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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 month

Text

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.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #i can't remember how to tag bye

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mrsackermannx · 4 months

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chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.

so, he does just that.

he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.

sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.

it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“

sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”

a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.

“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”

“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.

he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.

he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.

it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.

“oh…him? think they’re married?”

“i don’t think so.”

that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”

you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”

sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.

no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.

“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“

“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”

the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.

sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.

“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“

“miss-“

“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”

your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.

now you see him, huh?

your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”

your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.

sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.

you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“

the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.

he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”

his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.

you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”

“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.

“oh?”

“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”

“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”

“seafood special last month?”

“yes, and your name?”

for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”

“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”

#chef!sukuna #chef sukuna would absolutely ruin and wreck my heart #sukuna x reader fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #this concept is just in my head i cannot #younger chef sukuna #food critic reader?!!#foodie reader???#now i want to write a whole fic about this

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estrellami-1 · 1 year

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Steve never yelled.

It was something everyone knew and no one talked about. All his anger was quiet, a rage simmering just beneath the surface.

And sure; he’d raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony of the kids he’d unwittingly adopted, but everyone agreed that wasn’t yelling. That was just making sure he was heard.

Even Eddie, as his boyfriend, had never heard him yell before. And there’s something to be said about following the leader: even when they argued, even when tensions were high, Steve never yelled. So Eddie didn’t, either.

He wished he could take back the one time he did.

Eddie was hot-tempered. He knew this. Everyone knew this. Hot-tempered and a knife-sharp tongue, cutting down to the marrow with just his words. He’d never use his fists. This is also something everyone knows.

Eddie’s animated, larger-than-life, and he continued that trend in his arguments. Hands flying out to prove a point, but never to strike.

Everyone knew why. Everyone who knew Eddie knew what happened when he was nine, when Momma died and Daddy tried to find happiness at the bottom of a bottle.

That was the summer he moved in with Wayne. Wayne was a kind soul, slow to speak and even slower to anger. He was even-tempered, which meant it took a lot to get him mad, but once he was there, he wasn’t letting go easy.

So Eddie never raised his hands. Steve never raised his voice. Steve never raised his hands, either.

Eddie wished, with everything inside of him, he hadn’t raised his voice.

Because there’s something to be said about following the leader. When Eddie yelled, Steve followed.

Eddie didn’t know what they were arguing about anymore. Something stupid, he’s sure, but all he heard was blood rushing in his ears as he argued with Steve.

Steve, unflappable Steve, unshakeable Steve, argued back. He raised his voice.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. “Shit,” he whispered, eyes wide and not completely present. “Shit- I- sorry, I- I’m-” he shook his head, started to back up, almost tripped on nothing. Caught himself on the counter. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t- didn’t mean to-”

Abruptly, everything was silent. Eddie’s blood stilled as something ugly rose up in his throat. “Steve?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’m not- not him, I swear, I don’t- I didn’t-” he shook his head again.

Eddie almost cursed when he finally realized what was happening. A panic attack. “Steve,” he said, slowly, calmly. “Stevie, baby, can I touch you?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered again, gasping for breath.

“No, babylove,” Eddie murmured. “My fault, isn’t it? I should’ve known. Can I touch you, Stevie?”

He nodded, lip trembling. “‘M sorry.”

“No, sweets. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, c’mere.” He tugged Steve into a hug, nudged his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, rubbed soothing hands down his back. “Breathe with me, baby, c’mon, you can do this. Come back to me.”

Steve choked on a breath. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled again, and here were the tears, here’s what Eddie had been waiting for. He knew crying would likely trigger a headache, so he made a mental list of things he’d need to prepare.

“Not your fault,” Eddie promised him again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never shoulda yelled, that’s on me.” He smoothed his hands down over Steve’s back again. “Come back to me, baby, where are you?”

Shaking hands grabbed at Eddie’s shirt, just above his hips. “Eddie.”

“That’s me,” Eddie agreed. “Take a breath for me, sweets, c’mon. In and out.” A shaky puff of air hit his neck, and he gently squeezed Steve. “That’s good. That’s so good. One more, Stevie, c’mon, just one more breath.”

Slowly but surely, Steve calmed down. He let out one last sigh and unclenched his hands, wrapping them around his boyfriend’s waist. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Eddie promised again. “You okay?”

Steve sniffed. “Think so. I, uh… didn’t know that would happen.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He sniffed again, pressed his fingertips into the divots of Eddie’s spine. “I’ve tried, my whole life, to be anybody but my dad. He… he would yell, and I remember thinking as a little kid that… dads aren’t supposed to scare their kids.” He shrugged. “I don’t think it was ever a conscious decision, not to yell. Just a… side effect, I guess, of not being like him.”

Eddie sighed. “And here I come along and fuck it all up, huh?”

Steve shook his head. “You make everything better, Eds. Even if we argue. Because I know we’ll be okay.” He managed a huff of a laugh. “I, uh, don’t actually remember what we were arguing about anymore.”

Eddie chuckled. “Me neither, Stevie.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve lifted his head to kiss Eddie properly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Eddie answered instantly. “Always.”

#steddie #stranger things #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #both their dads are awful #can I tag #daddy issues #because that's what it is #panic attack #steddie fic #st fic #or would this be a ficlet?#i dont know what this is #starambles

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gardenschedule · 2 months

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Beatles defending each other ❤️

In 1965 [the Byrds] toured England and Paul invited us to his club, the Scotch of St James’s [sic]. He sent a limo to pick us up. He said he had been listening to our music. We were blown away. He took us for a ride through London in his Aston Martin, at great speed. He was really hip, he and John were so tight it was like one person at times. Unlike the Byrds, [where] Crosby would just leave you out to dry, the Beatles all defended each other to the hilt. If you criticised, say, George then they would all respond.

Roger McGuinn, in Paul McCartney: Now & Then, Tony Barrow and Robin Bextor

“They’re four very different people who together form a unit that is virtually impregnable. If, for instance, someone should find fault with anything one of them has done, the others rush to his defence. They close their ranks. They’re very close indeed. A lot closer than people think.”

George Martin, Disc and Music Echo (1967)

And actually, we’ve got the image of him all these years about criticising Paul – yeah, he did, but it’s like [when] you criticise your wife. “I can criticise her, but you can’t.” I was there once when some guy was saying that he didn’t think ‘Let It Be’ was such a great record, and he thought John would agree, and he didn’t.

November 10th, 2009: Journalist Ray Connolly

Q: How did Paul react [to “How Do You Sleep”]?

John: I don’t know because I never saw him, but I think he made a comment last year which was pretty spot-on which was ‘whatever I’m saying about him is my problem, or vice versa.’ The only regret I have about it is that it should never have been about Paul because everybody’s so bothered with who’s it about that they missed the track. That’s what bugged me. I’m entitled to call him what I want to, and vice versa. It’s in our family, but if somebody else calls him names I won’t take it. It’s our own business. And anyway, it’s like Dylan said about his stuff when he looked back on it, it was all about him.

Patrick Synder-Scrumpy with Jack Breschard, “Sometime in L.A., Lennon Plays It as It Lays.” Crawdaddy [March 1974]

"When John did 'How Do You Sleep?' I didn't want to get into a slinging match. Part of it was cowardice. John was a great wit, and I didn't want to go fencing with the rapier champion of East Cheam-- But it meant that I had to take shit--It meant that I had to take lines like 'All you ever did was Yesterday.' I always find myself wanting to excuse John's behavior, just because I loved him. It's like a child, sure he was a naughty child, but don't you call my child naughty. Even if it's me he's shitting on, don't you call him naughty. That's how I felt about this and still do. I don't have a grudge whatsoever against John. I think he knew exactly what he was doing, and, because we had been so intimate, he knew what would hurt me and used it to great effect. I thought, 'Keep your head down and time will tell,' and it did because in the 'Imagine' film (Imagine John Lennon, documentary), he says it was really all about himself."

Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

“Well the deal was, he could say that, but if you said that, if anybody said anything bad about Paul, John’d take a swing at you. He’d say “you can’t talk about Paul like that”, Paul was his best buddy. If you were talking to Paul and you said something derogatory about John, he’d get up and leave. Paul was more of a peaceful guy, but John had that hot head, and he’d say “you wanna talk about Paul? Let’s go”. You weren’t allowed to say anything bad about John or Paul to each one of them because they would defend each other to the nth degree, which I liked, because you could tell they were attached at the hip.

Alice Cooper Live and Uncut on the Kim Mitchell Show

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden. And he knew that his relationship with Paul was very important to him. But you know, like all great friendships, they’d grown apart and married different people and had different lives. He knew what he didn’t like about Paul, but he also knew what he liked about Paul.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

George didn’t mind slagging Paul off. But he HATED other people doing it.

Tom Petty

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 5 months

Text

back in town

part one of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, lots of Christmas, hallmark movie cringe

for the sake of this fic, all characters are the same kind of age; ≈mid 20s

wc: 1.4k | part two

Serving customers their coffee has been an opportunity for a moment of peace lately. Wanda, as well as the remainder of your insufferable friends, had taken it upon themselves to set you up on dates. Somehow, their lack of success so far hasn’t managed to convince them of their matchmaking deficits.

So, during work hours, you’re bombarded with suggestions to which you decline time and time again. Apparently, being the Christmas season and all, it was a matter of extreme importance; the so-called ‘Christmas magic’ had to have a source of focus and, according to them, that was you.

You’d tried; the amount of boring and unsuccessful dates you’ve embarked on is almost embarrassing. You’ve had short lived relationships, fleeting flings, and so many blind dates you can’t even count them with all ten fingers. But none of them were right for you. None of the options were worthy to ‘cuddle up with by the fireplace’ or ‘entwine souls with beside a decorated tree’. Wanda had an optimistic take on your love life - you’d all be lying if you didn’t call her obsessed.

“C’mon, that girl in the bookstore was totally obsessed with you,” she spoke as soon as the customer in front of you had left with a smile and a cup of coffee in their hand.

“Wanda, please,” you groaned, busying yourself with the messed up counter, wiping down the surface hoping it’d will her away.

“She could be the one.”

“You say that about all of them,” you huffed with a laugh. She truly was a hopeless romantic. You hypothosise her obsession with your romantic endeavours is some haphazardly disguised attempt to draw away her own infatuation with a certain bookstore owner. It’s no coincidence you’re both in there so often and it’s definitely not because you have a crush on anybody there.

“Maybe this one’s different.”

“You always say that too,” you laughed. “What about you anyway? How about we get you a date with that woman you ogle, huh?”

“What woman? There isn’t a woman,” she defended, you saw right through her.

“The one that likes to give you discount on all those books you buy and never read. Agatha, is it?”

“Oh, look, you have a customer. I better get more coffee from the back,” she hurried out before rushing away.

Luckily your best friend seemed to have taken the hint for the time being and the next couple of hours passed with you working in your regular harmony.

“That man is always late, I swear,” Wanda spoke with a glance at the clock. Sam was meant to be in for his shift twenty minutes ago, though you find his lack of punctuality to be an endearing trait. And, as though his ears were burning, the man in question burst through the wreath-decorated door with quickened breaths from what you assumed to be a sprint into work.

“You will never guess who I just bumped into,” he shouted to you both as he pulled his coat off to replace it with the coffee shop apron.

“Santa?” Wanda grinned with an excitement an adult likely shouldn’t present herself with at the prospect.

“Better.”

“Nobody’s better than Santa,” she pouted.

“If it wasn’t an old guy in a red hat you’re gonna have a real sad boss to deal with,” you responded with a laugh.

“Well now I don’t wanna say,” he answered with a chuckle of his own.

“You can’t lead with that and not tell us,” Wanda countered with a poke to his arm.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

“You’re kidding.”

The pair of you answered him at the same time, a mirrored disapproval in your tones.

“Nope. She’s here for the holidays.”

“What, New York’s not good enough for her anymore?” you uttered in annoyance, rolling your eyes before plastering on an appeasing smile to the customer that approached.

“I didn’t think the small town Christmas vibe fit her new Scrooge persona,” Wanda added with an equally annoyed voice.

“I dunno, I didn’t talk to her much, I came to tell you two. You know I like the gossip,” Sam answered with a smile, though he wasn’t so pleased with her appearance either.

“You can put your matchmaking shit on hold,” you stated. “All focus is now on ‘operation avoid Romanoff’.”

“Mission accepted as long as you come up with a better title,” Wanda returned. “A Christmas themed one.”

—

“Oh my God, I need to tell you all who I saw in town this afternoon,” Kamala practically squealed as she took her seat in the booth with the rest of the group. A girl’s night out at the local bar was a no brainer after the news.

“Let me guess,” Monica voiced. “Red hair, expensive suit, kinda scary, and a knack for ghosting certain people?” She added, tapping her chin with her face contorted into one of faux musing and a pointed look towards you with her final words.

“Pretty good at breaking poor innocent hearts?” Carol added with a teasing nudge to your shoulder to lighten your mood.

“She didn’t break my heart,” you scoffed.

“Just stomped on it a little,” Kate said with the same joking tone - if there was one thing you adored your friends for it was their way of making even awful situations fell a little less dire.

“Poked at it with her expensive stilettos,” Wanda added.

“Oh, so I’m the last to know,” Kamala sighed. “That’s cool, I guess. Not that I wanted to come in here with big, dramatic news or anything.”

“No, please, go on,” you laughed. “Who was it that you saw?”

“Natasha. Romanoff,” she exclaimed with all the dramatic flare she’d hoped to achieve. And, of course, you all gasped just as you knew she’d enjoy.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned.

“I know!”

“I’m gonna get us some more drinks,” Kate spoke as she stood up. “No gossip whilst I’m gone, you know all the drama gets my blood up.”

And so you all talked. And talked. And talked. Every detail of your relationship - or lack thereof - was explored. Her departure and the toll it took on you was examined and you remembered just how grateful you’ve always been for their support, they’re truly the best friendship group you ever could’ve asked for.

“Oh my God.”

The phrase was grumbled out by the three of you positioned in the line of sight of the door, the faces of you, Carol and Wanda all laced with discontent at the sight.

“Alright, look behind you but be subtle,” Carol instructed. “I’m talking to you, Kamala.”

It started off discreetly to begin with, Monica glanced over her shoulder with a scoff at the image behind her. Kate, somehow, was just as discreet but, of course, Kamala being Kamala an obnoxiously loud gasp followed her gawking. It drew the attention of those at the eye of the display you were staring at and two pairs of eyes looked back at you.

“What a surprise,” Yelena grinned as she approached with her sister in tow.

“Yelena, you were literally invited,” you grumbled. “You said you had plans.”

“There’s been a change in plans,” she shrugged, clearly amused at the awkward situation she was dragging you into. “My dear sister and I are joining you.”

“I’ll get more drinks,” Natasha mumbled. The first words you’d heard from her in years and she kept her eyes everywhere but directed towards you; something about the way she still buries her hands in her coat pockets when she’s nervous stirred up a stinging familiarity.

“Lena, what the hell?” Wanda whispered when the blonde smugly took her seat in the already crammed booth.

“What?” she shrugged, feigning obliviousness at her clearly deliberate actions. “It’s Christmas, even the grinch needs a drink.”

Speaking of, the redheaded grinch in question approached with a tray of drinks and an awkward yet fleeting smile gifted to you when she pulled a chair up to the end of the table. To your surprise, she even held your gaze as she slid your glass over to you though you couldn’t muster much more than an almost inaudible thank you.

“So, you’re back,” Carol spoke, leaning forwards with her arms resting on the table.

And that began the awkward evening. There was an obvious tension between the pair of you; Natasha answered any questions she was asked and you pretended not to notice the way she’d steal looks at you over the edge of her glass. You, however, barely spoke.

How do you talk to the woman that left you behind? Especially when she comes back into town looking even more perfect than before; you scold your lustful eyes for tearing your mind apart.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel fanfic #au: home for christmas

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xstarsmvxz · 11 months

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 ✩

pairings ➜ hobie brown x kind!reader

warnings ➜ fluff, opposites attract, pet names, gn!reader, uses of weed, not proofread! i don’t really know what else?

word count ➜ 1.5k

M speaks! ➜ if you see the name “Asher” mentioned, it’s because that’s my cats name and I love her sm, she’s also so tiny cause she’s still a kitten so keep that in mind <3

➜ When Hobie first met you he honestly thought you were annoying.

➜ Your bright, optimistic attitude really got to him for some reason he didn’t know the answer to.

➜ You were way too kind for your own good, you always have a big smile gracing your face and you were constantly offering help to anybody who seemed like they needed it, even if they were a complete stranger!

➜ However, that kindness and happiness is what drew him in.

➜ He vividly remembers the day he realised you weren’t as bad as he thought.

You and hobie sat on either side of a soft grey sofa, waiting for Miguel to come back from wherever he rushed off to. Gwen and Pavitr sat on the sofa across from you guys, having their own conversation. You awkwardly played with the tips of your beat-up red and white converse, waiting for the courage to strike up a conversation. You softly clear your throat, “sooo.. where do you think he’s gone?” You hesitantly ask hobie. He doesn’t even glance your way when he replies in his thick accent, “dunno.”

You stare as he flicks a black ink pen in circles with his fingers. “That’s pretty cool, how do you do that?” You lean a little closer to him, trying to get a better look at how he’s doing it. He stares at you for a second, wondering why you’re all so interested in what he’s doing now. He slowly scoots himself a bit closer to you, feeling the slightest bit of warmth radiating from your body is a new type of comfort to him. “Like this..” He places the pen in between your thumb and index finger before he begins to slowly guide your fingers step by step. Your a bit stiff at first but once you memorise the movements you try it on your own. You start off slow but once you gradually get faster you drop the pen onto the floor. Muttering a small “oops” you lean down to pick it up and try again. Hobie slightly smirks as he watches you begin to spin the pen again.

After about seventeen tries you finally got it, spinning the pen skilfully in your hand you look up. “Hobie, Hobie look! Im doing it, oh my gosh!” You begin to get over excited, causing you to drop the pen again. Hobie let’s out a small laugh, leaning down to grab it from the floor. “Good job.” He praises as he begins to spin the pen in his own hand. “Thank you, Hobie..” You go back to fiddling with the tips of your shoes until an idea pops into your mind. “Hey, wanna draw on my shoes, they’re already pretty much ruined so it wouldn’t really matter.” He stops spinning the pen, taking the lid off of it and nodding his head. “Sure, why not.” He begins to draw small doodles on your shoes, such as small webs, spiders and pretty patterns. How ironic. You think to yourself as he draws a web with a spider hanging from it on the white part of your shoe.

Hobie smiles as you let out a small laugh, wondering what’s going through your mind. He continues to draw on your shoe as he thinks to himself. Your really not as annoying as he thought you were, you’re actually quite humble and soft. He begins to think about the friendship that potentially just bloomed between the two of you.

➜ Now let’s skip to when the two of you started dating.

➜ At first you were both kind of awkward. The two of you had only been friends for a couple months before you found yourself kissing him in your bedroom.

➜ you guys didn’t really go on dates, instead the two of you would normally just spend time together in your bedroom, watching movies or just having conversations about whatever comes to mind.

➜ he doesn’t really like “couple” things, but that doesn’t stop him from getting you small gifts whenever he can.

➜ some days he comes knocking at your apartment door, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand.

➜ other days he will come to your house with smaller gifts like food or jewellery.

You sit on your bed, lying on your stomach with your feet in the air whilst you read a book that you borrowed from the library. Your cat sits next to you, purring in its sleep. Your head shoots up when you hear a loud knock coming from your apartment door. You place your book down next to your cat and walk out of your room, heading towards the door. Once you open the door, you come face to face with your boyfriend Hobie, who is holding a small bouquet of pretty flowers in his hand. You shyly smile, “Hi..” you greet. “Hey doll.” He extends his arm, placing the flowers into your ring adorned hand, all the rings he got you. “Hobie, they’re so pretty…” you stare at the flowers, touching one of the petals with your finger tips. “I love them! Thank you Hobes!” You give your boyfriend a bone crushing hug before running to your kitchen to fill a vase with water. You place the vase full of flowers in the middle of your small wooden circle table next to your couch.

You sit down with a sigh and beckon Hobie over. He sits next to you, placing his arm around your shoulders as you lean into his side. Just on queue, your grey cat Asher walks in, her fluffy tail swishing it the air as she jumps onto the sofa in between you and Hobie. You let out an airy laugh as you pet your attention seeking cat. “Who’s a pretty girl?” You ask your cat as if she can understand you, scratching her chin as she lets out soft purrs. It’s not long before you fall asleep, leaving Hobie to pet the ball of fluff sitting in his lap.

➜ once you guys get more comfortable with each other, the two of you are never seen without the other.

➜ Gwen literally thinks that you guys are meant to be in one body.

“You guys are literally always together, we might as well morph you both into one body!” Gwen says as she stares at the both of you sitting on the soft chair across from her, you sit on Hobies lap bridal style, leaning your head onto his comfy chest while he strokes your upper arm.

➜ At this point you tell Gwen everything about yours and Hobies relationship.

➜ She absolutely freaked out when she found out he was your first everything.

➜ And when I say first everything, I really do mean everything.

➜ he was your first kiss, first boyfriend and first person you ever slept with.

➜ He was always so patient and gentle with you, never forcing you into anything you didn’t want to do.

➜ In his eyes, you were so fragile and innocent. He was almost afraid to break you.

➜ One day, you begged him to let you smoke weed on the roof with him.

➜ You even had to get on your knees and beg before he finally agreed.

You sat next to Hobie, wearing one of his black jackets as you watch him roll a joint for you to share, he brings the joint to his lips before inhaling then exhaling the smoke into the cold night. He passes the joint to you, asking if you watched how he did it. “Yeah, yeah I did..” He watches as you slowly bring the joint to your own lips, inhaling the smallest amount before exhaling with a small cough. He laughs as he watches your eyes water a bit before you pass the joint back to him. “Didn’t like it?” He questions, taking another hit. “It wasn’t that bad, I just need to get used to it.”

➜ After that night you regularly found yourself sitting on that same roof, either smoking a bong or joint. Unlike Hobie, you liked bongs more, finding them easier to use.

➜ Though, the first time you used Hobies newly bought bong you choked, you were already high before hand so you and Hobie found it absolutely hilarious.

➜ The both of you fell into a laughing fit, holding onto your stomachs from the pain caused by laughing so much.

You lied on your back, holding onto your aching stomach as you uncontrollably laughed. “Hobes, help.. it feels like I’m growing abs!” At this point, tears were coming from both of your guys eyes.

➜ I imagine that at first he wasn’t really big on pda, he still isn’t but now that you guys have known each other for longer he’s a little more comfortable with it.

➜ The most public affection your probably going to get is a small peck on your lips.

➜ But his favourite thing to do is hold your hand, it brings him comfort and happiness knowing that you’re right beside him.

➜ Nicknames that he gives you consist of; love, my love, sweet, sweet stuff, babe and his personal favourite, sunshine.

➜ Overall your relationship is perfect for the both of you, neither of you could possibly want anything more or less.

➜ You were both unconditionally in love and nothing could ever change that.

masterlist

🕷🕸

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adiproseprose · 11 months

Text

‘God, I can’t wait for you to explode’

‘Just imagine this helpless piggy too big to walk’

‘No doubt she’ll be immobile soon…’

The addicting tight rush of fullness settles in my bloated gut. My third straight pitcher of weight gain shake collapses to the floor, and I struggle to shake the numbness out of my toes. If I could see them I’d know they were swollen and startlingly red, but I can’t see shit past my massive tits, hanging low to the center of my belly. I sink back into the couch and rub myself off, sausage fingers snaking into my underwear. My chins serve as a resting place for my exhausted head.

I’ve always been something of an extremist. There was a time where I would count the calories on a baggy of baby carrots. I was a whore in every sense of the word, skinny as a pencil and duller than an eraser. I didn’t need anybody, I had the attention of every boy I made eye contact with. Skipped college and became a model, traveled all over the world. If you want, you can get my before and after shots. 45 bucks a piece, 112 vrs. 675.

Nobody pays attention to you when you’re fat.

I kicked the ball down the hill when my agency fired me, parents claiming I was giving their kids bulimia or some bullshit. The ball began to collect years of sugar, fat, salt and grease, hardly able to get out of bed without a mouthful of fresh endorphins. My veins swelled with lard, stomach overstretched and doubled over onto my fat padded knees.

It was all very discouraging at first. I heard the gossip as I toddled along to my convenience store for my nightly dinner of mars bars and oven fries, about how tiny I used to be, if I was really the same girl. ‘Nobody wants to rub out a fat girl’.

I drank a lot. Partied a lot. Had a lot of shitty, desperate sex that ended after 4 minutes with a sigh and a cigarette. Then I met this guy. He grabbed my belly and afterwards told me I could make a killing if I kept gaining weight. I told him to fuck off but I looked into it. Feedism is a deep, dark, somewhat fucked up world. But money is green, so I did some analysis. What did they like about these women, big asses, big tits, double chins? These women are making thousands of dollars just to eat.

I piled on fat like batter in a cake tin. I’m round up top, double belly and huge boobs. Thickness in my face that I don’t love, but my ass is rounder than the moon.

“Ohhhh…fuck *HIC*...fuck me. I might’ve had too much, guys.” I whine to the camera. I rub and shake my belly.

“BURRPPP!”

I like to read the comments while I masturbate. I scroll, an endless stream of aroused fans.

‘700 bucks if you do a fourth!!111’

‘7 HUNDO!!!!!’

Over and over again this bitch. I roll my eyes. “500 dollars for another one Mr…Pigfarmer?”

‘YES!!!’

He donates. And I fix the shake on my coffee table, bringing it to my lips. I wince. I really do not wanna throw up.

“Gonna do this for you, Pigfarmer. Whoooo boy..”

I down the shake in maybe 2 minutes and let the empty pitcher land on the floor with the others. “So *huff* fucking…fat. Can barely get… off the couch anymore..ughhhh…”

‘I will feed you until your fucking feet fall off’

‘I can help you off the couch!!!’

‘I’ll feed you and fuck you until you can’t move baby’

This isn’t enough. I need to be fat enough to where anything is monetizable. Walking out to the car. Going up stairs. I’ve made a few sets of my rolling out bed, when my joints are aching and my waddle is exaggerated the most.

I don’t get much out of this besides the money. If anything, it makes me feel gross. But I blend in effortlessly, I’ve gone so deep. I’m not a feedee. I am a fat fucking whale who happens to be fat because it makes me ridiculous amounts of money. It makes it a lot easier to smile.

“Alright, guys, I’m gonna hop off. See you guys next time!! Love you!”

I click. 1700 dollars from an hour stream. Not too bad. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and drum my belly. I’m numb. I’m covered in grease, shake powder and cum. I can barely make it through my day without that tight fullness now. I wheeze deeply as I contemplate what to eat for dinner.

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bunnyksj · 2 months

Text

Do I Wanna Know? - KSJ x Reader.

Summary: If your husband can sleep around, going after any woman he can get his hands on, what's stopping you from getting back at him by sleeping with your coworker?

Author’s Note: JIN MY LOVE, anyways thank you so much for all your support on the last fics like omg (>w<), i really appreciate it so much you don't understand.

TAGS: MDNI, smut, cheating (guys don't do it that shits wack), revenge sex, slight manhandling teehee, cunnilingus, praise, degradation, he hits it raw </3 (as normal LMAO).

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

It all started when your husband came home intoxicated from a long night out.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

He lay sprawled out on your sofa, dark rings under his eyes. You could smell the alcohol radiating off his body from across the room, making your nose scrunch in disgust. His phone was violently vibrating, a plethora of messages coming through his phone. Angry mistresses demanding for cash in exchange for keeping quiet about his affairs.

“Fucking pig.” You muttered under your breath, a blend of hurt and anger flowing through your body.

You pour yourself a glass of champagne, softly crying into the glass, taking in the wright of the situation, the life you had built together, the love and adoration you once had for one another had slowly faded, and now, it had completely died out.

As more messages kept coming through, you felt your heart sink lower and lower, taking small sips from your glass. What should you do now? You stood there in silence, leaning against the kitchen countertop, pondering your next moves.

Should you just pack all your stuff and leave? No, you don't have anywhere to go, and getting a divorce is expensive enough, you dont wanna imagine how much it would be to find your own place, and settle in at the same time.

Eventually, an idea came into your head.

Who the fuck does your husband think he is? Sleeping around behind your back, like you wouldnt eventually find out. Well, it's time to show him you're not the only one who keeps secrets.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

Seokjin was someone that you had worked with for a long time. You couldn't lie and said you didn't admire sharp features and soft smiles from time to time, finding comfort in his warm and caring eyes. And you definitely weren’t the only one. It was pretty common for the women around your office to fawn over him when he’d walk past. Talking in hushed giggles about what they would do to him if given the chance.

You thought you guys were friendly enough with each other, often talking during your lunch break, engaging in deep conversations about the issues you were dealing with. But that was mainly it. Seokjin usually kept himself closed off, brushing off the lustful stares and small giggles of his female coworkers, often keeping his gaze cold and calculating. He never gave them the time of day, and honestly, you didn't think he’d give you that either.

But hey, trying never hurt anybody.

You pressed the phone against your ear with shaking hands, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

“Hi..um..Seokjin,” You began, stamming with nervousness, but also a slight hint of excitement. “Are you busy at all today?”

“No, not really. Why?” He said, his soft voice coming from the other end of the line.

You took a deep breath, putting on a slight sultry tone in your voice.

“I’ve been thinking about you alot. Won’t you come over~.”

He took a deep inhale. “I don’t know if I should, y/n. What about-”

“My husband? Don’t worry about that dickhead.” You said, quickly cutting him off.

“Besides,” A small smirk crept onto your face. “You can keep a secret, right?”

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

“Shit…” He groaned softly, laying you down on your back. “You’re so fucking sexy baby, been wanting this for a long time..”

Seokjin came over shortly after you called him. His breath hitched as he entered your room, his hooded gaze trailed across your lingerie clad body. Your husband had left a few hours ago. To go where? Who the fuck knows. Not like you even cared anymore, you were having your own fun. Let him run around behind your back all he wants, you’ll do it too.

You felt a strange sense of satisfaction and power, like you had the upper hand now. You feel your heart racing in anticipation, as Seokjin lips slowly move down your neck, his hands reaching behind your back to unclip your bra, letting your breasts free.

Seokjin's firm hands run over your breasts, softly pinching your nipples under his thumbs. “So perfect…” He mutters, softly licking around one of your nips.

You whine softly, running your hands along his broad back, feeling his firm muscles under your soft palms. He slowly moves his hand down your torso, caressing the wetness pooling between your thighs. Slowly, he peels off your lace panties, throwing them aside.

“So pretty baby. You’re gonna let me take care of you right? Gonna make you feel so good.” He whispers slowly into your ear, breath tickling your throat.

He slowly moves over your clit, rubbing it gently, making you whimper softly. His hands run down your thighs as he places himself between your legs, his breath lightly fanning against your folds.

“Such a sensitive sweet thing. Poor baby hasn’t been fucked good in a while, has she?”

You shake your head, big eyes gazing down into his. “Wanna feel good…”

“I know, angel. Just relax for me, mkay. Gonna fuck you so damn good.”

He slowly licks over your folds, sucking on your pretty clit. His hands force your thighs apart, pulling you closer to his face, worshiping your body. He groans softly, moving his tongue around you, swirling over your clit, your arousal painting his lips. Soft wet noises and your whines fill the room, your hands running through Seokjin's soft hair, lightly gripping it.

“Mmm..fuck..so good~!” You cry, softly grinding your hips against his face, your eyes rolling back, pleasure coursing through your veins.

“You taste so fucking good..” He growls, slowly slipping his fingers into your pussy, spreading you open whilst he licks and sucks your clit. His fingers arch slightly, pressing onto your g-spot, making you arch and moan. Your hands pull on his hair, making him moan lowly, his fingers moving faster inside you.

“J-jinnie~,” You whine. “Want you now..”

“Yeah, you want me inside of you? Want me to fuck you like a good little whore?”

He kneels on the bed, throwing your legs over his wide shoulders, pulling you closer to him, your lower back slightly off the bed as he positions himself between your dripping thighs.

“Mhm..please, I want it so bad. Wanna be a good little slut,” You cry, your body aching with desire and need. “Please, Jinnie?”

He gives you a soft smirk, before pushing into you, his thick cock rubbing against your walls. “Gonna fill this little cunt up, fuck you just right.” He says, slowly pushing every inch as deep as he can inside of you.

You moan loudly, feeling him fill you up. He’s massive, way bigger than your husband, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You lie back on the bed, eyes rolling and panting loudly as he claims your body. His hips slap against yours, wet slaps filling the room, making you even wetter. His hands grip your legs, pushing them back a little to reach even deeper inside you, slight bruises forming on your legs due to his tight grip. Your hands claw at the sheets, your vision blurring from the intense pleasure.

“Fuck, should’ve known you were such a slut, would’ve fucked you ages ago, made you my little bitch.” He says, emphasizing his words with his harsh thrusts.

“F-fuck…you’re so fucking good..so big..” You gasp, your body clenching around his girth, begging for more.

You bounce off his hips, chest bouncing with each thrust, the desperation and passion of your fucking filling the room. His hands run up your chest, reaching your throat, his grip softly putting pressure around it,

“You’re mine now right? My good little slut?” He says, running his tongue over his top lip, looking down into your eyes, his eyes clouded with lust.

“Mhm..yes~!” You cry, your body slowly reaching its climax. “Wanna be yours, Jinnie. Only you can fuck me this good~!”

“Fuck, that's it baby..” He growls. “Such a shame, your little husband never treated you right, good thing you’re getting fucked by a real man now. Now you know how good I can make you feel, right?”

You nod, a warm pool of pleasure forming in your stomach. “Fuck, Jinnie! I’m gonna cum~! Please…”

A dark smirk grows on his face, his fingers playing with your clit, driving you to your peak. “Go on. Cum for me, sweet angel.”

You cry, your back arching, your body losing control. You cum around him, wetness coating all over the sheets below you as he continues to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm.

He growls at the sight of you, your pretty face twisted in pure pleasure. It drives him over the edge, and he cums deep inside of you. Thick ropes painting your insides, filling you up nicely.

He pants, sweat coating his forehead, his hand brushing back his sweaty hair, leaning down to kiss you passionately. You return the kiss, your tongues both softly sliding around each other, enjoying the intimate embrace. He grabs you by the hips, lifting you up bridal style.

“Cmon, let's get you cleaned up.” He says, smiling softly, carrying you towards the shower. You give him a small smile, leaning into his bare chest, panting softly, catching your breath.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

A few days have passed since then, and your husband is none the wiser. You smile softly, thinking about the night you shared with Seokjin not long ago. Your thoughts are interrupted by a text message coming through on your phone. It’s Seokjin.

“You free today, angel?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

#bunny.writes #kim seokjin #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts smut #bangtan smut

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linphd · 1 year

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Getting caught in their room | NSFW Headcanons

gender neutral

-> As someone bursts in their room, they find you in their bed in a rather surprising situation. Obviously, all the characters are now in 3rd year.

-> Neito Monoma, Hitoshi Shinsou, Katsuki Bakugou.

Neito Monoma

Somehow luckily for you, you were in the 3B building and not Monoma in yours. Sure, he had been the one stupid enough to leave the door unlocked, so when Tetsutetsu walked in to ask to train with his friend, he was the one discovering you almost naked.

His scream obviously attracted others. Monoma quickly arrived -he had gone to Setsuna’s room to get some answers for homework he hadn’t done- and rushed everyone out of his room, telling you he « would get Shinsou involved so they forget. », « I… don’t think he can do that. » you replied.

You weren’t dating him. You just thought hatred made sex exciting and it had been a few months those several years of not standing him were finally benefiting you. So yeah, getting caught as -obviously- Neito Monoma’s booty call wasn’t really nice for you.

Surely he still had something done, because everyone in your class seemed unaware of this situation. It’s only when Shihai, during a joint training within the hero branch, after a little remark from the blonde, spat : « Ah ! At least I don’t sneak at night in campus to get laid. » that you got scared.

Monoma dropped his usual grin, looking genuinely confused. « I… don’t know what you’re talking about ? » making even Shihai disturbed. You checked the rest of 3B, and only a few of them glanced at you and then acted like nothing had happened. Well, surprisingly, Monoma was rather trustworthy with all of this !

Hitoshi Shinsou

It’s actually Denki that entered Shinsou’s dorm uninvited. You were usually very careful, never staying late in his room and him always locking the door. But it was New Year’s Eve, and you were both drunk and not careful the night prior.

You both jumped at the loud noise, waking up as Denki started to scream « HAPPY NEW Y- ohhhhh, you already spent a happy new year, I see…. » he giggled. « Fuck off. » sighed Shinsou, checking if you were still covered enough despite the fact he had pulled the blanket towards him.

« Oh my God, now I’m curious- » the blonde started. « Of course ! » you sighed as well. « Has it been going on for long ? » Shinsou nodded. « Are you guys dating ? » he added. « Uhhhh… not really ? We just don’t see anybody else. » you replied. « Ah ! So you date but don’t wanna say it. » the blonde commented.

Obviously, the noise attracted everyone walking by, unfortunately for Shinsou and you, both still naked under the blanket. « It makes sense. » Kirishima stated. « So much sense ! » Denki added. Sero started to imitate you « Oh, Shinsou, you became so much stronger ! Ohhhh, your quirk is so impressive ! »

Denki added another commentary to Sero’s impression : « When they were sucking his dick they were doing it for real too ! » All the boys laughed, making Shinsou throw a pillow at them -despite being rather amused. « Now get out so I can finally dress up. » you said, making them rush out.

Katsuki Bakugou

Obviously, you were the one dumbass leaving the door unlocked. First thing Kirishima said was « makes sense » when he saw you laying there, under the sheets, obviously naked, while Katsuki was brushing his teeth.

He immediately called the rest of the Bakusquad, each of them less shocked than the other. « That’s why his room was forbidden ; so we wouldn’t walk on (Y/N) naked. », « Ohhhh that’s why they have privileges and can make fun of him without consequences. », « Elementary my dear Sero, the consequences are in bed. » Mina added.

« CAN YOU ALL SHUT UP AT ONCE ?! » Katsuki yelled from his bathroom, not seeming really surprised at the discovery -still furious though. « That’s why you’ve been so calm compared to our 1st year. You didn’t grow up, you just weren’t a frustrated teen anymore ! » Denki commented.

« Sooooo…. Y’all have been dating since when ? » Mina asked. « Yep, surely not Bakugou would have a booty call. Now, spill the beans. » the blonde added. You sighed. « Since the beginning of this year. Now get out so I can change. » you replied, making them all leave.

However, you didn’t know that Katsuki’s behavior was just a facade. As soon as you went to shower, he stepped out of his room and exploded each of his friends’ face, making Denki dumb in the process. A few threats and explosions later, the whole rest of the school is still unaware of your relationship.

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heich0e · 2 years

Text

wake up call suna rintarou/f!reader (haikyuu!) word count: 2k tags: sfw but suggestive, classic morning after meltdown, walk of shame (bedroom to kitchen edition), pining, fwb to lovers, idiots to lovers, instagram story repliers to lovers, bestfriend!terushima, implied teruyams. a/n: i heard suna rintarou has a 8 pack... i heard he’s shredded

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up—

“I fucked up.”

“Good morning to you too,” Yuuji chirps from the other line as you answer his call. His bright tone is a stark contrast to your own hoarse, panicked whisper—having frantically fished your ringing cellphone from the bottom of your tangled bedsheets when it woke you. “What did you do this time?”

"I..."

You hear the unmistakable sound of your shower running down the hall of your one bedroom apartment, sucking in a breath.

"... am going to be late for brunch.”

“Ohhh.” Your best friend’s tone of voice turns salacious. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Terushima Yuuji is nothing if not insatiably gossip hungry. “Who did you do this time?"

"Yuuji..." you trail off, weary and miserable.

"I should have known what you were up to when you disappeared from the bar last night without saying goodbye.”

“Yuuji,” you repeat yourself, though this time it's a harsher snap that's punctuated by a painful throb buried deep between your temples. “I’m serious, this is bad.”

“Oh no,” he says with a dramatic gasp, quickly realizing just what—and who—you’ve done.

You let out a dismal, pathetic little groan.

“You said it was never gonna happen again! Swore up and down that you’d rather be struck dead than ever—“

“Shut up,” you hiss, another pang of your aching hangover blooming behind your eyes. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault? You’re the one who was all ‘Yuu I’m getting transferred to Nagano wah wah wahhh I’m not going to know anybody wah wah Oh, doesn’t your super cute boyfriend’s friend study in Nagano? Can’t you put me in contact with him? i just wanna know one person wahhhhh.’”

“That was insulting,” you sniff following his offensive impersonation of the conversation the two of you had shared ten months prior before you'd moved across the country for your promotion. You push your messy, matted hair back from your face.

“That was spot on and you know it.” He snickers. “Anyway, blaming me for any part of the mess you’ve gotten yourself into here is laughable.”

“If you’d never introduced me to Tsukki I never would have met—“

The shower down the hall turns off, and your head snaps towards your bedroom door—left slightly ajar by the last person to exit it.

“I have to go,” you whisper in a panic, and hang up before you can hear Yuuji’s (surely snarky) reply.

You stumble on your own two feet as you scramble out of bed, grabbing an old oversized t-shirt to pull on from your floor next to your hamper. You hadn’t even cleaned up your apartment last night, you realize in horror, rushing out to your living room.

There are dishes in your sink, a half-empty and uncapped bottle of green tea on your counter that you never finished, a pair of shoes in the middle of your floor, and a pile of work papers on the corner of your coffee table with an empty candy wrapper on top that you'd forgotten to throw away. Your eyes flicker to your closed bathroom door and wonder what humiliating mess you might have left in there.

Your cellphone, clutched tightly in your hand, buzzes with a text.

Tadashi and I’s train home to Sendai leaves at 2, and if I don’t see you before then I will assume you have died of mortification or had your back broken.

Either way RIP.

‘Fuck you’ you text back, sneering at the way he's taking pleasure in your misery.

Your bathroom door opens.

“Hey,” a familiar figure steps out, and a wispy cloud of steam follows. You feel the humid heat kiss your cheeks as he towels the ends of his hair.

There's another wrapped around his waist, but the man before you is otherwise glistening and bare.

“Hi.” You stand like a proverbial deer in the headlights, averting your eyes demurely.

The phone in your hand buzzes again, and your gaze flickers towards it.

I wouldn’t say no to Suna Rintarou’s sloppy seconds 👅

You toss your phone gracelessly behind you onto your couch.

Suna quirks a dark brow as the device lands with an audible little thump among the cushions, but otherwise passes no comment.

Everything on your body aches.

“Sleep well?” he asks you, ruffling the hair beside his right ear with the end of your favourite lilac bathtowel.

No.

“Yeah, you?”

“Mhmm.” He lets the towel rest looped around the back of his neck. He juts a thumb over his shoulder towards the door he'd just exited. “I was gonna wake you to ask but I figured I'd just shower first. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” you wave your hand dismissively, trying to keep your voice as even and unbothered as possible though you have reason to suspect you might be failing.

It's painfully, hideously quiet in the moments that follow.

“So," Suna says, his uncannily vulpine eyes watching your every move carefully, "wanna grab breakfast?”

“I have plans actually." Your answer comes too quickly and too emphatically even though it’s true. You shuffle into your kitchen just as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you.

He follows.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply through the sticky tightness of your throat. “I can make you a coffee though?”

You feel gross. Your skin feels tacky and icky and you desperately need a shower. You're also fairly confident that you didn’t even have the presence of mind (or remaining stamina) to take any of your makeup off last night, and can only imagine what you must look like right now as a result.

Your cheeks flush hot at the realization, and you spin on your heel to face your kitchen cupboards to--if nothing else--spare you another mortifying moment of being too closely perceived.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you insist, pulling open the cabinet door in front of you and reaching towards the middle shelf to grab your bag of coffee grinds.

“You can hardly bear to look at me." You can tell as he speaks that Suna's getting closer, and panic mounts in your aching chest. You fiddle with the foiled edge of the plastic coffee bag nervously.

“You’re half naked,” you squeak out like it should be obvious.

A large hand appears in your peripheral vision, resting on the cupboard door next to your head and slowly easing it closed.

"I was fully naked last night, and you didn’t seem to have a problem with it then.”

“Suna, I-“ you falter when you turn around and realize just how close he is.

He's right in front of you. So close that you can feel the residual heat from the shower radiating off his exposed skin, so close you can see the droplets of water that still cling to him. His hand still rests flat against the cupboard beside your head, and the other on the counter next to your hip.

“You call me Rin when you’re drinking, you call me Rin when we’re fucking,”--you realize belatedly he has you practically pinned against the counter with his body--“why can’t you ever call me Rin in the morning?”

Your pulse pounds in the back of your throat, and for a terrible, horrifying moment you think you might be sick. In your panic, you duck under his arm and skitter away.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you mumble, heat climbing up your cheeks as you flee to the other side of your tiny kitchen--not that it does much good.

Suna turns and surveys you skeptically as you wring your clammy hands. “Is that so?”

You nod, entirely unconvincingly.

“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”

“What reason would I possibly have to lie to you?” you toss back, equally accusatory in tone, but it's clear to both of you that you're floundering.

“Great question," Suna crosses his arms over his stupidly toned chest, "I’d like to know the answer too.”

All you can focus on is how his posture makes both his chest and his biceps look unbelievably good.

“I’m too hungover for this,” you groan, cradling your head in your hands.

“Do you need medicine?” Suna softens in the face of your apparent agony, taking a little step towards you.

“No, no!"--you throw your arm out to keep him at a distance, waving him away dismissively--"And don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asks, head tilting to the side in confusion.

"Y'know..." Your mouth opens and then closes again as you try to string together any coherent sequence of words. "Be all… nice to me.”

“Don’t be nice?" Suna's already monotonous voice is impossibly flat as he interrogates you. "Why not?”

“Because you’re you!” you finally snap, exasperated and flustered and wishing more than anything that you could just crawl back into your bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

“Uh, as opposed to…?”

“You know what I mean!” You huff frustratedly.

He looks at you like he really, really doesn't.

“You’re charming and hot and a professional fucking athlete with an eight pack,”--you gesture accusatorially to his naked torso for dramatic effect--“and yeah you’re a little weird, but honestly it’s kind of infuriatingly cute.”

Suna glances down and quietly counts his own abs, seeming genuinely surprised when he finds that you’re not wrong.

“I thought I only had 6,” he says, mildly impressed, as he looks up. “I think you’re cute too, by the way.”

You resist the urge to scream, settling instead for crouching with your head held in your hands.

It's quiet again, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the painful pulse you can feel pounding behind them.

Your voice is softer, more defeated, when you finally do speak.

“You’re you, and I’m me, and we’re us. And us just… doesn’t do nice.”

You hear Suna shuffle towards you, his bare feet appearing in front of your downturned gaze as he crouches in front of you and mirrors your stance.

“Hey, don’t I get a say in any of this?” he asks, surprisingly gentle.

“You can’t really will two of your abdominal muscles away,” you mumble.

“I’m not talking about my abs,” he says, but he can’t help but laugh a little. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that there’s a reason I keep coming over here? That there’s a reason we keep hooking up?”

You blink, pursing your lips. You still refuse to meet his gaze though you can feel it on the features of your face.

“I’m annoying? And surprisingly hard to shake when I’m drunk and propositioning you?”

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “and I also happen to like you.”

You suck in a sharp, wounded breath. “It’s… different for me, Rin. I-I’m worried that I like you more than I should. And I don’t know when it happened, or what to do about it.”

“There you go making decisions all on your own again.”—Suna clicks his tongue admonishingly—“I reply to every single one of your Instagram stories.”

He makes the announcement as if it should clear everything up, though it unsurprisingly does not.

You blink, peeking up at him from under your lashes.

“You’re just always on your phone.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he admits, running a hand through his wet hair and pushing it back from his face. He draws in a little breath and holds it for a moment, like he’s steeling his nerve. “Do you have any idea how often I bug Tsukki for updates on you? How you are, where you’ve been, if you mentioned me? It’s kind of pathetic. I’m pretty sure he’s muted my text notifications.”

You don’t understand.

“Why?”

He laughs, though the sound is relatively mirthless.

“Because I like you. I already said that.”

“You like fucking me,” you argue, hiding your face in your hands.

“No,” he’s exasperated now, and you realize that this might be the most you’ve ever actually spoken to Suna about anything that isn’t, well, directly related to being penetrated by him. “I mean, yeah, obviously. But I also think you’re funny, and have good taste in music, and find it really fucking cute when you text me at two o’clock in the morning trying to start a fight with me just because you want me to come over.”

Terushima did once accuse you of using instigation as foreplay.

“I was keeping things casual because I thought it was what you wanted, not because I thought it was all you deserved.” He ducks closer to you, and gently pries your hands off of your face so you have no choice but to look at him. “I’m gonna say this once to make it perfectly clear: I like you just as much as you like me. Hell, maybe more. You’re free to do with that information what you will, but I just… need you to know.”

He stares at you, hands loosely circling your wrists as he holds them away from your burning face, and you have absolutely no choice but to stare back.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you agree.

You’re both breathing heavily, your heartbeat racing in your chest.

Suna looks suddenly quite guilty, his narrow eyes flickering away.

“I really wanna fuck you right now,” he admits breathily.

“I really need to shower,” you say, but you sound almost remorseful. “And I wasn’t lying about having brunch plans.”

“I could come with you,” he offers, his grip sliding up from your wrists to cradle your hands with his own, his fingertips trailing over your knuckles.

“My shower is pretty small…”

“I meant to brunch,”—he threads his fingers through your own and squeezes, accompanying the gesture with a breathy little laugh—“but thanks for thinking of me.”

“Oh,” you mumble, too fixated on how much bigger his hands are compared to yours to offer much else.

Suna groans suddenly, dropping his forehead to your collar.

“You look good in my shirt,” he says, but in spite of the compliment it almost sounds like a complaint. “it’s kind of driving me crazy.”

You thought that you’d pulled on your own oversized t-shirt, but in your hungover, barely-conscious panic you had in fact put on his.

Suna smells like your shampoo when he nuzzles against your throat, and he’s still deliciously warm from his shower as he slumps into you on your kitchen floor. The early morning sunshine streams through the windows behind him in your living room, and your eyes flicker to the bag of coffee you’d abandoned on your counter.

Your fingers gently brush against Suna’s nape, running through the damp tendrils of hair that curl against his neck.

“I… really do need to shower,” you say, though it takes a lot more of your willpower than you’re willing to admit. “But… there will be other brunches.”

Suna pulls back to look at you.

“Yeah?” he asks, a smile playing at his lips that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He’s so close that you can see the single dimple on one side of his mouth, and the faint freckles smattered around the highest points of his cheeks.

“Yeah,” you agree, soft and affectionate.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” you echo.

#suna rintarou x you #suna rintarou x reader #suna x you #suna x reader #suna #suna rintarou #hq drabble #hq writing #hq fic #writing

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yelenasdiary · 2 months

Text

Drabble || Lost You Once

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: One the happiest days of your life, Yelena has other plans.

Angst, Fluff?

Warnings: Cheating? | 0.5K

AC: This isn’t proof read or corrected, it’s literally just an idea I have in my head & wanna share it. Enjoy! X

“You look absolutely stunning!” Kate, your best friend smiled. Your cheeks unable to stop the ever growing smile on your face as you gave one last twirl in the mirror. “Thank you” you replied as you hugged the brunette tightly.

“Are you nervous?” Kate asked.

You nodded, “but it feels right” you took one last look at yourself in the mirror as Kate grabbed the flower bouquet. “It’s not too late to make a run for it” Kate joked, handing your the bundle of flowers. You playfully rolled your eyes before a panicking knock on the door was heard.

“The brides coming!” Kate called. Then it really hit you, in a matter of minutes you’d be walking down the aisle. Your soon to be wife would watch you walk towards her, towards forever. Your runnings thoughts were quickly interrupted when a the door sung open and your eyes were met with familiar green eyes once again.

“Y-Yel-“

“Don’t marry her” Yelena said, your heart dropped. Kate looked between her two closest friends, unsure what to do. You stood, frozen in your wedding dress as Yelena took a few small steps closer towards you, she didn’t care that Kate was in the door or if anybody heard her pleas.

“What is happening right now?” Kate asked, only to be ignored. Your eyes were glued to Yelena’s as she got closer, trying your best to keep the built up tears from falling. “I know I have no right to be here like this. I know I hurt you and I’ve regretted it every second of every day. All I want is for you to be happy but it’s not with her” the Russian said.

The last time you saw Yelena was three years ago and not a single word from her until now. Her insecurities got the better of her, letting you slip through her fingers. A few heated arguments and she truly felt you were better off without her and just like that, she left.

“I love you Y/n, I always have. You can tell me leave and you never have to hear from me again but before you do, I need to be sure that this is the end for us…because if it’s not, I want you to know that I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I lost you once and I ca-“

Uncontrollably, you cupped her face and let your lips crash on to hers. Yelena pulled you closer, deepening the long awaited kiss. The kiss felt like a breath of fresh air, like your heart had finally been unlocked. You could feel your blood rushing through your body, feeling her arms wrapped around your waist once again brought the sense of being finally home back. All the feelings you locked away deep, deep down bursted open like she never left.

Both of you hated pulling away for air, you looked to Kate. “Is it still too late?” You asked.

Kate looked at you then to Yelena then back to you, “is this what you want?” she asked. You nodded, “it’s all I’ve wanted” you replied honestly.

“Then no, it’s not too late” Kate smiled softly.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#fanfiction #yelena belova x reader #Yelena Belova #kate bishop x reader #Kate bishop

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wrotethisat12 · 7 months

Text

Old habits

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

request:

Hiya! Is it possible for you to do a y/n x Natasha where y/n sometimes gets teased by her teammates as a joke . The result for that is that she ends up throwing up what they eat this started at a young age aswell so its like a relapse ❣️

can you include Natasha also seeing sh scars and she gets worried but y/n has been clean for a while so they tell her that.

Thank you!

Length: medium?

Tw: pûrg!ng, mentions of past s3lf harm, eat1ng d1sorders, mention of fire (metaphorically), ummm a comment about somebody’s ass at the beginning too.

this can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic, I didn’t specify the relationship. Not proofread.

please if you ever feel like this I have open dms and open arms I’m here for you, please find some help.

“Ooh, you’ve got some ass to grab, L/n!”

You tried to hide your flinch. They don’t know. They didn’t mean it. Calm down. You kept running, ignoring the comment of your teammate, who was sitting on the edge of the field with sweaty hair and a Nalgene water bottle. I am beautiful. I am healthy. I am loved. You repeated the affirmations that your therapist, Miriam, had taught you.

By the time you had finished your laps, most of the burning wildfire in your head from the comment was gone. You sat down next to your teammates and laughed with them, drinking your water.

“Hey.” Natasha, a fiery redhead, had finished her laps and sat down next to you. The two of you had never been close, having just met each other this year, but she seemed pretty nice. You turned towards her.

“Guess I beat you this time,” you said.

“this time.”

when the rest of the team finished running, one of you ordered pizza, and you all ate it next to the field.

nononono don’t- you took a bite of it, eyes nervously glancing around to see if anybody had noticed your struggle.

No one. Good.

after dinner, you took your time in the locker room, making sure that you were the last to leave. Before you left, you went into one of the bathroom stall and, as quietly as you could, rid your body of its dinner.

———

Nat’s pov:

through the rest of the week, Natasha noticed a change in you. You could never finish your laps before her, often ending last, you avoided everybody, and you always left last. She was beyond worried.

one night, she decided to stay late to see what was happening. She stood on the toilet seat of the far right stall, where no one ever went because of an unsavory amount of spiders, and peeked through the crack. She saw you step out of a shower and walk into a stall. Then, after a minute or two, she heard gagging noises.

Oh no. She realized what you were doing and the blood drained from her face. She rushed into your stall, which you had not bothered to close. Powerless to stop you, she kneeled behind you and hers your hair back, a hand on your shaking back.

Your pov:

this had become a routine. Soccer, dinner, food, purge. This Friday, as usual, you had done the regular pattern, and now you were here, bent over the toilet again.

a hand pulled your hair away from your face and then a matching one settled on your back. Who the fu- when you were done, you pulled your head away from the toilet shakily.

a pair of green eyes looked at you, forehead tight-knit with worry. Natasha grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped off your mouth. After that, you leaned against the side of the stall. Natasha did the same, wrapping her arm around your body, which was still shaking.

“so… you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Natasha asked.

“I… I did this a lot, back in middle school and high school. But my parents found out when I was fifteen, and they made me go to therapy. I got better. But now…”

“so… what happened?”

“Carol and Maria… you know how they kind of hit on everyone on the team?”

Natasha nodded.

“so…” your cheeks heated up from embarrassment and shame. “They made a comment about… me having more butt than I used to…” tears started to slip from your eyes, and you expected Natasha to walk away.

surprisingly, she did no such thing. She pulled you into her chest, where you sobbed unapologetically.

When you were done, you sat up straight again.

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” Natasha told you, “and you’re gonna stay with me the whole time after, okay?”

you nodded and stood up to wash your hands and rinse out your mouth. When you reached the sink, you rolled up your sleeves.

you heard a gasp from Natasha. She ran over to you and made you sit down on a bench by the lockers.

“are these new?!” She asked, gently holding your forearms in her soft hands. “Please, are you cutting yourself?” Her hands were shaking, as well as her voice.

“Don’t worry, Nat. I’m not cutting, I’ve been clean for two years now.” You hugged her.

“Okay… thank god… and I’m proud of you. For two years. My sister had a struggle with self harm, and… it was really bad, to see her like that.”

“I understand… I promise, Nat, I’ll try to get better.”

you washed your hands, picked a restaurant, and drove off in Natty’s car.

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camillesblogsposts · 1 year

Text

Say yes to me - three

Song- dream girl, lana del rey

@blairfox04 @lostcasefile @kyleeservopoulos @cursedpixie @ellieinmybed @intrnetdoll @frasersgf @alanahendrix @experiencebeinanamericanwh0re @ariianelle @nil-eena @spidersammy @starhrtz

“She said it’s different with me.”

“What?” Cat’s face scrunched up.

“Ellie, she said it’s different with me than it is with you and Dina and Jesse.” You told her. She had said that. You didn’t exactly know what she had meant by that, but it must have meant something. “Well yeah, she’s friends with us, she’s not with you.” Cat snapped, turning on her tv as to ignore you.

“Why do you think she doesn’t wanna be friends with me?” You sat on the end of her bed. Cat shrugged, “Ellie likes strong people.” That made sense. “The more you try suck up to her the less she likes you.” She continued on. “I don’t suck up to her.” You crossed your arms a little defensively. She rolled her eyes. You didn’t try to. You just wanted her to know what you had to offer; you weren’t lying or exaggerating, you wanted to be able to dote on her all day every day.

Somebody knocked on the door and Cat went to fetch it, Dina following soon after back into Cats bedroom. She smiled warmly at you, quickly embracing you. “Hello sunshine,” she hummed against you before pulling away. “When Ellie and Jesse get back from patrol how about we all have a movie night?” She looked to you and Cat to gage your responses. You nodded and gave her a big smile. Cat nodded too.

You had a quick shower and got changed, tidying your room hurriedly just in case anybody ended up in there for whatever reason. You’d be watching movies in your small living room, the usual arrangement was Jesse and Dina on the smaller sofa and you, Cat and Ellie on the larger one. Cat seemed to love that, physically being between the two of you. Your heart would be going crazy in your chest from being so close to Ellie, every time without fail.

You’d just walked back out into the kitchen when the front door opened, Jesse walking in alone. You smiled at him, a little confused, “Where’s Ellie?” He smiled back softly, “She’s getting stitched up by Maria, she got grabbed and-” you cut him off “Is she okay?” He nodded. “Nothing serious, just a few cuts.” You nodded back at him, grabbing your shoes and shoving them on, quickly walking past him. He grabbed your arm.

“Y/N, she’s lucky to have someone care about her so much, even if she doesn’t appreciate it.”

You didn’t reply to him, looking down and leaving. You hated when people said things like that. You didn’t care about Ellie in hopes that she’d show how much she appreciates it, you just felt that way for her. You wanted her to be reminded of it every day.

You walked quickly to the infirmary, the little wooden star you’d been traded at the market in hand. Ellie was there, laid down on top of a bed. She was asleep. “She’s okay, the painkillers make you drowsy, she’s okay to sleep for a short while.” Maria spoke, examining you quickly. Ellie’s arms were bandaged. “You stay here with her for me, I have to go find Tommy, when she wakes up she’s okay to leave.” She smiled at you quickly, sort of robotically. Maria left in a rush.

You felt a little awkward, you sat on the edge of the bed besides Ellie. Even asleep she looked so tense. Hesitantly, you stroked her hair behind her ear. You settled down to lay beside her, watching her chest dip down and up as she breathed. It was so comforting. You could feel her warmth on your skin, all you could smell was Ellie. You could’ve fell asleep like that. After a short while, Ellie opened her eyes. She looked shocked to see your face, blinking rapidly for a moment.

“What are you,”

“Sorry! Maria asked me to watch you.” You jolted to sit up and Ellie extended her hand quickly, preventing you from moving. You were pinned back down beside her, face to face. Your heart skipped a beat. She didn’t say anything else.

“Are your arms okay?” You whispered, struggling to look in her eyes. “Yeah.” She whispered back to you, voice rough. You closed your eyes, “If you’d let me, I’d kiss them better.” You heard Ellie’s breath hitch. You looked up at her, her eyes were wide, she was biting her lip. “You’re so fucking cruel to me.” She huffed, turning to lay on her back. You were confused. “What?” You asked, leaning over her to see her face again. She refused to look at you. “Nothing.” She mumbled. It was awkward again for a moment.

You remembered what Maria had said and got up, “You’re okay to leave, Dina said we’re all having a movie night.” You smiled at her, stroking your hands together anxiously. Ellie nodded, standing and walking to leave. She held the door open for you.

Once you were home, everyone had already settled into the sofas and got comfy. Cat motioned for Ellie to join her and before she did she turned to you, “Thanks for watching me, or whatever.” Her voice was quiet. You nodded and smiled. It was probably the first time Ellie had ever thanked you.

You sat beside Cat, your usual seat. Everyone fussed over Ellie for a minute or two in jest, irritating her. You were watching some action movie, not really your speed. You realised you had fell asleep after being shoved off of Cat, “If you’re gonna fall asleep don’t use my shoulder as your pillow.” She moaned, crossing her arms and shuffling away from you, closer to Ellie. You yawned and stretched, standing up a little wobbly. “M’ tired, gonna go to bed.” You spoke, waving your byes to everyone as you walked out of the living room. Ellie watched you with a strange look. You wondered what she was thinking.

You realised you still had the wooden star in your hand and quickly scurried back to the living room, waving at Ellie quietly as to try not to distract everyone from the movie. Ellie stood, Dina smirking at her a little as she noticed why Ellie was walking out of the room.

She closed the living room door behind her, the intimacy of it making you feel a little hot. It was just the two of you in the hallway. She didn’t say anything, looking down at you with hooded eyes.

“Got you something.” You whispered. She raised an eyebrow, waiting. You presented it, your little wooden star. She smiled, a small, hesitant, awkward kind of smile. “Why?” She asked, her hand raising to rub her neck. “Just made me think of you.” You told her, smiling and blushing. You wanted her to wrap her arms around you, let you touch her, kiss your forehead and tell you how much she loves it.

“You shouldn’t keep.. doing .. and saying stuff like that.” She was growing annoyed, now. A second before she’d been smiling. You realised that it was whatever she was thinking of that dampened her mood, not you.

“I know you don’t like me and that’s okay, I just wanted you to have this.” You were tearing up again. God, you thought, you must be so fucking insufferable to be around. Such a cry baby. Ellie’s jaw clenched. “I’ve never said that.” She grumbled. You were confused again. You swung back and forth your feet, pouting a little. “You don’t have to say it for me to know it.” You felt guilty after saying that, biting your tongue. “You’re so fucking difficult, you know?” She turned her head away from you, looking down the hallway, arms crossed.

“M’ sorry, sorry, I don’t want to upset you.” Your voice was cracking now. Ellie audibly gulped, her face coming back to yours. “Fuck, god, how don’t you fucking get it?” She sounded, strangely, hurt. You met her gaze, your tears streaming down your face now. It was harder to stop it when you were sleepy. “If I don’t get it then why can’t you just explain it to me? Tell me what’s wrong with me, I already told you, I’ll change it.” You were blubbery, Ellie growing nervous the others would hear your crying.

“Listen, just stop crying, okay? Get yourself to bed.” She tried hushing you, her hand hesitantly wiping away tears. You shook your head, “Just tell me what’s wrong with me.” Ellie grabbed your hand and pulled you down the hallway to your bedroom without a word, pulling you inside. “Nothing is wrong with you, Y/N. You just, the way you act, it’s fucking horrible for me.” Her voice was high with emotion. You were still crying, a rather pathetic display. “Why?” You whined out, your breathing unsteady. She sighed again, so so so fucking annoyed that you just didn’t get it. It seemed to painfully obvious to her but honestly, she was the only person that knew how she felt. Her and Joel.

“If you can’t fucking stop it then just stay the fuck away from me, feel like you’re torturing me every time you’re close.”

“I can’t help liking you.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Im not gonna be your fake fucking friend, pretending that I don’t, don’t feel,” She stopped herself. It seemed like you were having two completely different conversations.

You were quiet, sniffling to yourself. Ellie’s face was scrunched up. She came and knelt down on the floor, her face close to yours as you sat on your bed. “I wish you felt.. wish you wanted me.” You whispered. Ellie’s face grew red, she looked a little confused and taken aback. “How… how do you mean?” Her eyebrows furrowed. You struggled for the words. “Like… like those two girls in your book.”

Ellie’s head could have literally exploded. She had never ever ever once considered that you had thought of her in that way. She’d spent every day of her life since she’d met you obsessing over you, analysing you; the way your face moved, how you spoke, what these little changes meant about how you felt. She’d desired you so deeply and wholly it horrified her. You scared her. She hated how it made her feel, the way her throat clenched whenever you were in her line of vision. All of your little comments, all of your pouts and whining and little touches, they’d all been intended to entice her? She couldn’t grasp it.

Your bedroom door was opened, Cat stood, mouth agape. The day, seemingly, had came.

#ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #tlou x reader #ellie williams #elliewilliams #tlou #tlou ellie #say yes to me

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heartbreakgrill · 8 months

Text

stiles stilinksi: breakable heaven; pt. 4, “you say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times, we’re not trying.”

a/n: thank you for all of the love! this takes place at the beginning of season 3, but there's some weird things i chose to do. they're in lacrosse season and cross country at the same time to stay relevant to both mine and the show's plot. also, the season only takes place over like three months, so it's gonna seem fast, though that's how it canonically goes. much love, friends!

trigger warning: this is the motel California episode, so a brief mention of unaliving.

tagging: @ariianelle (dm me if you’d like to be tagged! i lose a lot of comments in my notifs <3)

“can we please play some real music?”

y/n glanced up from her phone, open on the texts between her and danny, to see megan reaching through the front seats, towards the radio. y/n snickered slightly as the drake song switched to a pop station.

leo huffed from the driver’s seat, “baby, we’ve talked about this! driver picks the music!”

“baby,” megan mocked with a silly expression, “i don’t care. i’m not listening to just drake songs for another 5 hours.”

y/n hummed in agreement, “girls rule, boys drool.”

jack scoffed from the passenger seat, “you’re never gonna win that fight, leo.”

megan looked towards her with proud defiance, and offered up her palm for a high five. y/n gave her one, before looking back down to her phone. danny had sent another message.

danny: idk this lower classman looks like he’s about to get hella sick and stiles keep bugging him

y/n: so do you think the bus is gonna stop??? i have to pee soooo badly

danny: lemme ask coach

danny: oh stiles is already asking coach hang on

danny: coach says no

danny: it’s ok if u guys aren’t directly behind us

y/n: no it’s not just that i just don’t wanna be a bother to anybody by having to stop the car. plus leo’s already gonna be in trouble for missing the bus lol

danny: ugh whatever

danny: o fuck lower class man just fucking project uke vomited

danny: see u in a sec lover 😝❤️

–

the big yellow bus donned with the beacon hills school name across the side of it pulled bumpily into a motel parking lot. the inhabitants cringed from both the poor driving and the lingering smell of puke. unlike the rest of them, stiles sat proudly, with an all-too pleased smile on his expression.

y/n bounced in her seat slightly as leo pulled the car into a parking spot. she peered around in an attempt to find a bathroom area. she would’ve used the bathroom back at the rest stop, but leo thought it would be smart to get ahead of the bus.

now, it looked like they’d all be trapped in some motel that looked straight out of that psycho movie.

megan tapped her shoulder and pointed towards the front office. “let’s go ask the lady in there.”

leo had missed the bus for the cross country meet this morning, and since y/n, jack, and megan were already planning on coming out to support him, they carpooled together. they didn’t always make it out to meets, especially not ones hours from home, but they each had free weekends, and thought it would be fun to tag along.

y/n and megan went off to the bathroom, while leo and jack joined the hoard of students. danny, having just collected the key to his room, spotted two of his friends. they waved him over, and danny happily jogged their way.

stiles glanced over at danny as he went. he recognized jack and leo and peered around for megan, maybe even y/n. she hadnt responded to his text, the one he sent on tuesday, the day after their encounter in the jeep. he apologized for rushing out of there so quickly. but she hadn’t even read it.

scott said something, drawing stiles attention away. they went off to find their room, lydia and allison, isaac and boyd, closely behind them. just as they found the external stairs, y/n and megan came trotting out of the front office.

danny saw his best friend over jack’s shoulder and lit up. “oh, my love!”

y/n grinned and jumped up on the toes of her shoes. “hello, handsome!” she hugged him.

“listen,” leo cut into their moment, pointing over to coach finstock. “i’m gonna go see if coach will get us a room, since i’m supposed to be on that bus anyways.”

megan latched onto his hand, “i’ll come with!”

danny, y/n, and jack waved after them. y/n sighed, and glanced around the crowd of students, who were breaking off into groups. danny followed her gaze and snorted with a smirk.

“what?” she glanced up at him.

“he just went to find his room,” danny pointed towards the stairs behind them. “wanna go say hi?”

y/n waved him off, quickly, antsy on her feet, “no, no. that’s not what we agreed on, remember? i am staying away.”

danny nodded his head, slow, as if he didn’t really believe her. “we’ll see how long that lasts.”

y/n scoffed and punched his shoulder. “i mean it, you ass. mindless sex is the last thing i need right now.”

jack looked up from his phone, “who’s having mindless sex?”

y/n waved him off, “literally nobody.”

“i think you should,” jack shrugged, looking back down at his phone.

she crossed her arms and popped a hip, “excuse me?”

jack glanced back up, “i’m just saying. you spent how long moping over sam. best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else.”

at the mention of sam, y/n usually felt her chest constrict slightly. it happened this time, too, like the trigger of his name blew out all her defenses. but, she recovered quickly.

that had been happening a lot more lately- recovery. he didn’t have as much a hold on her anymore.

danny snickered at jack’s words, “oh, you have no idea-“

y/n shoved danny harshly. “would you two shut the fuck up? my sex life is not public business.”

“of lack, thereof,” jack mumbled to himself.

y/n went to clap back, when megan and leo showed back up with a singular room key. leo held it up between his fingers, and wiggled it, “could only get one, but- room 216.”

“thank god,” jack took the key from leo, “i could use a shower.”

he led the way to the stairs, and megan and leo followed closely behind. y/n started after them, but faltered her steps once she realized. megan would want to sleep with leo, leaving the only other open bed in jack’s name. he’d say it’s not big deal, that they could sleep in the same bed no problem. but, even though they’d been in the same friend group for a few years now, she didn’t trust him all that much.

she turned back to danny, “please, please, please let me stay in your room with you-?”

danny looked down at her, shoulders dropping as he noticed her eyes turn up in a sappy, puppy-dog manner. he rolled his eyes, “of course you can, you don’t have to make that pathetic face. i’m rooming with ethan, but he doesn’t care. let’s go.”

danny called over the new kid and explained the rooming situation to him. he was completely okay with it, and introduced himself to y/n formally. she’d seen him around and heard about him, but this was the first she’d spoken to him. he was friendly enough.

y/n followed danny and ethan up the stairs. they ran into megan, jack, and leo and passed on the rooming news to them. then, just as they began moving along, the door beside them popped open. scott and stiles piled out.

y/n, frivolous and non-confrontational, did a two-step around ethan, slotting herself beside danny and the railing. stiles didn’t pay enough attention to anything, but he smelled her shampoo linger through the air. stiles looked over just quick enough to watch her disappear into the room beside his and scott’s.

this was going to be a long night.

–

luckily, danny had an extra pair of boxers for y/n to wear as makeshift pajama bottoms. the two boys, sweaty and tired from the bus ride in, took turns showering, while y/n scrolled mindlessly through the television. afterwards, ethan and danny made themselves comfy on the other bed. they were in a similar situation as y/n and stiles- sleeping together, with the agreement that feelings wouldn’t get involved. tale as old as time.

“man, i wish we had snacks. i’m starving,” danny pointed out as he pulled the covers over his legs. ethan sat a few feet from his left shoulder, as if they were trying to keep distance between them.

but, y/n wasn’t stupid- she recognized the tension between them. she knew it all too well. she knew danny wanted to hold ethan’s hand, knew ethan’s darting eyes lingered on danny’s lips- more than once. while ethan started their movie, she came up with the idea to give them a few moments alone. she’d read enough romance books to know the trope- one of them would break eventually.

“i saw a vending machine,” y/n recalled, sitting up in the bed, “i’ll go grab some stuff.”

she collected her purse from the floor and the room key from danny’s bedside table, before her friend could protest. she passed danny a knowing look as she slipped out the door. she wriggled her eyebrows in delight. danny rolled his eyes, though he was blushing, and the tiniest smile cracked his lips.

y/n’s tennis shoes creaked against the floor of the balcony. the motel was obviously old, with rusted corners. it had the faint smells of dust bunnies and moth balls whipping through the air. the sun had set since the start of their movie, and it made the already creepy setting a little more chilling. it was comforting that she saw a few of her classmates, moving between rooms, hanging out on the balcony. but, even though there were plenty of people, the motel had a way of making her feel felt deserted, distant from the rest of the world.

she turned the corner and finally saw the vending machine, tucked into the corner with the ice. she spent a few minutes picking out a few different things, and even managed to stretch out the time by popping open a bag of m&m’s. she checked her phone and saw that ten minutes had finally passed. y/n felt she could return now. if they hadn’t confessed their love for each other, hopefully they’d at least kissed or something.

y/n slid the key into the door handle, hitting it loudly against the metal in order to make danny and ethan aware of her return. she slowly, surely, opened the door. much to her surprise- and delight- she was met with the sight of way too much bare ass skin.

y/n slammed the door closed, eyes squeezed shut, a little scarred from whoever’s ass she had just seen. shuffling could be heard from the other side of the door, and she assumed danny and ethan were sorting themselves out. but, she felt bad, cockblocking them, so she called out, “hey, don’t even worry about it. i’m gonna go ask lydia if she has makeup wipes. you two…have loads of fun!”

y/n huffed out a breath. her hand fell off the door knob, and she looked around. lydia was just two doors down. she remembered seeing the redhead with allison, when they went inside their room earlier. but, she couldn’t remember if it was the door right next to theirs, or the one after it.

she wasn’t really sure.

all she did know was that stiles and scott were behind one of those two doors. and with her luck…

y/n opted for just sitting on one of the chairs in front of danny’s room. she pulled up a book on her phone. danny would text her, or even come and find her, once he was done doing whatever it is he was doing.

it was taking all her willpower to ignore stiles. the fact that she even missed him as much as she did was a red flag on the entire situation. she tried to convince herself that she didn’t miss him, but his lips, his words, his ability to draw out of her a feeling she’d never really known.

but thinking like that made it worse.

y/n occupied her mind with a few pages in her book. but, as she turned another chapter, she heard a a couple pairs of feet scuttle up the stairs. two voices she recognized were speaking in hushed whispers, anxiety setting their tones. y/n looked up from her phone, flushing a little when she saw stiles’ face in the dim light of the motel balcony. they were coming her way.

she tucked her chin into her chest, eyes glued to her phone, hoping they wouldn’t be paying enough attention to notice her. her chest was tight. she felt tingly.

that luck of hers…

“y/n? hey, hey, what’re you doing here?” stiles pushed past scott, squatting to his knees before her. his hand came to rest on her knee, his touch soft and warm.

y/n didn’t realize how cold she was, in just her tank top that she wore and the boxer’s she borrowed from danny. she shivered, brows drawing together in concern. “what?”

stiles sounded worried, a little scared, like there was something really wrong. his eyes fluttered around her, over his shoulder towards scott. the latter boy’s hair was wet, and y/n glanced out to the parking lot to see if it was raining. the wind whipped towards them, and the smell of gasoline prickled her nose. she looked back at scott, tilting her head. was he covered in gasoline?

stiles squeezed her knee, “what room are you in? you need to get inside, here, cmon.” he grabbed onto her hand, entwined his fingers with hers like it was habitual. pulled her to her feet.

“what’re you talking about?” y/n furrowed her brows, squeezing onto his hand.

scott spoke this time, “it’s, uh- we saw an animal or something weird in the parking lot. like, a mountain lion or-“ he exchanged a confused look with stiles, like neither were sure of his testimony, “or something.”

y/n shivered, again, fear from all of the animal attacks that plagued beacon hills settling on her skin in the form of goosebumps. stiles noticed and he quickly shrugged his coat off. he slid it around her easily, “what room are you in?”

“d-danny’s,” she stepped closer to him, grabbed his hand again. she pointed to the room in front of them. “we need to tell coach. what if it-“

“danny and ethan’s?” stiles clarified as he cut her off. she nodded, words falling from her lips.

scott and stiles shared a look, and the latter boy shook his head. “why don’t you come hang out with us for a bit? we can watch a movie or something?” scott offered.

y/n shrugged, “i guess. i’ll text danny and let him know. hey, we should really-“

“it’s okay,” stiles led her into their room, and scott followed.

she slipped out of her shoes and sat, warily, on the edge of one of their beds. stiles peeked out through the blinds, on guard from whatever was out there. y/n felt there was more to the situation than either of them was going to let on. being in such close corners with scott now- the gasoline was so thick in the air. but, the mountain lion story alone was enough to freak her out.

and, she didn’t know if she needed or even wanted to know anything more. weird things always seemed to happen in this town. she didn’t need a reason to have a panic attack.

scott got a text. he quickly pulled out his phone. the abrupt end of the silence lingering in the room made y/n jump slightly.

stiles reared his head towards his friend, “what? what is it?”

scott’s eyes glanced over to y/n, who was staring blankly at the floor. her knee bounced up and down, and she hugged her arms around herself. “um,” scott was coming up with an excuse, “i’m just gonna go check on allison and lydia.”

he opened the door to leave, and y/n shot up from the bed. “be careful! you really should go tell coach, too.”

scott nodded, “yeah, sure.” he slipped out of the room.

stiles turned to y/n, fidgeting with his hands. he stepped towards her, concern laced in his tired eyes, “hey, you okay?”

y/n always noticed how tired he always was. but, tonight, it seemed he was more so.

she stepped a little closer to him, examining his gaze intently, “i’m fine. just a little- a little freaked out. the animal attacks in this town are no joke.”

“yeah, tell me about it,” stiles mumbled. he was shaken up from the events taking place this evening- his friends possessed by some deadly energy, scott’s near suicide. but, he forced on a strong front. y/n needed his comfort and security, no matter how many texts from him she hadn’t answered.

y/n watched his stare fall to the floor, and he faded out a little. she touched his forearm, grounding him back to earth. he met her eye. she frowned, “are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, “just…tired, ya know. long day.”

“why don’t you lay down?” y/n offered. she tightened her grip on his arm, moving it up to his elbow.

his breath hitched. he missed her touch like water. , now it was flooding him.

he nodded and stepped towards the bed. “will you- lay with me?” he thought over his own words, and quickly tried to make it seem less romantic, “in, like, a not weird way? i don’t know- nevermind.”

“yeah, stiles,” y/n brushed his words off, “i can lay with you. in a not weird way. friends can…friends can cuddle.”

he ignored the way that word stabbed his chest, and led them to the bed. stiles slid off his shoes, pushed back the covers, and fell into the bed. he lay on his back and held open his arm for her. she slotted herself into his side.

it was warm. comfortable.

both of them fell asleep within minutes.

–

a week passed, and neither of them mentioned that night.

they didn’t talk about it when they had sex in the stiles’ jeep, after the meet. they didn’t talk about it the next day at her house, when they had sex, again. or, any of the three other times they had sex.

they didn’t talk about the fact that neither of them had slept that well in months. they didn’t talk about the fact that y/n clutched onto stiles’ like he’d leave with one wrong breath.

and they especially didn’t talk about the fact that stiles kissed y/n’s forehead before he drifted off.

and told her, “thank you.”

–

y/n didn’t want to tell danny. so, she didn’t.

but, he knew her better than anybody, so he caught onto the fact that she had, at the very least, been sleeping with stiles ago.

according to danny, she had a, “glow about her.”

y/n shoved his shoulder, hitting her palm off of his uniform pads. she hissed at the pain and held her wrist limply in her other hand.

“that’s what you get for being a whore,” danny joked, poking her side.

she winced at the touch. “ouch! you’re a dick.”

“you’re gonna turn into one!” danny turned back to his locker, rummaging around for the rest of his gear.

y/n crossed her arms over her chest. she was wearing danny’s jersey again for the game. “and what about it?”

“nothing! there’s literally nothing wrong with it,” danny shrugged. he pulled his glove from the top of his locker and turned around, pointing it at her. “i just know you.”

y/n knew what that meant. she knew why danny was concerned. she knew herself, too. she knew how these things ended.

but she was choosing not to care.

“whatever,” she pushed the glove away from her face, “just- good luck on your game, asshole.”

she gave danny a tight hug before heading towards the exit. there were a few other players still in there, getting dressed, chatting about the plays for the game.

she spotted stiles at his locker. he met her eye and grinned. a blush adorned her cheeks. she waved.

y/n was about to open the door when stiles came bounding up behind her. he held it open for her, leaning over to do so, and his face ended up right beside hers.

“hey,” he sounded breathless.

y/n smiled, “how are you?”

they hadn’t seen each other since wednesday. y/n had a few projects for school, and work, so her schedule was jam packed. stiles missed her like crazy, but of course, he couldn’t really say that.

“good,” he nodded.

they moved out into the hallway as they spoke. the door fell shut behind them.

“listen,” stiles went to say, as y/n said, “sorry.”

“go ahead,” they spoke over each other.

“sorry,” y/n laughed. she brushed hair back from her face.

stiles’ drew his eyes over her skin, which was painted with white and red dots around her eyes. “your makeup looks pretty,” he found himself saying.

y/n touched her cheek, insecurely, “oh, thank you.”

stiles, caught up in the moment, gently pulled her hand from her face. he dropped it to her side and then moved his touch to her chin. he drew her eyes to his, arching her face upwards. y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

“what do i get if i win?” stiles found himself saying, a devilish grin on his face.

y/n was astounded by how good stiles had gotten at all this- the foreplay, the teasing, the things he’d say to her. he was an insecure, neurotic, freak most of the time. but, beneath the sheets, he’d learned control, confidence, power. it inspired security within her, positive self consciousness in her body, her movement.

and, though this made her face beat red, she smiled slightly. y/n wrapped her arms around his shoulders, entangling her fingers in his hair, and she pressed her lips into his. stiles nearly melted at her touch, curving his body into hers. y/n felt his dick harden against her thigh. she held back a grin.

and she pulled away.

“you’ve gotta win first,” she shrugged, pretending she was innocent to everything.

she began walking away, proud. stiles groaned in response and watched her hips, intently.

“you are such a tease!” she shrugged again, not even glancing back. not until he called out, “hey!”

she looked back at him, “what?”

“you look cute in that jersey, by the way.”

he winked at her before disappearing inside the locker room.

y/n faltered slightly. the moment sunk into her skin.

oh, no.

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