#The Tee Tones out of The Essentials | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xoami · 28 days ago

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FASHION BABY, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 fire

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Ni-ki comes home to find you playing in his clothes. PAIRING. tipsy bf!ni-ki x silly gf!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship

authors note ୨୧ We should all do Ni-ki cosplay. 🫡

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The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional distant honk from the street below.

Ni-ki was out with the guys—some casual drinks, maybe a round or two of pool, he’d said with that sly smile, the one that always made your stomach flutter. Which meant the place was all yours for the night.

And you knew exactly what that meant.

Ten minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom, your oversized tee long discarded and replaced with a gray Essentials hoodie that hung off you like it was swallowing you whole.

Draped on top was Ni-ki’s heavy black Harley Davidson biker jacket, the one that still smelled like his cologne—clean, cool, and just a little musky.

The jeans were ridiculous. Some avant-garde brand with a name you could never remember, all baggy and low-slung, cinched barely enough to stay on.

The Timberlands? Laughably huge, laces undone, flopping lazily around your ankles like you were a toddler playing dress-up.

You looked up, suppressing a grin, and reached for the Gentle Monster shades, sliding them onto your nose with a little head tilt and a smirk.

“Fire… my name is Ni-ki, I like going out—”

You cracked yourself up mid-sentence, biting your lip to stop from cackling too hard. You spun once, dramatically adjusting your posture, then remembered what was missing.

Jewelry, of course.

With reverence, you approached the sleek black drawer on his dresser—the one you swore had to be worth more than your entire closet—and slid it open slowly, like you were handling treasure.

Rows and rows of silver, chrome, and onyx.

You grinned, biting your lip again as you started stacking rings onto each finger, choosing the flashiest, bulkiest ones. A couple of chain bracelets joined in, and finally, a chrome hearts necklace that glinted under the bedroom light.

You looked insane…and amazing, in your opinion.

“Hell yeah,” you whispered, flicking your fingers like you were about to walk a runway.

The next half-hour was pure chaos: selfies, videos, TikTok drafts you’d probably never post.

You did little slow-mo walks in the hallway, pretended to rap in the mirror, you even went on to give yourself fake interviews.

“Ni-ki, what are you wearing tonight?” and you then answered in his voice. You danced a little, swayed your hips dramatically in his jeans, blew kisses at your reflection—

—and then the bedroom door clicked open.

“(Y/n), what the hell—”

You whipped around like a kid caught red-handed, the Yankee snapback you’d tossed on at the last minute nearly flying off your head before you quickly held it down in place.

“Baby! I was just—I was… oh.”

Your voice faltered when your eyes met his.

There he stood in the doorway, all six feet of swagger and shadowy glory, radiating that cool, offbeat charm he was known for. Ni-ki—tall, lean, and effortlessly him—tilted his head slightly as his dark hair slipped into his eyes.

Those eyes, still crinkled at the corners with amusement, met yours with a flicker of heat and humor. His full lips curved into a lazy, expectant smirk as he quirked a brow.

He looked insane—in the best way. A loose-fitting charcoal sweater hung off his frame, riddled with intentional holes that revealed peeks of pale skin and the soft freckles dusting his collarbone.

His baggy jeans sat low on his hips, cinched by a chunky belt. Designer sneakers on his feet, a few of his signature rings still stacked on the wrong fingers. And somehow, he made all of it look like second nature.

“What’re you doing, idiot?” he asked, voice low and teasing, the kind of tone that always made your cheeks warm.

“I was—I was trying on… your… well…” you mumbled, trailing off as the words dissolved into nothing.

The more you tried to explain, the more foolish you felt, standing there drowning in his clothes like some oversized toddler.

He didn’t say anything—just kept looking at you with that cocky little smile.

“Ni-ki…” you whined, drawing the name out sweetly, syrupy and soft, just the way you knew he liked.

You pouted, eyelashes fluttering as you took a slow, dramatic step forward.

He didn’t back away.

You closed the distance, arms easily slipping around his waist as you buried your face against his sweater. He was warm. Familiar. And probably laughing at you internally.

But he hugged you back anyway.

“You were playin’ in my closet while I was out…? That it?”

His voice, low and lazy, curled around you like smoke. You nodded into his chest, lips brushing the fabric of his sweater as you inhaled his warmth—familiar, grounding, slightly cologne and a little street.

Finally, you pulled back, just as he took a slow step away, eyes raking over you now that he had full view. A beat passed.

“Mm… not bad,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not with the hat though.”

He reached for the snapback playfully, but you dodged, clutching it to your head like it was part of your soul.

“Chill! The hat is a nice addition… the fit is fire, be honest.”

You spun in place, as best as you could in his clown-sized jeans and boots, cocking your hip like you were walking a runway—even though your actual silhouette was completely swallowed. You laughed, still caught up in your little moment, your fingers flicking at the hem of the hoodie dramatically.

But you didn’t notice him moving again. Not at first.

Not until the air around you changed—until the space between you started to collapse.

He got closer, slow like gravity was pulling him toward you. His presence was impossible to ignore. Quiet, tall, steady.

Your breath hitched just slightly when you finally looked up—his eyes already on you, dark and half-lidded. There was a faint flush painted across his sharp cheekbones, soft and pink. Just enough to tell you he’d had a couple drinks, maybe one more than planned.

Still, his gaze was steady. Sharp. Intentional.

You swallowed.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low—so low it made the hair on your neck stand. “All proud of yourself in my stuff.”

His fingers brushed against the oversized jacket you wore, just barely skimming the fabric at your shoulder, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to take it off you or pull you in tighter.

“You look stupid cute like this.” His lips twitched into a subtle smirk, but his voice stayed soft, almost quiet—like he was telling you a secret.

“And you’re wearin’ my rings wrong.”

That pulled a laugh from your throat, nervous and sweet, but it died quick when he reached for your hand, his touch featherlight as he toyed with your fingers—his rings still stacked, mismatched, on your own.

Then, with a boldness that didn’t match the calm in his face, he brought your hand up and kissed the inside of your wrist.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t more so...

His nose grazed your skin just slightly.

“You always do this when I’m not here?” he murmured sleepily.

The heat curled in your stomach. The soft weight of his hand, the gentle rasp of his voice, the haze of his half-drunken warmth—all of it teetered on that line between playful and something else entirely.

“Well, when I miss you… or I’m bored, I just like to—”

You sucked your teeth, eyes rolling softly as you tried to gather yourself. Tried to sound like you weren’t melting from the inside out under the weight of his voice, his touch, his everything.

Why the hell should you explain yourself? How could you?

“Shut up, Ni-ki!” you groaned, pressing your hands weakly against his chest, as if that would stop anything.

Pathetic attempt, really—he barely budged.

He only grinned, that lopsided smirk of his blooming slowly across his face as he let your little shove happen, the warmth of his chest solid beneath your palms.

And then, like he had to—like it was second nature—his fingers curled into the front of the hoodie you wore, gently tugging you closer by the very fabric you’d stolen from him.

“とてもかわいい... (So cute),” he said, barely above a whisper. “Even when you try to act tough.”

He knew what him speaking in Japanese did to you. It was so soft it felt like it dropped right into your bones.

Fatality.

His forehead bumped yours lightly.

The silence that hung between you buzzed. Not awkward—never with him. Just charged. Like you were both standing on the edge of something that neither of you had to say out loud.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he added, “You miss me, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words.

And when he leaned in just a little more—warm breath brushing your cheek, his hands still tugging at his hoodie wrapped around your frame—everything else stopped mattering.

He dipped his head, lips just barely grazing your ear as he whispered.

“Next time you wanna play dress-up, baby… make sure I’m around to help you take it off.”

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 11 months ago

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DARE TO DISAPPOINT. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader — angst & smut

summary. you and bucky arrange to meet your friends for the first time, but he doesn’t show up. you find out the reason why while he attempts to make it up to you

word count. 2.7k

warnings. 18+ only! little bit of one-sided arguing at the beginning. hurt reader, teasing bucky, cunnilingus, pinv, resolved ending. mdni

Plans change and sometimes that’s okay. You’re grown enough to deal with it though you often expected better. You expected better from Bucky.

Earlier in the week, you and your friends arranged to meet at a nice restaurant, the purpose of the hangout designed to introduce them to your boyfriend, Bucky. It was the natural step after several months of dating. And after a few change-abouts with the date, and accommodating last-minute personal life popups, it was all set in stone. The date of the introduction known to you, Bucky and your friends.

It was the day of your hangout —the night of— and Bucky was yet to return home. The minutes slowly turned into an hour and an hour slowly turned into two. Your texts and calls were yet to be unanswered and you couldn’t help but notice the nervous pit grow in your stomach.

It wasn’t like him. He’s not the kind of guy that would stand you up. That’s essentially what this was – you arranged a date, got dressed all nice and now he left you hanging.

You’re sitting on the sofa, heels on the floor and phone in hand as you reread your messages, looking at your string of unresponded texts. This was getting ridiculous.

And as if he were right on cue, you hear keys jingle, the opening sound of your front door following shortly after. The silhouette of Bucky appearing through the gap.

“I’m so s—” he says as soon as his eyes fall on you, his features softened.

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head at him.

His head faintly tilts as he walks over to you, his hand reaching for your shoulder. “Honey,” he practically coos, his voice gentle.

But you shrug off his touch, moving your arm away from his attempt of physical comfort.

“You can’t do that,” you turn to look at him, your eyebrows furrowing as if to further show your frustrations.

You pick up your shoes from the floor, slinking your fingers in the straps as you stand. You turn on your foot and head for your bedroom down the hall, not so much as giving him another glance – almost blanking him.

He doesn’t let you get far, his hurried footing chasing after you. “Baby,” he whispers, the pet name faint and gentle. Like he was appeasing you, an attempt of amends.

But again, you ignore it, making your way into your room to unready yourself and get out of your dress.

“Come on,” he lingers in the doorway, watching you walk around your room. “Don’t shut me off, talk to me. Get angry at me, just say something,” he says, speaking like it was like a plea.

You turn around to face him, a lounge t-shirt grasped tight in hand. “You want me to get angry?” you scoff, tone fairly amused.

“Yes,” he nods, eyes soft as he looks at you. “I upset you. I hurt you. Tell me that.”

You scoff once more and throw your tee on the bed. “You want me to get angry? Okay fine,” you snap. “You disappointed me. We arranged to meet my friends but you never showed up. You made me sad. You pissed me off. You don’t do that, okay? Not to your girlfriend,” you glare at him, getting everything off your chest – repeating the things you said to yourself while you were waiting for him. “That’s the third time we’ve had to cancel, do you know how embarrassing that is?”

He nods, never once retaliating – taking in everything you say.

“James,” you pause, taking a breath. “If you don’t want to meet them, just tell me. Okay? Don’t mess me around,” you say, words far calmer once you realise you were not being met with anger, but instead comprehension.

He was understanding you, listening to you. Anger a far-distant emotion of his.

“I am sorry,” he nods, action reaffirming his apology. He steps into your room, waiting hesitantly near your bed – standing on the opposite side as you.

“You could’ve called me. I would’ve understood,” you say, voice almost defeated as you sit on the edge of the bed, your back to him. “I know how you get… just tell me next time.”

He makes his way around the bed to you on the other side, halting when he’s in front of you. “I know,” he says, eyes focused down on you in your seated position.

You stiffen your features, straightening them so he doesn’t see your facade weaken into a smile.

He could see the slip, his own expression mirroring yours. “Forgive me,” he whispers, leaning over to peck your forehead.

You cock your head at him, amusement in your eyes when you watch him bend to the floor, taking a knee before you.

Bucky extends a hand towards you, palm gliding across your face to cup it, his eyes warm as he looks over you. “Come on,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Say you forgive me, just say it,” he mutters into your cheek —the opposite one to his hold— speaking softly into your skin. He thumbs the apple of your cheek, swiping over it as he presses a kiss into your lips. “You know you want to,” he lingers, whispering into them. “Let me make you forgive me.”

Your chest heaves at his tempts, the juxtaposing sides of your brain conflicting, each one fighting for leadership. You wanted to forgive him as you knew it was not in his character, but then again, he knew about this date. He knew it was important, yet he was late – didn’t show.

So, you pull your head back slightly to look at him, eyes honing in on his lust-filled ones. He means it.

You squint at him, the action playful.

“See,” he smiles, features gentle. “It’s not hard.”

You glance down at him. “It’s not?” you tease, suddenly forgetting the outrage mere moments before.

He cocks his head, chuckling with a sweet, boyish smile. “No, that is.”

“That’s a shame,” you say, your hands reaching to the sides of his face, fingers grazing back into his hair. “Problem is,” you start, leaning in to kiss him briefly. “I’m tired from waiting around, so I was thinking about going to bed. Get an early night.”

His hands move to your thighs, one metal, one fleshed palm firm on the swell of your upper legs. “Bed?” he repeats, his touch rising to sit under the fabric of your dress. “Well, what would you say about me staying over?”

“I don’t know,” you play along, entertaining him. “It is quite late though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he nods, leaning forward once more to speak against your lips. “Maybe I should stay,” he utters to them, punctuating his tempt with a kiss.

Your hands around his face fall to his shoulders, your arms draping loosely over them as you pull him back in, kissing him with a little more urgency than before. “Maybe you should,” you mutter into his mouth.

He can read between the lines, he’s not an idiot. Sure he’s a man, but he’s not completely clueless.

That little silent agreement from you was all he needed, the hints of willingness showing him he was in the midst of your forgiveness. And so with his hands still on your thighs, he raises them just that bit higher, his fingers skimming the very inners.

“Forgive me yet?” he asks, pads of his fingers bumping against your fabric-covered cunt.

You firmly shake your head ‘no,’ wordlessly telling him he had a lot more to do than kiss you and touch your thighs. The simple act only spurring him on more.

He hums and pulls away from you, his eyes landing on your legs – gaze honing on his fingers just mere centimetres away from your pussy. He keeps his eyes down as he follows his movements, his fingers grazing up to slink into the waistband of your underwear.

Without a moment to think on it, your hips are lifting, the action helping him take them off. He tugs on them gently, pulling them under your ass and over your thighs, being sure to drag them over your skin as he does it. Letting the fabric caress you.

Your eyes are focused on your thighs like his are, each micro movement being watched eagerly by the pair of you. Each of you following the motion of their removal, the skimpy fabric momentarily caught around your knees – underwear spread between your parted legs before falling to your ankles.

He moves forward, his body slotting between you as his right, fleshed hand resumes its prior position in the crease of your upper thigh. His touch light and teasing.

His thumb extends out, tip of it knocking just under your clit. The feeling eliciting a soft, breathy noise into the close distance between. He keeps his eyes on yours as he does it again, prodding his thumb to the nub to get the same reaction. And he gets it, that same response of a delicate, whiney sound. The same sound causing a strain in his boxers.

“Sounds like you forgive me,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you briefly, the slight force of him pushing you back into the mattress behind you.

Your legs spread instinctively as he pushes himself closer, your eyes still focused on him in your laid position.

“Getting close,” you quip, your reply a double entendre.

He hums, the view of his smile disappearing as he ducks down between your thighs, his face itching closer to your cunt. Brushing up the hem of your dress, he presses a kiss to the inner of your thigh, lips lingering for a mere moment.

With your hands having a mind of their own, you reach down to his head, your fingers skimming through his hair as a way to hold him close. Your grip light as you keep him where you want him.

He presses another kiss into your thigh, this time it’s in the crease. The contact of him so close to where he was needed pushed your mind further into a tizzy.

As he circles your pussy with kisses, he’s sure to avoid your clit – being mindful to ignore the mound of nerves. Making you wait for it.

His little teasing games aren’t going to cut it tonight. It was your forgiveness he needed, so him making you wait, for the second time was not what you wanted. So, with your hands in his hair, you direct him, guiding him closer to your cunt – nudging him to the places where you need his touch.

Your cues go noticed. His lips moving to wrap around your clit, tongue slipping between to flick over it – the ache in your pussy being alleviated instantly with the brisk contact. The grip in his hair tightens as your hips unknowingly buckle, a gentle wind knocking you further into his face. The tip of his nose skimming your pubic bone.

Taking the hint, he does it again. His tongue laid flat against the nub as he encapsulates it between his lips, warm wet mouth attached to you like a suction cup.

And before long, he’s making it up to you by making out with your cunt. Working you up impossibly more until you’re writhing and grinding against him, crying obscenities into the air til you’re on the cusp of your high. Mere moments from falling into that deep end.

Though before you get there, the elated feeling is stripped from you. His tongue and lips lifting from its position. His selfish, cruel trick leaving you panting and gasping and whining frustratedly.

“Are you trying to make me hate you?”

“What?” he questions, voice teasing as he stands. His upper body hovering over you with hands situated either side, weight anchored from above. “No,” he whispers, head shaking softly as he leans to press a kiss to your lips. “Never.”

With one hand, you cup his face, holding him there as you deepen the kiss – tasting yourself on his tongue. Your other slips down to his waist, eager fingers dancing over the exposed slither of skin. The urgency clear with your soft, muffled breaths into his mouth.

“I will,” you utter, pulling away to speak against his lips. You drop your other hand to his waist, mirroring the desperate grabs on the band of his pants. “I will hate you.”

“You can never hate me,” he murmurs into your jaw, solidifying his statement with a string of fluttery kisses down the length of your throat.

That part’s true.

He balances on his left, metal arm, his fleshed one sliding between you both and down the front of his combat pants. A slight bulge forming in the constricting fabric, his meaty wrist being the reason.

Your legs bend at the knee on instinct, your thighs spreading and adjusting to his lower half more comfortably. Knees hugging at his sides as he palms his cock, readying himself. He pumps it a few brisk times after pulling himself over the waistband, eager dick hard and heavy resting over his belt. His hand moves to his mouth to spit into the palm, and with that added little bit of lubrication, he grabs a hold of himself once more, working the saliva over the tip.

With his soft, baby blues honed in on yours, he focuses, his gaze never leaving yours as he guides himself towards you under your dress. The movement comes from a place of muscle memory, the motion fluid from repeating the act dozens of times before. He doesn’t even need to look to know how far away he is from you.

And as the head of his cock knocks against your cunt upon first contact, you involuntarily let out a soft, breathy exhale, the sound blissed and relieved. He swirls his tip around you, circling through your folds to pick up that residual spit – using that like lube.

He lines himself with you, hand firm around the middle of his dick as he eases into you, pushing inside slowly. His eyes still focused on yours, they mirror his, a sort of softness spreading in them the more he starts to fill you, stretch you.

You pull him back down to your eagerly, hands slipping up to the curve of his back to make him resume his prior hovering position. You hold onto him tightly, your chest rising and falling in such a way you fear your lungs may explode, the quick pace a physical tell of the way he affects you. He makes you feel so much.

He ducks his head, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, the motion in his hips halting with only half of himself wedged inside.

“I’m sorry,” he says, words soft between the close distance of your lips.

“For what?” you ask, bringing a hand to hold his head, the palm cupping sweetly over his cheek. “For earlier?”

He hums, pulling away to look at you. His grasp reflecting yours, his fleshed hand holding the side of your face.

“What happened?” you question, looking off to the side as you graze through his hair. “I thought you were excited about meeting them.”

“I was. I am. I just,” he pauses, distracting himself by thumbing over your lips, his eyes following the outline motion. “What if they don’t like me?”

You stare at him, brows furrowing quizzically as the doubt-filled question settles in your ears. What on earth makes him think that?

“Why would they not like you?” you ask, redirecting your focus to his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“If they were to hate anyone, it would be me,” you smile softly, thumbing over his temple. “They’d be so jealous when they see who I’m with.”

He chuckles faintly, head shaking at the compliment.

“I’m being serious,” you whisper back, extending your neck to kiss him briefly. “They know how special you are to me,” you pause to kiss him again, trying to butter him up – make him feel better. “They’ll love you, because you love me.”

He smiles faintly against your lips, a soft boyish grin stretching across his face. “We can still make it tonight,” he suggests.

You shake your head ‘no’, the offer appreciated, but not wanted. “We can arrange something another time,” you drop a hand to his very lower back, your fingers pawing at him – silently asking him to wind his hips. “Tonight. I just want you.”

**not my artwork, I don’t know the artist either

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x female reader

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gracie-eilish · 3 months ago

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this is a self indulgent magical unicorn princess blurb that i needed after a darling day working in customer service (hint: i'm being sarcastic and today sucked) (also its softly raining outside rn and i feel like drowning in cozy fluffiness)… tee hee :)

the only sounds bouncing off the walls of your cozy apartment was the random string of notes you were humming in the bathroom and the sound of billie feeding your dogs in the kitchen.

tonight was the first time billie was spending the night at your place. you'd slept over at her place a few times but she had never at yours. so tonight was the night! a dreary but cozy friday night that was foracsted to blend into a dreary and cozy saturday morning.

you should have felt calm and comfortable, especially knowing billie and her dogs were safe with you and not alone while it poured outside. but you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. you lived in a different bubble than billie did. specifically a pink sparkly bubble... there's a reason everyone jokingly called you glinda as a nickname.

you were rubbing in your floral lotion on your legs, donning a silky lilac matching pj set, and fluffy little slippers. you had just taken a nice long everything shower (with billie of course;) and had spent some time together doing your skincare... that was until billie had finished and you still had steps to go.

the heatless curls, the full body lotion, the lavender sleep inducing perfume you wore to bed, the hand cream... your sleepytime tea, the mandatory full ice cold water bottle on your nightstand... all things that you did almost every night without fail... but now it all felt a little.. much? high maintenance? your thoughts were interrupted by a cozy girl wrapping her arms around your middle from behind.

"hi babydoll," she mumbled between soft neck kisses. "whatcha looking all pretty for, hm?" she teased, squeezing your sides a bit as she made eye contact in the mirror.

"nothing... this is just how i like to sleep. i usually just pack the essentials when i'm at your house. i didn't wanna.." you trailed off a second. "i didn't wanna seem too high maintenance for just like.. sleeping ya know?"

billie chuckled sympathetically, her lips curling into a soft pout. "honey," she kissed your cheek, "you're not high maintenance. requesting to sleep on a literal cloud is high maintenance. but making yourself all soft and sleepy and smelling like peaches is actually now apart of my night routine as of today." she stated matter of factly.

you giggled and raised your eyebrows at her. "you wanna do all my hyper girly things every night? on top of your routine you've already got?"

"nooooooo," she smirked softly, "i wanna make sure youuuuuu do all your hyper girly things every night." your heart stuttered in your chest. one implication was that she wanted you to smell good and be soft. the other implied... being with her every night for bed. huh.. not a bad idea.

she pressed one last wet kiss to your cheek with an exaggerated "mwah!" before giving your side a squeeze and sending you a wink before retreating to your connected bedroom. you sighed, closing your bottle of face cream. for a cream meant to even out your skin tone, you sure were red in the face this evening.

after shutting off the lights, you padded into the bedroom and made your way to your side of the bed where billie already had a steaming mug of your favorite tea waiting on your nightstand. you curled yourself under the comforter, flinging your fluffy slippers onto the floor and cradling your little tea mug in your hands, sinking deeper into the mountain of pillows and blankets piled high on your bed.

billie walked back into the doorway after shutting off the apartment lights and checking the locked doors. and of course saying one more goodnight to yours and her dogs.

"you look like the princess and the pea," she snorted upon her return, making both of you laugh out loud.

"billieeee," you whined while giggling, signaling you weren't really hurt.

"i'm sorry." she said in her cute little voice, slipping into bed beside you and pressing a kiss to your temple.

the two of you sat in bed for a while watching some mindless tv to wind down for the evening. once you finished your tea, billie reached over to shut off the tv, and you leaned in the opposite direction to shut off your bedside lamp.

"can i?" billie asked with big puppy eyes, making you snort. without a word, you just laid back and let her cuddle up to you, resting her head above your heart and wrapping her arms around your waist.

"goodnight my little magical unicorn angel baby princess glinda girl," she giggled into your chest.

"you're never sleeping over here again, i swear to god, billie." you both were sent into a fit of giggles, only stopped by you peppering kisses on billie's cheeks before resting your pretty little head to finally get your well-deserved beauty sleep.

you totally lied to her... you two would never sleep alone again.

#gracie eilish #billie eilish #wlw #fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x you #billie x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie x y/n #billie x fem reader

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therealstacyfakename · 3 months ago

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This post is kind of a mess format wise apologies in advance

ok so this ^^ snl couple just makes me think of an au where Bob isn't her WSO and everyone is a little confused why bob and phoenix are together

Everyone in her unit knows Natasha as a badass adrenaline junkie of course. They hear her talk about her smoking hot husband all the time, she tells stories about girls trying to take him away and how she makes it clear he's hers. They know he's in the Navy, and naturally they assume he's a Navy Seal or Marine, basically an adrenaline junkie (meathead from how stupid she describes him) on par with her. He's actually a nuclear engineer and spends most of his time on dry land doing research.

They meet him one day and he's just this nerd, no one gets it and they watch in awe as she threatens women who she thinks are trying to take her man

no one gets why they're together essentially and a misunderstanding about it could be so fun

A fic idea I now have is if bob was a consultant on the uranium mission and no one even considered that they are together when they mention their spouse

More thoughts/writing under the cut

Shore leave is coming up and Natasha won't stop talking about how excited she is for everyone to meet Bob. The rest of dagger squad are interested in meeting him, but if any of them seem too excited she gets quite territorial.

They get to the Hard Deck after landing and Natasha squeals because he's already there. She rushes through the packed bar and wraps her arms around a guy and kiss him. The squad follows close behind, and when she comes up for air and they see the guy they struggle to hide their surprise. He straightens his glasses and stumbles through handshakes and introductions and everyone is wide eyed surprised.

"I know. You guys can't believe I bagged this one." Natasha says proudly. Arm wrapped around Bob's shoulder and practically in his lap on the barstool.

"Yes we certainly can't believe it." Jake replies with a slow nod and snippy tone.

It just keeps getting more confusing, this guy doesn't drink, doesn't curse, hates motorcycles and airplanes, and doesn't seem to have anything in common with Natasha other than the goo goo eyes he makes at her all the time

anyways I love the idea of low key meathead Natasha with this nerd who she thinks is the sexist man alive and will fight a girl over him at the drop of a hat. everyone else is just like "you keep him"

and maybe later Bradley and Jake are out running on an early morning and see bob in shorts and a cropped running tee (no way he'd be shirtless imo) mowing the lawn of his and Natasha's base housing and they just look at eachother like ok we get it.

#bobnix #top gun maverick #my writing #kinda #bob x phoenix #top gun

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femmefatalevibe · 2 years ago

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Femme Fatale Guide: Spring Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees & Tanks:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, linen, silk, or Tencel fabric**

Fitted scoop neck tank

Fitted high-neck tank top

Structured, relaxed fit crewneck tee

Fitted scoop neck/crewneck tee

Halterneck tee/mockneck tee

Contour tank/tee bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Linen button-down (can be long/short-sleeve or a tank variety)

Silk button-down (can be a long/short-sleeve or a tank variety)

Relaxed fit silky tank

Relaxed fit silky cami top

Sweetheart neck tube top

Any other desired silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Halter-style silk blouse

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

Split hem trousers

Black linen trousers

Stretch jersey pants (straight-leg, bootcut, and/or flared)

Black satin midi skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Tailored shorts (Tencel ones are great for various climates/weather that drastically in temperature/humidity throughout the day)

Leather shorts

Tailored black linen shorts

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Slip dress (midi-length for every day; mini for hotter days/nights out)

Linen button-down dress (for work/modest dressing)

Linen tank dress (for layering/hotter days)

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Black linen or silk jumpsuit

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Long-sleeve playsuit/romper

Tuxedo jumpsuit/playsuit

Jackets/Outerwear:

Well-tailored black blazer

Well-tailored black vest

Leather moto jacket

Black trench coat

Tailored longline sleeveless blazer/vest

Neutral-toned racer jacket

Structured utility jacket

Satin coat/trench/blazer (great over transitional nighttime looks)

Footwear:

Black loafers

Square-toe/pointed-toe flats

Slingback/mary-jane flats/casual kitten heels

Short black lace-up boots

Sleek low to mid-calf black square/pointed-toe boot

Western-inspired boot

Minimalist white sneakers

Black pointed-toe pumps

Sleek mules/cut-out flats

Slingblack pointed-toe wedges

Rain boots

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Silk/decorative scarf

Sleek neutral sunglasses that suit your face shape

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Tencel, Modal, or cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (Long sleeve/pants + short-sleeve/tank + shorts, depending on the climate – silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Open-back slippers

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foreverisntenough · 1 year ago

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- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut (unprotected sex,) mentions of pregnancy, love bombing, occasionally sad, kind of angsty, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

INDEX

Chapter 25 - ‘You’re Mine’

You laid outside in the sun as the time started to tick by and get closer to when you needed to pack up and head to the airport. The whole group was flying back together including the Birmingham boys so it would be a little bit more interesting of a flight home but you’d worry about Lauren’s love life later because right now you stared at a messy room you needed to somehow get back into your bags. You lazily threw your stuff back in your suitcase sitting on the floor of your room while Trent laid doing nothing on the bed just following your movements.

“Baby…” he cooed, laughing a little watching you move around struggling with your packing.

“Yeah huh?” You sang back trying to sit on your suitcase now for it to close.

“Need help?” He raised his eyebrow looking at you with a sly smile. He laughed a little more as you pulled at the zipper.

“Ermm… maybe, yeah, T.” You giggled back at him sheepishly, embarrassed trying to pull the zipper again and failing so you stood up and stared back at him with a little pout.

“Alright c’mon move, let me do it.” He giggled when you sat down on the silver rimowa pressing it closed. You ran your hands up Trent’s toned legs as he stood next to you leaned over to zip it. You hummed feeling his muscles underneath your hands. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re very sexy, T.” You squeezed both your hands on his strong thighs igniting a fire in your stomach. God, he looked so good all the time and the shorts he was currently in were just doing something for you. You kissed his skin softly before he reached under your arms and pulled you up to stand.

“C’mere.” He grunted picking you up. “All set, pretty girl.” He winked, pulling your body into him. “Gotta get going soon. Gonna miss it here?” He cooed swaying back and forth with you in his arms humming.

“Thank you. Errmm I don’t know you know…” you thought a little bit more about your holiday. It started off so terribly (thank you Chase) but it ended so wonderful in the encasement of Trent’s scent as his hands caressed your stomach dreaming of getting started on your baby journey. “I think I’m happy to be going home. Want to be back in our little world. Miss the dogs” you giggled. “What about you, baby?”

“Don’t know, will miss you in those little bikinis.” He cheekily smiled at you, imagining you in a lot less clothing then you were currently in. You were in a little cropped baby tee and trousers. His fingers came to hook around the belt loops pulling at the material and you some.

“I can still wear those at home, T… we do have a pool. It’s summer.” You giggled stepping out of his embrace walking to the dresser to your tote bag filled with all your flight essentials again to double check for your passport. He followed you and pressed his chest against your back. His hands drifting down your sides and then in between you two to squeeze your ass cheeks.

“Yeah… well I expect to see that immediately. Alright?” You just hummed in response rolling your head back giving him more room to come and kiss your neck and that he did.

You jogged up the stairs off the tarmac to board the plane followed by Trent holding your bag kindly as you giggled with Lauren. After take off he sent you a wink queuing you to scurry over to him to cuddle and get more comfortable. Your lips were glued to him the second you sat down just loving kissing and sucking on his neck subtly in your own world. All the boys were exhausted from the late night, half were asleep but it seemed Marcel was up keeping an eye on Lauren’s moves. You clocked it but when Trent’s hands caressed your skin under your top you lost the ability to focus quickly.

“I love you, baby. Can’t wait to get you home.” Trent whispered in your ear as his hands started to slip lower and lower before playing with the waistband of your trousers. His fingers slid underneath it and started to get awfully close to your core. God, if you weren’t on the plane with his little brother and closest friends you would’ve let him keep going but you grabbed at his wrist giggling trying not to push your core down any further on his lap and change your own mind.

“Baby, baby, baby… can’t do that to me right now.” You said placing kisses on his neck still just now with a sly smile knowing he wanted you.

“Then you…” he said, pulling his body further away from you. Distancing your faces, so he could look you dead in the eye. “You cannot keep sucking on my neck like that. Driving me mad, beautiful. Not being very fair.” His face was serious. He moved quick to come and suck on your neck dramatically mocking what you were doing to him then pulling away. You couldn’t suppress your giggle very well at the wet feeling of his lips and inadvertently drew the attention of Lauren. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at you two before standing up and walking over to the seat that was facing you and Trent. She sat and pulled her legs up close to her body, settling in.

“Soooooo…” she cooed, eyes widening with smugness.

“What?” You giggled as Trent squeezed your waist tightly placing his head on your shoulder. He looked at Lauren with inquiry.

“No, no, nothing. Just was curious about a little rumour I’ve been hearing about.” She smirked, raising her eyebrows. Okay, so you definitely confided in Lauren plenty of times about how you were thinking about a baby with Trent but seemingly she and George had had their own conversation about the insights they had gotten from both of you separately and now compiled them to make one narrative. In turn, she was awfully excited to hear you were going home to ‘start’ according to him.

“A rumour huh?” Trent asked curiously as his hand instinctively rubbed over your exposed stomach.

“Yeah T… a rumour and I’m pretty sure you’re thinking about it right now.” Lauren said somehow even more smug watching his big hands move over your soft, currently empty and flat tummy. You shook your head with a smile at their little back and forth banter.

“Shhhh.” You shushed Lauren. “This is an us thing… not an everybody thing, besides you are in a much more interesting situation I’m curious to know about.” You giggled.

“More interesting than having a…” she started to talk but Trent cut her off.

“Lauren… we’ll let you know, alright?” He laughed dismissing the conversation. “Y/N’s right, what’s the play? If you sit with either of them on this flight… I mean, is that you choosing?” Trent pushed wanting to know if Lauren had made some sort of decision between Jude and Marcel.

“No! Not choosing. We’re all fine. They’re just different people. Provide different things” She laughed, dropping her head in her hands. Lauren was rarely embarrassed so you were surprised to see her flustered by this.

“Well let’s see what they think! Go find out Laur and we’ll watch. We can put a wager on it. Inflight entertainment.” You giggled looking over Lauren to see Jude on his phone, unaware you were about to use him in a game.

“Watch what? They aren’t going to do anything on the plane.” Lauren laughed again, Trent joining her both knowing that Jude and Marcel would most definitely not be opposed to doing something on the plane.

“Go sit with each of them and if they kiss you, make a move, whatever… which I know both of them will try then hmmm you owe me £100 and if they don’t like you think, I don’t know, you win something and ultimately then we know who's interested.” You shrugged squinting at her then peered around the plane to find where Marcel had gone.

“Fine.” She smiled deviously. “They won’t, so when I win… I get to be first to know, you two have to tell me first and you can name her Lauren.” She smiled big.

“I’ll give you the first bit, draw the line at the name.” You giggled. Watching Lauren get up from her seat as Trent pressed a kiss to your cheek. She walked over and sat on a couch pretending to mind her own business when she worked her normal charm throwing a soft smile at Marcel. It wasn’t long before he came over and sat next to Lauren. She slyly slouched in her seat a little more to lean her body onto his. You watched him lean over and whisper in her ear. She giggled and gently shut her eyes clearly enjoying whatever he had to say. Her hand sliding up his thigh.

“Yeah, this is between you two, I don’t want to watch this.” Trent said, grabbing his iPad to start playing a game. He felt nauseous watching Marcel put in work on any girl, let alone Lauren. You laughed and nodded, pressing a sensual kiss on his neck. He pulled away from you and gave you a stern look.

“Sorry!” You whispered shyly. “It’s a habit.” You joked looking back at Lauren who was whispering some sort of response in Marcel’s ear. You held your stare a little longer until she started to plant kisses on his skin working down his neck. You rolled your eyes. She couldn’t help herself. She lost the bet within the first round but it was a little funny. She clearly had some type of feelings for the boy. Marcel got up to go play a game with George and Lauren stood up to go to the bathroom a while later on. When she walked down the aisle it took little to no time at all for Jude to pull at her waist. She stumbled a little bit and ended up in his lap. His lips were on her bare shoulder almost immediately.

“When do you leave England?” He whispered as she squirmed trying to settle the horny monster Marcel had ignited in her.

“Few hours after we land, you?” She cooed now trying to look forward and ignore his advances.

“Same, so come with me instead.” Jude commanded with a particularly seductive bite to the nape of her neck. Lauren had a hard time stifling a gasp.

“Come with you where?” She smiled a little at the idea of going anywhere with him right now. Jude played her like a fiddle. It was so easy for him and she loved being played with.

“Just come to Spain, yeah? I’ll move your flight, you can head home after you spend the week with me there.” Her eyes widened at the offer. She was shocked he was trying to continue this past holiday. It confused her more, she really had dug herself quite a hole.

“I can’t…” she started talking when his hands caressed her soft skin higher and higher up her leg causing Lauren to quickly change her mind. “Fine, but we can’t tell anyone, they’ll make a big deal out of it.” She turned to face Jude a little taken aback for a moment forgetting his prominent bone structure.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He hushed her. You shook your head unaware of the plans being made and diverted your attention back to the silly little game Trent was playing and cuddled some more into him. He hummed at your touch.

“What are we going to do?” Lauren whispered to Jude needing a little more information. He moved his lips behind her ear some and then spoke.

“What I want to do right now but can’t.” She just nodded trying to downplay her excitement. Lauren clearly lost the bet so you sent her a Venmo request. ‘Make up your mind 😘’ you teased. You settled in more and fell asleep on Trent’s chest. You have no idea what everyone else did during the rest of the flight but you began to wake up to sweet kisses all over your face as the plane started to descend. You smiled and shuffled a little in his lap and picked up your phone, finally starting to get better service and opened Instagram mindlessly. Your eyes widened and you felt sick.

“Baby…? You okay, beautiful?” Trent cooed in your ear seeing your expression change, your body go stiff. You didn’t respond as you clutched your phone. You looked down at your notifications practically about to break your phone. You went to your profile and saw your measly 5,000 followers massed to over 250k since the time you had taken off in Greece.

“T…” you mumbled. You held up your phone for him to look.

“Oh wow… well, that’s sort of what you wanted, innit?” He joked trying to lessen the shock with some humor but your look of concern didn’t budge.

“T…” you groaned looking at him wide eyed.

“Alright, alright, it’s fine. Let’s put your instagram on private for now till we can talk to Tyler.” He told you kindly with a kiss to your forehead before grabbing your phone to do it for you.

“Y/N…” Lauren sheepishly called out from further down the plane. You picked your head up to look at her. “My instagram is being ransacked right now… my DMs are going insane with people asking for information about you.” She talked lowly. You winced hearing it. Trent felt your body shudder so he spoke before you did.

“Laur, I hate to do this, but can you just not respond to anything until we figure out what we’re doing?” Trent hesitantly asked her, feeling horrible about monitoring someone else's actions on social media.

“No, no, course.” Lauren cooed unphased but she saw your face drop more. “It’s gonna be fine. You were a public profile to begin with Y/N. You were never hiding. Try not to worry!” She said reminding you of the facts, walking over to you to give you a hug.

“Baby, our relationship was never a secret. Hmm? Lauren’s right, it's all gonna be fine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. You just hummed, switching off your phone and throwing it in your bag before you hid your face in his neck. His hands stroked up and down your spine. As you calmed, Trent slyly texted Tyler giving him a heads up about the arising situation. He wasn’t thrilled but as expected he had it sorted and would handle it. You landed safely back in England. It was a sunny warm welcome, despite feeling like there was a cloud over your head at the moment. You stood on the ground hugging Trent’s waist, your head pressed against him as George explained something about airplanes to the group. You don’t really know what he was on about, your head was completely gone at the minute. The only thing keeping you sane was Trent’s hands on your skin and the thought of being back in your bed. Lauren walked over to you wheeling her suitcase and pinched at your waist.

“Gonna miss me?” She cooed with a soft smile.

“What will I do for entertainment now?” You cheekily responded, returning the soft smile. “Do you want us to help you get to your gate or anything?” You asked sweetly, pulling your head off Trent.

“No, no, erm… I’m good. I actually think.” Lauren was cut off by an interrupting Jude.

“You wanna get going?” He whispered as his big hand gripped her tiny waist. She smiled greedily up at him, he returned the lustful look while you and Trent’s eyes widened.

“Okay…” you said, breaking their moment. Trent’s brows furrowed looking at them with confusion. You both were a little confused when they made such a big plan to leave together.

“I haven’t been to Spain in ages. It’s nothing!” She poorly tried to defend herself. She didn’t need to defend herself to begin with but in any case she did it poorly.

“The entertainment continues…” You joked rolling your eyes at her. “Call me, okay?” Giving her a bone crushing hug. You were somewhat surprised at Marcel's indifference to Lauren at the moment but then again you didn’t really understand their whole thing from the start. I guess she was right, it was ‘all fine.’ You said your goodbyes to everyone else gradually and nestled into the back of the car with Trent. When you finally pulled down your drive Trent asked if you would go open the front door while he got the bags. You obliged and dragged your very tired body up to it. You made it inside and he followed. Even though it was a pet peeve of yours you just let Trent drop the bags at the front door, leaving them there for now.

“Baby…” you pouted your lips a little.

“Yeah?” He smiled but was equally as tired as you so it was soft.

“I’m glad we’re home…” You said walking towards him then running your hands over his chest dragging your nails along the fabric of his shirt.

“Me too.” He cooed, pressing a kiss on your neck. He always managed to find the most sensitive spot every time and it made your heart beat faster. You purred as his hands ghosted over your skin. The only thing in your mind at the moment was the feeling of his hands trailing down your back, squeezing your ass. He gripped underneath it lifting you up. You gasped a little and wrapped your legs around him. Your arms came to drape around his neck. Since the plane ride when he had his hands practically down your trousers you had built up a lot of need for him throughout the day. He walked you into your living room. He sat back down onto the couch. His legs wide and a glint in his eyes.

“I love you so much” you whispered close to his face. “I want to be close to you, T” You shifted in his hold, grinding down on his lap. He was perfect and you wanted him. You cupped his face and pulled his lips to yours as you straddled him. Any semblance of composure you had was gone as you moaned into his mouth the moment your lips pressed against each other. He tasted amazing, he always had such a sweet flavor to him. The kiss was passionate, hot, heavy, and moving towards messy. He pulled away for a torturous moment to pull his shirt off over his head. You lifted your arms and he dragged your shirt off after his. He slid his hands around your waist slowly and gripped your ass cheeks eliciting another moan from you. He stripped the remainder of your clothes and looked at you completely naked on top of him. He licked his lips before he dropped his head, leaning you back, putting his lips onto one of your tits. He grazed your nipple with his teeth before nibbling and sucking on it.

“T..” You moaned again feeling his lips on you as you arched your back. You leaned into him further pushing your pulsing core down onto his hard cock. He was the one moaning now at the sensation of your wet pussy on him. You could feel Trent get harder and harder underneath you.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so perfect. Your tits are so perfect. God, you’re fucking gorgeous.” He rambled lost, pulling away from your boobs for a moment mesmerized. He knew he was completely whipped. He was obsessed with you and definitely obsessed with your body. You continued to roll your hips down on him but allowed him to take control of you. You liked him to take control. Trent switched boobs, making sure to give each the same treatment. Moments like this felt like a dream, a fever dream, a fever dream you never ever wanted to wake up from. Not now, not ever.

“T, you’re so good. Oh my god. I love you. You feel so good.” You rambled just the same back. Your eyelids felt heavy. You smiled at him incredibly turned on. He looked at you and he thought he could cum just seeing the beautiful lustful expression on your face.

“No one else is ever allowed to touch you, baby. You’re fucking all mine.” You gasped at his possessiveness and the feeling of his cock abruptly sliding inside your wet pussy. You slowly but gradually sank down on Trent’s length. The sounds your slick made were so lewd, squelch after squelch. It was tedious and repetitive. You grinded forward rubbing your clit against him. Suddenly he spanked your ass hard and you felt yourself get much wetter. You could only nod your head at Trent’s statement. Your breaths were growing rapid. After tantalizing minutes, you started feeling your orgasm coming. The sound of his cock pulping in and out of you brought you that much closer to the edge. When he moved his thumb to play with your clit you could only feel pleasure, numb to everything else happening in the world except him; in front of you now. The pressure in your stomach started to build up. Your toes curled. His upwards thrusts started to falter, you rutting back and forth against him got sloppy. He stared up at you with dilated pupils sucking his teeth before you felt his cock twitch a little. “Want to get you pregnant, baby.” He begged into your ear. His raspy low voice sent pleasure coursing through your body. He knew the words would set you on fire. He leaned his face closer to you when his hands feverishly pulled you into a messy kiss. He pumped his cock into so deep your eyes began to water. You stared at him with so much love in your eyes, it felt like such an intimate moment. Trent felt the same. Like his cock, Trent felt his heart could burst at any moment. He loved you so much, loved you desperately.

“Want you to fill me up, T. Please please get me pregnant. Let me cum all over your cock while you cum inside me please.” You whined begging and babbling. Trent’s thrusts became erratic, both your highs approaching fast. Your eyes rolled back. Your legs spread on top of him were quivering.

“Oh fuck, baby. Holy shit. I’m gonna cum, baby. I love you fuck ffuck.” He stuttered as you squeezed his cock. He shuddered and you felt your pussy spasm around him. You dug your nails into his skin leaving little crescent marks on his tan body. He pumped you full of his cum, grunting. You clenched tighter taking every bit of him, so much you felt it oozing out of you. He thrusted a few more times slow and languid as you both finished. He laid his head on your tits tired. You were both exhausted, panting, he grabbed your body to be even closer together. You stayed clung to him for some time just happy in his embrace. Over an hour later though you found yourself still naked on the couch with him. You laid cuddled on his chest breathing a little better now. Your previously sweaty body stuck to his skin was starting to cool as his hands moved over your back drawing shapes. You nuzzled your face into the nape of his neck humming at his scent and warmth.

“I like this” Trent spoke softly and vaguely. You didn’t move your head, you just hummed again but with more of a curious tone so he answered you. “You… naked, in our home, alone, with me… I like it just like this.” He murmured quietly, placing a kiss in your hair. His hands moved a little slower up your spine. You couldn’t help but smile at how perfect he was. How safe he made you feel, how much better he had made your life.

“I love you.” You whispered into his skin.

“I love you more” he echoed you. His voice vibrated his chest a little beneath you. The sound of his voice lulled you into further bliss. He was your whole world. You moved ever so slightly to lay down, still on top of him but just a little more snuggly with your head on his chest tucked under a blanket. He held you in comfortable silence on the couch loving being back home with you.

“Are you happy, T?” You broke that silence. Trent closed his eyes softly smiling at your question. Sometimes he couldn’t wrap his head around how sweet you were. You asked questions so innocently when you genuinely wanted to know about something and it made his heart skip a beat. You were so kind and so perfect for him. He felt it the first time he met you that he just wanted to take care of you, protect you, love you. God, did he love you. He loved you so much it made him sick sometimes imagining that you both had lives without each other before.

“With you in my arms, absolutely.” He responded to you softly. You giggled a little, your cheeks filling and going a little pink. You nuzzled in a little further and he pulled you tighter to him, giving you another kiss.

“You’re cheesy.” You kept giggling. He loved to hear you laugh. The house was quiet and the sound of your bubbling laugh warmed his heart. He wanted this, this moment, this sound, this girl, this feeling forever.

“Honest too” he cooed back at you, pressing another kiss to you. He laughed a little, bringing his hand up your spine to the back of your neck. His hand wrapping under your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Are you happy?” He asked hesitantly because he was so happy in this moment he didn’t want to entertain the possibility that you weren’t feeling what he was but deep down he knew he made you as happy so he asked anyway.

“In your arms…” you teased, kissing his wrist. You fluttered your eyes open to look up at him through your eyelashes when he started moving you.

“Funny… C’mere” he rolled his eyes at you mocking him and rolled your body over as he sat up right, leaning back into the couch cushions. He pulled you to sit in between his legs, your back to his chest. You got more settled as he slipped his hands around your waist, his big hands coming to rub your stomach. He kissed behind your ear before he placed his chin on your shoulder. “You want a girl or boy?” He spoke quietly into your ear as you nestled back into him. Your hands over his on your stomach.

“Just a baby is good by me… I’d like to get there first.” You laughed a little at your own joke but hummed feeling his warm hands on you then again thinking about the sex you just had possibly leading to a baby.

“Yeah but I’m imagining it. What’d you call it? Manifesting, innit?” He talked a little faster now coming out of an orgasmic haze. You laughed at him trying to talk about manifestations when you had mentioned it maybe only once before. It was cute he listened so carefully though. He sat up a little further and pulled your body with him.

“Yeah, that’s it. Manifesting.” You giggled more. “I don’t care though ultimately but in any case I wouldn’t be upset if they looked just like you, pretty boy.” You cooed, bringing your hand up behind you to stroke his cheek.

“Oh Yeah?” He smiled flattered by your touch and your words. “I don’t know, baby, I think I want them to look mostly like you. You’re beautiful. I like your nose…” he thought a little more quietly. “I like your eyes…your… I like” he kept rambling random body parts as you started to feel more and more sleepy, you could only hear every couple words when his voice just started to fade out, your eyes closing. Trent wrapped his strong arms around you and held a kiss to your head as he held you tightly as the night crept in. Trent carried you upstairs sweetly. He tucked you into your bed gently before climbing in himself and pulling you into his embrace.

“So so perfect, baby. Want to have you forever” he whispered into your hair. “Love you so much” He continued through a yawn bringing your body tighter to his before he fell asleep with his head nestled in the nape of your neck.

You woke up when you heard Trent’s phone continually ringing on the bedside table. You pressed your lips to his bare chest trying to wake him up softly with a kiss.

“Baby?” You cooed, sliding your hand from its current place on his abs up towards his shoulders. Your hand squeezed him a little as you spoke again. “T, your phone.” He shifted a little beneath you and let out a moan but just pulled you closer to him not opening his eyes any. His phone rang again. The noise was starting to drive you crazy and it confused you how it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. “Sleepy boy… can I at least see who it is?” He hummed a yeah.

“Just answer f’me, baby.” He moaned. You nodded and reached over him and grabbed his phone coming to lay on his chest again with the phone to your ear. You answered and it was Tyler. Suddenly the reminder of your sudden Instagram exposure pinged in your head.

“I’ll be there in like 15, alright?” Tyler's voice muffled through the speaker against your ear. Trent started to wake up, his hands inching down your body until he was palming your ass. Kneading it. His lips were on your neck. You lost track of any thoughts you had in your head. You let out a silent gasp when he nibbled a little on your neck.

“Hang up the phonnnee.” He groaned in an incredibly sexy morning voice. You heard Tyler say your name again through the phone when you didn’t respond.

“Yeah, yeah, see you then.” You barely got out the words in a squeaky voice flustered under Trent’s touch. You found yourself 30 minutes later heavily breathing under Trent. He had 5 missed calls from Tyler who was now unimpressed sitting at your kitchen island.

“Sorry, mate!” Trent said, jogging down the stairs, seeing Tyler slouched on his phone waiting impatiently.

“You’re not, but it’s all good, bro. You alright?” Tyler spoke, rolling his eyes, turning to see Trent pull a t-shirt over his head rushed as he came into the room.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Definitely good.” Trent cooed while walking around the island to the refrigerator with a silly smile on his face after his morning with you.

“Yeah? I’m sure.” Tyler quipped. “Y/N coming down? He asked looking at Trent who grabbed a water and was chugging it down. He gasped a little as he finished it

“Think so.” Trent said just as he saw you come gliding down the stairs. You smiled coyly and licked your lips seeing Trent in the kitchen send you a wink. You skipped into the kitchen wearing a shirt of Trent’s wrapping your arms around his waist. “Good morninggg.” He cooed as you looked up at him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead and you squinted your eyes at the wet feeling.

“I think you already said good morning.” You giggled, squeezing him a little tighter alluding to the fun you had after you hung up on Tyler before turning your head to him whose unimpressed face had yet to change.

“Yeah, gross. Erm… I would loved to ask about the trip but obviously we have to talk about the Instagram first. It’s not what any of us feel like doing this morning, I know that but…” Trent guided you back around the island to sit on the stools next to Tyler. “Good thing is… it really isn’t a big deal.” He said making you feel just a little better.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter / series … 🤍

Next part - Chapter 26 xx

#trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #you’re mine fic #taa x reader

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mjonthetrack · 3 months ago

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The beach house buzzed with life as the crew decided to stock up the kitchen proper. Swimsuits tucked under tees, sunglasses on, flip flops smacking concrete—they pulled up to the biggest grocery store in town like a family sitcom with too many opinions and not enough cart space.

Imani was strolling comfortably down an aisle marked “Intimates & Essentials,” pushing a cart, fresh off grabbing snacks and wine. She’d peeled off from the chaos after catching a glimpse of Jacob definitely holding hands with her best friend Tasha back by the fruit display—pretending it was casual. Mmhm.

Roman and Jimmy were off comparing meats like they were prepping for a BBQ Olympics. Solo was bumping into random displays on purpose, just to be annoying. And Josh? Somewhere trailing behind but never too far.

Imani was crouched slightly, long fingers skimming over lace and satin, debating between a deep red and a royal blue number. Just a little something for herself. Or, okay… not just for herself.

That’s when he stepped up.

Some smooth-talking dark skin brother with a trimmed beard, chain glinting, and too much cologne for a beach town. “Damn, queen,” he started, flashing teeth like he was paid to do it. “You makin’ that cart look good—what you need lingerie for when you already a whole problem?”

She raised a brow. “I’m taken,” she said plainly, flashing her ring.

“Aw, he let you shop alone? Couldn’t be me,” he chuckled, leaning a bit too close. “I’m just sayin’, beautiful like you shouldn’t be—”

She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone dipped sharp. “You don’t wanna do this, baby. My man ain’t the type to take disrespect lightly. I’m giving you an out.”

And then—like summoned by the winds and testosterone—

Josh.

Big, broad, slow-walking down the aisle like he was walking into a title match. Slides on, black tee snug over his chest, tattooed hand casually resting at his side, expression unreadable. Cool… until you saw the storm brewing in his jaw.

He slid up beside Imani, leaned forward just enough to brush his lips over her cheek, then turned toward the dude with a calm, cold voice. “You hard of hearin’, homie?”

The man straightened, trying to save face. “It’s not that serious, bro—”

Josh tilted his head slightly. “You tryna find out how serious it gets?”

Imani casually slid the red lingerie into the cart. “Told you he wasn’t sweet.”

Josh didn’t move closer. Didn’t need to. His eyes said it all: This woman mine. I’m not the one to play with.

The dude stammered something and backed up with hands raised, making some weak joke as he peeled off down the aisle.

Josh finally looked at her, low smirk creeping in. “That what you been pickin’ out for me?”

She shrugged, lips twitching. “I was thinkin’ about it…”

He leaned in, voice a low rumble in her ear. “Put that blue one in too. We celebrating every aisle you walk down.”

She just rolled her eyes, grinning, letting him push the cart now as they walked off like nothing happened. Just another day in love and war.

————-

Three to Four Months Later…

The house wasn’t just a hideout anymore. Wasn’t just a patched-up shelter. It was home. Fully expanded, painted with care, rooms that had character and history and plans for the future. Jacob and Tasha now shared the green room with the sun window, the family growing in both size and soul.

The yard was clean. The porch rebuilt. A whole new peace had settled across the land, one that came from hard-won battles and choices to stay, build, and protect something real.

Josh had been pacing.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the boys knew.

“She’s only been gone three weeks,” Jimmy said, chuckling from the couch, throwing popcorn at Solo, who ducked it easily.

Roman sipped his drink and muttered, “Yeah, but that boy been countin’ hours.”

Josh flipped him off halfheartedly, but his eyes never left the window.

And then—gravel crunching.

That familiar Jeep engine growling low.

The whole house shifted.

Voices lifted—“They back!” “Ayy Tasha!” “It’s them!”

Shoes were half-tied, doors thrown open, everybody filing out like they were ten years old again and heard the ice cream truck coming.

Tasha hopped out first, waving and grinning like the sun itself. She blew a kiss toward Jacob, her curly puff bouncing, “We brought back souvenirs and all.”

Then came her.

Imani stepped out slow, one hand braced against the Jeep door, the other resting on a now clearly visible, round belly. Her tank top hugged her curves and the slight new swell to her face, glowing brown skin kissed by the sun, gold hoops in, her other hand curled under her baby bump.

Josh froze.

It was like the sound dropped out of the world for a second.

Then the realization hit him like a freight train.

She was pregnant.

She was carrying his child.

She had known. Maybe not the whole time, but enough to carry it quietly. Enough to protect it. Enough to bring it back to him whole and safe.

He whispered, “Oh…shit,” blinked twice—and collapsed flat out on the porch.

“Damn!” Solo hollered, running to him.

Jimmy doubled over laughing. “Ayo, big bad Josh went night-night!”

Roman stood over him like a proud uncle. “Man just got emotionally body slammed.”

Imani didn’t rush. She waddled up with Tasha by her side, hands on her hips, unbothered. “I told you he wasn’t sweet,” she muttered with a smirk, glancing down at her man laid out like he’d just seen heaven itself and wasn’t ready.

Josh came to with her silhouette outlined by the sun behind her. “You good?” she asked, teasing but gentle.

He reached up slowly, palm pressed over her stomach like he had to feel it to believe it.

“You—you,” he muttered, voice breaking, “you had him—or her—in you this whole time?!”

She nodded, emotion threatening to tip. “Tasha figured it out in week one. I was three months in before I even realized it…”

Josh sat up fully now, pulling her into his lap, forehead against hers, hand covering her belly protectively. “You bringin’ life into this world… ours… I swear to God, Imani, I ain’t never gonna stop making a world worth it.”

Wrap-up scene:

Later that night, the house buzzed with celebration—again.

Laughter, food, stories. Tasha had the playlist going. Jacob grilled. Roman had a beer in one hand and a baby bottle from someone else’s kid in the other, playing godfather already.

Josh and Imani snuck out back, away from the noise. She leaned against the railing of the deck he helped rebuild. Belly soft and warm under his hands, her natural hair loose again and tied up in a wrap, eyes heavy with peace.

“I never imagined this,” she murmured. “Not after everything. Not like this.”

“You built it,” he said simply. “You started this. We just caught up.”

She turned toward him, lips curving. “You gon’ keep up?”

Josh leaned in, kissing her slow, deep, soft.

“I ain’t never stoppin’.”

Final shot:

The house, glowing from the inside.

Laughter echoing out onto the land.

A family that shouldn’t have made it—but did.

A woman who carried fire and softness.

A man who chose to stay, build, and protect.

And in the middle of it all—

Life.

—-

#romance #x black oc #jey uso x black oc #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fic #alternate universe #mature fanfiction

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sykeswrites · 2 years ago

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Machine - Prologue

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader Summary: You were brought onto the team to help eliminate a B.O.W outbreak. They needed your particular area of expertise. Neither you, the team, or Leon himself could have foresaw the attachment that would form between you. Warnings: Older Leon, Slow burn, Everyone needs a hug, limited use of Y/N. Reader is described as masc presenting but they/them pronouns will be used throughout the story. Author's Note: The intention is for this to become a multi-chapter story, but updates may be sporadic. Please be patient x

Leon's POV: He didn't understand why they needed to bring someone new onto the team. They'd done well in the past, there were a few slip ups but... a whole new person? Really? "Stop moping." Claire huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bench. Most of the team were sat in the back of a large, very conspicuous van, save for Chris, who'd been tasked with actually convincing whoever the newbie was to get in on the job. He looked at her and rolled his eyes, grunting in annoyance. He'd made his opinion about the situation very clear already, but he'd essentially been ganged up on and bullied into giving in. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of several gunshots and something glass smashing inside the small house that their newbie apparently lived in. He sat up, eyes wide, but nobody else seemed concerned with the noise; in fact, Jill was picking at her nails absentmindedly, and Claire simply cleared her throat and sank further into the bench. "What? That doesn't concern anyone else?" He asked, a level of snark in his tone as if the gunshots had proved his point, but Claire only side-eyed him and shrugged. "If you'd have bothered to do your research you'd have known what to expect." She replied, kicking one of her legs up over the other so they were crossed. He glowered at her in response, but shut up. It felt like hours dragged by before Chris and their newbie appeared. Leon looked up with disguised interest as they stepped into the van, taking in all 5'8 of them from their cropped hair to the combat pants that looked like they fit a little too snugly around the thighs. Chris was first to hop up into the van, moving aside and offering a hand to the younger agent, who unceremoniously batted it away and, with their arms spread out so their hands were secure against the walls of the van, hauled themselves inside in such a way that made their biceps bulge and strain through the tight material of the black tee they were wearing. Their boots thumped loudly against the metal flooring as they steadied themselves, hands adorned with fingerless gloves brushing out the wrinkles that had formed in their pants. "Hey!" Claire called out, giving them a friendly smile. It would seem these two had met before, because the agent swiftly moved over to sit beside her, putting an arm around the redheaded woman. Leon noticed with a shock, mostly surprised that he hadn't noticed already, that the new agent appeared to be a lot younger than the rest of them. Early to mid twenties, maybe. Few formalities were exchanged between everyone and the agent, in which Leon learned their name at last,- he did know it, he'd just forgotten, honest!- but he stayed quiet until the very end. He was about to open his mouth to introduce himself when the younger agent finally looked at him and seemed to register his presence in the corner for the first time and, seemingly without thinking or with any semblance of a verbal filter, blurted out; "Whose the drunk?"

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x male reader #resident evil x male reader #resident evil x reader #male reader #THE READER IS A GUY!!!!!!!

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alwaysaglader · 3 months ago

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A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 7)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 7 - One Plushie, One Plum, One Puppy

Inside the compound, things had gotten easier.

But the outside world? That was still... a lot.

Crowds. Sounds. Eyes. Choices.

They weren't used to those.

So, naturally, the Avengers decided to take matters into their own chaotic, well-meaning hands.

Clint and Nat didn’t plan the shopping trip.

They ambushed it.

Y/N and Bucky had been minding their business—locked in a cutthroat game of UNO in the lounge, both unusually intense about the rules—when Natasha strolled in wearing black jeans, a fitted tee, and oversized sunglasses, and a crossbody bag that made it clear she was here with purpose.

Clint followed a beat later, holding two iced Starbucks drinks and grinning like a man about to throw a grenade into a very calm room.

“Field trip,” he declared. “Mall. Now.”

Bucky didn’t even look up. “I’m not going into the wild. Too many civilians. Too much noise. Fluorescent lights. Perfume clouds."

Y/N grimaced. “Is this mandatory?” She looked toward Natasha, tone cautiously pleading. “I’d rather stay inside.”

Natasha’s expression softened. She crossed her arms, but her voice was gentle. “I know,” she said. “But you can’t do that forever.”

“Pepper already taught us how to do online grocery shopping,” Bucky added, half-hopeful, half-defensive.

Clint squinted at him, sipping his drink like a disappointed parent. “You two have been hiding in the compound like gremlins. It’s time to join society.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue—then promptly shut it when Nat raised a single brow.

Ten minutes later, they were in the car.

The mall was loud.

At least, that’s how it felt to Bucky and Y/N.

The kind of loud that echoed off shiny tile floors and ricocheted around their skull like a ping pong ball made of anxiety. Pop music blared from every direction. People moved too fast. The lights were too bright. There were too many choices, and not enough escape routes.

Nat didn’t waste time.

“Clint, you’re on Bucky,” she said, already weaving through the crowd like a seasoned operative. “Y/N’s with me.”

“What are we looking for?” Y/N called after her, forced to power-walk to keep up.

“Essentials,” Nat replied. “Clothes that aren’t tactical, shoes that aren’t boots, and maybe—if you behave—milkshake and churros.”

Clint clapped Bucky on the back with all the subtlety of a brick. “Time to teach you what joggers are, man.”

Bucky scowled. “I have pants.”

“You have combat-grade leather that creaks when you sit. We’re getting you breathable cotton”.

An hour in, Y/N and Natasha had already hit four stores—each one somehow worse than the last.

Now, Y/N stood motionless between racks of pastel crop tops and jeans with too many rips, surrounded by mannequins in tiny dresses and girls walking by in coordinated two-piece sets that looked effortless and cool and so far from anything she'd ever been or wanted to be.

She wasn't a heels-and-mini-skirt kind of girl. But everything in the store seemed to scream "fit in or fade out."

She picked up a hanger with a tank top barely wide enough for her arm. Then dropped it again.

Her throat tightened.

She felt awkward. Loud in her own skin.

Quietly. Quickly. She slipped away, ducking into a quiet corner near the fitting rooms.

She sat on the small bench, staring at her reflection in the three-way mirror that somehow made her feel even more out of place in her own clothes.

She wasn't crying.

But she wasn't far from it, either.

Then— A soft thump. A paper shopping bag being set down beside her.

And Natasha sitting down next to her, legs crossed, holding a bottle of water and wearing an expression that didn't need words.

Y/N took the bottle but didn’t open it. She sniffed once. “I just... I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear. Everything feels like it belongs to someone else. Like I’m playing dress-up in a world that already decided I don’t belong.”

Nat didn’t rush her. Just waited, then said gently, “It’s not about fitting in, Y/N. It’s about finding what fits you.”

Y/N looked up.

Natasha’s voice stayed soft, honest—stripped of armour.

“For a long time, everything I wore was for survival. Costumes. Uniforms. Personas. I could blend in, seduce, intimidate, disappear whatever they needed me to be."

Y/N angled toward her, listening more closely now.

“But none of it was me. Not really. I didn’t even know what my style was until I was finally free. And even then, it took me a while to believe I deserved to be comfortable—just being myself.”

“You always look so confident,” Y/N murmured.

Nat smiled—wry, and just a little sad.

"Confidence isn't about loving how you look. It's about refusing to let the world tell you you're not enough."

She glanced toward the open store. "You think everyone here's dressed because they love how they look? Most of them are scared. Trying to look like everyone else so they won't get judged".

She met Y/N’s eyes. "Don't give people that kind of power, Y/N."

She nudged her chin toward the fitting room racks.

"You want hoodies four sizes too big? Get them. Want tight clothes, or yoga pants or boots you can kick down a door in? Do that".

Her voice stayed calm, grounded. "You don't owe the world an image, sweetheart. You owe yourself comfort. Choice. Safety."

Y/N's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. "It's just hard. Feeling like... I take up too much space. Like my body doesn't match what people expect."

Nat's voice softened.

"The only expectation that matters is the one you set for yourself. And it should sound like this: 'I get to feel safe in my own skin. I get to take up space. I get to exist without apology.'"

Y/N's eyes welled just a little. Not from sadness. From the sudden relief of being understood.

Nat reached over, bumped their shoulders.

"You don't owe the world pretty. You don't owe it 'skinny' or 'cool' or whatever trend is shouting the loudest this week. You owe yourself comfort. Peace. Something you can put on and say—'this feels like me'."

Y/N laughed softly, wiping her cheek. "I don't think I'm ever wearing a crop top".

"Great," Nat said. "Then we'll start with hoodies. Maybe some cargo pants. Something that says, 'I've survived a war and still have snacks in my pocket".

Y/N chuckled and stood up. "Okay. Let's try again."

Nat rose with her, proud and patient. “That’s my girl.”

And together, they stepped back into the store—not to fit in.

But to find something that fit her.

Meanwhile…

Clint and Bucky were trapped in what could only be described as a hellscape of modern menswear.

Three stores in, and they still hadn’t bought a single thing.

Bucky had officially hit his limit.

“I don’t need a flannel,” he grumbled, eyeing the chequered shirt like it might jump off the hanger and force itself onto him.

Clint rolled his eyes. “You don’t own a single casual shirt. We’re starting from zero. That means yes, you do.”

They were mid-argument over the difference between black and slightly darker black t-shirts when Bucky suddenly stopped.

Something across the walkway had caught his eye.

A toy store.

Specifically, a window display.

A wall of plush animals.

And in the centre— A small, soft-looking, cinnamon-coloured teddy bear with a pink ribbon tied loosely around its neck.

Something about it made his heart stop.

He imagined Y/N holding it. Sitting in her room, curled up in her favourite hoodie, arms wrapped around the little bear. Maybe falling asleep with it tucked under her chin.

He had no idea why the thought hit him so hard.

But he walked in.

Clint caught up to him two minutes later and nearly ran into him.

"You disappeared into a toy store? Did you black out?"

Bucky ignored him. He was holding the bear now, turning it over in his hand like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

"She likes soft things," he said quietly.

And with that, he walked straight to the cashier.

Clint didn’t say a word. Just watched him go—eyebrows raised, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t comment, didn’t tease. Not this time.

Five minutes later, bear safely tucked into a small paper bag, Clint had dragged him into yet another clothing store.

Bucky hovered just inside the entrance, expression guarded, shoulders tense like the walls might close in at any second. Music blared overhead. A mannequin in sunglasses was aggressively modelling cargo shorts.

“Why are the lights so bright?” Bucky muttered.

Clint didn’t respond right away. Instead, he rolled a nearby rack closer and nudged it toward Bucky. “Start here,” he said simply.

“Find something that looks like you,” he said, wandering off toward a wall lined with hoodies and graphic tees. “I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, Clint emerged to see Bucky in a black leather jacket that somehow fit like it was made for him. Crisp at the seams, heavy, tailored to his frame. Perfect.

Clint let out a low whistle. “Okay, Barnes. Look at you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Too much?”

“Nah,” Clint said, stepping back and taking it in. “You look solid. Like someone who owns a Harley and knows how to keep it running.”

He gave a nod, this time genuine. "We're definitely keeping it".

Then, without missing a beat, Clint held up a pair of joggers he’d snagged from a nearby rack, lifting them like sacred relics. “Okay, time to try these. They’re comfortable. They have pockets. What’s not to like?”

“They don’t have a belt,” Bucky said suspiciously. “How do they stay on?”

“They have a drawstring, Bucky. Welcome to the 21st century.”

Bucky took them with two fingers, like they might bite. “They look like sleepwear.”

“Exactly,” Clint said. “You can fight evil and nap in the same outfit. It’s called balance.”

He tossed a hoodie at Bucky’s chest before he could protest. “Go. Try them on".

Bucky groaned but stalked off toward the fitting rooms.

Clint waited. And waited.

Five minutes later, the curtain shifted. “I’m not coming out.”

“C’mon,” Clint called. “I didn’t brave three teen sales associates and a cologne cloud for nothing.”

“Clint.”

“Bucky.”

A beat. Then—

“...It feels too soft.”

Clint blinked. “That’s the point.”

There was a long pause.

Then the curtain finally slid open.

Bucky stepped out stiffly in a black hoodie and dark grey joggers. The fit was perfect. Relaxed. Comfortable.

Clint gave a slow nod. “Damn, Barnes. You almost look like a functioning adult.”

Bucky glanced at the mirror. He didn’t say anything, but his expression shifted—just slightly. Less guarded. Less ready to bolt.

Clint stepped forward, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to prove anything, man. Not here. Not anymore.”

Bucky’s jaw worked for a second before he muttered, “It’s just… weird. Wearing something that’s not built for combat.”

Clint gave a small shrug. “Yeah. But maybe now? You get to build a life that isn’t either.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away.

But he didn’t go back into the changing room either.

Bucky tugged once at the drawstring of the joggers, glancing at his reflection again. The hoodie was soft, the joggers moved easily, and—much to his frustration—it was all dangerously close to… comfortable. He gave a small, reluctant nod.

“…Fine. I don’t hate it.”

Clint grinned, victorious, and handed him a navy Henley along with jeans in three slightly different shades of black—their earlier compromise.

“Time to bust out the spring colours,” he said, nodding toward the Henley. “Go wild.”

The fitting room curtain rustled as Bucky stepped out again, tugging lightly at the sleeves of the navy Henley. The jeans—black, simple, and free of tactical webbing or reinforced seams—fit comfortably.

No armour, no gear, no buckles.

Just clothes. His clothes.

He caught Clint’s approving nod, but before he could roll his eyes, something at the corner of his vision made him pause.

Y/N.

She and Natasha were just outside the store, mid-conversation and both carrying an armful of shopping bags, when Natasha caught sight of him and tilted her head toward the entrance. Y/N looked over—

And Bucky felt something in his chest shift.

She was wearing light blue jeans and an oversized burnt-orange hoodie with small white flowers scattered across the fabric, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her sneakers looked broken-in and perfectly hers.

He saw her.

Alive. Free. Smiling.

Something about the way she moved—the quiet confidence, the comfort in her own clothes—hit him harder than it should have. She wasn’t trying to be anyone. Just moving through the world on her own terms.

And she still looked… beautiful.

It did something strange to his heart.

Her gaze flicked over him as she walked up—head to toe—and when her eyes met his, her expression softened into something warm and sincere.

“I like your shirt,” she said, voice gentle. “It matches your eyes.”

Bucky blinked.

For a second, all he could do was stare—caught off guard not by the compliment, but by how genuine it sounded.

A flush crept up his neck, then bloomed across his cheeks, full and unmistakable. It spread fast, turning the tips of his ears pink and settling across his face like he’d been hit with a heat lamp.

No words came out. He opened his mouth—then closed it again.

Clint’s eyes widened in delight.

Without missing a beat, he grabbed a red Henley off the rack beside him and tossed it at Bucky’s chest. “Now this one matches your face.”

Bucky caught it on reflex and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, turning even redder.

Y/N bit back a laugh.

Natasha just smirked. “Nice aim, Barton.”

Clint bowed. “Thank you. Years of training for this moment.”

Y/N hugged the sleeves of her hoodie, gave Bucky one more glance—and smiled. Small, shy, and just for him.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he’d remember that look for a long time.

A few minutes later, the food court buzzed with life—kids running around with sticky fingers, couples sharing oversized pretzels, and the scent of cinnamon sugar and fries thick in the air.

Bucky and Y/N weaved through the crowd behind Clint and Natasha, who were already heading toward the churro stand with an alarming sense of purpose.

“You two did good,” Clint called over his shoulder. “Didn’t bolt. Didn’t cause a scene. That means you get rewards.”

“Churros and milkshakes,” Nat added, voice dry but fond. “Because apparently, we’re bribing you like toddlers.”

“Mum and Dad energy is strong today,” Y/N murmured to Bucky.

“Clint’s definitely the embarrassing dad,” Bucky said under his breath. “Nat’s the scary mum who somehow always knows what you’re up to.”

Y/N grinned. “Guess that makes us the troublemakers they can’t leave unsupervised.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh at that, and they slipped into an empty booth near the edge of the food court—away from the chaos, but still close enough to see Clint trying to charm the churro vendor while Nat leaned on the counter, giving the churro vendor a look that said don’t mess this up.

They sat in companionable silence, the kind that always came easily between them.

Bucky shifted in his seat, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat.

He reached under the table, a little stiff, a little unsure, and pulled out a small bag he’d been carrying since the checkout line. Without quite looking at her, he held it out.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What’s this?”

“Something I saw,” he said, voice low. "Thought you might like it".

He placed the bag in front of her, his gaze fixed on a point just past her shoulder. As if watching her open it might be too much.

Y/N opened the bag carefully, peering inside—then froze.

She reached in and pulled out a small plush teddy bear. Soft. Cinnamon-brown. Its fur was gently curled, and a pink ribbon was tied neatly around its neck.

Her breath caught.

“You got me a teddy bear,” she said, her voice caught somewhere between awe and softness.

Bucky’s hand flexed slightly against his knee, the tips of his ears flushing red. “It reminded me of you,” he mumbled.

She held it so carefully, like it meant more than she knew how to say.

And now, watching her cradle it like it was the most precious thing in the world—like she didn’t quite know how to process it—his chest tightened in the best kind of way.

Y/N stared at the bear for a long moment, her fingers brushing over the ribbon, then the soft fur. Her expression was unreadable at first—surprise, wonder, something just on the edge of disbelief.

Then it shifted.

She smiled.

Slow and full, the kind of smile that unfolded like sunlight. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “Thank you, Bucky.”

And there was something in her eyes when she said it—something real and unguarded. Like no one had ever done this for her before. Like receiving a gift just because was foreign, unexpected, overwhelming in the quietest way.

She tucked the bear gently into her lap, one hand resting protectively over its soft belly like she was afraid it might disappear.

Something twisted warm and slow in Bucky’s chest.

She looked... happy. Not the cautious kind. Not the polite kind.

The real kind.

And he’d done that.

He hadn't been sure about giving it to her. He'd told himself it was silly. But now, watching her like this, he knew he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Across the food court, Clint and Nat returned—arms full of churros and milkshakes, like proud parents returning from a successful mission.

Y/N looked up, still smiling, bear in her lap and her heart a little fuller than it had been ten minutes ago.

Bucky just looked down at the table, trying not to smile too obviously. Failing, just a little.

Today… they just felt like people, finding their way back to living.

A few days later, something new arrived. Of course, it was Tony. And of course, he didn’t invite them—he scheduled them.

It began with an email.

Y/N was half-slouched on the compound couch, scrolling on her laptop in the common room, when the notification pinged.

TONY STARK: Be ready at 7. Wear what's on your bed. Yes, it's fancy. No, it's not optional.

She rolled her eyes—until she stepped into her room and saw a dress laid out with surgical precision.

For a moment, all she could do was stare and think, This looks like something out of another life. One I never thought I’d touch.

She showered and put it on.

The dress was a deep wine red, unmistakably 1940s in style—fitted at the waist with a wrap-around bow that tied neatly at the side. The skirt flared just below the knees, full and flowing with every step. With short sleeves and a high neckline, it was classic, elegant, and quietly breathtaking.

She paired it with white sneakers—because heels weren’t her thing, and tonight was about being herself, not someone else’s idea of elegance.

Before stepping out, she caught her reflection one last time and thought, Comfort. Choice. Safety. Nat had been right. This felt like her.

She opened the door.

Bucky was already outside, adjusting the cuff of the suit Tony had sent him—a charcoal grey, classic 1940s cut. The kind of suit he might’ve worn to a dance before the war. The material was newer, cleaner, but the lines were the same. Familiar.

He’d paired it with his boots—the same ones he wore almost everywhere now. Because he wasn’t trying to be who he used to be. Just someone trying to stand still in his skin.

He looked up.

And froze for half a second when he saw her.

The dress—its cut, its colour, the way it moved—looked like it had stepped right out of his time. But it wasn’t the past staring back at him. It was her. Modern. Unapologetic. Entirely herself. And somehow, that made it even more beautiful.

Y/N’s breath caught when she saw him.

The suit was timeless—like something out of a photograph from a time she still remembered.

But it wasn’t just the suit.

It was him in it.

He’d kept his boots on—rough and worn against polished fabric—because that’s who he was now. A little past, a little present.

And somehow, that made the whole look even more striking.

He didn’t look like he was trying to fit in.

He looked like he belonged. Right here. Right now. With her.

“You clean up nice,” Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky glanced down at himself, then at her. “You look... incredible.”

Their smiles matched—lopsided, warm—as they made their way to the front door.

The limo was already waiting outside, engine purring. The back door swung open before they reached it.

Tony leaned out, sunglasses on, grin wide.

“Well, don’t you two look like a vintage magazine cover,” he said. “Now get in before they give our table to someone with less style.”

They arrived at the rooftop restaurant in soft golden light—the kind of place with linen tablecloths, sweeping city views, and warm, flickering bulbs Tony insisted weren’t romantic, just “high-efficiency ambiance.”

The city buzzed below like distant music, and their own conversations had been surprisingly calm. Elegant, even.

Then came the menu.

Y/N tilted hers sideways. "Is this in a foreign language?"

"It's French," Tony said, already halfway through the wine list. "So yes".

Bucky squinted at his options like they were encoded. “What’s... bouillabaisse?”

“Fish stew,” Tony replied. “But make it twelve syllables and $40.”

They ended up ordering oysters for appetisers—because Tony said “trust the experience,” and Bucky said “fine.”

When the tray arrived, Bucky stared.

“These are raw.”

“They’re a delicacy,” Tony gestured to the cutlery. "Just use the little fork—"

Bucky reached for one, trying to follow the instructions—

WHAP.

One rogue oyster slipped, launched off Bucky’s plate, and smacked Tony square in the forehead, before landing with an elegant plop in his wine glass.

Tony wiped the shellfish goo from his face. "Should've let you crack it open with your vibranium can opener. That's on me".

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She failed. Miserably.

Tony lifted his glass, oyster still bobbing in his wine. “To civilian life and and food that costs more than my first car".

They clinked glasses, and the dinner rolled on—dish after dish Tony insisted they "just had to try."

Y/N was seated between Bucky and Tony at the long table, her eyes lit from laughter and too many sips of sparkling lemonade. Bucky wasn’t exactly chatty, but he chimed in here and there—dry comments, well-timed smirks, the kind that made Y/N grin behind her glass and Tony look almost proud.

At one point, Tony leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink.

“You know,” he said, glancing between the two of them, “you’re both starting to look dangerously well-adjusted. It's making me nervous.”

Y/N smirked. “Coming from the guy who owns three suits of armour and a giant bunny suit?”

Tony pointed at her. “Hey, emotional growth comes in many forms. Some of them are metal. Some are plush.”

Bucky shook his head. “You need a new hobby.” Tony sipped his drink. “I had one. Then I met all of you.”

They all laughed—genuinely, easily.

Then Tony’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen and stood. "Two seconds. That's Pepper's assistant, which means I'm either in trouble or about to get voluntold into something charitable."

He stepped away toward the balcony.

A waiter arrived, placing a plate in front of each of them. Molten lava cake.

Y/N's eyes widened.

"Oh my god," she whispered, visibly delighted. "It's tiny and fancy and filled with chocolate death. I'm ready."

Bucky chuckled as she lifted her fork.

She stabbed into the center a bit too excitedly—forgetting she was literally a super soldier.

The cake exploded.

A burst of chocolate launched from the middle, hitting her square in the chest, splattering across her collarbone, and smearing a line up her cheek.

She froze.

Bucky blinked, half in awe.

Y/N looked down at herself.

Then whispered, "No."

"Y/N—"

"No no no no no."

She wiped at her dress with her napkin, only making the mess worse. Her face fell—brows furrowing, shoulders stiffening.

"God, I'm such an idiot," she muttered, trying to rub the chocolate off her neckline. "I ruined everything—why did I even—"

"Hey," Bucky said gently.

She didn't stop.

"I can't even eat cake without turning it into a crime scene."

"Y/N."

"I mean, seriously, who breaks pastry?"

"Y/N." He said it again, quieter.

She finally looked at him.

There was chocolate on her cheek. Her lip was trembling in that way she always tried to hide—like being upset was a burden.

Bucky picked up a napkin and leaned in, slowly wiping the smear from her face with the same care he'd use bandaging a wound.

"There," he said, voice low. "Still you."

Her dress, though—chocolate still spread across the fabric. She looked down at it like it had personally betrayed her.

He could see it: the tension behind her eyes. She was holding it in. Pushing it down. For everyone else's sake.

So he shrugged off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders.

"You don't have to be perfect," he said. "Not with me."

She blinked fast, eyes a little too shiny.

"I just wish I wasn't so clumsy".

"That's okay" he said.

Then—without a word—he reached down, dipped his thumb into the chocolate mess on her plate, and casually smudged it right across his crisp white shirt.

Y/N gasped. "Bucky—!"

"I'm clumsy too," he said flatly. "Look at us. Couple of chocolate disasters."

"But that's your shirt!"

"And this—" he pushed his own plate of untouched chocolate lava cake toward her, "—is your second chance."

She opened her mouth to protest. He cut a piece before she could.

"Let me."

He lifted the fork to her lips and she let him, biting into it carefully.

Somehow, chocolate got on her cheek again. She started to reach for the napkin, but Bucky beat her to it, brushing it away gently with his thumb, fingers lingering just a second too long.

And that's when it hit him.

Not the amusement. Not the instinct to care.

But the want.

Not to kiss her.

But to love her.

To be the reason she didn't have to hold everything in anymore.

To be the one who made her laugh when lava cake betrayed her, and made her feel safe when her own mind turned against her.

Tony stood on the balcony, phone still against his ear.

"...Tony? Tony are you there?"

He didn't answer.

Just stared, eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped —watching it all unfold through the glass.

"Did you just... forget how to speak?" came Pepper's voice.

Still, no response.

Tony blinked slowly and muttered to no one in particular—

"...I'm gonna need to upgrade my emotional firewall."

The next wave of chaos arrived a few days later—wearing sunglasses and carrying tote bags.

Sam had shown up at their doors on a Sunday just after 10 a.m., radiating the energy of a cool uncle taking the kids out.

“We’re going to the farmer’s market,” he announced. “You two need sun, air, and overpriced organic produce. Let’s move.”

The market was bustling—vibrant stalls, live jazz, and at least three different people aggressively offering samples of fermented beet juice.

Sam had dragged them there for what he called “normal people fun,” which, somehow, had spiralled into a heated debate over plums.

He picked one up, held it to the light like he was appraising a gemstone, and nodded solemnly. “Now this is a plum. Perfect weight. Glossy skin. Slight give. You’re welcome.”

Bucky scoffed. “You just picked the first one you touched.”

“I selected it, Barnes. With instinct. With experience. I know plums.”

“You think you know plums,” Bucky said, reaching for another. “But that one’s overripe. It’s halfway to jam.”

“Oh, and you’re some kind of plum sommelier now?”

“I’ve eaten more plums than you’ve had hot dinners.”

Sam raised a brow. “That’s... sad. But also, false. I grew up around produce stands.”

Bucky held up his own selection. “This. This is the one.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s a panic plum. The kind someone grabs at closing time. Amateur move.”

As their Very Serious Plum Debate intensified, Y/N had quietly wandered a few stalls over, lured by something soft and oddly... fluffy.

There, nestled between a basket of lavender sachets and some handmade soaps, was a round, grey-and-white wolf plushie—soft as a cloud, with tiny embroidered paws and the most judgmental sleepy eyes she'd ever seen.

She grinned.

Without hesitation, she bought it.

Meanwhile, five minutes later—

Bucky turned from the plums. "Where's Y/N?"

Sam glanced around. "She was just... huh."

Bucky's brows immediately drew together. "She wouldn't just leave."

"She probably got distracted by—"

"She never just walks off without saying something." There was an edge to his voice now. His eyes scanning the crowd, body tense.

Sam held up a hand, trying to keep things steady. “Hey—hey, we’ll find her. It’s a busy market, not a mission.” But he saw it then—the flicker of real fear in Bucky’s eyes, sharp and buried just beneath the surface. He softened his tone. “Alright. We’ll split up. I’ll head toward the food stalls—you check the side booths.”

Bucky was already walking off. Fast.

He found her two streets down.

Just walking. Calm. Hugging something comically large and grey and squishy to her chest.

He didn't think.

He just ran.

"Y/N!"

She turned—surprised—and barely had a moment to react before Bucky was there, arms wrapping tight around her like he was afraid she'd vanish again.

And then—"Wait—what is this giant squishy thing between us stopping me from hugging you properly?!"

Y/N laughed, cheeks pink. She held up the wolf plushie.

"This is what stopped your dramatic rescue hug."

Bucky blinked. "...Is that a... wolf?"

"Mmhmm." She pressed it into his arms. "Saw it and thought of you."

She gave a lopsided grin. "Because you're stronger than you think. And you don't need a pack to be brave. But you deserve one anyway."

He stared. At the plush. At her. Back at the plush.

"This is the softest thing I've ever touched in my life," he whispered.

Y/N smiled, gentler now. "Wolves are strong. Loyal. Protective. A little misunderstood. I figured... maybe it's time you had something soft too."

He didn't say anything. Just hugged it to his chest, completely and utterly gone.

Then quietly—"I love it."

His voice was almost small. Vulnerable.

Then— "I'm naming him... I don't know. Wolfie."

Y/N giggled. "Strong choice."

Sam finally caught up and immediately stopped in his tracks at the sight of Bucky—super soldier, 100-year-old ex-assassin—cradling a plushie like it was made of gold.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. "You're a walking Build-A-Bear commercial."

Bucky shot him a look. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying—'Winter Soldier and Son' has a nice ring to it."

"Say that again and Wolfie bites."

Sam snorted, but he was smiling too. "You're soft, Barnes. It's disgusting."

"Damn right I am."

And then—without thinking, without saying a word—Bucky reached out and took Y/N's hand in his free one.

Just casual. Just... natural.

Y/N blinked down at their joined hands.

Bucky didn't notice. Or pretended not to.

Sam noticed. Sam definitely noticed.

And as they strolled down the aisle of stalls together—one hand holding Wolfie, the other holding Y/N—Sam trailed behind with a grin, muttering, “You big softies.”

That night, the Compound was quiet.

Y/N was heading back to her room when she noticed the light spilling from under Bucky’s half-open door.

She paused.

She should've kept walking. Really. She meant to.

But then she heard it. A soft voice. His voice. Quiet. Gentle in a way she hadn't heard before.

So she peeked.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky was in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower. His room was dim, lamp casting a warm amber glow.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Holding Wolfie.

The ridiculously round, grey, floppy wolf plushie Y/N had given him earlier that day.

But he wasn't just holding it. He was...

tucking it into bed.

Like, genuinely pulling the blanket over the plush wolf's body, smoothing it out. Carefully. Gently. As if Wolfie was something fragile. Something important.

Then came the real kicker.

"Alright, bud," Bucky murmured, patting its tiny plush head with his metal hand. "You're in charge tonight. Keep the nightmares away, yeah?"

Y/N's hand clutched the doorframe. Her heart clenched in the softest ache.

He trusted it. Trusted her, really. Enough to let this part of himself exist.

She was smiling without realising it, warmth blooming in her chest like dawn.

Then—too late—his head lifted.

Their eyes met.

She froze.

He froze.

The tension lasted approximately three seconds before Bucky's face turned the colour of a ripe tomato.

"I—uh—he was cold," Bucky blurted.

Y/N stepped in, hands up in mock surrender, eyes sparkling. "Hey. No judgment. You're clearly an amazing father."

Bucky groaned, falling back into his pillow. "I'm never living this down."

She walked up to the bed, sat beside the plush wolf, and gave it a little high-five.

"You picked a good guardian."

Bucky peeked at her from under his arm. "You're not gonna tell the team?"

"Never," she said, reaching for the corner of the blanket to help smooth it over Wolfie's stubby leg. "This one's just for me."

He watched her, smile tugging at his lips. Something soft lingered between them.

Then she stood up and headed for the door, pausing in the doorway.

"Goodnight, Bucky."

He held her gaze, something unspoken resting behind his eyes.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

The next day, Bruce started acting suspicious.

Too many soft smiles. Too many “don’t worry about it”s. The last time he looked that pleased with himself, Tony had accidentally invented a sentient espresso machine.

So when he led Y/N and Bucky out into the compound garden, hands behind his back, Y/N half-expected robots—or at least something that beeped.

What she got was better.

Puppies.

At least a dozen of them—bounding across the grass, tiny tails wagging, ears flopping, a chaos of soft fur and sharp little barks. Someone had set up shade tents and water bowls, and a volunteer stood nearby with a clipboard that read “Therapy Dog Socialisation – Please Cuddle Generously.”

Bruce smiled, sheepish. “I figured… you both could use a little emotional support. So I called in a favour from the program downtown.”

With a small nod and a softer smile, he turned and quietly headed back inside.

Y/N didn’t wait. She was already in the grass, giggling as two puppies climbed onto her stomach and one curled up under her arm. Her entire face glowed like it was the best day of her life.

Bucky, on the other hand, stayed back. He stood stiff at the edge of the garden, hands in his pockets, his face carefully blank—but his eyes never left her.

He was watching her. The way she laughed—completely unguarded—as one of the pups tried to climb her shoulder. The way she scooped up another and kissed its head like it was the most natural thing in the world. And something in his chest pulled tight.

She didn’t even know what she did to people. How the light caught in her hair, how her laugh made things feel safe. How she moved through the world carrying shadows she didn’t talk about—still choosing to smile anyway.

It mesmerised him. Every time.

The strength it took to fight through the dark and still smile in the light… He’d never seen anything like it.

And God, he wanted to protect it. Not just her. But that—that smile. That softness. That spark.

Because he knew what it cost her to hold onto it— and he wanted to be someone who gave softness back to the woman who gave it so freely to everyone but herself.

To make sure she never felt alone in a quiet room again. To be steady when her hands trembled. To keep her laughing. To love her in the quiet, careful way she’d always deserved.

And somewhere in all of it, he realised—he was already falling. Steady as breath. Just as vital.

He didn’t know how to say any of it. So he just stood there—watching her like she was everything.

And then, the world reminded him it was still moving.

Something bumped his boot.

He looked down.

A tiny golden retriever puppy was gnawing at his laces with all the determination of a creature who had never once failed in life.

Bucky blinked.

“Are you... lost?” he asked the puppy, baffled.

The puppy let go of the lace, gave an enormous yawn, and sat down like it had just completed a great mission.

He bent down, carefully scooped the puppy up like it might detonate, and turned to walk toward Y/N.

But the puppy curled into his chest immediately—let out one sigh and conked out cold.

He froze. “It… fell asleep.”

Y/N beamed. “That’s because it trusts you.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

So she helped.

She gently placed another puppy on his shoulder. Then another. One climbed into the crook of his arm. A fourth settled near his boot.

Slowly—almost without realizing—he sank into the grass, back against the tree, arms full of fluffy chaos. His head tilted toward hers, like he still couldn’t believe this was allowed.

Y/N looked at him.

Really looked.

At his careful hands. The softness in his eyes. The way he kept absently rubbing slow circles over the back of the first puppy’s fur, like he’d forgotten how to stop being gentle.

There was something almost tender in the way he breathed. Like peace wasn’t something he reached for—just something that had finally found him.

She couldn’t stop watching.

It wasn’t just that he looked soft. It was that she knew how hard he’d fought to get here.

All the parts of him that didn’t rest easy. The shadows he never talked about. The way he sometimes flinched from comfort like it might break him.

And still—here he was. Letting go, just a little. Sitting in the grass, with these little bundles of joy, and letting it happen.

Her chest ached—not with fear or confusion, but with something blooming and inevitable.

She didn’t just like the part of him that smiled. She liked the part that didn’t know how. The part that tried anyway.

And maybe, without even meaning to, she’d started falling in love with all of it.

Bucky glanced at her, then carefully shifted the one sleeping puppy in his lap—and reached for her.

Without a word, he pulled her gently into his lap, her back resting against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist. The other still held the tiny retriever, snuggled soundly against him.

The puppy Y/N had been holding stirred, lifted its head, and began licking Bucky’s cheek with sleepy enthusiasm.

He scrunched his nose. She burst into a quiet giggle.

And then they were laughing together, soft and breathless, eyes meeting in a moment so close it could have tipped into something more—if either of them had dared.

But for now, they just stayed there.

Wrapped in warmth. Covered in puppies. Hearts inching closer, unaware they were falling in perfect sync.

Just two old souls, falling in love—one plushie, one plum, and one puppy at a time.

Chapter 8 coming soon

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kkeidawrites · 6 months ago

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The Return

Previous Chapter<<>>Next Chapter

Chp. 7

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥

Y/n busied herself with filing her nails as she sat on her couch, while Nightwing takes this time to get an assess of her condo.

“I told you they didn’t do anything. Albeit, they did put their nasty shoes on my recliner.” Y/n says to the walking hero. He’s been using a tool to scan the living room for the past thirty minutes and Y/n looks over her filed nails.

“Yes but they could have left behind some kind of fiber behind.” She rolls her eyes at him.

“Dick, I just told you that they were wearing a metal suit, nothing would have been left behind anyway. You don’t listen.” Y/n sighs.

“Okay, fine,” Dick puts his gadget back in his utility belt turning to the woman before him.

“What did this person look like?”

“They literally looked like a militaristic version of Batman, right down to the pointy ears and Arkham insignia on their chest. Glowing blue eyes on their visor and their voice was distorted.” Y/n lists off as she leans back into her cushions.

“And you haven’t noticed anything missing since their appearance?”

Y/n thought for a moment then shrugs.

“I’m missing a manga but, I’m pretty sure that it’s in my room somewhere but no other than that nothing else has been missing.”

“Did you recently lose it?” Dick asks.

“Well, I didn’t notice that it was gone until I brought out my box.” She explains.

“Box?”

“That’s classified information, sorry. It’s personal.” She says, her tone saddened.

Dick sees her attitude change and nods in understanding.

“Alright, I got you. I’ll go and figure out what kind of bombs that we’ll be dealing with. If you want I can take you to your parent’s house.” He offers.

“No thank you, I can drive there.”

“You sure? Maybe it’s better to evacuate now. Gotham is about to go under lockdown, this time it sounds much serious than what happened two years ago.” Dick says.

Y/n nods and she brings Dick into a hug.

“Thanks for coming over, but I’ll be okay. You go deal with those bombs and be a hero. Still need to live in this hell we call a city somehow.” She chuckles and Dick smiles placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Get to safety and if you need to, go to the manor.” Y/n grimaces but nods.

Dick leaves out of her condo and Y/n closed her balcony doors, sighing tiredly.

Walking over to her coffee table where her memory box still sat, she rummaged through the filled cardboard box and frowns in confusion.

“I swear that manga was in here. I always put all of my stuff back in this box, was I too careless or something?” She mutters and groans when her second look doesn’t result in finding her book.

Picking it up, she walks into her room and places it back in her closet where it belongs. Rubbing the back of her neck in thought, Y/n takes out her duffle bag and places it on her bed.

She knew that there were plenty of clothes at her parent’s house but, she just couldn’t remember if the one’s she had over there were what she needed for the current weather.

After stacking a week’s worth of clothes and both her bathing and face care essentials, Y/n zips it up and places her duffle bag by the door.

She picks up her phone from the coffee table and calls her father. He answers it on the second ring.

“Hey Dad.”

“Y/n, are you going to evacuate? I think it’s best if you come to the rental property with your mother and I. I even bought those bowl of noodles that you like so much.” He says and Y/n smiles.

“Buldak? 2x?” She asks.

“Of course, you and your mother have such high tolerance of spice.” Y/n laughs at her father’s response.

“Alright, I was going to head out in a few, just needed to get some things.” She walks back into her room and puts her phone on her bed to continue her conversation. Y/n takes out a pair of leggings and a graphic tee to change into.

She picks up her phone and sets it on her shoulder for her chin to hold as she puts on her socks.

“I’ll send someone to pick you up.” Her father suggests.

“Dad, no. I don’t want to inconvenience someone else’s safety for mine. I’ll drive there, it’s just thirty minutes.”

“A lot can happen in thirty minutes, Y/n. God forbid something happens to you.” Her father says exasperated.

“I won’t get hurt Daddy, I promise. I’m about to walk out the house now.” Y/n walks back out to stand in front of her door and puts on her shoes.

She then picks up her duffle bag, adjusting the strap to fit on her shoulder.

“Please don’t stay there too long Y/n. I worry for you.” He says.

Y/n picks up her keys and opens her front door. Walking out awkwardly with her bag on her shoulder, Y/n closes the door behind her and locks it.

Y/n makes her way to her car and opens the trunk, throwing her bag inside and closing it.

Getting into her car, Y/n inserts her key into the ignition and turns it to hear the engine come to life. She placed her phone in the phone holder sitting on the dashboard.

Before she pulled away from the curve, Y/n calls her Dad back and begins her drive to the bridge leading to Blüdhaven.

“I’m on my way to the bridge Dad, I’ll see you in thirty.” Y/n says.

“Alright, please be careful babydoll. It’s beginning to rain as well.” He says and as soon as he said that, rain drops hit her windshield.

Y/n turns on her wipers and makes a right to get on the highway. As the rain poured down even harder, Y/n had to slow her car down to avoid hydroplaning.

“Hey Dad, I’ll call you once I’m on the bridge.”

“Okay, your mother and I love you, Y/n.”

“Love you too Daddy.” The phone disconnects and Y/n squints her eyes to have a better vision of the road in front of her.

“Hate this fucking city.” Y/n says slowing her car down even more.

Driving down the familiar roads that leads to downtown, Y/n sees the roads held up with traffic and pedestrians trying to make their way through the city to the buses that would take them out of Gotham.

Sighing in frustration, Y/n looks around the area to see if there was another way that she could go, she knew that if she stayed in this traffic she wouldn’t get to her parent’s for hours.

However, luck wasn’t on her side either, the only chance she had to get into another lane was blocked off and Y/n had no choice but to stay in the lane she was stuck in.

Quickly texting her father the predicament she was in, he quickly replied saying that she should be careful and call him when she was close.

In a far off direction, eyes watched her car carefully and presses a button on their wrist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#fanfiction #my writing #black reader #black!reader #dc jason todd #batman jason todd #red hood x black!reader #red hood x reader #batman arkham series #arkhamverse #arkham knight #dc batman #x black y/n #black y/n #x black!reader

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answer2jeff · 2 years ago

Text

when it rolls in like thunder:

chapter 1.5 — anyone else but you.

DISCLAIMER: half chapters are much shorter and used as wholesome, or not ;), fillers for the series! they're essentially palate cleansers so you can be emotionally prepared for more angst + hurt/comfort in the full chapters. however, you won't need to read these half chapters to understand context in full ones.

husband!carmy x hispanic!wife!reader

teaser. chapter 1. next chapter.

warnings : reader occasionally speaks some Spanish that Carmen hasn't picked up on. he thinks it's endearing. nothing else really. just very fluffy and touching. just good ol' sappy carmen and his wife going out for the day before the honeymoon!

authors note : this series is not doing well and it's kinda killing me inside but that's okay! just for funzies. also, the end is mostly dialogue. got a little lazy. sorry!

word count : 3k (not as short as i thought it would be ngl..)

highly recommend listening to the series playlist.

song(s) for this chapter : anyone else but you, & everyone adores you (at least i do)

"14.56? You're kidding me!"

Your eyes scan over the rainbow assortment of fresh, boxed fruit, the overpriced strawberries immediately grasping your attention. But not necessarily in a good way. Neither you or Carmen can totally remember who's idea it was to walk to the farmers market in this dry heat. It's not like you don't enjoy long walks, but it comes with cons. Pollen irritates your nose and the wind always messes up your hair.

You tug at Carmen's shirt, which, for once, isn't a tight-fitting pure cotton tee. It almost looks a little big on him, the sleeves rolled and cuffed perfectly so they still hug his arms. It's collared too. That ring on his finger makes your knees weak. He smells like the cologne he used to snag from Mikey's bathroom as a teenager. Richie got him his own bottle for Christmas the year after his passing and he's been wearing a spray or two on his neck and the insides of his wrists every 'special occasion' ever since.

And a hint of cigarette smoke. But you like it.

You always have.

He looks good. Fresh. Clean. Yours.

"Wow. I mean—" Carmen lets out a breathy chuckle that isn't quite loud enough to be a laugh, "it's a massive box. And it's strawberry season: May."

Still, despite his persuasive tone and the big hand that sits in the back pocket of your jean shorts as he stands beside you, it's not enough to convince you it's reasonable.

"But—"

"And we're at a farmers market, like, 10 minutes away from our place. Convenience costs money, baby."

Carmen peers down at you, retracting his hand from your rear and teasingly pushing your head into his shoulder. You pout. You don't want him to be right. The dramatics are fun.

"Pero, que es eso? Quieren que yo pago casi quince dólares para unos pinche fresas?" You throw your hands up, directly pointing to the tempting, fresh, and beautifully red fruit.

Carmen only nods. Even after 2 years of accidentally eavesdropping on your conversations, filled with the Spanish slang and sometimes vulgar language you've been using your whole life, he still hasn't quite learned much. Most of the time, he's too anxious to ask you what you're saying. He worries it'll make you stop doing it in front of him.

Until he comes to Tina, desperately. She'll ask him for the details but he can only remember bits and pieces of your one-sided conversations with him. She laughs for a moment or makes her eyes go theatrically wide just to fuck with his head. But eventually, she tells him the truth.

You only know this because Tina immediately started cracking jokes after she spent 15 minutes crying over your engagement, and then another 25 over your official elopement. 'Sacaste con un puré, gringo, mi vida! He needs patience!' she'd say to you whenever Carmen did the most minuscule thing that not-so-accidentally set you off.

"Mi amor," you turn to him, pinching your fingers and widening your eyes to make sure he's really paying attention, even if he doesn't understand you, "podemos comprar la misma cosa en Walmart, or algo así!"

The look in his eyes suggests that he didn't catch most of that. The only words he picked up were "mi amor" and "Walmart," obviously. He just assumes you're continuing your pointless bicker. But he doesn't have the heart, or even the want, to stop you.

He does love the way your nicknames for him roll off of your tongue. It warms something in him. Almost as if he believes your words capture your feelings and fully encapsulates him better than boring English ever does. They're smooth and they stick to his brain hours, or even days after they're spoken to him. In fact, he's been pretending he didn't faintly hear you whisper into his curls as he drifted off to sleep 'te amo con todo mi alma' last night, all fucking morning. It's the only full sentence you've ever spoken to him that he's been able to engrave into his memory.

"Uh-huh," he chuckles as he nods his head slowly, his dimples cinching in near the corners of his mouth. His skin looks a little tanner and brighter than usual. The veins in his eyelids are nearly invisible now, and the little moles that are scattered around his face and body are so much darker now. You thank the spring, nearly reaching the tips of summer, sun for bringing some life back to him. But you're not done complaining. So, you try not to smile in awe of your husband.

"Ó sea, que, are they gonna make me grow a magical straw-baby?"

"What, like—like how people say you'll grow a watermelon in your stomach if you swallow a seed?"

"Yeah! Like that!"

"I don't know, peach. Maybe?"

"It's not worth finding out."

"Yeah. Definitely not."

Despite this, you guys buy the damn strawberries.

You continue walking through the market and stopping at every other intricate little selection of produce, picking up ingredients for tonight's, tomorrow's, and the next day's dinner. You're still snacking on the overpriced strawberries, the entire carton in hand. Carmen occasionally lets you pop one in his mouth. He contently bites right before the stem and swallows. They're perfectly ripe, sweet, and juicy. And unfortunately a tad bit sticky. In the end, they're worth the aggressive price tag.

Finally, you stop in your tracks at a flower stand. Bouquets tied together with white ribbonYou're immediately drawn to the vibrant red of the roses and the pure, angelic white of the mums. Oh god, and you're convinced the baby's breath tucked in neatly between each gap that couldn't be closed by blooming petals could remedy the need for plant life in your living room. The fantasy makes you feel like you just can't leave without taking some of these gorgeous flowers with you.

"Mm—" you point, your mouth full of mushy strawberries, "those look really nice."

For a moment, Carmen hesitates. Those flowers will shrivel. They will lose their once attractive and captivating saturation of color. He's not even sure if they'll last more than 72 hours, given how bloomed the petals are. But you still have those clay vases from your engagement party. And he still loves to make you happy. Despite their fleeting nature, your appreciation for his gestures will last forever. Even if their lifespan doesn't.

Carmen's had this tendency for longer than either of you can pinpoint. Having money he doesn't need, money he doesn't use, has led to him making some questionable decisions. All in good faith. But impractical nonetheless. Take, for example, that time he bought you a Cartier love bracelet for your 1 year anniversary.

Yes, you heard that right. Cartier. The gold and shiny flat bands that required the disassembling and unscrewing of 18 karat gold bolts with a miniature fucking screwdriver. Oh, and this was even after you and him agreed to 'no gifts,' as you were already planning a trip to Copenhagen. The reaction he received from you wasn't quite what he expected. Tears streaming down your face and the kiss on his cheek to compensate for the lack of a proper gift for him was not part of the thoroughly walked through plan he wrote in his head. But your happiness is his, in the purest and pathetic and shameless way. He realized this the moment he screwed that last bolt and secured the thin piece of gold against the circumference of your wrist.

It's around 4pm, and the glistening sun is just slightly past its highest peek. Bright transparent blue and green spoons made from hard plastic swirl around in the cheap, (and definitely not authentic) gelato you share. Outdoor seating wasn't the first option, now that spring was slowly evolving into another scorching hot Chicago summer, but the AC of the parlor was sure to give you hypothermia.

"Fuckin' hot out here. Can't see," Carmen mutters, taking a small bite of the creamy pistachio mixture. He squints at the blinding beam of the sunlight. You felt a little guilty for letting him sit right in the direction of the sun. But he insisted.

"Did y'know blue eyes are more sensitive to sunlight?" You raised your brows, wiping the corner of your mouth and licking the gelato residue from it.

"Seriously?" Carmen leans forward, putting his hand above his eyes as a makeshift visor. His hand reaches out to adjust the heart shaped sunglasses that started to fall off of your head.

"Here," you hand them to him, feeling bad that you'd completely forgotten about them.

"And yes, seriously," you nod, hovering over the table and adjusting the sunglasses so they'd rest perfectly on Carmen's nose before sitting back down, "It's because blue eyes have less melanosomes compared to green and brown eyes."

A simple, "thank you, baby," would've sufficed, but kisses your lips, gently cradling your jaw and barely letting a breath of air slip through the empty space between your mouths after the 3rd kiss. Alas, you remove your lips from his and sit back down.

"Is there, like—"

"An exact number?" You finished his sentence.

"Yeah."

"Yes, actually. Blue eyes have 3 in each, green eyes have 5, and brown eyes usually have around 9 to 12 depending on how deep the color is."

You smile, shrugging your shoulders as you try to remain humble. It's impressive, he has to admit. Carmen's always been fascinated by your knowledge of pointless information. He wishes he could store and retain so much of what you know. But for now, he'll just admire you for it. He'll contemplate his lack of ability to remember things like patterns and bullet pointed facts that didn't relate to culinary arts later.

"Huh," he crosses his arms against his chest, his button up shirt squeezing his flesh and showing his slightly faded tattoos "kinda makes sense."

Letting out a laugh or two, you take another disappointing bite of the fake gelato monstrosity. It's not that it doesn't taste decent, but the texture is off and the crystallized ice that formed around the sides is unappealing for the price. Carmen had doubts since the moment you dragged him in by the hand like a greedy kid spotting a candy store. But he didn't say anything. What's the point of using his knowledge and skills to crush making you happy? It wasn't necessary at the time.

But, much to his pleasure of being correct, but his dismay of your disappointment, you aren't the biggest fan of it in the end.

"This isn't great," you swallow, shaking your head and dropping the spoon back into the paper cup in defeat as the green and nutty mixture went down your throat for the last time.

"It's not real," Carmen joins you, just to end up dropping his spoon in the same unfulfilling manner, too. "Most gelato places aren't. Gelato's dense. Not fluffy."

You nod, pushing the cup to the side and interlocking your fingers into his. His calloused fingertips gently caress the back of your hand and go over every little vein and mole that shines through your soft and soothing skin. He's become pretty fond of the whole hand-holding thing. Especially with that pretty rock on your finger. It's delicate. You're delicate. You're his.

"You've been doing that since the day we met, y'know," you hold onto his hand tighter, smiling and snatching your sunglasses back from his face with one swift motion before he can protest.

"What? Explaining shit about food you don't care about?" Carmen chuckles, his teeth showing. Sometimes he was embarrassed of his info-dumping, but he's learned to not be so shameful of it. You find it interesting. He doesn't really notice that he does it anymore.

"Yeah. But it's cute. It's what made me wanna keep talking to you. You don't do it to make me feel stupid, or something. You just.."

You paused to think.

"You know a lot about what you do, Carm. You're passionate."

Ah. The day you met.

Around 3 years ago, you'd just moved to the bustling city of Chicago after writing and successfully selling a beautiful script to an indie short film, which ended up being undeserving of your work due to the poor execution of dialogue. It didn't even end up showing at the film festival you were practically forced to attend. Even after co-writing and directing film projects and not-so-popular cinematic pieces, you hadn't tasted the pleasure of success. You dreamed to write something all on your own and conjure up a moving script of the century. You figured moving to a brand new city would get the creative juices flowing. Eventually, it did, but it took a boring circle of friends and a couple sleepless nights before you were successfully back and thriving in the industry.

You decided celebrating with an appletini or two at a shitty Karaoke bar down the block from your apartment was the best option. And thank god you did.

Carmen caught your eye the moment you detached yourself from your social circle to smoke a cigarette or two outback in the alleyway to melt the anxiety that started to consume you once you got a little tipsy for the first time in months. The tattoo on his hand and the way he crouched down on the asphalt beside Richie who complained endlessly about the complexities of his divorce was intriguing.

You butted into their conversation and lit a cigarette of your own, politely greeting them. Richie didn't say much. It's like he knew it would be Carmen's opportunity to function like a normal person and have a pleasant conversation with a random bar girl in black pantyhose and combat boots. The two of you discussed moving back to Chicago, discovering that Carmen actually grew up there and started a new life of culinary exploration and expertise, while you just needed a sense of control and escapism.

After the conversation had reduced to mundane small talk, visibly making both of you tense up, you finally got his name: Carmen Berzatto. His use of his full name was a little displacing. It made you wonder if you should've known who he was, considering his surprisingly humble background check. You couldn't help but want to know if there was more to him than his career. More than his cigarettes and his tattoos and his weird love-hate relationship with his family friend he called 'cousin' for no real particular reason.

More than the restaurant he'd been trying to revive.

That night caused him to come to the realization that he didn't actually know if there was more to him. Ever since that conversation and its rude interruption of Richie's right hook into some random guys face landing him in a cell overnight, he's been forming into a real person instead of the outer shell that is his job as a chef. He asked about your films, your projects, what made you start working in cinematography, and who your inspirations were. You answered completely honestly and wholeheartedly with every question, never making him feel a burden for his curiosity.

You could tell he was nervous with the way his voice shook and his breath went uneven with every look.

"I was kinda scared to talk to you when you came up to me," Carmen smiles, running his free hand through his dry and defined blonde curls. You squinted in disbelief.

"What? Me?"

"Yeah. I don't know, I–" he shrugs, leaning forward to get even closer to your again "you were cool right off the bat. You still are. Possibly a lot cooler than me."

You roll your eyes playfully, refusing to take the compliment in a fit of flattery. Constantly being humble around Carmen was kinda hard. Especially with the way he unintentionally showered you with compliments that were really just state of facts to him. But he didn't want you to be humble. He wanted you to own that shit.

"And you're beautiful. So, so beautiful. I think that scared me a little, too."

"I think I might've been more nervous than you were. I was just so determined to talk to the hot guy with tattoos and a blue apron over a slutty white t-shirt that I tried desperately to hide it," you joked, laughing harder at the sight of an eyeroll of his own.

"Yeah, well, look at us now. Married," Carmen smiles, gently pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and exposing your decorated lobe with earrings Natalie gifted you for your birthday last year. "I'm glad you stuck it out. You always do. All the time."

Carmen gushes over your ability to 'always know what to say,' when you know deep down your life is just a constant cycle of 'figuring it out' and 'going with the flow' of inevitable highs and lows of life as you go on. Your brilliance is so organic. Everything about you has always been the purest form of excellence and love to him. Even when he barely knew you.

"Can I ask you a really stupid question?" You bite at the inside of your cheek, your hand releasing from Carmen's so you could clasp your palms together in a pleading motion.

"Sure."

You pause, swallowing the familiar lump that hasn't formed in your throat since the first time you told him you wanted every part of him in your life.

"When..." you breathe in sharply through your nose, "did you realize, 'oh yeah, I need to spend the rest of my life with her.' Was there any specific moment?"

Almost without a second thought, Carmen answers with a blush against his cheeks and his hand grasping yours again at the loss of physical contact.

"Probably the first time we kissed."

That response surprises you more than it probably should. That night in your apartment changed his course and perspective on love and life for the rest of eternity. He learned to slow down and let himself fail and pick the pieces of his mistakes back up.

"I love you, Carmy."

"I love you."

He says it back hungrily like he needs it to be branded into the ridges of your mind. And at this rate, it might've already been stamped into your memories of him.

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