#it was a situation of my own making but i’ve been in a situation where bombs and gunfire rang in the near distance

[zomboivex]

Getting personal for a moment. But I feel it’s important to share, anyways.

When I was married, everyone in my life gaslit me to believe I was terrible with managing my money. Any personal expensive was noted as frivolous and wasteful. Bought some fabric for my hobby of dress-making with money I earned from a bonus?

That could have been used for the water bill next month!

Had a $1000 bonus? No. That’s for the house mortgage that he didn’t let my name exist on even though I paid for majority of the renovations because he was content letting the kitchen sit in disarray with thick dust in the air. Causing me to have severe allergy attacks every day.

Called off sick?

How could you? We have bills to pay!!!!

Go through extreme harassment at work?

No. You’re making it up. It’s an excuse to take a day off and relax.

Ignore the fact that he called off regularly because he had headaches while I was shamed into going to work despite having the flu.

Set up a joint account where only I contributed to put money in for bills to pay. Because he would pay from his account. Then he’d constantly drain the joint account for ‘bills’ and then spend his money on who even knows. We had 2 maxed out credit cards in his name.

But this was so normal to me. Because I grew up like this. I grew up with my ‘support system’ telling me this is normal. Telling me that I am the problem.

And I believed it.

I believed that everything that was wrong was me.

I didn’t know he was $7,000 in debt until our divorce where he was demanding I pay it off.

I never did find out what he used that money on. I suspect it was on his gaming addiction and my alleged ‘best friend’ he was sleeping with.

When I finally got out of that relationship, I was in financial ruin. I had nothing in my name. At 30.

I lost everything. (Except for the car that I begged for him to let me take and 3 of my 4 cats).

I lost the house I lived in for years. It was all in his name. There was nothing I could do about it. Because we were ‘only married for 3 years’ despite being together for 10.

I had no furniture to take with me. Save for a couch. That I couldn’t actually take because I had no place to go. I was couch surfing or sleeping in my car at this time.

I lost my dream job because my ‘friend’ worked there as well. And while they were beyond accommodating to my situation, I could no longer mentally handle being there nor could I handle the hour drive once I did find a place to live.

$1000 down on a new apartment.

Car broke down a month later. $1000 down on a new car.

Said car was stolen twice. Can’t even begin to tell you how much money that leeched out of my savings.

$23,000 (with health insurance) for surgery due to appendicitis.

All in a year after divorce.

It was defeating. It was so fucking hard.

In a span of a year I went through multiple life crises events. I can feel how it physically changed my ability to process information. In a way, I’ve become ‘dumber’ because of it. I can’t hold onto information. I have a hard time reading and staying focused.

Only reason I was able to even financially get through all of that was because I had some money saved from a lawsuit at the job that was harassing me that I wound up winning after the divorce. That and I finally caved in and got a credit card (my credit score was good) and a couple of personal loans.

I’m still paying it all off. It has been so fucking hard.

And I’ve been going through waves of hating myself for being so naive to feeling terrible for what I’ve been through because I didn’t see anything wrong with what I experienced as it was happening. And I’m finally coming to my own form of peace with this. But it was hard.

I had been with him for 10 years.

I don’t love easily. But I did love him. Even if I showed it in odd ways. I wouldn’t have married him, otherwise.

And then when everyone around me said I was the problem, I believed them.

Even now, I have an incredibly hard time understanding when I am truly in the wrong with a situation or if my reaction to things are justified.

I didn’t realize I was being put through mental and financial abuse by so many people around me.

I wish I could hug me from a few years ago and let them know they are so strong for going through all of this. But that they shouldn’t have had to be so strong for so long.

I wish I could hug every woman on the planet that has been through anything where they had to ‘be strong’ to survive while thinking it’s normal.

Baby, it’s not normal. You deserve so much more in this world.

You deserve your own freedom and a support system that values you and lets you know when you’re going through actual bullshit instead of painting you as the villain.

To all the women out there who go through these things; I love you. I see you.

maybe i’m a joyless bitch but i actually do NOT think it’s funny to see women being like “the house is just in my husbands name” or “my husband makes all the money” or “i don’t even know who our mortgage is with” or “the only bank account/credit card is his and i get an allowance” like i do NOT find that cute or romantic and i am begging these women to Stand Up. you should at least be named on the deed to your house and the title to your car and the bank accounts even if you don’t pay for them/earn all the money. you can’t stop existing in the eyes of the law and the credit unions simply because you have a husband. if you’re raising his children and washing his socks half of everything he’s got is yours and it needs to be yours LEGALLY BY NAME. "he takes such good care of me :)" girl you are a PRISONER!! that’s all

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.

So sure, until you're not.

Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10.9k

“I get… dreams.” You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynor’s head. It’s always better than looking her in the eyes. “They’re weird.”

“The very nature of dreams is to be strange.” You can see the shrug of Raynor’s shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. “Although if you feel they’re worthy of note-“

“They are.” 

Raynor hums. She’s probably raising her brows. You still won’t look.

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am.” You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. “It’s- They’re not new.”

“Ah.” Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. “This conversation may be easier if you would look at me.”

“No thanks, I’m-“

She says your name again. A little harsher. “We’ve discussed this. You’re here of your own volition-“

“That’s not true.” You mutter. “Court-ordered isn’t volition.”

“Well you could’ve chosen the inpatient ward.” Raynor’s shrugging again. “Look at me.”

You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. You’d been right. She was raising her brows.

“Good work.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. “Tell me about these dreams.”

It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you don’t have them, but because you’d never expected to use them. You’ve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didn’t need another reason to be called crazy.

“I’ve had them my whole life.” It’s easiest to start there. “But it’s- they’ve changed. Over time.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

You scowl. “I am trying, Christina, but there’s kind of a lot to say-“

Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. “How about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?”

It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. “I was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream I’d ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It was…” You swallow, and there’s a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. “Really vivid.”

——

This isn’t your body. It’s too big, too tall, and you’re not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You can’t even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.

But this doesn’t really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically you’d think it was a machine if you couldn’t hear its heartbeat in your ears. There’s a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.

You’re pretty sure it's a he. There’s hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the body’s arms swing into view they’re big and muscular. You’re also pretty sure there’s something between your legs that wasn’t there when you went to sleep.

And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, he’s bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. He’s roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skull—his skull—and it all goes quiet.

You can see another man in your line of vision. He’s on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if there’s a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.

A gloved fist that’s attached to your body—but not yours to control—reaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes. 

He’s desperate. Locked down and furious, the ‘he’ who you’re possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop. 

But he doesn’t. 

And there’s a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.

——

Raynor’s looking at you like you’re insane. You don’t love it.

“Did you…” She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. “Did you see the hand?”

You blink at her. “Yeah, I just said-“

“Without the glove.” She clarifies. “The one that snapped the man’s neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.”

It’s an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor she’s never looked so obviously invested in a story. 

“Not for a while.” You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. “He always wore the gloves. And when he didn’t, he wouldn’t look at his hands-“

Raynor frowns. “So how did you know he wasn’t wearing the gloves?” 

“Because he knew.” You shrug. “I lived in his brain like, every night.”

“Every-“

“Night, yeah. That’s what I fucking said.”

Raynor hums, and you think she’s going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. “You said you didn’t see the hand for a while. When did you see it?”

“When I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.”

“Changed from-“

“Being in his head.” You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if they’re your dreams. He’s a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if you’ve realized turns out to be the truth, you don’t want to ruin anything. “It’s- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-“

“Everything?”

You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like it’s a lie.

“All the murders.” You mutter. “There were a lot of murders.”

Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.

“One night I went to sleep and he was… attacking some blond guy. We couldn’t really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.”

——

You can see him. You’ve never seen him before. 

He’d never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like he’s a Wattpad character. He’s only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didn’t seemed thrilled with what was happening either. 

But you’re not in his head, or his body. You’re standing in a bathroom—in your own body, wearing the same clothing you’d been wearing when you’d crawled into bed—and looking at him. 

He’s a lot more attractive than you’d anticipated. And you’d anticipated attractive. You’d built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders he’d been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but you’d also been so goddamn sure he wasn’t real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life. 

But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like they’d been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame that’s somehow bigger when you’re looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair that’s really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.

Because he does not look okay.

He’s gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. He’s bent like there’s a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know how to shake off, and that’s impressive, because you’ve seen him pick up a car. 

The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.

His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. You’d always thought blue eyes were overrated—big whoop, you’re more sensitive to light—but there’s something silver in this man’s eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm you’d like to chase.

He’s really pretty. 

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly that’s burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand. 

One metal hand.

——

Raynor looks worried now. You wish she’d go back to thinking you’re just batshit crazy. 

“Do you-” she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. “His name. Did you ever learn his name?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

It’s a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat. 

“I-“ You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way you’ve always practiced. “I didn’t, for a while-“

Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. “Stop telling me something didn’t happen for a while. If I ask a question, it’s because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.”

You frown. “Need to know?”

“It’s…” Raynor sighs. “It is very important that you give me a name.”

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

You give her a flat look. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is. Name.”

“If you need the name,” you say, raising your chin slightly. “You have to sit through my for a while.”

Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I can’t take two of them, before raising her voice. “Fine. What was for a while.”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” You explain. “For like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldn’t see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And it’s not like he was just walking around telling the air I’m Bucky-“

“Bucky?” Raynor looks downright distressed. “His name was-“

“It’s Bucky.” 

He still is. He’s not a was, Bucky is.

That’s part of the problem.

“And how-“ Raynor swallows. “How did you learn this?”

“He told me.”

——

This is new. You’re not on a street or in a half-empty apartment—the two places you’ve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleep—but in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

And there he is. His hair isn’t greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it. He’s standing taller than before, like the weight you’ve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.

His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hats—you too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the ‘Doggers’—and shitty polyester t-shirts.

You’re taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain could’ve possibly taken you this time, when he does something you’d never expected.

He turns and looks at you.

Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

You’ve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.

It’s smooth and richer now. You don’t know if that’s because it’s directed at you—setting off small sparks over your ribs—or in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.

“Hi.” You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.

He’s right in front of you. Staring at you. 

He’s always gotten prettier every time you’ve seen him. This is different.

This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because there’s a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.” 

He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.

“That’s a weird name.”

He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. “I guess, yeah. Never thought about it. It’s just a nickname.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “Sorry. That’s- I just never thought you as- never mind.” 

Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouth—likely ask you what you mean by that—but you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.

He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours. 

“Why can you see me?” You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth. 

Bucky frowns at you. “Should I… Not be able to see you?”

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue. 

You’re holding his gaze. You’ve never held anyone’s gaze before. 

It’s kind of electrifying.

“I’ve dreamt about you before.” You mumble. “And you’ve never seen me.”

“About me?”

He doesn’t sound like he believes you. You get that. It’s not really a reasonable or believable statement.

“Yeah. But you had two arms. And there weren’t goats.”

Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you don’t get to be privy to. 

It’s enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile. 

“Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?”

You blink at him. You’d expected more questions, or some doubt. But he’s just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.

“Are they...” You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. “Your goats?”

“They’re community goats.” He shrugs. “But Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I don’t really want to connect with people.” His voice lowers, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “They don’t really like connecting with me.”

You don’t know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. “So goats?”

He gives you another odd look, like he’d expected you to say something else. 

“Yeah. Goats.” 

“Did you name them?”

He frowns. “They’re goats. They don’t need names.”

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Wrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.”

“You named your phone?”

“Yep.” You grin at him, and it’s a wide, teasing grin you haven’t given anyone in years. “Bertha.”

“That’s…” Bucky’s still staring at you–he seems to do that a lot—but there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “Bertha is not a good name.”

“Better than Bucky.”

He chuckles at that, and it’s a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.

It’s the sort of thing that could be addicting, if you’re not careful. Worse, it’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind being addicted to.

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

“Yep.” You shrug, ignoring how ‘doll’ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. “And I’ll be meaner if you don’t let me name your goats.”

He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm you’d see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, you’d like to do a little more than chase it.

You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it. 

“Will you come back if I let you name them?”

He keeps saying things you don’t expect. Of course you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Only if you promise to actually use the names.”

He nods, giving you another smile. “Deal.”

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

You shake your head. “I never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called ‘Bucky’ and we got off topic.”

“One… point?” Raynor’s words are slow, and you’ve really never seen her looked lost like this before. You’d be proud of yourself if it wasn’t a bad sign. “Exactly how frequently did these dreams occur?”

———

“You’re back!”

Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like it’s truly odd and lovely to see you here.

Like you’re not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.

You’ve worked out that you’ve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because you’d seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy T’challa Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. You’d almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferences—the ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasn’t ringing in your ears—and your brain had just decided to run with it.

At least, you think it’s just your brain. You’ve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. He’d never really changed, for six years. He’d had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but now—as you actually get to know him—he seems dangerously like a real person.

He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.

The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of ‘made up in your brain’ if he couldn’t be so annoying.

He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesn’t get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.

But he doesn’t.

And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole. 

That’s cruel. He’d been right. You could be mean. 

He never seemed to mind.

And he’s more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.

You like his company. You like his voice. You like that he’s annoying and you like more that it’s your exact type of annoying.

You like that he’s really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit. 

You mostly just like him.

“Of course I’m back.” You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. “I’m always back.”

“Yeah. So far.” You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, he’s staring again. “Could change.”

“Won’t change.” You counter, giving him a pointed look. “Sorry, Buck. You’re stuck here until I die.”

That’s the first time you’ve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

“Not right now, no.” You hum. Another rock gets kicked. “Death doesn’t agree with me.”

He chuckles. “Don’t think it agrees with anyone, doll-“

“Shut up.” Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. “Shit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-“

“Bubs will be.” Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. He’s standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. “And I still can’t believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.”

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

“You think that’s funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,” he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like it’s some sort of answer. “I had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-“

Your eyes widen. “You let the goats get pregnant?”

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

He gives you a dry, amused look. “Would you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?”

You blink at him. “You know what cockblock means?”

Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You don’t know why, but you stopped asking questions like “why” and “what” a long time ago. You just know that he shouldn’t know what cockblock means, for consistency.  

“Of course I know what it means. You taught it to me.” He winks at you, and you’re pretty sure you’re flushing.

This is meant to be a dream. You shouldn’t be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.

This seems less like a dream every night.

You’d be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.

“Are goats births gross?” You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter. 

“They’re fucking disgusting.” He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isn’t going to make your fall over. “But if you let me show you one in here, I’ll let you name the babies out there.”

You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barn—goat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus you’d like to see re-aimed in your direction—and four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.

———

“So you’d see him in… Wakanda.” Raynor takes another long breath. If you didn’t think it would make everything worse, you’d tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. “Did the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?”

You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You haven’t seen Bucky kill anyone since you’d been trapped in his brain. He’s a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-

“It’s important that I know,” she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. “So I better understand what’s been happening to you. Please,” she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. “Answer my questions.”

You nod, letting out a slow exhale. “No murders. But he did start coming into my brain.”

Raynor frowns at you. “Was he not always-“

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that would’ve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.

“Hey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-“ He frowns, glancing around your apartment. “Where the hell am I?”

You don’t answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like- 

“What, uh,” Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. “What’s happening here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

“No.” You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and you’ve never been this close before, but you don’t have any urge to move away. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You’ve never been here. It’s been ten years, and you’ve never been here.”

“I know, doll. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to-“ He pauses, giving you an odd look. “Ten years?”

“Yeah.” You mumble. There’s not much else to say.

He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. “Huh. You gonna tell me where I am?”

“My apartment.”

“Your-“ He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. “You live in this place?”

You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home. 

The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. You’re asleep. You’re pretty fucking sure you’re asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so you’re asleep. Bucky’s never been here before, but he’s not really here because this is a dream and he’s not real.

You think. 

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-

“It’s very… you.” He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.

He’s right. You’ve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.

And you’re not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.

“Can I get the grand tour?” He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.

And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.

And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until you’re twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid it’s the only thing that still tells you:

None of this is real.

———

“It was split after that.” You say. ”Half the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.” 

You’re watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like she’s ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

You frown at him. “Stop calling it that, it’s just my face-“

“No. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.”

He’s touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. You’d smack his hand away if his touch wasn’t soothing and flaring all at once. If you didn’t really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.

“But it’s not like that now.” He finishes, giving you a pointed look. “You got moose-face.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Moose-face is worse, Bucky. And it’s still not a real thing-“

“Yeah it is. Most people got a moose face.” He shrugs. He’s staring again. It’s taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. “Tight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think they’re too good to be in the headlights. They’re gonna go down fighting.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Can I see your moose face?”

“I don’t have a moose face-“

“Liar.” You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. “You said everyone has one-“

“I said ‘most people.’” Bucky shrugs. “Moose face means you’re gonna get hit, you just don’t believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.”

“Sounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.”

He chuckles. You’re sitting down, and you’re going to fall over. “No luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.” He frowns at the air. “Never could afford to have one.”

There’s suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. It’s suffocating and crushing and rotten, and it’s just an expression but everything feels worse when you see it—when his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroom—so it needs to stop right now. 

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“You said no moose face.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “Do you have a wolf face?”

“I don’t know what that is-“

“So suddenly you’re the only one who’s allowed to make up expressions?”

You hold is gaze for a long second—you’ve gotten really good at doing that, but only when you’re dreaming of Bucky—until his lips twitch slightly.

And everything feels alright again.

———

“How much of New York appeared in your… dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?”

You frown at the air. Raynor’s indulging in this, but not like you’d hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that you’re crazy. You’d really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.

“Not really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.”

“And what did you-“ Raynor’s whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. “What did you show Bucky?”

You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. “Stuff. In my apartment.”

———

You don’t know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.

Maybe it was that you’d finally mentioned all the murders, and you’d never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadn’t mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.

Maybe it’s that you always tell him about your day. That this—whatever this is—has shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now that’s how most nights are spent.

Bucky’s reports are short. The goats are being goats—that’s all they know how to do—he doesn’t like a song someone tried to make him listen to because it’s too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.

Maybe it’s how he always hangs onto your every word. Like it’s gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood you’ve imagined on his hands.

And maybe that’s it. 

Maybe it’s how you really don’t believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that he’s not real. That he’s just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need. 

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

But you’re certain it’s a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way you’re supposed to be wherever he is.

And now you’re here.

You’d started it. You’d slammed your mouth to his, and he hadn’t moved. There had been a brief moment where you’d been worried you’d made a mistake, but the second you’d tried to push back on his chest and apologize, he’d kicked into gear. 

And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.

But you can really feel this. 

And it’s heaven.

You’d expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. It’s how you’d always seen him move and speak, and you hadn’t been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Bucky kisses you like you’re air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and it’s all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.

It takes effort to pry your mouth from Bucky’s. He doesn’t want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pants—smiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent request—he hisses against your lips.

“You-“ He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. “You don’t- Shit, doll, you don’t know what you’re doing to me-“

You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. “Maybe. I’d like to do more.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. “Think you could take more, sweetheart? Cause I’ve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-“

It’s easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.

“Want more.” You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. “Want you.”

Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes he’s staring again. Looking at you like you’re glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like he’s checking that you’re not going to vanish. 

“You want me.” He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. “You sure about-“

“Yes.” You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. “Only if you do, obviou-“

Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know what’s happening he’s lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.

You don’t know when you ended up naked. You can’t really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that aren’t his name. 

It’s another point in favor of this being a dream. Bucky’s mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly real—licking and biting and eating you out like he’s been starved for a hundred years—but this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until you’re squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way that’s driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-

“Bucky-“ You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. “Please- I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m so close-“

He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.

He’s ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and you’re panting and flushed and drunk on him. You don’t know how you’ll manage to move on from this in real life.

You don’t really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.

He’s naked now too. 

And he’s perfect. 

His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-

Bucky’s hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.

He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. You’re going to lose your mind.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He mutters, pulling you a little further back. “Need to be inside of you, doll. Please.”

You’d have to be insane to say no.

You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in. 

“You-“

“I’m sure.” You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. “God, I’m so fucking sure, please-“

He’s shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.

“I do that,” he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. “Legs open, doll, want to see how wet I’m making you.”

You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. “Fuck, Bucky-“ He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- I- Please-“

“You want my cock?” He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. “Come on, tell me you want it-“

“Want it,” you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, Bucky, you said- You said you’d fuck me-“

He clicks his tongue. “I said I’d be inside of you-“

“But- But I want you to fuck me.” You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. “Please, Bucky-“

You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but it’s a short-lived pain.

Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and you’d been wrong again.

He hadn’t ruined you. He’s destroyed you.

You’ve never been so full in your life. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Bucky’s every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but he’s pressed his body over yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world, and he’s groaning your name down your throat like it’s a hymn.

You’d say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Bucky’s hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and you’re so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, you’re sure you’re going to fly out of your skin.

Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.

You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.

“That was…” He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually you’ve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where there’s still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and you’re so happily trapped under the warmth of Bucky’s body-

Happy. 

You’re happy. 

This isn’t real, but under Bucky’s body you’re safe and warm and happy. And you don’t want to go. 

Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. “Needed this.” There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. “Needed you. And I know it’s dumb to thank you, because-“

“It’s not.” You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “And I needed you too.”

He lets out a dry laugh that you don’t understand, but doesn’t push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like you’re a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.

And you really don’t know why he’d laughed. 

You do need him. You’re growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That he’s more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.

He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm. 

He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasn’t really the best guy either, for a really long time. 

He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues. 

You know he’s not telling you everything, but you also know he’s not lying. 

And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.

———

“I see.” Raynor swallows, and she won’t stop staring at you. “Did those, ah, occurrences happen again?”

You nod, staring at your hands. “Pretty much every time after.” A smile tugs at your lips. “One time we used the barn.”

“I-“ Raynor sighs. “Understood. How long, exactly, did this continue?”

“They never stopped, not until-“ Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. “The, uh, the blip.”

———

These have been the worst five years of your life. And they haven’t been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.

And that’s selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces. 

But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But he’s gone. 

And you don’t know how to move on.

It’s odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. It’s as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You don’t want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body can’t just admit he’s gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like it’s only doing just enough to keep you alive.

What’s worse is that you can’t tell anyone why you’ve become a sunken, hollow shell. You’d sound insane. You’re already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyone’s loss and said ‘see, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like I’ve been cleaved in half’, you’d be locked up in an asylum.

You hate that you’re only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That you’d fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. You’d basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that you’d rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.

And the dreams still happen. He’s just not there, and it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and there’s a little ash that’s always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.

It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like you’ve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now you’re stranded at the bottom of the ocean. 

Alone. 

You’ve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but you’ve never felt more alone.

———

“And after the blip?”

“He came back.” You’re going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynor—she always tells you it’s going to be okay, and you fucking know that—but you can’t stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and it’s still the best thing that ever happened to you.

———

During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because that’s just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.

So it took a while to pass out. You’d curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every ‘how to fall asleep fast’ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.

When the dream takes shape around you, you’re not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you don’t recognize. 

And he’s there. 

Bucky’s right fucking there.

You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant. 

He’s moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck. 

“Hey,” he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. He’s putting together why you’re crying. Why you’re scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. “You’re alright. It’s all good, doll, everything’s good now-“

You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head. 

He has two hands again. You don’t really care why.

Because Bucky’s rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothing’s ever mended. You’ve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when he’d been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.

But he’s back. And you feel real again.

———

There’s a long silence in the air, and you know what’s coming. The question. You’ve known she’s going to ask it the whole time—you’d honestly expected it a lot sooner—and you’ve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed again—short hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jackets—and that he’d told you how much he hated some guy named John. 

He’d said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hated—you’d had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadn’t be quite ready to it yet—and nothing sounded better than punching his lights out. 

And you’re ready to explain that you’d had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, they’d run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain America’s best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider. 

You’d mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into place—you’d looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia page—before calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.

But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you can’t think to say is the truth.

“May I ask,” Raynor says carefully. ”Why are you only discussing this now?”

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

He dreams about Her. She’s the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and She’s not even damn real.

Bucky’s pretty sure She’s not real. It wouldn’t make any sense for Her to be real. He’d spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreams—needed Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skin—more than he’d ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what he’d never have.

A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried. 

He didn’t know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didn’t feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.

Bucky understood that. He wasn’t exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side. 

He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from him—She seemed to like being close to him—and Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, he’d wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.

A very small part of him needed this—needed Her—to be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasn’t something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.

She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didn’t get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadn’t heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasn’t so certain that he simply wasn’t that creative.

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like She’d been molded to, teasing him in ways he’d never thought of and kind to him ways he couldn’t be kind to himself. 

She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure that—if She was only a part of his mind given shape—she would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But he’d had to explain all he could to Her, and when he’d left certain, darker parts out She hadn’t said but that’s not the truth, is it, James.

She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.

So She had to be real.

Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real. 

It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didn’t want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasn’t sustainable or logical, but logic didn’t really matter here, because Bucky’s gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didn’t fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms. 

He asked Shuri—very vaguely, he didn’t want his brain to be poked and prodded again—what reoccurring dreams could mean.

“Reoccurring?” She’d frowned at him over the video call. “You’ll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.”

“Uh,” Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. “A dream you have every night. And it could change, but it’s always the same person in it?”

Shuri had given him an odd look. “Have you been having a dream like that?”

“No.” His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. “Sam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but he’d never met her before. Thought I’d do him a favor and ask about it.”

It wasn’t the best lie he’d ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication. But she bit, and kept moving.

“Well, it looks as if Sam,” she’d given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. “Has found his soulmate.”

Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuri’s words sank in.

Soulmate.

“I thought, uh,” Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. “Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Of course they’re real.” Shuri had shrugged. “Soulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.”

Bucky had frowned. “But I- uh, Sam said he’s only had these dreams about four years-“

“Sam’s brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.” Shuri’s voice had been dry, her expression flat. “He would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.”

Oh.

The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When She’d appeared to him for the very first time, She’d said she’d dreamt of him before.

Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.

But when he thought about it—clenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldier—there had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t really foreign. Just was. 

“Could the-“ Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. “Sam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?”

“If Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.”

Bucky had felt himself pale. “What do you mean, full maturity-“

“You are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.” Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. “There would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmate’s youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my father’s death.”

“So she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?”

He knew She had. She’d told him She had.

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.”

“But-“

“It is not something worth protesting, Bucky.” Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. “This is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.”

And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuri’s face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word. 

Soulmate.

She’d made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate. 

He didn’t deserve a soulmate. Not one he’d likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Solider.

And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his. 

He’d liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasn’t a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and she’d catch it. 

But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart that—since She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal with—She wouldn’t want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.

He shouldn’t find Her. She’d be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.

He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.

It was the third one that got his attention—buzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screen—and the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.

Bucky didn’t bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didn’t have the time or energy for this, not right now. “Doc, I’m not due back for another four days-“

“I’m aware, James, I keep a calendar.” Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. “However, I am going to have to request you come in today. It’s an emergency.”

He scowled. “What emergency, I haven’t done anything emergency worthy-“

“It’s not only about you.” Raynor snapped. “And I’m changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.” There was a long pause, and then a whispered, “Please.”

That wasn’t good.

“Did I get in trouble?” Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. “Cause I’ve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something he’s just being a dramatic dick-“

Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. “You are not in trouble, James. It’s not- I can’t explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.”

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

Raynor couldn’t make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.

He was a little curious. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how he’d face Her tonight.

So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldn’t imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole I’m not brooding, I’m just sick of Sam’s blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then he’s kick Sam’s ass, and everything would be fine.

Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didn’t need this. 

All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.

Her.

In person. 

Very, very real, and in Raynor’s office, and here.

Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name. 

It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so he’d have to save that thought for later.

“Meet James Barnes.” Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldn’t be sure though, because he couldn’t stop staring at Her.

She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Bucky’s fingers.

She wasn’t mist. She wasn’t an illusion, or a coping mechanism.

She was real.

Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp he’d ever heard.

“You’re real.” He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.

“I’m real.” She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “I’m here.” He paused, scanning over Her open features. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.”

Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky. 

There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.

“Good.” Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. “Because I’m not either.”

End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@Ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

[justmeforeverlive]

Across the universes

Hi! This my first fic dedicated to the MCU fantastic four. It's set in the multiverse of madness. Mainly Johnny x reader but it'll include the rest of the FF. Enjoy!

You were fighting along side Dr. Strange, trying to stop Wanda from getting the Darkhold, opening portals left and right that lead to different universes, the situation was escalating quickly. You almost got a hold of the book, when a red blaster from the former Avenger sent you flying from a cross the room. While losing consciousness, the Scarlet Witch voice echoed in your mind:

¨If you knew there was a universe where you were happy, wouldn’t you wanna go there?¨

A bright white light was the first thing you noticed when you came to it, the second thing was a funny looking machine hooked onto your arm. Pushing your body forward, the hospital room came into view. Why were you there? Did the fight ended up so bad you couldn’t remember getting to the hospital?

You were so focused in your own thoughts, you didn’t hear the door opening

“Miss Y/L/N? I’m glad to see you’re awake, I’m doctor Roan and I’ve been treating you since your arrival”

“How long have I’ve been here?

“3 days, you didn’t suffer major injuries that we could detect but the fact it took so long for you to regain full awareness, is enough to be concerning, so we’re gonna be taking some tests if that is okay with you?

You accepted in hopes to leave faster, but before reaching the door, doctor Roan said:

“By the way, we’ve called your family, they must be here in any moment”

That sentence was enough for all the alarms in your head to start ringing. You had no family left, that’s why Stephen Strange was willing to take you in as his apprentice/side kick, so either they are confusing you with someone else or the most likely option: you were in one of the many alternative universes Wanda had unleash during the fight.

Fuck, you had leave this place immediately, the more time you spend in another reality, the more consequences it would bring to the natural order. Carefully you unwrapped yourself from the hospital stuff and were about to use some of it to make it out of the window, when a loud gasp made you turn.

A blonde woman had rushed to your side, preventing you from successfully escaping the room. You tried to brushed her off gently but your body was still sluggish after spending days laying on a bed, so instead of freeing yourself from her grasp, all you managed to do was loosing balance and both of you ended on the floor.

“Ow, Y/N, are you OK? Can you stand? Her voice was slightly panicked due to your lack of response, she turned her head and said:

“Johnny, don’t just stand there, come help me!”

The guy in question was frozen in place, looking at you in disbelief and if the whole situation wasn’t as freaky as it was, you might have blushed by having such a handsome man staring at you.

Sensing the awkwardness, a change of tactic seemed to be needed, so maybe if you deflected enough, they’ll go away.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine really, just a little out of it, but I’ll sleep it off. Maybe you can come back tomorrow”  

She frowned, apparently that was the wrong thing to say

“Y/N, we’re not gonna leave you here alone, we were so worried about you” she tried to reach for a strand of your hair but the sudden movement made you flinch. She seemed hurt by your reaction but it was quickly replaced with suspicion.

“You… know who we are right?”

A beat passed. The blue eyed guy seemed to finally catch up with the conversation cause he sat right next you and studied your face carefully.

“You don’t remember me?” He sounded so devastated, like a piece of him had been ripped apart, staring at you in hopes of rekindling a sense of recognition that simply doesn’t exist.

“I’m sorry”

[akkivee]

so my birthday is in a few days!!!!! 🙂 i actually wouldn’t even bother mentioning it lol but this year, instead of celebrating it over the weekend beforehand, as i usually do when it falls on a weekday, i decided to push it to next week in solidarity with the strike for palestine. i’m privileged enough to make that call, the 20000+ palestinians who have lost their lives since october 7 cannot. and if i’m doing that, i might as well share info as well lol

yesterday, the icj ruled in favour of south africa and declared israel’s actions are ‘plausibly’ genocidal acts against palestine. and that’s great!!!!!! only time will tell how israel will meet the demands the icj has placed on them, but an immediate ceasefire has not been issued for gaza, therefore we should still stay vigilant

donate eSIMs if you can, keep in line with the bds movement’s choice protests and keep the pressure up on your governments if they’re helping fund israel. this twitter thread has a few more options for supporting palestine so you can pick and choose what you can do. keep up the fight!!!!! from river to sea, palestine will be free!!!!! ✊🇵🇸

[camgoloud]

you know sorry if i’m being unnecessarily testy about this but i do simply feel that if you’re the one who reaches out to me asking if i want to make plans and hang out tonight and then i come back fifteen minutes later saying sure, i’m free, what would you like to do? you shouldn’t then blow me off to hang out at your boyfriend’s apartment all day without so much as a reply

[seilon]

shouldn’t have checked my bank account as expected my mother has taken thousands more dollars from my savings and has almost run me dry more or less. Cool!

[traitimdoithay]

oh. my. god. i just finished the woman called fujiko mine and it was incredible. i’m trying so hard not to sound like an excited fan at a concert but that was genuinely one of the best anime i’ve ever seen? i literally went through the last 5 episodes of it today and when it got to the end card i was sitting there awestruck thinking “what? that was it?”

with other anime and shows in general i’m super conscious of the runtime, so while i’m watching i keep checking to see how much of the episode is left, but with this anime… ugh it felt like every episode sayo yamamoto knew she had 20 minutes and DAMN did she use those 20 minutes!

[cupiare]

what it feels like when staff and students at work come to me saying “i heard ur the one who knows everything and can help me” Thats nice considering i’m forced to leave in 2 weeks .. ❤️

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

PLEASE check my later versions of this post via my main page to make sure you have the latest version of this post before you reblog. All the information I’ve been able to gather is in my reblogs below, and it's frustrating to see the old version getting passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much!

[albedobeheading]

last day in Rome probably ever

[duncebento]

agh i know it can be rally difficult but especially if you are a marginalized person especially if you are a woman ESPECIALLY if you are trans please make sure that you’re not signaling insecurity to ppl via your dating app profiles or what have you. it can literally be a matter of your own physical safety.

as an example, i often see trans girls on hinge liable to put something like “i’ll fall for you if you show me any affection at all <3” on their profiles…and i know u just think it sounds quirkily self-deprecating and i KNOW that’s the way you really and truly feel but if i am someone who whether consciously or not is searching for a dynamic in which i have power over another person, a statement like that will make my ears perk up!!

furthermore, and especially for younger people, there are a lot of things that are very necessary to discuss with a partner that are ALSO very necessary to not reveal for a little while. if you have been abused in a certain way or if you are inexperienced, those are things that are unsafe to talk about with people you don’t know, no matter how honest and upfront you pride yourself on being. i’ve had someone tell me about all the sexual assault they’d experienced on a first date— and luckily for them i wasn’t interested in harming them or really into them at all— but again, imagine if i were someone who wanted power over another person! all their truthfulness and vulnerability would do is reveal them as an easy mark for my manipulation.

if you do encounter a critical situation with someone you haven’t spent enough time with yet, it should always be possible to say what instead of why: e.g. “i’m sorry, but i’d like to wait before having sex with you” or “i’d rather not hang out in that park, can we pick somewhere else?” instead of “i’d like to hold off on having sex BECAUSE i’ve never had sex before” or “i’d rather not hang out in that park BECAUSE that’s where i was assaulted.” again, both very important things to talk about with a partner, but unfortunately potentially dangerous things to discuss with someone you’ve not yet gotten close to! and anyone who seems to be sniffing around for signs of your inexperience or victimhood is not to be trusted anyway (note that sniffing around is different from a polite “oh, would you like to talk about it?” interest.)

i know it can be difficult to come across as more confident than you feel, but it is really necessary that you’re projecting a desire for something healthy and safe that will make you happy instead of saying outright that you’ll be fine with crumbs.

[theorphicangel]

thinking about collegebf!gojo staying over for the night, constantly complaining about your single size bed.

“stop kicking me.”

“m’not kicking you.”

“Yes, yes you are satoru, don’t even try to deny it.” You huff, grumbling into your pillow.

“Is it my fault that you have a small ass bed?” Gojo exclaims, “I can’t even turn over right, I’ll pull a muscle.”

“leave then.”

your bedroom fills with immediate silence as soon as the words leave your mouth. your stomach nearly drops, regret creeping across your skin. you’ve only been dating satoru for a few months but you’ve known him for years and can already predict his reactions when it comes down to situations like this.

there’s two possible ways he could take this. one: he could turn into a brat and actually leave, giving you the silent treatment until you guilt trip him into talking to you by buying him sweet cinnamon buns for breakfast. or two: he plays along and actually ends up kicking you out…of your own bed.

awaiting his response you whisper his name tentatively.

“satoru—“

“take it back.”

“or what?” you tease, despite there is anxiety in your tone.

“fine then.”

Satoru sits up and reaches for his phone on your bedside table, immediately his fingers start typing, you watch him silently as he scrolls.

your mind gushes over the possible things he’s doing on his phone. finding ways to break up with you? Texting someone to pick him up? Ordering an Uber to leave?

the thought of it makes the regret take control over your whole body.

“I take it back!” you exclaimed suddenly, your arms wrapping around him, securing him tightly so he can’t leave. “m’sorry,” you kiss him between your speech,”don’t leave me — I’ll buy — you all the cinnamon— buns that you want.”

“whoa, whoa, whoa, who said anything about leaving? If anything we’re leaving together.”

“we?” you repeat.

“I’m looking for one bedroom apartments with a double bed.” He emphasises on the last part, “m’ getting sick of these dorm rooms.”

“wait really? you want to—“ you pause, swallowing thickly as the words come out of your throat.

“you want to live together?”

Gojo looks up, the glow of his phone screen illuminating his face.

“Of course baby, unless you don’t want to?”

“I do!,” you say exasperatedly, “I want to. I just didn’t think…”

“what?”

“well, right now? we don’t even have any—

“shhh—“ satoru presses a finger to your lips, “don’t start worrying that sweet little head of yours sweetheart, I’ve got it all figured out.”

you frown, pulling away his hand, “don’t sign anything without letting me see it first satoru” you warn.

“or course!” He says, “what do you take me to be, an idiot?

“sometimes.”

satoru glances up at you, his expression declares full offence. this is the moment where he’d choose to get up and leave but thankfully your sweet lips play as a smart distraction.

“but you’re my idiot, satoru, and I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”

“would you still buy me all the cinnamon buns-“

“no.”

[hottestvirgin]

ceo sunghoon who loves taking care of you because you're his ౨ৎ

warnings. smut, fluff, age gap (sunghoon!30s & reader!20s), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (ex. princess), unprotected sex, big dick p.sh, praising, light degrading, sweet talking

you’re just a girl. a college girl who’s broke and working part time to gather up whatever you can make to pay off your tuition and other fees. this has been a routine in your life for a while. that was until you met sunghoon.

you got involved with this man unintentionally. while working at a local cafe, he ordered a small black coffee. this man was attractive. like.. very attractive. his blanched skin equated perfectly with his black, dapper full suit. bangs parted perfectly over his forehead which were accompanied by the thin glasses he wore.

while he scrolled on his phone you stole a few glances as you poured his coffee. when he reaches to grab the plastic cup, you easily get distracted by the beaming rolex on his wrist and boom. you spill the coffee all over the counter.

“shit. did it get on you?” the man asks while he slips his phone into his pocket. he doesn't seem pissed but you still palm your heating face, shaking your head at his question. but even after explaining that he was running late for a meeting, he helps you clean your mess.

“i’m park sunghoon. and you?” the man breaks the awkward silence and never breaks eye contact. even when he grabs the coffee from your tense hand, fingers grazing against yours to grip the cup so he can prevent it from spilling again.

“i’m y/n.” you say with a small, nervous smile.

“gorgeous name.”

and like that, sunghoon was hooked. you were charming, and gorgeous. and so the cafe you worked at became his favorite. he would order the same small sized black coffee.

“how can you drink plain black coffee every morning?” you ask sunghoon as he sips from his cup. his lean frame hovers over the counter while you wipe the same spot repeatedly to keep your mind from spiraling.

“keeps me busy, princess.” he simply answers. when he tells you that he’s the ceo of a family-owned business, it all makes sense.

soon, you both exchanged contacts which blossomed into a thing. a thing where he pays for your tuition and anything else you need and you repay him with sex. it’s that situation. and you would’ve hated it if the circumstances were different. but you were fucking a rich, hot ceo with the biggest dick ever. you wouldn’t change that for anything.

stepping outside after clocking out, you see that familiar tesla parked and waiting for you. the whiskey smell of sunghoon’s cologne immediately hits you when you get inside his car. his scent never fails to calm you after long hours of being around coffee.

“d’you like this, princess?” sunghoon whips out a small box with a gorgeous heart pendant inside. your heart thumps at the sight, blood rushing to your cheeks as you take the box into your hands. you catch a glimpse at the price sticker.

“it’s so beautiful. but the price is..” you’re interrupted with a peck on your cheek.

“i’ve spent way more on you, pretty. this ain’t nothing.” taking the pendant out of the box, “turn around f'me..”

it’s embarrassing how fast he gets aroused when he sees how pretty the pendant looks on you and how it contrasts with your glowing skin.

“looks pretty on me?” you ask, slightly pulling the collar of your shirt down to show the pendant on your chest.

sunghoon nods. “let’s go back to my place.”

“n-now?”

“mhm,” he pauses for a minute, “or do you wanna get fucked here?”

your stomach churns at his arousing words and you clench your thighs together. you wouldn’t mind it. instead you found yourself sprawled out on his bed. his hot, heavy body on top of you.

you can feel every vein on his big cock grinding against your walls with each thrust, his swollen tip abusing that sensitive spot deep within you.

you’re being fucked dumb. you couldn’t even remember to swallow which had you drooling. in a panic, you reach to grasp onto his arms in hopes of him slowing down, but he doesn’t.

“move your hands, princess. i gotchu.” sunghoon grunts with shivering breaths following afterwards. he observes how his cock can barely fit in your dripping cunt, how he can barely bottom out. he groans at the sight.

“hoon.. i can’t.. fuckfuckfuck.” you sob, turning your head away from him.

sunghoon tsks, “unt uh. let me see your face.” he grabs your cheeks and yanks your head towards him, squishing them together and chuckling at your muffled moans.

he traces his thumb over your swollen lips and shoves it in your mouth. that same hand travels down to your tits and he rubs over your hardened nipples. sunghoon slows his hips and focuses more on his rhythm.

“you’re so wet,” he groans, absolutely loving how much you're squirming and crying underneath him, “so gorgeous. all for me.”

“j-just for you, hoonie.. feels so good. so big..” you slur. and you can tell he’s close from his sloppy thrusts and unsteady breaths.

sunghoon nuzzles his face into your neck, licking and kissing at your skin just near the pendant he got you. fuck. he’s so obsessed with you. how’d he get so damn lucky?

“princess, say you love me.” he whimpers, wet lips still on your neck.

you stomach churns at his words. and you could feel your own orgasm building from the desperation in his voice.

“love you so much, so so much..” you whimper, clenching hard around him as that spring coils tightly and releases. you cum hard around him with a shuttered cry, vision fading to black.

“fuuuck.” sunghoon spills his thick, sticky cum deep inside your womb, rocking his hips against you while he chases his orgasm.

“you should quit your job.” sunghoon says.

“what?” he stops cooking and turns to you in confusion. you had thought that he understood that you weren’t, unfortunately, wealthy like him and needed that job for the money.

“did you forget, princess? you got me now.”

“i’d rather us date before risking that..” you say, biting back your lip nervously in hopes that he doesn’t get upset. but he only chuckles.

“then let’s date.” sunghoon smiles.

[gyubakeries]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 | j.ww

a/n: so ! don't question where this came from LMAO. serena ( @gotta-winwin ) please accept this as an apology for the wonwoo angst u read before this and the one you will read afterwards. i love you i promise 💗 also this is just really badly written smut i apologise i just went with the vibes. shoutout to june ( @junkissed ) for helping me find pics for the banner!

word count: 1.6k contents: NSFW content , wonwoo x afab!reader , established relationship , morning cuddles , nsfw warnings below the cut!

nsfw warnings: mdni! 18+ , unprotected sex , thigh riding , breast play , creampie , cockwarming , nicknames (f. princess, baby)

one thing you can say about yourself is that you are a morning person. you’ve always enjoyed waking up to see the first rays of light streaking across the dark sky. the sounds of birds chirping, the cool breeze, and the soft glow of the sun in the early hours of the dawn always manages to put you in a good mood for the rest of the day.

you can’t say the same about your boyfriend.

wonwoo, a self-declared ‘anti-morning person,’ is the complete opposite. he sleeps at an ungodly hour of the night and doesn’t leave bed till noon. thankfully, his work schedule allows him the leeway to sleep in that late, or else he'd be having some serious issues with his boss.

so, here lies the issue.

it’s 6:15 in the morning. the sun is barely out, but you’re already awake. it wasn’t your alarm that woke you up, but the restless feeling in your stomach. at first, you woke up thinking that maybe last night’s ramen didn’t digest well, but when you turned to look at your boyfriend sleeping next to you, hair messy and torso bare, you recognized the feeling in your stomach all too well.

you’re horny. at 6:15 in the morning. the sun is barely out.

“what the fuck,” you mutter to yourself, trying to close your eyes and force your brain to shut down, but it seems like all the energy in your body has been diverted to your core. 

the visual of wonwoo in front of you doesn’t do too much to help your situation. neither does his morning wood, which is currently pressed against your hip.

“fuck me,” you whisper to yourself, lamenting this stupid situation you’ve gotten yourself into, when you get the scare of your life.

“this early in the morning?” a groggy voice chuckles, and it takes you a few moments to realize that it was wonwoo speaking.

wait, wonwoo?

“how are you awake this early?” you gasp, mortified that your boyfriend has woken up six hours too early and heard you spiraling into a horny mess.

“i was asleep, but i woke up because i could feel how needy you’re being now,” wonwoo explains, voice still raspy from just waking up.

you’re about to argue and tell wonwoo that it’s his arousal that you can feel very clearly, but wonwoo seems to predict your next move, because he decides to throw you off with his next words.

“you’re dripping with need, baby,” he mutters. “you’ve soaked through your panties. i could feel it on my leg.”

you belatedly realize that at some point during the night, wonwoo’s thigh got wedged between both your legs, which explains how your arousal seeped into his sweatpants, leaving a dark patch on the grey fabric.

“oh god,” you wince, embarrassment coloring your cheeks red. “wonwoo, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean for that to happen. you can go back to sleep, yeah? i’ll take care of it-”

“why do it yourself when you have me?” wonwoo cuts you off. “you really think your own fingers are enough to make you cum?”

you know that wonwoo already knows the answer to that question. ever since you started dating wonwoo four years ago, you’ve been unable to give yourself an orgasm with just your own fingers or toys. only wonwoo’s touch helps you reach that climax, and he often calls you his ‘spoiled princess’ for it.

“no,” you mutter. “need your help, wons.”

“i’ve got you, baby,” wonwoo smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing your hips and pulling your body closer, his thigh still wedged between your legs.

“i want you to ride my thigh first,” wonwoo whispers in your ear, his hands slowly guiding your hips in a back and forth motion. “i want you to show me just how desperate you are for me. can you do that, love?”

you nod immediately. the friction that his muscled thigh is creating against your clit has already rendered you speechless, and soon, you’re rocking your hips against wonwoo’s thigh without his hands needing to guide you. you bring your hands up to clutch at his shoulders as you quicken the pace, chasing your release.

wonwoo helps by slipping his cold hands under your shirt, gently squeezing your breasts. the action makes you moan, and you arch your chest into his touch. “more, wonwoo, please,” you request, your voice strangled with pleasure.

“i’ve got you, baby,” wonwoo complies. he’s quick in tugging your shirt off all together, groaning slightly as he gets a full view of your bare chest. one hand goes to the back of your neck to pull you into a dizzying kiss, while the other massages your breast, squeezing harshly than before. he tugs and pinches at your nipples too, making you whine into his mouth.

“wons, it’s not enough,” you cry against his lips. “need your cock in me, please.”

and who is he to refuse you?

“turn over to your other side for me, princess,” wonwoo says, his voice deep and raspy. with the way the bulge in his sweatpants has grown bigger, you can tell he’s just as affected as you are. while wonwoo is taking his sweatpants off, you quickly flip onto your other side, your back coming in contact with wonwoo’s chest.

it’s like your usual spooning position, except for wonwoo lifting your leg and hooking it around his hip. the feeling of his tip nudging against your aching core is enough to make you go crazy, and you rut your hips onto his length, craving for more.

“aren’t you impatient today?” wonwoo chuckles into your ear. one hand is splayed across your abdomen, while the other nudges the fabric of your ruined panties to the side to finally slide his cock into you. as he slowly fills you up completely, the both of you let out similar groans of pleasure.

“fuck, feel so full,” you gasp. “wonwoo, move now, please. i can take it.”

wonwoo doesn’t need much more of a signal to start finally thrusting into you. you know that he’s just as desperate for release as you are because of the relentless pace he’s picked. you feel the breath get knocked out of your lungs as wonwoo snaps his hips into in fast and hard movements.

“you’re so tight around me, princess,” wonwoo rasps, his hand moving from your stomach to your breast, cupping and kneading the soft flesh. “can you feel how tight you’re clenching around me right now?”

“‘m close, so close,” you pant. “faster, wons, please.” you don’t pay any mind to how desperate your pleading sounds, not when all rational thoughts have completely left your mind with how good wonwoo is fucking into you as he leaves bruises on your neck and shoulder with his teeth.

the pressure in your core is rising rapidly, and somewhere between wonwoo’s fingers rubbing at your clit and his cock hitting your most sensitive spot, your climax hits you out of nowhere. you feel your walls gripping onto him as you’re finally pushed off the edge. wonwoo’s release follows soon after, his cum painting your insides white.

when you’ve both caught your breath, wonwoo releases the hold he has on your leg, and you wince at the soreness in your lower back. his hands go back to being wrapped around your waist, and he nuzzles his cold nose into the back of your neck, the action lodging him deeper inside you.

“do you wanna go shower now?” wonwoo whispers, and you shake your head.

“can we stay like this for a while?” you ask, basking in wonwoo’s warmth. “it feels really nice like this.”

“don’t have to tell me twice,” wonwoo agrees with no hesitation, and you laugh. in retaliation, he playfully pinches your hip. “hey, you were the one who woke me up six hours before i actually wake up.”

“at least this way you’ll see the sunrise for once,” you bite back, and wonwoo looks outside the window, his face lighting up when he sees the streaks of orange in the sky.

“it’s really pretty,” he admits, and you rest your hands on top of his, loosely lacing your fingers together. “but i’m still really sleepy. can i go back to sleeping now? you kinda interrupted my really awesome dream.”

you can’t help but snort at how groggy his voice sounds from the lack of sleep. “what was the dream about? one of your video games?”

even though you’re not facing him now, you can tell he’s smiling from the way his lips press into your skin. “nope, i was having an epic dream in which you and i save the world from jelly monsters.”

“that’s too bizarre for me to even analyze,” you sigh. “just go back to sleep, baby. i’ll wake you up in a bit.”

just as you make a move to slowly slip out of bed, wonwoo’s arms around you tighten. “no,” he mutters, now sounding even sleepier. “sleep in today, i know you don’t have any work.”

“just say you need your personal heater next to you,” you roll your eyes affectionately but don’t protest any further. you snuggle back into wonwoo’s chest, and the comfortable heat the closeness of your bodies brings you is enough to lull you back to sleep.

wonwoo stays awake for a little longer, memorizing how the emerging sun slowly covers you with its golden glow.

as he falls asleep, he finds that he wasn’t too upset about being woken up early in the morning, because mornings are the best when they’re spent with you.

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[tinkerkinkers2]

The Right Decision.

By TinkerKinkers

Based on a true story

“Ugh, where is she…?”

I sat and fidgeted with my phone, desperately hoping it would ding with an update from her. My stomach hit me with another wave of discomfort, reminding me of the desperation of my situation.

As I waited, I thought back on the 12 months prior, and the events that led up to my current predicament. If I had only been more careful… I didn’t know that she was checking my phone after I’d gone to sleep every night. I can’t even imagine the wild things she found on my secret Tumblr account. I just thought she was vanilla, I didn’t think there was any way she’d ever accept the things I only thought about in secret, let alone that she’d want to participate.

But when she came home from work early to surprise me on our one year anniversary, and found me humping a pillow in a thick, full, diaper, everything changed in an instant.

“What’s going on here?!” She said as she stood in our bedroom doorway.

My jaw hit the floor, my stomach met my throat, my ears started ringing. I’m not sure how I didn’t just black out.

“Jake, I’m not going to ask you again, what are you doing? Please explain this to me, RIGHT NOW!”

I don’t even remember those first few minutes or what came out of my mouth, but it must have been mostly gibberish, I just remember how relieved I was when she cut me off.

“Just stop. I’ve seen what you’ve been looking at on your phone, I already know. I just didn’t think this was really something you wanted… I just wish you would have talked to me about this. But here you are, on our anniversary, acting like… I don’t even know.”

She dropped her head into her hands and pulled at her hair, taking a deep breath in.

“Okay, listen to me. We need to talk.” She said, looking up with resolve now. She came and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me into the living room.

I don’t remember most of the conversation, my nervous system was in full flight mode, but I was somehow glued to the sofa. I wished to be out of my diaper so badly.

“Well if this is what you want, this is what we’re going to do, but it’s going to be by my rules. Got it?” She said, somehow bringing me back into my body.

I didn’t even know what exactly what I was agreeing to, but I swallowed hard enough to finally be able to speak.

“Wait, please, I’m so sorry, you don’t have to do this though, I can stop, I promise!” I said with a tongue that felt like a brick.

“I’ve done enough research to know that that’s unlikely. But I appreciate you saying that. Also, you’ll be calling me ‘Mommy’ until I tell you otherwise. C’mon now.” She snapped back quickly.

With that she led me back into the bedroom…

—————————

“DING” My mind snapped back to the present as I looked down at my phone.

“Hey sweetie! Sorry, work went late today, I’ll be home in 30 minutes or so. How’s your diaper doing little one?”

I furiously texted back; “Mommy! My tummy hurts so bad! Please can I use the potty?!” I was desperate. I knew the rules. I couldn’t ever touch my own diapers. I knew what she would say, but there was so much more at stake today, of all days.

*DING* “Sweetie, you know the rules. Please hold it till I get home. I really do want to have sex with you tonight, especially since it’s our anniversary. But if you mess yourself, that’s definitely not happening. I’m in the car now. See you soon love. Please make the right decision.”

My fingers couldn’t move fast enough, they felt like sticks of concrete against my phone, I knew she was already driving but I had to try;

“Please!!! I don’t think I can make it!”

*Read at 4:33pm*

No response.

I waited. I went upstairs to lay on the bed, hoping to ease some of the pressure in my gut. My tiny penis strained in its cage thinking about her. Every minute drug on for hours. Each wave of pressure in my stomach stronger than the last. It was 4:55pm, and I couldn’t hold it any more. I had a last ditch plan. Maybe if she’s distracted when she gets home she’ll just tell me to jump in the shower and get ready for dinner without even checking my diaper, it wouldn’t have been too far fetched of a scenario, it’s happened a few times before, and we were already cutting it close for our reservation. She would definitely notice if the diaper tapes had been tampered with though, I learned that lesson the hard way. There was no way I was gonna miss my chance to have sex again. It’s been a long and desperate 12 months.

I convinced myself this plan could work. I moved to the floor and squatted in my droopy diaper, I felt a gap between my butt and the soggy padding, a space that I realized was about to be filled. I prayed that the probiotics I’d been taking would minimize the smell, if so, I might have a chance at this plan actually succeeding. My legos were still strewn about on the floor where I was playing earlier, I stepped carefully to avoid the sharp pieces. I grabbed my teddy bear, happy that he still happened to be there for me, holding him somehow gave me some reassurance. Just getting into position started to relieve some of the pressure. I tried to relax and give a slight push. Instantly, it felt like I had released a soft slick submarine into the thick damp diaper around my butt. The padding resisted the push initially but my mess quickly softened and filled every bit of space within my diaper, pushing the padding even further out from my skin. I winced as I felt my shame simultaneously spread from the top of my but to the tip of my cage. Another wave of cramps hit me. I tried to breath through it. I didn’t think my diaper could hold more but I didn’t have a choice at this point, my body gave way and released more soft goo into the back seat of my already full diaper. I finally felt some relief, and exhaled deeply, burying my face further into my teddy bear…

“Oh wow….. well that was quite a show sweetie…” Her voice startled me.

My face flushed instantly at the sound of her, my heart dropped, my ears rang, the false sympathy in her tone lit my face on fire. “Oh no, please no….” I thought, “this can’t be real… How did I not hear the keys in the door?”

“Looks like someone is a stinky boy!” She said with a slightly elevated tone now.

She stepped a few feet inside the doorway and paused, hands on her hips. She saw me still squatting, knees bent, legs apart, hiding my face behind my teddy bear, trying not to move, trying not to worsen the mess I’d already made.

“Uh oh....” Her voice slightly deepening as she slowly walked towards me. I knew she wanted to see my face and make me admit what I did. She never missed an opportunity to turn me all shades of red. As she approached I could feel my pulse intensify. I was ready to say whatever I had to say to get this humiliation over with as quickly as possible. There might still be a chance to be free tonight if I complied.

She gently pushed the stuffy away from my face, taking my chin in her hand, lifting my face to meet hers.

“What happened here sweetie?”She said as she reached her other hand around me to firmly pat my bottom. I cringed and flinched as she used her palm to spread my mess even more. I hoped this would be over soon.

“It, it was an… uuhhh… accident...”

“I can see that baby boy... and smell it too.” She said with a side smile, and wrinkled nose. “Are you sure it was an ‘accident’ though?”

The smirk on her face intensified my shame. She turned and walked a few steps away from me. For a moment I thought my embarrassment was finished, that she’d release me from my stinky shame. But she kneeled down and started clearing some of the legos, making a clear spot on the floor. She lightly patted the spot she’d cleared.

“Do you wanna show me what you were building over here kiddo?” Her smile widening even more.


I was confused, what was she doing? She knows what I did, I needed a diaper change! Why did she care about the stupid legos? The realization of her intentions suddenly hit me and I started to panic a little, as she started walking back towards me. Before I knew it, she held my wrist firmly in her hand and was guiding me over to the spot.

“Come on kiddo! Let’s see what you’ve been building here!” She said as she started to kneel down, my wrist still in her grasp, forcing me to squat. I instinctively dropped to both knees when I was low enough and stabilized myself with the hand that was still holding my teddy.

“Why don’t you sit down and show mommy what you were making huh?”

My ears were ringing, I was so nervous, full panic mode.

“Oh please don’t make me do this!” I thought.

I remember wishing she wasn’t so attractive, I knew she was wearing a low cut top just to drive me even more crazy, and the mini skirt… not much was left to my imagination. I felt my pathetic penis strain against its plastic chastity cage, in spite of my overwhelming shame. By now her smile had turned into a full devilish grin and she was directly in front of me.

“I uhh… I umm… mommy I… mommy can we…”

I couldn’t even form a coherent thought, let alone think of a way to talk myself out of this situation.

“Stop stuttering sweetie, use your words.”

Her eye contact was relentless, I felt like she was looking right through me. It was too much to reciprocate.

“I need a diaper change mommy.” The words dumped out of me, like they came from someone else.

“You’ll get a change when I think you need a change little one, now sit down and show mommy what you’ve been working on mister!”

There was a sternness in her voice now that frightened me a little. I had a feeling she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, but I had to try, this was just too humiliating to accept, and I knew I’d regret it later if I didn’t at least try something. I began to get off my knees, to get my feet under me, maybe I could stand up and at least distract her.

Before I could fully stand she put her hands on my shoulders and stopped me from getting up any further.

“Sweetie, we’re not going anywhere until you do what I’ve told you to do. Now sit down!”

The tone of her voice was enough to make me realize she was dead serious. Before I could decide for myself how this would happen, I felt her pressing down on my shoulders as I caught myself slightly falling, leaning back on both hands.

My drooping diaper was now inches from the floor, she moved her right hand from my shoulder down to the front of my diaper. In any other situation, I would have expected this to mean some special attention down there, and my hips instinctively thrust into her hand. She responded with a gentle but firm squeeze and pressure, causing my tiny member to throb even harder in its cage, but I realized my bottom was getting closer to the floor as she rubbed me.

She paused just as my diaper made soft contact with the carpet, I whimpered and finally made eye contact while giving my last thrust of resistance, almost as if to say “please no…”

“Shhhh…. it’s okay sweetie, be a good boy for mommy and sit down.” She said as she continued to press down

I wasn’t prepared for what I felt. The mess was much bigger than I thought as it spread even more, slowly outwards towards the front and back of my diaper. Shame washed over me and my face was burning with embarrassment. The thick mush spreading inside was sensory overload, moving into every crevasse of my underside. My tiny penis had now grown to fill all usable space of the already small chastity tube, and was begging for more room. I groaned and whimpered again as mommy’s hand continued to apply pressure to the front of my diaper, which caused me to fully come to rest on my bottom, there was no space in my diaper left uncovered by my mess. I saw the telltale brown stains inside the leg gathers that were now desperately holding on. It felt like I was sitting down but the shifting yuckyness under me made me unsure of my seating.

“Aww there you go baby boy!” She said, her tone finally softening.

I let out a few tears as I brought my teddy up to my face again. Mommy then started to massage where her hand already was on my diaper. She knew I couldn’t help but grind back against her hand in desperation. I heard her giggle a bit, surely relishing in my abject humiliation, which in turn only made me cringe all the more, yet the inner turmoil seemed to only burn hotter as I continued to squirm and thrust.

She moved even closer to me now, I could feel her warmth and smell her perfume, in sharp contrast to my now pungent odor.

She brought her face towards mine as if too kiss me, but shifted and whispered into my ear;

“You are such a good boy sweetie. You made the right decision.”

She kissed my forehead softly before she stood back up. She reached out both hands for me to grasp.

“C’mon up now kiddo! Let’s get another diaper over that one really quick, we don’t wanna be late for dinner!”

[seilon]

you know im realizing now. with the exception of a few resident psychiatrists, ive had like. no good experiences with mental health professionals