#social media is so scary to post on so here i am posting after so many months of sharing stuff to only my family and friends lol

[jossudoo]

Idiaaa :]

I wanted to explore some colors digitally with this one with a more traditional technique. Still trying to find a style I like the most. Attempt 1056 of that xd This took about 2 hours, made on procreate!

[buckymorelikefuckme]

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[bellewintersroe]

Carlos Sainz x Celebrity OC… Part 3

Part 3!! Here’s the link for part 2. Woop, woop, we’re back and this chapter continues on from the first chapter, the last chapter was just a recollection of Carlos and Jenna’s first interaction. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy! This is just a cute filler chapter, the next one will be spicyyyy 🌶️ Jenna’s first day at the Emilia Romagna GP goes down a treat with both celebrities and the general public. Twitter and TikTok are popping off about her being there, and some fans even notice the semi-strange interaction between her and a particular driver.

There was no partying for me tonight. I was exhausted and dipped after two hours, feeling the urge to unwind by myself in the luxurious hotel room Sky had paid for me to be in. It had never felt better to be in bed, my eyes closing for a few moments as I mentally recapped my day. It was a whirlwind from start to end and I was overwhelmingly excited to do it all again in Portugal. I knew my team were extremely happy with what I’d done, and I was popular amongst the drivers and many teams I’d spent the whole day talking to, but there was one group of people I was particularly interested in. The general public.

My heart would always skip a beat whenever I searched myself on Twitter. It was a scary place, and I always expected it to be a lot worse than what it ever was, so I found myself scared to read through the countless tweets about me. Some of the top were update pages, posting pictures of me with supportive comments, before I scrolled down, relieved at the lack of hateful comments. Jenna Ashley looking BEAUTIFUL on the grid today wearing Gucci! Dress and shoes are tagged below. Miss Ashley proves to be a complete hit with all the F1 Drivers.

You can’t tell me Pierre wasn’t staring at Jenna Ashley’s tits that whole interview 🫤🫤🫤🫤

Jenna Ashley for Playboy 2019

Anybody notice the tension between Carlos Sainz and Jenna Ashley?!? I can’t be the only one that saw his reaction

My eyes furrowed, clicking on the tweet that had been liked thousands of times. I was intrigued, looking back at the pictures of us both in the interview.

Omg she’s blushing

Carlos has deffo pulled our girl nah I think her and Max are a thing, did you see how friendly they were?

Carlos looks in LOVE and ohmygodddd same Carlos I’d be just as nervous around her He’s so nervous around her omfgggg

I clicked my phone shut, staring back to a blank screen with brows raised. Was it that obvious? I mean there always was going to be speculation, I’d been trained for that, but how do you react when speculation ends up being true? That sent me on a whole spiral, going onto Carlos’s Instagram and noticing the option to ‘follow back’. “Oh my god.” I dramatically sat up, clicking the icon to follow him back. He most likely didn’t even run his social media accounts, but I sure as hell was acting like he did.

I was guilty of doing a small stalk, well, not so small. He’d been single (from what the internet said) since 2019, two years ago now, and from what I had seen was super unproblematic. Of course, I recognised who his dad was, but his whole family looked like they came from old money. They looked rich, all beautiful and dressed up. Most of all, Carlos’ instagram was beautiful. The man looked like a model, or even a Greek god, sculpted by the gods. That evening he ignited a fire inside of me, leading to me a never ending path of pure lust and obsession for the Spanish driver.

*******

“Hello and welcome to Monaco!!” A woman greeted as I stepped off the plane. “Thank you!” I exclaimed, mouth dropping at the beauty of the small country I’d landed in. It was my first time in Monaco, and I already guaranteed it wouldn’t be my last.

“My name is Amanda, I am a chaperone here with Sky, I will be showing you to your apartment.” “Oh, amazing! Thank you.” I nodded, holding my hair down due to the blustering of the plane jets that were slowing down gradually. I was here to run through some interviews with a couple of the drivers, showing some behind the scenes footage of the race tracks and practice. I was just as intrigued as everybody else, I had so many questions I wanted to ask, and so many places I wanted to venture into.

“Are you ready for your meal tonight, yes?” She asked as I looked at her, smile still lifted on my face. “Meal? Are we- are we going out?!”

“Yes. To Le Louis XV-Alain Ducasse à l'Hôtel de Paris…”

It was safe to say the resteraunt really lived up to his name. I felt out of place as I was guided through the overwhelmingly large hallways, decorated with the most beautiful, expensive paintings and designs known to man. They even had their own Lobster pool, c’mon. This felt too fancy for me, and I made several panicked Tik Tok’s in the process of wondering around.

I alongside the other Sky reporters, had been invited for a meal with some of the other reporters, team principles, CEO’s, men with big amounts of money- and most interesting of all, drivers. I couldn’t lie, I had no idea why I was here, it felt like I’d stumbled in during a Royal family having their Christmas dinner, everybody was sat straight up, borderline like statues as I nervously rubbed my clammy palms along the fabric of my sleek black dress. No wonder they’d dressed me up so classy.

Everybody’s accents were fancy, and not to forget their names. Oh god, there was so many names and faces to go around, I was so overwhelmed by it all that I drunk my champagne a little too quickly. Once we were seated, I almost choked on my drink seeing who I was sat across from.

Carlos Sainz Jr.

The whole 50 or so people that filled this room and I was seated across from a man I’d slept with only weeks prior?! My eyes were focused on his name card on the table before I actually realised he was looking at me. His eyes roamed up my front, lingering over my face, mid sentence as he seemed to pause from pure surprise. Poor guy probably felt awkward.

“Hello.” I cleared my throat, gaining several other greetings in response. Carlos smiled and nodded towards me, taking his glass of Estrella and smiling down to it. He was dressed very smart, like all the other men here, his hair was tidied and he was cleanly shaved, playing his role here perfectly. “I’m glad you’re sat next to me.” Anise whispered as I nodded, relieved to have the comfort of my friend nearby. “Thank god. I’m scared I’m going to spill something.” “I’m scared I’m going to sneeze!” She dramatically whispered as we both giggled, earning a few glances from the posh looking men around us, including Carlos. I felt intimidated under his stare, I was fidgeting and biting down on my lip, chewing the inside of it nervously. I’d felt embarrassed whenever my eye caught his, the way he made my heart race was humiliating. Worst of all, my mind easily wandered to places it shouldn’t have. His fingers that tapped quietly on the table were the same ones that had brought my to orgasm, the same ones that had been in my mouth, running over my breasts… I was getting distracted from the conversation I initiated with Anise and another young woman sat across from us. Next to Carlos. She was very pretty. “I am from Spain.” She smiled. “Ah no way, hablo un poco de español!” (I speak a little Spanish). “Ah!” She excitedly spoke, grabbing Carlos’s arm, my eyebrow twitched slightly. “¡¿Vives ahí?!” (Do you live there?!” “No, no, soy de Inglaterra. Mis abuelos eran españoles.” (No, no I am from England. My grandparents were Spanish). I glanced back to Carlos who was now listening, eyes lingering over my face. “Uh-“ I stammered, losing my Spanish as I looked back to the girl besides him. “They taught us.” I then added as the young woman smiled. “You are Jenna? Yes?” She smiled, offering her hand over the table. I reached forwards, wobbling my empty wine glass as I shook her hand gently. “Yeah.”

“Nice to meet you, I am Blanca. You have met my brother, Carlos?” Oh. Oh!! My eyes landed on the dark featured man who was smiling back to me, shame on me for ever thinking his sister was anything other than that.

“Ah, yeah, we met in Italy.” My hand tan over the back of my bare shoulder nervously. I heard Anise let out a soft laugh, kicking me from under the table. Way to make it obvious! “Carlos told me-“ Blanca began, a low smirk stretching as Carlos’ mouth opened to cut her off, but the waiters began heading through the doors, endless trays of foot plated up for us. I glanced back to the brother and sister, watching him mutter something to her before the dishes were set in front of us, trays covering the food below. I was starving, border lining ravenous.

“Thank you.” I told the waiter, watching him pull the tray off my food. The disappointment must have been obvious because I heard a slight grunt of laughter from across from me. Carlos had noticed and pursed his lips, I shared a moment of eye contact, only breaking it when I felt an amused grin attempting to reveal itself on my face. Don’t get me wrong, the foot made my taste buds literally orgasm, but there was such a tiny amount, so was the next plate, and then the next one, and then the fourth and final plate which left me rather confused. Everybody was using a different knife and fork, digging into their small chocolate contraption as I realised I didn’t have the right fork and spoon people were using.

Anise was occupied, delving into the food, so was Blanca. My panic was only resolved when Carlos held out his clean fork for me. “Ah.” I gently spoke seeing him let out a small breath of laughter causing a few people to glance over in confusion. People were so snooty, it was scary.

“Thank you.” I whispered, offering him a flirtatious smile for the first time since we’d seen one another in the bar. Carlos nodded, swallowing harshly as my fingers grazed over his, taking the fork to eat my two bite desert with.

At the end of it, there was a few speeches, in many different languages. All I could think about was how hungry I was. The food was 10/10 but the portion sizes were crazy small and it was more like eating four appetisers. After, I stood outside, waiting for a car, borderline desperate to get out of there. Somebody cleared their throat behind me, so when I turned, I was startled to see it was Carlos, lingering around. “Where are you going?” He asked as my lips tugged up, hand resting against my chest. “Um… McDonald’s.” I quietly admitted seeing his eyebrows perk, an amused laugh escaped his lips, catching me off guard.

“I’m really hungry.” I then spoke. “Oh, that is a good idea.” He sighed after a bout of laughter, I nervously laughed, tucking my hair behind my ear as I watched over the Spanish man. “Can I come?” Carlos asked, glancing back to me as I cocked my head to the side.

“Yeah. You like Mconalds?” I for some reason found it super amusing, watching him strip his tie off with a satisfied groan, one that sounded very familiar to-

“Who doesn’t?” “Maybe the people we just ate with.” I shyly joked hearing him snigger again. “No me sorprendería.” (It would not surprise me). He added on unbuttoning his top button. His blazer was slung on his arm, his movement causing the scent of his cologne to float in my direction. I felt weak in the knees.

“You never told me you were- ah what’s the word, reporting on the grids?” He then spoke as I smiled again, back in his direction. “You never asked.” I quietly spoke, hoping my comment came off more flirtatious.

“Estaba un poco ... distraído.” (I was a little… distracted). I only seemed to blush harder at his words, pursing my lips. “Miss, miss, excuse me miss!” A man called out, hurrying from the inside, just as my car began pulling up. “You forgot this.” He panted, handing me over a piece of paper. “Oh-“ I didn’t have time to respond before he scurried off back inside.

I could feel Carlos’ eyes lingering over me, so I frowned, opening it up.

tu español es impresionante llámame

(Your Spanish is impressive… call me).

I gasped in amusement, reading the number scattered on the paper below, the driver pulling up as Carlos opened the door for me. “Thank you.” I giggled, still a little amused from the note I’d just received, but it was fair to say my eyes were only on the man who climbed into the seat next to me. “You left a paper?” He pointed, a little confused.

“It’s somebody’s number.” I awkwardly laughed, handing it over. He furrowed his brows reading over the small piece of paper. He let out a soft laugh, handing it back to me with a hand sliding over the back of his hair.

“Ahora me siento bajo presión... ¿puedo darte el mío antes de que tomes este?“ (Now I feel under pressure… can I give you mine before you take this one?) I sat up straighter, a large grin beaming on my face as he looked away, clearly nervous as he awaited my answer. I would never have imagined a man like him to be shy.

“Sí. Yes.” I giggled, pulling out my phone, forgetting all about the paper number that I’d accidentally dropped onto the seat besides me. “Yes?” Carlos repeated as I nodded, seeing him attempting to bite back a smile whilst pulling out his phone from his back pocket. “Perfect.”

[cleolinda]

In which we try to do something with the Patreon

I'm gonna try something tomorrow: the first of the month is when the Patreon billing cycle starts, so on Sunday (October 1st), I'll open a $5 level. (Right now I just have a $1 level with tumbleweed rolling by as a tip jar sort of thing.) There, you'll be able to see Effort Posts, you know, the essay-length things about vampires or perfume or music, or anything else that strikes me, early. At least 24 hours early, in a handy PDF file, and also, I can see if people like the piece before I post it here on Tumblr. Some personal pieces may stay Patreon-only, depending on the topic (do I want Tumblr at large commenting on my genealogical research? Probably not!), so there's also that. Similar things I've already posted are the Varney recaps, Donna Summer and Disco Demolition Night, Sparking Joy (Jean Patou, 1930), or my retelling of Tiny Moist Hand, so that's the kind of thing you'd see early.

That up there, in screenshot preview format, is a two-part (true) story called "I Grew Up in a Haunted House and I Didn't Notice"; it's about 5300 words all told. (Question: would you rather have the pdf in the larger font size, which I found easier to read on mobile, or the standard 12 pt, both shown above?)

After a day or so, I'll put the story here as two normal tumblr posts. So you will be able to see them here, but if you want to know how tf I could have been haunted and not known it and then my sister said I had it all wrong anyway, you can see it tomorrow on Patreon Dot Com Slash Cleolinda.

What I would also like to do is start posting weekend links as free/public posts on Sundays--kind of like a newsletter you can get whether you chip anything in or not. I'm more concerned with people knowing where I am while all these social media platforms crumble into the sea, honestly. I'll also archive some older posts as PDFs as well, although that might take a minute, so there'll be a back catalogue to browse.

As we go along, I'd like to see if I can either record some readings or just do short (under five minutes) voice posts, but I would also want to type up transcripts for those, so I need to get a feel for how much time that takes. I miss doing podcasts, although I deeply need to get a new headset. And some Throat Coat. I'm already looking over the two short Halloween stories from Livejournal that people mentioned, the ones I read aloud years ago; I'll repost those as we get further into October, and I have some posts about scary movies in the works. And you'd get those delivered to your inbox rather than them be solely awash on the waves of Tumblr.

Anyway, I'll reblog this tomorrow once the $5 level goes live, but I thought I'd get some feedback a bit in advance.

[barmadumet]

You’ve seen all the Star Wars decor all over the house, but THIS is my private little sanctuary in my bedroom closet that’s just mine ❤️

I reworked the space during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays to make room for my treasures from the cons I attended to meet Hayden & Ewan 🖤🤍

Friends, I’ve been thinking about logging off tumblr for good lately. Social media exploded when I started college at the end of 2005, and I stayed away from ALL platforms until joining tumblr in 2020, and even after that, it took me several months to start posting and interacting. My main concern was my self-esteem - my mental health. I have always struggled with not feeling good enough and comparing myself to others. I made the decision to give this a try when I was in a good headspace - when I felt mature enough and strong enough to fight those negative feelings. It hasn’t always been easy these last few years, but it’s been so very rewarding. The good always outweighed the bad.

But lately, I’m not sure I can say that any longer. I feel like I am straddling a fine line. It surprises me how much things I see here can affect my mood and feelings of self-worth. Thanks to past (somewhat recent) trauma, I wrestle more than ever with this voice inside my head that says, “You don’t matter.” And usually, I can find ways to justify that being a false statement… Right now, I can’t find any reason not to believe it. For the moment, I do believe it. I feel if I vanished, it wouldn’t make a difference.

The friends I’ve made here are honestly what is carrying me through. And I can exit this space and keep those relationships, but then I wonder what I might miss out on. What about the new friends I’ve yet to meet? What about those people that I really don’t have side conversations with but always make me smile when I see their names in my posts’ notes? What about all the art that is yet to be created that I wouldn’t get to see? What about all the comms I wouldn’t get to share with you? How would I even know when comms are open??

My decision isn’t made. I’m going to try to hang in there and focus on all the positives. I’m feeling fragile, but typically, opening up helps me to better sort things out. So, here’s what’s in my head, and here’s what’s in my bedroom closet lol. I invite you in - because that’s the scary and vulnerable thing to do - the thing that’ll make or break a situation.

I want you to know that I care deeply for each and every one of you - maybe too much - and maybe that’s part of the problem. Not everyone will care in return, but that’s my issue. That’s something I need to learn to be okay with. I thought I had toughened up in my old age, but I suppose the tenderheartedness will always be a part of who I am, waiting to flood my emotions in weak moments. The people that are reading this give me the will to be strong ❤️

[frankfontainecalloutpost]

Shabbat shalom, here is my rabbi's thought of the week destined to every Jewish student out there suffering from the increased antisemitism in campus.

A Letter to Jewish Students at Universities and Colleges

16 February 2024

Dear Students,

I don’t know if this letter will reach you. Maybe your parents or grandparents will send it on to you, or someone will post it on social media. You might glance at it briefly and see that it is expressly addressed to you, wherever you happen to be. A letter long overdue, but necessary at a time of unprecedented and painful polarisation and turbulence on campus at universities and colleges.

I have spoken to some of you face to face or on Zoom over the past few months since October 7. I know that this is a desperately harrowing and bewildering time, and many of you are searching for companionship and someone to talk to, not only about what is happening in this war between Israel and Hamas, but what is taking place here in the UK – this terrific spike in thoughtless, ignorant and hurtful anti-Jewish incidents and words.

I don’t know how affected you are by the reverberations of the conflict in the Middle East. Your focus may be on your studies, on the daily assignments that must be in by certain deadlines. You may have your own personal preoccupations with family or relationships, with other worldly concerns such as what we are doing to the environment, or the growing gap between rich and poor.

But I am deeply struck by the reports I have heard and read about concerning what is happening at universities – in the lecture theatre, on campus and on social media, in particular.

What does it feel like for someone Jewish to walk past a group of demonstrators holding banners with the words ‘Zionists off our campus’ or ’Stop the Genocide against Palestine’? How do you react when you hear the words of protesters shouting, ‘From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free’? How does it feel when close friends suddenly start to question your loyalties and to blame you for the war in Gaza? How do you respond to the accusation that the bombing of Gaza is the expression of Western imperialism by Jews?

Perhaps you are keeping a low profile, tucking your Magen David underneath your clothes, refusing to share with fellow students or friends your Jewish identity. You may be nervous about ‘coming out’ as Jewish with the huge increase of anti-Jewish incidents on campus and on the streets. And this is understandable – it may be too scary to confront the slogans carried and proclaimed by protesters week after week through city centres.

I wonder if you are someone who wants to – or needs to – speak to friends and fellow students about family or friends in Israel and the terrible trauma of October 7? And why shouldn’t you? A first-year student at [...], a member of the [this shul], said that she was labelled a ‘brainwashed Zionist’ by fellow classmates after she had spoken about friends who had narrowly escaped from the music festival in Israel. The language used against her on social media was so full of hatred that it drove her out of her classes.

Such conduct is unspeakable, as are the death and rape threats against the Jewish chaplain and his wife in [city] who have been forced to go into hiding with their two very young children.

Where is civility? Where is kindness? Where is understanding and intelligent listening and conversation? Where is humility and empathy?

It is a long time since I was at university. Being Jewish wasn’t always comfortable. Students who had never encountered a Jewish person brought their curiosity, but also their prejudices about Judaism, about Jewish history and identity. Few people spoke about the Shoah thirty years after the liberation of Auschwitz. Few books had been published, compared with the plethora on the subject today. There were none of the scores of films and documentaries that emerged in the late nineties and in the years that followed. History stopped with the Russian Revolution.

We have learnt so much more and know so much more. So why are we still so ignorant about each other? Why can’t we learn from history?

We don’t have the answers to the intractable conflict in the Middle East. But we do know that the only way forward is for Israelis and Palestinians to be helped towards a peaceful solution – through political and not military means. We can model that conversation with those out in the streets or on campus by helping them learn something about what it means to be Jewish in today’s world. It takes courage, but done gently and patiently, we can engage in those challenging relationships.

I wish you success in your studies and strength as we navigate this difficult time together.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi [...]

[netherworldpost]

@thatdarnyeti /

The current (emphasis: current, I'm still chomping numbers and capability) plan is there are going to be 3 monthly zines.

Each zine is 1 sheet of paper folded in half, to make a tiny booklet.

Monsters / the Netherworld / fun stories or poems etc

Real world post office letter mail inspiration stuff

Real world Halloween (spooky, not scary, in line with everything else we do) essay

Each zine is $1 each + postage (in the USA, about $0.70). You're only charged once for postage, so your total will be $1.70 or $2.70 or $3.70 depending on if you subscribe to one, two, or three zines.

Each zine is going to be about a blog-post in length... because a few months after they mail out (probably 3 or 4 months), they become blog posts.

At that point, the PDF of that zine will be "pay if you want" to download, or you can buy a copy in the shop as a normal product, for $1 (then we'll fire up the printing presses and mail it to you).

The advantage of us printing and mailing -- we use commercial printing presses that have really great colors. The advantage of "pay if you want" is you can get it immediately and (if you want) free.

On social media, for the last few years, I've balanced

"here is monster stuff in a fun dimension, sometimes there is smooching"

"here is a love letter to the postal system, yes, a love letter... to.. the postal... system"

"Here is fanfic about Scooby-Doo, or a very specific Halloween commercial from the 1980s, or a love letter to Dunkin' Donuts Halloween donuts"

By splitting the zine into three options, people can focus on "I like THIS part of your work, but am less interested in THAT part of your work."

I want to serve people exactly what they are most interested in. I love making all three lines of stuff pretty much equally, and having 3 focuses to bounce between keeps me in a great flow state.

It works out great.

I am extremely pro-social media, it has given me an inordinate amount of advantages and benefits for many years.

And.

I'm in the classic business scenario of "what got you to where you are won't get you to where you want to go."

The above zine project is explicitly designed around "Hey. Like our stuff? Here is a physical copy priced as affordably as possible. You're getting a blog post / social media post, but in the mail. Enjoy!"

Each zine is going to be wildly experimental.

I look at them as a box.

"I have 1 sheet of paper, folded in half, so a booklet of 4 pages. What can I do this month with it?"

FOR THE MONSTER ZINE, I'm thinking "Okay. One month it is a love story (obviously). The next month it is a series of sketches of slime candy. The next month it is a day-in-the-life of a dragon."

FOR THE MAILING ZINE, one month it is going to be "You should write a postcard to your favorite independent restaurant and tell them exactly how you feel about them. You should share why you order what you order and how happy it makes you. Maybe you went there on a date and it went great, maybe you went there after a really hard day and their food made it a little bit better."

FOR THE REAL WORLD SPOOKY ZINE, I'll do a deep dive into my fan theories about magic in Hocus Pocus.

In the 80s and 90s there were tons of super cheap magazines and comics that were constantly shifting and experimenting and I love that.

It's the energy I'm bringing back.

I've spent too many words on this really simple response, I'm sorry, I'm full of words today.

There will be a giant post on the blog "this is how I'm doing it because I have access to commercial printers, if you do too, here is what i recommend. If you don't, check out how to print it at an office supply store, here are details. If you don't want to do that, here is what you can do at home with a cheap desktop printer."

Wow I am WAY over my word budget (laugh)

thank you sorry getting back to work

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Batya Ungar-Sargon

Published: Nov 8, 2023

About a week after the October 7 massacre, I passed a large group of people in an airport who were waiting to check in for a flight to Cairo. One of the women ostentatiously clocked the Jewish star I wear around my neck and started whispering with her compatriots. As I walked by, she shouted at me, “Palestine will be free!” 

I chuckled as I walked to my gate, thinking, Not if Egypt has anything to say about it.

Before October 7, I would have considered this whole scene to be wildly offensive. A stranger shouting an anti-Israel slogan at me, holding me responsible for the actions of the Israeli government simply because I am a Jew. 

But in the post–October 7 world, I had a different reaction: let her scream. 

It’s uncomfortable to be barked at by strangers. It’s not pleasant to find out that your classmates will not condemn the murder of your people, or to hear thousands of them gleefully chanting the slogans of a genocidal death cult committed to your erasure from this planet. It’s unsettling to know that your peers have adopted a worldview that allows them to convince themselves that you are the bad guy, you are the privileged monster who wants babies to burn—even as they justify and celebrate the burning of Jewish babies.

It is scary to realize that the same administration that “protects” your fellow students from every perceived slight and insult will side with them against you as they literally call for your annihilation. It can be deeply isolating to open social media and see post after post calling your people the perpetrators of the exact forms of murderous violence that was done to them not three weeks earlier. And it is maddening to watch those who hate us and wish violence upon us fashion themselves as victims—even as heroes.

But that feeling you get when you are facing those things down, that quickening of your heart rate, the flush on your face, the chill down the spine—these unpleasant sensations are what courage feels like. They are the physical symptoms of a moral compass that works, the manifestations of pride in who you are, of the fact that despite millennia of calls for our murder, we’re still here. You’re still here.

Treasure those feelings. Do not cower. Do not tremble.

I’m not suggesting you put yourself in actual danger. The assaults on Jewish students at Harvard and UMass are crimes and should be prosecuted as such. On Sunday, 69-year-old Paul Kessler dared wave an Israeli flag on a Thousand Oaks street corner and died after being assaulted. His murderer should spend his life behind bars.

But the worst thing that could come out of this moment would be for Jews, especially Jews on campus, to embrace the victimhood narrative that their peers subscribe to—and that universities large and small have reified in sprawling DEI bureaucracies. That worldview is a large part of what has brought us to this moment.

So do not cast your lot as a competitor in the oppression Olympics. Instead, reject that entire way of looking at the world.

Here’s the thing: it’s good to be unpopular with a mob whose worldview has done away with the concept of right and wrong and decided, with a Nazi-like commitment to racial ideology, that you are Jewish and therefore you are white and therefore you are bad. It is good to be unpopular with people who spent the weeks after October 7 on the hunt for Jewish exaggeration, Jewish lies, Jewish crimes. It is good to be unpopular with people who cannot separate evil from power and virtue from skin color. (Unpopularity, for now, is your fate, unless you are willing to cosign your own humiliation and join the left’s token “good Jews” who advocate against Zionism from the comfort of the diaspora for plaudits from the Squad.) We don’t answer to them; we answer to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Rock of Israel and its Redeemer.

The good news is: it may not feel like it, but this country is on your side. College students are in one of vanishingly few spaces in America that sides with Hamas. Your professors will live and die in irrelevance, signing their names to their silly little letters and coming up with new jargon with which to defend terrorism while nurturing their grandiose hero complexes. Most of your peers will grow up and abandon their radical chic commitments. The progressive movement has taken a big hit, having shown its true colors to a nation that knows what is good and what is right, that can separate barbarism from civilization. 

But for now, remember this: to be a Jew is to refuse to kneel and refuse to bow. The stakes of standing upright have never been clearer than they are today, in this post–October 7 world. It’s good to have these people as your enemies, because the world will always have people who oppose what’s right and what’s good, and it is our destiny to fight them. Do it with pride.

==

"Sometimes it's better to be known for one's enemies."

[sooshii]

Nice to meet you!

I'm new to blog posting and social media in general (I know - What kind of rock have you been living under, Sooshii???) During my research going down all sorts of rabbits holes on where to interact with other fic-writers, I came across tumblr. Now me being the shy sushi roll that I am, I internally screamed for a good few days, weeks, months before working up the courage to finally get this ball rolling.

In case you can't tell, I'm a shy bean. I'm also not a minor, but I won't divulge my age - please respect ♡ The internet is a scary place after all!

So with all that said, a bit about myself! :)

Pronouns:

she/her

Fandoms:

Currently writing: FFVII - multi relationship oc AU fandom Reading: Hazbin Hotel, MHA, DAI, FFXIV, Avatar, One Piece, HP, AOT, JJK, multiple Villainess ones to list, and a couple Trails ones. I'm always searching for new ones to obsess over hueeeee And I read too many pairings to list...

Interests/Hobbies:

Reading! I read too many books and fandoms to count. My current fixation is all things FFVII but other fandoms I enjoy are listed above - however the rest of the list is way too long to toss on here so take what is listed as a "this is only a few". And my ships! Oh my ships... Vary from all ranges of characters ahhh I'm such a simp especially for the bad guys huuuueeee :'D

Writing! I write too! I recently started rewriting my first AU fic from a few years back. I'm hoping as I get more confident in myself, I can even branch out to other stories. I'll probably start posting little updates here every now and then when chapters get posted ^_^ My AO3 if you wanted to check my stuff out :) There's too many pairings, lore, world building, angst, fluff, and character tormenting ideas I have floating around in my head to count <o> Yes, I love to make my characters suffer. I'm a bit of a sadist that way -cackles- :3

Drawing! I draw and sketch a lot too. Someday soon you'll see a few of my little doodles floating around... when I get the courage to post them for the world to see. Shy bean, remember? :p

Cats! I own the sweetest little voidbean ever. She is my pride and joy. I absolutely love and adore black cats! Other cats are adorable too, but black cats are the light in my deep, dark, evil little soul mwahaha -ahem- I mean they're super cute :)

Anyways, please drop by, say hell, shoot me a polite message to chat, request a silly doodle - whatever you'd like within reason!

It's amazing to meet you and I hope to see you around!

[cherriko-art]

I just want to thank the Tumblr community from the bottom of my heart for helping me find joy in drawing again. For helping me find art a little less scary with every comment I get. And to remind people, once again, how much of an impact positive engagement has for creators, no matter how small or big.

Long, midnight ramble on my struggles with art below.

Late night thoughts, but lately my motivation for drawing has been rekindled as a way to release the brain rot on the fandoms and games I've loved recently. I lost my love for art for a really, really long time and for someone who's been drawing since I could pick up a pencil, and has identified as an artist my entire life, literally witnessing myself lose my love for art and drawing has been a really painful process. Especially since it happened over a relatively short period of time. Over 20 years of loving and creating art, only to be extinguished in just a small period of 2 years. When I came to a sudden realization that I hated drawing, I mourned over it for a really long time. I missed the joy I got from drawing, the pride in my art, the passion to learn and hone my skills. I used to think I could never imagine a future where I wasn't constantly thinking about the next thing I wanted to draw, but now I am living that future. Art is never on my mind anymore. I try to draw and I become filled with anxiety and dread. There's not a single thought about picking up my pencil and creating. The only things I had drawn in the last 4 years were for zines and it felt like work, not joy. Drawing felt like a job, and it stopped being the center of my universe. I stopped being active on social media, bc I was only on here for art. But even looking at other people's art left a bitter taste, and I didn't want to look at any of it anymore. Several times over the last few years I've tried to rekindle my love for art, tried starting small again. But it always fizzled out quickly, and I'd abandon it again. Sometimes I scroll through my Instagram and it hurts to look at, because I distinctly remember how much joy I got from drawing every single piece, what my thought process was, and how excited I felt in creating. It's been so long since I've felt happiness in drawing.

Lately, I've drawn some things bc my emotions for the brain rots in my head were Too Big and I couldn't think of releasing these big emotions in anything other than what I know. In art. I just drew something, didn't think too hard abt it, and posted them. Like barfing your overwhelming feelings on paper then throwing it away. But the engagement I've gotten on these emotional-dump drawings have been so wonderful, no matter how small or big, and it's made me so happy. Very specifically from Tumblr. Tumblr has reminded me what it's like to actually interact with fandoms again. Instagram/Twitter/etc has become such a competitive platform for content creators, that any sense of (the minimal) community and fandom interactions have been completely wiped out. But Tumblr has stayed true to it's roots through all these years and never have I been more grateful.

For the first time in years, I'm excited to draw again. I actually want to draw. I finished multiple drawings in the last 2 weeks, more than I have in years. Instead of feeling numb and exhausted after drawing like I had been, I'm actually filled with adrenaline and excitement to draw more. I'm excited to participate in fandoms again, engage in communities. This is all because other people's positive engagements on my little drawings have motivated me to draw more.

Drawing has become a very daunting, anxiety-filled, unpleasant experience for me. I lost my love for art years ago. But the positive engagement in my recent art has pushed away some of that anxiety, and it's becoming increasingly easier for me to pick up that pencil again. Drawing is starting to feel fun again. I don't know how long this will last, if it will fizzle out like it has time and time again. I don't know if art will turn back into the Big, Bad Monster again. But for now, I'm just relishing in the feeling of art feeling like freedom again. And I have the Tumblr community to thank for that.

So for everyone on here, thank you.

[apriilessthan3]

social anxiety online

i used to have rly bad social anxiety online and after the social anxiety talk during aksel's stream yesterday i decided to compile some things that have helped me feel more comfortable interacting with people online. also, yes this is a little bit inspired by aksel's comfort media tumblr post :p

twitch

i think the easiest way to start getting yourself out there online is by chatting during streams. you could start by only sending emotes in chat. a lot of emotes are bttv emotes so make sure you have bttv installed. there is also a bttv setting that allows you to tab emotes, so you won't have to type them out completly. usually the chat reacts to certain parts of the stream the exact same way, so you could copy the emotes you see in chat. i would sometimes even wait for other people to start sending emotes and then i would just copy them lol. it's a nice way to get yourself out there while still also being hidden in the crowd. since everyone is sending the same emotes you won't stand out.

once you feel a bit more comfortable sending emotes you could try sending some chat messages. i feel like this is easier to do when the chat is moving fast, since there is a smaller chance of standing out and getting unwanted attention from anyone really. also sending small messages like 'hi' or 'bye' to people is another way to move on from only sending emotes.

i know social anxiety also entails a lot of observing, so if this is too much for you right now that's fine! look at what other people are doing and you will get a hang of the vibe eventually. then whenever you feel comfortable you could start chatting, if you want to obviously.

twitter

i wanted to include twitter in here too, because i think that sense of community mostly happens on twitter. another reason is because twitter is a lot scarier compared to a twitch chat, in my experience at least. so i thought it might be helpful to share how i got over that anxiety on twitter.

by being on twitter, you're being a lot more vulnerable i feel like. in comparison to a twitch chat where you are all in one chat, on twitter you're kind of on your own. they're your tweets, it's your profile.. it is a lot more personal is what im trying to say. the aksually mental illness community can be a great start to find people. i personally don't go much in there, but i've seen some people posting in there regularly. by interacting with those people you can start building your own 'network' online and finding friends! follow people, like tweets and maybe even comment under people's tweets if you feel like you're able to do that. i remember being so anxious about replying to people's tweets. sometimes i even had to put my phone down after replying because it gave me so much anxiety. at the same time i think that also helped me in a way. it is ok to send a tweet, close ur phone and act like nothing even happened. this can be hard, but closing twitter after something so anxiety inducing, i think, can help you not to overthink your actions.

after a while you'll start to realize that it might not be as scary as you thought it would be. also there is a lot of sweet and kind people online. i am forever thankful to the people, who i would now call friends, in this community who accepted me with open arms. sometimes it only takes one person to be kind to you, for you to realize it is all ok.

i hope this was helpful in some kind of way. social anxiety can be so isolating. it can make it really hard to navigate your way in life, whether that is online or offline. getting yourself out there online can be the first steps to overcoming or at least lessening that anxiety, and i wish that for everyone who's also struggling with it. <3

[aena-blue]

Manifestation - The Domino Analogy (Bridge of Incidents, Messing with the Middle)

Hello everyone! This is another short post to cover a simple topic under the umbrella term manifestation to hopefully shed some light on the topic.

So apparently I'm all about the analogies lately! I do find them to be useful to help keep my mind on track so I am sharing with you another analogy that came to me once: The Domino Analogy

Just a quick summary. The bridge of incidents (BOI) = everything that happens between you having a desire, and you seeing the fulfillment of it in the 3D. These are events, circumstances, inspired thoughts and inspired actions (for you and for whoever else is a part of your bridge of incidents to bring you the fulfillment of your desire).

Now onto the analogy. So first of all I hope you are all familiar with domino bricks? You lay them in a row, knock over the first one, which knocks over the second one and so on until all domino bricks have fallen over. Now there are some amazing people in the world who have created some absolutely amazing art using domino bricks, so when the final brick has fallen, a beautiful image appears.

This is "A Starry Night" created with Dominos. Now I want you to imagine the fulfillment of your desire to be like this image, after the domino's have fallen. The dominos falling is your bridge of incidents.

Now the beautiful thing about manifestation is that all you have to do is focus on the end result, the completed image, and the Universe (or however you prefer to view it), sets the dominos in place. Once the bridge of incidents has begun, it all happens and unfolds rapidly for you, without you needing to lift a finger. Just keep the end in mind.

Now, imagine that you had to place all of these dominos yourself, how long it would take you, the mistakes you might make on the way, you might even have to start over because you tried to rush things etc. This is similar to 'messing with the middle', there is absolutely no need for you to try and force and create something in the 3D (your current reality), for the Universe is orchestrating it all for you.

And how wonderful isn't that to know? That you can just relax and focus on the end, and the Universe (or another higher power) is doing all the work to put together all these little pieces for you to create the final outcome?

I know that it is sometimes tempting to want to have control over the bridge of incidents, because quite frankly, sometimes the bridge of incidents is uncomfortable, unnerving, or quite frankly scary, often because we cannot see the work that goes on in the background. But if you can trust in this process, trust that the Universe is putting all these things in place and keep your focus on the end. I can assure you it will all fall, quite literally, into place, FOR you. I hope that this analogy was helpful. If you like analogies my last post was a similar analogy, but about trains instead!

I now offer email or video coaching on my Etsy Shop: https://aenabluetarot.etsy.com/ for anyone who needs help, assistance, guidance or just a cheerleader for their manifestation journey.

You can email me or use the “ask me” function for anything that might be on your mind, or on your heart. I am here for you all, always. Please note that the Ask Me’s are only open for dream interpretation, general questions or advice at this time.

Please consider supporting my intention & affirmation art business in return for my time and energy by making a purchase or sharing my shop on any of your social media, every page click helps my business grow and I appreciate all of your support.

You can get a sticker for about $2 and if you make a purchase and send me an email to let me know what you bought I will happily give you a free 3 card reading for a question of your choice or 1 free email for manifestation coaching, regardless of the cost of your purchase! 🧡

If you'd like to donate to my channel/blog I gratefully receive energy donations via Paypal, every little helps! 🧡

For anyone that feels so inclined I do have an Etsy Shop for tarot readings.

Much love and light to you all and to the universe 💛💜

~ Lady Blue 💙

[lunarsun12]

The Wrath Of Beomgyu - Part 1/4

Masterlist

Previous Part / Next Part

It has been many weeks, since the incident has happened when Taehyun accidentally crossed path with Beomgyu.

Taehyun felt bad, he decided to replace the stuff he broke. In fact even better as his peace offering hoping Beomgyu can lessen the impact. Of course Beomgyu accept I happily but it is not enough for him.

He is determined to ruin Taehyun life. He happened to hear Taehyun is looking to apply to his dream company, happened to be owned by Jay. He knew getting publicity on Taehyun can ruin his chance. He decided to wait, until Taehyun is on last stage of waiting and this is where he strikes.

The smart Beomgyu, tried to act the victim in front of his family. To get himself out of trouble, however Soobin doesn’t buy it along with Kai.

Will Taehyun Career Be Saved?

Taehyun and Kai Private Chat

Today 18:00

Taehyun🐯: Is Beomgyu not outside?

Heuningkai🐧: I don’t think so, he been sitting in his room

Taehyun🐯: He hasn’t done anything, and it has been nearly a month. This is scary

Heuningkai🐧: Maybe, he forgot…he can be airhead sometimes

Taehyun🐯: BEOMGYU DOESN’T FORGET THESE STUFF

Heuningkai🐧: Whatever, I am back to playing games. Also Eomma is in the kitchen, if beomgyu did something. Eomma will see!

Taehyun🐯: Okay Okay! This is scarier when I got caught

The next day…

It was about 10:00 in the morning, he got a phone call from his senior San.

San: Taehyun! Taehyun! How could you do this to your brother!!

Taehyun half asleep: What…? What do you mean?

San: You haven’t seen, what’s on social media. You are trending for abusing your brother!!

San: You even worse then Wooyoung! That is saying something!

Whilst San was busy talking, Taehyun opened his social media and saw that Beomgyu made a post. Saying he broke his prized possession out of jealousy and as well some special effect makeup, to make it look like he was hurt. After Taehyun saw the post, he knew it was too good to be true, that Beomgyu was this quiet.

Taehyun: THAT BEOMGYU!!! HOW DARE HE PAINT ME AS THE VILLIAN!!

San: Wait…? What..?

Taehyun: San, I call you later! I need have word with Beomgyu

The angry Taehyun texted the family chat.

TXT Family Chat

Taehyun🐯: BEOMGYU YOU GONE TOO FAR!!

Heuningkai🐧: This is one of the most twisted lies ever. It’s beomgyu who bully us not Taehyun!

Soobin🍞: Kids, what is going on? My colleague was saying. You are trending now for abusing your brother?

Taehyun🐯: Eomma, please come home!! It wasn’t me, I swear my job application, to that company!!

Yeonjun😎: Yes please come home! I miss- er I mean please save our son career. As well I wake the brat up

Soobin🍞: I’m on my way! Not only your career Taehyun but mine too!!

10mins later…

Yeonjun😎: This brat, he won’t even open the door

Heuningkai🐧: Taehyun is literally in shock. He hasn’t moved from my bed

Beomgyu🐻: *sniffs*

Yeonjun😎: Beomgyu?

Beomgyu🐻: It’s all true, Taehyun has been secretly bullying me when you two are not at home!

Beomgyu🐻: I even got it on video

Beomgyu shows the video the family

Heuningkai🐧: This never happened…

Yeonjun😎: Oh my goodness, I knew having one good son is too good to be true

Beomgyu🐻: He even blackmailed Kai to keep quiet

Heuningkai🐧: What..? That never happened

Beomgyu🐻: I don’t want to post this, but it has gone too far. The trauma it cause me

Taehyun🐯: YOU STOP LYING!!

Yeonjun😎: You, stay quiet! Don’t cause any pain to your big brother

Taehyun🐯: I REPAYED THE BROKEN GUITAR AND THAT DESINGER STUFF

Taehyun🐯: Nothing was lost!!

Beomgyu🐻: You did out of jealousy, cause I am older then you *sniffs*

Yeonjun😎: Come here my son, let Appa give you hug. I’m sorry for ever adopting another kid, you have your Eomma to blame

Beomgyu🐻: *sniffs* *sniffs*

Taehyun🐯: B-but it wasn’t me…

Back at TXT Kids Chat

Taehyun🐯: Take down the post beomgyu!!

Heuningkai🐧: Yeah take it down, this is too far

30 mins later…

Beomgyu🐻: How about no? You ruined something precious to me. I will take something precious from you

Taehyun🐯: You ruined my life, everybody hates me

Beomgyu🐻: Maybe you should have thought twice, for ever crossing me

Taehyun🐯: What I did is minor!! Take it down!!

Taehyun🐯: I beg of you!!

Beomgyu🐻: Hmmmm, I like the attention that Appa is giving to me. I will take it down, you get to do whatever I say forever!

Taehyun🐯: That so unreasonable! I never do that

Beomgyu🐻: Bye Bye job then, now excuse me. I’m gonna go shopping with Appa

Heuningkai🐧: Why did we ever agree, to get adopted to this family. And have an evil brother

Taehyun🐯: We have to found dirt on Beomgyu

1 hour later…

Soobin came back home, he got text from Yeonjun. That he is taking Beomgyu for his therapy shopping. Soobin decided to visit Taehyun to see if he is okay.

Soobin knocks on Taehyun door. The door opened with a sad looking Taehyun and Kai sitting on the chair comforting his brother.

Soobin: Did you really do all these stuff?

Taehyun: Eomma no! I don’t know how he managed to make that video but it wasn’t me!

Soobin: Okay, Eooma believes you! You are good kid, plus I am not blind to Beomgyu behaviour towards you two. Just Yeonjun is blinded by his cuteness, and he called me the clueless one

Taehyun: Really? You believe me?

Soobin: After Kai got framed for bullying someone called Sunoo. I don’t believe anything that the internet says

Heuningkai: We got Eomma on our side!

Soobin: There is a way, to end this mess. I heard from Seonghwa someone goes by the name YangYang has all the dirt on your brother. They have beef with each other for a long time

Heuningkai: I don’t think this YangYang person will help us. He even commented on Beomgyu post saying, he is disappointed

Taehyun: My life is really over…

There was a moment of silence, until a brilliant idea pops in Kai head.

Heuningkai: Why don’t we say Taheyun went missing, due to the fact he was so devastated. He ran away from the family

Taehyun: We are giving what Beomgyu wants! He wants to get rid of us!!

Soobin: I think more like he wants to bully you all…

Heuningkai: But we got Eomma on our side, he can so upset that he can threatened to divorce Appa. I know how much he hates seeing these two fighting

Taehyun: Wait that’s actually a genius idea!

Soobin: I don’t know, I don’t like pretending to mad with your appa…

Soobin: But I will do it anyways, could be nice little prank ha ha

Soobin: Taehyun stay with Jaemin family. I trust them, they know you aren’t bad!!

Taehyun: How can you be sure…?

Soobin: Cause, I was talking with him a mins ago. He said that post is stupid

Soobin: Let’s start Taehyun disappearing act shall we?

Previous Part / Next Part

[elizaellwrites]

I am a shy introvert, so I was tempted to ask this anonymously, but I am working on putting myself out there more. I've been active on the site for about month, and have been a lurker on your blog from day one. I just want to say your whole blog is really impressive. Your stories sound amazing, and I am in envy of how open and confident you are about sharing your work and your processes with the writing community on here. Any advice for a writblr who is shy and introverted?

Hi, I first want to say that I'm glad you reached out and I'm humbled by your compliments.

The truth is that I used to be very hesitant to share my stories, and in many ways am a shy introvert too, so this question hits near and dear to my heart. In the first few months that I had my blog, I was pretty scared to post anything I had written. First, I tested the waters a bit, putting out an out-of-context paragraph here and there. Then I decided to take a leap of faith and post more, and I announced that I was going to do so so that I didn't back out of doing so from my nerves. I went from never posting my work anywhere to making it the center of most of what I post because, for me, I knew that I was going to psych myself out of sharing what I love to do if I didn't take the risk.

For connecting with others, I made (and still make) a conscious effort to speak my mind and comment when I can. I looked at the other writers on here and felt a little out of my depth, as I'm hardly anywhere else on social media (and in private profiles when I am), and I was a little insecure about interacting with them. Then I thought about how we're all similar, how we all love writing and have our experiences with it. After bringing down the scary barriers of unknown profiles and reminding myself that on the other end, there was another person who loved writing as much as I did, I began to test the waters, just as I did with posting my work.

Once I began interacting with people more, I started recognizing profiles more, and I've grown more comfortable voicing my experiences and opinions as I feel like I'm not quite as alone as I was when I first started. For me, it was the decision to push my comfort zone that has made me more confident here. I'm proud of the work I've done, but I'm still insecure about it sometimes, and that's okay. My personal policy is to be open about my writing experiences, and that's helped me develop my blog and feel more at home in the community.

I can only speak from my experience, so I hope this helps. Of course, I'd love to hear what other writers may have to say on this topic as well. It wasn't always easy (my hands shook when I published my work for the first many times,) but I've grown more confident with each week and with each piece and excerpt I've put out.

Sending my best wishes your way!