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suraemoon · 5 days

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Would I be able to request domestic hcs with Ken Lemmons? ⭐️

Ken Lemmons Headcanons

~ Domestic Edition ~

🍋: Of course you would, love. Here are some cute little Kenny things I came up with. This has been a busy weekend for me but I ended up more inspired than I thought! I hope you enjoy.

🛠️: Thank you to the most darling cheerleader @precious-little-scoundrel. Some of her ideas are sprinkled in here like pixie dust.

You and Ken Lemmons are true highschool sweethearts, meeting on the first day of freshman year and not mustering up the courage to admit your feelings for eachother until the last day of school before spring break

It was a beautiful day in the local park, only about an hour after the final bell rung, freeing you from responsibility for the next two weeks

You two walked hand in hand, a gesture that has become second nature as you have done it many plenty of times before, making your way down the rocky stone path

After sitting down on the grass together in a comfortable and beautiful silence, the only sounds being the noises of soft nature, Kenny tucks a piece of hair behind your ear

You noticed how his usually steady hands shook in nervousness while his finger glided down the side of your ear and as you contemplated the specific reason why that may be, his pretty face started to come closer to yours

His eyes flutter closed and he kisses you

It’s something both of you have dreamed about, a scenario rehearsed and repeated in both of your young minds hundreds of times while zoning out in class, your teacher droning on about a new math problem

The kiss was slow and gentle, his lips softer than the blanket of green grass sitting underneath your two bodies

A cute little nose rub led to a second kiss, followed by a third, then a fourth

You remember the way the birds chirped, the way the flowers looked more vibrant than usual as he walked you home that day

Upon arriving at your front porch, yet another soft kiss was exchanged and you watched curiously as he put something gently into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it as if to be kept with utmost care

It was a tiny but hopeful four leaf clover

One he found hiding among the luscious green grass right before the kiss

Ken’s mechanical skills bode well in his favor when it comes to impressing your father

At first your father wasn’t quite keen about his beloved daughter having a boyfriend but when the curly headed Lemmons boy comes over and fixes a car part that your father did not even know existed? That and Kenny’s transparent love for you helps get the paternal stamp of approval.

Now he always asks when Ken is coming over

Dad insists on talking all things mechanic on the front porch and you have to practically drag Ken inside the house in order to get alone time because your boyfriend is simply too polite to end the conversation

Your first date was the cutest picnic fathomable

You two watched the sunset together and then looked at the stars through Kenny’s new telescope

You become Mr. and Mrs. Ken Lemmons the summer after graduating highschool on a beautiful August day

A couple that made it through highschool, I know right?

Your wedding was straight out of the end of a romance film, but it was nothing but a new beginning for the two of you

It was a small chapel wedding full of nothing but family and friends

For the rest of your life, you fondly remember the way the sunlight shine through the stained glass windows as you walked down the aisle

Yes, he had tears in his eyes

You can recall the warmth and happiness in the air as the double doors opened to present the two of you to the world, Mr and Mrs. Lemmons walking hand-in-hand down flower-covered concrete steps

The wedding reception was held on your parent’s farm, surrounded by loved ones and open space

You two are each other's first time and it’s a beautiful virginity loss indeed

Ken has always been such a giver and the bedroom is included in that

Patience, devotion, enthusiasm, praise, love, love, love, and more love

^^^ Some words you thought up to describe the blissful experience after being cleaned up and cuddled, your white lace gown discarded on the floor after being replaced with white sheets and body heat

The first little Lemmons child was conceived that night, no doubt about it

Ken has always wanted children

and after spotting you (and your coworkers but his eyes were solely on you) lead a group of smiling toddlers across the street after a day in the park like a brood of ducklings during one of many daycare shifts, he knew that there was no other woman he’d want to be his children’s mother

Is it cheesy to say that you two planted a lemon tree in the backyard?

Maybe right after you got married and bought your first house in the sunny suburbs

It started off small, but just like your relationship it grew taller, developed stronger, and blossomed into an epitome of beauty

It takes six to nine months for a lemon to ripen

Nine months after first planting your tree, you get your first lemon, as yellow as the sun and picture perfect

You happen to notice it while looking out the window of the nursery, the same day you brought your firstborn home from the hospital

It isn’t long after you give birth when your Kenny goes off to England

His mind is on you and the baby 24/7, always sending long letters about how much he misses the two of you

You send back equally lengthy replies, along with numerous photos of your growing little one

Maybe a not-so-appropriate picture of you in a silk nightie, laying in your way-too-empty bed is slipped into photo pile

Where’d that come from? Hmmm I don't know. Unexpected behavior from sweet little Mrs. Lemmons but boy is it appreciated.

Even though he’s overseas and you’re still in Arkansas, you can practically feel his blushing cheeks.

Playing with the rambunctious children of Thorpe Abbotts reminds Ken of the smiley baby he has waiting for him back home in Arkansas

When he finally comes home, a spin in the air accompanied a long kiss the moment you’re back in his arms, the two of you are able to continue where you left off

Some nosy individuals had doubts on how such a young, newborn marriage would last due to such a long distance and so much time apart

Did the baby bird leave the nest too soon?

But in some unexpected way, the experience brought you even closer together

You two didn’t just fly, you soared

The family expands and something that becomes an essential to you Lemmons is nature and fresh air

Ken is the king of nature walks and picnics

He points out different birds to the kids while walking down trails, letting them hold onto his shoulders when their little legs get tired of walking

Giggles galore while splashing in the Ozark streams

Gardening is also key part of life in the Lemmons household

It takes the same amount of love, dedication, and hard work that reminds Kenny of his time in Thorpe Abbotts

Little Lemmon's children running around the yard with bouncing curls and dirty overalls

They all have his pretty smile and his unwavering determination

beautiful minds full of creativity and kindness

They’re natural born problem solvers and teamworkers, working together to create the most elaborate pillow forts and interesting inventions

He helps them with school projects. The school science fair? The Lemmons children win every year. Whether it be a homemade volcano or potato light bulb, a bunch of soft blue ribbons and shiny gold trophies collect over the years.

He also builds trains models for himself and the littles

Every December there is a train making its way around the Christmas tree, tracks sitting comfortably on the hem of the red and green skirt

Kenny also does all the yard work

Mowing the lawn, raking the leaves, you name it

Whenever he rakes leaves, he gathers them into a giant pile for the kids to jump in

It doesn’t matter one bit to him that he has to rake it all up again at the end of their activity, his children’s smiles make all the work worth it

You want a new shed? A greenhouse? A chicken coop? If you bring it up dismissively over breakfast, it will be built and completed by the end of the day

Imagine bringing him a glass of cold lemonade, your sundress flowing behind you as you walk over to him

You wipe his forehead with a cloth and then he kisses you lovingly and gratefully before getting back to work

He is sweaty and gorgeous as he walks through the back door, the setting sun behind him

The sight of pure effort personified makes you anticipate the children going to bed and it just being you and him alone

Giving him a bath?

Just imagine washing those curls, running your hands through them as his eyes are closed in pure bliss

Like I said earlier, Ken is a giver. If you do something for him, he wants to return it tenfold.

His fingers know the perfect pace, the perfect rhythm to keep you moaning and writhing from his touch

He loves putting his lips on yours

Making out in bed or a quick peck as he’s walking by you in the kitchen

He’ll stare in awe while you’re getting ready in the morning, admiring every inch of you

Rubbing his tired eyes to make sure he isn’t dreaming up the absolute goddess standing in front of him

He isn’t dreaming, definitely not

He is your greatest support system, your most devoted fan, your biggest advocate

The proudest husband ever and he isn’t ashamed about it

————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! I do take requests, if you are interested, there’s just no absolute guarantee I’ll get to them. xxxx

#masters of the air #ken lemmons #mota #mota fanfiction #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #mota headcanons #headcanons

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suraemoon · 7 days

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LANA DEL REY Coachella 2024

#lana del rey #coachella #<3

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suraemoon · 11 days

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#<3 #elvis #elvis presley

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suraemoon · 13 days

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#lana del rey #coachella #<3 #she’s so stunning

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suraemoon · 13 days

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John Brady and Lana Del Rey?

green flags everywhere, also —confirms the choking kink, I will not elaborate

#a man in a lana hoodie who wears rings can give me babies #definitely confirms the choking kink #no elaboration is necessary #‘do you want children? do you wanna marry me?’#‘do you wanna run marathons in long beach by the sea?’#fox pretty brady boy #face card never declines #ben radcliffe #masters of the air

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suraemoon · 16 days

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Reblog this if it’s okay to DM you and shoot the friendship shot.

#i love talking to peopleeee #not in real life but #this ain’t real life

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suraemoon · 18 days

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Some Like It Hot (1959) dir. Billy Wilder

#i love this movie #some like it hot #1950s #marilyn monroe #tony curtis #jack lemmon

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suraemoon · 19 days

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robert sassy rosenthal + harry short-tempered crosby Masters of the Air (2024) - Part Eight

#this duooo #i love sassy rosie #i’d let him patronize me any day #mota #masters of the air

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suraemoon · 19 days

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hi 🍀 hope you’re enjoying your day. do you take mota imagine requests?

thank you!!

Hi, hun! My day has been great, I hope you are having an amazing one as well.

I do take requests! As always, there isn’t an absolute guarantee I’m going to get to it because I wouldn’t want to post something that I’m not happy with/don’t feel like I put enough effort into.

But I would love ideas and requests of what you would like to read. It makes me happy that you would trust *me* with your brilliant little ideas. xxx

#mota #masters of the air #masters of the air fanfic

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suraemoon · 20 days

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There’s still a lot of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don’t think he knows.

THE OUTSIDERS (1983) dir. Francis Ford Coppola

#my fav book #stay gold #the outsiders #<3

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suraemoon · 21 days

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AUSTIN BUTLER and his tendency to look around him for something in Youtube's video Austin Butler drives Greg Williams back home.

#austin butler #interview

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suraemoon · 21 days

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One of Marilyn’s first stops that afternoon was The 400 Cake Shop around the corner on First Avenue. It’s a small shop with glass cases full of tempting, sugar-smelling goodies. When I talked one of the white-uniformed waitresses, she told me Marilyn doesn’t like anything chocolate: "I heard her say once she finally got over her craving for chocolate. And was she glad! Now she likes cheesecake and macaroons, strawberry tarts and layer cakes. She doesn’t ask for us to deliver—most times she'll carry the cake-boxes home herself. She’s a sweetheart of a customer. She seems to have a sweet tooth—like mine!" - "What Was Marilyn Monroe Doing at 685 Third Avenue?" (Photoplay, August 1959)

#getting over the chocolate craving?#i could never #marilyn #marilyn monroe #<3

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suraemoon · 21 days

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You know when you’re reading a fanfic and there’s a certain line that *gets to you*. Like wow I have to take a break, put the phone down, maybe do a silent scream in my brain. That was me multiple times while reading this. So so good. Screw him for us, Jean!

Four Weeks in New York

gorgeous gif credit to @violaobanion

Requested: ☑️

Warnings: SO. MUCH. SEX. 18+, reunion jitters, potentially out of character actions due to rough sex? but then again, they’ve missed each a lot other, ok?! Also, i dunno, but beware he’s a horny over thinker and he’s in a funny headspace due to, ya know, war. Jean is a champ, Harry can’t manage to blow a load for awhile, mild breeding kink if you wanna call purposefully making a baby that…Gerry Hamilton and Margaret Blakely make tiny little cameos in here and I swear I’m half thinking of writing this trio of women all giggling over their legendary husbands

Word count: a hefty 7k and we’ve got more coming for ya

Coauthored with m’baby @crazymadpassionatelove

Synopsis: Harry Crosby is sent stateside to be with his wife for a month of terribly needed R&R in the summer of 1944

Caveat: this is based off a portrayal of real people in a tv series, while Jean wasn’t represented by an actress as Harry was, in this price of media I intend the same. I mean no disrespect to the real men and women mentioned and dramatized herein.

Scene One:

Jean had been at it so long in front of the mirror she began to notice every grain of powder collected in her smile lines and every infinitesimal blur of strong coal from around her eyes and -she needed to step away, at least a few inches from the reflective glass and get a grip. At the more sensible distance of gripping onto the edge of the counter -marble and swanky like everything in this posh and paid for hotel- she saw her face restored to what it was, a pretty decent cutie’s with a perfect mask of makeup and freshly styled hair: fit for a homecoming.

It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. She was going to need to make him fine again, and give him back to them strong enough to come back to her for good. Happiness and dread swirled in a gnawing cocktail inside her, the cruel thought of almost wishing not to be teased with him at all until she could keep him for good fighting with the braver parts of herself that wanted every second of him she could have, even if it had a big red finish line drawn at a month.

A month was a long time, a month was about all they’d had to be married before he left. Technically, or at least Jean wondered if technically, it would mean she’d only been fully “married” for two months. Of course that was nonsense to the general public and the pastors who reminded about vows and the wedding band she flashed at over eager servicemen, but to her select little girl gang, the ones who worked at the factory with her and who had to give up their husbands too- they talked about their brief marriedness with hushed and giggly fondness, like something out of a dream and just as brief.

The fiancés in the girl gang were jealous of this topic and Jean supposed they had a right to be. She indulged the innocents with all their questions about being “actively” married, tried to repay them with the same frankness she’d so desperately sought before her wedding. But as it was, she’d only had a month of active service, and while it had been spent as vigorously as any young couple’s first four weeks of legal license, it had left Jean in the interim with a plain impression of herself being a little bit of a hussy.

She wanted Harry so badly this past year since he’d gone she hardly thought it medically sane. Wanted him so badly, and that was something not even the girl gang could always bring themselves to titter about. It was one thing for Margaret Blakely to joke about her Ev coming back the previous month ‘taking’ his leave in more ways than one, but they weren’t often out here asking each other if nothing really fixed the hunger since their man had been gone. It was all Jean thought of. Jean wanted to ask if it ever cooled, if the sticky frustration with one’s own inadequate fingers ever subsided.

By the dreamy eyed state of the recently visited Mrs. Blakely, the answer appeared to be a resounding no. Nothing ever beat the real thing. And that made Jean want to writhe in frustration before learning that she too, would be visited by a on-leave husband.

A year of being married and only a month of it “active”, Jean had concluded it was a chronic case on her part of salivating need for her Bing, the only cure would be him -him inside her, in perpetuity. All she’d gotten out of Maragret had been a grinning warning to Jean to “get in shape for Major Crosby’s furlough, you’ll spend it on your back.”

Jean could freely admit to herself that she needed to be ripped apart by her man, she needed him lingering inside her when he left again. She just feared that it wasn’t exactly their usual way. How could she tell him, what if that’s not what he needed. What if it was all different, what if it needed to be?

Jean pointed a finger at herself in the fancy gilt mirror, red nails pointing at her fancy clad self in pastel silk and tiny bows, “He’s your husband,” she told herself sternly, trying not to sweat at the idea he could be here any hour, catch her in this state of intentional undress, and help himself to her jittery body, “he loves you, you love him. All you need to do is let him have his husbandly rights and things will go smoothly. It’s a vacation not a death trap. You’ve got a man to patch up, get on with it.”

This speech gave her four whole seconds of empowered determination before a vigorous set of knocks on the hotel suite’s outer door made her jump out of her skin in surprise. She could go open the door but then -what if someone was in the hall with him? And saw her in this state of…lack of…well, her in her lingerie. He had a key, they’d have given him a key. He was the Mister to her Missus Crosby, they were allowed a shared suite.

“Jean?” Hearing that dear voice for the first time in twelve months, even faintly from far outside the bathroom door, flooded Jean with so much feeling her knees locked up and her throat collapsed on her response. He was her husband, her Bing, her first and only love, they’d be alright. They had to be.

Harry gingerly closed the door behind him, the heavy painted wood shutting with a finality that made him feel terribly anxious. While he had been trudging up the hall to their suite he’d been able to laugh a little at his dismal procession, morose shuffling and hang dog attitude. It had been absurd for a guy coming back to see the wife who he loved. He knew that and he could say that again and again in his head in a voice that morphed more and more into Bubbles’ voice an-

-and now he was in the room and he wasn’t anticipating anything, he had arrived and as if he’d just touched down in occupied Europe, he couldn’t help his braced posture or hunted surveillance of the oddly empty room.

“Jean?”

She wasn’t in here, but the en-suite bathroom door was shut. She wasn’t in here but from the bathroom came wafting something so viscerally nostalgic of her that he felt his heart pound in devoted recognition before his brain even caught up: her soap. Not some fancy hotel brand, it seemed she had brought her old stuff, the stuff he’d lathered on her as many times as he’d had the chance before leaving, the stuff she smelled of before church and the stuff that got more strong and pungent when he made her sweat in it from their exertions in bed.

It smelled like Jean in here and it was enough to make him drop his duffel bag with a decided thump. He was staying. This was his wife, everything might be different but some things like soap -they’d still be the same, as would the dry mouthed want it filled him with.

“Jean?”

He ventured further into the room, not bothering to call her name again, maybe being around guys had made him callous to spooking her but no real harm would be done, he was…him.

“Oh! Bing?” Jean sounded flustered behind her door and Harry found himself grinning. “I’m coming! I’m coming right out!”

It sounded less like a reassurance than it did an order to herself, which was amusing and it made him wonder, just how awkward were the two of them going to manage to make this? God knows he’d tripped over himself enough times winning her over the first round, he had such hopes never to revisit the bumbling stages of courtship. Seemed like once they’d married and joined it had been smooth as glass ever since- until…until he’d stopped being himself.

Until he had wandered into a hotel room with a woman who didn't wear a matching gold band. Jean knew nothing of that though. She never would. Sweet peaches and cream Jean who had come all this way to see him. Bringing that soap and the books he saw stacked on the night table. Bringing that sweet, pink pussy he needed to sink himself into. Remind himself of who he was. He didn't want to be Major Crosby at the moment. He wanted to just be Jean's husband. He heard the clock in the room ticking, felt the sweat pooling at the back of his neck as he waited for her. Her Elizabeth Arden lipsticks lined up like perfect little soldiers on the dresser. It had been so long that kissing her was surely going to feel like the first time all over again.

There was more amiss in the room, upon further inspection, besides her trunks and her hat boxes and the lipsticks. Amiss in that: there were elements no hotel should have, the plate of very delicious looking misshapen fudge, for instance, the plate itself looking suspiciously like their wedding set. Harry could describe that pink and green pattern on ivory in vivid detail if you had asked him yesterday, tracing it now was like no time had passed at all since that first breakfast as husband and wife, tittering over having “things” of their own. And beside the plate a book, one he’d not finished when he went over, he realized with a lump growing in his throat. Then there was the bed beneath these things, tidily made but not pristine, ha -how could it be with homey floral sheets in place of pristine white and a monogrammed pillow case each.

Giant embroidered C’s. For Crosby, of course.

Jeepers -he’d taken Jean for the first time on those very sheets, now he was recognizing them, and some very uncivilized part of him suddenly wanted to rip the covers back and find out if her virgin blood hadn’t fully scrubbed out-

“Bing!”

He is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the pages of Look Homeward, Angel when Jean manages to saunter out with a summoned amount of calm. His hair is sleek and trimmed, his jacket well fitting, his whole self in his army duds seeming so comfortable, filled out, self possessed -it’s the floral sheets beneath him that ruins the effect just a little, makes him seem shifty, out of place. That and those great brown eyes suddenly round as a newborn calf’s at the long awaited sight of her.

She’s seen the soldier’s return posters -does he expect the same greeting? No little party at the station in satin and lace here, but they’d both agreed it would be better to be private, secluded, uninterrupted. Now it feels too tame and mild.

Does he want that? That reunion embrace?

Before she can rethink it she rushes him. “Binger!” she gasps out right as he stands to meet her head on, long arms outstretched to engulf her. This she knows, this she dreamed of. If she squeezes too tight she must be forgiven, it’s too fabulous to be considered real for many moments, the feel of his flexing back beneath her hands and his chest under her cheek. It’s tight and jarring and not a bit smooth but it’s him, it’s him and all is well.

Harry has his nose buried in her hair, that smell is wafting in again. It’s Jean -hits him with the force of a rocket and he’s suddenly responding in kind, arms crushing her to him, can’t get close enough, can’t tell her enough about missing her and loving her and how he’s put one step in front of the other all these years for this moment.

“Oh Bing,” she exclaims again, her face just barely pulled away to really get a look at him, her hands on his cheeks, “I can’t believe it. I’ve prayed, every day I’ve prayed for this.”

Prayers -the word sours in his mind after what he’s seen, after how many he’s sent up and not plane returned with an answer. “Mmm, Mrs. Crosby.” he contemplates the dear face before him before dragging his hand beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head with his large hand, watchface cool on the back of her neck. She’s been waiting for him to kiss her, wanting to let him lead, hoping her initial enthusiasm would embolden him like before. Instead he seems lost in archiving her face, those dear, melancholy eyes flitting over every feature, the hands studying and firm but not a caress. It’s obvious there’s something missing here, a piece ajar from the puzzle.

Jean stands atiptoe carefully, and determinedly slots her lips against his plush, red ones. That seems to rouse him a bit, Harry responds instantly, making up for his hesitancy, deepening it as his tongue meets hers in a heart wrenching reunion of sorts. He always was fond of kissing, her Bing. Now he was kissing her senseless and this -this was more like what she imagined.

His hands trail from her neck down the her ribs and into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hips where he vaguely notices she’s adorned in some silky little something, no doubt chosen and worn just for him.

Say something Croz, you big idiot —he thinks to himself, confronted with the fact he is gripping at her and sucking face without another word said besides inane repetition of her name.

“Jean you look…perfect.” he mumbles against her lips.

It’s boyish and reminiscent, the stumbling praises mumbled so earnestly. It makes her giggle fondly. She breaks their kiss and takes hold of his face in her hands, indulging a little inspection of her own. “My beautiful boy,” she croons, “you came back to me.”

She kisses the prominent bridge of his nose and his perpetually furrowed brow and the smooth below each heavily fringed eye, his cheeks, his chin, the corner of his mouth -she pressed at his chest till she’s got him sat on the edge of the bed again. He’s fully dressed, taut as a bowstring and she wants him, needs him, to relax. She can feel the tension, the uncertainty, rolling off him.

She won’t let them take this away from them, she won’t let them rob them of their comfort with each other.

She kneels gently before him and undoes his boots, enjoying the way he pets her hair, quietly admiring its shine and style. His trousers are creased and starched and knelt between his legs Jean finally notices it then, the prominent tent beneath the olive weave. It makes her breath hitch. Was he always this big? Even camouflaged by trousers?

“You must be tired,” she frets aloud, working on the laces, “and cramped from such a long flight. Did you take something? Your eyes are a little…funny.”

Harry nods before realizing she’s not one of his men. Wives tend to value words and sentences, the more syllables the better. “Yeah,” he croaks aloud, “something for the stomach.”

Oh Bing and his stomach. Ever the dutiful wife, Jean rubs the sock feet she just liberated and kneads her way up his calves, hoping to leech some of the tension out of him. She works her way to his thighs, rising back up to her feet when he grabs her wrists and pulls her into another kiss. It’s even hungrier this time and his first moan of the evening sends a jolt of longing triumph straight to her core.

“I’ve missed you.” she chokes out between kisses and he responds by biting her neck, his thumbs rolling the satin in circles on her hips. His front pressing hard and firm against her lower belly, making her mouth run dry.

Still, Harry’s not saying much and if he wasn't kissing and caressing her so ardently, she'd have no clue they were even on the same planet.

And so Jean decides to do something rather bold. Something her mother would not approve of. She puts her hands on his shoulders, briefly causing him to pull away from her neck, then she whispers temptingly in his ear, “Last night I…slid my ring finger inside me. pretended it was you…I won't have to pretend anymore, will I, Harry?”

She feels him twitch against her belly beneath his layers. It’s her turn to kiss his cheek and nibble his neck, finding his little groans to be intoxicating. His grip tightens on her waist as he buries his head against her with his eyes closed, breathing her in. That scent.

That's when she adds in a plea, “Y-y-you're gonna have to…open me

up again Croz.…..you know what I

mean?...my poor little fingers are so

tiny and now I'm back to how I was

on our wedding night…”

Harry’s groan is animalistic and pained and she -well Jean’s a horny, rambling mess and she can’t bring herself to be ashamed, she missed him too strongly. “You're a hero to America.” She swears into his panting mouth, “And to me. I'm gonna give you the strength to help you get through the rest of what you need to do. But I need something from you, I need you to put a baby in me Bing.”

That is what he responds to, like orders in war. He’s good at finding his way with directions. His head rears back and his eyes sharpen with concentration. Jean wants something? he’ll deliver it, always was that way.

He nods.

“Lay back on the bed Jean.” his voice is quiet but she’s never heard it so steady, so commanding. That must be the voice he uses when he speaks to his men over there. If she wasn't squeezing her thighs together and scrambling onto the bed to follow Major Crosby orders, well, she'd cum right then and there. This isn't the same Bing that reads the paper, his beautiful lips mouthing the words as he does, the one who brings her flowers just because, or is quick not to curse in public. This man before her is a war weary Major who is used to being obeyed. Jean intends to follow every word he says, the thought of seeing him off without a little piece of him nestled inside her would just devastate her.

She burrows up against their Crosby pillows, looking like an absolute treat and admiring her man's package that seems to be growing bigger by the second. He's panting like a wild horse above her and she realizes she should heed all that advice she'd been given. Be a good wife, take care of his needs. Her painted toes rub against the sheets as she slowly inches forward to help him undress. Major Crosby beats her to it though, ridding himself of his uniform efficiently and tossing it on to the floor in a rumpled mess accompanied by a huff.

Is he mad? Jean wonders to herself. His freshly exposed cock sure looks mad. It's red, and almost looks hot to the touch as it dribbles and leaks down his thick shaft.

Was it always that big? Were his eyes always so wild? Bright -she remembers them as being bright.

He collapses on her purposefully, a crushing embrace with his hands snarled in her hair, elbows to the bed, his belly to hers, his lips devouring her own. It’s a shock and a thrill, that first feeling of skin against skin again, Harry’s so warm his tongue is nearly scalding and she feels herself sweat in her skimpy finery. The anticipation is harsh, the dynamic fumbling in its ravenous rush, her head spins when an irrational spike of fear slices through the heady haze of desire that his touches coax. Touch? -a mauling of sorts, more like, he is all teeth and nails and assessing hands, grabbing at her ferociously.

Instinctively Jean begins to rub him, his shoulders, his neck, his forearms

-a soothing caress at a kinder pace than he allows but she means it well, channels that little spark of anxiety she feels to sooth his own keyed up self.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she keeps swearing as she feels him buckle just that little bit to the insistent kneading of her hands on his arms, “I’m not going anywhere.” she swears and the rigid line of his body sags further into her neck, some off kilter focus he’s carried about him slipping under her gentle persuasion. “Baby, how about a little rub?” she coos, lithely extracting herself out from under him before she thinks on it too long.

“That might be nice.” he manages, not sure what the hell it is he needs, “My neck maybe..took a little spill a few days ago...” he casually mentions the incident, underplaying that whole fiasco of passing out cold from exhaustion, splattering on the floor like the contents of a mop bucket.

“Then let me rub your neck.” she begs.

He allows it and with a slightly lost gaze he follows her movements as she props up beside him and brings him closer for leverage. She scoops his head into her lap with that familiarity that made him fall first and hard for her, and suddenly he is pillowed on the warm, giving belly of a woman. His woman. And Croz feels himself begin to melt from that feeling alone, long before her clever thumbs start working at the knots nearly calcified at the base of his neck.

She used to do this for him when he was at school, too much reading in an ill advised position had him often so stoved up he couldn’t be of any use on the baseball team. Jean had learned to work her magic then, and Harry had learned how very much he liked his face buried against the swell of a girl’s womb.

Oh fuck -her little speech comes rushing back to him- Jean wants a baby.

Damn the jet lag, the separation jitters and all the rest that got him sent here like a looney to a special holding facility. Jean wants a baby and he hasn’t been rock hard since Dartmouth only to let it go to waste by sleeping it off.

Right when she begins to feel the motion of her hands take effect on his rigid shoulders, her Harry is suddenly lifting his head again, face slightly flushed and creased from the lace of her nighty and he smiles at her then. Mischievous and warm, “C'mere,” he beckons with a voice that means something and so she follows him as he sits up, “stand up babydoll, show me that outfit. Let me appreciate ya.” He slides his warm palm into her smaller one and tugs her to her feet, an easy sort of dance move to bring her round in front of his position, swaying her back and forth just outside the v of his legs.

“Well, look at you.” he marvels at her, his expression gone soft under that wrecked mop of curls. Jean recognizes the old spark alight in him, the one that might go dormant for her when away or when she couldn’t make up her damn mind but anytime she wanted him back?—oh he looked at her like this, like he was lucky as hell to have her and intended to be brave with that luck. “Turn around for me, loverdoll, c’mon, show me what I’ve got, come onnnn Jeaaann,” he insists, his voice playful and insistent as he spins her with a hand at her hip until she shows him the back of this frilly little excuse for nightwear, “Look at that.” he whistles behind her and Jean feels her cheeks burn pleasantly, “Pretty as a fawn, Jean.” he punctuates this odd little compliment with the back of a finger running up the length of her thigh, to the little swell of her rump and Jean knows her legs tremble in helpless response. “Go on, strike a pose for me, I know you didn’t put on this get up for nothin’. Who'd believe it? My Mrs. Crosby out here lookin’ like one of those girls.”

‘Those’ girls, whoever they are exactly, are left nebulous and Jean likes it that way, it gives her a saucy bravery to pitter patter away from his hold and turn back to face his unabashedly admiring gaze. Jean cocks a hip and drops a shoulder, knee turned in, toes pointed. Gerry had made her perfect it a million times in the mirror when she should’ve been sensibly getting into a gown and getting some shut eye instead.

Thank God for Margaret Ann Blakely and her fun loving pastimes. And also: “Screw him for us Jean!!” -thank God for Gerry Hamilton and her brazen preoccupations with her own man, for how she piled on as she convinced Jean of an assortment of little silk things thrown into her suitcase, “Screw him good, for all of us! For Americaaaaa!” the young and empty Mrs. Hamilton’s candor had built until Jean was close to frantic to get into the taxi and leave her best friends and their antics behind.

Jean didn’t doubt for a single minute that Hambone and Ev would shortly be receiving letters that good naturedly bemoaned Jean and Croz’s luck.

“You think you needed to look like this to get me to nail ya?” her Croz teases her now and his grin is lewd and Jean likes it that way, it matches the disrespectful hands that reach out without her Harry’s usual calculation and instead paw at her tits like a sex starved man. It sends a line of electricity straight to the little button between her legs and Jean ends up leaning into those hands until she’s suddenly so near him she’s on top of him and then, easy as anything, he knocks her sideways and under him once more. Legs splayed wide and with a husband lying on top of her with a very determined look on his face -she reckons the games are over.

“Gonna be like a second wedding.” she squeaks out, giddy eyed in excitement, toes curling in terror, he feels so big slotted at the spot.

Was he always so big?

Harry slings her leg over his hip and he’s suddenly in her without even needing to fumble for entrance. Little Croz pries her open all at once in a smooth, brutal, unyielding shove and that’s all it takes, he’s so overwhelmingly substantial that Jean finds herself bowing under him in a climax from the painful pleasure of reunion alone.

“Really, already?” he chuckles at her as she hoarsely keens out her ecstasy beneath him, her nails digging crescents in the flesh of his tense shoulders, his own thumbs stroking along her throat, “I missed you too, Mrs. Crosby.” he laughs.

She slaps at him, lovingly as her throat still hasn’t fully come back to use, “God you feel good.” She croaks.

“Just wait till you learn there’s more.” he teases before pulling his hips back and keeping that far tip barely nestled in her petals before slamming in again so forcefully she feels something funny in her chest.

“Bing!” it’s not a protest on her part but, my God -he, they…they used to give it the ole college try before he left, but this? This must be what it’s like to get really and truly screwed.

Screwing her, that’s what he’s doing and she wonders in a vague haze of helpless sensations if he’ll auger a hole straight through her back to the mattress with this merciless rhythm. She’s as vaguely impressed by his strength and capability as she is by her own body’s ability to absorb it, her freshly rediscovered hole burning at the use and somehow it’s all just a wonderfully heated, overwhelming miasma of delight as she keeps on seizing under him and he bullies her right though one peak after another with only a wicked grin on those full lips to suggest he’s got any idea what she’s so happily enduring.

“I can’t stop, I just can’t stop, it's just so -it’s so much.” she babbles, very keen to get her point across but very unsure what her point actually is. All thoughts, feelings and intentions center around Harry and that fat schlong of his rearranging her insides. She’s not sure her toes have been uncurled in over a quarter hour and her mind’s not been her own for longer still. “You’re so much.” she wails, and for half of it she means not his size but how long he’s been going at it.

“And you’re gonna take it.” he confirms, the hand on her hip inexorable and his pretty face is half snarling at her in desperation. “You miss this?” his voice shakes from his exertions and Jean is sure she’s never heard a more attractive sound than his wrecked breathing, “Miss this, huh? Bet you did, so goddamn tight. No married woman’s got any…any…any business being so tight. Gonna fix that, gonna make you so married you’re not gonna-“ he presses her legs back until she feels her hamstrings burn, knees to her chest, his body lunging into hers…angry again? she doesn’t know he just keeps grunting “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s milking him so perfectly, peaking and shuddering and clenching more frequently than he ever remembers and he should be so saved up he can’t manage to hold on but instead -the fuck if he can blow. It just won’t let go. The noise of his work is a lew phwap phwap phwap of split splat suction and from her whimpers and begs he knows he has already spent her but-

Goddamn! Came all this way, waited all this time and he can’t let loose?

Through the haze of her overstimulation Jean can feel something amiss, the tension back and worse than that, there’s the frustrated anger of before. Harry is breathing hard and his face is dark and the prominent vein across his alabaster forehead is popping so significantly she worries about stroke. He’s about to crack a tooth at this rate, his tension is so extreme and then suddenly, there’s a pause.

He stares down at the wet mess where they’re joined, brows knit together and mouth firm before a flicker ignites in his eye and in a fit of rage at himself and this deficient cock, he grabs at one of the decorative pillows and throws it across the room. It bangs dully against the window and flops to the floor.

Unsurprisingly the outburst against cotton batting and fancy trim does little for his pickle, he’s still stiff as a board and nowhere close to relief. He fought a whole goddamn war and came back just to not be able to get his rocks off. What a joke.

Gently as he can, and with rampant self pity running loose, he disentangles from Jean’s snug self and throws himself beside her on his back.

Bewildered Jean is more than a little grateful for the intermission. She does her best to collect her wits, looking over at him and clocking his defeated expression and closed eyes, the hand pinching the bridge of his nose. And poor Little Croz that is a furious magenta red with veins about ready to burst from swelling, sticking straight up from between his legs.

Shifting onto her side to face him rubs her poor kitty just wrong -or right- and a helpless mewl escapes her as she creams herself again from that little movement alone. The sound and shudder of his wife makes Croz crack open an eye, watching intently as Jean bites her lip and timidly runs her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“Come sit on my lap, Jeanie.” he mumbles.

She perks up with a smile, “Whatever my hero wants, baby.” she condones before shakily straddling his lean hips and sinking down with a noticeable squelch. It earns a drawn out moan of satisfaction from both of them. Sensing the agony and desperation of the man beneath her as she begins to lift her hips and slam them back down, juices splash on her feet from the movement. To lift his spirits she attempts her best at shoving her tits in his face while she does it and gets her nipples tugged in thanks.

This right here is perfect, she’s so full she can hardly bear it but he feels so good she ignores the burn of her legs and keeps her pace up, the beautiful expanse of her man laid out before her a perfect spur. The sun seems to have set by now and through the open curtains the sounds and lights of the city pour in, glistening off his sweaty skin like a million stars and doing nothing to dim the noise of his appreciative moans, the hoarse grunts of her name, the sounds of their sticky hips colliding.

“I've dreamed about being full like this every night since you left.” Jean tells him, stuffed beyond her limits it feels like he’s so damn deep he could describe the feel of her cervix in detail.

She can feel those tight bowling balls she's sitting on that need to unload inside her, and precariously she reaches backwards to fondle them with one hand, remembering how he used to react to it. She gets her first high pitched whine of the evening from him at that, his chest heaving and his head thrashing, curls everywhere. “Bing -- oh it's big, it's big, I'll take it all though I-I promise….we gotta make you cum, baby.” she determines, not needing the discarded pillow or fuming passion to alert her to his desperation, “Lemme help you…just fill me up, let it alllll out... you need to, must be aching so bad”

At the mention of the ache he begins to buck into her wildly like a feral thing. Jean would have toppled off from his vigor if he hadn’t seized her hips in an iron grip and held her still for his assault from below. Jean hears herself squealing and whimpering and begging nonsense, still a bit fresh -and respectful- to this new and ferocious side of him. Somewhere in it though, Harry’s beginning to crack, frustration going from anger to fury to desperation to some boyish and pitiful need for relief.

Harry doesn’t mean to groan so loudly, so pathetically but it’s all so perfect and he’s so damn close and Jean’s like a sprinkler down there she’s enjoying herself so much and -why the hell can’t a fella just blow?

Jean instantly stills atop him and cradles his face tenderly, soft searching eyes and lips whispering about …something, something something “baby boy” -and he shudders. His pants are harsh as if he’s about to have a heart attack and his chest is so winded and achy he thinks he might. Or else cry.

Wouldn’t that be fun.

Beneath his hands he feels Jean’s hips begin to flex and she’s grinding on him again, twisting her hips in a slow figure eight that feels like a man’s heaven beneath his palms, and ten times that for his cock. It’s not doing it enough to make him blow but for a moment he decides that’s fine, he inflates his poor lungs again and lays back, admittedly a bit too stiff and rigid, and touches her as she pleases herself on top of him. She giggles shyly to him and her near constant moans are music to his ears as she swivels on his cock. He enjoys watched the pink little folds absorb him and the way their curls brush and mix where they meet, his lower belly a wet mess and streaks of the same running down to her ankles, they’ve made such a soup.

Clam fuckin’ chowder, by the looks of it.

Maybe he did blow. Doesn’t feel like it. And after watching and coaxing her through another melting peak, he lets her sag onto his chest for a minute and regroup before, with a kiss to her hair and a hard smack to her ass, he tells her,

“Hands and knees, Jean, if you want that baby -hands and knees.”

He barked it like an order, and while a little startled by it, she still wastes no time in flipping herself over and off him, scurrying into the position he specified, shaky from so many orgasms and the anticipation of him back atop her. Wincing inwardly at the thought of that package at this angle with how sore she already is-

-and he wastes no time. But instead of a cock she feels the shockingly familiar but never less exquisite feeling of his tongue running up the messy length of her slit. Her face collapses into the pillows along with her pleased shriek of “Bing!”.

He he laughs warm and wicked behind her, enjoying the ass up display of what he’s done to her.

“Spread ‘em Jean.” he tells her, and two dainty hands leave off from gripping the covers to bashfully pull her cheeks apart and show her husband where his fat cock belongs. He can see her pulsing down like a living entity of its own, even in this dim light.

“I'll be good... I'll be good for you, Major. Tell me what to do.” Jean swears hoarsely, those fawnish legs trembling again.

“Just take me.” he mutters simply, mounting her suddenly with his hand on the back of her head, keeping her cheek to the pillow and her scream muffled as he shoves in and begins to plow this squeaking little lady like tomorrow is indeed not promised to men like him.

Beneath him, between the high pitched squeals of pleasure and the urgent whines of endurance, Jean is muttering a litany of …something. Again and again she’s saying words like “it’s ok baby, it’s ok” and Harry isn’t sure if it’s meant for him or her, she sounds like a drunk fairy and his head begins to buzz with likelihood. “It’s ok baby, they told me you'd be like this, it’s ok. I can take it. I’ve missed you—“ she just keeps muttering that and vaguely Harry is pretty sure that comfort is meant for him and he wonders who ‘they’ are and what ‘like this’ even means.

On Jean’s part she is legitimately unsure who’s she’s trying to convince, likely herself but also, maybe that part of her between her legs that’s torn between panic and absolute ecstasy at his rough usage. Jean's mind spins at the realization of how much she likes it, likes the feral proof of how badly he missed her, needs her, wants her still. Her sweet and mild Harry climbed on top of her and is now railing her, and while it’s not your average little jaunt in the sheets, she clings to her pillow and takes it with something like pride…in between the moments when Harry’s fat cock wipes her mind a starry white as her legs kick up helplessly beneath him and her back arches and her hole clenches and another happy mess slides down her inner thighs to the sodden sheets.

And all through it the best of it is Harry and his voice, half sane sounding for once this evening as if to balance out the animalistic pose he has her in, groaning above her,

“That's it, be my good girl..my good, good girl. Always so good to me.”

He’s petting her hair like she’s a damn Labrador or something, wrapping her beautiful curls around his hand, arched over her like a cat, it’s perfect and he’s so deep he thinks he could fuck his balls in, foot placed sturdily on the bed beside her for further leverage.

“-Croz! You gotta!” His wife wails nonsensically beneath him, he picks her head up by the hair to hear what the hell she’s jabbering about now, husbandly rights or how she was ‘told’ he’d be.

She’s so cock wrecked it ain’t even funny but when he prods her with a “What's that Jean?” between thrusts he gets a slightly more formulated thought-

“You gotta put a baby in me!” she insists through sobs, orgasm after orgasm turning her into this shaking, shuddering, limp excuse of a woman.

A loverdoll, for real.

Her words ping in his head like that damn red light everywhere he goes on base. A light at the end of the tunnel, an eminent thing he’s needed for. Tightness seizes his belly and takes him unawares, suddenly Harry’s roaring out a resounding,

“Oh FUCK! Jean! Fuck-“ that bounces around the room like a cacophony.

The hotel guests next door might be

wondering why a moose is dying in

Manhattan? But no sweat, it’s just Major Crosby seeding his willing wife.

Like a soothing balm on a surgical wound, Jean feels him exploding warm and sticky and healing inside her at last. It doesn't stop coming, rope after rope of the thick, steaming hot gold of his body swelling her own and this adds the finishing touches to what was already a melted woman. In his last rapacious thrusts, she can feel her body playing the minx, trying to squeeze him out but her Croz is having none of it, like a dying man to water, he uses every bit of strength left to shove himself back in and flood her until she’s a collapsed and leaking mess.

In a haze, Croz pulls his now mercifully limp cock out of her and surveys her wrecked self with bleary, appreciative eyes. “Looks like you been through a war of your own, baby.” he jokes but his voice is so wrecked from his previous yells it startles his newly moderated self and he ends up toppled over beside her, no longer capable of giving a damn about anything.

His eyelids refuse to stay open and his neck is laying funny but -fuck! He was just inside Jean!

“You ok, Bing?” he hears her sweet voice whisper beside him and it was no dream then, and God forgive him he was probably mean. She’s panting beside him and when he can’t manage to answer he feels her hand grab his wrist and gently guide him somewhere until he’s petting startlingly warm petals that are saturated with his spunk.

“Think you managed to open me up, alright.” she titters, still sounding drunk and he can’t help the way his cheek crinkles in a returning smile.

Smashed into the pillow as it is, it’s still the prettiest expression of the best man Jean has ever known. “Y-Yeah.” her man croaks, half insensible but his beautiful hand keeps petting her where she’s sore and recently excavated, his identification bracelet jangling softly in the stillness, “You were such a good girl Jeanie..a good wife…ya did your job.” he mumbles more, fully in Major mode as he begins to drift off, forgetting entirely that maybe a fella shouldn't praise his wife like she's one of his men gotten back from a mission.

But Jean takes the compliment well, knowing how it’s meant, knowing that maybe tomorrow when he’s more conscious and healed, she may be blocked out from that world entirely. It’s a little glimpse and she takes it for what it is, with soft appreciation. Smilingly she lets go of his hand to give deflated Little Croz some pats, the sticky, shrunken thing is playing at being harmless and she has a longing to meanly suck on it until it shows it’s true colors again.

But no, for now, Croz’s heavy and nearly insessible arm throws itself over her waist and drags her to him, slotting the married couple together like spoons in their drawer.

They could try to shower but that seems too daunting a prospect at present, and highly futile considering what lies in store -more of the same. And for her part, Jean doesn’t dare move and slosh and waste any of what her Bing gave her. His forearm is heavy over her battered womb, cum and abuse swelling it just that little bit as if she were on her menses. She’s not, those were two weeks ago.

When his hand splays and cups the swollen bulge he made, Jean whispers to his already snoozing self, “We made a baby Bing, I just know it.”

And if not— there’s four more weeks to make certain.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#hot one liners galore #i need more jeannnn #i love her #i need more *them*#mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air #mota

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suraemoon · 22 days

Note

I adored your headcanons!! Any way you would be willing to do Bucky Egan and reader relationship hcs?

John Egan Headcanons

~Relationship Edition~

🎶: Am I willing to do Bucky headcanons? Of course I am, dolly! I’m so so happy that you enjoyed the other ones I did. You adored them? I’m flattered. I adore you. I hope the ones I have cooked up are good enough. If not I’ll do more.

💋: Bucky Egan x Reader. Fluffy relationship headcanons.

Bucky loves physical touch

He follows you around whenever you ago, it’s like having a little puppy in your tracks or a second shadow keeping you company

You two are constant hand holders, you’re always hand in hand. He traces the lines of your palm, kisses each of your fingers, the back of your palm is an ideal kissing zone

He squeezes your cheeks and gives your lips a quick peck before you can even process that it happened. It’s a quick series of warmth. His warm eyes looking down at you, the warmth of his pink lips, and the warmth of your cheeks as you blush after the fact.

When you sit next to him, his hand stays on your thigh with the occasional squeeze

Sitting on his lap > Sitting in the chair next to him

He loves pulling you onto his lap. The closeness, the intimacy, the plush of your ass placed on just the right spot.

A room full of people and you’re comfy on Bucky’s lap, his arm wrapped around your waist protectively

He’s a cuddler

You two trade big spoon and little spoon.

How does a 6’2 unit of a man little spoon? Where there’s a will there’s a way.

You like to sleep in? Bucky gives your face soft and gentle kisses in the morning. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. He admires your side profile while you sleep, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the way your soft lips are parted.

Your boobs are his favorite pillow. So warm and comforting, he wants to stuff his face into them at all times.

More of an early bird? You can wake up early but you aren’t getting out of bed easily. Bucky’s arm is around your waist and it is not letting go. If you manage to get away from the grasp, it isn’t long until his eyes flutter open too. Your weight and warmth are gone.

Also...thigh riding

I mean, look at a picture of this man’s sturdy tree trunk thighs. They're the perfect size for straddling.

If you get excited about something, best believe Bucky is just as excited. Just seeing your smile and happiness is contagious for him.

You know those guys who suddenly act too cool for their girlfriends around friends? Hell no. He’s very proud of you, never ashamed. He’ll tell anyone about you.

Even a random stranger he’s getting directions from on the street. He’ll say loudly, “This is my girl right here! I’m taking her to…”

Chatting to old friends from Wisconsin about baseball and then out of nowhere, “You’ve met my girl yet?”

You were zoned out staring at his face

So, several pairs of eyes all of a sudden being focused in your direction pulls you out of your little trance after a quick “Huh?”

He’s brings you up whenever he can. “Oh, my wife is the same way.” “My wife told me about that yesterday.”

Ever since you two got married, he’s loved the fact that he can officially call you his wife to other people

That one time you went to try on dresses for yet another friend’s wedding and brought Bucky?

You come out of the dressing room and he immediately stops a sales consultant “Excuse me, ma’am. Sorry to interrupt ya but ain’t my wife gorgeous? Blue’s her color right? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her…Mhm. She says she’ll bring some more for you to try on, babe.”

It doesn’t even have to be a fancy outfit. You could come out of the bathroom after getting ready for a regular day out and you’re met with a long whistle.

“You’ve gotta do a spin, baby.”

You decide to take him on a trip to New York for the first time and this man talks a big game on how he’s gonna blend in so well. “I’m such a big Yankees fan, I might as well be an honorary New Yorker.”

When I tell you he is the most obvious tourist ever, believe me

We ain’t in Wisconsin anymore

The buildings look so much higher than they do in the pictures, he’s gotta look up and stare with wide eyes while people hurry by getting around him.

Bucky resembles one of the trees in Central Park, so he can easily cause traffic when stopped in the middle of the sidewalk

Taking him to his first Yankees game and he’s trying to explain every rule of baseball to you

Meanwhile you’re too busy focused on the big bucket of delicious popcorn he bought you before the first inning

You nod along though, pretending to know all of the different terms and player names that he’s rattling off at you

“They should put me on the field, I wouldn’t have missed that.”

If this man is going to do anything, it’s call you a pet name. Every one in the book.

But of course he has a special nickname for you that he comes up with not too soon after meeting you

Maybe it’s something you remind him of, a certain feature you have, a specific talent you possess

It’s very personalized

Bucky insists on trying to do your makeup one time because “It can’t be that hard” and you end up looking like a Ringling Brothers circus clown

The blush is bright red, the mascara is not limited to only the lashes, the lipstick is over lined to oblivion

He took a picture of you and now it’s taped to the mirror of your vanity along with a bunch of other random photos that have collected over the years

“Now when you do your makeup, you can be reminded of how horribly I did. Whenever you have to wipe something off or redo something think…wow, at least I don’t look like that. You always look beautiful, honey, even when I do your makeup.”

According to him, you don’t need makeup anyway

He loves taking pictures of you. Pin up photoshoots by the beach, candid snapshots of your relaxed resting face while you aren’t looking.

Sometimes the lighting is a little dark, maybe the photo came out a little blurry. But you’re in it, so it’s perfect.

And he’s clingy. He doesn’t like when you’re gone. If it’s been one hour, that’s three years in Bucky world.

Bucky is such a girl dad

You have your first little one and she’s so tiny swaddled in his arms, the sun shining softly through the hospital room windows

A little bit later, he’s shirtless and she’s laying on his chest

He’s whispering to her but it’s so soft, only him and his little girl can hear. The most beautiful little secrets that will stay between them forever.

You get a lot of attention post birth too

He’s thanking you, telling you how strong you are, how you’ve changed his life forever, you’re the love of his life, he loves you, he loves you, oh how he loves you

The second baby comes not too soon after the first and it’s another little girl

Baby number three is another girl

The fourth little darling has plenty of bright eyed big sisters waiting for her at home

There’s a drawer full of hand-me-downs but there is also an array of brand new stuff because every baby is her own person. They all get the same amount of preparation, dedication, love, and care..

Did he used to dream about having a son? Sure.

But girls make amazing little baseball players

And dads make amazing fairy princesses

Bucky becomes very accustomed to tea parties, glitter, sparkles, and having his nails sloppy painted

Eyeshadow used as blush, contour, and foundation all in one

He doesn’t tolerate anyone who makes a backhanded comment about his girls

One day, you got back from taking the kids to the grocery store

The moment you see Bucky, all of your Egan girls run to hug him

It’s not long before he has two little girls clinging to each of his legs, one with her arms around his neck, another holding his hand with no intent of letting go

You quietly recounted to him later in the day how the grocery store cashier remarked upon glancing at all the pink, “Your poor husband. You refuse to give him a boy, huh?”

Bucky was ready to drive to the grocery store and give that worker a piece of his mind

He has healthy, happy kids. What’s there to be poor about?

(Years later, when you two thought you were officially done having kids, the pregnancy test is positive. It’s a little boy. He’s the baby of the family and so much like his dad.)

Another lucky girl gets her own Egan to cherish!

Bucky is protective of his family, even before little Egan’s got added to the family, he’s always been protective of you

If someone ever bothers you, makes you uncomfortable or says something bad about you, he has to confront them

even if you insist to him over and over that it’s no big deal

He keeps you so close to him not only because he cannot imagine being too far away from someone as amazing as you,

I mean, you smell fantastic

also that dress fits you so well

and your smile makes him lightheaded

your voice is so soothing

Wait what were we talking about? Oh yeah…he’s protective. He keeps you so close because he cannot fathom something happening to you.

You can accidentally trip over your own feet and Bucky will find a way to blame himself

Something fell on the floor and you stumbled over it, Bucky should have seen it and picked it up before you had the chance to even get close enough to fall

Bucky’s a man who lives off of reassurance

He loves praise

But he’s not aware of how much he needs it, how much he thrives off it

A compliment will make this man’s day

Reassure him of how amazing he is

Tell him how good he is and how lucky of a girl you are to have him because you are so so lucky

He values your opinion, so your compliments mean so much more than anybody else’s

Every anniversary he writes you a love letter

Always so heartfelt, detailed, and meaningful

He talks about all the reasons why he fell in love with you and continues to fall in love with you every single day he breathes

All the little quirks and habits that you don’t pick up on, but he adores

Maybe something you did the same day he wrote the letter and it’s so fresh in his mind that he has to talk about it

Something special that happened that year

A baby that was born, a trip you went on, and special event, a funny moment, a specific date, something you said to him this year that he continues to think about all the time

Anything that comes to mind

They collect over the years and you put them in a pretty little keepsake box

When you eventually pass on, all of his letters are buried with you

What makes Bucky frustrating sometimes is the fact that he doesn’t like to talk about what he is feeling

He’ll claim he’s fine when something is clearly bothering him

He’ll walk away from an argument declaring that he “doesn’t care anymore” and “you can do whatever you want”

but the reality is he does care

He just hates to yell around his wife, let alone yell at her. It makes his skin crawl.

Bucky lets all the feelings build up inside but just his facial expression alone can tell you that he isn’t alright

And it leaves you feeling confused because why doesn’t he trust you and confide in you enough to communicate?

It’s late at night when you two resolve the conflict

His voice is soft and it takes you by surprise

In situations like these, you always wait for when he’s ready to talk

And when he does his voice is always so small and broken

All is forgiven, all is resolved, everything always ends up okay

No small disagreement or petty argument can break you two apart

Don’t tell Bucky that you are ever insecure about something because he will be utterly appalled

You’re a goddess to him, he worships every single inch of you

Whenever you take your clothes off, he’s taking in all of you with adoring eyes and a parted mouth

Every curve, every beauty mark, every stretch mark

It all comes together to make the perfect picture

He loves the way he fits so snug inside of you, the way you taste, the way your noises blend so perfectly with his to make the most beautiful of melodies

Every moment with you is heaven

How did he go so long without you? He thinks about that often.

His heart has never been so full of love, his mind has never been so full of hope

You two complete each other in every way

He was the first to say “I love you”

You were taken back at first because a man who’s so magnetic, charming, handsome, likable, the center of attention in any room he’s in

He’s in love with you

Little did you know he was just as taken back to hear you say “I love you too, Bucky”

He remembers the first time he saw you across a room and how his eyes immediately gravitated towards you

He remembers how nervous he was to talk to you, which was so unlike him it was scary

Maybe his hands were shaking just a little, tapping his foot to a nonexistent beat, a never fading smile on his face

And over the years the two of you exchange thousands of “I love you”s

You can talk for hours on end about nothing “important”

Chatting about the random topics that pop into your minds, asking to be discussed

Accompanied by matching glasses of wine

Those conversations are your favorite because it’s a little bubble with you and the one you love, nothing else matters

————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed reading and I hope it was alright lol

If there’s any specific requests or anything I didn’t touch on that has you wondering “how did she miss this?” please let me know, lovey

Ahhh I love Bucky so much

#masters of the air #mota #john egan x reader #john egan #bucky egan #bucky egan x reader #bucky x reader #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfiction #mota fanfic #mota headcanons #headcanons #not proofread

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