#Operation Bad Heir Day
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Operation Bad Heir Day 4x10 (End of act one. R&CO Will return after next week. Thanks for your support!)
#comics#webcomic#artists on tumblr#original comic#oc#indie comic#robynn and co#Operation Bad Heir Day#Page 10#Robynn van Eden#Jesse Burt
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Trigger Tease
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.
Descriptions of violence throughout
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.
Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.
‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.
You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.
It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.
All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.
After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.
72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.
The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.
In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.
“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.
You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.
“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”
This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.
The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.
“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.
After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.
Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.
“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”
You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?
“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.
“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.
In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.
Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.
You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.
“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”
“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.
“Everything OK?”
“Uh-huh.”
More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.
“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.
Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.
He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.
“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”
“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”
Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.
“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”
You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.
“Another,” you choked, not thinking.
Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.
Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.
“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.
“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”
Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.
“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.
You opted to pull at his hair instead.
Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.
“I said how many?” he pressed again.
“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.
Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.
“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”
“Bucky—”
“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”
Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.
He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.
Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.
“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”
But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.
Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.
“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”
You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,
“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”
“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”
“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”
Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.
Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.
You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.
“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”
You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.
That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.
He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.
“I need to fuck you now.”
Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.
At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.
Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.
“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.
“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.
Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—
Thump, thump, thump.
Three knocks in quick succession.
You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.
Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Need you downstairs. Now.”
It was Sam.
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.
“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:
“Yeah. Legal’s here.”
‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.
Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.
Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.
“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.
You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.
He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.
In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.
“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.
Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.
“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.
You shot him a look.
“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”
Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.
Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.
You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.
Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.
Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.
Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.
Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.
“Baby—”
“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”
You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.
You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.
“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”
You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.
“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.
You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.
You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.
Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.
Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.
You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.
A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.
“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,
“C’mere.”
You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.
Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.
“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.
But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.
You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.
The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.
“BUCKY!”
Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.
“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.
You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.
You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.
“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.
He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.
“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”
“Give you a baby right now?”
“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.
One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,
“Barnes.”
He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.
Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.
Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.
“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”
You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.
The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.
Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.
The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.
You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.
“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”
Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.
For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.
You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.
“Momma.”
“Now is not the time.”
Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.
You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.
No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.
You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.
“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.
You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.
Then, when your eyes wandered left again,
“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”
He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.
“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.
Steve blinked a little harder.
“What do y—”
“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.
Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.
“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.
You figured as much.
In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.
You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.
“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”
Every head nodded.
“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”
You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.
That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.
Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.
Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.
The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.
You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.
“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.
It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.
“And now?” he cut in.
“I’m getting there, James.”
Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.
“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.
Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.
“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.
“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”
That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.
“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”
Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.
“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”
Bucky rolled his eyes.
“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.
So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.
It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,
“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”
“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.
You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.
“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”
“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.
If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.
Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.
“I am not going back to that shithole.”
The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.
“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.
“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”
She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.
“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”
“So?” Bucky snapped.
His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.
“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”
“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.
“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.
Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.
“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.
“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.
“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."
This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.
"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."
Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.
Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,
"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."
It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.
"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"
Sharon nodded that she did.
A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.
"Bucky," she said.
Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.
"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.
Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."
Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:
"Look. Over there."
She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.
Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.
"What's this?" he murmured.
"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."
Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.
He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.
"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.
Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.
Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.
"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."
"What?"
Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.
Then the eyes stopped in one spot.
Bucky stood.
Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.
"This is a joke, isn't it?"
All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,
"We can make it work. We can keep you—"
"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"
"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."
"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"
You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.
Your father averted his gaze.
He knew.
You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.
Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.
Something clicked in Bucky's brain.
He knew.
Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.
Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:
“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”
Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.
Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.
‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.
You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.
It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.
Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.
You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.
Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.
“Zip me up?”
The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.
You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.
The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.
Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.
“Wanna—?”
“Bucky!”
One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.
“Are you serious?” you bit.
“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.
To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.
He had thought wrong.
You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:
Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.
You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.
And you planned to. Eventually.
For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.
You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.
He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.
Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?
You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.
“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.
Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.
“We can talk,” you said, measured.
You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.
“Okay. What about?”
Where the hell could you even begin?
“Sit first,” you urged him.
It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.
You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.
Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.
Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.
To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.
“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.
“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”
“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”
Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.
“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”
Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.
“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.
“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”
Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.
“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”
“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”
“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”
“You never bothered to ask!”
This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.
So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.
You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.
“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.
“No,” you answered simply.
“No?”
“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”
Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.
“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”
“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”
“That wasn’t—”
“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”
“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”
“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”
In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.
“What? Like the deal you made with him?”
Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.
“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”
“But you didn’t, and you got me.”
“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”
The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.
“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”
To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.
“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.
That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.
As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.
“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.
Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.
“Leave it,” he murmured.
His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.
You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.
“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.
When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.
“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.
He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.
Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.
“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.
“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.
You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.
“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.
“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”
Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.
You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.
The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.
“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.
You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.
“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”
Bucky frowned.
“Yes murder,” he retorted.
You sighed.
This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.
Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.
“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.
“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.
“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.
“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.
Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.
“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”
You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.
“Bucky.”
“Bunny.”
Damn, that name.
“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”
“Baby—”
“Promise.”
His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.
He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.
With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.
“I— I promise,” he stammered.
That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.
Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—
STOP.
You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Maybe even two—
FUCK YOU.
The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.
You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.
Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.
“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.
“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”
“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.
Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.
“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.
“Don’t start with this shit.”
“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”
“I’ll kill you.”
Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.
The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.
“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.
“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”
From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.
“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.
“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”
“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.
Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.
“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”
The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.
He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.
And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.
“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.
“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”
“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.
“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”
Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.
“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”
‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.
“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.
“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”
Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.
“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”
Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.
“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”
“Bucky.”
“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”
Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.
“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.
“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.
“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”
“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”
When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,
“Right?”
There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.
“I’ll go.”
It was stupid.
Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.
But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.
“She could,” he said, shortly.
“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.
“Sure, why not?”
“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.
‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.
“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”
He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.
But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.
“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.
Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.
“No,” he said, again.
“Yes.”
“Baby—”
“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”
If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.
“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.
“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”
“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.
“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”
“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”
But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.
“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”
You wouldn’t bow that easily.
“Why not?”
Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:
“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”
What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.
He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.
“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”
Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.
Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.
“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”
“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.
“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”
You did. Or would, eventually.
After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.
And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.
Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.
As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.
While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.
Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.
“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.
“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.
Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:
“Honey? You there?”
At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”
“I love you.”
This fucker.
“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.
“Did I hear ‘hit list’? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”
If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.
“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.
You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.
All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.
The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.
The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.
“Hi. Zemo sent me.”
You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.
You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.
The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.
There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?
Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.
But you already knew that. You stepped inside.
The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.
But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.
“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”
You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.
“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.
And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.
But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.
“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.
Then a beat.
“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”
How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.
“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”
The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.
You chipped away at the ice even faster.
Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.
Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.
“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”
Mr. Who?
“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”
It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.
“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”
That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.
So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.
When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.
Until the dipshit hit you again.
This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.
“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.
Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.
You turned.
“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.
Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.
“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.
You swallowed.
“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.
The man’s grin stretched even wider.
“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”
For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.
“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.
No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.
“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.
“Take it easy now, he’s just—”
“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”
The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.
In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.
You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.
In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.
It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.
But if they had, they didn’t show it.
No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.
“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.
A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.
“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.
Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.
Then he grabbed you by the waist.
“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.
Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:
“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”
“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”
“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”
The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.
Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.
“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”
You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.
But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:
“Whatever you want, sir.”
You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.
It wasn’t real.
It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.
Roleplay.
You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—
“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.
You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.
“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.
You froze in fear.
“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.
You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.
“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”
Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.
Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.
Then another. And another. And another.
Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.
Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.
You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.
“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.
Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.
A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.
You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.
The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.
You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.
“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.
Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.
“What happened?! Where’d he go?”
Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.
“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.
“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”
Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.
“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.
“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.
Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.
“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.
You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.
He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.
So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.
He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.
For you—where the fuck had you gone?!
Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.
He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.
In his periphery, he saw two forms.
He stopped fully and turned to the side.
If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.
“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.
Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.
Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.
He fired without a second thought.
The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.
Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.
Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.
Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.
Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.
Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.
Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.
He saw you crawl over the body.
He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.
He watched you lift the mask.
From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.
That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.
Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:
“DAD!”
—
Taglist: (If I missed anyone please lmk!!) @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grant-spector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @dixsond @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x you#marvel#mcu#mob bucky barnes#marvel smut#marvel x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#mob!bucky#mob!bucky barnes#mob bucky#mafia!bucky#mafia bucky barnes
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❋If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice❋
↳ reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy aka villain/ess au part 2
feat: Jade
genre: drama, partners in crimes-to-partners in love?, slow burn romance
note: sequel to "being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy" Jade ver., no pronouns used for reader, some actions are ethically questionable (Jade and reader are just up to no good),
part one
series masterlist
You cursed the lovey-dovey fools who drone on about the bliss of married life, fondly speaking of the joy and romance that leads to the big day and beyond. With the right person, life as someone engaged to be married would be a dream come true.
With the right person, that is
Unfortunately, you didn’t have that pleasure when you’re faced with the man you happened to be engaged to; the mysterious Jade Leech.
“You seemed to be very occupied with something.” With a quizzical look, you asked the teal-haired heir as he sat at his study desk. While you exaggerated, there was a sizable amount of papers atop the merman’s desk, with names and locations you recognised as you managed to glimpse upon the reports. “Am I allowed to inquire about the mountain of reports on your desk?”
Unperturbed, Jade gave you his well-practiced smile. “Of course, I would never hide anything from my wonderful betrothed”
This brazen liar
Having chosen to willingly participate in the Leech family’s goals, you were aware of their plans to monopolize the marine-related business and operations, including taking over the coastal territories from other nobles.
Which was exactly what Jade was currently trying to do apparently, as he had his family’s men research a baron whose territory included a lively strait between this kingdom and a flourishing island nation nearby. But the baron was an incompetent leader with an unfavorable reputation amongst the merfolk and islanders due to his actions as a businessman.
“Baron Byrne seems to be causing quite an issue in his strait as the large amount of cargo ships constantly coming through the strait is disrupting the islanders’ livelihood as well as the merfolk that made the nearby reefs their home…”
“But since he seems to have a good relationship with the prince’s new lover, his behavior is not reprimanded by the royal family,” you continued his thoughts and let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s a greedy, impatient bastard but no one can stop him”
Jade kept his courteous smile but you couldn’t imagine he was thrilled about any of this. Despite the human-merfolk peace treaty being established, the merfolk were used as the antagonists in this world so the story ignored their issues or crimes against them.
“This was a romance webtoon, I supposed. No attention was given to the repercussions of the lives outside of the main leads”
You looked through the reports on the baron’s family and you noticed a more detailed section on a certain person; the baron’s wife to be precise. You recognised the young woman as an admirer of Jade, recalling how envious she seems every time she looks your way. From what you knew, she married the baron for his new status as a noble but fell for Jade when she first saw him at a gathering.
“So you’re planning to go through the wife for information” you let out a noise of intrigued as you looked through the papers “you even found out where the salons and stores she frequents. That’s impressive but tell me, how do you plan to approach her?”
“Oh my, does the notion of me meeting her upset you?” Jade reached for your hand to hold as he looked up to you from his seat, peering at you with convincing concern and acting like a worried fiancé, “I would never intend to hurt you in any way or give doubt to my devotion to you”
“Firstly, don’t mock me by lying so blatantly” you sneered as you pulled your hand from his grasp. “Secondly, I agree that meeting the baron’s wife is the best way to find out about his weakness”
Jade raised his brow inquisitively before changing back into a look of worry, “Then what is it that causes such concern on your face, my dear?”
Again, that fake term of endearment sends a shiver down your spine.
“I’m only asking so I can act accordingly” you looked at the tall merman with mocking sweetness in your eyes. “Should I be the naive partner who knows nothing, or perhaps I’m grieving over the audacity of my dear fiancé meeting with someone other than me?”
For a moment, you thought you saw a glint in Jade’s dual-coloured eyes before a look of amusement took over his face. He chuckled behind his gloved hand before smiling at you, his sharp teeth peeking behind his lips. “I will leave that decision to you, my dear. I’m excited to see what you’ll show me”
Weeks passed since your conversation with Jade as he quickly put his plan into motion, finding chances to meet the baroness by “coincidence” and gaining her trust immediately. You weren’t surprised how quickly Jade managed to befriend the smitten woman. If you were none the wiser, you didn’t have the confidence to say that you could withstand Jade’s good looks and charming persona either (it would be paradise in the underworld before you would ever let Jade know that, however).
Of course, meetings like these tend not to stay secret for long, especially amongst the high social circle. Many of the gossiping noblewomen whispered around about the possible tryst between the lovestruck baroness and the attractive Leech family heir. However, most of the attention fell to you as the supposed tragic lover of this “affair.”
Being part of a well-respected family, you were ultimately the envy of certain nobles who would love nothing more than to pull you off your high horse, in sadistic glee in watching a family like yours be sullied. One of these nobles included the woman involved in the rumour herself, Baroness Byrne.
“Please don’t misunderstand,” the baroness spoke with such fake sincerity, you almost laughed at the poor acting. “Sir Leech and I just get along so well that these rumours seemed to misconstrue our closeness”
It’s almost insulting to think that this woman assumes that you can’t figure out that she was most likely the one to start these rumours in the first place since you knew Jade would try not to catch too much attention if the situation does not call for it. Despite being a married woman, you wondered if she’s hoping to break your engagement and take him for herself.
“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be in this nonsense” you scoffed internally but hid your thoughts with a maintained smile (Jade has given you some bad habits). “If she wants to play mind games, then let’s play~”
“It’s quite alright, really. I’m not worried at all” you put on your best smile, a look of understanding displayed in your eyes. “In fact, I’m happy that my fiancé has made a friend like you, Baroness Byrne”
“R-really?” The baroness stuttered which secretly delighted you. You hid your glee with a sickly sweet smile, however.
“Of course, Jade and I tend to be quite busy since we often have to work tirelessly in maintaining our lands, assets, and the responsibilities we will inherit” you sighed as though life bears heavy on your shoulders “We spent so much time together since Jade likes to inspect every valuable item in my possession, taking in all its beauty and worth. He has quite an eye for such things, you see.”
You looked to the baroness, your gaze demanding her eyes to meet yours. Once she did, you curled your lips slightly to display just a hint of taunting smugness. “With the baroness, Jade can enjoy a simple and humble company without much to entice his personal interest.”
One could almost see the steam escaping from the baroness’ face as she turned red with humiliated rage. With that, you decided to swiftly take your leave lest you wanted to get your eyes ripped out by a madwoman.
After some time, you decided to make your way towards the carriage area to go home, you were shocked to see Jade standing outside alone. Once your eyes locked, he immediately made his way to you with an ever-present smile. Was he…waiting for you?
No, that couldn’t be.
“Jade, I assumed that you were still at the ballroom” Last you saw Jade, he was mingling with his brother Floyd and Count Azul.
“Hmm, I was. But then, I heard some commotion amongst the ladies and decided that it’d be best to call it a night.”
You made the right choice to leave when you did, then. You wanted to smile at the little chaos you caused but decided to stamp down that hidden glee.
“Fair enough. That reminds me, you may be receiving an invitation from Baroness Byrne very soon, and it is in your best interest to accept it.”
You seemed to pique Jade’s curiosity, though it seems that you always do. “Oh, and could you share the reason as to why?”
“Because if she fell for my taunt, I would bet that she will try her best to entice you with whatever treasure or asset she can access.” You smirked, a sly glint in your eyes. “And hopefully you can convince her to show her husband’s warehouses where he stores the items the baron imports in, perhaps some hard-to-procure rarities”
From what you see from Jade’s reports on the baron’s history, you’re betting that the greedy noble would be the type to obtain and sell anything that would bring him a fortune. With his focus on sea-related products, he might be acquiring and selling items from the merfolk community without their approval which is currently illegal with the peace treaty. Merfolk-specific products were now harder to obtain through human merchants which increased their value even more.
“Pearls, mermaid scales, valuable minerals from the seabed…anything in the possession of a human who intends to sell them is grounds for punishment for treaty violation”
As if your minds were one, Jade was quick to realize your plans to trap the baron family. It was sneaky, dangerous, and if it works it would be ruining two people with no hope of salvaging their reputation. The baron would be stripped of his title and his merchant career while the baroness would be shamed for inviting an engaged man in an attempt to seduce him. Jade knew that you were intriguing, willing to act however necessary to protect yourself but to instigate the downfall of others, even if they were guilty of their crimes…
Jade can’t ever take his eyes off you.
Still, he had to ask you something, “You seem to have quite the confidence in me. Do you not worry I will not live up to your expectations?”
The teal-haired man expected a snarky quip from you or perhaps question him back over his competence. But instead, you furrowed your brows and looked at him adorably (in his perspective) with confusion.
There was one thing you were sure of; Jade Leech would never get caught. No matter the situation, no matter the evidence, Jade will always find a way to slither his way out of trouble when he wants to. You were better off worrying about your own safety than his.
“Why would I worry? You’ll never fail.”
Your voice was so full of conviction, without a hint of doubt or hesitation. Jade felt a strange surge of glee upon hearing your answer. He found a compatible partner that never fails to amuse him. You brought new entertainment to his personal life.
Jade let out a chuckle, a smile that almost seems genuine to you. The tall man looked to you, his mix-matched eyes staring with such unusual softness. Gently, he took your hand in his own so he could raise it to his lips where he then pressed a soft kiss upon your skin. In surprise, you locked gaze with Jade’s eyes as you felt warmth coursing through you though you played it off as uneasiness towards Jade’s strange actions. You continued to watch Jade as he kept his mouth barely touching your hand, but you could feel every brush of his lips as he spoke close to your fingers. “I will not disappoint you so keep your eyes on me, my dear.”
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst imagines#twst scenarios#villainess au#twisted wonderland imagines#jade leech#twst jade x reader#jade x reader#jade leech x reader
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Breedingtober
Merry Breeding and Happy Stuffings to all! It is Breedingtober! My favourite month of them all!!
Hallo everyone, I am Glitch1d, and I have been HARD at work for this years October (or should I say, Breedingtober) month full of my top favourite kink, BREEDING. For those of you who have followed me over my past two years of being a MHA fanfic writer, you would know how much I LOVE breeding and adding it to my writing so here we are.
A whole sporadic month of breeding kinks, pregnancy kinks, stuffing kinks, impregnation and a whole lot of Eijiro mostly because "It isn't a Glitch1d Fic if Eijiro Kirishima doesn't have a breeding kink", AND this Eijiro's birthday month as well, so we shan't forget that.
01 October - Fem Eijiro x Katsuki x Reader
Eijiro gets hit by a quirk and winds up turning into a girl, Eiji. Although Eiji is in much distress, everyone else can't help but to like this change.
04 October - Bull Eijiro x Heifer Reader (Slight Izuku x Reader)
Eijiro has finally been chosen as a stud and you're the heifer chosen to have his calves
07 October - Alpha Eijiro x Omega Reader
The zombie Apocalypse is never a great place for an Omega, but Eijiro appears in your life making it a bit easier.
10 October - Knight Eijiro x Queen Reader
You need an heir and fortunately for Eijiro, he has been chosen to give you such
13 October - ProHero Izuku x Wifey Reader
Izuku winds up on a podcast where they were talking bad about you, his beautiful wife. However sometimes, you need to calm him down.
16 October - Dragon Eijiro x Dragon Reader (Happy Birthday Eijiro)
You finally get married to the love of your life.
19 October - Werewolf Eijiro x Werewolf Reader (Forbidden love)
Even though you love each other, sometimes responsibility triumphs over love.
22 October - Omega Eijiro x Alpha Reader
Eijiro has been waiting a long time and tonight he's going to make it a reality. Operation: Seduce Alpha into giving him pups is a GO! (AFAB Eijiro and AMAB Reader)
24 October - Yakuza Eijiro x Reader (Baby Daddy)
Your boyfriend finally comes home after 5 months away and as angry as you are with him, you're glad to have him home.
27 October - King Katsuki x Mistress Reader [CANCELLED]
Katsuki never loved his wife, but he never thought he would be unfaithful till he met you.
30 October - Vampire Eijiro x Human Reader [CANCELLED]
You are taken to wife by a vampire, who find you amusing.
AO3 LINK:
Please note: All my readers will be AFAB/ Fem referenced and leaning EXCEPT for Alpha Reader on Day 22. In my Omegaverse universe ALL Alphas have penises and all Omegas have vaginas. That's just how I work. But reader will be nonbinary on that day as well as 07 Oct
#mha x y/n#izuku midoriya x reader#kirishima x reader#bakugou x reader#eijiro x reader#izuku x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#kirishima eijiro x reader#kirishima eijirou x reader#eijiro kirishima x reader#katsuki x eijirou#kirishima eijirou#kirishima eijiro#bnha eijiro kirishima#eijirou x reader#kirishima smut#kirishima x bakugou x reader#poly kiribaku#poly kiribaku x reader#fem eijiro Kirishima#genderbend#bull kirishima#hybrid kirishima#alpha kirishima x omega reader#alpha kirishima x reader#izuku midoriya smut#dragon kirishima x reader#dragon kirishima#dragon reader#vampire kirishima
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I remember back in the day when people would do the math thinking way too hard about DSMP's disaster of a timeline and be like "tommy was literally eight when the war happened" when he was clearly playing a character that was his age.
but the eggs really are so young in canon. they're like. ten. at most. if we want to be reasonable and not say "they're literally three months old."
and just thinking about chayanne. being ten years old. he and tallulah had to get a chair to hang up the crown for the techno memorial.
he's so young and fragile but he's trying so hard. he's ready for war at any moment. he's his uncle's nephew through and through, but the Blade had an infinity to become what he was. chayanne is trying to be an ancient blood god at ten years old.
and I think q!phil realizes this. or at least realized it. Back before the codes started really getting bad, in the peaceful times, when they were just vibing on an island and the worst thing that could happen to an egg was Random Act of Slimecicle, he and Wil both tried to keep Chayanne and Talullah from becoming warriors.
And if we're operating on the principle that DSMP is like. kinda canon. like canon when the angst calls for it. phil and wil know what happens to children who have to see war. children who reach for a sword when they wake up in the morning. children who know how to strap on armor before they can tie their shoes.
and they didn't want that. quesadilla island was supposed to be a fresh start. was supposed to be safe. was supposed to be nothing like the smoking crater Wil once ruled.
but Philza is the angel of death and carnage follows Wilbur like a shadow.
The eggs never had a chance.
Chayanne could have never been a normal child.
There is too much history, too much weight on his young shoulders.
He is the heir to the Blood God, and he is ten years old.
#phil and wil just wanted their kids to grow up in peace#peace they never had.#qsmp#qsmp wilbur#qsmp philza#qsmp chayanne#qsmp talullah#wilbur#philza#talullah#chayanne#technoblade#quackity#long post#angst post#dsmp#tommyinnit
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fuuuuck man, i can't stop thinking about amy's character development.
like amy's always been smart, albeit ditzy, but she operates largely on rebelling against what her parents want from her. she does not want to be a living uterus to make heirs and money for her shitty folks. she parties and sleeps around and generally still acts like a sorority girl because she values freedom.
and it's funny bc her parents introduce her to kif, but kif is a new way to keep amy grounded. kif isn't a one night stand, he tries to call her back and wants to get to know her. he wants to impress her family, and neither of them care that it doesn't work because he was brave enough to try. in fact, they can probably both bond over feeling like they're unfairly tethered to people who don't see them as individuals. he loves her and wants to commit to her, and she's flattered and realizes she loves him right back beyond just dating.
and amy is... not good with emotional literacy. she says things to insult people on accident a lot, and she doesn't usually seem willing to get very personal with the crew. and when kif dies in BWABB, her mom literally tells her to get over it mere days later, and then she copes by sleeping with zapp seemingly just to bring kif back in some way. so i think this is something else she internalized from her upbringing.
so i think when kif gets pregnant, obviously she's not ready to adjust to a life of responsibility, especially given how being a mother has been held over her head as basically a command for most of her life. but she wants to be with kif, and she's willing to adapt for him. and then she gets 20 years to prepare, and given this episode, i believe she spent those 20 years talking this over with kif, working out their relationship, learning to get her mind in order and eventually be a responsible parent. they had some real hurdles (and bad writing) but i think eventually, she felt ready to commit, especially after she earned her phd. she's financially secure enough to do pretty much whatever she wants after all, and having a family with kif is what she wants next in life.
i think this all made the "biological mother" thing so much harder for her. because leela has her own traumas, but it seems like she's naturally maternal, whereas i feel like amy had to really work for it. and she's worried that simply being exhausted is enough to make her a bad mom, and takes that out on leela, even though leela is also exhausted and far from perfect. i feel like in amy's eyes, leela has always been very capable and mature, even if they don't always get along, and i can see her worrying that the kids would innately bond with leela and amy wouldn't be enough. and given she outright acknowledges how terrible her parents are in this episode, and they reject the babies for being visibly mutant-alien, i can see her worrying she's repeating the cycle, and even though she's loving them as much as she can, she's only ever known parents who were harsh and critical, and being so openly loving is something she had to learn. (leela had to learn this too, but amy is too self-critical to realize that.)
so when amy says she loves those kids "more than [she] realized [she] could ever love anything"... i really believe that. i don't think amy knew how capable she was of expressing true love. i don't think she realized that she could commit to someone and not just fulfill her parents' degrading wishes for her. this isn't about her parents, this is about her and kif and the future they made with their love.
and by god, she's gonna be a good mother, and it'll be hard, but in the end, she's doing it because it feels good.
#futurama#futurama spoilers#children of a lesser bog#amy wong#hulurama#kifamy#amy#analysis#it just caught me so off guard how ready she was to be a parent#and it rlly makes her so much more interesting!
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A long time ago in a... well... galaxy full of ducks and mice
Hello there!
How should we celebrate Star Wars Day? Uhm... what about a ride along some italian Disney "parodies" of Star Wars? And I use quotation marks 'cause, it'll probably surprise you but, as of today, there is no real Disney parody of Star Wars.
There are, though, many stories that draw inspiration from some elements of Lucas' saga, starting from "Topolino e la spada di ghiaccio" (1984) amazing fantasy saga by Massimo de Vita that has nothing to do with Star Wars but gives us the first Disney character whose design's been heavily inspired by Darth Vader: the evil Prince of Mists!
The nefarious Prince of Mists from "Topolino e la spada di ghiaccio".
Scattered throughout the years there are many other stories inspired by Star Wars from Silvia Ziche's Topokolossal (1997):
Mickey Skyrunner weilds his legendary catalytic baguette as he faces off Pietro Galactus.
up to "Paperoga eroe dello spazio" (2013) a splendid, touching story by Roberto Gagnor and Claudio Sciarrone that culminates in one of the best plot twists ever on Topolino's pages (this story is the dream of any Galactic Empire fan ❤️).
Easy, Gorgius "heir" to Behlpost's throne... who do you think you are? Luke Skywalker? (Spoiler: you're not).
You may call it Behlpost, but that's Naboo royal palace for sure... with imperial guards as it seems 😁 (or are they forerunners of Operation Cinder sentinels? 🤔).
The only story (well, saga actually) that comes the most close to a real parody is Giorgio Pezzin's "Topolino e i signori della Galassia" (1991) which draws heavily inspiration from Star Wars expecially in the second episode.
The main character of this story is Goofy, who finds out to have inherited special powers from some old relative. Powers that make him the only one able to help the Galactic Confederation in their struggles against robots named "the Metals" led by general Titanio who seeks to eradicate every biological life form from the galaxy.
Jeez, Titanio's soldiers may be robots but their aim is as bad as Stormtroopers'... 🤣🤣
That's definitely the Battle of Hoth.
I know for sure there are also Star Wars inspired stories starring Josè Carioca out there, and McGreals' "May the farce be with you" (2005), but, unfortunately, I never had the chance to read them 'cause they've never been published in Italy.
But today's biggest obstacle to a Star Wars parody is Disney's auto-censorship. Yes, 'cause there's a strict rule at Disney that forbids authors to write parodies of other Disney franchises... so any parody of Star Wars (and Marvel) it's a very loud no-no. Sad :'(
We do know, though, that there are at least three finished legit parodies that never saw the light of day. One by Francesco Artibani that was supposed to be published on Topolino and two made-in-Egmont drawn by Cavazzano and Freccero.
Of the latter we can appreciate a beautiful illustration and a single page thanks to Freccero sharing them online a few years ago:
Alas, unless Disney change their internal directives (and there's no way it's gonna happen anytime soon) we'll never get the chance to see these or any other Star Wars inspired story in the near future.
But we can sure appreciate the older ones and if you wanna indulge yourself in something different today... these are the stories you're looking for ;)
May the Force be with you!
(And LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!!! 💪)
#may the 4th#star wars day#disney parodies#mickey mouse#donald duck#darth vader#info dumb#star wars#disney comics#italian disney comics#disney ducks#disney mice#giorgio pezzin#massimo de vita#roberto gagnor#claudio sciarrone#silvia ziche#andrea freccero#have a great day!
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Poly/OT7: II
Updated 01/14/24
Ruin Me, Pretty Please - @bangtanflirt
Jeon Jungkook is the campus’s it-boy. Y/N is a socially anxious recluse. When Jungkook accidentally witnesses Y/N’s sexually sadistic nature, it awakens a new side of him. Feat. Jimin
Inferno - @hamsterclaw
Namjoon and you sign up as officers of Project Inferno, a global endeavour to save Earth from collapse. It’s a high-risk operation, and no one knows the risk better than Yoongi, one of the few men to make it back from the trench.
Right Here, Right Now - @hobidreams
What if little red wants to get eaten by the big bad wolves? (Rapline x Reader.)
Before I Leave You - @hollyhomburg
Someone always has to leave first; They just didn’t expect Yoongi to come back with a new omega (who’s clearly been through some shit).
These Entangled Paths (Maknae Line) (Hyung Line) - @mirahuyooo
In which, you cross paths with a man, who, unbeknownst to you, holds the city by the neck in fear. Your life will never be the same.
Of Coincidence and Fate (Pt. 2 of These Entangled Paths) - ^^
In which, the man of the underworld is thrown back into the path of a certain woman that hasn’t left his mind. His life will never be the same.
It's Nothing - ^^
In which, he faces certain danger—something he’s quite used to, given his line of work—and now has to face the consequences of you discovering it.
Overdue - @namjooningelsewhere
Love is indeed a beautiful feeling, but does not come without its obstacles. When your 7 loving, idol boyfriends think it’s better to date someone within the industry or like they put it “Someone who knows their world”, you have no choice but to accept their abrupt decision.
War of the Hearts - ^^
You’ve been lurking in the shadows, protecting the seven of Bangtan even if it means you must give your own life. After all, that’s what you do when you are in love with someone irrevocably. That pain seems to be miniscule in light of their safety. But it was never about you, for all you are is a speck of dust in the universe they have created for them and their girlfriend. Your heart’s at war, but it’s fine, you can smile through the pain as long as it means they smile- for her.
My Dear Melancholy - @pasteljeon
In which you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues. (Even though there's only one chapter, I love it so give it a read!)
The Little Fox - @purpleyoonn
Just as you escaped the Little Fox, a bidding house, you find yourself at war with your thoughts, not wanting to go to another shelter. You didn’t expect yourself to find a home anywhere, especially not with the men who found you, and their pack.
A Bond Made of Love - ^^
Your last owner had almost beaten you to death, leaving you at the very shelter he had adopted you from. This time, two tall men walk in, immediately drawn to you as you rested in your small cage. You couldn’t help but become attached, just hoping you wouldn’t be abandoned once again by the idols you grow to love.
Knife's Edge - @readyplayerhobi
The Jeon Clan is Family, built on blood and loyalty. It’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the Clan, Jeon Jungkook. You would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?
Fortuna - ^^
300 years ago, half the world’s population died when the experimental Fortuna virus escaped. The remaining male population has been rendered infertile with one loophole that has meant polyamorous relationships have become the norm.
Three's a Crowd - ^^
Jungkook agrees to a threesome with you and your boyfriend, Namjoon. The night promises to be a fun time for all three of you, with you all living out your wildest fantasies. Three might be a crowd sometimes, but tonight it’s just right.
Whirlwind - @secret-kpoplibrary
You wouldn’t say your life is perfect, far from it in fact, but you make the best of it anyway. But a rapidly occurring series of events in your life results in a lot of changes. Some good, some bad. It’s hard to tell when it’ll end, but you find yourself meeting new people along the way that make you feel like you can tackle just about anything that comes you guys’ way.
Oasis - ^^
Running a hybrid sanctuary isn’t always be easy, especially not when it specializes in rehabilitating hybrids with physical and mental disabilities. But no matter the challenges you may encounter, the guests you encounter always are a constant reminder that it’s 100% worth it.
Unexpected - ^^
Working as a medic for the police you’ve seen your fair share of interesting situations, to say the least. So when you find yourself tasked with helping 3 omegas following an underground fighting ring bust you absolutely don’t think any of them would get attached to you, let alone all three. But now that they’ve decided you’re their alpha it seems you’ve got a few changes to make.
Tomorrow - ^^
You and your German Shephard hybrid have been on the police force for five years now. The job has its exciting moments sure but for the most part you’d consider it pretty straightforward from shift to shift. A noise complaint usually means a rowdy neighbor not a badly beaten hybrid tied to a tree so- you’d say this counts as one of those less than straightforward circumstances.
Not Gonna Happen - @shadowofahope
“Uh guys…. She’s rolling away.” Yoongi points to you and your attempt to escape the room. Hands grab your ankles to halt your getaway. “I hate all of you.” You groan up at Yeonjun, who still had hold of you. You give up, letting out a deep sight, wishing the ground would open from under you.
The Price we Pay - ^^
Shoes echo in the room as they all leave him alone with his thoughts. Goodbyes unheard by the man now drenched in sweat, fists gripped tightly to his desk. This could be a terrible idea, one of his worst, but he had to try. There was only one person capable of helping him now, to keep his boys safe.
Eucalyptus - ^^
A sugar glider hybrid with a broken past. Seven men convinced they can give her the life she’s always wanted. Sometimes destiny has a funny way of finding you, and sometimes it smells like Eucalyptus.
Sanctuary - @softykooky (All time fav!!!!)
Some people are lucky enough to be born into a family that loves them. others meet their family in a coffee shop while on the run from the Korean ambassador, while they’re holding a man at gunpoint and beating him to a pulp for treason against their syndicate.
Ruin You (Sequel: Ruined) - @taegularities
One-Time Threesome into more with Jungkook and Taehyung.
Daddy's Money - @underthe-northernlight
The daughter of a filthy rich businessman is gifted hybrids by her father. But if only he knew that would lead to her gaining the confidence she will need to break free from what he deems the right place for her.
Journey to the Dick - @whatifyoulivelikethat
Absolute crack smut with OT7
Double Dare - ^^
Sequel to Journey to the Dick, welcome to more crack smut!
Eunoia - @wishesunderthestars
You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness isn’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?
Little Do You Know - @yoongiofmine
In a world where idols and actors can’t date, whether it be because of contracts, lack of time, or the dangers that involve having your personal life leaked, the market opened up for a new work field. Playmate Agencies emerged to supply the entertainment world with highly trained companions for hire. Bangtan is looking for new playmates. And you just happen to be the one all of them choose.
Bed & Boyfriends - @yoonia
It was meant to be a simple weekend away with your boyfriend. Inviting his best friends for the ride had sounded like a brilliant, yet an innocent idea just the same. Until the secrets are out and revealed, and the heat from the weekend becomes the sinful flame that may engulf you until you are left into nothing else but sparkles of dust tethering in the blissful wind.
Ravished by Two - ^^
Two dominant Alphas, one defining goal. But how far can you catch up with two prime, tenacious males overcome with desire?
The Return of an Empress - @you-are-my-joy
After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be happy, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months. The only thing on your mind now is to learn how to survive.
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And another one for the Valentine's special ask: Mallekei for me? 😌💕💕
Malleus x Cater relationship headcanons
Definitely an interesting relationship, given that there is such a contrast between the two, at least at first. Since they aren't very close, they would probably start by seeking each other in the middle of crowds. Especially Cater, since, well, Malleus stands up a lot from the rest. Just by his height, the horns adorning his head, and obviously the title of being the heir to the throne of his nation. It would probably start as pure curiosity, maybe with a little admiration. Everyone talks about Malleus so Cater has for sure heard some stories about him. Meanwhile, Cater might be popular in social media and amongst his classmates, but these types of rumors don't reach Malleus; most of his knowledge comes from Lilia being the ginger's club mate. He probably wouldn't think much of him, just an energetic kid in a school full of rowdy boys -one of the bunch.
However, when interacting during their 3rd year, he would probably start feeling some kind of affinity for the kid. First, the way Cater was never afraid to talk to him like the majority of other students. Although he managed to touch a nerve on ocassion, with his unfiltered comments, Malleus still found his reckless nature interesting. Cater would seek him out here and there, trying to take a pic with him; even if it was to show him off to others, Malleus started enjoying the chase, since it gave a bit of color to his dull daily life. Just like the boy himself, radiant with his bright personality, in contrast to his own more reserved nature.
As he observed him more and more, he started to wonder how come the other always wanted to spend so much time with him, given that he must have lots of other friends… right? Unless… when they started talking more and more, he realized that maybe they weren't so different after all. As they kept meeting each other, Cater began to feel more comfortable with Malleus to open up about those parts of him that he didn't like other seeing; and Malleus, finally starting to see more than just the façade he put up, felt like now they were on the same wavelength and could understand each other more.
Without even noticing, Malleus was the one to fall first for Cater. Looking forward to every interaction, he didn't even realize these were romantic feelings. As for Cater, I think the idea wouldn't even cross his mind until the other unconsciously started standing closer to him, sometimes patting him on the shoulder and his hand lingering there a bit too long… So Cater would be the first to notice his own feelings because he has more experience with these matters. And I think he would start feeling really insecure and maybe even guilty? Like, he just got to befriend the coolest guy in campus and now he's ruining it with a stupid crush… So he would distance himself until he "gets over it".
Cue, Malleus also feeling bad because he doesn't understand what he did wrong since their friendship was flowing smoothly. And so, he consults Lilia, telling him about all of their interactions until now. The older fae then snickers and explains to him what this all means, and that possibly his club mate likes him too, which leads to operation confession. Next day, after classes finished, Malleus seeks Cater who, at the sight of him, tries to flee; but obviously Malleus has the higher up in anything physical, and quickly reaches him, grabbing him by the wrist and taking him to somewhere more private. He's very direct with his feelings and… maybe a bit too much, because given his status, Malleus is already thinking of marrying, not dating. Cater is caught so off-guard, he tells Malleus he has to think about it. After some discussion, they agree to have a "courting period", during which Cater falls more in love with the dragon and finally agrees to date him with the intention of marrying him ><
OKAY I derailed a lot talking about how they became a couple because given the nature of both characters I think it would take a while for them to open up!!! Headcanons? idk her, I just wrote a whole fic. But now onto the category of during the relationship.
So, I remember you mentioned the trope of "culture shock" with these two. Since they're from very different countries, with different customs, it would definitely be something that comes up rather often, especially at the beginning of a relationship. However, while thinking about this, more than the customs from each motherland, I think it's really funny to explore the whole old victorian man x chronically online teenager dynamic lmao. I mean, before starting the relationship, Cater had already more or less explained to Malleus what Magicam was and why he wanted a pic with him, but it still confuses him from time to time, and it's not the only thing. Obviously, the language is different; sometimes Lilia needs to act as a translator.
Aside from that, they would probably enjoy going on dates to cafés and such, since its #cammable for Cater, and Malleus kind of has a sweet tooth to eat whatever Cater doesn't like and only ordered for the #aesthetic lol. However, it would probably be a bit difficult to go unnoticed. Maybe they can book a more private part of the cafés, so they don't have to give explanations about what's a future king doing hanging out with a Magicam celebrity. I mean, sooner or later they'll come out to the public, but they want to enjoy their date in peace!
After having something to eat, they could promenade around the more antique places of town, where luckily there's also less people, and have Malleus explain all of the details about the architecture to his boyfriend, who listens to him while taking pics of all the cool gargoyles they see, especially the dragon themed ones.
And I like to think that before their 4th year at NRC Malleus would propose to Cater, so even when they're away doing their internships, they would both have a ring to remind each other the presence of their love <3
Bonus: little doodle of them :3 I hope you like it and enjoyed reading it at least a bit! I'm not that familiar with the ship so some of the ideas are obvi inspired by your own headcanons haha. Thank you for the request!
#tsun.fic#mallekei#malleus draconia#cater diamond#twst bl#twst hc#sorry that it's taking me a while but i'm doing my research to answer these (?) i will get to the other ones in these days
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Vigil / Leontuzzo Bellone Relationship Headcanons
Fellas my intrusive thoughts won. I will raise him I will max him out idc if he's bad he's so... Anyways he is so bisexual so this is for everyone lol.
Content. Fluff, smut, hcs, imagines
Fluff cw. Established relationship, reader is affiliated with Rhodes Island (whether they're the doctor, an operator or anything else is up to you! It's not very specific, just that you spend time on Rhodes a lot.) , gift giving
Smut cw. Vigil x gn!reader, sub Vigil, dom Vigil (separated), dacryphilia, sadism, masochism, edging, pet play, praise kink, degrading, begging, brief mention of blindfolding, bondage, pain play, sir kink, begging, cockwarming, overstimulation, brat taming, gagging
Written after Il Siracusano event. Spoiler warning. Demetri is not mentioned just in case anyone hates that rat (affectionate). Feel free to request if you'd like any other character!
Vigil Fluff
Vigil is so stiff in a relationship. The idea of domestic love lives are foreign to him, having been raised as a mafia heir.
But this won't stop him from loving you. He's just stiff.
He won't really tell you where he's going or what he's doing until you ask. He won't really be the one to initiate intimacy unless the moment calls for it or if you ask. All in all. He's definitely open, not clueless. He just doesn't know specifics.
When should it be right to tell you this? When should he kiss you? How often should he do it? How should he do it?
He's somewhat estranged from a romantic world as he was raised in a world far void of it. He'd definitely know the basic things, but not know them in depth.
All in all, a relationship with him requires a lot of communication and addressing your needs and instability, so you can overcome them together as a couple.
If not, then Vigil won't really notice until things get so bad he can't ignore it and it'll likely result in a disagreement.
Remember he's stiff, not uncaring. He doesn't know where to start even if he knows he can start. But he's not cold. He loves you for sure.
He's definitely open to change! Just tell him and he'll call you more often, he'll start initiating intimacy a lot more, however you like it. Your love language whatever it is, Vigil will instantly understand and apply it.
For him to do anything without being told though, his love language is definitely gift giving. Coming from a materialistic world of transactions and debts, he knows that physical things have a lot of value. Plus he's rich. Disbanded famiglie or not, he has his savings.
He'd unintentionally (but somehow with full intent on spoiling you,) spoil you to death. Hey honey I got you a matching watch. It looks like mine doesn't it. Oh you want that jacket? Done and wrapped in your favorite gift bag. Hey about that date, I booked us a famous restaurant. No big deal.
He does think he's showing you his love this way. It's not like he buys gifts for everyone and makes it rain every day. But he doesn't mean to be overbearing about it. He just doesn't care.
You're not leaving even a dent in his savings don't worry about it. It's not like he'd clear the store for you, he has his boundaries and limits. But surely it's not wrong to buy you this nice accessory once in a while... Right?
He'd genuinely be so shocked if you refuse his gift. He's speechless. Awestruck. Flabbergasted. Silenced to the next dimension. He'd insist on giving it to you, not understanding why you won't accept. If you refuse anyways he just sits on his bed like a stone statue wondering if you hate him (lol)
All in all. He'd do anything for you, just tell him and he's on it. Want him to call you pet names? Done. Want him to carry you like a princess? He's stronger than you think. Want him to kiss you? If it's in front of other people, he'll be just a tad bit embarrassed before remembering he doesn't care what people think, and then just goes for it. But if you're alone, you bet he's not stopping until you get off of him personally. When he does something, he is committed to it fully. Even more so for you.
Vigil Smut
The local church confession booth hates me
So... About my recent post ahahaha. <:
Vigil is surprisingly more familiar with sexual intimacy than he is with domestic ones. He's quite familiar with it, it's the one form of intimacy he learned from his environment.
He won't be opposed to it at all, almost bringing it up soon after the relationship started. If you're not ready though, he won't force it. Even in the uncommon occasion he gets horny, he can take care of it himself.
But when the time comes, he knows what to do. First time or not, he's not an idiot. He knows how to please you, whatever it is you want. Slow and gentle, fast and rough, kinky or vanilla, he can do it all. As long as you're both pleased by the end of the night.
Generally, he's such a biter. He bites you any chance he could, it's mark visible too. If you don't like that, you can conceal it. But Vigil likes that he's marking you like this.
He'd be into pet play too. Receiving or otherwise. (It's Arknights what do you expect—)
A collar and a leash is his favorite thing in the bedroom, and he fantasizes about it a lot.
Touch his tail, he'll yelp so loud, but the moment he realizes it, he'll glare. He has some pride left, surely.
Cockwarming isn't out of the question either. As long as no one is gonna walk in, he'd definitely do it. Receiving? Giving? Both ways, he is not getting work done anytime soon. But he never lasts, he'll cum eventually, and after that he'd want more.
He's a big fan of receiving head. Under the desk while he's doing paperwork? He's so distracted, his writing is getting messier, even if he tries to keep it cool.
As a sub, he's whiny, so whiny. He's a very demanding man with high expectations. It'd take you a lot of work to get him beneath you.
When you first proposed that he'd be the sub, he's not opposed to it, but he'd be a bit apprehensive, he's not used to submitting, despite doing it so well for you. He just won't admit he likes it when you're in power. He'd put up a tough act and whine a bit, but once your hand slips underneath his shirt and that whine comes out, he's jelly in your hands. Do what you want with him. He likes to fight it a bit, but it's not like he's ever going to curse you out for control and flip you over.
If him crying beneath you is what you want, then you better do it right, he says with a huff. But secretly he'll never admit he likes it.
He doesn't mind being treated roughly, he'll cry and whimper about how harsh you're being, but his tail is wagging. And you notice the moan that came out when you stroke him. You notice the way he scratched you, you notice the grip he has on the sheets.
He's a big fan of being tied up, do whatever you want with him, he'll take it all so well. Handcuff him, tie him up with rope, whatever. He'll love the way they restrain him as he wriggles underneath your touch, loving the pain.
He'll be hesitant about it, but definitely open to pain play. Maybe a couple slaps won't be so bad, if you're into more than just that, he can take it... He'll definitely put some rules and boundaries, but he's open to trying it out. It's not like it doesn't turn him on.
He's definitely whiny. Again. He'd get (shamefully) loud, moaning loud pleas to be more gentle if he's still got some pride in him. But otherwise, he's begging you to go harder and faster on him, begging for more either way.
It'd take some work to get him into that headspace, but when you do, it's so worth it. It's not bad being the one obeying orders for once.
He secretly wants to be your pillow princess though. Just tie him up, blindfold him and take care of him after a stressful day, mess him up slow and gentle, whisper praises in his ears, hold his hand, stroke his tail, whatever. It's heaven for him to be taken care of after a hard day. Please do that :( he deserves it.
HIGH KEY HE LOVES BEING CALLED A GOOD BOY.
Speaking of which, he doesn't have much stamina, while it's still more than average, but he'd definitely let you use him as much as you'd like. He could be begging for a break, but he loves the overstimulation. Please make his head spin. Make him forget about his responsibilities for a second and turn him into a whimpering mess. :)
Continue when he's just recovering from the last orgasm. He's going to whine so loud, but never will he say the safe word. He's just mumbling incoherently, small "please"s and "faster" and "more" as he whimpers, reaching another orgasm.
Maybe he'd give you an earful usually, but he can't even speak properly now. He's silently thanking you on the inside for ruining him though. Just how he likes it.
Dom Vigil though... You're in for a ride.
He might look like a DeviantArt OC but his personality can be "your kid calls me daddy too"
He'd definitely like being in control, while still giving you what you like.
You want him to fuck you nice and gentle? He's got his chest pressed onto your back, whispering into your ear what a good pet you are for him. How you're doing so well, so good, taking him all in. He's moaning beside your ear, telling you how good you make him feel.
But he's still got some control over you. He'll be asking you to repeat what he said. "Tell me, you're mine. My good little boy/girl/partner" he demands, his movements stopping. He's not continuing until he's satisfied with your answer. When you give him what he wants though. He is so rewarding.
He's making you cum again and again. Overstimulated? But you wanted this.
Hard dom Vigil... On my knees.
He's RUTHLESS. He's definitely into best taming and pet play.
Once you've given him the green light for it, he gets so kinky with you.
He's tying you up, blindfolded, gagged, taking his cock, and will probably attach a vibrator too. Just to see you break
He'd definitely be into you calling him sir. He's used to it in daily life, but oh to hear you moan that out.
He's a big fan of edging and giving you pain if you're into it. He loves to see what a mess he made out of you, the control and authority he feels. Definitely will degrade you while he's at it.
He can be quite cruel, you're gonna have to follow his orders to a t and not cum until he tells you to, even if you are practically begging.
If you were to beg though, it better be cute. Maybe then he'll be lenient on you. He's gonna ask you to beg a million times before he gives in, satisfied as to what a cheap whore you've become for him. You're his though. Only his.
He'll admit he has a thing for dominating you. But he genuinely believes you're so cute that way. Besides, he can please you as much as you'd like this way, as much as he believes you deserve.
Omg NGL I got lazy???? HWJDNFNJEHS but still I have him as my assistant and seeing him when I log in just makes me go "I need this twink obliterated."
#arknights x reader#arknights#arknights smut#arknights x doctor#arknights x you#vigil arknights#vigil x reader#arknights x reader hcs#arknights x gn reader#Arknights x fem reader#arknights x male reader#vigil arknights x reader#leontuzzo bellone#vigil arknights smut#vigil arknights fluff#vigil fluff#vigil smut#sub arknights#top arknights#sub reader arknights#dom reader arknights#arknights male reader#arknights gn reader#ae writes
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Operation Bad Heir Day 4x12
#comic#webcomic#artists on tumblr#original comic#oc#indie comic#robynn and co#Operation Bad Heir Day#Page 12#Robynn van Eden#Jesse Burt
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Seeing Red | Ch. 27: Jake's secret ✍️📲
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: A N G S T, Jake's past, death, guns, dirty money, mentions of war... idk guys, this one has almost everything you can imagine.
A/N: IT'S FUCKING 04:30 AM I SAID I'LL PUBLISH IT TODAY AND HERE IT IS. THIS IS THE SECRET, BUT WE STILL HAVE A LONG ROAD AHEAD OF US, BABES.
MASTERLIST ON PINNED
“I think I should start the story by telling you that Seresin isn’t my real surname.”
“Holy shit, what a way to start.” You mumble, grabbing a cushion to embrace while he tells you the story.
“Seresin is my mom’s maiden name. I was born as Jacob St. James.”
You hug the cushion tighter. “St. James. Sounds like a rich surname.”
Jake swallows, playing with the edge of his t-shirt. “Have you heard of the St. James Armament Corporation?”
"Of course, they're the ones who provide the Na-" You realize what he just said, the connection he’s implying. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“I wish I was.”
“Jake. SJAC is the biggest armament company in the States.” You state, as if he didn’t know already.
“And I’m their 17-year-old son that disappeared almost 20 years ago.” He confesses, his hands trembling.
You grab his hands, moving closer to him. “It’s okay. I’m here, okay? You’re not alone.”
He nods, and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You think you can go on? We can stop.” A part of you feels bad now. This is bigger than you have thought, and somehow it feels like it has just started.
He shakes his head, brings your hand to his lips, and kisses your knuckles. “I’m okay. I’m just… gonna pour it all out, and you interrupt me when you need it, okay?” You nod, and he presses his lips into a thin line.
It’s now or never.
Jacob St. James was born into a rich family. He had more money than he could ever spend. As the only child of Gregory St. James, Jake was supposed to become the perfect heir. His childhood wasn’t a normal one.
Normal children have crayons and coloring books. Jake had math books and private teachers.
Normal children play football with their friends. Jake’s only friend was his grandpa, James Seresin, a veteran. He had been a naval aviator all his life. Jake’s dream was to become like him, fly in the sky with his teammates, and help the world become a better place. But it was an impossible dream.
Normal children go to birthday parties. Jake was a prisoner in his own castle of glass.
Normal children get a car for their 16th birthday. Jake discovered that his father not only supplied weapons to the United States military branches, but also sold them to their enemies, who had been killing innocent people for years.
“Who do you mean by ‘enemies’?” You question, not liking where this is going.
“Anyone you can think of: Afghanistan, Iraq, Russia, mafias all around the world… He was the main supplier.”
“Iraq… as in Operation Iraqi Freedom?”
Jake nods. “I know your dad died there, sweets. I don’t know if it was one of my father’s weapons but…”
“Whatever your father did, it isn’t your fault.” You reassure him, running your fingers through his hair. “What did you do when you found out about this?”
“I tried to confront my him. I told him that I didn’t want to become the heir of a company that was behind so many murders. Innocent people were dying because of him. Men and women like my grandpa, people who fought to save this country and so many others, were dying because of him.”
“I’m sure he didn’t like it.”
Jake shakes his head and looks down. “That’s when it all became scary.”
Jake’s father only laughed at his words. You will do as you are told, he said. If I say ‘jump’, you’ll ask ‘how high?’, he said. You’re only a puppet, controlled by me, he said.
I’ll run away and I’ll become a pilot, like grandpa. I’ll help to save all the people you’re killing. I don’t want to live surrounded by dirty money.
Jake’s grandpa died in a mysterious car accident the next day.
“Oh dear god. How old were you?” You hug him close, as close as you can.
He wipes his tears with his free hand, the only one bringing you impossibly closer. “Seventeen.”
“You were just a kid…”
“And my father killed my grandpa as a warning. ‘You want to become something you’re not? That’s what happens’. He never said those words to me, but the message was clear.”
“Where was your mom?”
“My mom…” Jake takes a shaky breath in. Seeing him in such a state breaks your soul. “She blamed herself for everything bad that happened to me throughout my life. It took her a while to realize that my father didn’t marry her because he loved her; he married her because of her dad’s connections. My grandpa’s contacts with the Navy would help his armament company.”
“That’s horrible, Jake.”
“There’s nothing pretty in this story.”
Jake took months to figure out how to get out of his house and run away. But eventually, he got help from where he least expected it: his grandpa. He had been collecting information for years: guard shift changes, where the keys were, where the money was hidden, who could help him once he was out, how to get a car, everything he needed.
“He wanted you to be free.” You speak softly, playing with the collar of his shirt.
“He even left me his wings.”
“I’m sure he was an amazing man.”
Jake smiles. “I know he would have loved you.”
“Of course, I’m pretty lovable.”
Jake looks at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and love. “Yeah, you are.”
You clear your throat, looking away. “Did you manage to run away?”
“My mom distracted my father long enough for me to escape. I changed my name, joined the Navy, and never contacted my family again. I received a letter once a year, on my birthday. Mom used them to tell me everything was okay. But… if she knew where I was…”
“So did your father.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling that this is when you come into the scene.
“I didn’t realize until much, much later.”
Everything was good for a while. He became a hell of an aviator, began to live his own life, and started to do things that he never thought he could. He went to parties, got drunk, and became a player—all the things one is supposed to do in their adolescent years, the ones that were stolen from him. Somewhere along the way, he found you.
“This is gonna sound ridiculous, but you were the first person I fell in love with." Jake explains, scratching the back of his neck. “Nobody ever explained to me why love was how you’re supposed to feel when it happens, not even my mom."
“That’s why you stayed around even though we weren’t actually together.” You recall how he agreed to that friends with benefits relationship right away.
“I thought that maybe, if I tried hard enough, you’d fall for me, too.” He chuckles. “And you did.”
“Yeah, I did.” You look at the streetlight outside the house, “They found me, right?”
“I made a mistake. I sent a photo of our wedding to my mom. And he found it. My mom sent a letter back, and I knew something was wrong because I got two letters from her in the same year.” Jake sighs, his head resting on the back of the sofa, and you find yourself hypnotized by the movement of his Adam's apple when he speaks. “She said that he was looking after me. I got a random message one morning, it said: ‘You don’t deserve to be happy’. I knew it was him. And I got so fucking scared that you could end up like my grandpa that I just made everyone believe that our marriage had ended.”
You close your eyes, tears running down your face. This is it. This is the truth. He had a good reason. He was protecting you. He has always been protecting you.
“He allowed me to be an aviator, but not to be happy.”
"And you went through this alone." He runs his fingers through your face, trying to get rid of the tears. "I'm sorry, Jake, this is… T-this is crazy."
"I know. But I need you to know that if I had known that I was leaving you and a little kid behind, I would have fought to keep you at my side." He pats his chest before opening his right front pocket and getting his wedding band from the inside. He carries it around? "I've seen your dog tags, sweets."
You pulled them out. The rings, separated three years ago, are reunited again. "I thought you would wear it with your dog tags as well."
"It would have led to unnecessary questions. But now…" He opens the chain of his dog tags, sliding the ring before closing it. "I can do this."
You chuckle, trying to assimilate everything. "This is a lot."
"I know… I've been preparing myself for a month. But you… it has to be overwhelming."
"Is it safe for me and Liam to be here?"
Jake nods. "Mav called an old NCIS friend. Is helping me prove that my father killed my grandpa. This friend has shown every guard at the base the faces of the people who cannot enter the base under any circumstances. As long as we're here, we're safe."
Yeah, that's true. This is probably the safest place you could be right now.
"So that's why you're trying to get Liam everything he wants? Because you didn't have anything?"
He sighs, playing with the engagement ring in your dog tags. Liam has the same face when he plays with them. Like father, like son. "I lived in a castle of glass that had everything and nothing at the same time."
You grab his chin, forcing him to look at you. "Jake you're not your father, you know. You just came back from the ER with me because he had an ear infection."
"I know I'm not like him, Red. But I missed a lot of things" He softly moves your hand from his face.
"That's not true. You want to see his first steps? Hear his first words? I have videos. I recorded everything I could." You tell him, getting up and turning a light on so you can search your laptop.
"Why? I mean, I guess it was to have memories of that, right?"
"I recorded everything for you, Jake. In case you came back." You sheepishly admit, sitting down next to him.
You open your laptop and search for a folder named 'Liam'. There's almost a hundred videos, if not more. From his very first days, to last month's beach day. You play the first video, pushing the laptop in front of Jake.
And now he knows how it feels to see his kid take his first steps. How excited he was on his first birthday. How he loves to play with Lady. How his first word was 'baba' and his second 'dada'. Red must have talked about him every single day for him to be his second word. He sees Liam's face covered in chocolate the first time he eats ice cream. How he loved the sea and the sand. How much he loves his mom—a brilliant smile on his face every time she says something to him.
And he also sees that same feeling in your eyes. Devotion. Pure love and devotion.
"Thank you, Red. For showing me this, for raising him alone… You're the best mother ever." Red hands him a box of tissues, and he chuckles but takes a few and cleans his face. "I'm a crybaby."
"I think you're allowed to cry, cowboy. I used to say to Liam that his dad was a superhero who had to stay away from his wife and son to protect them, and that’s literally what you did. You protected us."
He looks at you. You're practically sitting in his lap. Your puffy eyes look at him with a familiar glint in them. The one you had the first time he said that he loved you. The same glimpse of devotion that he has seen in those videos. Maybe not everything is lost.
"I'm going to sound like an idiot, but I need you to go home." You mention closing the laptop.
He blinks a few times. "Wait, what? You want me to leave?"
"Yeah, because right now I could kiss you, and I don't trust myself when I'm around you." You mutter, getting up from the couch and moving to the door.
"Okay, but… now that you know that I didn't want to leave you, would you consider giving me another chance?"
"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"
He takes out his phone, looks at the time, and shows it to you. "It's already tomorrow."
You frown. "Is that a picture of me and Liam?"
He nods. "There are a few of them; they change each time I unlock it."
You can't fight anymore. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pull him close to you, kissing him like you've been wanting for the last month. For the last three years. It becomes desperate, with your whole body curving into his. His hands fly to your hips, pulling you even closer if it's possible. He bites your lip, making you gasp and moan at the same time, and before he can explore the insides of your mouth with his tongue, you pull away.
"You still need to go, Jake."
He nods. "Okay. I'll come back tomorrow morning."
"Goodnight, Jake," you say as you open the door for him.
"Goodnight, sweets." He stays there until you close the door, then walks to his car. He smiles like an idiot all the time. Once he is inside, he gets a text.
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#top gun x reader#jake hangman x reader#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman x fem!reader#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick#hangman x reader#top gun maverick fanfic#jake seresin x reader#hangman seresin#hangman imagine#jake hangman fic#top gun imagine#jake hangman x you#jake hangman imagine#hangman x you#jake seresin#hangman top gun#tgm#hangman fluff#hangman angst#jake seresin imagine
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i know we talk about fanon sometimes like it's a monolith, but actually i have an argument that the fanon(tm) is actually a little more diverse than we think sometimes and i say this because i have categorized and subtyped the various different kinds.
so to start, we have two broad categories: category 1//pre-ethiopia fanon and category 2//post-ethiopia fanon. pre-ethiopia canon is by and large much more simple and straightforward. post-ethiopia is where we start to see more variety and different subtypes.
tim:
pre-ethiopia: probably skipped two grades. bad parents jack and janet simultaneously care immensely about both tim taking over the company one day and also don't care at all about ensuring their son actually survives until adulthood to do so. survival of the fittest, baby, you're a failure of an heir if you can't use the stove independently by age 4. free space of "criminal neglect" being mentioned at some point. camera stalker to the point where he has batman's patrol routes memorized. jason is definitely his idol.
post-ethiopia: subtype (a)//robin: bad parents jack and janet remain (even though janet should have died years ago), leaving tim all alone in the cold drake manor. this 15 year old, rather than reveling in this independence allowing him more freedom to do robin without having to worry about his parents, is immensely sad about this state of affairs. bruce probably hates him for not being jason. jason hates him until he realizes that tim is "just a kid" who has "bad parents" and needs to be saved. physical abuse from his dad highly likely. most likely jason is his idol, but there may be some mention about how much he loves dick. subtype (b)//red robin: addicted to coffee, hasn't slept in weeks. everyone in the batfamily simultaneously hates him and depends on him to keep the entire operation running without any thanks or recognition. nobody loves him, definitely thinks he's not part of the family. they will have to prostrate themselves when they realize the damage they've done to him. subtype (c)//the jerk: a far rarer type of fanon, but still fanon all the same. this subtype is the anti-tim fanon, a backlash fanon, where basically all of tim's bad traits are amplified to the point where he is borderline sociopathic, doesn't really have any sympathy or care for anyone else, and is so super judgemental and snotty to the point that yes, he is no longer recognizable as tim drake and this is officially a fanon. and not that tim doesn't ever show bad traits in canon (he is flawed, like all of them), but really. he does care about other people immensely. he cares about gotham immensely. they all do. even if chuck dixon used him for heavy-handed conservative messages in the 90s, these aren't, like, enduring character traits. most likely to be seen if we're trying to promote another batboy who is getting woobified.
jason:
pre-ethiopia: the only panels that matter are "robin gives me magic" and anything that implies a love of school/good grades. no negative traits, if we give him any negative traits then we are feeding into the idea that he was a "bad" robin just like dc tries to do. so, so focused on the victims and downtrodden of gotham (probably more than dick ever did) which is why tim admires him so much. he is Of The City. immediately zeros in on tim as a victim of terrible parents. ever kind and understanding and sympathetic. a true champion of the people. calls bruce dad, hyphenated his last name. calls dick "dickhead" as a term of loving endearment and dick is seemingly okay with this.
post-ethiopia: subtype (a)//red hood: lazarus pit madness, baby. not at fault for anything he did, it was all the pit. once the anger fades, he realizes that he has turned into the monster who killed him and he feels great shame for this, has to make amends (most likely to tim, for titans tower). subtype (b)//sadboy jason: woobified jason is just sad :( his dad didn't love him, his brother didn't love him, they replaced him. he just wants to go home, desperately. the batfamily must make amends for not grieving him well enough/let him know how much they love and miss him and then he can go home. highly likely was damian's beloved brother in the league and considered talia his mom.
dick:
pre-ethiopia: only eats cereal. comes home every weekend to do his laundry (u know what, good on u dick. i too went home a lot of weekends after i moved out so i wouldn't have to pay for coin laundry at my apartment complex. it's called being smart and strategic.) and hang out with his dad, bruce, and little brother, jason. also has a hyphenated last name. a little dim. always happy. all about the hugs.
post-ethiopia: subtype (a)//nightwing: is allowed to be a good brother to tim, but will never be tim's favorite. feels immensely guilty about how terribly he treated jason as robin, must make amends for this. very bland personality. subtype (b)//post-dickbats: devil incarnate. plays favorites with his brothers and has room in his heart to only love two (neither of which are tim), that is until he realizes how badly he has treated tim and feels immensely bad and guilty that he's ignored tim for so long and then is finally able to redeem himself. probably threatened tim with arkham and told everyone tim was nuts. subtype (c)//dick actually gets to be woobified for once: on rare occasion, dick gets to be the one who gets constantly downtrodden and used by his siblings even if this isn't actually really super in character for them. like i said, super rare. usually seen so that dick can lose his temper at his siblings who are being immature jerks for no reason. cathartic if you're tired of dick being beat down by the writers at dc, but still fanon imo because you have to rely on someone (usually tim) acting more out of character and far more immature towards dick than normal canon and more fanon-y relationship dynamics (such as tim & damian constantly fighting and really hating each other) to get to this point. ....will kind of infantilize an adult man in his mid-twenties.
damian:
pre-ethiopia: actually gets two subtypes!! subtype (a)//doesn't exist: damian who? subtype (b)//young child: we bring him in as a 3 year old, and he's basically a totally different character. probably only meaningful character trait is total adoration for his older brothers.
post-ethiopia: subtype (a)//meanest child in the world: hates tim, is actively trying to murder him constantly and make sure that tim knows he is not a wayne/not welcome in the family. revels in having successfully stolen all of dick's love and attention. no character growth and all the adults just let him be mean without addressing the behavior, everything gets handwaved because of how he was brought up, but it's clear he knows right from wrong and is specifically choosing to do wrong. subtype (b)//he's just a 10 year old, so we have to treat him like *checks notes* a 5 year old: actually incapable of knowing right from wrong because of his upbringing, and he can't be at fault or responsible for any of his behavior because he's only 10 years old, and 10 year olds are too young to know any better when they've grown up in the league, despite extensive education on all subjects growing up likely including philosophy and morality. likely to be the woobified and infantilized one here. needs to be treated like a 3 year old with kid gloves because he's just a kid, after all. when he realizes he is "bad", he is very depressed and sad. often has no knowledge of the outside world, must be taught by his ever patient and loving brothers.
#did i miss any you think???#obligatory i don't actually hate fanon you do you idc#this is a lighthearted post okay!!! tim and jason are the biggest fanon offenders but there's room for dick and damian too dw#anyways *i* think it's helpful to contextualize what category/subtype when discussing fanon#has this been done before??? my greatest apologies if it has
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So are we gonna get a part 2 to some of the reincarnated as a villain or will it remain open ended ( like will vils lover somehow survive etc)
"If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice"
feat: Vil
genre: hurt/comfort?
note: sequel to “being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy”, mentions of d*ath and near d*ath, mentions of attempted poisoning
series masterlist
for now, it's just Vil but feel free to request for anyone else :)
You awoke in a bed which was not your own and you felt a sense of deja vu. It was just like the day when you woke up into this world of what you first thought was fictional work. You slowly rose from the covers and felt parched in your throat. Goodness, how long were you out?
You looked around and saw a bell by the bed. You recognized it as a service call bell so you gave it a couple of swings. It felt to you only a few seconds before you heard rushed footsteps coming towards your room and from the entrance came familiar people; the Schoenheit house butler, your head maid, and surprisingly your husband. The servants looked haggard as though they ran across the mansion and while your husband fared better, he had a look of disheveled relief and mild shock.
“Your grace!” Your maid cried out as she held back her tears. “You’re finally awake!”
Now, you remembered why you vaguely remember this room. You were still in the Schoenheit house, but in Vil’s personal bedroom that was next to his study room.
“What happened?”
The room silenced, and the senior servants looked to Vil with worry. Vil, looking pensive, waved his hand and the help knew to leave the room, giving the two of you privacy. When the butler closed the doors, Vil made his way to the chair situated by your bed. You wondered if you had visitors often if the chair was already there.
The blond noble sighed and confessed the events of that night. He told you how you collapsed to the floor, your neck and face bleeding from your desperate scratches. Vil ordered a guard to find a member from the Rosehearts family and then told Rook to disperse the crowd. Behind his closest aid, Vil drank a portion of the antidote and transferred it to you through a rushed kiss, disguising the act as a husband's attempt to breathe life into his partner. When a doctor from the Rosehearts family arrived, they deduced the cause of your distress as a severe allergic reaction.
“But it wasn't,” Vil furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you. “And you knew, didn’t you?”
“Sir Vil, I don-“ he cut you off.
“LeBlanche didn’t even get the chance to drink it before you requested his drink” Vil recounted what the young count heir told him while in tears, convinced it was his fault. But it wasn’t, it was his. “You immediately took the poison and looked at me, as though you knew what I did”
You were confused on what to do. To see your husband, your ultimate bias, shaking his seat with a look of utter defeat that was so unlike him. He looked straight into your eyes, looking as though he had resigned to something.
“You truly love that man, enough to die for him” he smiled sadly and rose to his feet “I will write up a request for divorce. I doubt you wish to stay with the man that tried to kill your beloved”
No, that’s what you want! Not at all!
You scrambled out from the heavy covers, hurriedly getting to your feet. However, due to the time spent unconscious, the muscles in your legs were not in full operation. You fell to your knees with a loud thud which got your husband (while he is still your husband) to turn around. The beautiful man rushed to your aid while reprimanding you.
“You foolish potato, you just woke up!” Despite his scolding, you giggled at his nickname for you. “Hah, must you always be so reckless?”
“I am reckless because I know you are here to help me regardless” you smiled before turning serious “I didn’t do it because I love Neige”
“What do you mean?”
“Neige is precious to me, yes” you were glad that your friend remained unharmed from this incident, but he was more of a happy byproduct of your actions. “But I did it to protect you, Sir Vil”
Vil shot you a questioning look as he led you back to your (really his) bed. “Explain your reasoning”
You let out a sigh. “If Neige drank the poison without finishing it, the drink would be traced back to you and you would be punished for attempted assassination”
Vil narrowed his eyes “So you did know”
You nodded and continued “I couldn’t leave the drink be and everyone was watching us so I did what I thought was best”
“And you would throw away your life just because of that?!” Vil grew angry at your dangerous reasoning. “Even if you were questioned for tossing a drink or dropping a glass, that would be better than dying!”
“You know it’s not!” You argued back.
Realistically, Vil was right but you couldn’t bring yourself to agree. The imperial palace was the host of the ball and refusing a drink or being seen wasting anything from the dinner is an act of disrespect to the royal family’s generosity. To many in high society including you, a pitiful death is better than bringing shame onto the family.
“I know the reason I was chosen to be in this family” you saw Vil flinched, you guessed he thought you didn’t know. “Even if it’s tragic, my death would have been easier to forgive than disrespecting the royal family”
Vil has remained silent for a while, he was too stunned by this revelation to speak. The nights where you were unconscious, he was convinced that your last smile was meant to haunt him for his horrendous choices. His ugly nature was the cause of your end and you wanted him to be reminded of that every time he remembered your smile.
Bravely, you took the chance to reach for his hands, still shaking from the truth that was revealed. You nervously asked, “Can I still stay here?” By your side?
You broke him. You broke the once unbreakable man that was Vil Schoenheit as he shook violently with tears in his violet-coloured eyes.
Who were you, he thought. Who were you to see the horrendous side of him and still choose to stay.
#can you tell I watch dramas?#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst imagines#vil schoenheit#vil x reader
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the apothecary diaries kinda au with reisaru. Minakata is a future heir to imperial throne but for now pretends to be a mere high ranked official. Saru was literally high key brought into palace to work as a low staff. saru is extremely annoyed by it and wants to return back to brothel (where he was left as a child and raised by high ranked prostitutes who were better parents than his actual ones could ever be). and apparently during his own investigation of unexplainable deaths muna sees saru coming to same conclusion and becomes progressively interested in him. also saru is angry so he throws hands with people even if it’s consort’s dumbass maids.
and then one of grateful consorts takes him under her wing and then munakata sees saru at one of celebrations dressed all rich and without his usual hairstyle and with different glasses that make him look softer and oh yes munakata is in love. also saru’s explanation to looking and behaving like that is that being soft and gentle in brothel, as well as being a young pretty boy, isn’t a good thing.
Imagine everyone is so smitten with Munakata too because of his good looks, he’s just smiling and sparkling at everyone while Fushimi glares in disgust (and that only makes Munakata more intrigued). Fushimi’s mom was a high-ranking courtesan who got tricked by her lover into getting pregnant and dumped the baby at the brothel before going off to become a high powered merchant instead. Fushimi was raised with a bunch of loving big sisters who always told him how pretty he looked even though he’s crabby all the time. He teaches himself useful things like medicine because he didn’t want to be worthless like his father, he’s returning from the market with a bunch of herbs one day when he gets grabbed by some random dudes and sold to the palace as a servant.
Fushimi figures if he keeps his head down maybe he can get out of this without having to do any more work than necessary, in this AU say there are both male and female concubines so it’s okay for male servants to work in the inner palace without being eunuchs. Fushimi is befriended by boisterous servant Yata, who shows him all the ropes and tells him about the ‘frilly pretty guy with glasses’ who’s in charge of the inner palace operations. The first time Fushimi sees Munakata he doesn’t get what the fuss is about, that guy is definitely weird and creepy (also while servants in the inner palace can be male the one in charge is assumed to be a eunuch, so you have Fushimi thinking Munakata’s like that the whole time). What Fushimi doesn’t know is that Munakata is basically in disguise, he’s actually the future heir to the throne and is basically showing his competency and abilities by pretending to be a mere official even as he directs everything in the inner palace to his liking.
At some point there’s a scandal due to the unexplained death of an infant in the inner palace and Munakata naturally takes charge in finding out what the issue is. As he’s doing his investigation he gets an anonymous tip about the face powder the concubines are using, though Fushimi did his best to be sure he wouldn’t be caught Munakata still finds out that Fushimi was the one who solved the case. This makes him very intrigued, there appears to be a particularly skilled servant in the palace. He maneuvers things so that grateful concubine Awashima (who is one of the highest ranked concubines but also semi-working for Munakata behind the scenes) takes Fushimi on as one of her personal servants. Munakata of course uses this as pretext to visit Fushimi constantly and put new unexplained cases in front of him, Fushimi is annoyed by having to do all this work but somehow it isn’t so bad either, having someone who believes in Fushimi’s abilities to this extent.
Of course eventually there’s a big garden party and as one of Awashima’s attendants Fushimi has to attend, which is when they all find out how pretty he is. Normally Fushimi keeps his hair all messy and has big thick glasses and maybe he even seems slightly tanned normally or wears color contacts that make his striking blue eyes brown, but that’s all an act — he learned quickly living in the brothel that being a slim pale pretty boy would make him a target. When he arrives at the garden party he’s got all that makeup and disguise removed though, he’s given a more stylish pair of glasses and his hair is more combed and of course he’s so pale and gorgeous looking. Munakata has been looking for Fushimi specifically to give him a hair pin and almost overlooks him, for once struck speechless by the sight of this ‘real’ Fushimi. He recovers quickly of course, noting that Fushimi is indeed even more skilled than Munakata ever would have thought. He puts the hairpin in Fushimi’s hair and Fushimi assumes this is just a weird court thing, having no idea why everyone else keeps looking at him and whispering.
#Reisaru#Talking K#ooh I like this#imagine Fushimi just so done with everything as Munakata sparkles at him#Fushimi trying to make himself look tanned and unattractive#but then really he's so pale and pretty that Munakata is smitten
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March Monthly Roundup
A belated St. Patrick’s Day, and Happy Easter if you celebrate! Sadly, I had a busy March, so this month’s rec list is short and sweet!
BATFAM
Too Close to Rotting to be Alive by alicecrow6
(gen), <1k, Damian Wayne-centric, Angst
The thoughts of a rotting corpse not yet placed in his grave.
pull up the ladder when the flood comes by mintchocochips
(gen), 4k, Cass Cain-centric
Black Bat is operating in Hong Kong. Bruce is dead. A hell of a lot of people are dead. Cass is trying her damnedest not to drown. She doesn't want anyone else to drown either. She just wants to be good. She is maybe, just maybe, not okay.
charity by Valkrin
(gen), 7k, Different First Meeting, Bad Parent!Drakes
The biggest downside of being adopted by Bruce Wayne is putting up with rich people events, including one where Jason will be in a room with a bunch of rich kids for a couple very long hours while Bruce goes to the adults' meeting. Jason is ready for a very bad time but the Drake kid listens to him from the start and keeps backing up Jason's ideas even though they've never met.
Jason warms up to Tim Drake long before Mad Hatter tries to take over the meeting and Tim backs him up again.
the picture frames have changed and so has your name by Zahri
(gen), 24k, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort There’s something wrong with Dick.
Tim thought everything was getting back to normal. Bruce was alive and back in their timeline, the Birds of Prey were once again operating out of Gotham, Dick had the city well under control as Batman and even Damian had been less obnoxious than usual.
And then during a firefight at a warehouse by the docks, Tim was almost hit by a flying boomerang. And Dick never noticed.
When something is wrong with your big brother, who else do you turn to but your big sisters?
Fatherhood for Dummies by Havendance
WIP, (gen), 6k, Batman Comics, POV Jack Drake
When Tim runs away to No Man's Land, it takes Jack far too long to realize that he's gone. Once he does though, he'll do anything he can to get him back.
THE WITCHER
Flung to Catch a Star by inexplicifics
WIP, (Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier), 63k, Accidental Warlord AU
Morvran Voorhis, first-ranked prince of Nilfgaard, has been sent to Kaer Morhen on a diplomatic mission. His tasks are twofold: first, negotiate a nonaggression treaty between the wild barbarian Warlord of the North and the Nilfgaardian Empire. And second, ingratiate himself with the mysterious Warlord’s daughter and heir apparent, Princess Cirilla.
Sir Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, a Vicovaran knight, has been assigned to protect young Prince Voorhis on this mission. Prince Voorhis may be the best of a bad lot, but Cahir’s still not looking forward to the threats or the temperature of a winter in the distant North.
They both know their mission is a dangerous one. But they don’t know where the true danger lies…and while they know how to navigate Nilfgaard’s treacherous court, they are not prepared for Kaer Morhen. This is a mission they might not survive…and if they do, they might be changed beyond all recognition.
HARRY POTTER
Three Body Problem by cabezas_de_vaca
(gen), 43k, Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting
To the girl with the bushy hair and the hungry mind, the Hat says RAVENCLAW;
To the boy with the scar and the ask of otherwise, the Hat says SLYTHERIN;
To the sixth son who has already chosen the two others, from a chance encounter on a train, the Hat says HUFFLEPUFF;
and Flitwick is delighted and Sprout is intrigued and Snape is resigned, to say the least.
Or: Perhaps the trio is inevitable everywhere, but in this variation, none of them are in Gryffindor, and they do their best to build things anyway.
CROSSOVER
While You Were Missing by basil_coffee_and
White Collar x Batman (Jason Todd/Roy Harper), 23k, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Jason!Neal
A familiar redheaded child darts across the bullpen with a shout of “PAPA!” and barrels into Jason’s arms.
“Lian–” He breathes.
Jason's undercover work as Neal Caffrey is difficult for several reasons. He didn't anticipate that single parenting would be one of them, though.
#batfam fic rec#the witcher fic rec#white collar fic rec#batman comics fic rec#AWAU#harry potter fic rec#Cass Cain-centric#Damian Wayne-centric#POV Jack Drake#words: 0-5k#words: 5-10k#words: 20k#words: 60k#WIP#fic#words: 40k
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