#i guess i got my answer and the answer is no

[readreidsworld]

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky notices you haven’t been wearing your wedding ring

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was one of those quiet Sunday mornings in the Barnes household sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains, the scent of fresh coffee drifting from the kitchen, and the sound of Bucky humming something old-timey under his breath.

You padded into the kitchen in one of his old Henley’s and a pair of fuzzy socks, hair tousled and cheeks still warm from sleep. He smiled when he saw you, his whole face lighting up in that boyish way that still made your heart do flips.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you leaned against the counter beside him. His metal hand slid around your waist automatically, like it always did.

“Mornin’, Bucky.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, and that’s when you saw his eyes flick down for just a second. It was subtle, but you caught it. He didn’t say anything. Not right away.

But you knew Bucky Barnes better than anyone, and you recognized that soft flicker of doubt in his eyes before he turned back to the coffee.

You glanced down at your hand. Bare.

You hadn’t meant to leave your ring off not in any significant way. You’d taken it off last week while baking because dough had gotten stuck in the band, and then you’d forgotten to put it back on. It had sat safely in the little dish on your dresser, waiting for you.

But Bucky hadn’t asked about it. Not once.

You stood quietly for a moment, then reached for the coffee mug he’d already poured for you. His back was to you now, but his shoulders were a little stiffer than usual.

“Bucky,” you said gently, cradling the warm mug in your hands. “Can I ask you something?”

He turned slowly, expression soft but guarded. “Of course, doll.”

“Did you… notice I haven’t been wearing my ring?”

His eyes flicked to your bare finger again. He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a small, quiet nod. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You bit your lip. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to let something deeper show. “Didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it. Figured maybe it was uncomfortable or you needed a break from it. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to wear it for me.”

You walked over to him and reached up to cup his face. His stubble scratched your palm as he leaned into your touch, almost instinctively.

“Bucky. I took it off while I was baking and just forgot to put it back on. That’s it.” Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone. “You think I’d ever want a break from being married to you?”

He looked down at you, eyes soft and unsure in that way that only you got to see.

“I know it’s just a ring,” he murmured. “But when I don’t see it, I guess… part of me wonders if maybe you”

“No,” you said firmly, already reaching for his hand. “I love you. I love being your wife. It has nothing to do with a ring on my finger.” You gave a sheepish smile. “Though I am gonna go put it back on right now.”

You turned to leave, but he tugged your wrist gently. “Wait.”

You paused, eyebrows raised.

He pulled a small box out of the junk drawer behind him. “Since we’re talkin’ about rings…”

You blinked. “Bucky?”

“I saw this the other day when I was picking up your favorite tea.” He opened the box to reveal a delicate chain. “So if you ever don’t wanna wear the ring on your finger, you can wear it on this. Around your neck. Still close to your heart.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you whispered, heart full and eyes shining. “You are the sweetest man on this entire planet.”

He grinned, relieved now. “I just love bein’ yours, sweetheart. I know it’s silly to get caught up in a ring, but… it reminds me every day that I get to call you mine.”

You took the chain from him, slipping it on so the ring rested just above your heart. “There. Now you’ve got me twice over.”

He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in warmth and familiar safety. “Yeah, but you had me first.”

You kissed him right there in the kitchen, sun streaming in, coffee long forgotten, both of you wrapped in a love that didn’t need gold or diamonds to prove it still sparkled just as brightly. You had slipped the wedding ring back onto your finger that morning. It felt warm again, like it belonged there like it never should’ve left in the first place.

Bucky noticed immediately, of course. You were just getting ready to leave the apartment, he was slipping on his leather jacket when you held your hand out to grab your phone and your ring glinted in the light.

He froze mid-motion, lips twitching into a grin so wide it practically split his face.

“You wore it.”

You looked down innocently. “Wore what?”

“Don’t play with me, doll,” he said, pulling you toward him by the hand in question. “Look at you, showin’ off.”

“I just figured since my very handsome husband gave me the prettiest ring in the world, I should wear it,” you said, eyes sparkling.

“Damn right,” he muttered, and before you could say another word, he dipped his head and kissed the hand with your ring like some old-fashioned heartthrob. “I’ll never get tired of seein’ it on you.”

You leaned into him with a smirk. “You gonna cry again?”

“I didn’t cry the first time,” he grumbled half heartedly, but the way his ears turned pink betrayed him.

You just grinned. “Sure you didn’t.”

[chrissv4mp]

VIDEOS GIRLFRIEND!BILLIE WOULD SEND YOU .ᐟ

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: lookin 4 something???

the video starts quickly—billie holding her phone up above her head, resting comfortably in what looks to be the couch on her tour bus. she hums softly, a soothing melody that you wish you had the chance to hear again face-to-face. then the camera pans back down, her fingers fumbling with the device before successfully setting it onto the couch opposite of where she was perched.

it's only then do you realize what she's wearing—a purple hoodie that's quite similar to yours... and as you squint, trying to remember where you recognize it from. before the answer can click in your mind, billie speaks up.

"i know you're probably wondering where i got this," she grins, cheekily. "or maybe you're wondering why i have this?" she adds, smile breaking out wider. "and—okay, don't blame me—but i snuck it in my bag before tour..."

your favorite hoodie.

and, clearly, hers as well.

"but!" she exclaims, then whips her head to the side at the sound of one of the cabin bunks creaking. then, quieter, "but i wanted to know that you're always here—or, at least, a part of you."

you can see the pink tint of her cheeks flushing even in the dim lighting of the tour bus, and it only becomes more apparent as she pulls the hood further down—covering her face in embarrassment as she giggles quietly, the sound muffled behind the thick, cozy fabric of your hoodie. the one that you'd been losing your mind while trying to find over the past few days. guess it's a huge weight lifted off your chest knowing that the person you trust most has it.

the room goes quiet for a moment too long—and then a long yawn rips through billie's throat, resulting in the girl lifting her arms up and stretching dramatically, a habit you'd also picked up on a few months into the relationship. billie sits up, scooting to the edge of the cushions and snatching up her phone again. she pulls the device close to her face, anything below her nose unseen in the camera.

"okay, well," she exhales, sleepy. "that's my cue."

her eyes flick to the camera, pulling the phone away a bit to grin at you through the phone. "i love you, pretty girl. i'll call tomorrow... if the timezones aren't fucked up—but if they are, still expect a call. just... later."

she blows a kiss, a tired smile pulling at her lips. "g'night."

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: i'd wanna fuck me too !!

"damn," billie purrs, tilting her head to the side. the sunlight from the open curtains of her hotel room illuminate her face. her lips part, eyes flitting across the screen—checking herself out shamelessly. "not to be conceded but... i see why you want me all the time, baby," she teases, leaning back on the couch, maroon and plush.

her hair is in a low bun, loose strands falling on her neck—so effortlessly perfect it's almost like she pulled them out herself. the video is nearly silent for a few seconds, the low hum of the A/C in the background setting a soft, quiet mood, almost like she's at home. her shoulders are relaxed, brows not furrowed like you'd seen them the last time she jumped onto facetime with you.

billie whistles low as she sets her phone down on the table, probably propped against her water bottle. "holy shit, i might actually start drooling over myself right now," she smiles, turning her head to the side and humming upon seeing the sharp line of her jaw.

"woah," she muses, giggling as she turns back to face the camera. "okay, baby—i need to call you, like, now."

she grabs her phone, tugging it off the table. the video still plays for a moment, even while billie looks like she's deep into finding your contact. then, with a quiet—needy—huff from between billie's pouty lips, the video ends.

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: bts for europe pt2... ur lucky...

the first thing you notice is her camera—not her phone, but an actual camera. the thought of billie taking the time to export the video off the camera just for you already had your heart warming. what made your heart warmer was simply just seeing her face, inverted in the mirror yet still looking as beautiful as ever. the camera view shakes a little in the awkward position of her hand, moving a bit closer—showing the background of what seemed to be a closed shop.

"aaahh!" she whispers, mouth opening in a low roar. her nose scrunches as she takes a step back, focusing the camera on the clean mirror for a second longer before stepping away fully and showing you where she was.

there's multiple racks of her merchandise—a plethora of reds, blues, yellows, and whites, colors that she'd been fixated on even before the meetings for her tour plans began. you remember her always coming home with boxes of her first samples of hoodies and t-shirts. unbeknownst to you, she'd ordered one of each sample in your size—feigning surprise whenever you slid the piece of fabric on and found out that it fit you perfectly.

her voice breaks throught the quiet murmur employees in the background. "nobody passing by knows that i'm in here... well, except for you," she thinks out loud, voice trailing off. "wait, but you're not passing by, so—nevermind, still counts."

"this is going in the vlog, by the way," billie announces in a quiet whisper, like it's a secret. "and you're the first person to seee!! i'm so excited for this next part, baby, you don't even know."

her shoes pad on the concrete floors, the camera view getting closer and closer to a rack of multiple hoodies, the designs varying—fabric in red with a graphic of billie from her rolling stone photoshoot ranging from a darker black hoodie featuring a lighter graphic of her name and a photo taken on her latest tour stop, amsterdam.

"dude, this shit is so sick," she admires, flipping the camera to show her happy expression. "might have to get a few to take home to you—gosh, you'd look amazing in the red."

then, she comes closer, murmuring much quieter, "and, preferably, nothin' underneath..." quickly, the camera pulls away from her face.

"okay bye!"

NEW MESSAGE! ⟶ bils: BERLINNNNN

billie's hand is on her cheek, jaw open wide in faux surprise as she points at a poster of herself with her free hand—eyes wide as she frantically taps against the window like she's seeing something that's a once in a lifetime experience. someone—ava—giggles behind the camera, shaking the view for a moment to point at the poster as well, a surprised gasp of her own falling from between her lips.

they're standing outside a shop, the window showcasing a display of billie's latest perfume release—your turn. the gates were still closed due to the early hour, the sun still slowly rising above the mountains. ava zooms in on billie just as she sticks her tongue out—then, unexpectedly, she sprints off camera, nearly tripping over her jeans with her suddenly fast steps. ava trails not too far behind, giggling.

"billie, i'm coming go the show tonight!" someone screams in the distance, loud enough for the camera to pick it up.

she doesn't stop running, and neither does ava—her head just whips around as she stuffs a hand into her pocket, her smile clear in the way she screams, "love you!"

"i love you!" the fan screams back, and ava can't hold in the giggles crawling up her throat.

ava chases after billie until they tumble into the back of their car, breathing heavily as their backs finally hit the seats, lips parted to take the chance to breathe after the sudden interaction. her blue eyes meet the camera again, a dopey smile playing at the corners of her lips. she slumps in her seat, falling to the side and laying across her side of the car with a few quiet chuckles. ava joins in on the laughter, the little sounds escaping billie's throat contagious.

"that was... unexpected," ava comments through her fit of giggles, the words cut off a bit at the end due to the engine of the car rumbling to life.

billie nods. "ugh, i love them," she huffs, pushing herself up again and buckling herself in. the click of a seatbelt echoes in the camera speakers as ava does the same. "if we weren't in a rush i would've ran over and tackled them."

ava huffs a laugh.

"lightly—" billie clarifies. then, with a deep squint of her eyes, hums and whispers, "maybe not, actually. don't wanna catch an assault charge in the middle of tour..."

the blonde behind the camera hums. "they'd probably cherish the bruise, billie."

billie bursts out into laughter—then, the video cuts.

letters. will this get me out of the motivation drought.... fingers are tightly crossed rn bcus i have something big and exciting planned 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @love4madii @livvydunneness @chxhir0 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @fleurfiles @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @ma1spa @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @skinnyhmhas @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz @emi-inspace

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[mcrdvcks]

i hate it here

chapter summary: You meet Bucky at therapy where Dr. Raynor shares a small office with Dr. Cole. You two slowly connect over mystery books and coffee outings. Until one day you don't show up. word count: 3.4k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: i've mentioned a few times offhandedly that i have depression (and anxiety) and i that i have attempted - i don't want pity or anything, just stating a fact. i started therapy like 4 months ago and have been doing much better! anyways, i got to thinking about how one of the only characters who has been in therapy (in the mcu) is bucky. i guess you could kinda count tony, but he was talking to bruce so idk. anyways, that's how this came along. it was kinda my version of journaling, since i suck at it. please read the warnings/tags! warnings/tags: post tfatws, therapy, allusions to depression, alpine mention!, reader has a dog, mentions/allusions to a suicide attempt, some fluff, two people finding each other through trauma, insomnia, nightmares, slight angst, depressive spiral

The Brooklyn office is small—four hardback chairs, a scuffed laminate floor, and walls the color of old oatmeal. You’re already there when Bucky shuffles in, early as usual, hood pulled low despite the July heat.

You’re curled over a paperback, thumb smoothing the crease in the spine. He recognizes the look: concentration hiding nerves. He clears his throat, drops into the chair opposite you.

Silence stretches. Tick-tick-tick from the receptionist’s keyboard. Bucky counts each tap like gunshots until— “Chapter’s not great,” you mutter, not looking up. “It’s supposed to be a detective story, but the villain is obvious by page three.”

Bucky blinks. Small talk, right. He hunts for something non-awkward to say. “Maybe the detective’s just slow,” he offers.

That earns a tiny huff of laughter. You glance up, eyes warm but tired. “You ever read mysteries?”

“Not since… a long time.” He swallows. “But I used to like Agatha Christie.”

“Classic.” You close the book, mark your place with a Metro receipt. “I’m Y/N.”

He opens his mouth—hesitates—then sticks out a flesh-and-blood hand. “Bucky.” The metal one stays shoved under his sleeve.

The receptionist calls your name first. You stand, shoot him a quick, encouraging smile. Something inside his rib cage gives a startled twitch.

---

“Still having trouble sleeping?” Dr. Cole asked. She shared an office with Dr. Raynor, you were just lucky to find a therapist close to your place.

You shrugged, “yeah. It’s just insomnia. I did a sleep test, had to put the mask on and sleep with it for 2 nights. Doctor found nothing, so...”

"Let's talk about what happens when you try to sleep," Dr. Cole said, pen poised.

"I stare at the ceiling," you answered. "Count cracks in the paint, listen to Sparky snore, think about—stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Classes, rent, whether my brother’s eating decent food at school—everything that isn't restful."

Dr. Cole nodded. "Nightmares?"

"More like reruns. Same memories on loop." You rubbed your eyes. "They don't even change; they're just… loud."

She clicked her pen. "Medication helping?"

“I guess. Not with the sleep part though. But nothing helps with sleep.”

Dr. Cole tilted her head. “What do you do between the moment you turn off the light and the moment you give up?”

“Phone. Crossword. Sometimes I Google ‘why can’t I sleep’ like it’s gonna give a brand-new answer.”

“Ever try talking instead of scrolling? Out loud, I mean—narrate the day, get it out of your head.”

You snort. “My dog’ll think I’m confessing state secrets.”

“Sparky might surprise you.” Dr. Cole’s smile is small but real. “Okay, homework: pick one night this week, no screens after ten, narrate the day to Sparky, then lights out. Deal?”

“Fine. If she tattles, that’s on you.”

“Noted.” She scribbles, caps the pen. “Same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You stand, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. The chair legs squeak; the sound feels louder than it is.

---

Bucky’s still in the waiting area, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it owes him money. He glances up when the door clicks shut behind you.

“How’d it go?” he asks, voice low.

“About as fun as a dentist with feelings.” You fish the Metro receipt-bookmark from your book, wave it. “But I got homework.”

“Therapists love homework.” He shifts, pats the chair beside him that you’re about to vacate. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” You nod toward the closed door. “Raynor doesn’t bite, right?”

“She’s thinking about it.” His mouth twitches. “You really hate that book?”

“Detective’s got two brain cells, both fighting for custody. I’m gonna finish it just to spite him.”

“Want a recommendation when you’re done?”

“Only if it’s Christie.” You step backward toward the lobby doors. “I like the classics.”

He lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Deal.”

The receptionist calls, “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky pushes up, metal hand still hidden in the sleeve. As he passes, he murmurs, “see you next week, Y/N.”

Your pulse trips over itself. “Next week.”

---

Raynor doesn’t wait for him to sit. “Early again. You practicing small talk in the hallway?”

He drops into the chair. “Maybe.”

“How’s the loneliness doing?”

He thinks of a paperback clutched between your hands and the way your eyes lit when he said Christie. “Less loud.”

“That’s new.” Raynor flips her notepad open. “Let’s talk about it.”

---

A week later you’re back, five minutes early for once. Bucky’s already there—of course—thumb tapping a silent rhythm on his thigh.

“You beat me again,” you say.

“I’m competitive.” He nods to the paperback in your grip. “Finished?”

“Killer was the dog walker. I want my money back.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles. “Brought you this.” From his jacket pocket he produces a scuffed copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

You take it, thumb the brittle spine. “Vintage.”

“So am I.”

You sit—this time in the chair beside him, not across. Your shoulders almost touch.

Receptionist looks up. “Y/N?”

You rise, clutching the book. “Hold my spot?”

“Always.” He watches you disappear behind the door, heart beating a little less like a war drum. Raynor will call it progress. He’ll call it something quieter: hope.

---

July heat’s worse a week later—New York humidity that sticks to your lungs. You and Bucky leave your sessions at the same time for once, shoulders brushing as the door swings shut.

“Raynor let you out early?” you ask.

“She thinks negative five minutes counts as progress.” He eyes the battered copy of Roger Ackroyd in your hand. “Any good?”

“Ten times smarter than last week’s disaster. Thanks for the rec.” You nudge his elbow. “Coffee? There’s a cart across the street.”

He squints at the sky. “Gonna melt anyway. Sure.”

---

The cart umbrella rattles in the breeze. You order an iced latte and Bucky sticks to plain drip, black.

“Old-man coffee,” you tease.

“Watch it, I’m sensitive.” He sips, winces. “So—you do the Sparky homework?”

“Yeah. She stared at me like I’d grown a second head, then fell asleep halfway through my monologue about rent.”

“Did you sleep any better?”

“Hour, maybe two.” You shrug. “But hey, progress.”

He nods, knocks a knuckle on the paper cup. “Nightmares kept me up. Raynor wants me journaling.”

“Journaling, narrating—therapists love verbs.” You dig in your tote, pull out a slim notebook. “Take mine. Blank pages intimidate me anyway.”

He turns it over. “Purple glitter stars?”

“Judge and I take it back.”

He clutches it to his chest. “No, no—precious now.”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. A beat passes; his smile lingers. Something warm hangs between you—comfortable, tentative.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, tapping the notebook. “For the… sparkly lifeline.”

“Anytime, Barnes.”

You check your phone. “Gotta run—class in fifteen. Same time next week?”

He hesitates, then, “Actually—Raynor’s moving my slot. Thursday, four?”

You scroll your calendar. “I can swing that.” Smile. “I’ll bring a better bookmark.”

He salutes with his coffee. “Deal.”

---

The waiting-room AC’s broken. You fan yourself with your Metro receipt as Bucky strides in, hair damp from a shower that didn’t stick.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” He holds up the notebook—half the pages now filled. “Turns out journaling’s just talking on paper.”

“Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

The receptionist calls his name first this time. He freezes. “Switch with me?”

You shrug. “Fair’s fair. Go.”

He exhales, heads in. As the door shuts, you spot the corner of a page sticking out of the notebook—your name scrawled at the top. Your heart skips and you look away fast.

---

Bucky’s session is short—fifteen minutes. He steps out, cheeks pink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Raynor… uh, suggested social exposure therapy.”

“Meaning?”

“Coffee that isn’t from a cart.” He scratches the back of his neck. “With a friend.”

You grin. “I know a place that sells donuts bigger than your hand.”

“Sound dangerous.”

“Live a little, Barnes.”

He offers an arm—the flesh-and-blood one. You loop yours through without overthinking.

“Hope they have purple-glitter donuts,” he mutters.

You snort. “Don’t tempt me.”

Street noise swallows the rest, but the silence between you feels easy, not heavy. Two insomniacs, two notebooks, one slow, stumbling orbit.

And maybe—just maybe—sleep won’t feel so impossible tonight.

---

You push the shop door open, tiny bell chiming. The smell of fried sugar and espresso hits like a hug. Bucky’s already at a corner table, sunglasses perched on his head, studying the menu like it’s classified.

“Morning,” you say, sliding into the seat across.

He looks up, relief softening his shoulders. “Saved you the last maple-bacon monstrosity.”

“You get a medal for that.”

“Working on it.” He nods at your iced coffee. “Still cold-brew loyal?”

“Ride or die.” You sip. “How’s the notebook?”

He pulls the purple-star journal from his jacket, thumb tapping the cover. “Halfway through. Raynor says I’m oversharing—‘but in a good way.’”

“Therapist code for ‘keep going.’”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I wrote about… the bridge dream. First time on paper.”

You lean in. “Any lighter?”

“Maybe a gram.” He flicks his gaze to the donut display. “Your turn—sleep narration working?”

“Managed four hours straight on Wednesday.” You raise the coffee in salute. “Progress.”

He grins. “Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

A server comes by to hand off the plates: his chocolate-glazed, your maple-bacon slab.

You rip off a chunk, point it at him. “So—social exposure therapy. How exposed are we aiming?”

“Raynor suggested a museum. Crowds, but no one expects small talk.”

“I’m free Sunday afternoon. Think you can handle the Met?”

He pretends to weigh it. “If they still allow grumpy ex-assassins.”

“Only if they don’t touch the art.”

“No promises.”

---

You both pause at a sarcophagus. Tourists swirl around, soundtrack of camera shutters. Bucky leans close. “Mummies have it figured out. Eternal rest.”

“Jealous?”

“A little.”

You smirk. “Try counting cracks in the ceiling. Works great.”

“Smart-mouth.” He nudges your shoulder. Metal—the sleeve’s rolled up. First time he hasn’t hidden it.

You glance at the vibranium, then meet his eyes. “Cool arm.”

He exhales—some tension you didn’t know was there. “Thanks.”

A kid nearby gasps, whispers to her dad. Bucky stiffens. You step slightly in front of him, blocking the view. “Ignore them. They’re staring at the arm, not you.”

“Same thing.”

You tilt your head. “To me it’s just… part of the package.”

He blinks. “Package, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes.”

He chuckles, shoulders loosening. You wander onward, conversation dipping from art to worst cafeteria food, back to sleep tactics.

---

Apartment’s dark except for phone glow. Sparky snores at your feet.

Your screen lights: Bucky Barnes – New Text

“Tried narrating to Alpine. She walked off mid-monologue. Rude cat.” “You asleep?”

You smile, thumbs flying.

“Wide awake, obviously.” “Want to test a theory? Phone call, five minutes max. Talking’s supposed to tire the brain.”

Three dots… then your phone rings.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His voice is low, scratchy. “If this puts you to sleep I’ll be offended.”

“Then be interesting.”

He snorts. “No pressure.”

Minute one: weather complaints. Minute two: misheard song lyrics. Minute three: you yawn.

“Tired?” he asks, softer.

“Keep talking.”

He does—about the Met gift shop, how the snow-globe pyramids looked fake, how he bought one anyway.

“Why?” you mumble.

“For you,” he says. “Figured you could narrate to it when Sparky’s bored.”

Warmth floods your chest. “That’s… weirdly sweet.” There was silence for a few seconds, except his breathing. You blink, heavy-lidded. “Still there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t hang up yet.”

“Not planning to.” He pauses. “Sleep, Y/N.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Phone still against your ear, you drift. First dreamless night in months.

Bucky listens to your steady breaths, eyes finally closing. Tomorrow’s problems can wait. Tonight, two insomniacs found quiet on the same line.

---

Dr. Cole taps her pen lightly on the pad. "You seem brighter today."

You shift slightly, feeling oddly caught out. "Actually slept last night. Whole five hours."

She raises an eyebrow, gently amused. "And what changed?"

You consider the phone call, the quiet voice on the other end, and shrug. "I think talking helps more than I realized."

Dr. Cole nods knowingly. "Having someone listen tends to do that."

"Yeah." You pick at your thumbnail. "I might be figuring that out."

"Good," she says simply. "Keep figuring."

---

Bucky’s waiting outside when you finish, leaning against the brick wall in sunglasses and a worn ball cap. He pushes off as soon as you step into the sunlight.

"Stalking now?" you joke, nudging his shoulder.

"Just passing by." He falls into step beside you. "Coffee? I need advice."

"Advice?"

He grimaces. "Raynor wants me attending a group session next week. Apparently, that's my next exposure step."

You glance at him. "Sounds terrifying."

"It is. Hence the advice request."

You smile softly. "I don't do groups, but… you handled crowds at the Met fine."

"That was because of you." He shrugs one shoulder, eyes ahead. "You distract me."

Warmth blooms in your chest. "In a good way?"

"In the best way."

Silence lingers, comfortable this time. The coffee cart is in sight, heat shimmering off pavement.

"Maybe… I could wait outside the group room," you offer quietly. "Just for moral support."

He stops, turns to you, eyes bright behind the lenses. "You'd do that?"

You tilt your head, fighting a smile. "I’d even bring a bad detective book."

"Deal."

---

The hallway smells faintly like industrial cleaner. You’re on a metal folding chair, feet kicked up against the wall, paperback open in your lap, Sparky dozing at your feet.

The group-room door opens. Voices murmur, shoes shuffle. Bucky emerges last, eyes slightly wide, tension in his shoulders. He spots you immediately, relief clear.

You shut the book. "You survived."

"Barely."

"Anyone bite?"

"Only verbally." He nods at Sparky. "She allowed?"

"Emotional support dog," you deadpan. "Completely legit."

He crouches slowly, metal fingers gentle against Sparky’s fur. She yawns, entirely unconcerned. Bucky straightens, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Thanks for waiting."

"Always."

You start walking toward the exit together, his pace matching yours easily. "Was it worth it?" you ask.

He exhales deeply. "Yeah. Sort of. I talked. Once. About nightmares."

"That’s huge."

"Didn’t feel huge."

"It will tomorrow."

He looks sideways at you, hesitant. "Can I… call tonight?"

Your heart thuds softly. "Every night if it helps."

"It does," he says quietly. "It helps a lot."

The sunlight fades gold over the city as you step outside. Bucky pauses, hands in his pockets.

"You know," he says carefully, "I started therapy because the government made me. I stayed because… I thought it was the right thing to do. But now—"

"Now?" you prompt softly.

"Now I'm staying because it led me to you."

You swallow, suddenly shy. "That’s… nice."

He chuckles gently, shaking his head. "Yeah. Nice."

You bump his shoulder. "Don't mock my vocabulary."

"Never." He smiles. "Call you later?"

"Better."

He watches you walk away, heart steadier than it’s been in months.

---

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, vibrating against your toothbrush holder. You squint at the caller ID, toothbrush in your mouth.

Dad.

You spit toothpaste, rinse quickly, and swipe to answer. "Hey, Dad."

"Y/N," he starts, tone already tense. "Got a minute?"

You sigh quietly, gripping the sink. "I have therapy soon. Everything okay?"

He pauses. You hear him clear his throat—never a good sign. "Look, I just got your mail. Bill from the hospital came again."

"Yeah, they keep sending it even though I set up payments—"

"I read it," he interrupts, voice clipped. "You know how it feels to read 'psychiatric hold' on a bill addressed to my kid?"

You close your eyes, jaw tightening. "I didn't ask you to open it."

"You're my kid. Of course I opened it. Y/N, we never talked about it. You just went silent, moved on like nothing happened—"

"I didn't move on."

"Then explain it," he says sharply. "Explain why you'd do something like that. Was it us? Your mom? Me? You never gave us a chance—"

"Dad, please stop."

He doesn’t. "We raised you to be stronger than this, Y/N. What happened to you?"

Your chest aches. Tears sting your eyes, hot and furious. "I have to go."

"Y/N—"

You hang up, tossing the phone onto your bed. You sit down hard, head in your hands, breathing jaggedly until your lungs ache. "Fuck," you whisper, wiping at tears you don't want to fall. "Fuck."

Your phone buzzes again. You don't pick it up.

---

Bucky checks his phone again—fourth time in ten minutes. The receptionist taps at her keyboard, and the clock above ticks louder than usual. Still nothing.

He types out another quick message:

"You close? Saving you a seat."

Five minutes pass as his knee bounces. Another text:

"You okay?"

Raynor opens her office door. "Barnes?"

He stares at your empty chair, then back at her. "Can we reschedule?"

She frowns slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"I gotta check on something." He stands abruptly. "I'll call."

Raynor just nods slowly. "Alright. Call if you need anything."

He’s already out the door.

---

He knocks gently at your apartment door, listening closely. "Y/N?"

No answer.

Bucky knocks again. "Y/N, it's me. You missed therapy. Just checking in."

Silence. Anxiety creeps up his spine, icy and familiar. He tries the handle. Locked.

He pulls out his phone again, sends a text:

"Outside your door. Please open."

Nothing. He leans his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes briefly. "Please," he murmurs.

Then, faintly, your voice comes through: "It's unlocked now."

---

Your apartment’s dark, curtains drawn tight. Sparky is curled on the couch, lifting her head as Bucky steps inside. You’re sitting cross-legged in the corner of the couch, eyes swollen, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

"Hey," he says softly, approaching slowly. "Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head silently, eyes fixed on your hands.

Bucky sits carefully beside you, keeping a cautious distance. "You wanna talk about it?"

You don’t answer. He waits, watching your profile, noticing the tightness in your jaw, the subtle trembling in your hands.

"My dad called," you say finally, voice thick. "He got a bill from the hospital. From… a while ago."

Bucky nods slightly. "Didn’t go well?"

A shaky laugh escapes your throat. "He blamed me. Said… said they raised me stronger. Like I chose to be weak."

Your voice cracks on the last word. Tears spill over, quiet and unstoppable. "I didn’t choose this."

Bucky’s throat tightens. "I know."

"He asked what happened to me," you whisper, voice breaking. "I don't know how to answer that."

He moves closer, gentle and slow. "You don’t have to know right now."

You swallow hard. "I keep trying to be better. Therapy, homework, all the fucking talking—but it’s never enough." You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to—"

"Hey," he interrupts gently. "Stop apologizing."

You cry harder, trying to hold back sobs that spill through your fingers. He doesn't say anything more—just reaches out slowly, carefully pulling you against him. You tense at first, then melt against his chest. His arms circle you gently but firmly, his hand stroking your back as you tremble.

"You don't have to do this alone," he says softly, his voice steady in your ear. "I promise."

You nod, unable to speak. Sparky whines softly, shifting closer, pressing warmth into your side.

Bucky holds you until the tears slow, until your breathing evens slightly, his grip never loosening.

"You don't have to explain anything," he whispers finally. "Not to him, not to me—not until you're ready."

You sit up slowly, wiping your eyes, embarrassed. "Sorry," you whisper again.

He squeezes your shoulder gently, shaking his head. "No more apologies."

You sniff softly, leaning your head back against the couch. "I missed therapy."

"Cole'll forgive you. I skipped too."

You glance at him, eyes tired but softer. "They’ll kill us both."

"They’ll deal." He smiles gently, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "You hungry?"

You shake your head slowly. "Not yet."

"Then we'll wait." He leans back beside you, Sparky settling between you both. "We have time."

You let out a breath, lighter now. The ache still lingers in your chest, but it’s quieter, bearable. "Thank you," you whisper.

He looks at you, steady and calm. "Anytime, Y/N."

sparky is actually the name of my one of my dogs, so you can tell i'm super creative, lol. to lighten things up, here's a picture of her:

we've had her since i was in elementary, so like 12-14 years? she's also around the same age. we think she's have golden retriever, half chihuahua. i know that sounds insane but google that and look at the pictures - a few of them look exactly like her. she's a rescue, so we aren't sure about age, etc. anyways, thank you for reading!

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 27

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 26 | Series Masterlist | Part 28

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: An idea comes to you regarding part of your future and Bucky has a few choice words for your parents.

Chapter Warnings: Confrontation, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: I don't know what happened to the original post. Let's try this again! More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought it would feel strange with Curtis hanging out in the kitchen while you baked the brownies, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and it was something you’d have to get used to since he would be around you going forward. He didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk unless you asked him a question, likely trying to remain in the “shadows”. You did wonder what was on his mind since he mentioned being trapped, but it wasn’t any of your business. He was your bodyguard and that didn’t mean he’d be your friend. 

“Smells delicious,” he said, standing when you took them out of the oven. 

“Don’t worry. I won't burn myself,” you said, nodding for him to sit back down. “And thanks. I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will.”

Ray walked into the kitchen the moment you set the brownies out to cool off and looked between you and Curtis who settled back in his chair. “A treat for breakfast?” he guessed.

“A treat for Curtis,” you said, making your bodyguard smile a little.

Ray blinked hard and slow. “I see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. Did that upset him? 

“Well, that batch is for Curtis. You have first dibs on the other batch,” you clarified. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. “And what about the boss?” 

“He’s third. He knows what he did,” you said unapologetically. They were your brownies. You could do what you wanted with them.

Curtis hid a smile before Ray asked, “And how are you feeling?”

You put your hands on the counter and shrugged. “Hard to say since I’m seeing my parents today and still dealing with…”

“Everything,” Ray finished for you. 

You nodded. “I appreciate you asking.” It felt like you hadn’t talked to him in days and you admittedly missed it. Like Curtis, keeping you safe wasn’t a bore or chore in his eyes. He believed you were brave and part of you was starting to believe it, too. 

“We’re all glad you're safe now,” he softly said.

“Careful there. You might be showing emotion,” Curtis said, earning him a glare from his colleague. 

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked. 

“He sulked for a minute when you kicked him out of the kitchen,” he said, making Curtis snort. Again, Bucky knew what he did. “But he’s in his office. Called Steve and Natalia. He also got an update on Lois.”

“How is she?” you asked, hoping that things were still looking up.

“She’s recovering well,” he assured you. You were glad to hear that. “From what we know, she’s stubborn and strong and it’ll take time, but she’ll be fine.”

You let out a breath. “I really need to see her, and I need to talk to Natasha,” you said. A woman you could hopefully help heal and move forward and a woman who was going to help you in some capacity. Both receiving and paying it forward. As that thought settled in your mind, an idea washed over you, making you stand up straighter and look at Ray again. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I have a thought,” you answered, trying not to get too excited. “I need to talk to Bucky.”

Curtis jumped from his chair when you walked out without another word, his footsteps behind you nearly silent. He really was going to be a good bodyguard for you. Ray followed, too, likely curious about why you rushed out so quickly.

Bucky looked up from his desk when you walked into the office, a smile on his face when he stood up. “Brownies ready?” he asked, holding his hand up to keep Curtis and Ray from walking in. 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I came in here for,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. Bucky immediately went to join you. “I have a bit of a crazy idea and I wanted to get your opinion on it.” 

“You want my opinion?” The subtle shift in his posture showed he was touched. “And I’m the crazy one, Kotyonok, so nothing you could say would ever sound crazy to me.”

You didn’t dispute that he was crazy. “So, you know how one of the things that attracted you to me was helping your mom and my generally kind nature?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you helped Natasha however long ago so she could give the women who work at her hotel a better life, right?” you continued. You remembered Natasha telling you if it wasn't for Bucky she wouldn't be where she was. 

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, not elaborating on how or why.

“What if I do something kind of like that? What if I try to help other women who have…” You swallowed and tried to find the right words, suddenly nervous to ask for his opinion. “Been through stuff, like Lois or me.”

He tilted his head. “You want to help women who have been hurt in some capacity?”

“Yeah. Assault. Abuse. Trauma,” you said. You thought of your own situation, not just Clark's attack, but Bucky systemically making his way into your life. He wasn't out to harm you, but some stalkers did try to harm their victims. “And it's not like I’d have to quit being a florist. I just… I don't know. I want to do something.”

It could've been a means to take back some more control of your life. Being by Bucky’s side, you didn’t want to lose who you were in your core and wanted to continue putting good back into the world. Perhaps you wanted to pay it forward even more since others didn't have the kind of money and protection you now had. 

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you asked when he stayed quiet. 

You were a florist. Yes, you volunteered when you could and wanted to help people, but it wasn’t your area of expertise. An endeavor like that was out of your depth, wasn't it? 

Bucky framed your face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pride and fury. “Don't you ever say an idea of yours is stupid. I won't stand for that,” he said, his gaze softening considerably. “Especially since that’s a great idea.”

You studied him, looking for any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t. “Really?” you asked in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of your nose with a smile. “Really. Money won’t be an issue. We can sketch out a plan and figure out what exactly you want to focus on, start local and small. Or you can sketch out the plan and I’ll give input if you seek it out,” he said, a hint of his businessman tone coming out. “If this is really something you want, we’ll make it happen.”

“So, just like that?” you asked. He was really supporting this?

“Of course. It’s admirable that you continue to look out for others and I’m going to support whatever you want to do,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You didn’t want to admit how nice it felt that he was backing this up, especially when you had no set plan yet. 

“It also means a lot that you asked for my opinion.”

“Well, we have to talk through these things. It’s what couples do,” you said. 

His smile was brighter than the light in the room. “So, you really see us as a couple now.”

“I guess so,” you said. What choice did you have?

He sighed before he kissed your lips, featherlight and full of promise. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, suddenly standing and helping you to your feet, too. “You’re still in your robe.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” you reminded him, your mind going back to Curtis and wondering more about his past. 

Bucky checked his watch. “Why don’t you get ready for lunch? I think Curtis and Ray have seen you in your robe enough for one day,” he tried to tease and checked his watch. 

“And what about the day I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear?” you blurted out without meaning to.

Darkness crossed Bucky’s eyes, but it was more lust than rage when he put his hands on your hips. “I’d hate to have to hurt my own men, but I do love the thought of you walking around our home so… freely.”

“I’ll bet you do,” you whispered, knowing he’d probably chase you around or drag you to bed if he had the chance. “But for now, yes, I should get dressed.”

“Don’t want to keep your parents waiting,” he said, letting you pull away to get ready. “I hope I make a lasting impression.”

You shivered, wondering just what kind of impression he wanted to make. “I’m sure you will.”

Curtis leaned against the wall outside of the office while Ray stood on the other side. “You want to help others, huh?” your bodyguard asked.

You stopped to face him. “Yeah, I do.”

Curtis didn’t say anything else, but he looked impressed. So did Ray. You didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had to get ready for a lunch that you didn’t want to go to. 

But your whole life as of late had been a series of events you had to participate in without much of a choice, so what was one more?

Bucky held your hand the entire drive to the restaurant and didn’t force you to talk, which you appreciated since your stomach was in knots. You found yourself playing with the diamond necklace, which he had put around your neck before you left. Your mom would no doubt stare at it or make a comment since you had never had such a nice piece of jewelry. Was this going to be a disaster or were you overthinking it?

“We’ll get through this quickly,” Bucky told you once the car stopped, his lips brushing the top of your hand. “Long enough for me to meet them and send them on their way.”

The knot in your stomach tightened more. How exactly was he going to send them on their way? “And after that?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, helping you out of the car.

You didn’t pay much attention as you were escorted to the private table, but you knew Ray and Curtis weren’t far behind. The place was bright and airy, but sophisticated. It would've been a nice place to go on a date. Would this lunch sour that idea?

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, pulling out your chair for you.

Considering the way he burst into your life you never expected to lean on him for anything. You had since your attack and now this, looking to him for support without meaning to. You even asked for his opinion on your idea to help other women, which you did seek out. Who were you becoming?

“Why do I care so much about what they think?” you asked when he sat down beside you.

“Because they’re your parents and it’s natural,” he replied, taking your hand under the table. “But you don’t need them.”

You were about to argue that you did need them before you caught them in your line of sight, your back rigid as they moved closer. They didn’t look overjoyed to see you, which broke your heart a bit. Bucky squeezed your hand before you realized you had squeezed his hand first. This was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s good to see you,” your dad said when Bucky released your hand only to pull your chair back to help you stand. “And you must be-”

“Bucky, her boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, shaking his hand and smirking when your dad winced and turning a critical eye on your mom. Neither of them hugged you before they took their seats and you quickly sat back down to hide your embarrassment. “You two raised quite the woman,” he added, daring them to say something.

“Thank you,” your mom said, looking over the menu. 

“Since the menu seems to be more important than greeting your daughter, please, pick whatever you want,” Bucky smiled like a wolf getting ready to strike while you gaped at him. “I spare no expense when it comes to her and her… loved ones. Just look at her necklace. I purchased it for our first date.”

Your mom’s mouth fell open and you felt a bit of satisfaction when your dad squirmed in his seat. Did that make you a bad person? “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Your mom cleared her throat. “We’re thrilled to see you. It’s just with our accounts being frozen…”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” you filled in the blanks. You were used to it.

“Yes, I’m sorry about your accounts,” Bucky said without sounding sorry at all and pretended to look over his menu. “Interesting how you always think of others first even when you have a lot on your mind, Kotyonok,” he said loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Makes me wonder what that came from.”

Your mom’s mouth didn’t drop again, but you heard her sharp inhale on her next breath and your dad squirmed again. They weren’t used to subtle insults like that, especially for someone who had just met them. But as Bucky took your hand, you very much felt like his queen and he was defending you as such.

“Aren’t you going to compliment her necklace?” Bucky asked, turning his head to smile at you. “It’s as beautiful as she is.”

Your face felt hot when your parents stared and admired the diamonds. “They don’t have to say anything,” you mumbled.

“But I don’t understand. What kind of parents don’t compliment their child, especially when they haven’t seen them in some time?” he asked. Once again, it was loud enough for them to hear. He was digging the knife in and twisting it in the most passive aggressive way.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom said enviously, avoiding looking at Bucky. 

“Thanks,” he said, flagging the server down and putting a hand to his chest. “Like I said, whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You picked a light meal, knowing there was a high chance you couldn’t stomach something heavy. Your mom chose the highest priced meal, which Bucky merely smiled expectantly. Your dad had the good sense to not do the same. It would’ve been nice if they asked how you were or gave some sort of indication that they cared.

“How did you two meet?” your dad asked to break the tension, which only made you nervous all over again.

“My club, and I very much fell for her first,” Bucky answered easily and leaned over to kiss your temple. “I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Club?” your mom questioned. “Since when do you go to clubs?”

“It was for Addison’s bachelorette party,” your boyfriend answered for you, smiling again. “You know Addison, don’t you? I would hope so. She’s practically family to her.”

You took a sip of your water and said nothing as your parents looked more uncomfortable with each passing second. The air was awkward to say the least.  Bucky, on the other hand, looked over the moon one second and was ready to kill the next. It had to be giving your parents whiplash.

“She’s a good friend,” your mom said, her smile shaky. “How’s the shop?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The shop’s great,” you said and found yourself smiling since you did love the place and your job. “Mrs. Crandle is still a great boss and-”

“And you’re still just a florist,” she cut you off dismissively with a shake of her head, wiping your smile away. “You could’ve been so much more.”

Your eyes glossed over, but you held your head high. “There’s nothing wrong with me being a florist, and I am more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Ease up,” your dad whispered to your mom, shocking you both. Since when was he not on her side? Or was it because Bucky glared at them?

“Just a florist.” The man beside you chuckled, a dark and empty sound. “Tell them about the idea you told me about earlier today.”

The knot filled your stomach so much that you feared you’d get sick. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said, not wanting to hear what they had to say since they never backed you up on anything.

“But it’s a great idea,” he assured you, giving your parents a smile. “Wait until you hear it.”

Your dad leaned forward and appeared interested. Was it for show? “What is it?” 

Bucky nodded, encouraging you to speak up. “I went through something recently,” you said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out. “And it made me realize I want to help others and build a support system for women who have been through things.”

Your parents looked at each other as you held your breath. “That sounds ambitious,” your dad said just as carefully as you. “I realize you have good intentions, but…”

“You can’t just up and decide you want to run a charity,” your mom said, laughing and tapping her finger on the table when Bucky gripped his water glass. “You need more than just good intentions. You need experience and funding, which you have none of.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you expected. They wanted you to be more, but offered no encouragement when you tried. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I went through?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. For the first time, your mom looked worried. “Someone-”

“They don’t deserve to know.” Bucky took a sip before he gently set the glass down, making you eye him warily. He looked like he was ready to explode. “She isn’t just deciding, by the way. She has volunteer experience and she’s going to formulate a plan. And what she may lack in other ‘experiences’, she has passion, heart, and drive. It’s a shame you're too blind to see that.”

Your mom shrank back in her seat, looking as small as you felt. “I didn’t mean-”

“And as far as funding, I’ll be helping her with that since I don't expect either of you to lend her a thing. She has her own money, too. You just didn't know it,” he explained, bitterly laughing again at their shocked expressions. “Jesus Christ. You’re her parents. You should be proud of her. She’s loved by everyone she meets and she has thrived without your support.” He let that hang in the air before he continued. “She has more character in her finger than you two have in your entire body and I will back her up on anything and everything she needs because I believe in her.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh to ground him, your eyes welling with tears again. You were torn between not wanting him to cause a scene and for him to keep speaking because it just felt nice to hear. It felt pathetic and empowering, a strange combination. 

“I just wanted you to support and love me,” you whispered, your chest aching at finally saying the words. “Why didn't you?”

Why did it hurt so much that you didn't have the love you needed?

Your dad leaned back like you slapped him while your mom didn't move. “We did and do love you,” he swore, looking to his wife for help when Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “Tell her.”

He shouldn't have to tell her that.

“We just wanted you to have direction,” your mom said, flinching when Bucky leaned forward with one elbow on the table. She couldn't even say she loved you. 

“She has always had direction. You just never bothered to look where she was going,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Though I guess your lack of support helped build her into the woman I love, so I almost wonder if I should thank you for not being who she needed.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to insult us,” your dad said since your mom was rendered speechless for once. 

You almost warned your dad that Bucky wasn't the kind of man to mouth off to, but didn't. 

“You know, I think I know now why you wanted to become a florist,” Bucky said as if he didn’t hear him. “You’re surrounded by warmth and brightness and you get to watch things bloom and grow and thrive because you never had that.”

You blinked away your tears. Bucky saw what they didn’t. You didn’t have to point it out.

“We do love our daughter, even if we didn't show it in the best way,” your dad argued, trying to take your hand across the table, but Bucky pulled you back. It was another brick added to the wall to keep people he didn’t want near you out.

“You didn’t love her enough and you never will.” He took his wallet out and threw some money on the table, more than enough to cover the meals that hadn’t yet arrived at the table. “Thank God I love her enough for all of us and I always will.”

Your mom sniffled. You hardly ever saw her cry. “I…” She trailed off when your boyfriend tossed more money on the table. 

“That should cover the rest of your time here in the city. Take it. Or don’t. But I’m not going to sit here and play nice with people who make my future wife feel low about herself.” He pushed himself up and let your parents see just how large and imposing he was. “Just leave her alone the way you always have.”

They were good at leaving you alone. 

“Please,” your dad begged, making you pause. “We’re sorry.”

“Empty apologies mean nothing,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, and as it stands, I don’t want you at our wedding, but maybe your loving daughter will change my mind.”

“Wedding?!” your mom exclaimed. 

“Yes, she’s going to be my wife and have a wonderful lifetime with me.” He smiled when you didn't disagree. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Bucky helped you up from the table and led you away, not even letting you look back when you heard your mom choke on a sob. They didn’t chase after you. They never would.

Your steps felt heavy. Your head spun. It was a relief that they knew how you felt in some capacity, but you didn't feel much better. Why not?

“They’re the past and I’m your present and future,” your boyfriend whispered, slipping an arm around you when you bit your lip. “I’m the family you need.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you said, making him preen. 

“I’ll always defend and stick up for you,” he promised, his grip possessive. “And I'm proud of you.”

What was there to be proud of? No, you wouldn't think like that. You were a good person, and a survivor. Your parents and their lack of support and care wouldn't take that from you.

“But I didn’t even get to tell them what happened.” What if they had wanted to help? They weren’t loving, but you were still their daughter and your mom had looked worried for a second.

“You don’t need them. Not when you have me,” he said, leaving no room to argue when he nodded to Ray and Curtis who hovered nearby. “And I won't let them hurt you ever again.”

You should’ve known lunch with your parents meant Bucky would close the door. You would have no choice but to move forward. And you didn't know what that meant except that you were now one step closer to being entirely his. 

This chapter took a lot out of me! As a mom who wants to show nothing but love and support to my babies (and protect them), I want to wrap Kotyonok in a huge hug. Where do we think they'll go from here? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[demie90s]

Come Here

Natasha Cloud x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Y’all just chillin’. At least you thought that.

Word Count: ~ 5.1k

Genre: Flirty slow-burn, teasing, discovery

Warnings: SMUT. Dom!Tasha. Sub!Reader. Sensual tension, queer questioning, Tasha bein’ too smooth.

(Written with Liberty Players. My bad. I linked Phoenix)

Second year in the league and you were vibin’. Cool with everybody, chill about everything. You weren’t the loudest on the Liberty, but you were the one people gravitated toward—laid-back, funny, a lil unpredictable. You didn’t talk much about your business, and you liked it that way. Let ‘em guess.

The internet? Always trying to figure you out.

“Are you gay?”

“You like girls?”

“Are you and so-and-so a thing?”

You never gave a straight answer. A shrug, a smile, maybe a slick lil “I like…vibes” and that was that. ’Cause why would you explain yourself to people who don’t even know your middle name?

Still—there was always something about Tasha.

Natasha Cloud was your vet, technically. A real one. Confident, grown, fine in that “I know exactly who I am” kind of way. People loved her. So did you. But not in a loud way. Just… in the way you always ended up standing next to her. Sitting beside her. Touching her without thinking.

You didn’t even notice half the time.

So y’all win a game. Good energy all around. It’s late, y’all in the hotel lobby area, a lil tipsy off post-game wine and adrenaline. She’s live on Instagram, talking to fans, still got her jersey half on like she didn’t just drop 15 points and coach a rookie through a panic attack.

You wander into the frame and slump against her side, head against her shoulder, hand casually resting on her thigh.

She smirks, glancing at you sideways. “Oh, so we cuddlin’ on live now?”

You blink like you just woke up. “Girl what?”

Chat blowing up instantly:

“WAIT HOLD ON”

“they always this close??”

“are they together?”

“Oh she is touchyyyy 😭😭”

“THE THIGH GRAB?? HELLO??”

You wave them off. “Y’all be reading too much.”

Someone asks again: “y/n you like girls?? 👀👀👀”

You shrug like always. Cool. Smooth. “I like… vibes.”

Tasha turns toward me slow, like she’s just now remembering I’m here, like she hasn’t been fully aware of my presence this entire time. Her voice drops, quiet enough that it cuts through the background noise like a secret not meant for the live.

“So if I kissed you right now,” she says, real calm, like we not in front of thousands of people, “would it be a vibe?”

She doesn’t even look at me at first. She says it with her chin tilted forward, her elbows still resting on her knees like she’s locked into the screen, like she’s talking at the chat—but then she glances back. Real slow. Over her shoulder. Straight at me.

I feel that look in my chest.

I’m leaned back, deep in the chair, my head pressed to the top cushion like I could melt into it. Legs stretched out, arm flopped behind her, fingers brushing the back of her jersey. My body’s loose but my heart skips anyway.

I’m not sleepy—just drained, heavy from the game, the come-down after the win. The kind of tired where your body still humming but your mind’s already floating.

I shift slightly, eyes narrowing just a little. “You wouldn’t. But it comes out softer than I meant it. Less challenge, more dare.

She smirks at that, all slow and smug, her eyes dropping to my mouth like it’s a question she already answered. Then back up. “I think I would,” she says, sitting back a bit like she’s settling into the moment. “Just to find out.”

Her hand shifts at the same time—subtle, but I feel it. Sliding a little lower on my thigh. Not wild, not disrespectful, but intentional. Like she wants me to feel it, like she knows I felt it and she’s waiting for me to say something.

But I don’t. And neither does the live.

The chat has slowed down, like everyone’s collectively holding their breath. Tasha’s eyes are still locked on me. Mine flicker to the phone screen, to the little hearts floating up, to the comments flooding back in all caps, but I can’t read a single one. My focus is stitched to her—her mouth, her hands, her energy.

“You bold,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice casual, but my throat’s tight.

She leans a little closer. Not closing the space completely—just enough to feel the heat. “You scared?”

I scoff under my breath, even though yeah, maybe I am. Just a little. Because it is a vibe. That’s the problem.

“Nah,” I say. “What…why you being messy.”

She grins. “Only a little.”

The way she says it..it’s not just flirting anymore. It’s a promise.

She laughs low, like she got away with something, and turns back to the live like the moment didn’t just shift gravity.

I try to play it cool. My head still against the back of the chair, arm lazily hanging behind her, chest tight but my face chill. Like that didn’t just happen. Like she ain’t just test me with that look, that tone, that touch.

But she don’t let up.

Her hand slides up and down my thigh now—real slow, like she’s tracing a pattern. Absent-minded, but not really. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Then her other hand. Drifts behind her like she reaching for something—nah, she grabs my knee and starts squeezing it like I’m a damn stress ball.

I pop her hand without even thinking. “Girl, gone somewhere.”

She laughs again, unbothered. “Don’t act like you ain’t leanin’ all over me ten minutes ago.”

“I was tired,” I say, smirking. “That ain’t mean open season.”

Tasha shifts again, more into my space now, leaning back so her shoulder presses into my chest, like she tryna recline on me this time. Her hand comes up, fingers lightly dancing over the hem of my shorts.

I catch her wrist real easy. Not hard—just enough to let her know I peeped. “Touchy ass.”

She grins, eyes still on the comments flying up the screen. “They eatin’ this up.”

“Oh, I know they are,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “They delusional.”

She turns her head just enough to look up at me. “Are they?”

I blink. My grip loosens on her wrist, but I don’t move my hand. “Stop playin’.”

“I’m not.” She shrugs, eyes soft now but still teasing. “You don’t be stopping me either.”

I suck my teeth, trying not to smile. “You so annoying.”

She just hums, real pleased with herself, and lets her hand rest right back on my thigh like she never left. I pop it again. She laughs again.

I pull my phone out, pretending to scroll like I’m not still feeling her hand on my leg. Notifications lighting up like fireworks. Texts, DMs, screenshots already in my mentions. I see the live getting clipped in real time.

“She be actin’ brand new but LOOK at her,” one comment says.

“She lowkey folded,” another.

“Natasha Cloud bout to snatch her,” someone added with crying emojis.

I shake my head, smirking at the screen. “Y’all wild.”

Tasha glances at my phone over her shoulder, then back at the live. “They tryna be messy.”

“They always messy, you like they leader” I mumble, still scrolling. “I’m used to it.”

She watches me for a second. Real quiet. Real still. Then she picks up her phone and ends the live. Just like that. Click. Gone. Whole vibe shifts.

I look up, confused. “Damn, you ain’t even say bye—”

She sets her phone down and turns her whole body toward me, eyes locked. Serious now. No more smirking. No more teasing.

“So you gon’ let me show you or what?” she says. Calm. Direct.

I freeze for a second, blinkin’ like she just short-circuited my whole system. “Huh?”

She nods toward my phone. “You on there actin’ like you unfazed. Like this ain’t nothin’. But you feelin’ it, huh?” She leans in, slow but confident. “You want me to stop touchin’ you, you would’ve made me. You don’t want me to stop. You just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

I open my mouth—close it. Suddenly real aware of how warm my skin feels. How close she is.

“Tasha,” I say, voice quieter than I want it to be. “Don’t do that.”

She tilts her head. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t know what you tryna prove.”

She smiles, soft but dangerous. “I ain’t tryna prove nothin’, baby. I just wanna show you.”

She slides my phone out my hand like it belongs to her now, sets it on the table next to hers. Her fingers brush mine, slow. Her other hand slides up my thigh again, same spot as earlier—but this time I don’t pop her.

I just look at her. And she knows.

“Say the word,” she murmurs, leaning close enough for her lips to graze my cheek. “Or I’ll go.”

But I don’t say go. I don’t say shit.

The team’s still kinda around, kinda not—scattered between the hotel lobby, the pool, kitchen, whatever. But it don’t matter. ‘Cause Tasha and I in our own little world. Always have been.

She’s been looking at me. Not glancing. Looking. Like dinner. Like seconds. Like dessert she ain’t supposed to have but gon’ eat anyway.

Ain’t even subtle. And I know that look.

“Stop starin’ at me like I’m the menu,” I mutter, still scrolling but smiling.

“I’m try’na see what the special is,” she fires back without missing a beat.

I nearly choke. “Aht aht—relax, mama. You tryna risk it all in front of the Gatorade cooler.”

She leans back, arms stretched out across the top of her chair like she owns the room. Her eyes dragging over me with that lazy, cocky smirk. “You the one sittin’ there all fine and glowy talkin’ about you tired.”

“I am tired.”

She leans in, voice low like a damn secret. “Let me wake you up then.” I blink. Now hold on.

This grown ass woman really talkin’ to me like that. Meanwhile, I’m still new to this. Technically still got my rookie softness even if I’m in year two. I talk like I’m chill. I act like I’m unbothered. But deep down…I’m very much botherable.

So I glance around. Ain’t nobody paying attention—except Kennedy, who clocked the whole exchange from across the room and shot me that little “mmhm, finally” smile like she been waiting on this episode to drop.

I lean toward Tasha just a little, trying to whisper but definitely cheesin’. “You tryna show me or somethin’? Like you… serious?”

She doesn’t even blink. “Girl, I’ve been waitin’ on the green light since preseason.”

Now I’m lookin’ at her like she crazy. “Oh so you was plottin’ this whole time?”

“Hell yeah.” She adjusts her seat, gets a lil closer. Her hand casually finds its way back to my thigh like we ain’t still half in public. “I knew you was a quick learner. But I also know one thing about you—you like a woman in control.”

I pause. My whole body heatin’ up and we not even touchin’ like that. She say that line like she’s narrating the beginning of a documentary called How I Took Her Soul on a Tuesday.

I let out a breath, cheeks hot. “Mm You ain’t never lied.”

I mean it too. I do like somebody grown. Somebody who knows what they doing. I ain’t tryna lead—baby, give me a lil direction and watch me follow it like a damn GPS.

Tasha tilts her head, studying me like she reading instructions. “So what’s up? You ready or you still tryna play cool?”

I look at her. I mean really look. My leg’s bouncing. My palms sweaty. And I’m grinning like I just got handed a backstage pass to heaven.

“You got it,” I say, and I barely get the words out before—BOOM.

She stands up and picks me up. Not even dramatic about it. Just scoops me up like I’m groceries. Like she do this all the time. Arms under my thighs, grip firm, face serious.

I gasp loud as hell. “OH—okay!”

She laughs once, deep and low in her chest. “You said I got it, right?”

“Yeah but damn!” I wrap my arms around her neck real quick, holding on. “You strong as hell, girl—this what you be doin’ in the off-season?” It be the small ones.

“Nah,” she says, walking us smooth out the room like the credits just started rolling. “This what I do when I know it’s finally go time.”

As she carries me past the team, I catch eyes doing synchronized double takes. Somebody claps once. I think I hear, “bout time!” in the distance.

But I’m in a daze. Still laughing. Still hanging on to her. My voice drops into her ear like a confession.

“You really bout to turn me out, huh?”

She smirks, kissing the side of my jaw. “Girl. You ain’t even gon’ recognize yourself tomorrow.”

I just laugh again, already breathless. “Then lead the way, Coach.”

Game time.

She don’t say a word when we step in her room—just locks the door, kicks off her slides, and walks over to her little Bluetooth speaker like this a ritual. Like she been planning this night since training camp. Like she got a playlist titled “rookie initiation” or some shit.

I’m still by the door, jacket halfway off, watching her like she suspicious.

“What you doin’?” I ask.

“Setting the mood,” she says over her shoulder, all calm like this a wine commercial. “You gone thank me in a minute.”

Before I can even roll my eyes, I hear it. The first few chords. That slow, warm, sensual-ass hum.

Sexual. Healing.

I drop my head back and groan instantly. “TASHA. Are we deadass right now?!”

She turns around with the dumbest grin on her face, like she just hit play on the Super Bowl. “Hell yeah. I’m takin’ my time, shit—I just got you.”

I cover my mouth trying not to laugh. “You are so unserious.”

“And you,” she steps closer, pulling my jacket off smooth, “are about to be very much in serious trouble.”

I snort, still grinning as she tosses my jacket on the chair and starts working on the drawstrings of my sweats like it’s nothing. Like we not in the middle of a slow jam from the ‘80s. Like this ain’t my first time and she not up here playing the damn original soundtrack to soul snatching.

“You really got Marvin Gaye on,” I mutter, even as I let her pull my shirt over my head. “You not even shy about this?”

She presses a kiss to my collarbone. “Why would I be shy? You know how long I been wantin’ this?”

I don’t even get the chance to answer before she kisses me for real—slow, deep, steady like she tryna write the rhythm of the song on my lips. And baby… I’m gigglin’. Straight up gigglin’ into her mouth, breath hitchin’ between laughs like I can’t believe she actually has me cheesin’ this hard while actively getting undressed.

“I hate you,” I say into her smile.

“You love me,” she whispers back, hands slipping under my waistband like she tryna test the waters with just her fingertips. “That’s why you still here.”

She’s right. I’m still here. Shirt gone. Pants unbuttoned. Knees weak and chest rising like I just ran sprints at practice.

But she’s not rushing.

She takes her time, guiding me back toward the bed, still dancing a little with the song, still doing too much. Grinning the whole time, like she got the cheat code and I’m just now realizing I’m the damn controller.

She moves behind me, wraps her arms around my waist, mouth pressed to my neck as she hums along to the chorus like it ain’t currently ruining my life.

“Feel that?” she whispers, her lips brushing right below my ear.

I shiver. “Tasha…”

“I got you,” she says. “You know I got you, right?”

I nod, small, barely audible. “Yeah.”

Then she starts. Slow kisses down my spine. Hands trailing like she memorizing a language, not even rushing to get between my legs. Just holding me, touching me, showing up in every little place I never realized needed her.

I laugh again—light, breathless. She pauses.

“What now?”

“Ion know,” I say, blushing. “You just… really doin’ it. Like… this what I thought it would feel like.”

She smiles into my skin, low and sure. “That’s ‘cause you was right.”

Her mouth is soft on mine, but her hands are already working—slow, steady, intentional. She got my pants off without me even realizing, like her touch was meant to be there. And she keeps whispering little things between kisses, stuff that ain’t even nasty but still make my knees weak.

“Just relax, baby,” she murmurs. “Let me get you right.”

We’re still standing for a second, caught in this warm, slow motion. My shirt’s gone, pants and panties a memory, and she’s just… holding me. Arms around my waist, mouth against my jaw. Gentle. But that heat is real.

“Come sit with me,” she says soft, leading me to the bed.

I follow, floaty. She sits first, legs spread, and guides me right between them. Her back hits the headboard, and I end up sitting in front of her, back against her chest, thighs open—body bare, nerves everywhere.

“You comfy?” she asks, voice like silk, arms sliding around my waist.

I nod slow, already leaning into her. “Mhm.”

Her hands are warm on my thighs, smoothing over skin like she tryna calm the butterflies. Her lips trail slow kisses down my shoulder, her breath brushing my ear.

“You breathing a little fast,” she says, teasing.

I let out a breathy laugh. “I feel everything.”

She smiles against my neck. “Good. That’s how I want it.”

Her hands start to drift lower, fingertips tracing between my legs with the lightest touch, and my whole body jerks. She pulls me closer, one hand pressing to my stomach to ground me, the other moving slow and careful—testing.

“Shh, I got you,” she whispers. “Let me hear you.”

And baby, I do not disappoint. A soft moan slips out of me, mixed with this lil giggle I can’t even help—like a laugh that got lost in pleasure.

Tasha hums, clearly pleased. “You always laugh when it feel good, huh?”

I nod, still squirming, voice shaky. “I—I can’t help it.”

She kisses the side of my neck, fingers stroking gently. “I like it. That’s how I know I’m doin’ it right.”

I whine, hands gripping the sheets now. My head’s tilted back against her shoulder, eyes closed, body trembling. And all she doing is touching me. Real slow. Real intimate. Just the pads of her fingers gliding through heat and slick, not even applying pressure yet—but it’s already got me clenching my thighs, chasing more.

She notices.

“Open up for me,” she whispers, nudging my thighs apart with her own.

I do it without thinking, already gone. And now she’s got the perfect view. Me, laid bare in her lap, body twitching, breath catching with every stroke.

“You so sensitive,” she says, voice deeper now. “That feel good?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, eyes fluttering. “Real good.”

“Mhm.” Her other hand comes up to cup my breast, thumb brushing slow over my nipple while the first keeps teasing. Still not rushing. Still just… working me.

I let out another soft whimper, a breathy “fuck,” followed by that same little moan-giggle she loves so much.

“There it go again,” she murmurs, smiling. “You sound so pretty when you laugh like that.”

I cover my face, overwhelmed. “Tasha—”

“Nah, don’t hide now,” she says, voice close to my ear, lips brushing it between words. “I want you to feel everything, baby. You trust me, right?”

I nod, shaky. “Yes.”

Her fingers slide in deeper now, slow and smooth, and I cry out. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just this sweet, broken sound like I never knew it could feel like this. And I didn’t. Not till her.

She starts to move her fingers, curling just enough to make me squirm, to make my hips roll back into her. Her voice stays right there with me—in it with me.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “That’s it. Just like that.”

She’s everywhere. Her breath, her hands, her calm. I’m melting in her lap, thighs shaking already and we just getting started.

My laugh turns into a moan again, and I swear I can feel her grin.

“You gon’ laugh all the way through this?”

I moan again, breathless. “Maybe.”

She kisses my temple, fingers moving slow but deeper now. “That’s fine. I’m’a make you cry too.”

The way she says it. Not as a threat. As a promise.

Through it all—she never stops talking.

“Yeah… there she go. That’s it. Give it all to me.”

I do. I’m trying not to, but I do. My body jumps under her, legs trembling, throat tight with a moan so ragged it sound like confession. I come so hard my hands fly to the sheets, one leg kicking a little like I’m short circuiting, and all I can say is her name. Over and over.

“Tasha—Tasha, please—”She don’t stop.

Just grips my thigh tighter when I try to close up, keeps rubbing slow deliberate circles that make my hips twitch. Her voice never changes. Still calm. Still steady. Like this all part of the plan.

“Nah, baby. Don’t run now. That was just one,” she whispers, lips brushing my jaw as I shake under her. “We just gettin’ started.”

I try to scoot up the bed—reflex, survival—but she pulls me right back down with one arm. The other hand? Back between my legs. Real slow. Real messy. Just rubbing it in.

“You actin’ like I didn’t just break you in. Let me finish it.”

I let out the softest laugh, breathless, overwhelmed. “Tasha—girl, I can’t even think.”

“You ain’t supposed to think. You supposed to feel me.”

I squirm, giggling and moaning at the same time, legs trying to clamp together again. And she snatches them right back open, throwing her leg over mine to pin me in place. She don’t look mad, just determined. Like this is her sport. Like I’m her court.

“You try to close these thighs again, I’m tellin’ you right now—I’m not lettin’ you sleep tonight.”

The way she says it she Deadass. Like she means that. Like she’s already cleared her schedule for the rest of the week.

I cover my face, teeth sinking into my bottom lip to keep quiet, but that just make her grin. She dips her head down, kisses my thigh, my stomach, then my mouth—messy and slow—and her fingers Still playing with me like she tryna see how many shades of undone I can get.

“You know what I like?” she whispers, voice hot against my mouth. “You got that sweet lil laugh. That cute ass smile. But you nasty too, huh?”

I blink at her, face flushed, lips parted.

“You a freak, huh baby? Giggling and coming like you ain’t been waiting on this.”

All I can do is nod. ‘Cause she’s right. I have been. And now she got me melting. Sweaty. Legs open. Voice gone. Hips jerkin’ every time her thumb hits that same spot—

She leans in, grips my chin between her fingers, tilts my head just enough to look into my eyes. Her mouth barely touches mine as she talks. “Say it.”

I can’t even hear myself, but the words fall out. “I’m a freak…”

She kisses me hard, deep. Groaning low into my mouth. Then she pulls back, her voice dropping into that possessive whisper again.

“I know. You mine now.”

Her hand moves lower, two fingers sliding in slick and smooth like my body been waiting for her. My back arches, a loud cry escaping before I can stop it.

“Aww, look at you,” she coos. “You tryna be quiet but your body tellin’ on you.”

I swear I can’t take it. My thighs trembling, hands searching for something to hold—her wrist, her shoulder, the sheets, my sanity. But she don’t give me a break. Just grips my throat gentle and firm, pressing me back down with control that make me whimper.

“You like when I talk to you like that, huh?”

“Yes,” I moan.

“You like being touched like you mine?”

“Yes.”

“You tryna tap out?”

I pause—honestly, I might need to. But then she smirks and kisses my shoulder, whispering right in my ear: “Don’t.”

That’s what does it. Again. Wetter. Louder. Deeper than the first.

I come apart in her hands, crying out, thighs shaking like I’m being reborn. She watches me—watches—like this a game tape she gon’ replay later. Her fingers still curling in slow, dragging out every last tremble until I’m damn near gasping.

Then she kisses my mouth, slow and greedy, still whispering, “That’s it. That’s it, baby. Look how good you doin’ for me. You takin’ it so well.”

I’m dizzy. Clingy. Floating.

“You okay?” she asks, voice warm again.

“Uh huh,” I breathe. “I just feel like a—”

“A hoochie mama?” she finishes, laughing.

I laugh too, face still buried in her. “Yes.”

She grins, rubbing my back, smug as hell. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

And then real low, right in my ear. “Now turn over. You ain’t done yet.”

I blink up at her, barely functioning, body limp and overheated, still wrapped around her like I’m tryna become a part of her skin. She strokes my back, kisses my jaw, soft little things that should feel like an ending—except she already told me:

I’m not done yet.

“Turn over,” she says again, quiet but real firm, real smooth. Like it’s a courtesy, not a request.

I lift my head slow, eyes wide. “Girl…”

She grins, all teeth. “You still talkin’?”

I blink again, dead serious. “I’m sensitive.”

She kisses my lips once, slow and full. “I know. That’s what’s gon’ make it real good.”

Like a damn fool, I turn over. Because my body don’t listen to me no more. My brain is all “survival,” but my hips? My hips are up, ass arched, thighs still trembling like I didn’t just get rocked into another dimension.

Tasha settles behind me, real calm. One hand running down my back, tracing the dip of my spine. The other Pressed flat to my lower back, holding me steady.

“You so wet,” she mutters, low like she talkin’ to herself. “I ain’t even touched you again yet.”

She spreads me open just a little, and I gasp, arms shaking under me. “Oh my God—”

“Mmhmm.” Her voice is smug now, but it’s focused. “That’s all me, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” I stammer, barely able to get the word out.

She leans forward, body draped over mine, her chest warm against my back. Her hand slides under, fingers brushing my mouth.

“Open,” she says, still soft.

I do. And when she slips her fingers in my mouth—just the same ones that were inside me—I damn near lose it. She don’t even move them, just lets them sit on my tongue like a reminder.

“You taste that?” she asks. I nod, moaning around her fingers.

“That’s mine. And I’m not done takin’ it.”

She slides them back out, kissing the side of my face, then sits back on her knees. Her hands grip my hips, pulling me back just slightly until I whimper. My thighs are shaking again and she ain’t even done anything yet.

“You ever been touched like this before?” she asks. I shake my head, biting the pillow.

She hums like she expected that. “Good.”

Then her fingers slide back in—slow and deep. From behind. It’s worse like this. I can’t see her. Can’t read her face. All I can do is feel. She moves her thumb to circle my clit, slow, firm pressure that got my whole body jerking with every pass.

I start whining again. That soft, breathy sound I’ve been trying to hide.

“Ohhh, that’s the one,” she laughs, leaning over me again, whispering in my ear. “That little whimper you do? That’s the sound I’m keepin’ for later.”

I moan into the pillow, legs twitching as she picks up the pace. Not rough. Just enough. Just enough to make me stay open, just enough to keep me there.

“Tasha,” I gasp. “Tasha I’m—fuck—”

“Don’t run,” she whispers, hand gripping the back of my neck now. “Don’t move. You gon’ give it to me again.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Her hand slides to my chin, pulls my head up and turns it slightly so she can kiss me—backward, messy, tongues meeting between moans.

“You a good girl, right?” she whispers into my mouth.

“Yes…”

“Then be good and take it.”

I’m still trying to breathe, face buried in the pillow, body loose and slick with sweat, thighs twitching. And she’s behind me, watching it all like art.

Tasha runs her hand down the back of my thigh, trailing light touches like she ain’t just had me shaking. I glance back at her, still panting, trying to laugh through it.

She smirks, head tilting. “You lucky I ain’t bring it. Oh I would’ve worked you ass.”

I blink. “…Wait.”

She leans down, all slow, and kisses the curve of my ass, hand sliding up to grab a handful, spreading me gently.

“Baby,” she murmurs, mouth warm and close, “if I had it, you wouldn’t be walkin’. But don’t worry it only ya first time…plus I got something better.”

Then she lowers her head. Oh my God.

The first lick got my soul trying to evacuate. My hands fly to the sheets, back arching off the mattress instantly.

“Tasha—girl—what the f—”

She flattens her tongue and drags it slow, moaning against me like she been starvin’. Her arms hook under my thighs and pull me deeper into her mouth—close, close like she tryna eat through me.

She’s overly freaked’ out too—low groans, breath catching, hands gripping like she losing her mind. It’s not even cute. It’s crazy. Like she waited too long and now she feasting.

Her mouth is sloppy, tongue moving in circles, then flicking just right, and all I can do is whimper. Real soft. Real messy.

I try to scoot up the bed again—natural reflex, survival instincts, Jesus take the wheel—but she yanks me right back down.

“Stop.”

That’s all she says. Just stop. And she keeps going. And I start losing it.

I’m moaning into the pillow now, whining, hips lifting, legs shaking again even though I know I ain’t got another one in me.

“You gon’ come again,” she murmurs between licks, voice low and hungry. “Let it out, baby. Make that pretty sound for me.”

I whimper, one hand clawing the sheets, the other trying to reach back and stop her, but she just laughs against me.

“Don’t you pull away from me.”

“Tasha please—”

“Open up,” she says, voice sharp, hand gripping under my thigh to hold it open. “Don’t be shy now.”

My body folds. I’m grinding into her mouth now like I ain’t got no shame left. I feel her everywhere. She moves her tongue in slow circles, sucks gently, then moans again like I taste better the more I shake.

That’s what really get me. She’s eating me like she love it. Like she missed it. Like she don’t care how loud I am, how soaked she gets, how many times I try to run—she’s not letting up until I cry again.

I do.

Whole body goes limp. That ugly moan escapes, one I ain’t never made before. My thighs clamp around her head but she don’t care—just groans into me louder, dragging the orgasm out like she tryna ruin me on purpose.

When it’s over she don’t say nothing. She just comes up slow, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, kisses my cheek, and whispers

“Next time, im using the strap.”

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037

[lambiconic]

wait-- we're all into the same barista!?

if you havent, read the first four!!: simon gaz johnny price ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Johnny was the first to bring you up, of course. Slipping it into conversation oh so casually that he’d managed to get a date with a girl he’d had his eye on.

Simon looked up for just a second, brows raised. “You go on dates all the time, mate. What’s special about this one?”

“Flirt with half the population when given the chance.” Price added.

Johnny didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, eyes on the floor for a second too long. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “Nah. She’s different.”

Simon scoffed. “They’re all different, until they’re not.”

“Well, I’m interested! Tell me all about her, mate.” Gaz spoke up, shooting the other two men a glare.

Johnny instantly broke into a wide grin as he stood. “I’ve been hangin’ around that coffee place! Y’know, the one near base? Yeah, chattin’ up the barista—”

He barely got the words out before the table erupted.

“The barista…?” “The cashier?!” “Which one!?” “Wait, what shop!?” “The one with the pretty smile?” “Always recommends weird pastries?” 

The questions flew like bullets, all three of them suddenly leaning forward, eyes narrowing.

“Uhh.. I don’t think she ever made me buy any pastries–” Johnny began. “But..uhh,..whats-it-called? The uhh Blue Moon.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. That’s my coffee shop.”

Price instantly frowned. “Your coffee shop? Mate, I’ve been going there for weeks. Doll at the counter always give me the extra stamp on my card.”

“WHICH BARISTA!?!” Gaz, asked again. “The..the one with the big smile? And the eyes–”

“They all have eyes,” Simon grumbled, interrupting him.

“No! MY–The barista there when I go has these.. These eyes!” He rambled on glancing around the table. “And when she smiles–”

“Her nose wrinkles?” Price guessed, jaw tight.

“And her gums show,” Simon throws in.

“What.. what are ye guys talking about?” Johnny’s grin faded slightly. ‘No.. wait. I’ve a pic of her.”

The three men waited with bated breath as Johnny pulled out his phone and carefully slid it across the table. The three men leaned in, crowded around the phone like it held classified intel. 

And there, still in uniform and holding a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers, was you. Pretty, charismatic, nose wrinkling, gum-smile you.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Price muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Gaz just stared, jaw slack. “That’s my barista.”

Simon said nothing…just exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze locked on the photo like it had personally betrayed him.

Johnny looked between them, stunned. “Yer all takin’ the piss, right?”

“No one’s takin’ the piss, mate,” Price said, sounding remarkably grim for a man talking about a barista. “That’s her.”

Johnny sat down slowly. “So... what yer sayin’ is... we’ve all been tryin’ to pull the same lass.”

Another silence.

Then Simon finally spoke. “...She’s good.”

Gaz just leaned back, arms crossed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I need a drink. Not coffee.”

[rawjutsu]

“thinking’s hard, huh, baby?”

pairing: gojo satoru x afab reader

cw: explicit piv, light face slapping, impact play, dumbification, degradation, choking, overstimulation, (its okay reader loves it)

“you left your phone in the fridge again.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the silence like silk wrapped around a knife—smooth and teasing, but there’s a wicked edge underneath it. he’s standing in the kitchen doorway, phone held up in one hand freezing cold, smirk already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

you blink at him from the couch, cheeks going warm. “...oh.” you giggle, shrinking a little into the throw pillow you’ve been cuddling. “i was putting the milk away, and i guess i got distracted…”

gojo tilts his head, crossing the room in lazy, catlike strides. his blindfold is around his neck today, white hair messy from wherever he’s been, and god he looks good—dangerously good. the kind of good that makes your brain short-circuit, which, in your defense, might be why you keep doing dumb little things like this.

he stops in front of you, nudging your chin up with his knuckle. “distracted, huh?” he echoes, voice dripping with amusement. “its okay, i know thinking’s hard for you baby.”

you pout. “hey—”

tap.

his hand comes up and gives your cheek the gentlest little pat. not a slap. just enough to make you blink and gasp a little, eyes wide and fluttery.

he brushes his thumb over the cheek he tapped, tracing the warmth that bloomed there. “you know what happens when you get all cute and dumb like that,” he murmurs. “makes me wanna see how many times i can slap it outta you.”

you squirm. “satoru—”

he’s on you before you can blink—pushing you back against the pillows, yanking his shirt up over your hips to find you bare underneath. you squeak, flustered. he groans.

“no panties?” his voice goes low. “you really are a dumb little slut today, huh?”

“i just forgot—”

slap.

the other cheek this time. a little harder. your head tips with it, your mouth opens in a gasp, and your eyes flutter like your brain just did a hard reboot.

“yeah. that’s more like it.” he leans in close, nose brushing yours. “don’t think. just let me ruin you.”

you don’t even remember how your clothes came off. one second you were blinking up at him all dazed and pouty, and the next your knees were pushed to your chest, ankles on his shoulders, and his cock was bullying its way inside you like it owns the place.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls, watching the way your mouth drops open. “all messy already. you’re so fucking dumb for it.”

he slams in deeper. you scream.

his hand’s around your throat in the next second, not tight but firm. controlling. the way he knows makes your head go floaty.

“you were talkin’ earlier,” he says, hips pistoning into you at a brutal pace. “where’s all that cute little babbling now?”

you can’t answer. you’re drooling. you’re crying. you’re gone.

slap. a little sharper across your cheek. you sob.

“ohhh, yeah. that’s what i like.” he laughs, ragged. “can’t even talk anymore. brain’s just gone. my perfect little toy.”

you claw at his forearms, gasping, choking on moans. he keeps going. keeps wrecking you.

“say thank you,” he pants, watching your tits bounce with every thrust. “c’mon, baby. say thank you for breaking your stupid little brain.”

you sob out a broken “thank you,” and that’s all it takes—he loses it.

he slams in to the hilt, keeps it there, grinds his hips and watches your whole body seize up when you cum so hard you nearly black out. your walls flutter around him, pulsing, milking him like your pussy knows it was made for him.

and he gives it to you. loud, messy, deep. he groans your name like a prayer while he paints your insides full.

you don’t know how long you lay there. you’re boneless, twitching, fucked-out. he’s kissing your cheeks, your lips, your forehead.

“good girl,” he murmurs, brushing hair off your face. “god, i love you so much. you’re so fucking perfect when you let me break you.”

a/n: gojo <333333333

[esstxys]

𝓗 𝓐 𝓝 𝓙 𝓘 𝓢 𝓤 𝓝 𝓖 - impatient.

warnings : sub!jisung, begging, whiny + needy jisung, masturbation, boners, caught in the act, slight perv!jisung.

summary : when your morning activities are interrupted by an emergency situation, your boyfriend can't help but pleasure himself at the thought of how delicious you looked while you innocently cooked him breakfast.

- ; 9:05 am

your eyes were still glued shut with sleep as you rolled over in bed, throwing your arm to the right which hit your boyfriend in the stomach, of course.

han shot awake, clutching his stomach instantaneously. after a few seconds of sputtering out soft swear words under his breath the said, "new way to wake me up, hm?"

you groaned in response, much too tired to give him a proper answer. the only thing on your mind was going back to sleep, but your boyfriend poking you in your side made that task pretty difficult.

"hannie, stop." you said curtly, grabbing his hand.

"you're the one who woke me up, shouldn't i be mad?" he turned you over so you were facing him. your eyes were closed yet he still took a moment to look at all of your delicate features.

"i can feel you staring at me." you spoke before opening your eyes. he was already staring into them. fuck. you wanted to be mad at him for not letting you sleep, but you couldn't.

he laughed before sliding his hand under your head, separating you and your soft pillow. you leaned closer to him and let out a hum at the plush feeling of your lips meeting his.

he pulled away for a moment and you smiled

"come here." you said grabbing his face and bringing it to yours, smashing your lips together once again, this time with more passion.

you bit his upper lip and he licked your lower, and soon after his tongue pried your lips apart. he sat you up against the headboard, not separating his lips from yours for a second. he unclasped your bra, taking a tit in his hand.

every second that passed just made the kiss more heated.

your hands slid up and down his body as his tongue explored your mouth. just as your hands made it to his waistband you received a call, to which you ignored.

and then another call came.

and finally a text.

he pulled away, recognizing whoever was trying to reach you probably really needed you, considering the number of times your phone had made that god forsaken ding! sound in the last thirty seconds.

han got off of you, letting you recollect and grab your phone.

"fuck." you mumbled

"what?" he looked up at you from the bed like a lost puppy, swearing to himself that he was going to come after whoever just created that cockblock of the century.

"its my best friend. her dog ran away. she wants me to come over and grieve with her. probably lay in her bed for three hours? i don't know.." you rambled on, shocked at the messages you had just received.

"oh shit. you gotta get going then?" he yawned. handing you the bra which he has just pried off moments before.

"i guess so." you slipped the bra over your head. "want breakfast before i leave?" you asked him, grabbing a pair of his pajama pants off of the floor and swiftly putting them on.

"i mean, why not?" he got out of the bed slowly before ruffling his hair and standing up.

you watched his muscles flex as he stretched. did your friends dog really have to run away today?

you walked over to him, giving him a peck on the lips before walking out of the room "meet you downstairs yeah?"

"yeah." he paused, "your not putting a shirt on?" he said loudly, knowing you were far down the hallway by now.

"i mean its just us at home, right?!" you called back.

hearing that he smiled to himself. rushing out of the room and following you down the steps.

- ; 9:32 am

"ji, im gonna burn the fuckin' eggs if you keep staring at me like that." you shuffled the eggs around in the pan once more before turning around to look at him, leaning your hands into the counter.

"what? am i distracting you?"

"just let me cook your eggs in peace." you smiled.

saying that, you turned around. you knew han wouldn't let you do that.

you felt his gaze burning into you as you walked over to the fridge to grab orange juice which you set on the counter next to you.

why not take advantage of this?

you opened the freezer and bent down to grab the mini pancakes you knew your han loved.

you arched your back as you stood up and turned around, "you want some of these, babe?" you held up the box of pancakes, waving them in the air.

your boyfriend traced your curves with his eyes. how his pants hung low on your hips, how your bra held your perfect tits.he was getting harder by the second.

who the fuck gave you permission to do these things to him?

and then, looked up from the floor where he was pretending to stare, blinking and shaking his head before speaking "oh shit- sorry babe what'd ya say?"

"hm." you crossed your arms and leaned against the counter once again, sighing this time. "what am I distracting you now?"

"i gotta use the bathroom, be right back." he said coldly.

you pursed your lips and then shook your head. "you want the pancakes or not?!"

"yeah!" his voice cracked as he ran to the bathroom.

you giggled and turned off the stove, and part of you wished you didn't know what he was about to do.

han bee-lined for the bed and threw himself on it, tossing most of the pillows to the floor and stuffing the remaining behind his back, before yanking his sweatpants down to his knees.

there was no need to drag this out.

he had enough foreplay just watching you downstairs, and not to mention the interrupted scene that morning that had been playing through his head for the rest of the time after that.

he grasped his cock firmly from the spot on his stomach where it had lay hard and wet-tipped.

he gasped at the contact and let his head fall back, his mouth parting slightly as he squeezed himself, before letting his cock fall with a slap against his heated skin.

with a flat hand, he pulled the moisture from his reddening tip, smearing it down his length, before curling his fingers over his balls, just grazing his fingertips below them.

han ran his tongue over his dry lips, picturing you in the kitchen, remembering how you'd looked with your pajama pants hanging so low that just the slightest tug would pull them off.

he groaned and brought his hand around his dick again, tugging jerkily, frantically, and bent his knees, planting his feet on the bed.

he could see you between his legs, one hand on his thigh, the other pleasuring yourself right along with him.

han screwed his eyes closed and clamped his other hand over his own thigh, breathing hard and fast and stroking even faster.

he imagined fucking you over the counter. both of you whimpering as he thrusted roughly into you.

one hand gripping your hips roughly, leaving small marks.

his other roped around to the front of your body, rubbing your clit.

the muscles in hans arms began to burn as he stroked himself, but that barely registered; the only thing he could think of, the only thing he could see, was you beneath him.

him plunging into you and hearing your pretty noises.

your face as it twisted with pleasure.

he stroked himself long and hard, inside and out, his breath ragged and heavy, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his release.

he moaned loudly, picturing you against the counter once again. this tipped him right over the edge.

with a loud cry of your name, his knees hit his shoulders as his belly strained and his hips thrust up onto his plunging fingers, his body pulsing around them.

quick lines of milky liquid squirted over his hand and the quivering skin of his stomach.

you opened the bedroom door and hans head snapped at the creaking sound it had made.

"huh. well this sure isnt the bathroom." you teased, making your way towards the bed.

[echo203]

Imagine getting back from a date but you got stood up and this is how the boys react.

(it's Soap and Price in this)

You were standing in the bathroom choosing a playlist on spotify. As soon as the beats started playing you got out your concealer and blush and went about your routine as you normally would. Emerging from the bathroom about thirty minutes later you proceeded to pick out a nice outfit, spray some perfume and grab your bag.

As you made your way through the 141 common room you saw Soap lounging on the couch watching something on the telly.

"You going out?"

"Yes, I got that date I told you about last week, remember?"

"Right, have fun bonnie, call me if ya need to dispose of the body."

"See ya later suds." You answer with a grin as the door shuts behind you. The sun was shining and maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Price and Soap were sitting on either ends of the couch when they heard the door open. "Back again already?" Soap said lightheartedly. "Got stood up" was your curt answer as you bent down to take off your sneakers. Throwing your jacket onto a chair in the dining area you walked over to the kitchen and grabbed an apple, Price and Soap watching you the entire time.

"Aye what a tool that guy. I told ya it wasnae any good to go."

You stood in front of the cutting board with your half prepared apple and sighed. "Yeah well, guess I know that now."

You kept cutting the apple.

Price got up and walked over taking a bowl out of the drawer and putting your cut up apple inside before taking you by the hand with a gruff "c'mon love."

He tucked you under Johnnys arm on the couch and put your legs over his lap. As you were munching on your apple Johnny grumbled from behind you "Do ya still have his number 'cause I've got the body bag ready to go." That made you giggle.

Through a mouthful of apple you replied "He literally texted me ten minutes ago saying he forgot because he had such a stressful week."

Apple crunch. "What a child."

Apple crunch. "Can't even keep track of a basic schedule."

Apple crunch. "I'm just sad I didn't get to have my cake."

Johnnys arm tightened around you and Price lay a comforting hand on you knee. The captain stole one of your apple slices and with crows feet around his eyes he said. "Don't worry sweetheart we'll get you that cake."

[hancorys]

k.wh — small girl fantasy, pt.2

genre: FLUFF, pookie bear lovers, pairing: crush!woonhak x afab!reader wc: 690 warning: might be too sweet!! lmk if i forgot any !! you asked for it and i delivered (jk) listen: so let's go see the stars — boynextdoor

the summer heat settled over the small convenience store, the air thick with the familiar scent of instant ramen and cold soda. the hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of snack bags as you carefully restocked the shelves—by color, just the way woonhak used to.

it had become a habit now, one of the small ways you kept him close despite the miles stretching between you.

your phone, propped up on the counter, lit up with a message.

woonhak: just got out of class. my professor hates me i swear

you smiled, wiping your hands on your apron before typing back.

you: it’s because you talk too much

almost immediately, your phone buzzed again.

woonhak: wow. so mean. do you want me to suffer??woonhak: actually, don’t answer that.

you laughed, shaking your head. this was your routine now—him texting you the second he was free, sending you blurry selfies of him looking exhausted, random pictures of his university, or even just ranting about how unfair life was. and in return, you’d do the same—long messages about customers who annoyed you, the exact number of items you restocked that day, or how the store’s cat had finally let you pet it.

no one had ever said the words out loud, but it was there. in the way he made sure to call you before bed, even when he was exhausted. in the way you caught yourself waiting for his messages. in the way you both existed in each other’s worlds despite the distance.

today was the first day of summer.

you sighed, stretching your arms before grabbing a rag to wipe down the tables. just as you reached the last one, the glass door chimed—a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

“welcome in,” you called out automatically, too focused on scrubbing away a stubborn stain to look up.

then, a familiar voice.

“you missed a spot.”

you froze.

your heart stuttered in your chest, your grip tightening around the rag. for a moment, you thought you had imagined it. that maybe, just maybe, the distance was finally making you hear things.

but then you turned.

and there he was.

woonhak. standing in the doorway, grinning like an idiot, his arms spread wide like he was waiting for you to launch yourself at him.

and you did.

the rag dropped to the floor as you ran straight into him, arms wrapping around his waist, burying your face into his shoulder. he smelled familiar—like laundry detergent and the faintest trace of his cologne, like home.

woonhak laughed, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he hugged you even tighter, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“missed me?” he teased, voice warm.

you hit his shoulder lightly, but didn’t let go. “obviously, you idiot.”

he chuckled, rocking you slightly. “good. because i was starting to think you replaced me with the store cat.”

“the cat hates me.”

“fair. but you still like me, right?”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, and the way he was smiling at you made your heart ache in the best way.

you rolled your eyes. “unfortunately.”

woonhak laughed again, his forehead bumping against yours. “guess i’ll have to make it up to you then.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” he grinned, eyes twinkling. “so, let’s go see the stars.”

you blinked. “what?”

“come on.” he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the door. “close up early. let’s go somewhere.”

“woonhak, i can’t just leave—”

“sure you can.” he shot you a look, mischievous and familiar. “you’ve been working too much. i’m back, it’s summer, and i’m kidnapping you for the night. no arguments.”

you stared at him, the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the way he looked at you like he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

and then you smiled.

the laughter between you faded into something quieter, something softer. the weight of the moment settled in the air between you—unspoken, but undeniably there.

woonhak was still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin. a touch so light, so fleeting, yet it sent warmth curling through your chest.

“let’s go,” he said again, gentler this time.

you hesitated, glancing toward the counter, the shelves, the quiet hum of the store that had become your second home. “but—”

“no buts.” he took a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?”

the question caught you off guard.

because the truth was, you couldn’t remember.

you sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. “you’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

woonhak smirked. “nope.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real fight left in you. because the truth was, you wanted to go. you wanted to steal this night, to press pause on reality just for a little while.

“fine,” you mumbled, reaching behind the counter to grab your bag. “but if i get fired—”

“i’ll hire you at my dad’s store.”

you gave him a deadpan look. “woonhak, i already work at your dad’s store.”

he laughed, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door. “then i’ll pay you in snacks.”

the two of you stepped out into the warm night air, the world stretching wide before you. woonhak’s car was parked just outside, and he opened the passenger door for you with a teasing bow. “your chariot awaits.”

you snorted, shoving him lightly before sliding in. he ran around to the driver’s side, and as soon as he started the car, the soft hum of music filled the space.

the city lights blurred past as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh. you watched him out of the corner of your eye—the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead, the way his lips curled at the edges whenever he focused.

“where are we even going?” you asked eventually.

woonhak grinned, eyes still on the road. “you’ll see.”

the drive stretched on, the city giving way to quieter roads, open fields, the sky stretching endlessly above. the stars were beginning to appear, scattered like freckles against the darkening blue.

after what felt like forever, woonhak pulled over onto a small hill, the kind of place you only knew about if you spent your childhood sneaking out at night. he turned off the engine, the sudden quiet wrapping around you like a blanket.

“come on,” he said, already climbing out.

you followed, stepping onto the cool grass, the scent of summer thick in the air.

woonhak flopped onto the ground, patting the space beside him. “best seats in the house.”

you huffed but sat down anyway, stretching your legs out in front of you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the sky above was endless, the stars flickering like tiny promises.

“i used to come here all the time,” woonhak said suddenly. “whenever things felt too big. too much.”

you turned to look at him. his gaze was fixed on the sky, something wistful in his expression.

“and now?” you asked.

he finally met your eyes, something unreadable flickering in his own. “now i think i’d rather be here with you.”

your breath caught.

the words were simple, unembellished, but they settled deep in your chest.

you swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart was practically throwing itself against your ribs. “you’re so dramatic.”

woonhak laughed, nudging your shoulder. “maybe. but i mean it.”

silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. it was warm, comforting.

then, he reached over, pinky brushing against yours. not quite holding your hand, but close enough to set your skin on fire.

you could have moved. could have pulled away, could have closed the space completely.

but you didn’t.

instead, you let your fingers curl just slightly, just enough for them to hook together.

and woonhak smiled.

and under the stars, with the summer air wrapping around you, you realized something—

this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

this was something real. something yours. something you had been waiting for all along.

[riddlemearose]

you're taller. how fucking dare you.

“Tune!” Link hears someone yell and, even though it’s been almost two years since he’s heard that name said by that voice, he still recognises it on the spot.

He turns, peering around the armful of supplies he’s holding. There’s a young man in green with a familiar blue scarf approaching them at high speed, just barely below a sprint.

“Din’s tits.” Tetra says from beside Link, baffled.

“You’re seeing this too?” Link asks, and sees her nod out of the corner of his eye.

The Captain skids to a stop in front of them, out of breath, and grins as bright as the sun. “Ha! We found you!”

“How in Cyclos’ damned name are you here?” Link replies, awed, all but dropping the equipment in his arms. The closed crates clatter to the ground, missing the toes of his boots by inches.

“L-long story.” The Captain pants. “Holy shit, you both got taller.”

“That is how the passage of time works.” Tetra immediately counters, a smirk on her face.

The Captain snorts, loud and undignified, and shakes his head, studying them both “How long has it been for both of you?”

“About two years.” Link answers, looking him over as well.

It’s hard to tell but he thinks the Captain looks a bit older. Not by much but just enough to suggest that time had passed. And, way more importantly, Link definitely got taller over the past two years! He comes up to the Captain’s shoulders now.

Ha, that’s a clear sign that Link absolutely will outgrow him. That’s what the Captain gets for spending the entire war teasing him and Mask with stupid shit like ‘What’s the weather down there like?’

Well, his fun and games are all over now because Link is definitely going to have the last laugh! 

“The sword is new.” The Captain eyes the Phantom Sword on Link’s back, a displeased frown tugging at the side of his mouth. “Second quest?”

“Second quest.” Tetra agrees with a dismissive wave of her hand. She squints back at him and teasingly points out, “You don’t look that old yet.”

“Thanks.” The Captain rolls his eyes. “Your concern for my life is very touching.”

“Well, you’re not dead at least.” Link offers, already ducking under the Captain’s retaliating swat that's aimed for the back of his head.

Despite his reaction, the Captain still looks fond. Link needs to tease him about that too: Captain Link, tactician and war hero extraordinaire, has gone soft.

“I do need to speak with you for a second, Tune, before he gets here.” There’s an almost tense edge to his voice, which doesn’t exactly bode well given Link’s past experiences with that tone.

Link frowns. “Who are you—”

“Warriors!” A new voice calls. They both turn to see a man striding towards them. He’s older than the Captain with shiny plate armour and interesting tattoos on one side of his face that Link can't quite make out from a distance.

Link squints at him. There’s… something about him, something that pings in the back of Link’s mind.

“Oh boy.” The Captain – Warriors, Link guesses, though that’s a pretty shit name if it’s really what he’s going by – mumbles under his breath, then waves at the man. “Over here, Time! I found him!”

Time’s face brightens – who’s picking these names they’re horrible – as he smiles, stopping beside them. He looks at Link and his smile turns smug. “Tune! I told you I was going to be taller than you.”

What? Link’s nose scrunches up. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Warriors smacks a hand to his forehead with a near-silent groan, but says nothing. Link peers up at Time’s face. Shit those tattoos are very vivid. And familiar. Why… does he recognise them?

Wait.

Wait.

He’s seen that pattern before. He knows that pattern, WHAT?!

Link splutters and points an accusing finger at Time, furious. “Mask!? When did you get old?! WHEN DID YOU GET TALL?!”

Mask—Time—whatever-his-name-is throws his head back and laughs, somehow managing to retain that smug grin all the while.

“How do you think I feel?” Warriors grumbles in quiet commiseration, his hand still pressed against his forehead.

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU!” Link yells, waving his hands madly. “HE’S TALLER THAN ME!”

Damn every goddess Link can think of. And he’d just celebrated that he was pretty sure he would be taller than the Captain too WHAT THE FUCK?!

“I’m taller than both of you.” Time agrees cheerfully, still looking way too smug.

Link literally has to glare up at him – fuck, he hates that there’s this much of a height difference, Mask is such a DICK – and crosses his arms. “I hate you. How old are you? You look ancient.”

“Older than you.” Time replies instantly, meeting Link’s gaze head-on and completely ignoring his insult.

Rude. Rude.

Link studies him again, this time from a tactical angle rather than a general glance. He thinks, pondering the scheme forming in his mind over for a moment.

… You know what, yeah. He’s pretty confident that he can easily go for Mask’s knees, just like he used to. Mask looks old enough to have forgotten about that trick.

There will be absolutely no consequences for doing this. Link’s got this in the bag; Mask is gonna feel his wrath.

[ach-sss-no]

Try fitting bones, teeth, shells + a sharp rock into a loincloth. At minimum, it will be extremely uncomfortable

(two things off the top of my head in LOTR that make more sense if he's wearing at least a shirt and pants: Faramir's guys see Gollum flitting through the trees and think he could be a black squirrel from Mirkwood, which is more sensible if he's wearing dark clothing (no doubt ragged and frayed from being out in the wilderness for forever), which could reasonably be taken for dark fur at a distance. Also, when Frodo discards his orcish mail shirt, Gollum finds it and starts wearing it, which strongly implies he at least knows how to wear clothing, something that's sort of left in doubt in some portrayals)

Yep!

But also, it had become pretty nearly universal to depict him loinclothed (or entirely nude) in illustrations before the movies were made, which is probably why they went that route.

We only know Gollum has clothes in part because he was being drawn that way when jirt was still alive to say 'Hey, why is Gollum naked? I never said he was naked?'

There's another weird evolution of visual design here... Gollum was stealing his clothes from orcs. Well, orcs are usually depicted naked now too, for some reason, so there's nothing for him to steal but a loincloth. Sméagol can't get a break.

[hyukascampfire]

(🍐) WANNA TOUCH? .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇’𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽. 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗮 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆?

nerdy태현 ⊹ 𝑓 rea 19OO smut non idol ╭╯ titty fucking breast worship subby tyun

ɑ︭ : serving this one up for u @heesmiles thank u for this incredible opportunity to write subby taehyun and now i’m drooling from multiple places. this one's been in the vault for a while hehe but omfg it needed to come to life because whew!

Poor Taehyun. You’ve been prancing around his house in little to nothing more than a flimsy pair of the cutest cotton shorts and, the worst offender, that thin, buttercup yellow tank top. It moves with the plush of your curves, looks so soft against your skin. And because you’ve spent a hundred nights like this, you’re so unaware. Sprawled out over his bed, torturously comfy in his presence.

And, god, he can tell you’re not even wearing a bra. It’s got his throat dry and palms sweaty with the effort of not popping a boner over his best friend just sitting there. He feels like a true pathetic, horny weasel of a man.

“It’s so fucking hot in here, Taehyun, seriously. Do you have the heater on eighty or something?” you say, lips pouted in such a way that his melted mind does not miss. The blush dusting your cheeks, proof of the heat, doesn’t slip by him either. He’s so far gone that truth be told, there is not one inch of you that Taehyun is not currently hyper-aware of. Especially the print of your nipples against the soft cotton of your top, belying the shape of you so cruelly that Taehyun hardly has to imagine it.

Oh, and you better believe that imagine it, he has. But seeing it in live action is different than the fuzzy edges of his imagination. Here you are, his best friend, so pretty and real in the flesh. So much better, but so much worse when it’s tangible and real in front of him. “No,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But… I can check. For you.” He remembers the tent in his pants and the pillow he’s clutched over his lap for the past twenty minutes, praying to god you don’t start asking questions. “Or you can. If you wanna.”

Well, of course you start asking questions. It’s been obvious all night, and Taehyun knows you’re just unsure of how to go about asking your guy best friend why his eyes are glued to your tits and he’s obviously covering a hard-on. It’s a stifling, new situation for the both of you. “You okay, Tyun?” Your eyes drop to the ironclad curl of his fingers into the pillow. He wonders if your skin would have the same give. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

The room does suddenly feel hot… The way you giggle the words like his struggle for the last however long is funny, as if his manhood was laughable, sends his blood boiling in his veins. Shoots his cognitive function to all hell until he really is a pathetic, stumbly mess. “It… it happens,” he says. Even the waver of his voice is mortifying. He’s not convincing anybody. “For no reason sometimes. You wouldn’t understand.” Are his lips numb, or is his face just on fire?

“Huh.” You purse your lips in a way that seems like it should be in understanding, but it feels more patronization than anything. “I guess I wouldn’t. I’ve just got these.” To Taehyun’s worst dismay, you take your tits in your palms and squeeze. Feel the weight of them. Like they were nothing more than stress balls, when they’ve been the very source of his strangulating terror. If you think you’re lightening the situation up by making jokes, you are dead wrong. His soul has already left his body. “They act on their own sometimes too, I guess, though. So.”

Fuck. He is so thoroughly fucked. Is this a joke? Is this funny to you? He can’t answer that, because bare minimum, he can’t form thoughts.

“Oh my god, Taehyun,” you laugh. You look beautiful as you witness his humiliation, and he supposes that’s the worst part. You, his pretty, popular, perfect best friend, now know exactly how much of a fumbling loser he really is. “Are you okay? Your face is white.” The moment extends excruciatingly long as you connect the dots in your head. “No fucking way—have you never seen boobs before?”

“Wha… I? Yes I have?” he says. His knuckles creak at the force with which he holds that damned pillow to his hips. For what reason? You’re already keenly aware of his shame if that sparkle in your eye says anything. “I’ve seen tits before. Jesus,” he tries again. He should just stop talking, really. For both of your sakes. “And don’t say it like that.”

The moment lingers. He debates running to the bathroom for some sort of escape. And then you drive the stake in his chest and finish the job. “On Pornhub?” you say, tilting your head in a cheeky way that suggests you’re playing with him like a cat would nudge at a mouse it pitied more than the rest. Like it wasn’t even worth digging its teeth into it. Like a charity case, you furrow your brows and take the hem of your cute little floral sleep set and hit him with, “Do you wanna see some? Real ones?” Or, rather, like you’re just performing some civic duty. Giving handouts to the poor loser who’s never seen a pair of tits. The worst part is the way his cock twitches at the prospect. He is exactly what you think he is: a hopeless virgin ogling his best friend.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Should he say no? Save himself some dignity?

Breathing a laugh, you tug your top up and over your chest. The sight sucks the air from his lungs. The yellow, rucked all the way up, frames it perfectly. He watches as your nipples tighten and how it makes you shudder, the shape of them branded into the back of his skull. “Holy shit,” he says, mouth moving faster than he can realize how embarrassing that is. “You can’t just—do that.”

For the second time, you just laugh at him. Your cheeks are dusted a delectable pink, your back arched to show them off better for him. It’s unreal. A thing only of his most depraved fantasies, and it’s playing out in blisteringly real time right in front of him. “You should see your face right now,” you say, shifting. Your skin, so plump and grabbable, moves softly with it. So does your chest. He’s not sure he’s even breathing at this point. “You’re blushing so hard. Your ears are red. It’s cute.” Circling your fingers around his wrist, you say, “You wanna touch?”

The weight of them—the soft give of your skin, how you feel more like marshmallows under his fingertips than he could’ve ever imagined, and he knows you’d taste just as sweet. It’s all got his stomach twisted right up. He abandons the pillow to roll his thumbs over the buds of your nipples, big brown eyes framed by his glasses darting up to check how you feel about it. He feels the seam where the swell meets your torso, dusts the pads of his fingers over your skin in such a way that makes your breath hitch and your chest jump. Explores with trembling need, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

“They’re… pretty,” he manages. He’s had a taste now, and perhaps this version of you, skin so malleable and bed-warmed, will consume him. Will you laugh in his face if he says he wants all this and more? Always? Maybe he’s a dog on a leash, but those soft, exploring eyes of yours don’t say that. Maybe this is as fresh and nerve-wracking for you as it is him.

It’s such a captivating, soft scene, the two of them. Tentative, crossing boundaries with thundering hearts, the familiarity of the same bedroom they’d spent so many other casual nights like this together in. But tonight was so different.

“Yeah?” you say, eyes searching his own. “You’re so…” Feeling up your own chest as if to reaffirm his words to yourself, you shift. “Do you wanna fuck them?” Your voice is like sugary whipped cream in his ears. “You can.”

Well, if he wasn’t breathing before, he certainly isn’t now. He blinks. Reels. That’s… fuck, that’s different. That can’t just be explained away as some horny exploration between two close best friends. That’s his fucking dream. Mouth drying up, his heart stutters in his chest. “Can… well, I…”

Next thing he knows, he’s discovering just how giving your body is, with his length nestled snug between the valley of your breasts. Your skin is so, so warm and welcoming, your body committing to the shape of him and keeping him there just right, and you’re staring up at him with wide, smoldering eyes and curiosity that banks on him using you like this. The sight is borderline too erotic with your hair splayed over his pillows and you laid so prettily beneath him.

“Go ahead,” you encourage. Your cheeks are the color of the plumpest strawberries. “Use them. I know you want to, Taehyun. It’s okay. You’re so sweet, I know you deserve it. You’re the best friend, make yourself feel good.”

You don’t have to ask Taehyun twice. He’s slow and unsure at first, but then his tip starts kissing your lips and he’s seeing fuzzy stars. Bracing himself, he cants his hips until he’s dropping his head down with sluggish whimpers and the valley has gone sticky and slick. He slips right through now. Brown strands of damp hair fall in his eyes, pupils blown wide with the deep thrill that starts in his belly and twists up his spine. “Heeh—fuck, oh fuck,” he says through his teeth, pushing his glasses back up his nose bridge. “Gotta—on your face? Can I… cum on your face?”

“Uh-huh,” you preen, your own eyes glazed over. For a moment, a beautiful, lingering moment, he is positive that you’re just as destroyed by this as he is. That you’re not dragging him along like a thing to pity, but rather that you’re taking as much pleasure in watching him fall apart over your body as he is getting to touch it. “Don’t stop, please, Tyun. Feels so good you’re losing your mind, huh? Do you want them to be yours?”

Taehyun’s lost his mind. “Yes,” he says, choked and tight. He’s losing rhythm. “Yes, I want to… shit, I wanna… Have them…” Unable to complete a full thought, he opts for something simple and to the point. “Love you so much. Love your tits. Can I h…have you?”

You don’t get to answer him that, because he locks up and paints your face with soft white ropes abruptly as if he’d been holding it back. And truthfully, he had. He was on the cusp a few measly moments after feeling you pressed around him, but he couldn’t handle the look on your face if he had came so quickly.

Anyway, he didn’t want the moment to come and go so quickly. But now it’s gone, inevitably, and he’s staring down at his longtime crush painted in him and looking prettier than ever. He prepares himself for the awkward snap back into reality, but you don’t recoil once it comes seeping back in at the corners.

Sitting up, you brush some unruly hair from your face and wrinkle your nose with a melodic laugh. “You’re getting this off my face, Taehyun. If I break out, you’re buying me three straight weeks of coffee.”

That’s all it takes for Taehyun to know that while he may be a loser and you may be so far out of his league that it’s unfathomable that you even grace him with your attention, things may have changed today, but so much will remain the same. That’s all it takes for him to loose a shaky laugh, still basking in the throes, and shoot back a familiar, “You know I’ll buy you some, anyway.”

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles , @lunesdesire , @yystarz

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[81pastrys]

Unplanned

Part 2 / 5

Summary— They find out how big of a mess they made and discuss their options moving forward— at their parents expense.

Warnings— pregnancy mentioned ; depression ; talks of arranged marriage

A/N— I’m moving fast with this IK but I plan the last one or two chapters to be how it all worked out and their happy lil family.

Series List

Main Masterlist

The weeks following were back to her normal schedule— studying, reading, classes. Her friends hounded her to spill on what happened but she was tight lipped about it. She had forgotten about protection and by the time she realized she could take a Plan B it was too late. All she could do was wait.

Carlos was losing his mind. He texted to check in a few times and got left on read multiple times. He had only told Max what happened that night, scared it’ll come for his racing. Everything was consensual except the unprotected part— but neither of them had thought that far into it. Stupid fucking teenagers is what they were.

It was now time for her to own up to the mistake and take a test. She researched how long it would take to even show up and a few weeks was enough. So, she splurged buying a few good tests. Her friends hadn’t heard from her for days after. Not knowing why nor what she had done.

Carlos sat in shock. Saturday after Qualifying he got a text. Not just any text, no, a text from her. A picture to be exact. It was a Live Photo, her hand shaking for the split second it played. Two lines on one test and ‘pregnant’ on the other sitting in the background.

The silence fell loudly. Carlos shut everyone out, she ignored any calls or texts. She even missed a day of classes. That’s when her friends decided it was enough and seriously worried about her. “If you don’t open this fucking door I’m calling the fire department!” Mia, her best friend, sobbed at her door.

She got up from her bed and unlocked the door, not even bothering to open it for Mia. If the hoodie and sweats told her anything— this wasn’t good. At all. Even if she was sick they’d get a text or an answer. She wouldn’t even miss classes if she was sick. This was bad.

“Oh my god.” Mia knew immediately. Her red face, the hoodie pulled over her unwashed hair, the loose sweatpants and the untidied room was enough for Mia to know something was severely wrong. “What the fuck happened in Monaco?”

She started sobbing again and fell into her Mia’s arms. “I fucked up.” She choked out. After a while of sobbing and more sulking she told Mia everything. That it was all consensual until the end. “I didn’t- we never talked about protection- I mean it was a hook up- but I’m screwed now.” She sobbed less now but tears were still streaming.

“Did you- are you okay?” The question hung heavy. She didn’t say anything but went to the bathroom and returned with a plethora of positive pregnancy tests. She thought Mia’s eyes were going pop out of her head. “No.” She shook her head. “No! This can’t- what?”

The initial shock was enough of an excuse for her absence and her friends let it be. She missed another day of classes but pulled herself up for the next day. She still looked worn and upset but she couldn’t miss another day.

No one questioned her and she trusted they didn’t know why. It was almost summer, and he seemed to be interested in talking it out and not just leaving her. It would work out— she thinks.

Carlos was in the same boat— well nearly. He told Max. That was it. He told Max to keep it quiet, not to tell anybody until he was able to talk with her. They were only texting and he wanted to talk with her in person about this. After Spain he was planning on flying to her.

“What are your parents going to say?” Max asked. Carlos confided in the younger kid since they were around each other most of the time. Max was as shocked as Carlos, as if it was his instead of Carlos’.

“Dios Mio, to get married?” Carlos guessed. “They are against whatever you call this in English.” He added. They wouldn’t take it lightly is basically his point.

“Is that what you want? To get married this young?” Max asked. Carlos shook his head slowly, his gaze locking in on Max’s eyes. “Well you definitely need to talk with her if you want to be involved.”

“I plan to, but if my parents want us to marry and she doesn’t want that then I can’t be involved.” Carlos mentioned. “Ay, I need to plan this out.” Plan he did.

Carlos flew out to the UK right after the race and before the next in three weeks time. They met in a semi-public but disclosed place as to not attract paparazzi or fans. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with that.

She didn’t look the same— not that he had seen her outside of the club or pajamas but she just looked different. It was awkward at first, they ordered fancy teas and made small talk. “I can’t tell my parents, they’re too strict and I just- they’re gonna hate me.” She said, her voice cracking as she did so. “I’d hate to put you in that position.”

He was confused, what position? “I understand that but what are our options?” He asked. He wanted to make it clear it was her decision on anything. They both didn’t mean for this to happen.

She sighed heavily and looked at him hesitantly. “My parents would want us married as soon as humanly possible, I don’t want to terminate the pregnancy- that’s not, that’s not what I want at all.” She admitted. “I can’t do this alone though, so if you don’t want-“

He placed a hand over hers and gave her a soft smile. “I won’t let you do it alone, that’s not who I am.” He said. “If you want me involved I will gladly be there.” She sighed a breath of relief for now. “My parents will say the same, marriage before kids and toda.” (Everything).

“There’s always adoption, but if we can work something out I’d like to keep the baby and raise them with you.” She said quietly, shy even. “This was not how I expected my summer to go.” She sighed.

“Ay dios Mio, me either.” He sighed. “We can work something out, I don’t plan on leaving you alone with a baby to raise.” He assured her.

They agreed on telling their parents and being there for each other as the texts— well paragraphs explaining everything— sent. Phone calls ringing simultaneously nearly a minute later as they shared a glance. As they expected their parents requested marriage immediately. Accepting to an extent considering the situation.

Part 3 will be longer I promise, I promise

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @justaf1girl @pandabiiissh @widow-cevans @itznotsophia @angstynasty @kallanfiona

[carryberry]

robert reynolds x gn!reader

(cw: smut, feminization, reader calls bob "girl", dom!reader, bob being a brat (kinda), bob is wearing feminine clothing)

inspired by this post from @undyingdecay

He looked good in it. You knew he would.

The satin gown you made him wear, baby pink, short and cute, was clinging to his hips with every small movement. His pecs were half-covered, nipples hard through satin and sheer. Your thumb grazed one of them, which made him whine quite loud and thrust his hips involuntarily in your lazy hold.

His thrust unraveled a sight you were eagerly waiting for, there, in his satin covered stomach, the shape of his cock was visible; but now, the tip of it was dark and wet with his precum, fabric clinging around and making your mouth water at the sight. The wet patch was growing darker every second, Bob's breathing getting heavier with it too. You couldn't stop yourself from giving Bob a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Bobby, look at what we have here..." Giving up your teasing on his nipple, you took back your hand and held his jaw, encouraged him to look down. His blue eyes followed obediently, wet with tears waiting to spill, lips pink from biting. When you were sure he was looking, with one hand you caressed his bare, milky thigh, made him shiver and whine more, and with your other hand, you lightly put your index finger on the wet patch and felt the tip of his cock under it. It made him twitch. "Fuck."

"What a dirty mouth you have on a girl like you, baby."

He bit his bottom lip once more, eyes looking up at you for a moment, hesitating, then went down to your finger again, zeroing on it. You traced and teased the tip of his cock through the shiny pink fabric, putting near to none pressure. He was leaking more and more. Bob always got overstimulated easily, getting hard at the slightest touch, leaking from just the praise. "You are so wet, baby. I didn't even touch you properly. Such a pretty, eager girl."

You lowered your finger along his length, fabric sticking to his shaft from the wetness. He shook his head around, his brown curls bouncing with the force of it, his face shiny with sweat. "Don't... Don't say things like that." he mumbled, voice rough and shaky.

His words made you pout, but you continued to trail your finger along his length, then lowered your eyes and made a fake, heartbroken face. "Why not, honey? You are my good girl, aren't you? You even wore this sweet thing for me." You pointed at the shiny, pink dress. His stomach clenched under your gaze. You tilted your head, and put your palm on his length now, putting pressure on his tip, making him twitch. "Stop teasing me. Please... please."

Pouting again, you removed your palm from his weeping cock quickly. "But you didn't answer my question, Bobby. Maybe you are not really my good girl... Hmm." His eyes started to glaze over with tears, mouth opening around something he couldn't get out.

You took hold of his jaw, putting some force on it, tilting his head slightly. He looked up at you, wrecked, a tear spilling from the corner of his eye. "Only good girls deserve to be played nicely, baby. You are not being nice." He choked out a sob, it made your stomach drop, but you continued on. "...I was thinking about putting my mouth on you, but tonight is not it, I guess."

His hands shot up to your shoulders immediately. "No! No... Please. I can be good. Fuck. I will be good for you, love. Please, please..." He was whispering now, his hands shaking around your shoulders, eyes frantic, searching your face.

"Then say it, baby. I need to hear it. Tell me you are mine. Tell me you are a good girl for me." You leaned kissed the corner of his mouth, putting your hand on his stomach next to his cock, feeling his superhuman heat, needing it.

He was shaking more now, but despite his faltering hands, he wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you closer to him. You felt his cock under your stomach, wet and needy. Bob inhaled loudly, which ended on a whiny moan, a wet sound. He put his lips next to your ear, whole body tensing up, arms still shaking, "I am yours." He inhaled, grounding himself. "I am... I am your good girl, always wanna be good f'you."

A moan escaped, this time from your own lips, and you got up on your elbows to look at Bob, look at him properly. He couldn't meet your gaze, eyes closing, cheeks pink, pink all over, breating heavily. "That's it baby. Always good for me."

You leaned in and kissed his neck, his collarbone, grazed your teeth on his pec. Leaning lower, you put your hand on his hip, grounding yourself, and hovered your lips over the wet patch on his stomach, eyes shooting up to met his gaze. It made him whine again. "Come on, love."

You smiled and mouthed on his cock through the sinful fabric, his taste hitting your tongue. Bob bit back a moan and grabbed your hair. You placed a kiss on the wetness, feeling your own heat searing through you.

"Now, be a sweetheart and keep making those voices for me, yeah?"