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also I don't think parents "these days" are uniquely terrible, I just think neglect is showing up in new ways as technology progresses. today's ipad kid would've been wandering around in a ditch alone all day and night before. parents not wanting to have to deal with children is not a new phenomenon.
When I got my first debit account (I was 19 and this occurred during COVID, if that adds any additional context), I had no clue what ‘cash back’ meant, I thought it was ‘cash back’ in the loyalty rewards way, I was curious about the ‘DO YOU WANT CASH BACK?’ screen with all the pre-programmed money amounts. Instead of looking it up, I clicked the $20 option at Food Lion one day and I was completely astounded when the cashier pulled a $20 out of the cash register and went to hand it to me. This is the opposite of the natural order of things. The cashier was the same age as me and visibly baked so for a fraction of a second, I was wondering if our wires got crossed somehow. I just stood there for a moment staring at him in confusion while he stared at me in confusion. Then, I took the $20 and gathered up my groceries and left. Luckily, $20 didn’t put me into overdraft. No harm done, just a very embarrassing moment. Anyway, if someone comes into your retail job behaving like it is their first day on earth, it is probably because they feel like it is their first day on earth. We’re all just trying to figure this bullshit out. Amen.
You really start to understand that the “angry black woman” and “mean lesbian” stereotype only exists to shame us for the fact we get reasonably upset about people wanting to horrifically abuse us indiscriminately. Let’s get meaner !
reader who lovessss buckys soft tummy and is constantly wrapped around him pressing her face into his chest and keeping her hand on his tummy when they’re lying in bed and she asks him one day to lie on top of her and buckys a little self conscious and doesn’t want to hurt her but eventually caves in and it becomes his favourite thing ever💖💖
Bucky always pretends he doesn’t notice it—the way your hand migrates in your sleep.
It starts innocent enough: your arm draped over his waist, cheek pillowed on his chest, legs tangled with his because you always end up on his side of the bed. But sometime during the night, instinctively, without fail, your palm slides down… down… until it settles right over the softest part of him.
His stomach.
And you hug it. Full on, fingers splayed, warm and protective like it’s your favorite thing in the world.
Which, well… it kind of is.
You nuzzle into his chest, eyes half-closed, voice muffled with sleep. “’s mine,” you mumble, squeezing gently.
Bucky swears his heart stops every time.
He should be used to it by now. The way you treat his body with such reverence. The way you kiss every scar like it’s holy. The way you hold him like softness isn’t a flaw—it’s a privilege to touch.
But his brain still clings to old habits. Old voices. Old insecurities.
Big men aren’t supposed to be soft.
Super soldiers definitely aren’t supposed to be soft.
And yet… when your hand cups his tummy, when your cheek presses into his sternum, when you hum in sleepy contentment like he is your comfort?
He thinks softness might be the greatest gift he’s ever been given.
---
One slow, lazy Sunday morning, sunlight spills across the sheets. Bucky is already awake beneath you, tracing circles on your back. You’re starfished over him, shirt riding up, one leg thrown over his hip, your hand—where else?—spread warm and possessive over his stomach.
You stretch, kiss the underside of his jaw, then settle your chin on his chest to look up at him.
“Bucky?” you ask, voice rough with sleep.
“Mm?”
“Can you… lie on top of me?”
His whole body tenses.
You blink up at him innocently, fingertips drawing shapes over his stomach like you’re soothing him.
“I’m heavy,” he insists, embarrassed. “Like—actually heavy. I could hurt you.”
You cup his cheeks, soft and serious. “James Buchanan Barnes. Do I look like someone who would ask for something that would hurt me?”
“N-No…”
“And do I look like someone who doesn’t know exactly how much I can take?”
That earns a short huff of a laugh, but there’s still hesitation in his eyes.
You bring his metal hand to your chest, pressing it over your heartbeat. “I want you on top of me. I want all your weight. I want to feel you everywhere.”
He goes still.
Because if there’s one thing Bucky Barnes has never been in his life, it’s someone who is allowed to take up space—physically, emotionally, or otherwise.
But you… you ask him to.
You want him to.
You want all of him.
“C’mere,” you whisper.
He’s careful at first, moving like he’s made of glass instead of solid muscle and warm, pillowy softness. He braces most of his weight on his elbows, hovering above you, cheeks pink.
“Buck.” You slide your hands down his ribs, over the stretch of soft skin at his waist. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
You bury your face in his chest pointedly. “You’re holding yourself up like a goddamn bridge.”
Another huff. But this time you feel it—you feel him slowly sink, gently, cautiously, lowering his weight over you inch by inch until—
“Oh,” he breathes.
Your arms slide around him immediately. Your legs cradle his hips. Your fingers slip under his shirt, palms warm against the curve of his tummy, and you hum like you’ve just found the exact position you were put on this earth to be in.
“See?” you murmur. “Perfect.”
Bucky melts.
Actually melts.
His full body relaxes into yours, heavy and warm and safe. His head drops to your shoulder, nose pressing into your neck. You feel him exhale, long and unguarded, like his whole soul just unclenched.
“You feel so good,” you whisper into his hair. “I love your weight on me.”
His stomach flutters beneath your hand.
“You… really like this?” he asks quietly.
“Bucky, I love this. I love you.” You press a kiss to his temple. “And your tummy is my favorite part.”
He groans—mortified, flattered, overwhelmed. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” You rub gentle circles over the soft skin, your voice playful and sweet. “It’s warm and cozy and perfect. You’re perfect.”
He hides his face in your neck.
You laugh softly. “Is my big, scary super soldier shy because his girlfriend loves his tummy?”
“Doll, please,” he mumbles, voice muffled and hopeless.
But then—then—you feel it.
He rests his full weight on you. Finally trusting you. Finally believing you won’t break.
He sighs like he’s sinking into heaven.
And your hands stay exactly where they always are: wrapped around him, hugging the softness he tries so hard to pretend isn’t there.
“You’re gonna kill me with how good this feels,” he whispers.
You kiss the side of his head. “Good. Stay right here forever.”
And Bucky—sweet, overwhelmed, tummy-loved Bucky—clings to you and murmurs:
“Yeah. I think I will.”
Because it turns out?
Lying on top of you—heavy, safe, adored—is his new favorite thing in the entire world.
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hour 1 of shift: i love helping people and making people happy yay yay yay later today i am gonna go home and have fun and eat a tasty meal and work on my projects and
hour 6: if youu go to the store and buy groceriers you are a piece of shit
hour 8: if i wad 1 apples tall i could live off of one apple for a week... oh but it would rot away... no.... i hate the rot i hate the apple
my archnemesis @baleful-meat-worm graciously entrusted me with drawing its somewhere else jon design. therefore he will be cozy and happy and warm :-) yay
Come to think of it, it really is insane that my entire country is burning alive and literally no one in the rest of the world cares. Thousands of Indians are dying every day from the heat, it's 45+ degrees in multiple areas, the government couldn't give two fucks, we're getting severe warnings and red alerts, and not a soul outside of South Asia is speaking about it because why would you ever care about brown people
USA folks, that is a consistent temperature range hitting 113°. Death Valley temperatures. In Banda, it hovered between 116°-118° (47°-48° C) for a week straight.
This has been happening all month with little to no international media attention. Here are a few organizations you can check out for resources or to support:
“Haha remember when murder-hornets were gonna be a thing? What a nothingburger.”
Yes, because the Washington state government activated like a sleeper-cell and ruthlessly, systematically hunted them down and annihilated them.
“Y2K came to nothing amirite?”
Yes because an army of software engineers working around the clock, losing sleep, and busting ass till the last minute prevented it from happening.
“Remember the hole in the ozone layer?”
You mean the one that was fixed through rigorous world wide government action?
One of the root problems of our society is a refusal or inability by media to articulate that all those “it’s gonna be an apocalypse” disasters were not disasters because we collectively did something about them.
The good news is this is actually quite correctable. I maintain my firm belief that we as humans are capable of solving almost all of our problems, when we decide to do so.
And I still think that’s going to happen. I don’t know when or how, but I do know that abandoning hope won’t help bring it about.
And I refuse to let the cynics own a chunk of my heart.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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