Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader
Summary: During a fun and relaxing afternoon, Bucky overhears someone making fun of your body. He doesn’t take too kindly to that.
Word Count: Over 2.9k
Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, pet name (sweetheart for you, baby nicknamed Sprout), mention of stretch marks (they are beautiful), pregnant body shaming, threat of violence (not against reader), fluff, feels, domestic life, Steve and Sam are good friends, protective vibes, putting a jerk in his place (sorry if your name is Chet), Bucky Barnes (he's down bad and a warning, okay?).
A/N: What can I say, lovelies? I love a Bucky down bad and sticking up for you. Part of Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
It was meant to be a relaxing and fun afternoon.
Nothing major. Just a small gathering with a few familiar faces, some friends and agents, and good food. Maybe a few games, some music and conversations. Bucky only agreed because you batted your eyes and promised that you wouldn’t overdo it.
As if he could ever say “no” to you.
“You could smile a bit more, you know,” Steve teased, handing him a beer.
He scoffed, the bottle cool against his warm hand. “I am smiling,” he argued.
His general demeanor had improved since you came into his life. He liked to think he smiled more than he scowled most days. Well, at least he smiled more when you were around. Or when he thought of you, which was all the time.
So, yeah, his demeanor was much better.
“You only smile like that when you look at or think about your wife,” Steve pointed out, like he knew exactly what he was on his mind.
Bucky’s gaze softened immediately when he heard you laughing, watching you from where you stood a few feet away.
You were glowing.
A pregnancy glow, yes, combined with something warmer. The dress you picked somehow flowed while showing off the shape of your body perfectly. Your smile lit up your face and you had a hand on your belly like you’d done for weeks now without thinking. It was beautiful.
You were beautiful.
“Can you blame me for having a smile just for her?” Bucky asked.
“Not at all,” his best friend replied.
You shifted your weight before you took a seat, your smile brighter when you spotted Bucky watching you. He never strayed far from you. Didn’t even sip the drink in his hand. He had his eyes on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
You and Sprout.
Pride flickered through his chest when his gaze dropped to your belly. His wife and his baby. His family.
Everyone was waiting on you hand and foot. At least, they tried to. The moment someone tried to bring you a drink or food, he stepped in. He couldn’t help himself. Once you were taken care of, he went back to his spot. The perfect place to keep an eye on his surroundings since some old habits died hard.
And you just smiled, soft and bright.
Steve nudged him with his shoulder. “You deserve this, you know.”
Bucky swallowed hard. It didn’t always feel like he did. The past liked to seep into his mind at unexpected moments and make the world look a little darker. Depending on the day, he’d either hug you close or take you to bed to drown out the noise. Sometimes both.
And no matter what, you made the world look brighter again.
“So, you’re saying I deserved to knock up my wife?” he joked to deflect.
The blonde snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” he said, giving him a small smile. “Also saying you deserve this life.”
His chest tightened when you laughed at a joke Sam made, your head tipping back slightly and your hand going back to your belly. There was no fight to worry about. No past to haunt him. Just small precious moments like this.
His lips twitched upward when you found his gaze again, your love for him burning bright in your eyes.
He did deserve this kind of life.
“Thanks, punk,” he mumbled, clinking their bottles together.
“Jerk.”
You turned your attention back to Sam and Bucky pushed off the wall to move closer before a voice stopped him.
Something low and careless.
“Is that chair gonna break? Jesus Christ, she’s fucking huge. How many are in there?”
The thought of domesticity and peace left Bucky’s mind, replaced by something cold and dangerous.
You were blissfully unaware that some prick had just insulted your beautiful body, still smiling and enjoying yourself. As you should be. You only deserved good things. No one else around you seemed to notice the change in the atmosphere either.
But Steve stiffened out of the corner of his eye. He heard it. They both heard it.
Super soldier senses really were handy at times.
Ice took over the blue of his eyes, his head slowly turning to look at the fucker stupid enough to open his mouth and even breath the same oxygen as you. A new agent with a very punchable face who wore too much cologne. There was a good chance that you kept your distance for that very reason since some smells still overwhelmed you. The snickering prick certainly wasn’t a friend of his or yours. He was only “invited” because someone else thought it would be good for him to hang out outside of work.
That wouldn’t happen again.
“Better snag a brownie before she stuffs her face with the whole tray.”
My wife can have all the fucking brownies she wants, you fucking piece of shit.
The bottle in his hand began to crack. It would shatter if he kept squeezing. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
Not yet.
“You know that’s Barnes’s wife, right?” The asshole’s friend shifted uncomfortably. “She’s really nice, and he’s… well, he’s pretty protective of her.”
Bucky’s gaze flicked back to you, much softer, before looking at the soon-to-be-dead fucker again.
No. Can’t kill the guy. I have a wife and kid to think about.
The prick had the nerve to laugh. “So? Does that give her a pass to look like a whale?”
…He’s fucking dead.
Steve took the cracked bottle from his hand. “Want me to handle him?” he asked, his voice low.
He exhaled through his nose. Steve didn’t like bullies. Never had. But he knew why he was asking instead of just stepping in and taking care of it.
Because you were his wife. His to defend. His to love and care for.
This was his fight.
“I got this,” he replied, subtly nodding to where you were sitting. “Just keep an eye out for a minute?”
Steve nodded in understanding, positioning himself to block your line of sight without looking too obvious.
Bucky took deliberate steps toward the table, his movements controlled and measured. His jaw tightened the closer he got, his fingers itching to toss the guy out with his bare hands. He wouldn’t cause a scene out of respect for you.
But he wasn’t going to stay silent.
The atmosphere shifted the second he got to the table, the chatter ceasing immediately.
The prick, of course, had the nerve to smile.
“Hey, man! You-”
“You got something to say about my wife?” he asked, his voice as cold as his stare.
The man’s eyes widened, maybe from shock that he was overheard or that he was being confronted. “I… What?”
Had no problem using your words seconds ago, asshole.
“You were talking about her.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes flat and unreadable. “My wife.”
The air shifted more, something cold settling over the surroundings as the guy sputtered to come up with an excuse.
“Say it again,” he ordered, placing his hands on the table and leaning down to his eye level. He made sure there was no warmth in his expression. “Where I can really hear you.”
The idiot swallowed and looked to his friend for help and found none; his friend was suddenly very interested in the beer in his hand. “Um… Barnes, I-”
“My wife, the love of my life, is carrying my child. Our child.” His lip raised in a small snarl and he leaned in enough that Agent Asshole had to back up. “And you think you can sit here and make fun of her? You think I won’t do something about it?”
“I-It was a bad joke,” he tried to reason.
Reasoning only worked with people when they were in a forgiving mood.
He wasn’t.
“Oh, now it’s a joke? You think you’re funny?” He smiled with no trace of friendliness behind it. It was likely how a wolf looked baring their teeth before sinking them into their prey. “You think I’ll laugh while you crack ‘jokes’ about my wife?”
The prick looked like he was a heartbeat away from pissing himself, which made Bucky question the hiring process for agents. This sort of “interrogation” was nothing. Child’s play.
Then again, how many agents could say they had the former Winter Soldier in their space?
“I-I really didn’t mean-”
“Don’t.” His voice dropped even lower. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”
He glanced back and saw Sam looking his way, his eyes narrowing when he sensed the tension. Steve subtly shook his head. There was no reason to intervene. He was still in control.
Barely.
But you were still smiling, which was the important thing.
“You know what I see when I look at her?” he asked rhetorically, his chest tight. “I see the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
He smacked his hand on the table hard enough to make the bottles rattle and the guys flinch.
Sam, thankfully, chose to tell another joke at the same time and Steve cackled so the noise at the table wouldn’t draw your attention.
I really do have good friends.
“I’ll say it again. She’s carrying our baby. She’s uncomfortable and exhausted and guess what? She still walks into a room smiling and thinks of others first. And you sit here and act like she’s something to mock when she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His jaw clenched even as his heart swelled with pride. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
The guy shrank lower as every word washed over him.
Good.
Bucky stared at him for another long moment before something colder settled into place behind his eyes.
“Get up, Chet,” he ordered.
“Chet’s” mouth fell open. “That’s not my-”
“I know what your name is, and I don’t care,” he cut him off, straightening up. “Because you don’t respect my wife, so I refuse to respect you.”
A bright shade of red passed through his cheeks before he paled.
As someone who was stripped of his own agency for years, identity mattered to Bucky. Basic decency mattered. So, maybe it was a little petty to call him by the wrong name, but it was also a good way to put him in his place by letting him know he didn’t matter.
Chet, as his name was Chet to him now, got to his feet on shaky legs. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure you are sorry now, but it’s a little too late for that.”
Bucky clamped a hand on the back of his neck. To just about anyone looking over, it would’ve looked casual. Almost friendly. But they would’ve missed the firm squeeze.
“Move.”
The prick didn’t need to be told twice.
He guided him away from the table and made sure to smile as he did so. He shot his friend a quick glare for good measure, but at least he stuck up for you. That was the only reason he didn’t make him leave, too.
The chatter continued behind him, but he barely noticed it over the sound of Chet’s pounding heart and his own blood roaring loudly in his ears. But then he heard your laughter and he took a deep breath, picturing your loving smile and hand on your belly.
It kept him from snapping completely.
Once they were in the driveway, Bucky shoved him forward. Hard. He stumbled, but somehow managed to stay on his feet. He wished he could punch him for good measure, but he seemed like the type of coward who would cry and call the cops.
Even if they let him off with a warning, he didn’t want to add any stress to your plate.
“Christ, man,” Chet muttered.
“You stay the fuck out of my house and never come back,” Bucky said, his voice low and lethal as he stepped forward. “And don’t you ever disrespect my wife again.”
Chet nodded quickly. Too quickly. “I won’t.”
Bucky looked every bit like the Winter Soldier wrapped in civilian clothing when he added, “You’ll never speak about her like that again. You’ll never look at her like that again. And you sure as hell will never come near my family again.”
“I understand,” he swore, his voice cracking.
“Good.” Bucky’s nostrils flared as he looked him over one last time, disgust curling in his stomach. “And the next time you come across someone pregnant, maybe try showing them some goddamn respect.”
He looked down at his feet, avoiding his gaze and swallowing any excuse he had left to give.
Fucking coward.
Bucky pointed toward the street. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
The idiot practically ran to his car.
Bucky glared as he drove down the street, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck once he disappeared. He exhaled the remainder of his anger through his mouth, his hand moving through his hair. There was nothing to be upset about anymore. Agent Asshole was gone and now he could get back to you.
Where he belonged.
The second he walked back to the yard, his eyes found you automatically.
Still smiling, safe, and his.
He grabbed a couple of brownies from the tray before he walked over, giving Steve and Sam two nods. One to let them know everything was fine. The other to thank them for shielding you from that display.
They nodded in return.
You were his wife and family, but you were their family, too.
“There’s my handsome husband. I wondered where you went off to for a minute.” You smiled up at him when he approached, his heart skipping a beat. “You okay?”
Bucky stared at you in awe.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
Up close, your glow was even brighter. You looked at him like he put the sun in the sky just for you. He would if he could. And your belly moved slightly under your hands, and he wanted to feel Sprout move, too.
“I should be asking you that,” he replied, his brows furrowing. “Are you okay? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
He observed you carefully, looking for signs of discomfort or fatigue. The conversation with Chet and kicking him out didn’t take very long, but it felt like hours now being apart from you. Steve and Sam had been watching over you, but it wasn’t the same.
“I’m just fine,” you assured him, and he knew you weren’t just saying that for his benefit. “But you didn’t answer my question,” you added teasingly.
Always thinking of me.
“Yeah,” he murmured, gentler than he had spoken all day. “Everything’s fine now.”
You studied him for a moment, sensing something underneath the surface. He didn’t falter under your gaze. There was no need to.
“Everything’s fine now, which means it wasn’t fine before,” you guessed.
Bucky sighed. He should’ve known you’d feel that something was off. You were too intuitive for your own good. That was one of the things he loved about you. And part of him loving you was trying to protect you from harm, physically, mentally, or verbally.
But there was also no hiding from you, even when he did his best to shield you.
“Just… needed to throw some trash out,” he said carefully.
It was true.
Chet was trash.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Steve muttered into his drink, making Sam snort.
Before you could question him further, he set the brownies down and crouched slightly in front of your chair so he could rest a hand gently over your belly. He didn’t chastise Sam for snapping a photo, and he didn’t care who saw him like this. The two of you were his world and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.
“Hey, Sprout,” he murmured, his entire expression softening. “You behaving for your mama?”
The baby kicked almost immediately beneath his palm.
He smiled wide, making him temporarily forget about the dickhead he just threw out.
“Sprout’s just fine, too,” you promised, placing your hand on his, your gaze thoughtful. “You sure you’re okay?”
He leaned up slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He remembered sitting on the couch and comforting you after the mean voice in your head made you doubt that you’d be a good mom. And how you didn’t think your stretch marks were pretty but he thought they were so beautiful. You were so strong and inspiring. His wife. The mother of his child.
He wasn’t about to ruin your fun and relaxing afternoon by telling you what happened.
But as much as he wanted to protect you, he would tell you later once everyone left because he refused to keep secrets from you. There was a good chance you’d cry. Not because of the cruel words spoken or hormones, but because he stuck up for you so fiercely. He would always stick up for his family.
And if you wanted him to punish Chet even more, he’d do it without question.
That was how much he loved you.
And he’d take you to bed later, kissing and touching every inch of you he could. He’d make you feel beautiful and cherished if any of your insecurities began to surface. He’d silence any mean voice in your head, hopefully for good, the same way you drowned out the horrors he experienced and made him feel loved.
I love you both so much.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered, glancing down at your stomach with so much love. “I’m better than okay.”
We all deserve to have someone in our corner. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader
Summary: You are tired, which is the norm for you nowadays, and share a sweet moment with Bucky.
Word Count: Over 1.8k
Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, pet name (sweetheart for you, baby nicknamed Sprout), stretch marks (they are beautiful), mention of serum, tiredness, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Lovelies, I have been exhausted for some time now and this popped into my head for Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You stretched out on the bed with a small sigh, ready to put the day to rest. It was peaceful in your room with no appointments or demands to take up your time. Bucky would join you once he shut everything off and double checked the locks. It was such a small domestic and protective thing and it brought a soft smile to your face.
This was your life. Your home. Your family.
You were already half asleep when Bucky settled behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You were surprised you weren’t out the moment your head hit the pillow. His arm slid around your waist automatically, his palm resting on your stomach protectively. He exhaled against your neck, his chest solid and warm against your back.
Everything felt right when he held you like that, his presence wrapping around you as naturally as the blanket keeping you warm.
“You feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his thumb brushing the curve of your belly like he was trying to memorize the feeling.
You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. “Hmm. Just fine.”
The room felt more calm and quiet, like the world and time itself slowed down for the two of you.
Well, three of you.
“Not hungry?”
“You made sure we ate plenty,” you answered.
“Good.” Bucky nuzzled your skin, drawing a small laugh from you when his stubble tickled you. “And now you need rest.”
“That’s why I’m already in bed,” you teased.
“Good,” he said again.
The last few weeks had been chaotic. Not bad, thankfully, but busy in a relentless way. Appointments and every day life stacked on top of you until you felt stretched thin. Your energy seemed to go just as quickly as it came. Some days you felt like you were chasing the clock, always a step behind when your body was working overtime to accomplish everything. You just couldn’t seem to keep up.
Bucky noticed.
Of course, he did.
It was in the way his brows pinched when he looked at you, cataloguing every yawn and when your shoulders slumped. His voice softened whenever he said your name, the sound soothing when exhaustion seeped in. He began to carry you around without you asking, leaving no room for argument. He tried to take things off your plate, too, even when he had his own things to do.
“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground at this level, sweetheart.”
“Bucky, I’m pregnant. Being tired comes with the territory. That’s just how it is.”
You said that because you believed it. Because you had to be strong and prove you could handle it. Life wasn’t about to give you a pass because you two decided to have a baby.
But Bucky saw through that.
“I’m your husband and the father of our child. You can lean on me instead of trying to do it all by yourself. Just like I lean on you some days.”
The words carved their way into your heart and didn’t leave.
Because he was right. Some days when the world felt too heavy, he looked to you for support. You were there for him without question. And he was there for you, too.
It wasn’t out of obligation to give and take nor was it the kind of thing where you kept score. It was out of love and devotion, something that made you both stronger. Neither of you had to carry anything alone anymore.
The truth of that eased something in your chest you hadn't realized was there until you exhaled.
“Guess what?” he asked, his voice light and breaking through your thoughts.
“I thought I was supposed to be resting, not talking,” you replied, giggling again when his teeth nipped your skin. “Okay, okay. What?”
“We should be getting the pictures tomorrow.”
You smiled happily. “Really? That’s great!” you replied, your baby moving around as if they felt how excited you were.
A bright light within the business was the recent maternity photoshoot. The weather had been perfect, you wore a beautiful dress, and Bucky smiled so much in and out of the photos you were certain his cheeks ached. He already picked out the space on the wall where he wanted them hung up and there was an empty frame on his desk waiting for the right picture. He was so happy.
You both were.
“I know they’re going to be perfect,” he said quietly, chuckling under his breath. “And Sprout’s been busy today. Kicking like they’ve got somewhere to be.”
Your smile widened and you shifted just enough to press back against him. “I think they get that from you.”
Your baby must’ve picked up his old dancing skills because they did a fantastic number on your bladder earlier in the day.
At least you made it to the bathroom in time.
He huffed under his breath. “Hey. I was a perfectly calm kid.”
You opened your eyes and turned your head just enough to give him a look over your shoulder. He smiled and your heart beat faster. His blue eyes softened when his fingers traced your belly again, touching one of your stretch marks through your shirt. He traced it like it was something sacred.
You both bore life-changing marks on your skin, your bodies telling stories that only the two of you would ever fully read.
“You keep touching them,” you whispered, not accusingly. More like awe.
“I do,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck and shifting your body so you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder. “I know you don’t think they’re pretty, but they’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
You blinked, only semi-surprised. “Really?”
Bucky always found a way to make you feel beautiful and desired. Whether it was through his actions or words, he never wanted you to doubt yourself or how much he craved you. You were certain he would do that for the rest of your lives. But since you got pregnant, he took it to another level of worship.
Not that you would ever complain about having his attention and focus.
“I mean it. Your body is changing because our baby is growing and it’s so beautiful. We made this. You and me.” His fingers moved again, tracing each mark with intention. “I’ve seen a lot of things. Stuff I wish I could forget. But this?” He let out a shaky breath, his hand pausing to cradle your stomach tenderly. “This is the best thing I’ve ever been part of.”
Your throat tightened. Your eyes watered. Damn hormones kept making you emotional. Except it wasn’t the hormones at all. It was just you in love with this man.
A man who loved you and your baby with his entire being.
“How are you so perfect?” you asked.
His nose scrunched when he laughed, the sound making your heart feel full. “Sweetheart, I’m so fucking far from perfect.”
You took his face in your hands, refusing to let him think of himself as anything less . “Bucky Barnes, listen to me.”
“I always listen,” he swore, solely focused on you. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
It took you a second to speak since having his full attention was overwhelming in the best way. “You are the best husband and provider. And not just because you fix the sink and bring me ice cream and validate my feelings when I’m insecure. You love, take care of, and respect me. You remind me that I don’t have to go it alone,” you said, your gaze affectionate when he leaned into your touch. “And I know you’ll be the perfect father.”
“You think so?” he asked after a moment, his voice thick.
“I know so,” you said.
He quickly closed the small gap between you, kissing you so deeply that it stole the breath from your lungs. “Thank you.”
Your heart beat wildly. “You have nothing to thank me for,” you said, your face twisting at the particularly hard kick in your stomach and making Bucky frown slightly. “Our baby really is a mover.”
Along with his dancing skills, you guessed your baby would have his agility and strength. You were thankful they hadn’t kicked through your stomach. Your husband may have gone off on someone who suggested it could be a possibility thanks to the serum. They hadn’t looked you in the eye since, much to your better half’s satisfaction.
No one would ever look out for you more than him.
“Hey, Sprout. Your Mama’s been working extra hard lately. Growing you takes a lot out of her.” The fondness in his voice was enough to make a tear fall. “She’s magical and stronger than I’ll ever be, but we need to make sure she gets enough rest for both of you. Maybe we can start with gentler kicks? Can you do that?”
The kick under his palm was much softer, like they understood.
His eyes lit up and your chin wobbled. He looked so happy. You knew some days he still couldn’t believe he got to have this, but no one deserved it more.
“They really can understand me,” he said in awe.
“Of course, they do.”
They loved the sound of his voice.
“Thank you, Sprout,” he whispered, sliding down the bed enough to kiss your stomach. “You get some rest, okay? We love you.”
You sniffled when he moved back up to hold you again, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. “And did you, a super soldier, seriously call me strong? And magical?” you asked so you wouldn’t ugly sob from how sweet he was being.
“You are strong and magical. Sprout agrees,” he said gently but firmly before he kissed your tear away. “But even the strong and magical need rest.”
You stifled a yawn, your eyes slipping shut. You did need the rest. “Will you be here when I wake up?”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He nuzzled your neck again and kept you close. “I love you both so much.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “We love you, too.”
“And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to deserve this,” he admitted quietly. “You. Sprout. All of it.”
Your hand covered his and your baby rolled beneath his palm, both of you leaning into him and seeking to comfort him before his thoughts spiraled. “You already have,” you assured him. “Trust us.”
You and Bucky built a life and home together, one that he more than deserved. You were partners in life and love. That love extended to your baby and would only continue to grow.
Tonight you didn’t have to think of anything beyond the walls of your bedroom. You could simply rest in his arms and let everything else be. And he’d watch over you while you slept like the hero he was.
And a man in love.
I hope you lovelies all have enough spoons, get the rest you need, and have someone to lean on. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
A one-shot. Porn w/ very little plot. 18+ ONLY, MDNI.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (fem)
Word Count: 3.7k
Summary: When a man insults you in a bar, Bucky loses all composure. He walks you home, and he doesn’t leave.
Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MDNI. Reader wears a dress and sorta regrets it; insult about weight; protective Bucky; possessive Bucky; fingering in front of a mirror (yes, with the metal hand); Oral (f receiving) P-in-V sex; “good girl”; (flesh) hand on your throat, but not choking
Author’s Note: This is curvy girl worship. With a tiny bit of plot. That is all. I liked the repeated line of "say it again", but with different tone based off who it was said to and why.
Masterlist
You shouldn’t have worn this dress.
That was the first thought that struck you when you walked into the bar with the team and felt every pair of eyes shift in your direction, including Bucky’s.
The fabric clung just a little tighter to your curves than usual. Not in a bad way, you liked the way it made you feel confident and feminine.
But the moment Bucky’s eyes raked over your figure and then flicked away like he’d been caught doing something dirty, your stomach twisted.
He’d barely said more than two words to you all night. He was nursing a whiskey, jaw tense, eyes darting to you every time he thought you weren’t looking. And you couldn’t help but think, maybe even hope, there was something more behind it than just his usual protectiveness.
A slow song hummed through the speakers, and the bar had taken on a low, golden glow that makes everything feel a little softer, a little slower. The team was laughing over some shared inside joke, and you were leaning on the edge of the high-top table, twirling your drink straw out of boredom.
That’s when a stranger approached.
He was tall and cocky and grinning like he thought he’d just stumbled onto something ripe for the picking.
“Didn’t think they let curves like that into places like this,” he slurred, eyes raking over you without an ounce of shame.
You rolled your eyes and started to turn away. Not worth it. You were used to this gross, lazy, unimaginative attention.
But then he leaned in, too close, and said low, under his breath: “Bet you’ve got more cushion than the couch at home.”
The glass in your hand froze midway to your lips. You blinked. Surely, he didn’t just say what you thought he said?
But then you heard a scrape of wood. The squeal of a chair sliding sharply against the floor.
And suddenly, Bucky was there.
His flesh hand landed firm and possessive on your waist, fingers pressing into your side. The black and gold vibrainium one was clenched at his side.
His jaw was tight. His voice, low and guttural, made the air chill.
“Say that again. I dare you.”
The guy blinked, confused, then smirked. “Whoa, man. Just a compliment.”
“That was not a compliment,” Bucky growled. “Apologize. Right now.”
The man’s bravado crumbled fast. He took one look at Bucky, shoulders squared, metal hand flexing, and raised both palms in surrender.
“Shit. Alright. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Not to me. To her!”
“Sorry, lady” the guy mumbled, backing off like a kicked dog.
Bucky didn’t move until he’d disappeared into the crowd. Then he turned toward you, eyes scanning your face with a mixture of concern and something deeper, darker.
“You okay?” he asked, his hand still on your waist.
You nodded, heart pounding, not from the confrontation, but from the fact that he was still touching you, still holding on like he didn’t trust the world not to come for you again.
“Bucky,” you whispered, not sure what you were about to say. Thank you? Let go? Kiss me?
But he was already pulling back, jaw clenched, eyes flicking toward the door.
“Let’s get out of here.”
You didn’t argue. You didn’t even say goodbye to the others.
You just followed him out into the night, the silence between you seething with all the things you weren’t saying.
*****
The night air wrapped around you, humid and heavy, nothing like the ice forming in your stomach from the way Bucky hadn’t said a single word since storming out of the bar.
Your heels clicked down the cracked pavement, each step bringing you closer to your apartment and the confrontation you weren’t sure you were ready for. His strides were long and stiff, his jaw ticking like he was chewing on a thousand unsaid things.
When you finally reached your front steps, you turned abruptly, blocking his path.
"Okay. What the hell was that?"
He stopped short, closer than he usually got. His eyes flicked up from your mouth to your eyes like he’d just realized how near he was.
"You shouldn’t let guys talk to you like that," he muttered, voice low and sharp.
You blinked. "I wasn’t. You just took care of it before I could even speak."
"Yeah. Because if I’d waited for him to speak again, I might’ve ripped his fucking throat out," he said, looking away.
You didn’t move. "Why, Bucky? You gonna fight every guy who looks at me sideways?"
His jaw clenched again. He looked like he wanted to walk away. Maybe he would have, but you pressed him again.
"Why does it matter so much to you?"
His eyes flickered. That sharp blue, glowing under the streetlamp like it burned with something unsaid.
"You really don’t know?"
He said it like a confession, like a sin.
"No," you whispered, breath caught.
He stepped forward, until your back hit the brick wall next to your front door. He placed one hand beside your head, the other ghosting down to your waist, fingers twitching just shy of your hip.
"I don’t wanna just be your friend," he said, voice a low, gritted growl. "I haven’t for a long time."
You blinked up at him, lips parted, heart thundering. His gaze dropped and lingered.
"You walked into that bar looking like that—" his eyes raked over you, "and I could barely fucking breathe. Do you even know what you do to me?"
Your breath hitched. “Bucky…”
He stepped even closer. Your bodies brushed, electricity crackling between you.
"You think I don’t see the way guys look at you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, like it hurt to say it. "Knowing they probably touch themselves to the thought of you?"
His fingers finally landed on your waist, pulling you into the heat of him.
"But they don’t get to touch you. Nobody gets to touch you but me."
The tether between you snapped in an instant. Your mouth collided with his, hands gripping the front of his shirt, dragging him closer. His kiss was feral, all teeth and tongue and desperation. He groaned into your mouth like he’d been starving for this, for you.
You opened the door behind you without looking and stumbled backward into the dark of your apartment. Bucky followed without letting go, slamming the door shut with his foot, never breaking the kiss.
Your back hit the wall again, and his hands roamed your waist, your hips, and your thighs. Big, rough palms that gripped you like he needed to feel every curve, every dip, every inch of you under his hands.
"Been thinking about this," he muttered against your lips, "for so long."
You moaned, arching into him. His thigh slid between yours instinctively, pinning you there.
“I dream about touching you here—" His hand slid down over your ass, squeezing hard. "—and here." His fingers skimmed between your thighs. You gasped.
"Bucky—"
“Say my name again like that,” he whispered darkly. “Say it like you want me.”
You whimpered his name again, breathless, and he lost all semblance of control, lifting you up without warning. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his mouth found your neck, and he groaned when he felt the skin there tremble under his tongue.
“I want to worship you,” he growled. “I want to ruin every thought you’ve ever had of another man.”
You pulled his face up to yours. "Then do it."
He carried you through the apartment like he was on a mission, lips never leaving yours except to whisper breathless, filthy things into your mouth between kisses.
“So fucking soft… I’ve dreamed of this body under mine. Every night.”
He laid you down on the couch like he meant every word.
Bucky straightened, eyes roaming over you with the reverence of a man who had waited far too long.
You tried to sit up, say something, anything, but he shook his head, kneeling between your legs and planting his metal hand flat on your belly to keep you still.
“Let me look at you.”
His hands moved like they’d been waiting years to do this—dragging up your thighs, your hips, over the dips and curves that made you you. He touched you like every inch mattered.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
His eyes locked on your chest, the way your dress pushed against your skin from how hard you were breathing.
“I’ve fucked my hand to the thought of you more times than I can count.”
Your breath caught.
“Dreamed about how you'd feel. How you'd taste.”
He leaned forward, mouth dragging down your collarbone, biting gently, his stubble scraping just enough to make your toes curl.
You gasped when he tugged the straps of your dress down, exposing your bra, and when his tongue trailed along the edge of the cup, you nearly came undone right there.
“You think these curves should be hidden?” he growled. “Fuck no. These are mine.”
He peeled the rest of your dress off slowly, deliberately, his hands roaming your stomach, your hips, your thighs again like he was memorizing every contour.
“This is what my woman looks like. Christ, you’re everything I’ve wanted.”
Once you were stripped bare before him, nothing but bra and panties and nerves and desire, he stood and pulled you up into his arms again.
He carried you to your bedroom, kicked the door shut, and spun you to face the full-length mirror by your dresser. You opened your mouth to speak, but his hand slid up, gently wrapping around your throat, not choking, just holding you.
“Eyes up,” he said. “I want you to see what I see.”
You did. You saw your curves, your flushed cheeks, your kiss-swollen lips, and your trembling thighs.
And you saw Bucky behind you, eyes dark, chest heaving, hand on your throat like he owned you.
“You see that?” he whispered into your ear. “You make me insane.”
His metal hand moved over your stomach, down between your thighs, slow and firm.
“I’m gonna make you come like this. Watching yourself fall apart for me.”
Your head fell back slightly, and he squeezed your throat gently, just to make your body jolt and your breath catch.
“No, baby. Keep your eyes on the mirror. Watch how fucking beautiful you look when you come for me.”
His metal hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping past the damp lace, and you cried out, bracing yourself against the dresser. He kept whispering.
“That’s it. Moan for me. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
His fingers circled slow and deliberate, not rushing, not teasing too cruelly, and using just enough pressure to make your hips twitch forward, chasing more. The metal was cool against your overheated skin at first, then warmed quickly from how slick you already were, how desperately your body responded to him.
“Look at yourself,” Bucky rasped, voice gravel-rough against the shell of your ear. His other hand, warm fleah, slid down from your neck to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the stiff peak through the thin lace still clinging there. “Look how your thighs shake. Look how wet you are for me already.”
You tried to obey, but the sight was almost too much: your lips parted on shallow pants, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling fast under his palm. And he was tall and broad and dark-eyed behind you, jaw locked like he was holding himself back from devouring you whole.
His fingers dipped lower, parting you, sliding through the slick heat until he found your clit and pressed, firm and perfect, and your knees buckled.
He caught you instantly, arm banding around your waist, metal forearm like an iron bar across your stomach.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear. “I’ve got you. Not letting you fall until I’ve wrung every sound out of you.”
Then he started moving his fingers again, slow, filthy circles that made your hips roll helplessly against his hand. Every pass sent sparks racing up your spine.
Your reflection showed everything: your mouth fell open wider, your back arched, pressing your ass back against the hard length straining behind his jeans.
“You feel that?” he growled, grinding forward so you could feel exactly how hard he was. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you walk past me in those tight little shorts. Every time you laugh at something stupid Sam says and your whole body lights up. I’ve been hard for you for months.”
A broken moan tore out of you. His fingers sped up just a little, still controlled, still precise, still torturing you in the best way.
“Tell me,” he demanded softly. “Tell me you’ve thought about this too.”
“I—I have,” you gasped, voice cracking. “So many times. In the shower… in bed… thinking about your hands… your mouth…”
His growl vibrated through your back. “Good girl.”
The praise hit you like a drug. Your thighs trembled harder; you were so close already, embarrassingly close, and he knew it.
“Don’t hold back,” he ordered, voice dropping lower. “I want to feel you come all over my fingers. I want to watch your face when you do. Want to see those pretty eyes roll back while you say my name.”
His thumb replaced his fingers on your clit with steady relentless pressure, while two metal digits slid inside you, thick and unyielding, curling just right.
“So goddamn tight. You’re dripping. You want me inside you this bad?”
“Yes,” you replied, breathless and close. “I want you,” you gasped. “I need you—Bucky—”
The stretch, the cool-warm contrast, the way he knew exactly where to press, shattered you.
“That’s it,” he breathed, lips against your neck, teeth grazing. “Give it to me. Let go, baby. Come for me. Right here. Right now. Watching yourself fall apart on my hand.”
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. “Bucky—” Your voice broke on his name, high and desperate.
The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping through you like wildfire. Your back bowed, head tipping back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent scream that quickly turned into his name, over and over, broken and pleading. Your walls clenched around his fingers, pulsing, slick running down his hand as your legs shook violently.
He didn’t stop moving. He worked you through it, slow and deep, drawing it out until you were whimpering, until every nerve felt raw and electric.
When the last tremor finally eased, he eased his fingers out gently, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them clean with a low, satisfied groan that made fresh heat coil in your belly.
Then he turned you in his arms, slow and careful, like you were something precious.
His eyes were molten, pupils so wide the blue was almost gone.
He kissed you, slow this time, deep and claiming, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
When he pulled back to speak, his voice was wrecked.
“We’re not done.”
He lifted you again, effortlessly, legs wrapping around his waist like they’d found their new home.
“I’m gonna lay you down on that bed,” he promised against your lips, already walking you toward it, “and I’m gonna lick you until you’re crying for me to let you come again.”
He dropped you gently onto the mattress and stripped quickly, shirt first, then belt and pants. When you saw the hunger in his eyes and the ache on his face, you knew this was going to be a long night. When he was finally naked, hard length on full display, he followed you down onto the bed, caging you with his body.
He reached one hand behind your back and unclasped your bra with annoying ease.
His mouth found your breast first, hot, open-mouthed, and with no hesitation.
He sucked the peak between his lips with a low, greedy sound that vibrated straight down to your core. The flat of his tongue dragged over your nipple in slow, deliberate circles before he pulled harder, teeth grazing just enough to make your back bow off the mattress. Your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him there, urging him on.
“God, these,” he rasped against your skin, voice muffled as he moved to the other side. “Been staring at them for months under every damn shirt you own. Wanted my mouth on them so bad it hurt.”
He latched on again, sucking deep, tongue flicking relentlessly until the sensation blurred into something sharp and electric. Your hips rolled up instinctively, seeking friction, but he pinned you down with one heavy forearm across your stomach, metal cool against your overheated skin.
“Stay still, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing wetly over the swell of your breast. “Let me take my time. I’ve waited too long to rush tasting every inch of you.”
He kissed lower, slow, open-mouthed trails down the curve of your stomach, nipping at the soft flesh there, groaning like the taste of your skin alone was enough to unravel him. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he didn’t tease long; he simply pulled your panties down your legs, spread you wider with both hands and buried his face between your thighs.
The first long, slow lick made your whole body jolt.
He groaned into you, the sound vibrating through your clit as his tongue flattened and dragged up again, savoring. Then he focused, circling, flicking, sucking gently, until your thighs clamped around his head and your hands fisted the sheets so hard your knuckles ached.
“Bucky—please—”
He pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, eyes wild. “You taste like heaven. You taste like you’re mine.”
Then he dove back in, relentless, until the second orgasm crashed over you, harder than the first, thighs shaking, back arching off the bed, his name torn from your throat in a sob.
He didn’t give you time to come down.
He crawled back up your body, kissing every mark he’d left, collarbone, breasts, the sensitive spot under your jaw, until his mouth found yours again. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and musky, and it only made you hungrier.
He settled between your thighs, thick and heavy against your entrance, but he didn’t push in yet. Instead he rocked slowly, sliding the length of him through your slick folds, coating himself, teasing your oversensitive clit with every pass until you were whimpering into his mouth.
“Look at me,” he ordered softly.
Your eyes fluttered open. His were dark, reverent, almost pained with how much he wanted you.
“I need to see your face when I’m finally inside you.”
You nodded, breathless.
He reached between you, notched himself at your entrance, and pushed in, slow, inch by devastating inch.
The stretch was exquisite, thick, hot, and perfect. Your walls fluttered around him, still pulsing from the aftershocks, and he hissed through clenched teeth, forehead dropping to yours.
He bottomed out with a low groan that rumbled through both of you, hips flush to yours, holding there for a long moment like he needed to feel every heartbeat wrapped around him.
“Say it again.”
You gasped, confused for half a second, then realized what reassurance he needed to hear, “I want you,” you breathed. “Only you. Always you.”
Then he started to move.
Deep, rolling thrusts, slow at first, letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every drag as he pulled almost all the way out and sank back in. The friction was maddening; the angle perfect, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Fuck… so tight. So wet. You feel better than I dreamed.”
Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. He obliged, pace building, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room along with your shared moans.
“Feel that?” he growled against your ear, one hand sliding under your ass to lift you higher, changing the angle so he drove even deeper. “That’s me claiming every fucking part of you.”
You could only gasp his name, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails he’d wear like badges of honor tomorrow.
He shifted again, hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you wider, and the new depth made you cry out.
“Right there,” he rasped, watching your face with something close to obsession. “Right fucking there. You’re gonna come again—gonna come all over my cock while I watch.”
His metal hand found your clit, thumb circling in time with his thrusts, firm, steady, and merciless.
The pressure built fast, coiling tight and hot in your belly.
“Bucky—I’m—”
“I know, doll. I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
The orgasm ripped through you like a storm, white-hot, blinding, your whole body locking around him as you pulsed and clenched and sobbed his name. Your vision tunneled; all you could feel was him, thick and relentless, still driving into you through the waves, drawing it out until tears slipped down your temples.
He followed seconds later.
His rhythm stuttered, hips slamming deep one last time as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken groan, hot pulses filling you, his whole body trembling against yours.
He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, face buried in your neck, breathing ragged.
For long minutes neither of you moved, there was just the sound of your hearts hammering, skin slick with sweat, his softening length still inside you like he couldn’t bear to leave.
Finally he lifted his head, brushed damp hair from your face, and kissed you slow and soft and a little tender.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice wrecked and reverent. “No more pretending. No more watching from across the room.”
You smiled against his lips, boneless and blissed-out.
“About damn time, Bucky.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, then rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest, legs tangled, his hand splayed possessively over the curve of your hip.
“Get used to it,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “I’m not letting you go.”
And as his heartbeat steadied under your cheek, warm and steady, you knew he meant every word.
Okay but Dr Robby explaining the anatomy of his s/o's genitals while touching them 🥵
Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader
Anatomy lessons
“I want you to explain it to me,” you had said to him earlier tonight. “I want you to tell me exactly what you’re doing to me, what you’re touching, what is happening to my body while we fuck.”
So here you are, thirty minutes later. Robby slides your panties aside, brushing your outer lips with his fingers. "These are your labia majora," he says, stroking the sensitive skin. "They're rich with nerve endings, engorging with blood flow right now because you're getting excited." You gasp as he parts them, exposing the inner folds. "And here, the labia minora, more delicate. See how they're glistening? That's your natural lubrication starting.
He dips his middle finger lower, circling the entrance to your vagina. "This is the vaginal opening," he explains, as if he was just explaining this to a patient. "It's elastic, designed to stretch. I'm going to slide in slowly, just one finger first." He eases inside you, the intrusion makes you gasp for air. Robby curls one finger slightly to press against the front wall. "Feel that ridged area? That's your G-spot, or Gräfenberg spot. It's part of the urethral sponge, connected to your clitoris internally. Stimulating it like this—" he crooks his finger, rubbing in a come-hither motion "—can build intense pressure, leading to squirting or stronger orgasms."
You arch against him, moaning. “T-tell me more.”
He adds a second finger, scissoring them gently. "Now I'm stretching the vaginal canal," he continues, resting his free hand on your hip. "The walls are muscular, lined with rugae, those folds grip and expand. Deeper here, toward the cervix." His fingers probe carefully, not too far. "The cervix is the gateway to the uterus. It's firm, like the tip of your nose. But we're not going there tonight, just focusing on what feels good for you."
Finally, his thumb finds your clitoris, that pearl at the top where the labia meet. "Ah, the clitoris," he says with a grin, circling it slowly while his fingers thrust rhythmically inside. "Over 8,000 nerve endings in the glans alone. The full structure extends internally, like wishbone legs hugging your vagina."
Your body tenses, waves of pleasure building as he keeps explaining. "You're close, aren't you? That's your pelvic floor contracting, the pubococcygeus muscles.”
Your breaths come faster now, ragged little gasps that fill the quiet room as Robby work his fingers with a steady rhythm.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, locking his eyes between your legs where his hand disappears inside you. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. Dripping down my wrist. That’s your Bartholin’s glands doing their job, lubricating everything so I can slide in deeper.” He curls his fingers again, pressing harder against that swollen patch inside, the one that makes you jerk your hips every time he hits it. “Right there. That’s your G-spot swelling under my fingertips. You feel how it’s getting firmer? That’s engorgement, your erectile tissue responding. You’re beautiful when you’re this turned on.”
He keeps his thumb lazy circles over your clit, never letting up, and your thighs start to tremble. You can’t hold still anymore, your arch your back off the bed, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the heat building in your belly.
Robby breathes, almost reverent. “You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Look at this, slick and opening up for me like it was made for my fingers.” You cry out, clamping your thighs around his wrist. “Yeah, just like that. So responsive for me.”
You’re right on the edge now, and he knows it. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me feel your pretty little pussy squeeze my fingers when you cum. You’re so close, your pelvic floor’s already pulsing. Just let go.”
One more crook of his fingers, one more firm swipe over your clit, and it hits. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, your back bowing, and a broken moan tearing out of your throat as you clench down around him in rhythmic waves. You feel the rush of wetness, hear the slick sound of his fingers working you through it, and Robby groans like he’s the one coming undone.
“That’s it,” he whispers, slowing but not stopping, drawing your climax out until you’re trembling and oversensitive. “Look at that beautiful mess you made. You’re perfect.”
He finally eases his fingers out, shining with your juices, and brings them to his mouth, tasting you with a satisfied hum before he kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
A/N: Soooo, I couldn’t stop myself from writing this, ngl, I’ve been thinking about it ever since I started the show. I went a little insane and did some intense Googling on female sexual anatomy for this one, then wrote it super quickly during a short car ride, hehehe. I hope you enjoyed it🩷
Warning: This scene contains light jealousy, playful family dynamics, and a protective dad + daughter duo who are basically copy-paste versions of each other when it comes to getting possessive over their favorite person (you). All wholesome, soft, and a little chaotic. 🤣🫶🏻
Part 1
It wasn’t obvious at first, not until she was old enough to understand that affection could be shared… or “stolen,” if you asked either of the Robinavitch members in your life.
You were sitting on the couch one afternoon, scrolling your phone while Michael was fixing something in the garage. Aria had been coloring quietly on the floor, humming to herself. Peaceful. Calm.
Then your friend dropped by to return a baking dish. He was a harmless, cheerful guy someone you’d known long before Michael. He stepped inside just to hand it over.
And that was enough.
Aria’s head snapped up.
Her eyes narrowed.
Her entire body went stiff like a tiny guard dog sensing danger.
You didn’t notice it at first. You were too busy greeting your friend.
“Thanks for bringing it back,” you said, smiling.
That smile was Aria’s final straw.
She stood up slowly. Very slowly.
Hands behind her back. Shoulders squared.
The exact posture Michael used when he didn’t like someone around you.
Your friend didn’t see the impending doom. “Hey, Aria! Wow, you’ve gotten so big! How old are you now?”
Aria stared at him.
Silently.
Zero reaction.
Then, in a flat, cold voice she said:
“My daddy’s at home.”
You choked on air.
Your friend blinked. “Oh- uh- yes, I know. I’m just here to-”
Aria stepped closer. “He’s very tall.”
You were certain she didn’t even know what jealousy was. But she knew how Michael sounded when he was warning someone. And she was warning your friend right now.
“He’s also very strong,” she added.
Your friend held up both hands. “Right! Cool! Good to know!”
Before you could rescue him, heavy footsteps approached.
Michael walked in from the garage, wiping his hands on a towel, and stopped when he saw the scene.
Your friend.
You.
And Aria standing guard in front of you like a mini bodyguard ready to throw hands.
Michael blinked. “What’s going on?”
Your friend laughed nervously. “Oh, nothing just returning a dish.”
Michael gave him that look the quiet, unreadable, you-may-leave-now stare.
Aria mirrored it perfectly, crossing her arms.
Your friend practically fled.
When the door shut, you turned to them with your hands on your hips.
“Really? Both of you?”
Michael frowned. “What did I do?”
“She was jealous,” you said, pointing at Aria.
Aria gasped, offended. “I was protecting you.”
Michael’s eyes softened with pride. “Good job.”
You stared at him. “Do not encourage her.”
But he already scooped Aria up, and she clung to him smugly, like she had just saved you from imminent danger.
And then she turned her head over Michael’s shoulder and said:
“Mama is ours.”
Michael froze.
You froze.
She had said “ours.”
Not “mine.”
Not “my daddy’s.”
Ours.
Michael cleared his throat awkwardly. “…That’s not wrong.”
“Michael.”
“…What? I’m just saying.”
Aria hugged his neck tighter, completely satisfied.
Perfectly smug.
Robinavitch-coded down to the bone.
Later that evening, you thought that was the end of it. But no.
At bedtime, you leaned down to kiss Aria’s forehead. She grabbed your face with both hands and refused to let you go.
“Mama,” she said seriously. “Tomorrow nobody can hug you. Only me and Daddy.”
You exhaled. “Aria-”
She pressed her forehead to yours like a tiny dramatic villain. “Promise.”
You heard a low chuckle behind you.
Michael leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk on full display. “Let her have this one.”
“Oh, of course,” you muttered. “Because jealousy is apparently hereditary.”
He winced. “We’ll… work on the pronunciation later.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I’m surrounded.”
Michael walked forward, kissed your cheek, then kissed Aria’s forehead.
“You love it,” he murmured.
And you did, despite the chaos.
Despite the clinginess.
Despite the two Robinavitch clones who claimed you like you were the last cookie in the house.
“Fine,” you sighed. “But next time someone visits, can we try not to scare them?”
Aria shook her head immediately. “No.”
Michael nodded. “No.”
You stared at both of them.
“Unbelievable.”
And they both gave you the same grin; crooked, sly, unmistakably jealous in the softest possible way.
Copy.
Paste.
Robinavitch jealousy edition.
I can't handle the cuteness from PART 1's reply and blog reactions from all of you! Funny and cute at the same time... here's the other part Mini-me of Michael Robinavitch! Hope you liked it, everyone!
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