No, he is not seething that his baby refuses to say dada.
“dada.”
“mama!”
“no. dada.”
“..mama!”
A vein pops in his forehead. His gut is bubbling with the same green churning ooze that always overflows when his wife haggles with a vendor among the farmers markets and their eyes drift down too low.
“…dada.” He attempts again.
“..mama!”
He droops his head against her chubby tummy. Immediately, her pudgy potato hands come to grip at his hair, cooing happily at his warmth.
“I’ve fed you the same banana puree for months.” Satoru murmurs.
“I change your diapers eight times a day. Eight.”
“I adjust your blankie too many times every night because you hate it when it covers your face.”
“I gave you my last strawberry edition mochi yesterday. And you still won’t say dada.” He’s begging at this point. He lifts his head up to peer at her big doe eyes, only to melt again when he’s met with the exact same eyes that he fell in love with many moons ago. He lets out a droopy sigh, before blowing a small raspberry on her chubby tummy, eliciting a happy squeal from her.
And to further make him grumpy, you casually pad in from the other room to visit the duo- an innocent smile etched on your face, unaware of your husband’s inner turmoils. As soon as your slippers cross the boarders of the nursery, she’s zoom-crawling towards you with a speed akin to a little ant finding a crumb.
Satoru bangs his head against the play mats, “Autocracy wins again.”
americans are sooo desensitized to guns and sometimes it manifests in ways that affect your media literacy. like remember in the first episode of sherlock when john watson opens up his drawer and you see a gun in there and youre supposed to understand that this is narratively significant and conveys his suicidality as well as his willingness to skirt rules and laws but the first time i watched it i was like oh well theres his desk gun. lots of people have those
Winter Soldier!Bucky x fem!Reader, 9 chapters plus prologue & epilogue. Explicit for sexual contact in later chapters, which considering it’s the Winter Soldier should be considered vaguely dub!con within an established relationship. Updates will be Tuesdays & Thursdays until complete.
Summary:
Hydra attacks the Tower, fully intending to regain control of their Asset.
But Bucky Barnes has a plan.
Bucky Barnes has you.
A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post by @calzone-d, but then it took a life of its own. The working title for this was “Hostage to the Winter Soldier!” (complete with exclamation point, because it’s funnier that way, and if you don’t imagine that title in one of those 1950s B-movie fonts, you’re doing it wrong), but by the time I finished writing, I had Pink’s song stuck in my head, and it’s probably a better fit.
Full notes on AO3, but please note the Trigger Warning for Dub!con above.
“Oh come on, they’ll never hire me,” you protest, laughing. You have to shout it to be heard over the noise of the bar. “And anyway, I’m happy in the ER.”
“But it’s Avengers Tower,” groans your best friend Steph, her slightly tipsy head dropping onto the bar. “You have to—ow. Who made bars so hard? That hurt.”
You pat her shoulder. “I like the ER. It’s fast-paced, it’s exciting, I’m doing exactly what I always wanted.”
“Two words. Super. Heroes.”
“That’s one word, Steph. And come on, superheroes aren’t that interesting. They probably do their own stitches and skip their regular check-ups.”
“Is she still bothering you about the Avengers job?” asks the bartender, Chet, as he hands Steph a towel full of ice from behind the bar.
“Yes,” you groan as Steph mumbles a thank you and plops the iced towel on her head, still lying on the bar. “And it’s not an Avengers job. It’s just a job at the Tower. I probably wouldn’t even see them. I bet I’d be giving SI employees their immunizations and checking for fevers in the on-site daycare.”
“Or working with Bruce Banner?”
“There’s no guarantee of that!”
“Oh yeah? Is there a security clearance involved?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Working with Bruce Banner,” says Chet sagely. “And you know, wiping snotty noses in the daycare and chasing down superheroes for their yearly check-ups.”
“I like the ER,” you insist.
“We know you do,” says Chet. “But we like seeing you, and this is the first time you’ve been out since you got the job two years ago.”
“I miss you,” moans Steph to the bar. Well, in the direction of the bar, but presumably to you. “You’re my best friend and the only way I see you is by breaking my ankle.”
“Oh my God, Steph, tell me you didn’t do that on purpose.”
“Just apply,” says Chet. “If nothing else, it’ll give you bargaining power when your contract comes up again.”
“It does have better hours. And dental.”
“Dental,” sighs Steph longingly.
*
“I got the job!”
“What?” Steph yells back. Clearly, hunting down Steph while she’s on the dance floor was a bad idea.
“I. GOT. THE. JOB!!!”
“Oh my God!” shrieks Steph, encasing you in a huge hug. “My best friend’s gonna be an Avenger!”
You burst into laughter, glad no one else can hear you over the music. “Not an Avenger, Steph. Just a nurse working in the medical bay in the Tower. I probably won’t even see them.”
Steph holds your shoulders firmly. “You are not allowed to replace me with Black Widow.”
“As if!”
Chet gives you a free drink, as do a few others nearby who overheard the part about “new job.” Only one of them actually asks where the job is.
“Stark Industries,” you say, because it’s basically true. “Probably not as exciting as the ER was, but the hours are way better and so’s the pay and benefits.”
“I hope you enjoy it,” says the man, lifting his glass in a toast. He’s got a really pleasant accent, wire-rimmed glasses, the scar on the side of his face barely noticeable in the dim light. You’d like to keep talking to him, but Steph distracts you for a moment, and when you turn back around, he’s gone.
*
Okay, so you hadn’t really lied to Steph. You don’t see the Avengers very often, but that’s only because you don’t work nights and they only ever show up in the med bay when it’s dark outside. Or seem to, anyway.
But you’ve met just about all of them for one reason or another, and so far, every encounter has shown them to be pleasant and friendly as can be.
Until one afternoon, about six months after you started working, when you overhear two very loud, very shouty voices, in the hall outside the nurse’s station.
“I DO NOT NEED STITCHES.”
“You’re worse than Clint! Get in there!”
“Come on, Stevie, they’re gonna heal up on their own in ten minutes.”
“Not if you don’t get the broken glass out first.”
Broken glass? You immediately reach for the kit with the tweezers and a pair of nitrile gloves.
“So you do it.”
“I can’t do it, I have to go brief Hill.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Yeah. For the nurse.”
“Stevie,” groans the guy. “Is this what it all comes to? Saving me from the clutches of Hydra only to make me relive my worst nightmares? You’ve seen the nurses here, Stevie, they all look like my Uncle Maurice.”
“Not true, Buck.”
“They’re cold, heartless bitches, Stevie, the lot of them.”
“Hello,” you say cheerfully, entering the room where Captain America straddles a second man, face-down on the floor and long past fighting. “I’m the attending cold heartless bitch who looks like your Uncle Maurice, I hear you’ve got some glass embedded somewhere?”
“A plate glass window attacked him,” Captain America tells you. “It was brutal.”
“You should’ve seen the window,” grumbles the man to the floor.
“I’ll be sure to send a sympathy card,” you say, setting up your tools on the tray table. “I can do this on the floor, but it’d probably be more sanitary up here.”
“Right,” says Captain America, and he gets off the floor.
The man immediately makes a break for it.
“Nope,” you say, and grab one of the conveniently-placed straps on his leather coat. He spins and stares at you in shock.
He’s cute, you think, or would be if it weren’t for the gaping wound in his forehead. It sparkles, though that’s probably the glass catching in the light.
“So that’s what the straps are for,” says Captain America, impressed, right before he grabs the guy by the ear and hauls him up on the examining table.
“OW.” The man glares at Captain America, who doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. Even though that glare’s probably the scariest thing you’ve ever seen.
“Hold still,” you tell the glare, and start removing the glass from his forehead.
It’s a nasty wound, too. You work as fast as you can, fully aware of how the man you’re treating is—despite all outward appearances—scared to death.
Not that he’d admit it, or even realize you know it. But you worked in an ER for a while. You’ve seen everything, from spaced-out junkies to suicidal octogenarians to homeless vets.
You know which this guy is most like. The way he’s not shaking or trembling, the way he’s so tense and unable to breathe. Not just not breathing, but actually, physically, unable to take a breath because he’s working so hard to keep from screaming.
“The only way out is through,” you murmur as you pull another shard of glass from his forehead.
“Hmm?” asks Captain America, but the guy watches you: wary, assessing every move, even as you telegraph them as plainly as you can.
Calm, almost, despite the now-shallow breaths.
“Nothing,” you say. “One more piece.”
You pull it out, cleaning the area again. “Now, unless I miss my guess, you’re both thinking he’s going to self-heal fairly quickly?”
“By suppertime, probably.”
You nod. “I’d still recommend a steri-stitch or two. Just to keep it clean until the healing’s done. You don’t have to return to remove them, either.”
“Perfect,” says Captain America gratefully, and after a few more minutes, they’re both gone.
But the next morning, when you come in, there’s a bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter with your name on it, and a note written in perfect copperplate handwriting.
I’m sorry I said you looked like Uncle Maurice. You’re much prettier. –JBB
The smile on your face is so big, it stays the rest of the day.
I need an AO3 badge that says “member since 2021 bc I deleted everything off my phone back in 2011 once when my mom yelled at me to bring her my phone and I was crying bc I thought she knew I was reading gay werewolf smut and the when I went to login I couldn’t remember my password or what email I had used to login and I decided to read as a guest so she couldn’t tie anything back to me until 2021 where I remembered I’m literally an adult with my own phone plan and she can’t take my phone away anymore.
These are great and this trend is great and lets go add badges to our AO3 accounts (check the replies for the code to add to your About Me section of your AO3 profile to display these)
your revenge plan of spending all of husband!gojo’s money doesn’t work if he’s secretly into it. mdni ⟢
APPROVED. AUTHORIZED. SALE SUCCESSFUL.
you’ve completely abandoned reason when it comes to financial responsibility.
store after store, purchase after purchase. you walk around like the world itself could bend to the whims of the little rectangular piece of plastic you’re clutching in your hand. at this point, you’ve treated entire starbucks capacities to a drink, bought extravagant dresses you know you’ll never wear, and a hideous bag that was so ridiculously expensive you almost laughed when you saw the price tag.
each time you slide his card across the chip reader, the little burst of dopamine you feel at the replying green ding makes his impending bank statement worth it.
he deserves this, after all. if he could be so aloof as to let your dinner reservation slip his mind, then surely he wouldn't be keen enough to notice a few extra zeroes trailing every purchase, right?
“would you like a receipt?” the cashier asks politely.
you smile sweetly, “an e-receipt will do, thank you.”
--
back at the apartment, satoru’s laying back against the sectional, his phone rests loosely in his hand, thumb lazily flicking through thread after thread. “how to apologize to your wife,” “how to make it up after standing someone up,” “best apology gifts”— he’s opened so many tabs that at this point they’ve all started blending together into a pitiful reddit concoction within his brain.
he’s just about to click onto another subreddit chain about “apology flowers and their meanings,” when the first notification pops onto the top of his screen.
“a transaction in the amount of $108,923.67 has been detected on your card ending in 8686…”
“huh..” he scoffs, clicking into the message.
“...this is an automated alert for your awareness. no action is required if you recognize this activity. if you do not recognize this transaction, please contact your financial institution immediately using the number on the back of your card...”
a little inkling tells him that it wasn't exactly a thief attempting to drain his card. unless the thief in question was an infuriatingly sexy woman who gets off on raising his blood pressure. he laxly enters his face ID to authorize his access into the bank app. the purchases, he quickly realizes, are flowing in as fast as a live chat. his blue eyes sharpen slightly as the numbers begin to flow in.
oh.
oh, is this what you’re doing now?
10:53 AM POS purchase - stine goya -22,193.67
11:12 AM POS purchase - bottega veneta -19,843.43
11:32 AM POS purchase - loro piana -28,931.41
11:38 AM POS purchase - starbucks -6,784.98
his lip quirks up at that last one, leave it up to his girl to manage to drop 7 racks at a coffee shop. more and more purchases are flowing in by the second, some are couple-hundred purchases at cafes, and others ten-grand payments to random ass brands he’s never even heard of. nonetheless, each one sends a little thrill of pleasure up his spine.
the next warning text comes in, claiming that he's dropped over a million by this point. the message warns that the card has locked, requiring his verification to prove it wasn't stolen and to therefore unlock it. he clicks onto that message and verifies his identity anyway, because he knows this isn't fraud. no, he knows exactly who’s behind this, and what kind of husband would he be if he didn’t enable his wife’s unhealthy spending habits?
he leans his head back against the couch, exhaling through his nose as something warm, and dangerously pleased coils in his chest. much to your impending annoyance, each petty charge has served more to arouse him than irritate him.
11:55 AM POS purchase - balenciaga -47,165.90
“spend it all,” he murmurs to the screen, irregularly pleased for someone actively being robbed. “c’mon babe. don’t go soft on me now.”
his hands slowly inch lower into his sweatpants, freeing his cock from the stiff material. he's mindlessly refreshing the page every few seconds, praying for a new purchase statement to come up. every time a new proof of your financial recklessness updates, his dick twitches in his hand.
louis. throb. gucci. throb.
he leans his head back, his breath coming in short gasps as he brings himself closer to the edge. he can feel the heat building up in his core, the familiar tingle in his spine. he's close, so so close, and all it takes is one more purchase to send him over.
12:00 PM POS purchase - tiffany & co. -136,456.23
his back arches, a low intelligible groan along the lines of that’s my girl escaping his lips as he comes undone. ropes of his translucent cum string over his fist. he’s feeling the tension leave his body after the high, replaced by a warm, satisfied glow. he takes a moment to catch his breath, his eyes still on his phone, then he pulls up your contact.
satoru: hey princess
satoru: don't forget to hit up the bank on the way home, they probably need a massage from all the stress you’ve put them through today;)
pixelskylines
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
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romaincrisis
