those clothes for exactly this reason.

-

Joel, or dad's best buddy, Mr Miller, as you'd known him until you were 16 and couldn't be bothered to pay respect to your elders, had been a part of your life for a while.

Ever since your mom took off, Joel was coming around far more often and, in his own gruff and quiet way, was taking care of you more than your own father was at the time.

Nowadays, you didn't really have any resentment towards your father because of this - he'd just gotten divorced, he was going through a rough time.

But teenage you definitely did, and having Joel step in like that definitely left you with mixed feelings.

If things weren't the way they were back then, you'd probably have developed this all-encompassing crush on him even earlier.

When you were leaving for college though, the crush suddenly dived into your life, crashing down and muddling up everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Now, as you returned back home at last, you knew you had to have him, or you feared you might just lose it.

He was everything a girl.. like you, could want right now. Old, brooding, mysterious, and so fucking hot.

So as you hopped over to him where he stood in his front lawn, you made sure to hug him tight and make sure he could really feel that you weren't wearing a bra. You knew he was looking already, so why not let him feel it?

He hesitated for a moment - probably struggling with his boner which you swore you could already feel - before bringing his arms around you and clapping you on the back.

“I missed you so much, Mr Miller.” You hum sweetly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His own eyes almost flutter shut at the name you chose to use for him, and he manages to choke out a soft missed ya too, darlin’.

That darlin’ would be enough to make you come tonight.

Your dad finally turns around after unloading your luggage and turning the car off, greeting Joel before the two of you head to your house.

-

The next day, it's Christmas Eve. Dinner rolls around, and you check over your makeup one more time. You don't want it to be too much - it would look weird, considering it was only Joel coming over (your dad was a solitary creature) - but you still had to look good for him.

The doorbell rings and you almost trip down the stairs. “I'll get it, dad!” You yell, and he thanks you, completely unaware of your motives.

You open the door, biting back a smirk when Joel immediately looks you up and down, only just managing to tear his eyes away from your chest.

“Hi, Mr Miller. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly.

“Hi, sweetheart… told ya y’dont have ta call me that. Joel's fine.” He says softly, eyes still a little hazy.

You step back to let him inside and immediately take one of the beers he'd brought over once he sets the case down.

“Y’old enough to drink that, honey?” He teases, mind finally out of the gutter for now.

“I'm 21 in like.. a month. It's fineeee.” You smirk, tipping your head back and taking a big swig, showing off the long column of your neck and the swell of your breasts.

His mind is back in the gutter.

Your eyes are off him for now, so he allows him to drink in the sight of you properly. A silly Christmas hat atop your curled, gorgeous hair; red sweater tight around your breasts, little candy-canes dotted around it; your skirt, far too short and he's almost certain you're teasing him now, tights underneath making him want to rip them clean off of you. Your makeup looks perfect, red lips which he knows would look perfect around his cock, mascara which he can picture smudged and ruined from tears and sweat while you fuck-

“Joel, y’made it! Cmon, sit with me.” Your dad grins, and Joel's eyes widen. What the fuck is wrong with him? He cannot be thinking that way about you.

He shakes his head, muttering something to himself before going to sit with your dad.

-

Joel finally thinks he'll have some reprieve from your incessant teasing, letting out a tired sigh as he sits on the couch, your dad on the armchair.

“Tired already, old man?” Your dad teases.

“You're older than me, asshole.” Joel grunts, earning him a chuckle.

Just then, you appear in the doorway. Of course, of-fucking-course, you'd decide to watch TV with them tonight. It's soccer, for Christ's sake, you'd always get bored out of your mind and run upstairs to go on your phone whenever the game was on.

Not today though, much to Joel's dismay.

“What're you watching?” You ask, sitting beside Joel. He tries to mask his discomfort.

“Just soccer hon, I know you don't like-” your dad starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“No, no! It's fine. I'll try watching it tonight.” You smile softly, and settle in to watch.

You clearly get bored after about 5 minutes, sighing softly.

“You really find this interesting?” You murmur to Joel, now having made yourself comfortable on his shoulder. He tried to make himself as stiff as possible when you first lay on him, but you were persistent as always, and he just gave in.

“Ain't nobody forcin’ you to watch it.” He argues, and you keep quiet after that, eventually getting up to go get the food ready.

-

Dinner is yet another trial for Joel. You've gotten just as frustrated and impatient as he is, it seems.

Leaning in front of him when serving the food, giving him a clear view of your tits. Not to mention you never serve food, set the table, but all of a sudden you're acting like little miss helpful today.

‘Accidentally’ dropping a cup and bending over in his eyeshot to pick it up.

Sitting beside him at the table instead of with your dad.

When your hand moves to his thigh, he bolts upright, earning him a look from your dad.

“Bathroom,” is all he can get out before he's rushing upstairs.

“Fucking kid. Thinks she can fuckin’.. pull all this shit with me.. thinks she can act like this in front of her dad.. fuck me.” He mutters to himself, despite undoing his belt and pulling his cock out, barely stifling his groan when he spits on his palm and starts tugging at his length so fast it's almost painful.

His mind conjures up all sorts of unholy images, and he's on the brink of release when- “Mr Miller,” you coo, knocking on the door. “is everything okay? You've been gone for like 10 minutes. Was it something in the food?”

He's so angry, so pent-up, he wants to pull you in here and just fuck that goddamn attitude out of you.

He's deathly silent, flushing, turning on the sink as he pulls his pants up, blue-balled like he'd never been before, and exiting the bathroom.

“Everything is fine.” He grits out, fists clenched as he walks past you. You eye his bulge and smirk before practically skipping down the stairs.

“He said everything's fine, daddy.” You smile to your dad, and he almost collapses. He swears he sees god for a second.

That word coming out of your mouth should absolutely not turn him on like it just did - but it did.

The rest of dinner, he's almost silent, just gulping down beer and chewing on his now cold turkey. You don't try anything with him, actually a little afraid he might just get up and leave.

Instead, you wait until the movie.

Your dad puts Die Hard on, and after a lengthy argument about whether or not it even counts as a Christmas movie, - you insist it's not and will carry that with you to the grave - you settle beside Joel.

Joel thinks he's made it through the worst of the evening, but then you shiver. You shiver again, and then you pout, and he feels obliged to ask.

“Are you cold?”

“Yeah.. can I have some of the blanket?” You whisper. Your dad is practically falling asleep in the armchair.

He goes to hand you the blanket, and you, devious as ever, put it over both of your laps, cuddling up to Joel even more.

He's on full alert right now, stiff as a log, waiting for your next game.

The movie goes on, and then your hand creeps under the sheet. Moving from the side, to your own lap, to his arm, then to his leg-

“What're you-” he grunts, but you just shush him.

“I'm trying to watch the movie, Joel.” You huff, as if your hand isn't on his cock right now.

His eyes are darting between you, the screen, his lap under the blanket, and your dad. Way too much is going on, and as you start palming him, he lets out the most pained groan. He sees you biting your lip and he's so angry, so horny, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Your dad suddenly wakes up, and the bubble pops. You pretend you're asleep on Joel's shoulder, and you know you've won when Joel tells your dad to just go on up, that he'll make sure she gets to bed.

As soon as your dad's bedroom door shuts, Joel grabs your jaw, glaring at you.

“Exactly what the fuck do you think you're doing, little girl?” He spits, and you giggle softly.

“‘m not doing anyth- ow, Joel!” You whimper when he squeezes your cheeks together.

“You gonna tell the truth now? Gonna answer me properly?” He says, tone and eyes cold as the ice on your driveway.

You nod, trying to stifle your whimper. He eases the grip on your jaw, still holding it, before asking you again.

“What do you think you're doing?” He says through clenched teeth, and you know he's not fucking around anymore.

“I.. I just..” Fuck it, you may as well shoot your shot, otherwise what was the point of everything tonight anyway?

“I wanted you to fuck me, Joel.”

Creak goes the step at the top of your staircase, and you squeak, jumping off the couch as Joel pulls the blanket and a pillow over his lap. You rush upstairs past your dad, hurriedly bidding him goodnight before slamming your door.

“Just came to grab my phone. Everythin' alright..?” He asks, brows furrowed at your skittish behaviour.

Joel nods, and your dad leaves him alone.

His cock has been throbbing for hours. So long that it's actually painful. But now he can't do anything. You and your dad are upstairs, you'll be asleep in 5 minutes, and Joel will just have to pretend it's your pussy wrapped around his length when he fucks his fist in the guest bedroom tonight.

-

Guilt gnaws away at him as he cleans his come off of his hand and stomach, tossing the tissues into the bin before changing into some sweats and managing to fall asleep after half an hour of tossing and turning.

The world seems to hate him, since he wakes up at 2am, heading to the bathroom only to walk past your bedroom and hear you moaning. He can't make out what you're moaning - but he has a good idea - and he's thankful your doors are quiet when he opens the one to your room.

You're facing away from the door, legs spread, face in your pillow as your hips buck, fingers working your pussy furiously.

“Joel, Joel, fuck-” you gasp, whimpering as you get close.

Fuck this.

If he didn't get to come for the entire evening, you did not get to come right now.

He walks over to you, morales abandoned, and growls your name.

You squeak, biting your lip as you turn and look at him. You'd been so close, but now you're too petrified to finish.

“Joel, I-”

“Not another word.”

It's the last thing he says before he flips you back onto your stomach, pushing your head down into the pillows.

“You're gonna be a good girl and shut the fuck up while I fuck this needy pussy. You understand me?”

You part your lips to reply, earning a spank to your ass.

“Can't fuckin’ listen, can ya? No talking, baby.”

You nod, whimpering as he pushes your head back down and pulls your soaked panties off, tossing them onto the floor.

“Fuck, look at her. Drippin’ for me, ain't she? Didn't know you were such a slut, babygirl.” He teases, knuckles dragging along your slit, and you cry into the pillow, hips bucking back against his hand.

Another spank, making you moan, trying to stop your hips from bucking once more.

“You take what you're fucking given. Do you understand me?”

You nod, having learnt from your mistakes.

“Good girl. Knew you could listen for me.” He coos, before he's thrusting two of his thick fingers into your dripping heat.

You gasp and whine, moaning his name into the pillow, almost tearing your sheets with how hard you grip them.

“That's right.. moan my name. Fuckin’ slut.” He grunts, head ducking down to tease your clit with his tongue. You almost lose it, starting to clench hard and fast around his fingers. You're right on the edge when he pulls away.

“Joel!” You practically sob, deflating as your orgasm drifts away.

“Shh, shh. You thought you could tease me all night and still get off? Y’thought wrong, honey.” He coos, mocking, pulling down his sweatpants and slicking up his cock with your wetness, giving you no warning as he starts to push in.

“Ohh, fuck. Knew you'd be tight for me, baby. That's it, good girl.” He groans, bottoming out. He allows you to cry his name into the pillow, but when he starts really fucking you, it gets too much.

He pulls out to the tip before slamming back into you, making you almost scream, back arching and hips bucking - unsure if you want him to get out, or fuck you even harder.

He decides for you, starting to pound into you. The only sounds in the room are your broken moans, his heavy breathing, and the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.

“Joel- Joel- pl-please I'm gonna come- please Daddy-” you moan, and his hips stutter before he's pulling you up by your hair, his back to your chest when he resumes his aggressive thrusts.

“Shut- the fuck- up.” He pants in-between thrusts, and you whimper, brows drawing together as you get close. He starts rubbing your clit and you see stars, unable to stop yourself from coming.

“Fuckfuckfuck yes, yes daddy- oh my god-” you sob, before he's pulling out and manhandling you onto your back, thrusting back inside to the hilt, palm covering your mouth.

“You better shut up right now unless you want your real daddy to wake up, find us here like this-” you curse silently when you clench around him at the thought - what is wrong with you?

“Oh, you like that? Dirty fucking girl. Such a slut for daddy, huh?” You clench tighter at that, and his thrusts speed up, pace irregular. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.”

His hand leaves your mouth and you cover it yourself, not wanting to anger him anymore.

“‘s okay, baby.” He murmurs, taking your hand from your mouth and leaning down to kiss you. As he does, his hand goes to your clit, and you moan loudly, muffled slightly by the kiss, as your back arches off the bed and you come so hard you see stars, setting off his own release and making him groan, biting your shoulder as he fills you up.

It's quiet for a moment, save for your shared panting, before he pulls out.

“Fuck, honey..” he murmurs, watching your shared fluids dribble out of your cunt, gathering them up on his fingers and pushing them back into your tight hole.

“Made such a mess, didn't we?” He says softly, brushing your hair away from your eyes as you giggle softly, nodding.

“That was so good.” You whisper, and he nods, gathering you up in your arms.

“Joel, you can't stay in here-” you mutter, confused.

“Just relax, honey. I'll leave in the mornin’. Just let me hold you for now.”

You're utterly perplexed, but you're definitely not complaining, swallowed up by his warmth and drifting off within a minute.

-

The next morning, you're opening presents, and you bite your lip when he reads his card from you. At the bottom, you'd added - come to my room afterwards for the second part of your gift - and when he comes upstairs afterwards, it's safe to say he doesn't leave for a good hour.

Dividers by @adornedwithlight <3

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Have a good Christmas everyone!! ❤️

[quaintii]

Across the Street

Pt.3

Pt.1, Pt2.

synopsis: Miguel calls you in once more for babysitting. He has a day off from work and something inconvenient happens.

content: 18+ MDNI - babysitting, DILF miguel, fingering, m!receiving bj, praise and degrading, dirty talk, spiccyy overall.

A/N: thank you guys for the support!! Love u all 💞

extra: art is on Twitter by kimmy_arts0912

Miguel woke up to the sound of his phone burring on the bedstand, clicking the stop button.

9:04 a.m.

He slowly rose off the bed, rubbing his temples and heading to the bathroom. He took his time getting himself ready, it was never easy for him since he would regularly work for long hours but today was a day off.

He took a shower, shaving off his stubble beard with a mirror glued on the bathroom wall. He got out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a small one on his wet hair.

Soon as he finished changing, he went downstairs to drink some black coffee and eat some peppered eggs with bacon.

As he scrolled through his work emails on his laptop, he saw Gabriella at the corner of his eye. She stepped off the stairs, approaching Miguel and hugging his legs.

"Como dormiste, mi changa?" (How'd you sleep, my girl?) He let out a hearty laugh, ruffling her messy brown curls. His focus was now on Gabriella, carrying her with one arm while his other hand pinched her swollen cheeks.

"Bien, papi!" She said as she swinged on his arm. Miguel smiled and lifted her back on the floor, reaching for the chair for his daughter. He placed two plates, a small stack of pancakes with strawberries, butter and syrup while the other was a bowl of fruit.

"Make sure to eat all of it, mija. It's bad to let things go to waste." He spoke as he washed the prior dishes from last night, making him vividly relive the memory of his fingers in you. He couldn't shake the thought of you, he kept spacing out on your touch.

He snapped back to reality when he peered his eyes to his phone ringing, his wife. Well almost his ex-wife, the divorce was still in date for court but they went their separate ways months ago.

He wrapped a towel around his hands, drying them and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"I'm picking up Gabriella later today around 6."

Miguel's brows furrowed together. "What do you mean?!? This whole week is my time to spend with her. I have a day off today and tomorrow." He snapped back at her.

"What's the reason for the sudden change?! Im allowed to spend time with my daughter too." He was fired up but whispered into the phone so Gabriella wouldn't hear.

"She just got home a couple days ago, que te pasa en la mente?!" Miguel spoke. She scoffed into the phone. "You're more in love with your work than our own daughter."

"Well I planned a trip for the both of us and I already have everything packed for her. Relax, you'll get her back in a couple days, bye!" As Miguel was about to yell at her, she hung up on the phone.

"Pinche pendeja.." he muttered softly on his lips.

He was furious but had to remain calm to not raise Gabriella's suspicion of why her dad was breathing so heavily and palming his face with his hands.

After a couple minutes pass, he sat next to Gabi watching a cartoon show to ease himself down. He would then urge Gabi to go brush her teeth and change into something else rather than her unicorn pajamas.

Miguel decided to take Gabi to a new toy shop that just opened. He was still pissed about the call earlier but the thought ended up leaving his mind as his focus was now on his daughter's happiness.

5:04 p.m.

It'd been a day or two since what happened. Miguel hadn't sent you a message to babysit Gabi, until this afternoon.

"Hey, can you come over to babysit Gabriella? That is if you're not busy with anything."

"I'll be on my way in 5 minutes, Mr. O'Hara."

"Perfect..thank you. Again, Miguel is fine."

You felt so queasy about stepping in foot back to his house but so excited. You wore a summer dress due to the heat emitting from the sky. The afternoon would always be the hottest time of the day where you lived.

You face the mirror to fix the messy curls that sprung up due to the frizz. You apply some lip liner, finishing it off with a red tint gloss.

5:12 p.m.

You knock on the door, patiently waiting. You hear a click and the door finally opens, the sun shined on his caramelized skin. He look almost jaw dropping.. with a slicked back hair look. Loose black fit pants with a loose button up shirt. His eyes gave off a smile smile and invited you in.

You looked around to find Gabriella drawing at the table.

"Hi Gabi!" You squeal and wave at her as she rushes into a hug towards you. "Yay! You're back!" She was eager to see you. "What are you drawing? That looks great!" "I'm drawing a forest with fairies and unicorns!" Her high pitched voice rang in your ears.

You lean in closer to look at her drawing, acknowledging it. You give her a sweet smile, she returns it back.

You step back and walk to the cabinets to get a glass of juice. Your body jumped when you felt a hand rubbing in circles on your ass.

Miguel grazed his hands on your shoulder, whispering near your ear and dragging you further to the kitchen. Gabi's back facing the both of you two, you felt his hot breath fan you; shivers down your spine and to your core.

"How have you been, muñeca? Te ves muy...hermosa." He husked in a low tone. Your breathing slowed down, worried to even peep a sound. "I missed you..was worried you wouldn't come back." His rough hands rub the soft skin on your hips.

His tongue teased your neck, sucking and softly nibbling on it. "N-not here Miguel..your daughter.." You whispered, trying hard to restrain your small whimpers. He hummed in your ears, nibbling on it before detaching himself as soon as he heard a doorbell ring.

Luckily the kitchen had the blinds closed so whoever was outside, couldn't see.

He sighed and you quickly headed to open the door, facing a woman. She had on black sunglasses to block the sun in her eyes.

"You must be the new babysitter right?" She questioned as she placed her purse on the island countertop. "Yes! I was recently hired by Mr. O'Hara, Ms.." You waited for a response from her. "Mrs. O'Hara." She spoke, she reached to grab Gabriella by the waist; a suitcase near the table.

You had thought that he was divorced, you thought pretty quickly to it maybe they just haven't had gone to court yet to fix their situation.

"Mom? Where are we going?" Gabriella prods her head at Miguel and you. "We're going to Disneyland!!" She squeals as she hears the exciting news.

Miguel sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing that she never really gave attention to Gabriella, just spoiling and bribing her.

Gabriella was brought down back to her feet, hugging you and her dad by the leg, waving goodbyes.

You helped her out with packing some of her toys upstairs. When you both finished packing up some extra stuff, you head downstairs, slightly peering your head to see Miguel and his wife whisper about stuff. Miguel's chest heaved as his hands ran through his hair, frustrated.

Gabriella prods her head at what you're looking at and you quickly distract her by asking her something.

"Did you grab all of your toys, Gabi?" "I think so," she said as she rubbed her head and headed towards the door.

The lady drank some champagne from the glass, eyeing you up and down, questionable about you. You were never this nervous, but you worried if she had known.

She averted her gaze back to Gabi, holding her hand and the suitcase near Miguel. "Bye papi!" Gabi squeaked as the door behind her closed. Miguel waved non-stop til he couldn't see her anymore.

He laid his elbows on the countertop, tilting his head sideways back and forth. "Everything okay?" You walked up to him.

"Yeah.. um..it's just.." He hesitated to tell you. "Oh, don't worry! It's fine you don't have to tell me, Mr.-.. Miguel." He sighed angrily, "No no, it's just that..this week I was supposed to have Gabriella. She comes unannounced, not even a heads up that she would take Gabi with her."

As he vented more of his frustration, he felt relief by letting it all out. You were open eares with him, softly patting his shoulder blades to ease him.

"Wow..that's really messed up. Do you have custody of Gabriella, if you don't mind me asking." You spoke softly.

"Yeah, I do. We haven't had the court fully decide yet, it's coming up in a couple weeks. I just hate how she's nowhere fit for her to be actually caring for Gabriella." He sighed and took a big sip from the champagne bottle.

You hummed in return, heading to the snack closet for something to ease him up. "Want some snacks?" You asked. Miguel gets up and walks towards you.

You tip-toed to reach a cardboard box full of gummies, until you felt your body shivering to the touch of his hands around your waist later reaching your bra.

He wraps his arms around you, his touch becoming a bit more daring this time.

"You're very tempting. It's difficult to resist you right now..."

Miguel smiles at you and whispers his words. He then places his lips on yours again, his kiss passionate and eager. He wraps you as tight as he can, his hands roaming your hips.

"Oh, I would love something sweet. Don't you?" He murmured on your neck. His hands pushed your dress up, caressing your plush skin. "Mr. O'Hara-.."

You felt a sharp slap to your ass. "What did I say? Llámame Miguel.." (Call me Miguel)

He placed a hand on your chin to face him, kissing you softly. The second kiss seemed more like hunger.

"Get on your knees for me, cariño." He husked in a low tone, you obediently listen and laid your knees on the cold marble floor. He caressed your face once more, "Good girl.." The praises that came out his mouth made your cheeks heat up, your blood pumping to your pooling cunt.

Miguel's face lights up with pleasure, his eyes staring at you seductively as you kneel down in front of him. He watches your movement as you kneel, breathing slightly heavier. The way you look at Miguel also makes him feel good.

"Mm..."

Miguel's hand then reaches down and he grabs your head, making you look up at him.

"Open your mouth..."

Miguel moves his hand down to one of your shoulders, moving his thumb along your collarbone and then along your cleavage.

"Open wider, muñeca..."

Miguel's smile grows more and more as he sees you opening your mouth. You see his hand moving around your lips, just touching your face sensually here and there. Miguel's eyes never leave yours, and you find his stare to be both attractive and also exciting.

"Mm... Good.."

Miguel's eyes move down to your tongue and then back up to your face. He starts to whisper in your ear, his voice going slightly deeper.

"¿Como se siente esa boca, chiquilla?"

Miguel's breath slows, clearly aroused. He stuck in two fingers into your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks softly as you sucked on them for a bit. He went deeper, making you gag continuously, he took his fingers out licking them clean.

Your eyes landed on his bulge, palming it with your hands, rubbing it harder each time, pulling groans out of Miguel.

You begin to remove his pants by unzipping it and pulling down his boxers, his hard cock slapping his abdomen. The red brownish head was practically fuming for your touch.

You part your lips, laying your tongue out and licking the pre-cum streaming down on his tip. You try fitting all of his cock in your throat but you can't so you stroke the rest of him.

His eyes drop down to your face, his eyebrows furrowed together, savouring the delicious feeling of your tongue around his cock. You bobbed your head faster when your throat relaxed, being able to take in more of him. You clench your inner thighs together to feel some relief on your swollen clit.

His breathing becomes shallow the more he becomes impatient. When you looked up at him with small teary eyed..

He loses it.

He needs and wants to feel more of you, he slammed his cock deeper down your throat. The squelching sounds and low groans of his voice made you whine but it was muttered by his cock in your mouth.

You dig your nails into his thighs to keep yourself steady, you feel like you've ran out of oxygen. But you couldn't care less.

"Puta madre..." He whispers.

The feeling of him driving you absolutely mad, his grip on your scalp tightening with every thrust he took. The aggression shocked you, but you couldn't move since he took complete control of your mouth.

His cock pressed harder into your throat, making you gag on and on while tears streamed down your face. Your flushed out face drew him to his final straw.

His hips snapping against your cheeks, the slapping sounds echoing. The feeling of your fingernails digging deep into his skin, your muffled moans clenching harder around his cock whenever you hollowed your cheeks, made him lose his control.

"F-fuck...you're so good...such a pretty little slut aren't you? So fucking good f'me baby..." He scowled.

You kept muffling mhm's as he would praise your touch on him. His hips began stuttering, his thrusts slowly becoming slower as his cock became more and more sensitive with every warm touch of your tongue around him.

He held both sides of your face in a firm but gentle grip, abusing your throat to catch his orgasm. "I'm c-coming..mhmmf..mierda..." He whined.

His massive body shook with his imploding orgasm, he shoved his cock to the back of your throat and shuddered as his cum was hot and sticky on your tongue.

The moment he pulled out, he angled my face to his, towering over my frame. "Swallow it f'me." He spoke bluntly.

Miguel removed your mouth off his cock, his erection still hard and pulsing. All he wanted right now was to be inside you but he had different plans for you. He was going to return the favor back to you now.

You let out a few coughs to catch your breath and swallowed just like he asked. Bittersweet taste left on your tongue.

"Eres tan buena y hermosa, ma." (You're so good and beautiful, ma)

"Llevantate, amor." He panted on your neck.

He grabbed you by the shoulders and lifted you up, resting your quivering ankles on his broad shoulders. His fingers stroking and prodding at the wet stain on your underwear, his cold touch setting you on fire.

"Let me touch your pretty pussy, amor. Déjame ver ese bello coño.." (Let me see that pretty pussy) He tore your underwear off, the cold air washing your cunt makes you shiver. He lightly slapped your folds to see your face contort and furrow.

Suddenly, his hot tongue flicked your wet folds, and heat swirled in your stomach, your clit throbbing. Your skin burned to his touch as he reached for your perked nipples, rubbing it with his hands and whenever he would pinch your nipples, you would jerk forward; making his nose hit your clit.

"M-more Miguel.." You begged, your cunt clenching around nothing left you feeling empty and so needy. Your fingers wrapping around his brown curls, gripping onto them dearly as his tongue lapped on your clit.

"You're doing such a good job f'me, mi amor. Keep moaning my name like that. Fuck.." He groaned into your cunt. He slid into another finger and the feeling was too much for you to handle.

"M-miguel.." Your pants filled with wanton and lust. Your body jerks forward as he slid a finger inside you, your eyes impossibly rolling back to the back of your head as you choked on your moans, mumbling his name as he continued to eat you out like a starved man.

"Mirame, corazon. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?"

You felt too much and too little all at once, it wasn't enough for you but you felt like you were about to get thrown off the edge as his fingers started pounding you deep inside your velvet walls. You kept twitching and trembling, your back arching off the wall as your body hopelessly writhed for him.

Your nerves began stuttering, going numb along with a knot starting to untie. Miguel wouldn't stop sucking on your folds, his nose nudging your clit. His eyes never left your face, he loved seeing how you responded to his touch.

You started feeling a fire pooling low in your abdomen, your heartbeat pulsing faster than before.

You started losing composure whatsoever, when he slid in another finger inside. He didn't stop lapping on your sopping cunt, your pussy clenching around his fingers made his cock ache for your walls to tighten around him.

"It's t-too much.. m-miguel please mhmgf..fuck!" You sobbed and wailed. Your tears wouldn't stop, his fingers plunging in deeper inside your swollen cunt.

"You can handle it, doll.. I know you can." His ears relished the wet squelching sounds and your sweet little moans. You tugged harder into his hair as you felt a wave crashing down, the dam broke which released a leg-shaking orgasm. Fire sprinted throughout your body, the feeling of it taking over your mind with nothing but his fingers and tongue on your cunt.

Your orgasm came in flooding in and electrified every nerve in your body. Your vision fading to black. Your throat welled with moans and mewls, as you kept blubbering incoherently.

Miguel devoured you without mercy, savoring your juices as it ran down his chin. He kept you steady by holding you tight on your hips as you wiggled non-stop, shaking and writhed under him.

You loved drowning in helplessness of the pleasure as it surrounded you by the waist, leaving you breathless, shaky, and light headed.

You became almost feverishly whimpering since Miguel would still suck on your clit, tenderly. He finally removed himself from your folds, smirking at you while caressing your flushed out face. "Te ves bella así, muñeca. Eres mia..que no?" (You look beautiful like that, doll. You're mine, right?) You nodded as your orgasm finally came to a stop. He rested your ankles back to the floor, holding you up by the waist so you wouldn't succumb to the floor.

Just when he was about to tease you with his cock slowly on your folds, you both hear a ding from the door. Keys ring through your ears and the door creaked open. Heels clacking on the hard floor echoing around the spacious house, heading upstairs. The both of you quickly start to dress up quickly, you knew exactly who this was.

"Miguel!! ¿¿Dónde estás?? Do you know where the monster high dolls are?!?" A woman voice yelled upstairs. Miguel gave you a quick peck on the lips and a wink.

"What is it this time?" Miguel's voice responded back to her. "Gabi forgot her stupid toys..anyways just tell me where they are. She won't stop crying and I need her to shut up."

Miguel refused to give into his emotions and snap back at her so he gave off a small response to her.

"They're in the hidden basket under her bed, the lock is in the bedstand drawer." He answered, looking back at you tip toeing to the door.

You sent yourself off by going back home quietly and hurriedly.

Miguel was once again incredibly frustrated for the intrusion.

A/N: it's 12:31 am rn, gonna have the best sleep ever. I finally finished it! Leave any feedback, always room for improvement, thank you guys!! (Sorry for the ending once more 😭😓, I promise to make part 4 hella dirty and long)

Taglist: @thedevax @missussmorales @mxtokko @roronoaslover @livytofine @lolaiitip @luvstuffies @sweetirilly @avatricu @minnbinn @rqdior @migueloharasgirlfriend @t-sillay @brittney69 @honeycovered-bandaids @whatdudtheysay @tuskjohnny @spideys2cute @mushy-mushroom04 @yuki9912 @yumeeesss @noyasanify @ewan-tef @ilonasthing @lia-77 @migueloharaluhver @notsussybaka @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @usagijoestar @itzsab @gh0stcatss @ihateuguys @nyoxklo @xstormstriderx @bontensbabygirl @jroshtssn @realalpacorn @toecurlingstories @lunamoonbby @amberpanda99 @minihorizons @kathleenisdaraptor

[makeupbychio]

divorce? hell nah // logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

Summary: You’d been fighting a lot with your husband Logan lately over pointless stuff, so Laura is worried about the future of her parent’s relationship. So are you.

Warnings: stupid fights, cursing, angst, reader dealing with depression, Logan being the best daddy and husband. Mentions of anxiety, family and work drama. Laura being your daughter so found family. Happy ending, mentions of smut.

Words: 2.5k.

A/N: Once again, a reminder that english is not my first language so I’m sorry if there is a mistake. This takes place in the world of Logan (2017) but everyone’s fine of course, let’s pretend that no one is dy1ng and you adopted Laura. I had a dream about this so enjoy, I wrote it so fast before I forgot it. Love y’all! <3 ALSO, you can read this with my previous Logan fic TRAINING SEASON, this is them in the future.

italics = past.

— — —

“Logan we need to stop fighting like this over stupid shit” you exhaled tired of this. Lately you've been fighting a lot with Logan, so frequent that it feels weird to you. Because not even when you were younger you remember fighting so much, and 80% of the time it was over meaningless stuff. 

The day was over, so both of you were doing your night routine to go to bed. The nostalgia of a sunday night is all over the air. Logan just joined you after putting Laura to sleep, he closed the door of your shared room. You’ve been trying to get up from the bed but the day was really  exhausting mentally for you.

Logan wanted to add that the last fight was you that started it but he held himself to make it worse because it would not add anything mentioning that right now. It was already in the past. “Yeah, I agree.” He just nods and stands far away from you with his hands resting on his hips, he’s looking at the floor thinking for a solution.

You are aware you are not at your best moment, you are dealing with so much lately. You are all the time worried about your family drama, then there are so many things changing at work that are stressing you out too. Also, of course the daily worries that include having a family. 

Logan is aware of this tough moment you are going through and he’s always there to support you, to have a shoulder to cry on, all ears for you so you don’t have to hold anything in your mind. That’s also what you did when he’s dealing with shitty things. 

But lately, god, everything seems to get on your nerves for the both of you. Sometimes the clothes are all spread on the floor, or when you arrived late from work and there is nothing on the fridge left to eat, or when Logan tries to defend Laura for something that really needs a punishment, etc. And it doesn’t help when you had a shitty day at work or keep receiving bad news from your family, so sometimes you just explode and Logan is also mad or had a shitty day so that’s when the fights start. 

“We really need to stop, Laura's been asking if we are okay” you told him with tears in your eyes. “When you went for a run in the morning, she came here to our room and laid next to me in bed so we had breakfast together and she looked under the weather, like she was not having a good time even when we had sweet treats and stuff…” you started to tell him about what happened earlier. “So I asked her if everything was alright and she looked right into my eyes and with a sad face she asked me if we were going to divorce- and- I told you Lo it was the most heartbreaking thing she could possibly ask me and…” you started to sob by remembering that conversation. 

Logan is now sitting next to you at the end of the bed. Holding your hand close to him, all of his attention to you. “And I was so shocked so I put my hands on her face holding her to really pay attention to what I was about to say…” you continued. 

“No, baby. Why are you asking that? Your dad and I love each other so much, and both of us love you so so so so much. We are not getting divorced” you held her face trying your best not to cry in front of her, the thought of being apart from the little family you had with Logan made you sad. 

“I’m asking because last night I heard you guys fighting, I mean you were raising your voices and then dad closed the door really hard. And it’s not the first time” Laura confessed and you felt bad that she had to listen to you argue. “Last week when I was outside playing with Franky I also heard both of you yelling”. 

“I’m sorry, baby. You should not have witnessed that, don’t worry. With your dad we’re okay” you caressed her hair to give her some calm to her mind.

”My friend Dani told me that it happened the same to their parents that are divorced now. So I’m scared that one day dad will leave us just like Dani’s dad” Laura told you with tears in her eyes just at the thought of her dad leaving her and her mom. 

That’s when your heart broke into a million pieces. You kept telling her not to worry, that you were having pointless arguments. You didn’t want to tell her about your problems at work and with your family because she’s a little girl, she should be worried about school and having fun as a kid and not about divorce and her dad leaving. 

So once you noticed she calmed down, you stayed in bed the whole morning and watched a movie together with Franky on Laura’s lap. The dog she adopted never leaves her side especially if he senses that she’s sad. 

And also you made up your mind that things needed to change, to stop these stupid fights with your husband. 

You told Logan about what happened in the morning when he left for his daily workout. Not wanting to tell him during the day because Laura is so concentrated on every attitude of both of you. That’s why you are telling him now that she went to sleep. Logan sighs like never before, like he was holding his breath the whole time you were talking, but never letting go of your hands together. “I know our daughter is smart and so empathetic just like you, so I get why she’s worried. I had to admit that I closed the door so hard, that’s on me. We need to stop fighting over bullshit, babe. We need to fix this, but I’m not leaving you guys”. Logan let go of your hand to stand in front of you squatting down holding your knees, “I’ll NEVER leave you, you hear me? We had been through so much worse, remember? And we made it because I fucking love you and I know you love me”. Logan reassured you too in case the same thought that Laura has is placed in your mind too.

You caressed his cheek and looked into those beautiful eyes of his, “I love our family, Logan. Like you said we made it through so much worse, I’m sorry I’ve been irritated lately. That’s on me, I’m going to do my best” tears flowing down your face. Logan quickly wiped them off. 

“Babe, I’m right here. I don’t know why but when you’re in a dark time you always felt free to cry and told me about it but this time it feels like you’re holding all of this sadness to bury it deep down. What 's going on? What changed?” Logan asked with curiosity because you’ve been together for years. 

“I don’t know, Lo. Maybe the hormones, maybe I don’t want to be a burden for you guys. Like I have to be strong for Laura, she’s my number one priority right now and she had an awful life before she found us so I don’t want to give her all of my shit, she’s a kid. Like I said, she should be worried about school and having the childhood she deserves” you poured your heart out to your husband. 

“My love you’ll never be a burden for me, you hear me? I need you to say it so that you understand. Besides, Laura needs to see us sad too, we can’t lie to her that life is all the time just joy. I’m not saying to tell her all of our problems, but that is valid if we feel some kind of way, we would be faking if we were smiling or just okay all the time”. Logan, the angry wolverine you used to know was gone the moment he met you back then in Charles’s mansion. Anger stopped being his only emotion, you made him feel in that same moment that he was always going to be able to show his real emotions and stopped playing this character of the angry and intimidating man. 

“I understand, Lo”. You finally gave him a smile. It is not fair for you to struggle alone and let go of this stress by fighting. You really need to start saying what’s going on, and Logan is always going to be there for it. Just by thinking of the huge difference of the fights you used to have in the past, a small laugh escaped your mouth. Logan looks at you surprised but happy that you got something off your chest. 

“What’s on your mind now, sugar?” Logan asked curiously. 

“I just remember the things we used to fight when we started dating, I mean we were younger and sometimes really stupid. And also the fights we used to have for mistakes we made on missions. We still fight when the other is on the field out there in danger, the worry about losing the other one always starts an argument…” you answered. 

“Yeah but those always ended up with a make out session…” Logan gave you a flirty grin, his dirty mind already enjoying the memories. To be honest, after a mission with or without an argument it always ends with both of you giving each other so much pleasure and comfort for being safe and sound. 

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! THAT WAS WAY TO DANGEROUS!!” Logan losing his mind because you almost got killed out there. 

“I HAD TO DO IT, I COULDN’T LEAVE THEM RIGHT THERE!!” you explained yourself why you came back to the field and risked your life. “IF I DIDN’T HELP THEM, NOBODY’S WAS GOING TO!”. 

God, your empathy is one of Logan’s favorite things about you, but more than once it has given him almost a heart attack. 

“NOT ALL THE TIMES WE CAN SAVE THEM ALL, I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT. I CAN’T LOSE YOU, PRINCESS” Logan holding your shoulders steady.

Once you were back at the mansion, and in the privacy of your shared room, Logan wanted to keep talking about the risk you made, but you just wanted to take a shower to take off all of the work done. “Honey, I’m right here in one piece. I’m fine” you brushed his hair with your fingers to calm him down. Trying to get a smile from him. 

“I insist, I can’t lose you. You’ll be freaking out too if it was me in your position” Logan raised his brow knowing you’ll be worried too about him. 

“I know, I’ll be way worse hysterical” you admitted, but at the same time just trying to calm him down. Right now both of you need to relax after a hard mission. You kept brushing his hair until he stopped talking and just leaned into your touch. Both of you ended up taking a bath together and stayed all afternoon in the sheets making love. Other times the fights after missions didn’t seem to stop and led to angry sex. 

“Now that you said that, it reminds me of Laura explaining to me something she realized when she heard us fighting last night and…” you started laughing but also felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, honey. We didn’t mean to raise our voices, we didn’t mean for you to hear us but sometimes with your dad we had our differences. But everything is fine now, we talked about it and it’s okay now” you didn’t lie. One thing you and Logan hate is to go to bed angry, it’s also true that you didn’t want Laura to hear it.

“Yeah, I know you were fighting because it wasn’t the happy screams you and dad make at night sometimes”. Laura said with the innocent intention a kid has. You almost choked on your cup of tea.

You don’t know if it was because of her powers that she heard the happy screams she’s talking about, because the house is huge and her room is not that close to your shared room. And since she arrived, every time you have sex with Logan both of you are really aware that there is someone else in the house so you keep your voice low and always lock the door. You don’t want to traumatize your daughter.

Not like before having kids, or when Laura is staying the night somewhere else, that Logan asks you to be loud so the neighbors can hear his name.

“Are you fucking kidding me she said that?” Logan laughing at your face, red like a tomato. 

“Don’t laugh at that, Lo! It was so embarrassing to explain to her that it was a conversation for another day…” you hid your face in your palms, Logan still teasing you about your sudden shyness. “So I told her that her daddy was going to explain someday when she was older why adults make those happy screams” now you are teasing him because his face almost dropped. Already anxious about how he’s going to explain to his daughter how babies come to the world and all that stuff. 

“Nope, because she’s never going to grow up. She'll always be our little girl” he tried to convince himself about that. You gave him a pat on his back that he can handle that. 

“Our little girl is almost 12, babe. So you’ll have to have THAT talk sooner that you think with her. But don’t worry I’m sure you’re going to nail that because you are the best daddy”. You assured him.

God, you can picture in your mind the reaction of Logan when teenager Laura will bring her first partner. You’ll need to be there for him because your daughter is about to experience a lot of things and your husband will need your help. 

“Don’t be a brat with me please, sweetheart I’m begging you” Logan easily put you on his lap, brushing your hair out of your face. “What if instead of giving me more anxiety you help me get rid of that anxiety we’ve been dealing with lately?” he kissed your neck, his breath so warm against your skin. 

“What do you suggest, big boy?” his hand now traveling down your spine and you hold his face close to your chest, Logan leaving kisses on top of your clothed breasts. God, you miss this, you miss him being this closer. 

“Maybe a bath or I can fuck you like this right now but we have to be really careful with the noises, especially you doll. I know you like to scream my name and how good I make you feel” Logan already taking his shirt off to whatever option you are down to. You smacked his toned chest at the insinuation, pulling him closer to kiss you with the eagerness you missed so much. He lifted you from your spot heading to take that bath, it was going to be a long night and tomorrow morning you both need to be up early to drop Laura off at school.

[novy2sirius]

᭓ ྀུ༺ a degree theory by nikola stojanovic

please read before proceeding

important note: this is not my info. this is all from nikola stojanovic’s theory on degrees in astrology. he has books on it that i think you can find online and download for free

trigger warnings: murder, car crashes, sex, and suicide

sign degrees

zero degrees: 0°

the same characteristics as the sign it’s already placed in. example - aries venus at 0° is purely an aries venus, obviously aside from the house energy

aries degrees: 1°, 13°, and 25°

beginnings, leadership, taking action, fighting spirit, not giving oneself up to fate, struggle, war, abuse, labor, diligence, etc

taurus degrees: 2°, 14°, and 26°

food, money, stability, earth, luxuries, sound of voice, singing voice, etc

gemini degrees: 3°, 15°, and 27°

communication, self-expression, technology, books, siblings, neighbors, etc

cancer degrees: 4°, 16°, and 28°

home, traditions, nurture, loyalty, faith, mother, the ocean/water, etc

leo degrees: 5°, 17°, and 29°

life, children, attention, fame, creativity, strength, happiness, light, etc

virgo degrees: 6° and 18°

improvement, health, to diminish, routine, animals, acts of service, etc

libra degrees: 7° and 19°

harmony/fairness, charm, beauty, law, music, art, dancing, pleasures, etc

scorpio degrees: 8° and 20°

death, major transformation, wealth, jealousy, sex, secrecy, taxes, etc

sagittarius degrees: 9° and 21°

wisdom, abundance, college, travel, photography, success, beliefs, etc

capricorn degrees: 10° and 22°

hard work, fear, public attention, karma, father, boss, isolation, history, etc

aquarius degrees: 11° and 23°

unexpected experiences, technology, friendships, networking, divorce, etc

pisces degrees: 12° and 24°

spirituality, escapism, dreams, illusion, the sea, mysteries, the hidden, etc

special degree meanings

supreme power: 2°

this degree is often found in the charts of people with remarkable achievements, who had extreme power, and who were highly respected according to nikola’s research

eroticism/a fun life: 5°

many sex symbols like marilyn monroe have this in their chart. nikola believed this was the best degree in general as well. he thought it indicated lots of fun and pleasure in one’s life

suicide/divorce: 11° and 23°

according to nikola the aquarius degrees (11 and 23) both indicate divorce occurring when placed in prominent positions in the chart. 11 is the only one indicating suicide though

car accidents: 15°

nikola believed that when this degree was connected to 8th house or scorpio placements it could indicate getting into car crashes

pure evil: 18°

nikola believed that this degree indicated a negative destiny for someone. he thought it was the worst degree you could have in your chart, based on his research he thought it was solely about facing hardships and nothing more. he also believed it could indicate being an evil person with no good intentions

to kill or be killed: 22°

just as the title reads, nikola believed this degree indicates being killed or being a killer. another thing he believed it could indicate was abandonment in the area of life it’s placed

clairvoyance: 29°

nikola believed this degree indicates someone that has very good intuition and can make accurate predictions about the outcomes of events

my opinion on astrology degrees

i personally don’t believe in nikola’s theory 100%, although i do think there’s accuracy to the signs being associated with specific degrees. i have always had stronger belief in my numerstrology degree theory than anything when it comes to this subject though. i definitely do not believe 18° is fully negative like he claims since the universe is yin yang so there’s always both positive and negative ways things can manifest. these are just my thoughts though

do you believe nikola’s degree theory? comment below!

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations No.27:

*just based on my observations, pleas only take what resonates

(Trying to write more posts and answer more asks lately, everything has been so busy omg- hope you all enjoy what I can put out there tho! c:)

-A perspective but I think Libra placements (big 6 but especially Venus and mars) are attracted to harmonious/balanced appearances, like I think having that glow from confidence in your aesthetic and it fitting you and things like that can make you just as attractive to Libra placements as conventional measurements of beauty

-Sun Conjunct Venus makes you really charismatic and you probably attract a lot of people by being yourself, and sometimes these natives can be people pleasers especially if they’re trying to impress others

-Quietly I associate your mars sign and your MC the most with the work you’ll do. Mars because you can’t divorce your passion from your work (says the Capricorn). And MC because it’s what you’re known for and that’s often tied to some sort of work/action. North node is tied in there too but it plays out so long term it can be harder to summarize. (I can do a post about the general fields that placements tend to go towards if folks are interested?)

-Aries and Sagittarius Mercury tied for most likely to accidentally blurt out your secrets

-Chiron Venus aspects (especially square, opposition, and conjunction) may find themselves undoing a lot of pressure around their looks or being especially hard on themselves over their perceived flaws/imperfections

-The sign over your 5th house may denote if you have many or few casual romantic connections (Saturn/Capricorn pointing to fewer one end of the scale and Jupiter/Sagittarius pointing to many at the other end of the scale, depends on Venus and mars too)

-You may find yourself accidentally pouring your heart out to water moons (especially cancer over how emotionally in-tune they are and scorpio over traaaaumaaa oml)

-I feel like Sagittarius can feel less mutable because Jupiter makes some of the forms of expression so big (ex. A Sagittarius Mars can get so mad at you and blow up, Sagittarius Mars/Venus typically date many partners, Sagittarius moons can express their emotions in a big way- I probably feel this way bc I’m Sag Pluto, the extremes lol)

-I’ve noticed that Venus dominants can seek more attention compared to like Leo/sun doms

-Fixed Venus can become codependent on their partner, putting heavy exceptions on their person for them to be their everything if underdeveloped— but if developed they can be very loyal to their person

-Mutable Venus aren’t quite commitment-phobic but they tend to be looking for a really special combination of traits to actually settle down with (when they’re monogamous), otherwise they get distracted very easily (or they treat their romantic options, and sometimes friends, like very temporary things- for better or for worse)

-Cardinal Venus are most likely to really go after what they want romantically, I think out of all the Venus modalities they have the most accurate idea of what they want at heart, from the start. But on the shadow side of this, they may be manipulative or try to conform their partner into what they want. (may play out differently for moon opposition/square Venus)

-I feel like where ever Venus is heavy in your chart may be how people assume you’re gracious but in a somewhat shallow way (ex. Venus conjunct mercury, people may find your voice and expression charming but assume you’re not that smart)

-Venus/Saturn aspects/ Capricorn Venus tend to have a lot of unrequited love interests and crushes that don’t reciprocate their affections when they’re younger but as they get older they tend to get the most affection from suitors that are older than them (be careful out here! Sometimes these old folks don’t know anything and they have bad intentions- girl when I say I had to take my own advice)

-Leos (big 3, especially sun & Asc) often know the right thing to say to charm you, it’s like when they want to they hit that sweetspot dead on. So do Libra’s (big 3) but they tend to approach things less directly, like compliments that really sit with you and come onto you in quieter, sometimes less serious way (if they have both in their big 3 then they’re just -a charmer- and idk I take that at face value 80% of the time lol but I’m a skeptic)

-I find that Pisces and Sagittarius placements (big 6 but especially sun for identity and moon for emotionality) often get VERY into spirituality at some point in their lives

-People with Jupiter in Virgo tend to work very diligently, almost too hard sometimes and they can be prone to burning themselves out from this behavior (something something don’t burn the candle at both ends- hypocritical from a Jupiter in Capricorn person lol but still)

-We talk about how Scorpio placements observe every detail about you, but I like Pisces placements (big 6 but especially sun, moon, Venus, and mars) have told me things about myself and habits I have that I’ve never noticed about myself. They’re super observant they notice a lot. I think they have this in common with their sister sign, Virgo. But I noticed Pisces will use their intuition in their observations instead of just analyzing. (I.e. you do x when you’re angry, is it because you feel defensive? Or I noticed you light up when you talked about him, you must really like him)- can also apply to Neptune Conjunct your big 3 (especially moon), and big 3 in 12th but it’s a bit more second nature to them than Pisces

-The season of your Venus sign is the time you’re most likely to indulge in self care and purchases for yourself (Sag season started and all of a sudden I was like I need makeup now, even though I hardly wear it in the winter lol)

-The season of your mars is the time you’re most like to take major actions (starting a business, going on solo adventures, etc)

-The season of your sun is when you’re most likely going to receive the most public recognition (also when the sun is transiting your MC/10th house)