#ੈ✩‧₊˚ uhh . . . who ? ׂ╰┈➤ ✰ anonymous. ✰

[sonokido]

Yo, is Audry Frost single? Uh... Asking... Asking for a friend...

[arttsuka]

you should post even more. random stuff. photos of leaves you found outside. anything. seeing you on my dash is a pleasure

:) I'll try...

For now take this weird lemon 🍋

[aro-culture-is]

disabled aro culture is fearing that without a romantic life partner you won't have someone to care for you like you need because it's so hard to get professional help and you don't feel like you can ask that of your friends

.

[gojuo]

Proshippers be funny af. GoT opening sequence is nothing like hotd so that comparison they pulled up is false and desperate.

me: i want helaegon to be the deconstruction of targaryen incest that examines the psychological horror of a forced marriage to one's own sibling in which the full family is already hanging by a thread in a treacherous situation since there is no other targ couple in the entirety of canon perfectly situated to explore and dissect this horrific aspect of targaryen culture

#them: i want an incestuous love triangle (that is not canon) because incestuous love triangles is interesting writing or something

[bi-kisses]

i mean this with no malice but i think that your takes in terms of transgender issues would benefit from thinking about gender as a social construct that's not necessary rooted in biology.

just as an example, there's no inherent biological link between XX chromosomes and, say, wearing a dress, or going by the name alice. at the same time, both of those are things that are enormously important to a lot of trans women, because for them transition isn't exclusively about biological sex but also about the layers and layers of social meaning that have been constructed *around* biological sex

similarly, I think a lot of non-binary identities are less about a relationship to biological sex and more about their relationship to the social constructs and roles of gender. i've talked to a lot of fellow trans women who feel like they have a strained connection to the concept of womanhood (which is also true of a lot of of cis women) and when some of them have decided to use different language to describe that I hesitate to write that off as an invalid form of self-expression

We have very different approaches to and draw very different conclusions from the same core ideas. I say this with no malice, because I truly believe you're coming from a good place, but if gender *is* a social construct, that detracts from a hell of a lot of the work being done to fight sexism and transphobia.

I agree that a lot of women, cis or trans, feel disconnected from the concept of "womanhood". I do not see this as a sign that someone is not a woman, because I don't think the concept of "womanhood" is anything more than a sexist notion used to tell us what we're meant to look like and how we're meant to act. It is natural to be disconnected from something rigid and oppressive like gender stereotypes.

Gender should not be defined as a relationship to social constructs, in my opinion, because I think it's far more tangible to view gender as whether or not someone has gender dysphoria; a female with gender dysphoria and a male without gender dysphoria are men, vice versa for women. The more "being trans" is tied to shifting constructs and societal stereotypes, the less it can be argued as innate and unchangeable.

As for how transition isn't just about biological sex, that's absolutely true. To be perceived as a woman, trans women are often forced to conform to rigid stereotypes. I think that's not necessarily a good thing, and I also think that has nothing to do with why trans women are trans to begin with. The social layers around biological sex are a barrier, not an inevitability, and just because we continue to operate within those layers does not make them a part of "being a woman/man" itself.

[alteredsilicone]

There's the dedicated stiff right hand man, Owen Burnett. His boss is the suave evil Commander Riker, with a pony tail and famous lines; David Xanatos, source of the Xanatos Gambit. His (Their?) red headed ex mercenary wife, Fox. And Puck (Lots of Shakespeare in Gargoyles) White haired pretty boy, long white hair, butler plus jester. Oh, and the Gargoyles, I guess

(nodding sagely)

Thank you!

[goosiifer]

[ tag dump ]

[sun-ea-sports]

How about you take a guess :3 TEHEE

NOO I SUCK AT GUESSING 💔💔💔

Aight bet. in tags 😎

[angeltism]

i looked, they do look very cool :] just wanted to say

yayy ! I definitely agree !!! they've all worked a fair share to try n make those sites look cool n I'd purrsonally say that it's paid off for them !!!

[grenadinexo]

I am considering touching my worm but it's so much Work

mhm i get that :( unfortunately my worm will throb and twitch until i give in

[oc-poll-times]

I'd just like to say that Evelyn Soleil's design is gorgeous and these flowers are for her🌷⚘️⚘️🌷🌹🌺⚘️🌷

She would not be able to hold them they would all catch on fire </3 but it's the thought that counts and the thought is LOVELY

(Her design IS excellent and is also not one I can take credit for! Go follow @youronlydrpepper they make INCREDIBLE stuff!!!)

[mqfx]

i don't want to make things easier for you my liege which is why im recommending "if not you" by ketolic (corrose) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812572 if you haven't already read it . 🥰

(licks my fake tooth) I WILL NEITHER CONFIRM NOR DENY. ANYTHING.

[justauthoring]

not a cuddler, then?

requested! -> uhh can i ask for comfort cuddles with sanemi? i feel like I'd would be sooo adorable because he's not really this tpye, but he would try for is love requested by! -> anonymous

a/n -> him and genya do be my babies

(also, not spell checked!)

pairing -> sanemi shinazugawa x f!reader

he was stiff against your back, arms locked around you tense and frozen in place.

the laugh that bubbled from your throat was, truthfully and to your defence, out of your control.

"what?" sanemi growls from behind you; you feel his chest rumble against your back and the laughter bubbles up all over again. sweet, melodic giggles leave your lips as sanemi stares behind you, thoroughly offended and embarrassed, mouth left agape. "fucking what?"

when you simply continue to just laugh, sanemi takes matters into his own hands; literally. his much larger hands grip you by your hips, lifting you and forcing you to face him. you're sit in his lap, legs straddling his own, and somewhere along the way your hands had moved to cover your lips, leaving you peaking through them hesitantly at sanemi's rather sour face.

"oi," he calls, growing further frustrated at your lack of reply to him. taking your hands by the wrists, he pulls them away from your face, revealing the shit-eating grin that had been hidden behind them. he narrows his eyes. "what the fuck is so funny?"

biting your lip, you let your arms fall; "you."

and pauses a moment, as if believe he'd heard you wrong before the silence echoes and realizes no, he definitely heard you right. "me?" he echoes, jerking back.

you nod. "you," you confirm. then, feeling pity for him adn your teasing, you just take his hand in yours, threading your fingers and squeeze. "we don't have to cuddle if you don't want to, sanemi."

"who said i didn't like cuddling?"

"no one," you shrug; "but it's pretty clear."

and you're not sure how he does it, but sanemi actually has the audacity to look surprised at that.

"sanemi," you sigh, "you were as stiff as a board. it's okay."

pulling you closer by your hips, sanemi shakes his head. "it's not that i don't like cuddling," he admits, "it's just... i'm not used to it. and... well—..."

he cuts himself off, his words drifting as he shifts his gaze, refusing to meet your own. you raise a brow at the action, confused, quick to bend to move back into his line of vision with a gentle smile. "i'm sorry for laughing," you offer, "but you can tell me. i won't laugh, promise."

he eyes you like he doesn't believe you, but a minute more of your unwavering stare and sanemi is caving like he always seems to be when it concerns you.

"...i'm scared i'm going to hurt you."

your eyes widen as your face falls, having never expected such a honest admission. your relationship with sanemi was still quite new and the both of you were exploring what boundaries you were comfortable breaking and what ones you weren't yet.

you knew sanemi was a rather hot-headed man, but he'd never been anything but kind to you. sure, he could be crude and his words had more bite then others, but you knew it never held any malious; not towards you at least.

besides, his actions had never been anything but gentle.

and now, if you thought about it, you guess you could say too gentle at times. it was clear to you now, why.

stretching his palms in front of him, sanemi frowns; "all i've ever done is hurt people... i don't know how to love. and i don't want to hurt you by accident."

shaking your head, you're quick to set your hands over his own, pulling them and the scars that rest there away from his gaze; instead, you redirect his gaze back on you. smiling gently, you guide his hands to your waist.

"you could never hurt me, sanemi," you assure. "i trust you wholeheartedly."

and his lips part, as if wanting to argue.

you don't give him the chance.

"you've never been anything but gentle with me," you express earnestly. "soft and warm and gentle. we don't have to cuddle until you're comfortable, but just being in your arms is enough to make me feel safe."

that seems to catch his attention.

"safe?" he questions, "you feel safe in my arms?"

"always."

"oh."

you grin, wide and genuine and sanemi feels his resolve fading as he takes you in, sat on his lap, and the desire to have you, to touch you grows stronger by the second. it was always a drifting want, one he'd be able to ignore, but now?

now he just wants to hold you close.

leaning forward, sanemi takes you by the waist, spinning you back around until your back is pressed against his chest once more. his arm holds you around the front of your stomach, keeping you close as his face presses into the crook of your neck.

and this time the laugh that leaves your lips sounds like music to sanemi's ears as you cuddle back into him in return, nudging him with your nose along the cheek before pressing a kiss just after.

sanemi realizes, as the moments pass by, that you sink into him without a single care in the world and not a trace of fear. you lean into his grasp and hold him back with just as much love and sanemi thinks then, he loves cuddling.

if it's with you.

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[cnnamonrolls]

Hi can you promote my blog 😭 @tag-them its like @/in-the-tags lmao

uhh sure :]

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

heyy i have a request. I'm drunk rn and I wish Bucky could take care of me and make sure I'm safe and alright. could you write that?

Drunk Doll » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky takes care of you and makes sure you’re safe while you’re drunk.

Warning: Fluff, language, alcohol, kissing, hangover, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

Bucky watched from where he was sitting as you down the rest of your third margarita and downed tequila shots like it was nothing. He drank the last sip of his beer before standing up and making his way over to you. You downed two more tequila shots before he got to you.

“How many margaritas and tequila shots have you drank tonight, babydoll?” Bucky asks, leaning against the bar counter.

“Umm…” You tried to count on your fingers, but you had too much alcohol in your system to count. “Not enough.” You finally answered.

You reached for another tequila shot, but Bucky grabbed it before you could. You whined and reached for it.

“That’s mine!” You whined.

“No it’s not.” Bucky put it behind him so you couldn’t reach it. “You’ve had enough for the night, doll face.” He put some money on the bar counter. “You’re drunk and I’m taking you home.” He says.

“Fine.” You mumbled with a pout.

You jumped down from the bar stool, immediately loosing your balance. Bucky caught you before you fell. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the car. He opened the car door and put you in the car, helping you put your seatbelt on and then got in the car.

“You look like my boyfriend.” You tell him, staring at him.

“That’s interesting. Tell me about him.” He says, going with it.

“Umm…” You thought for a moment. “He uhh- he has pretty eyes and the same color hair as you. He’s strong and tall. He has the same necklace as you and- oh! He has an arm made of metal.” You say, describing him without realizing it.

“That’s very cool. Wanna know something interesting about yourself boyfriend?” He asks.

You nodded your head eagerly.

“I’m your boyfriend.” He tells you.

“No way!” You say, completely speechless.

After a few minutes, you fell asleep in the car. When you two got home, Bucky carried you in the apartment complex you guys live in. He unlocked the door to yours and his shared apartment with you in his arms and took you to yours and his bedroom. Bucky laid you on the bed gently and helped you out of your clothes.

“Hey!” You smacked his hands away. “I didn’t give you permission to do that!” You say.

“I’m trying to help you put on something more comfortable, doll.” Bucky explains.

After staring at him for a few seconds, you allowed him to help you change out of your clothes and into one of his shirts. Bucky left the room for a moment to get you some water and came back.

“Drink this.” He says, handing the cup of water to you.

“What is it?” You asked in a mumble, staring at the water in the cup.

“Water.” He answers. “You need to stay hydrated.” He says.

You drank some of the water before handing it back to Bucky. He put it on the nightstand on your side of the bed and got in bed, shutting off the bedside lamp.

“Bucky?” You mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky asks.

“Can I have a kiss please?” You asked.

Bucky leaned over and kissed your cheek. You pouted, wanting a kiss on your lips.

“That’s not the kind of kiss I wanted.” You say with a pout.

“What kind of kiss do you want, doll?” He asks.

“Lips.” You answered.

Bucky smiles at your cuteness and drunken state. He leaned over you and kisses your lips sweetly.

“You need sleep.” Bucky pulled you close to him and rubbed your back with his metal hand. “Goodnight, babydoll. I love you.” He whispers.

“Goodnight. I love you too.” You mumbling, falling asleep.

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache and the sun peaking through the window. You whined loudly and put the pillow over your head to block out the sun.

“Good morning, babydoll.” Bucky greets softly with a cup of coffee in his hand and sat down on the bed next to where you’re laying.

“It’s not a good morning. It feels like I’m dying.” You say from underneath the pillow.

“You’re not dying. You just have a hangover.” He says.

Bucky took the pillow off of your head, making you whine. You sat up, glancing at the nightstand. Bucky had already put a glass of water and some aspirin there. You drank some water and took a couple of aspirin.

“I hate this.” You mumbled, holding your head in your hands.

“I know, doll.” He says, gently rubbing your head.

“You’re lucky you can’t get drunk.” You say.

Bucky chuckles a little and gave you the cup of coffee. You took it from his hand and took a sip.

“I take it that we’re having a lazy day today.” Bucky says.

You nodded and leaned back against the headboard, tilting your head back against it. Bucky put a comforting hand on your knee.

“You need something to eat.” He says, standing up.

“Not hungry.” You mumbled.

“You need to eat something, doll face.” He states. “At least eat some crackers.” He suggests.

“Fine.” You mumbled.

Bucky held his hand out, helping you out of bed. You went to the living room and sat down on the couch while Bucky went to the kitchen to get the crackers. He seat down next to you and gave you the crackers. He turned the TV on and out your favorite show on, putting it on a low volume. You ate a few crackers before snuggling yourself against his side. You grabbed Bucky’s metal hand and put it on your forehead, sighing in relief when you felt the cool metal against your skin.

“So my metal hand is an ice pack now?” Bucky asks with a small chuckle.

“Yes.” You answered. “It’s cold and I like it.” You tell him.

Bucky kisses the top of your head and pulled you onto his lap. You laid your head on his shoulder, your face against the side of his neck.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You say.

“You’re welcome, babydoll.” Bucky says softly.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll