Haii lovelies<3 I'm Diamond - I love writing FanFiction .ᐟ.ᐟ
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ʚɞ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
I'm a demigirl and I'm Omnisexual - She/Her/They/Them - I'm a feminist who advocates for trans, gay, poc, and women's rights + equality for everyone! My blog is anti-AI and anti-Maga. I post to escape my PTSD and cope with it. I'm a victim of SA, physical and mental abuse, and am a supporter of other victims (This blog is for you, you are all loved so much)
⋆˚࿔ I'm a non!sharing Eddie Munson & Johnny Storm Yumeshipper - However, I do write x readers for them and do not mind general enjoyers reading them<33
- if you are interested in knowing my other f/os, plz ask me!
This blog is +17
Characters I write for;
➤ Masterlist ੭﹕﹒
Stranger Things: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Karen Wheeler, Johnathan Byers, Joyce Byers, Jim Hopper
please write more keys fluff there’s not enough of it 😭
Plus One
Walter 'Keys' McKeys x F!Reader
Content: Fluff that's not really fluffy (sorry lol), Touch as the most important love language, Nerd!Walter x Out Of His League!Reader, Swearing
Word Count: 3,9k
Synopsis: Walter brings his long term girlfriend to a work event and his boss is more than surprised by the 'mismatched' couple.
The annual summer barbecue at Soonami sounded significantly more dreadful than it actually ended up being. For weeks Walter had complained about mandatory socialization, passive aggressive networking and what he thought of as poor attempts to gather marketing material for recruitment ads disguised as performative team bonding.
But despite all that, he ended up spending most of the evening quietly attached to your side, looking far more relaxed than he would ever willingly admit. He enjoyed himself for most of it, because it was an evening spent with his favourite person and free food. The first summer barbecue you managed to join him for.
The rooftop garden itself was beautiful in that polished, overly curated way tech companies seemed obsessed with to appear modern, friendly and relatable all at once. Warm string lights crisscrossed above the seating areas, little lanterns glowed between flowerbeds and somewhere near the bar, a group of developers were passionately arguing over game mechanics while sipping on fruity cocktails with ridiculous names. The epitome of modern day hipsters.
Impressively so, the space also overlooked most of the city skyline, golden light lingering on the walls nearby as the evening settled into something softer and warmer.
You still felt a little out of place at Walter’s work events sometimes, even after nearly three years with him. Not because anyone there was unkind to you or anything.
Over time, mostly through rushed lunch breaks Walter occasionally invited you up to the office for, late evenings where you physically had to drag him away from his desk and the handful of coffee breaks Mouser would invite you for, you’d slowly become familiar enough with his coworkers that being around them no longer felt intimidating.
Maybe that's why Mouser greeted you with immediate excitement the second you arrived, several people from marketing complimented your dress and someone from HR practically lit up remembering you from the Christmas party half a year ago.
But it never really lessened the way these events still managed to make you feel slightly overdressed, sort of undereducated and entirely too overstimulated all at once.
There were moments where you simply sat back and listened to everyone speak rather than trying to piece together what half of it actually meant.
You would think a party might finally pull people away from work for a few hours, yet somehow every conversation still circled back to coding problems, server crashes and deadlines hanging over everyone’s heads. Even here, surrounded by music and drinks and warm summer air, their minds seemed permanently wired into the company itself.
Walter, brilliant, direct and perpetually exhausted Walter McKeys, who spent most of his life buried beneath lines of code and half finished cups of coffee himself, always seemed to notice whenever that feeling of not belonging started settling over you. And somehow, with nothing more than a hand rubbing your back or a quiet explanation murmured beside your ear, he always managed to make you feel like you belonged there with him anyway.
Opposed to that, some of his coworkers would argue you were out of his league. Some driven by sheer confusion, some by jealousy. You caught glimpses of it every now and then, in the slightly surprised looks people gave the two of you, the brief pause when they connected quiet, chronically meticulous Walter McKeys with you standing beside him in a floral cocktail dress and leather boots, an oversized knitted cardigan draped loosely around your shoulders in a way that somehow made the entire outfit look even softer.
Walter’s mother made that cardigan for you after deciding store bought knitwear was soulless. The sleeves were slightly too long, the rust coloured wool soft from constant wear and Walter loved it for reasons he couldn’t properly explain without getting flustered.
It became part of you after his mother surprised you with it during your second visit to their house, wrapping it around your shoulders with the kind of quiet affection that made it feel less like a gift and more like something she had already decided belonged to you. Even then, she seemed to know you were meant to stay in her son’s life.
“You know”, Mouser said at one point during the night, leaning against a table, “you being here genuinely improves Keys’ social skills by at least thirty five percent”
Walter looked unimpressed, but you had to hide your smile. “That statistic feels fabricated.”
“Oh, absolutely is”, Mouser admitted instantly. “But I stand by it.”
You finally laughed out loud while Walter’s hand settled on your back, grounding himself in the conversation with one of the few colleagues he actually liked not tolerated. The night itself had been genuinely nice because of that. The kind of evening where Walter smiled more than once without even realizing he was doing it, simply because you were there beside him.
You even managed to convince Walter to dance with you eventually, though calling it dancing felt generous when it was really just the two of you swaying together in a quieter corner of the rooftop, drinks still stubbornly clutched in both your hands because neither of you felt like setting them down somewhere and risking losing them afterward. It made the whole thing slightly awkward, his movements careful as he kept his glass tilted away from your dress while your arms looped loosely around his neck, laughing every time the two of you struggled to navigate your glasses up to your mouths.
You smiled up at him like he’d granted you your biggest wish of the night. And honestly, maybe he had.
Walter’s arms settled around your waist with familiar ease, the touch present beneath the fabric of your cardigan, while his expression softened into something quieter the longer he looked at you. You laughed at something barely worth laughing over, probably one of his dry muttered comments.
It was a familiar dynamic between the two of you by now. You laughing and Walter looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
This was his world surrounding you on all sides and yet he still gravitated toward you like nothing else there held his attention for long.
“You know”, you mused eventually, glancing over his shoulder toward the scattered groups of employees across the rooftop, “I thought the Christmas parties were exceptions because people left town to be with family and stuff, but there aren’t many dates here, are they? I’m basically the only plus one.”
Walter followed your gaze as the two of you continued swaying softly. There weren’t many partners there at all, now that you mentioned it. Mostly employees clustered together in little groups, drinks in hand while conversations drifted to the same old topics.
There were women around, though far fewer than you would’ve liked, most of them from marketing or HR with a handful of external artists and designers scattered throughout the crowd, but very few people had actually brought partners with them.
“Babe”, Walter said gently, squeezing your waist once as quiet amusement slipped into his voice, “most of them don’t have anyone to bring.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly, your expression deadpan. "Right, forgot nerds don't have girlfriends. Y'all scare them away, clearly"
Walter laughed beneath his breath while you rolled your eyes.
His attention drifted back across the rooftop for a moment afterwards, eyes scanning over the crowd. He’d genuinely never seen this many employees gathered in one place before. Usually everyone disappeared the second work hours ended, retreating back into their own lives and apartments until the next morning dragged them all back again.
A few coworkers looked surprised every time their eyes landed on the two of you, probably trying to process the fact that their co-worker had a girlfriend who looked like you standing in his arms.
You looked beautiful tonight.
Painfully, distractingly beautiful.
Your hair fell in soft curls around your shoulders, the flowers scattered across your dress somehow matching the color of his shirt perfectly and every time you laughed, people nearby instinctively glanced toward the sound without meaning to.
Walter wasn’t stupid. He noticed the attention. But more than that, he noticed the envy underneath some of it too.
Because despite the endless teasing he got at work, the sarcastic comments about the sticky notes you hid in his laptop bag that he carefully lined up along the frame of his monitor instead of throwing away, or the times you showed up at the office with coffee and enough patience to physically drag him home after fourteen hour shifts, most people there wanted something like that too.
Someone who looked at them the way you looked at Walter and vice versa.
He leaned down eventually, aiming a kiss toward your lips only to miss slightly when you laughed again, the kiss landing near the corner of your mouth instead.
“Don’t overthink it”, he murmured softly.
“I’m not overthinking”, you replied with a smile. “Just observing.”
One of his hands slipped from your waist then, fingers catching yours instead before he awkwardly attempted to twirl you beneath his arm despite still holding his drink in the other hand. The movement was clumsy enough that both of you immediately burst into laughter halfway through it, nearly colliding into each other again once you stumbled back against his chest.
Walter definitely wasn’t the type to show off or intentionally draw attention to your relationship, but he wasn’t oblivious to the occasional glances either, nor the quiet surprise whenever someone looked between the two of you for a second too long. And he was definitely aware of how beautiful you looked tonight.
As far as Walter was concerned, nobody else in the world came close to comparing to you anyway.
But knowing everyone else could see that you were the one choosing him back? Yeah, he’d admit privately that he liked that part too.
A few moments later though, because it was always something with this company, you noticed a change in atmosphere before you understood the reason for it. A subtle shift rippled through the crowd, a nearby conversation abruptly cut off and several people glanced toward the entrance almost at once. It wasn’t dramatic, nobody announcing anything or reacting loudly, but the mood around you shifted just enough to feel it.
You and Walter walked back over to Mouser and a few other colleagues that were all sitting around a small fire pit and Mouser straightened next to you. “Oh man”, he breathed out in a half-groan and you furrow your brows instinctively.
Walter barely reacted outwardly at first, though you watched the exhaustion settle onto his face with immediate familiarity, like he already knew who had shown up before looking.
“What?”, you asked quietly, feeling the way his hand slipped from your back and around your waist, pressing his fingers into your side almost absentmindedly.
Mouser kept staring forward, but responded anyway. “Boss.”
You turned just as Antwan stepped out of the elevator and immediately understood why the mood had changed. Nobody was alarmed by the sight of him, but it still seemed as if the people were mildly confused by his appearance.
Everyone else looked softened by the evening, slightly rumpled from drinks and warm weather, relaxed in a way employees rarely got to be around each other.
He didn’t fit the atmosphere at all. Antwan looked like he’d walked out of an entirely different event and accidentally entered this one on his way to a private bathroom or something. Expensive jacket thrown over one shoulder, tinted glasses still resting on his nose despite the sun having set already, phone in hand while he continued some loud conversation about investor meetings.
Walter had talked about him enough over the years that you recognized him immediately, though none of the stories prepared you for the sheer level of self-importance radiating off him in person. You've never seen him at any other event.
People greeted him carefully as he passed and Antwan barely acknowledged any of them. He wandered through the area with complete disinterest until his attention landed on you.
He stopped walking, his gaze lingering for a moment, as if trying to place you. “You new?”, he asked casually, his phone still pressed against his ear as if respect for both conversations wasn't a given.
You blinked once. “No.”
That seemed to genuinely confuse him, but you even more so. His brows furrowed as he glanced at you over the rim of his shades, clearly trying to place you somewhere within the company.
“Huh”, he muttered. “Marketing?”, he tries again, though you couldn't understand why you had to work for the company to be at the event, or why you being a plus one would come as such a surprise.
“I don’t work here”, you explained and Antwan finally glanced past you, eyes landing on Keys before returning right back to you.
To him, Walter barely factored into the equation at all.
“Then why on earth would you be here?”
The question wasn’t threatening, nor particularly hostile, but there was something undeniably dismissive underneath it, something that made it obvious Antwan genuinely couldn't comprehend why someone like you would willingly spend your evening at a company barbecue surrounded by developers and exhausted office employees.
His attention remained entirely on you as he spoke, phone still lifted near his ear from whatever call he’d been pretending to care about moments earlier, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and amused disbelief. Respect for either conversation was apparently not a given.
You tried to smile politely, instinctively stepping closer into Walter’s side until his arm settled more securely around your waist, your fingers curling against the front of his shirt while his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your hip through the fabric of your dress.
“I’m Walter’s girlfriend.”
For the first time since walking over, Antwan looked genuinely entertained. Not surprised in any normal sense either.
It was the kind of reaction someone had after hearing an unexpectedly excellent joke, his attention fully snapping toward the two of you as the phone call lost all importance. His thumb lazily ended it without even glancing at the screen, phone dropping into the pocket of his jacket while he openly studied Walter now.
“Keys? Funko pop lookin, square headed Keys”
The way he said it made your brows pull together almost immediately, finding his comment more than distasteful. The tone behind it, the subtle disbelief as his gaze flicked between Walter’s arm around your waist and the way you leaned into him without hesitation, gave you a good enough picture of someone you would not converse with under any under circumstances.
Beside you, Walter stayed perfectly composed, sipping on his highball as if this entire exchange didn't bother him the way it actually really did.
Only someone who knew him well would’ve noticed the slight tightening of his jaw or the near invisible shift in posture that always appeared whenever he was forcing himself to stay polite. None of his colleagues, let alone his boss, came close to that.
Antwan let out a quiet laugh beneath his breath, shaking his head slightly like he genuinely couldn’t process what he was seeing.
“That’s fascinating”, he mused. “Thought the guy went home and just... stared at code until morning, a good wank if he finds the right video, but you...”
Mouser coughed into his drink trying to disguise a laugh and the sound alone made your expression sharpen slightly. You’d picked up on the weird dynamic surrounding Antwan, the nervous laughs, the automatic agreement, the way people bent themselves around his ego because he signed their paychecks.
But you still shot Mouser a pointed look and he immediately redirected his attention elsewhere, suddenly very interested in the rooftop view. If there was one thing you hated, it was people kissing ass and expecting something positive to come out of it at the expense of their friends.
Walter, meanwhile, said absolutely nothing.
Not because he agreed, because he knew better.
You could feel the restraint radiating off him beneath your hand, the effort it took not to respond with the dry sarcasm he naturally defaulted to around literally anyone else. That restraint translates into a tightening of his chest, his breaths not reaching his belly anymore and slowing down as if he was bracing instead.
Around coworkers, Walter was rarely sharp tongued, more quietly witty in ways people didn’t expect at first glance. Around Antwan he became carefully neutral, all measured responses and controlled expressions in the way employees often did around bosses they deeply disliked but couldn’t openly challenge.
Without even thinking about it, your hand slid higher against his chest, while his arm tightened around your waist in return, the two of you unconsciously grounding each other through touch the way you always did. You'd learned many ways to communicate over the years.
Antwan noticed that too.
Actually, he seemed incapable of not noticing it.
Every glance he gave Walter carried this underlying confusion, like he genuinely could not understand how someone he viewed as painfully average had somehow ended up with someone like you curled so naturally against him.
“You’ve been together long?”
This time the question was directed toward Walter instead of you and the shift alone seemed to surprise him slightly. You looked up at your boyfriend immediately, smiling gently as he glanced down at you for half a second before answering.
“Almost three years”, he responds, a small smirk now tugging at the corner of his mouth while his hand squeezed your waist, the fabric of your dress bunching up slightly from his grip.
That earned another genuinely stunned look from Antwan.
“Well, fuck me, bro”, he laughed, his eyes raking over the crowd as if waiting for someone to explain the punchline. He stepped back slightly, still visibly entertained by the entire situation as his eyes landed back on the two of you beneath the rooftop lights.
“Who knew he had it in him?”
Walter glanced down at you again, clearly debating whether enduring this silently or pretending to laugh along would get Antwan to leave faster.
The second your grin started slipping behind your own cocktail glass, trying to take a sip but failing, he caved. He laughed along with you, hesitant but real enough that Antwan looked pleased with himself afterward.
And somehow that made the whole situation even funnier to you.
Because beneath Walter’s composed expression, beneath the professionalism and restraint and careful neutrality, you could physically feel him getting defensive too.
"Trust me, I'm the luckiest girl", you muse, knowing it would both reassure Walter and maybe even annoy his boss a little, a clear win in your books. The smile you gifted Antwan then was genuine, confident too, but also a warning in disguise.
For a brief moment he just stared, still trying to figure it out, still carrying that subtle assumption that someone like him should make more sense beside someone like you than Walter ever could.
But Walter, despite how much he clearly wanted this interaction over with, looked at you with the kind of quiet affection Antwan probably couldn’t buy from another human being if he tried.
Eventually he let out a chuckle, before patting Walter on the back roughly. “Cheers, bro.”
Walter responded with nothing more than a tight lipped smile and a single nod, while Antwan wandered off almost immediately, already shouting towards the catering table about wanting a finger food plate done pronto.
“Okay", Mouser exhaled eventually, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he glanced back at you. “In my defense, survival instincts kicked in.”
You laughed softly while Walter finally let some of the stiffness leave his shoulders, his arm loosening around you with his hand brushing small circles over your back now.
“You don’t have to explain”, you reassured him easily. With a boss like that, you assumed everyone had to watch their own backs first and foremost.
“I know the laughing thing probably looked bad, but when Antwan decides you’re the funniest thing in the room, your options are kinda limited”, he tries again, looking genuinely apologetic for enabling him.
Walter snorted, before taking another sip of his drink, waving it off. “I mean he’s not wrong”
You immediately turned toward him, a brow quirked in amusement. “Excuse me?”
“I absolutely look like I’d spend my evenings alone, staring at code in silence. It's all I did before I met you”
“That’s not the point.”
“That is the point he made though.”
"Well, was he right about the rest too then?", you tease, chuckling as he took a long sip of his drink, his brows raising playfully as he stalled.
Mouser laughed at his reaction, nudging Walter, because to him, this whole thing was genuinely funny. You found yourself laughing too, not even needing an actual answer from him anymore.
Whatever he did before you didn't matter and you hoped there would never be an after either.
What you did care about though, was Walter finally looking properly relaxed again, the tension Antwan had dragged in with his mockery slowly dissolving now that he was gone. You press a swift kiss to his cheek.
“You should see him during crunch weeks”, Mouser told you once the conversation settled again, deciding the best way to recover from the awkwardness with Antwan was apparently exposing every strange work habit Walter had accumulated over the years.
He called it friendly fire.
Walter called it slander.
According to Mouser, Walter became borderline nocturnal during big deadlines, surviving entirely on cold brew and your little notes while re-organizing digital files no one else cared about and muttering insults at broken code under his breath for hours at a time.
“You say that like I wouldn't know what he's like”, you laughed while Mouser continued piling onto the story with increasing dramatics and your boyfriends' occasional complaints.
There was surprisingly little Walter could do that would genuinely scare you off now. Not after nearly three years together.
Not after late nights spent waiting for him to finally shut his laptop and come to bed, or the countless times you’d dragged him home from the office while he insisted he only needed twenty more minutes. You’d seen every exhausted, grumpy, overworked version of Walter McKeys imaginable at this point and somehow none of it had ever made you love him less.
If anything, it only made the other parts of him feel more special.
The conversation shifted as the night carried on, coworkers drifting in and out of your little circle while music hummed in the background and the city lights brightened below the rooftop.
At one point you found yourself talking with some girls from the marketing team about the content they’d been filming throughout the night, Walter angled away from you slightly, tangled in his own conversation with some guys on his support team.
You were midway through complimenting some ridiculous behind the scenes footage when Walter’s hand slid up from your waist, fingers catching the sleeve of your cardigan before it could slide down your shoulder.
The gesture was absentminded, automatic even. Like fixing things for you without thinking about it had simply become second nature to him.
Mouser trailed off mid sentence the second he noticed though, blinking at the absentminded little gesture like he’d just witnessed something deeply revealing. For a moment he simply stared at Walter, the way his fingers automatically fixed the slipping sleeve of your cardigan without ever interrupting the conversation around him felt like a declaration of love to him.
“Dude”, he said finally, pointing dramatically. “This is the kind of shit you do that gets you a long term girlfriend, huh?”
Walter let out a breathy chuckle at that, surprised by the sudden attention. He pulled his hand from your shoulder, stuffing it into his pocket like he’d only just realized everyone noticed him doing it before he even did himself.
You noticed too.
Even while still halfway invested in your own conversation with the marketing girls nearby, you felt his hand slipping away. You didn't interrupt or turned away from your own conversation rudely, you just registered it.
Meanwhile, the blush across Walter’s cheeks combined with the awkward readjustment of his glasses earned him absolutely no mercy from the rest of the group.
“Oh my God, he’s blushing.”
“Keys has game apparently.”
“Now this is sweet, Jesus”
Walter groaned while the others laughed around him. “A girl doesn’t just magically fall into your lap, you know”, he responded dryly, pointing at Mouser with his drink. “You need to be a decent person. Smell decent too. You should start with that”
The entire circle around him immediately burst into laughter loud enough to turn nearby heads and you nearly choked on your drink.
Mouser looked mildly offended, staring back at the group with a deadpan expression. “That was hostile for no reason”
Walter laughed and as if you sensed it, you caught the way he glanced over afterwards, eyes immediately finding yours in the midst of your own conversations.
He almost never said things like that out loud, not confidently anyway.
Normally any joke at his expense got deflected, either with awkwardness or sarcasm, but tonight there was something quieter sitting beneath his usual dry humor, something subtly self-satisfied that had to do with you just simply existing and deciding to exist right next to him.
Because maybe people were surprised. Maybe half the rooftop was still trying to connect someone like Walter McKeys with someone like you.
But at the end of the night, Walter still got to leave with your hand in his.
I mean this in such a respectful way so im sorry if it doesn’t come off that way but since you are a nonsharing yumeshipper why do you write x readers for your f/o’s?
No, I’m perfectly fine answering this!
- How I see it personally, I don’t mind general enjoyers of my f/os interacting with my content and my work! Honestly, a lot of X Reader consumers aren’t self/yume shippers like me - I have my own universe and experiences with my f/os that only apply to me and me only. Writing x readers help me feel more connected with my f/os as well, I personally believe in the multiverse, it’s silly🩷 It’s honestly very hard to explain why a nonsharing yume like myself is making content for other enjoyers of my f/o to consume, but in reality-this has actually helped me not be so protective and jealous when it comes to doubles or even casual enjoyers! I know in another universe that Eddie and Johnny love me - are souly focused on me!!
So in short terms, it’s just for fun and helping my neurodivergent ass to not be so protective over things :)
Apologies if none of this makes sense, im running off of 2 hours of sleep and a dr pepper rn
Awww no that makes more sense than. Its also really sweet and im glad its helped you be less jealous. It just at a point doesnt feel like nonsharing. However im also not very involved in the yumeshipping community. Literally the last two post ive seen one was about someone yumeshipping with a real person instead of a fictional character (and the real person saw that they were being yumeshipped with and made a response) and the other one was a video talking about void yumeshippers. And how its not very healthy for void yumeshippers because they pretend their doubles for their specific f/o dont exist at all?
Ohh I completely understand! I personally don’t support rpf (real person yumes) as it is very parasocial- as for void yumes, I’ve never interacted with any of them myself honestly. Personally, as long as they aren’t harassing people there is no problem BUT I can agree that it is definitely not the healthiest in some cases - especially when I’ve noticed that they think their doubles should just stop yumeshipping with their f/os in general which I think is so rude, our doubles are people with emotions and I think a huge chunk of the yume community has forgotten that which is odd. As for me being nonsharing, I totally understand if it doesn’t look like I’m nonsharing but I am lmao- I just ask for my yume-doubles to not interact with any of my content and I block them if they say they yume/selfship with my f/os, hopefully that makes more sense lmao
Just a dull ache at first—it was easy to ignore, easy to brush off as something that would pass if you slept it off. You remember shifting under the covers, pressing a hand to your stomach and thinking that it’ll all be fine in the morning.
Except it didn’t.
It got worse overnight.
You’d planned on waking up a little early, but by the time morning came, the ache had turned into full-on cramps. Every small movement just made it worse, and every time you tried to relax, another wave would roll through and tighten all over again, not giving you a second to breathe.
On the other hand, Bucky had been up for hours already—you could hear it faintly through the open door. The clink of dishes, the quiet hum of movement in the kitchen. He was cleaning up. Your chores. The ones you’d planned to handle yourself.
But every time you even thought about getting up, your stomach would twist again, keeping you pinned right where you were.
The guilt settled heavy in your chest.
You hated that he was doing your chores. Hated that he’d probably noticed you hadn’t come out yet. But more than that—you didn’t want to bother him. Not with this. Not with something that felt so humiliating to say out loud.
So you stayed quiet.
Even as the hours dragged on.
Even as it got way past noon.
Because as awful as the pain was, it still felt easier to lie there and deal with it alone than to actually say it.
As time passes, your body curls in on itself, hand pressing into your lower stomach like you can hold it still, like you can stop it from tightening any further.
“Mm—” your voice breaks, barely making it out.
You try to breathe through it.
But it’s too much for you to handle. A quiet, broken sound leaves you, your face pressing harder into the pillow as tears finally spill over. You try to be quiet about it. You didn’t want him to hear you, nonetheless see you like this—curled up, crying over something you should be able to handle.
You were so caught up in the pain and the way it kept building that everything else blurred out. Your thoughts spiraled, one into the next, until it was all you could focus on.
It consumed you, so much so that you didn’t even hear him approaching.
He’d come in every now and then to see if you were up and moving, yet this time he had paused in the doorway, watching for a moment, like he was waiting to see if you were going to say something. When you didn’t, he let out a quiet breath and started to walk slowly towards you, not wanting to wake you if you were still asleep.
But as he walked closer, he could hear you sniffling and moaning.
As soon as you felt the mattress dip beside you, you immediately turned away—like if he couldn’t see you, maybe he’d leave you alone. But he knew you were stubborn sometimes.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
There’s just a quiet pause as he looks at you, like he’s putting the pieces together—your back was turned away from him, the uneven way you’re breathing, the way you’re trying a little too hard to stay still.
“Hey,” he murmurs after a second. One hand comes up, hesitating for just a moment before settling lightly against your arm—not forcing, not pulling, just there. “Wha’s goin’ on?”
“…Nothing,” you managed to mumble, blurting out the first word that came to mind.
There’s a quiet huff from him. “Right,” he mutters. “S’that why you’ve been rollin’ around like you’re tryin’ to fight the mattress all day?”
“It’s stupid,” you mumble into the pillow.
His hand settles over the blanket near your side. “I highly doubt that,” he shakes his head at your response.
You only pulled the blanket a little closer. “…it is.”
He sighs quietly, not anywhere near being annoyed—he was just worried. “Mmm, no, it isn’t.” His voice is calm, more tender like, with that low firmness he only uses when he’s trying not to let his concern show too much. “You’ve been in here all day, barely said two words to me. That doesn’t sound like ‘stupid’ to me.”
You stay quiet, and his hand smooths slowly over the blanket.
“C’mon now,” his eyes were searching your face. “You know better than to say something like that.” There’s something almost gentle in his scolding, the way he says it like it’s less about correcting you and more about how much he hates hearing you talk yourself down.
“If something’s got you curled up in bed like this, then it must matter.” His thumb brushes lightly against the blanket. “And if it matters to you, then it matters to me. You know that.”
The room goes still for a moment, his voice the only thing breaking the silence. “I’m not askin’ because I wanna pry,” he says quietly. “I’m askin’ because I can see somethin’s wrong, and I don’t like watchin’ you sit here hurting and actin’ like I’m supposed to ignore it.”
His hand shifts slightly, resting over the blanket before giving a small, steady rub against your leg beneath it.
He’s been patient with you the entire time yet the concern on his face hasn’t gone away for a second, and somehow that only makes it harder to say anything. When you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.
“It’s…that time of the month.”
For a second, he just looks at you. Something in his expression shifts, concern taking over again. “You’re on your period?” You give a small nod, too embarrassed to say it again, and he lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before looking back at you. “Darlin’…why didn’t you tell me?”
You shrug weakly, staring harder at the blanket. “I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”
His brows pull together, not frustrated, just confused. “So instead you were gonna sit in here feeling like hell and not say a word to me?” His tone stays gentle, trying his hardest to not sound upset.
“I just didn’t want to make you grossed out,” you admit. The words come out hesitant, like you already know how bad they sound. “Or bother you.”
The second you say it, something in Bucky’s expression shifts completely. His eyes flicker with something almost hurt, and the concern in his face deepens. He shifts a little closer, his hand settling over yours on top of the blanket.
Bucky exhales quietly and shakes his head, his thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles.
“Baby, I would never judge you for that,” he says, like the thought doesn’t even exist for him. “First of all, periods are natural. There’s nothin’ weird about it, and there sure as hell isn’t anything disgusting about you.”
He watches you as he speaks, like he’s checking that the words are actually landing.
“And second, even if it wasn’t natural, I’d still want you to tell me. Not because it bothers me, but just so I can help. You’re not supposed to sit here and deal with it alone.”
A pause settles for a second, but it isn’t empty. His eyes shifts over your face, taking in the way you’re holding yourself too still, the tension you’re trying not to show.
“Sweetheart,” his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “This is your body. There’s nothin’ about it that’s disgusting. And there’s definitely not a damn thing about you that would make me feel that way.”
His jaw tightens briefly, not at you, just at the idea of you thinking that.
“You’ve been in pain and you’ve been hidin’ it in here alone because you thought I’d be uncomfortable,” he says quieter, almost more to himself than anything, like he’s piecing it together as he speaks. “That’s what gets me.”
His eyes flick back to yours. “You don’t have to sit on stuff like that with me,” he adds, more grounded again. “If you’re hurting, I wanna know. Alright?”
You muttered, “I just didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“But you look paler than usual,” he says simply. “And you’ve been holding yourself like you’re one second away from either crying or passing out.” The concern in his voice makes it impossible to lie, so after a second, you nod. Bucky closes his eyes for a brief second, then lets out a slow breath.
You hesitate for a second, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve before you finally look back up at him. “…Are you upset with me?”
“No, no, I’m not mad,” he says when he sees your face crumple. His hand squeezes yours gently, as if he was trying to ground you. “I just wish you’d told me sooner.” His gaze softened as he looked back at you. “Because the thought of you laying here hurting this bad while I had no clue what was going on? I hate that.”
You let out a shaky breath and look away. “I didn’t want to be over dramatic or anything along those lines..”
Bucky’s brows knit together again, but his tone stays soft. “Baby, being in pain isn’t dramatic. If you’re hurting, that matters. And if it matters to you, then I wanna know.” His hand stays warm over yours while he speaks, every word calm and sure. “I don’t care that it’s your period. I care that you feel awful. That’s what matters here.”
Your chest tightens, and he keeps talking, softer now, like he’s trying to undo every anxious thought you’ve had all day. You nod weakly, wiping at your face, and Bucky gives the faintest nod back before brushing your hair away from your forehead.
“Good.” He holds your gaze for a moment, making sure you mean it. “Because next time, I wanna know the second you start feeling bad. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in, sweet girl.”
Your throat tightens again, but this time it’s because of how gentle he sounds. Bucky brushes away one more tear, his hand warm against your cheek.
He watches you for a second before saying anything, his eyes moving over your face like he’s trying to figure out how bad you’re feeling without making you explain it.
“Have you taken anything yet?”
You shake your head, giving him a weak little “no,” like maybe if you say it casually enough it won’t sound as bad as it is, and he lets out the smallest breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little like he already expected that answer.
“No?” The corner of his mouth lifts just a tad. “Were you just gonna tough it out and hope for the best?” There’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet fondness, and when you try to shrug it off, he only smiles a little, as if he knows exactly what you’re doing.
“Sounds like a terrible plan,” he murmurs. You manage the tiniest smile back, and his expression softens the second he sees it, like that alone makes him feel a little better.
“You need somethin’ besides curlin’ up and sufferin’ over here,” he muttered as he stood. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetheart.” He squeezed your hand gently, pressed a quick kiss to your temple, and slipped out of the room.
A little while later, there was a brief knock before the door cracked open. “In my defense, I didn’t know what counted as enough,” Bucky pointed out as he stepped inside, his arms full of things he had gathered for you.
He made his way over to the bed, carefully setting everything down on the nightstand beside you before looking back at you with a softer expression. “Do you need anything else?”
“Yeah.” You hesitate for a moment before adding, “I’d like it if you stayed.”
That earned a huffed out quiet laugh from him, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smile as he leaned against the side of the bed. “I can do that.”
He reached down to brush a hand over your hair before nodding toward the pile he’d set on the nightstand. “C’mon, move over,” he murmured, already climbing onto the bed beside you. “Lemme take care of ya. You look miserable.”
You let out a tired groan but shifted anyway, making enough room for him to slide in beside you.
Bucky settled carefully against the pillows before reaching for the water bottle he’d brought in. “Alright,” he murmured, unscrewing the cap for you first.
You barely moved, only burrowing deeper beneath the blankets with a tired groan. Bucky just sighed quietly through his nose, already expecting the resistance.
“Don’t you start,” he muttered, one hand sliding under the blanket until he found your arm. “You gotta take the meds, angel.”
“I will,” you mumbled weakly. “Later.”
“Mmmm, yeah? And when exactly is ‘later’?” he asked dryly. “After you moan ‘nd groan around for another three hours?”
You shot him a sleepy glare that had absolutely had no bite behind it, and he almost smiled. Almost. Instead, he reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle before shaking two pills into his palm. “Sit up a little f’me.”
When you didn’t move fast enough, Bucky just rested his hand around your waist, giving you enough time to shift on your own before he gently helped you against him. As you settled there, he kept his arm loosely around you, holding you close to his chest so you didn’t have to support all of your weight by yourself.
“There we go,” he murmured, much softer now.
You frowned at the pills in his hand. “But they taste miserable.”
“They’re not meant to taste good, sweetheart,” Bucky saw the horrendous face you made towards the medicine. “They’re supposed to help.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh before pressing the water bottle into your hands. “C’mon. Take ’em before I start getting mean.”
“You’re always mean.”
“And yet you love me anyway.”
You rolled your eyes but finally took the pills, immediately reaching for more water afterward. Bucky watched carefully until he was sure enough you’d swallowed them, his metal fingers rubbing slow circles against your side the entire time.
“Good.” He waits until he’s sure you’ve swallowed before taking the bottle back and setting it aside. The second your head hit his shoulder, Bucky pulled the blankets higher around you, tucking them under your chin with gentleness. His hand drifted up to brush through your hair. “You still hurtin’ bad?” he asked quietly.
You gave a small nod against him.
Bucky’s jaw tightened for half a second, not at you, never at you. He just hated seeing you uncomfortable, hated that he couldn’t fix it instantly.
“Okay,” he murmured after a moment. “Well the meds’ll kick in soon, hopefully. Till then, I’ll have to suffice.”
You tilted your head just enough to look up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bucky adjusted against the pillows beside you, one hand absently fixing the blanket where it had twisted around your legs. He looked oddly thoughtful for a second before answering, “Well I was thinkin’ that maybe we should invest in one of those warming thingies, y’know?”
You blinked up at him. “A what?”
“One of those warm…things,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Couldn’t find one anywhere. That’s why it took me so long to come back.”
A sleepy laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Baby, are you referring to a heating pad?”
“Yes,” he deadpanned immediately. “That. That’s what I meant.”
Your smile only widened, and he had to fight the urge to smile back too much at the sound of your laugh. “A warming thingie,” you repeated teasingly.
“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You know what I meant.”
His gaze dropped toward your stomach then before flicking back up to your face, suddenly more careful again. Bucky only hesitated for a second before speaking again. “Well since we don’t have one, I was thinkin’ maybe we could lay down for a while and I could hold you a little closer. Might help warm you up some.”
His hand brushed gently along your side before he added more quietly, “Would you mind if I do that?”
You looked up at him for a moment, your expression softening immediately at the quiet concern in his voice.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’d like that.”
The tension in Bucky’s shoulders eased almost instantly. Carefully, he helped guide you down beneath the blankets until you were laying on your side with your back pressed against his chest. Bucky shifted in behind you, settling close enough that his presence immediately surrounded you from every angle.
One arm slipped carefully around your waist, holding you against him while his other hand found yours beneath the blankets. He made sure not to squeeze too tightly, keeping his touch gentle
“There,” he whispered near your ear. “Is that…better?”
You let out a quiet hum, relaxing further as his warmth seeped into you.
Bucky’s nose brushed lightly against your hair before he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your temple, staying there for a moment.
“Hate seein’ you like this,” he admitted quietly. “I wish I could just take it from you instead.”
His hand spread warmth against your stomach then, rubbing slow circles through the blanket while he tucked you even closer against him.
Bucky stayed quiet for a while after that, just holding you close while his hand continued slow circles against your stomach. The room fell quiet after that, the only sound being your steady breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets when Bucky adjusted them around you again.
After a few minutes, his lips brushed lightly against your temple once more. “Do you need anything else?” He was still worried. “Water, snacks, more blankets?”
You shook your head weakly. “Mm-m. I’m okay now.”
“Okay now,” he repeated skeptically, earning a sleepy little smile from you.
Bucky’s arm tightened around your waist just a little, he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, if that changes later, you tell me, alright?” he gently scolded. “Don’t care if it’s two minutes from now or three in the morning.”
His thumb brushed gently over your stomach again. “I mean it,” he added softer. “If you need somethin’, I’ll get it.”
You turned your head just enough to look back at him over your shoulder, the look on his face. He was tired, worried, but so unbelievably gentle with you. “Alright,” you whispered.
That finally seemed to satisfy him. Bucky pressed one last kiss against your temple before settling back against the pillows with you tucked safely against his chest.
For a while, things seemed better.
Between the medicine kicking in and the comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms, you were on the verge of falling asleep. Almost. A sudden cramp seized low in your stomach, making your breath hitch as you curled tighter against him.
Bucky immediately felt it. His arm tightened around your waist as he lifted his head from the pillow. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, concern immediately creeping into his voice. “Talk t’me. Did it start up again?”
You hesitated before nodding.
Bucky’s expression fell. For a moment, all he could do was look at you.
Then he let out a slow breath through his nose and rested his forehead against the back of your head.
“God, my sweet girl…” he muttered quietly. “I really thought you were finally getting some relief.”
His hand moved across your stomach once more, rubbing slow circles through the blanket.
“I know the meds are helping some, but every time I think you’re doing better, you get another one of those cramps and I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It just gets to me.”
You shifted slightly so you could glance back at him. “Buck—”
“No, I’m serious.” His voice softened. “I hate seeing you hurt. I know that sounds obvious, but I mean it. I hate watching you try to act like it’s not that bad when I can feel you tensing up every few minutes.”
His gaze dropped toward where his hand rested over your stomach.
“And the worst part is that there’s not really anything I can do to fix it.”
Another cramp made you wince, and he noticed right away, frowning at you.
“If you scraped your knee, I could clean it up. If you were sick, I could make soup or get medicine. If somebody was giving you a hard time, I’d know exactly what to do.”
A humorless laugh escaped him. “But this? All I can do is sit here and wish I could take some of it off your shoulders.”
You reached for his hand. “Baby, you are helping.”
His fingers intertwined with yours immediately. “Maybe a little,” he admitted.
“A lot.”
His expression softened at that. Still, he looked unconvinced.
“I just wish it was more. You shouldn’t have to sit here hurting while I’m stuck guessing what might make you feel better.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“Honestly, I’ve been trying to think of things this entire time,” he admitted although he was still working through it in his head. “Different positions, more blankets, less blankets, water, food…I was halfway ready to tear the apartment apart looking for one of those heating pads.”
His eyes dropped to where his hand rested carefully against your stomach, still moving in slow, steady circles through the blanket.
“I keep running it over like there’s something I’m missing,” he went on, a little more tense now. “Like there’s some obvious fix and I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
A quiet exhale left him through his nose.
“And it’s just…it’s frustrating,” he admitted. “Because I can deal with things I can fix. I can handle problems that actually do something when you act on them. But this just sits here and you’re hurting and all I’ve got is…this.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face before reaching for yours again, holding it a little tighter this time. “I don’t like feeling useless.” His jaw tightened briefly before he looked back at you. “Especially when it comes down to you.”
That made something in your expression shift, and you turned your head just enough to look back at him over your shoulder.
“You’re not useless,” you said immediately, not giving him the chance to argue. “You’re literally doing everything you can right now.”
Bucky didn’t look convinced right away. “I’m rubbing your stomach,” he replied, almost bluntly. “That’s not exactly fixing anything.”
“It’s helping,” you insisted. “Trust me, it does help.”
His jaw tightened slightly, not in anger, just stubbornness. “It’s just not enough.”
“Yes it is.”
“Not really.”
You huffed faintly, adjusting against him a little more so you could see his face better. “Bucky, I’m telling you it is. I feel so much better than I was before.”
He hesitated at that, eyes flicking down to your face like he was trying to decide whether to believe you or argue with you out of habit. “…Yeah?” he asked finally, quieter.
“Yes.”
His shoulders eased just a little, though his expression still held that lingering frustration. “Still feels like I should be doing more,” he admitted.
You rolled your eyes a little, tired but fond. “You always feel like you should be doing more. That’s kind of your thing.”
That earned a faint huff from him through his nose, like he didn’t appreciate being called out but couldn’t fully deny it either.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, hand resuming its steady motion over your stomach. “My ‘thing’ is usually more useful than this.”
“You’re literally holding me together right now,” you said quietly. “That’s useful.”
That made him pause again. For a second, he just looked at you like he was trying to reconcile what you were saying with whatever he had in his head.
“I just don’t want you thinking you have to deal with this alone.” He shook his head, like the thought of it alone bothered him. “Or that I’m just sitting here not doing anything.”
“But you’re not,” you sat up and laid your head against his shoulder. “You’re here. You’re paying attention. You’re taking care of me. That’s everything to me.”
A quiet second or two had passed. He exhaled slowly, some of the tension finally easing out of his shoulders. “…Alright,” he wasn’t fully convinced, but he was just choosing to accept it for now.
“I just wish I could make it stop.” His arm tightened gently around your waist as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “I know I can’t make the cramps disappear,” he said quietly. “Believe me, if I could take them from you, I would.”
His hand kept moving over your stomach in slow circles, more out of habit than anything now. “But I can be here.”
His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you a little closer against him. “So if you need to complain, complain. If you need to cry, let it out. If you want to tell me for the hundredth time how much this sucks, then tell me.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to make it easier for me to hear. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay because you’re worried about it bein’ dramatic. You’re in pain. That’s enough.”
He pressed another quick kiss to your forehead. “And I know you deal with this all the time. I know you’re used to pushing through it and getting on with your day anyway.”
His eyes dropped to where his hand rested against your stomach. “But just because you’re used to carrying something doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy.”
He pressed another quick kiss to your forehead.
“And I know you deal with this all the time. I know you’re used to pushing through it and getting on with your day anyway.”
He shook his head slightly. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
His hand rubbed slowly up and down your side. “I know there’s not much I can do. Trust me, if there was, I’d be doing it.”
For a moment, he just looked at you.
“I just hate seeing you feel like this.” The honesty in his voice left no room for argument.
You shifted closer, tucking yourself against his chest as he wrapped both arms around you. The room fell quiet after that.
Bucky kept one hand moving lazily along your back, the other resting against your side, and little by little the tension started to leave you. When he felt your body finally begin to relax against him, he gently guided you down onto the mattress.
Once you were settled, he stretched out beside you, pulling the blankets up over both of you before gathering you back against his chest.
“Get some sleep, angel.” He didn’t need to say anything else. Your eyelids were already getting heavier by the second.
While you knew tomorrow would likely look a lot like today, you also knew he’d be right there with you through it.
“I love you,” he pressed one last kiss to the top of your head.
And by the time exhaustion finally caught up to you, Bucky was still right where he’d promised he’d be—stuck in bed with you.
Summary: Bucky decides it’s time for a haircut, which you protested, but when he comes back, you just can’t hold yourself back.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI She/her pronouns for the reader. Pussy pronouns once (she). Smut. Oral (f recieving), fingering, hair pulling (pulling Bucky’s hair). Whimpering Bucky (yayy). P in V unprotected (wrap it up tho kids)
WC: 1.6k
“Bucky!” You whined as he grabbed his keys from the counter, “You can’t do this to me, your hair is so perfect.” You leaned your upper body over the couch and pouted, although his back was to you
“Doll, I haven’t had a proper haircut in decades. I think it’s time for this ratty hair to go.” When he turned around to face you, he couldn’t help but smile ear to ear at your frown. “It will be fine.”
“You don’t know what.”
“I do,” he walked closer and kissed your forehead. “It’s just hair if you don’t like it, I’ll grow it back.”
You huffed in protest, and he chuckled at you. “Baby, why do you even want to cut your hair?” You stretched up and wrapped one arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and your other hand went straight to his hair, running through it.
“Because I had this hair when I was...” he paused and cleared his throat, “Well, this hair is just no longer who I am. I want everything fresh, you know.”
Your eyes soften. You couldn’t argue with him, but you still couldn’t hide your pout. “Okay.” You kissed his cheek softly, and he leaned into you. “Just promise me you will not go bald, and you will find a woman in there and ask her opinion, and you will let her know you have a girlfriend.”
“Of course,” he smiled at you. “Stop pouting,” he said, kissing your lips softly. Instinctively, you smiled, but when he pulled away, you put on a fake pout
“You like it when I pout.”
“Not like this…and it’s too late, I saw you smile.” You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway as he kissed you gently one last time.
You tangled your fingers into his long hair and pulled softly, and he whimpered, “Yeah, I’ll miss that.” You both chuckled and said goodbye as Bucky headed out the door to get rid of one of the sexiest parts of himself.
…
About an hour later, you were in your bedroom folding laundry when Bucky came home. You hadn’t heard him come in over the music, but you gasped when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You gasped instantly, but relaxed when you heard his soft voice, “Hi, sweetheart.”
You smiled, “Hi baby,” you went to turn around to see the haircut, but his lips attached to your neck, keeping your face forward, and pinning you to his back. You chuckled, “Let me see!”
Without answering, he pulled out flowers from behind his back and put them into your hands. They were your favorite “Shit, Bucky, is it bad?” You closed your eyes in fear that your boyfriend would be bald for the next few months, but he chuckled behind you.
“I don’t know, actually.” Your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “Haven’t seen myself with short hair in maybe 80 years…I-I’m not sure if I look like me.”
“Can I see?” you asked softly. Suddenly, you didn’t care what it looked like. As soon as you heard the waver in his voice, you just wanted to tell him he looked handsome.
He took a deep breath, then nodded against you, letting go.
You turned around slowly, and as soon as your eyes landed on the new haircut…you were dripping. “Oh” was all you could manage
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and you quickly jumped to fix your words
“No, no, not oh, as in bad oh as in … oh.” Your own tone of voice made his eyebrows raise
“So you like it?” Did you like it…you were ready to pounce any second. If he were willing, you’d let him get you pregnant just so you could pass down the luxurious hair gene
“Yeah fuck baby, I love it. Like I really love it,” he smiled softly
“Good, good. I was worr-” he started to turn around so he could walk over to the mirror in the bathroom, but you grabbed his arm, stopping him “What?” his eyes grew worried again.
You couldn’t even form words looking at him, so you just pulled him closer to you and kissed him roughly. It didn’t take Bucky even a second to kiss you back, his hands immediately finding your lower back.
As the kiss grew more intense, he walked you back towards the bed, until the back of your knees hit it, causing you to fall on the mattress. Bucky was quick to get on top of you, pulling away for just a moment to look at you.
“Bucky, you look fucking hot,” he smirked
“Yeah?” His Brooklyn accent was strong, and you clenched around nothing. You rolled your eyes at his teasing and pulled on his hair, and he whimpred again. “Feels good when you do that, had to make sure it was still long enough for you.”
You planted yourself on your elbows and kissed him again. After a moment, his lips attached to your neck and he bit down on the spot he knew was most sensitive. “Fuck Bucky. Need you.”
He pulled away quickly and got on his knees in front of you. “Need to taste you, baby, please.” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, and you nodded. He practically ripped them and your underwear off in one swift motion.
His big arms pulled your legs apart, making sure he had the perfect view of your cunt. “So pretty, baby.”
“Bucky, please,” you whined as your hands went to his hair, trying to pull him closer, but that damn super soldier strength kept him from budging. He chuckled, close enough you could feel his breath on your pussy, and you shivered.
“So eager, Doll. I want to have my fun,” he teased when you groaned. His hands ran up and down the sides of your thigh as his lips attached to your skin.
He left a trail of kisses as he made his way up to your core. He paused before kissing you where you needed it most. “Need you so bad. Please, I’ll be good.”
He looked up at you, and no matter how hard he tried to play tough whenever he was looking at you, he melted, and you could always see it in his eyes. “Yeah, my good girl. Just for me?”
“Just for you, Buck.”
He hummed, content with your words, and finally put his lips on your clit. You both groaned at the same time as he began licking you slowly. “She’s so wet for me.” His Brooklyn accent was strong whenever he was touching you.
“It’s the hair,” you teased, but it was the truth. His mouth was on you again, this time sucking faster and harder. Two fingers entered you without warning, and you cried out, encouraging Bucky to keep going.
You tried to buck your hips, but his big arms wrapped around your thighs, were keeping you in place for him. You pulled at the ends of his hair again, and he moaned against you.
His eyes lifted to meet yours, which sent you over the edge. “Fuck Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” The third finger he shoved inside of you was his way of telling you to cum for him.
You cried out as your orgasm hit you like a fucking train, and Bucky kept his tongue working as you let your orgasm take over you.
When you finally came down, Bucky took his lips off you, and you groaned, “Need to be inside you, baby.” He stood up and tried to turn you around, but you protested.
“Wanna see you.” he smiled, “Wanna see the new haircut” he smirked and moved you further up the bed.
He worked his pants and shift off quickly as you took off your shirt and bra.
He stood in front of you with his dick stiff in his hands. He spread your legs and pumped himself a few times before lining his tip up with your entrance. “‘m gonna fuck you so good, baby. Take good care of my girl, yeah?”
“Yes, Bucky, please,” you whined. Your whine was all he needed to push himself into you.
It was slow and deliberate, and you needed more. He could tell by the way your face schruhced so he pulled himself out and without warning slammed back into you, causing you to cry out, “You feel so fucking good, Doll. So tight for me.”
You could only moan in agreement as he fucked into you. His hands wandered up your curves before landing on your tits, gripping them. “So fucking perfect for me,” he pulled on your nipples, and you whimpred, “Love that sound.”
You could barely form words; everything felt so good. His eyes were glued to your face. As you tightened around him, he moaned, “Fuck, just like that ‘m gonna cum.”
“Fuck me too, Bucky.”
“Cum for me, angel. Let it all go.” It didn’t take much more for your eyes to squeeze shut as your body shook beneath his. “Yeah, that's it, let me feel you.”
He fucked you through your orgasm, his hitting soon after yours. As you both came down, his movements slowed until he was paused over you. Your chests rising and falling in sync.
Your hand made its way back to his hair, running through it. He chuckled softly, then leaned forward to place his forehead on yours, giving you a quick peck. “You really like the haircut?”
You chuckled, “Yes, Bucky, you look really good.”
He smiled against you, “Should have gotten it done months ago if I knew this would be the outcome.”
I mean this in such a respectful way so im sorry if it doesn’t come off that way but since you are a nonsharing yumeshipper why do you write x readers for your f/o’s?
No, I’m perfectly fine answering this!
- How I see it personally, I don’t mind general enjoyers of my f/os interacting with my content and my work! Honestly, a lot of X Reader consumers aren’t self/yume shippers like me - I have my own universe and experiences with my f/os that only apply to me and me only. Writing x readers help me feel more connected with my f/os as well, I personally believe in the multiverse, it’s silly🩷 It’s honestly very hard to explain why a nonsharing yume like myself is making content for other enjoyers of my f/o to consume, but in reality-this has actually helped me not be so protective and jealous when it comes to doubles or even casual enjoyers! I know in another universe that Eddie and Johnny love me - are souly focused on me!!
So in short terms, it’s just for fun and helping my neurodivergent ass to not be so protective over things :)
Apologies if none of this makes sense, im running off of 2 hours of sleep and a dr pepper rn
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tangentwithtanner
izzy806
dailybridgerton
