#I just want to wrap up in my blanket and sleep

[sqgeism]

How would our favorite amphoreus men take care of reader after they got caught in the rain and got sick? maybe they have a fever, chills, blocked nose. i need some fluff in life

hope ur having a good day and love your works :)))0

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 ooh, be my baby | various hsr men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; i'll look after you . working on a rainy day had expected consequences. lucky you, your boyfriend loves you too much to scold you for the time being. well.. depends on who you choose.. ! (anaxa, mydei, phainon, dan heng, boothill, jing yuan)

love mail — hii anonnie tysm! i'm doing great!! thank u thats so sweet (´ﾟЗ���｀)♡ i brought back some ogs :3 ! and boothill cause i like him so don't jump me, sorry geppie i swear i love you ！Σ(￣□￣;) these r semishort n stuff cause these r a lot but i hope it does well :D

anaxa makes a cure for you in hours.

he hides it as just 'making advances in his medical knowledge' but he was genuinely worried. he had a busy week at the academy, and he didn't want to leave you alone with no way to be cared for. he wants to be there, but he couldn't call off of work a week before the students exams week, needing to post reviewers and host review classes.

so the weekend you got sick, he made a comfortable bed for you in his lab as he worked on something to free you of your sickness, making sure to also check on you the whole time.

he eventually made a concoction that helped your fever go away, body aches disappear, and clears your nose, however it didn't fix the headache. you don't mind, at least you can move your body without wanting to throw yourself off the planet.

anaxa gives you a minor scolding. something about taking better care of yourself and making him fuss over you, but he kisses your cheek and sighs. "i love you, and i'd figure out the cure to any disease that attacks you, but please don't do this again."

mydei lets you rest on top of him for the first day you got sick. tissues, snacks, thermometer, change of clothes.. all of that are set up on your nightstand. the only times he got up was to make you warm meals, and to replace the icepack that pressed up against your forehead.

honestly, he loves this. he knows the reason why you're warm is because you're literally burning up, but he likes it. you're like a little heating pad and you're extra clingy, weak arms squeezing his chiseled chest makes him melt.

he smothers you in kisses and affection till you feel better (oh, and medicine).

if you chose to be clingy to mydei, phainon's choosing to be clingy to you! but you don't want him to be sick :( he's being a big baby when you try to pull away, but he doesn't care. you're too sickly to fight back and honestly his strong, firm arms around you sound real nice rn. and so you let him, to your dismay.

he's a bit of a jerk about it though, cold hands slipping under your shirt and causing you to shiver, hearing his giggles as he apologizes and squeezes you. phainon's got so much love for teasing you, but he knows you need care to be better.

you fall asleep wrapped in blankets and tangled up with phainon.

boothill's probably the best of them all. he doesn't get sick, and he's like a personal heater or cooler. if you're too warm or too cold, he can adjust his body temperature to your liking. "yer clingin' onto me like i'd ever want to go anywhere, darlin'." he teases, running his fingers through your hair as you press yourself against his cold metal, hating how hot your body feels.

he plays some music for you to relax to, and he's telling you tales of his adventures to get you to sleep. who knew a soft, southern accent could work so well as a lullaby?

his arms are locked around you. he's hiding his worry well, but when you fall asleep he's whispering about how you need to take better care of yourself. "though, mm.. yer real cute like this, all snuggly and sniffly. could baby 'ya all week."

dan heng is definitely more on the scolding side, the moment he wakes up to you squirming and sniffling, he's got an unamused look on his face. the night prior, you walked through the astral express doors absolutely soaked from the rain. dan heng helped you change, shower, dry your hair and sleep. but you woke up sick regardless.. like he said you would, like you said you wouldn't.

"this is why you should let me come with you to missions." he grumbles, stirring the bowl of warm stew he made for you as you lay in bed. "goodness, it was one mission, and you come home to me like this. i hate how much i love you." dan heng scoffed, blowing the spoon of warm food and holding it against your lips. "i can't fight this urge to care for you. you're just so.. ugh."

he falls asleep before you, funny enough. you admire the face of your loving boyfriend before drifting off to your own slumber.

you should get sick more often.

you can't even be mad at yourself, jing yuan has allowed you to cuddle up to his sweet, insanely fluffy lion. you can't tell if it's the clogged nose or all the fur you're inhaling, but you love it. and you've got a 'weighted' blanket too. aka your boyfriend.

jing yuan had already fed you your medicine, changed clothes, and fed you well. so there was nothing to do but wait for the next few hours till you'd have to drink medicine again, so now you two are just cuddled up to the embodiment of a cloud.

"you're liking this far too much." your beloved boyfriend remarks, rubbing his head against your tummy as you chuckle, although very weakly. "maybe, but i really do appreciate being taken care of."

the deepest, velvety laugh escapes his lips as he looks up at you, that same smirk he's always worn on his face. "nothing less than for you. now rest, my love. i'll have dinner served for you soon."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[arkaiveofurown]

Hi!! It's my first time when I request smth, so please if smth wrong , if I sounds rude, weird or silly pls forgive me🙏🙏 Also i don't know English very well, so sorry if i have a lot of mistakes. I want to request Law x fem!reader, fluff, comfort (?) Law and reader just started dating recently, and they just started sleeping in the same bed, and he noticed that his nightmares have become much less frequent/he doesn't have them at all. MAYBE IT'S BORING AND WEIRD SORRY. But it's on my mind for long time. And i think it's cute that reader helping him handle his nightmares. 😓😓😓

Dreams and Heartbeats

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

After recently becoming a couple, Law and you begin sharing a bed. Slowly, Law realizes something unexpected—since sleeping beside you, his nightmares have almost completely stopped.

Word Count: ~1,900 words

tags: fluff, comfort

my masterlist here ♡

----

a/n: hiii, don't worry you did great and this is not a weird or boring request at all! i love writing about soft trafalgar law ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

----

The sea was loud tonight. Waves crashed hard against the Polar Tang’s hull, and the lights inside flickered every time thunder rolled overhead.

You wrapped your blanket tighter around yourself as you stood outside Law’s room. Your own bunk was cold and damp—something had leaked near the vent, and with the storm raging on, it felt like sleeping in a freezer.

You hesitated a little before knocking. Your heart was beating fast. You and Law had only been dating for a few weeks. Everything still felt new and a bit awkward. But he had told you before, “You can come to me anytime.” You just didn’t think you’d take him up on that offer this soon.

The door slid open. Law looked tired but alert, like always. He was wearing a loose black shirt and sweatpants—rare for someone who usually looked so put-together.

His eyes lowered to the blanket in your arms. “Something wrong?” he asked.

You nodded. “My room’s freezing. There’s a leak. I tried to wait it out, but I can’t sleep like that…”

He stepped aside without a word, letting you in. His room was small but warm. There was a desk in the corner, a stack of books on the floor, and a large bed that looked… very lived in. You stood there for a second, unsure what to do.

“You can take the left side,” he said simply, already climbing into the right and pulling the blanket up.

You slipped in carefully, your body still a little tense. The sound of the storm outside was a little quieter here. You stared at the ceiling for a while, unsure if you should say anything.

Then, he spoke. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, but… I’m glad you’re here.”

You looked at him. “You are?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

You smiled, heart settling a bit. “Me too.”

You scooted a little closer, and he opened his arm without a word, letting you rest against his side. Wrapped up together, you listened to the storm as it slowly faded into quiet.

----

The next morning, you woke before Law.

The storm had passed, leaving behind a gentle rocking of the sea. Golden-orange light spilled through the round window, painting soft shapes on the walls of his room. The air felt warmer, calmer.

You turned your head and looked at him. Law was still asleep—flat on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. His other hand rested lightly on the blanket between you, fingers curled in a relaxed way you’d never seen before. There was something peaceful about the way he breathed, slow and steady, like he wasn’t carrying the weight of a thousand thoughts for once.

You smiled to yourself.

You didn’t want to disturb him, so you carefully slid out from under the blanket. But as soon as your feet hit the cold floor, you heard his voice—rough and quiet.

“You’re leaving already?”

You looked back. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but his arm had moved, now resting against the pillow where you’d just been.

“I was going to let you sleep,” you whispered, pulling your blanket around your shoulders again. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Law finally opened his eyes, blinking a few times as if trying to get used to the light. He sat up slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. His hair was a bit messy, and his voice still had that gravelly edge from sleep. Somehow, that made him feel more… real.

“I didn’t have any nightmares,” he said, almost absentmindedly.

You paused mid-step, your hand tightening on the blanket. “You… get those a lot?”

He shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. He was just trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Sometimes. Not every night. Depends on what’s going on.” His gaze dropped to his lap. “They’ve been worse lately. Ever since Dressrosa.”

Your heart ached. You walked back over to the bed and sat beside him, careful but close. You rested your hand gently over his.

“And last night?”

He glanced at you, then shook his head. “None.”

You smiled softly. “Good. I’m glad.”

----

After that night, it became normal for you to share Law’s bed. It didn’t always start that way—sometimes you fell asleep reading in his room, or you stayed to help him go over reports until midnight. But he never asked you to leave.

Over time, you noticed a pattern. On the nights you were there, he slept better. His breaths stayed steady. His face didn’t tense up in sleep. And when you weren’t there—on nights you were on watch or helping the crew—he looked tired the next day.

One night, curled up under the covers, you asked him, “Do I really help?”

His eyes were closed, but his voice came after a beat, low and honest. “Yeah. You do.”

You waited, giving him space in case he wanted to say more. After a moment, he did.

“Before you started staying here… I’d have dreams almost every night.” His voice stayed calm, but you could feel the weight in it. “Sometimes it was the fire in Flevance. The heat. The smoke. The screaming.”

Your chest tightened.

“Other nights…” He let out a slow breath. “Everyone I looked at had white lead disease. The crew, people we passed by in port, even you. Just standing there, covered in it. Dying the way they all did.”

You squeezed his hand under the blanket, gently.

He continued, voice a little rougher now. “And sometimes it was Corazon. I dream about him the most. He’s… standing in front of me, trying to hide me. But the bullets don’t stop. He keeps getting shot, over and over. I can’t move. I can’t do anything. Just watch.”

There was a long silence. You didn’t push him to keep going. You just let your fingers brush slowly over the back of his hand, grounding him.

“I know they’re dreams,” he said after a while. “But when I wake up, my chest hurts. Like I couldn’t breathe the whole time.”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching for the boy he used to be. For the man he still was, carrying all of it.

But then, his hand tightened around yours.

“That doesn’t happen when you’re here,” he said quietly. “With you beside me, it’s different. My head doesn’t go to those places. I can rest. Like my brain finally shuts up.”

You blinked back tears, smiling softly as you leaned your forehead against his arm.

“Good,” you whispered. “That’s really good.”

There was a pause. Then he added, voice lower now, closer: “It’s not just the nightmares. It’s easier to sleep when I know you’re next to me.”

That made your heart ache—in the best way. You shifted closer until your nose brushed his collarbone, and you wrapped your arm gently around his waist.

“I’m always here,” you whispered.

He turned toward you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

----

You had been working on something for a while now—just a little handmade charm. It wasn’t perfect, but you wove it with small bits of string, shells, and feathers from the last island you visited. A dreamcatcher. Not traditional, but something you hoped would carry your feelings.

One night, as Law was organizing maps and logs for the next mission, you gave it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking it carefully.

You looked down, nervous. “It’s a dreamcatcher. I made it for you.”

He studied it for a long time, fingers brushing over the rough knots and soft feathers.

You added quickly, “I know it’s not much. But I just thought… if we’re on separate missions or you have to stay up late again, maybe it’ll help. Not because I think you need something like this. Just… a reminder. I’m still with you. Even if I’m not next to you.”

Law didn’t say anything right away. He just kept looking at it—running his fingers slowly along the loops, the shells, the threads. His thumb paused over the center, where the knots came together.

You started to fidget, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s silly. Sorry. You don’t have to—“

“No,” he said, softly but firmly, finally lifting his eyes to yours. “It’s not silly.”

You looked up, surprised to see his expression so open, so raw. He stepped closer, gently resting the dreamcatcher on his desk.

“You’re always thinking about others,” he said, brushing your hair back. “That’s something I really like about you.”

Your face warmed. “Well… I think about you most.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, like he was memorizing you. Then he leaned in and kissed you—slow, careful, like you were made of something precious. His fingers found the side of your neck, and yours gripped the edge of his shirt.

It wasn’t rushed. It didn’t need to be. It just was—quiet, full, real.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like the world outside the ship didn’t exist for now.

“Thank you,” he murmured again. And you knew he didn’t just mean for the dreamcatcher.

He meant for everything.

----

There were a few times you had to be apart—separate missions, errands, night shifts. You missed him more than you expected. But the messages helped.

You left notes in his coat pocket, books, drawers.

“Did you sleep okay?” “Top drawer. Snacks. Don’t skip meals.” “I’m proud of you, always.”

He left some too. Folded bits of paper in your bag, under your pillow, in your toolkit.

“Missed you. Be careful.” “No nightmares. Dreamcatcher worked.” “Can’t wait till you’re back.”

The crew noticed.

“Captain’s softer lately,” Shachi said, nudging Penguin.

Bepo added, “He even thanked me yesterday.”

“He what?” they both whispered in unison.

Law, overhearing, smacked a notebook onto the table without looking up. “Focus on your work.”

But they saw the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Love hadn’t changed who he was. But being with you made him lighter, steadier. Like he didn’t have to carry everything alone anymore.

----

You were sailing back to the Polar Tang after a short mission on land. Cold wind rushed through your hair as the submarine came into view. You weren’t gone long—just three days—but it felt like weeks.

Law met you on the deck.

“Back already?” he asked, hiding his smile.

You walked straight to him and hugged him, ignoring the crew’s cheers and whistles in the background.

“Missed you,” you said against his shoulder.

He held you close. “Me too.”

You glanced up. “Did you still get nightmares?”

He looked down at you and shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said. “But I got a good dream instead.”

You blinked. “Yeah? What was it about?”

He hesitated, then leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“We got married.”

Your heart nearly stopped. “Really?”

He nodded, voice low. “It felt real. It felt… right.”

You pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Maybe it will be real someday.”

He smiled—the rare, soft one you’d grown to love—and kissed you.

“Yeah,” he said. “Someday.”

[kxsagi]

THE GIRLDAD REQUEST?! HELLO?! SO CUTE!!!

u should definitely make a series of that, its so cute!

anyways, i need a live reaction of the bllk men getting jealous if his own children interrupts the time he is trying to spend with wife! reader. even better if a son and daughter is added — where they’re both clingy, but the son’s loud on purpose to tease his jealous father and the daughter is quiet, whining out for attention.

imagine it’s during a cuddling session, then randomly get kicked off of the bed. LMFAOAOO!!!

i hope my request made sense, i’m like half-awake rn. if you could do it with all of the bllk men, it would make my day!

“𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬”

a/n: thank you!!! i LOVE domestic fluff, might make a series, but who knows bc i've never made one before 🌚

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin

isagi yoichi

all he wanted was ten minutes. TEN minutes of uninterrupted cuddle time after a long day. 

he finally gets you in his arms, snuggled under the covers, whispering something flirty, then suddenly– 

BANG. 

the door FLIES open and your 5-year-old son barrel-rolls into the room like an olympic athlete. 

“MOMMY I NEED A HUG! AND A JUICE BOX! IN THAT ORDER!” 

isagi sits up like 🧍 “bro.” 

you’re already opening your arms because you’re a mom and you love your baby, but isagi looks personally offended. 

“he doesn’t even like juice boxes??” 

your daughter peeks in a second later, dragging a blanket, softly whining “mommy, ‘m cold… i want to sleep on your tummy…” 

you: 🥹🫶 

isagi: “W-WHAT ABOUT ME? I’M COLD TOO. I WANT TO SLEEP ON YOUR TUMMY.” 

eventually your son kicks him off the bed: “DADDY GO AWAY I’M CUDDLING MOMMY.” 

he hits the floor with the force of defeat. 

mutters “traitors… my own family…” while watching from the carpet like a forgotten labrador. 

kaiser michael

do not test this man. he is POSSESSIVE. he finally convinced you to stay in bed five more minutes, wrapped around each other, when the door creaks open. 

“no. no. no. no.” he chants like a horror movie victim. 

your son is already mid-run. “MAMA LET’S PLAY JUNGLE CAVE–” and launches onto the bed. right on kaiser’s stomach. 

he wheezes like he just took a soccer ball to the ribs. 

your daughter waddles in quietly and gently climbs up, snuggling into your other arm like a sleepy kitten. 

“this is fine,” you giggle. 

“NO. this is NOT fine.” 

“papa, you can go now,” your son says with a mischievous smirk. yes, this tiny demon knows he’s stealing your attention. 

kaiser’s eye twitches. “why don’t you go play with plastic instead.” 

you bonk him on the head for that. 

by the end, he’s dangling off the bed edge with a blank stare, mumbling in german under his breath while your kids hog your warmth. 

“i’m the man of this house,” he whispers to himself. “... i am.”

itoshi sae

you were peacefully spooning on the couch, sae half-asleep with his nose buried in your hair. everything was perfect. 

then your daughter appears. 

no words. no noise. just climbs silently onto your lap like a cat and cuddles into your chest. 

sae cracks one eye open. “... are you serious.” 

a second later your son cannonballs onto the couch, full WWE-mode. “DADDY MOVE, MOMMY’S MINE NOW!!” 

sae is FLUNG off the couch. hits the carpet. 

“ow! what the hell?!” 

“LANGUAGE,” you scold while petting your daughter’s head. 

sae just lays there like he’s in a sitcom intro, staring at the ceiling. 

“they were your idea,” he mutters. 

the kids: 🧍🧍 

later, he’s sulking in the hallway muttering about how “no one respects the father in this house” and that he “hopes they grow up to be introverts.” 

your son is not an introvert. he is you, but LOUDER. 

nagi seishiro

he was having the time of his life. warm blankets, cuddles, your soft voice whispering, “just five more minutes, sei.” 

he’s melting into the bed. peace. heaven. 

then pitter patter– 

both kids climb in and curl up on top of you. 

the weight shifts and you roll away from nagi, instinctively pulling the kids close. 

“... huh? where’d you go?” he blinks into empty space. 

he lifts the blanket. it’s just him and his betrayal now. 

“hey. hey. i was cuddling mommy first.” 

your daughter makes grabby hands toward your face. “mamaaaa…” 

your son throws an arm across your neck like a wrestling move. 

nagi frowns. “why do they get to sleep on you?” 

“because they’re adorable.” 

“i’m adorable, too.” 

crawls back under the blanket and tries to lift your arm like a flap to sneak under. your son kicks him. 

“bro,” nagi mumbles. “square up.” 

eventually lays half on top of all three of you, like a big sleepy cat refusing to lose. 

itoshi rin

rin? cuddling? rare. sacred. a national holiday. 

he finally let you curl into his chest and was just relaxing when– 

clunk. the sound of something being dragged across the hallway floor. 

thud. 

“... what is that,” rin mumbles. 

your kids enter like they own the house. your daughter climbs up, whimpering, “mommyyyyyyy i missed you…” 

your son: “I WANNA BE THE PILLOW. MOMMY USE ME AS A PILLOW.” 

rin’s eye twitches. 

“no. she’s my pillow.” 

your son launches into the bed. rin barely dodges a knee to the stomach. 

five seconds later he’s on the floor, disheveled, watching you snuggle the kids. 

rin: “i didn’t even say anything rude this time. why me.” 

daughter: “daddy looks sad.” 

rin: “i am sad.” 

sulks at the doorway like a ghost. 

don’t worry, you call him back after five minutes and he gets sandwich cuddled by all of you. he pretends to hate it. he does not hate it. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nilla03]

“𝑴𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫!?“ 𝑓𝑡: 𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒋𝒂𝒆𝒈𝒆𝒓

ღ—“Gotta be quiet, baby,” he muttered low against your ear, voice thick and lazy. “Your brother’s down the hall.”

Every time the bed creaked, every time you choked on a gasp, your heart pounded louder with the risk of getting caught. But you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t pull away. Not when his hands felt so good on you. Not when he felt so good inside you.

You were supposed to just crash at your brother’s dorm after the party. Just one night. A borrowed hoodie, a spare blanket, maybe sleep on the couch.

But then he walked out of the shower—towel low on his hips, water dripping down his abs like a goddamn movie—and smiled that smug little smile when he saw you curled up on the couch.

“Didn’t think your brother’s little sister would grow up like this,” he had said, eyes trailing down your bare legs, your tiny sleep shorts.

Now he was buried inside you, hand wrapped around your throat, thumb stroking the edge of your lip like he owned it.

“Look at you,” he murmured, breath hot as his hips rolled up slow and deep. “Riding me like a good girl.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into his shirt. “Y-You feel—f-fuck—”

“Shhh,” he cooed, grinning as you tried to stay quiet. “Don’t wanna wake up your brother, do you?”

You shook your head fast, tears brimming. He was so deep. Too much. Too good. And he knew it—knew exactly how to pull the sweetest little moans from your throat and kiss them off your lips before they got too loud.

“That’s it. Cry on it, pretty.” One hand slid down, fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit. “So fuckin’ wet for me.”

Your head fell forward against his shoulder as you trembled. “T-Too much—”

“Thought you wanted this. Always starin’ at me when I came over,” he teased, licking into your mouth like he owned it. “Sitting on my lap at game night like a fuckin’ tease. You know how hard it was not to bend you over your brother’s desk?”

You gasped as he thrust up hard, and a broken moan spilled from your lips before he slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Mmm—there she is,” he grinned. “My pretty little secret.”

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered, voice dripping heat. “Cum nice and quiet like a good girl. You do that, and maybe I’ll keep sneaking into your room when he’s not home.”

You clenched around him, eyes rolling, and shattered—right there, wrapped around your brother’s best friend, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming his name.

“Sis!?” You gasp slightly before hearing a knock on the door “have you seen Eren!? I can’t find him”

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

If you’re still taking ideas for tonight 🫶🏻 maybe H and y/n going on their first walk as a family - either baby in the carrier on Harry’s chest or y/n pushing the pram, all wrapped up warm on a winter walk then going to meet Anne for a coffee so baby could have nanna cuddles 🥰

Spring Walks.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

in which, it’s your’s and harry’s first walk as a family of four, and even though it’s spring, the weathers very chilly and your little one is in the pram whilst your four year old is sat on his daddy’s shoulders.

word count - 1k.

It’s just past ten on a chilly spring morning, the kind where the sky is washed in soft blue and the clouds seem like afterthoughts. The forest trail beneath your feet is damp from last night’s rain, but it smells incredible—earthy, fresh, and full of that green-sap scent that only comes with early leaves.

You wrap your coat tighter around you and glance down into the pram. Your daughter is sleeping soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling under the knit blanket Anne gave you just before she was born. Her face is impossibly small, features still undefined in that newborn way—more like a dream than a person just yet.

“S’out cold,” Harry says, leaning over your shoulder to peek in at her. “Like her mum, snoring by nine.”

You laugh quietly, nudging him. “I do not snore.”

“Y’do a little puff. Like a baby hedgehog.” He makes a tiny snuffling sound and then grins, proud of himself.

“You are so lucky I’m sleep-deprived and too tired to argue.”

He chuckles and shifts his grip on your four-year-old son, who is perched high up on his shoulders, little wellies bouncing lightly against Harry’s chest with each step. His tiny hands are tangled in Harry’s curls, his cheeks rosy and wind-bitten.

“Daddy, look!” your son shouts, pointing toward a squirrel sprinting up a tree. “He’s got something in his mouth! Is it a sandwich?”

Harry squints. “Looks like a bit of leaf or something, buddy. Probably not a sandwich. Squirrels don’t have lunchboxes.”

“They should,” your son decides seriously. “We could give them some snacks.”

You join in, “That’s how you make forest friends, you know. You leave them tiny peanut butter sandwiches, and they send thank-you notes made of twigs.”

“Really?” He gasps, eyes wide.

Harry laughs, “Well, sort of. But you’ve got to be very, very quiet so you don’t scare them.”

Your son nods solemnly and immediately whispers, “Okay.” Then, a second later: “BUT IF I SEE A FOX I’M GONNA SCREAM!.”

You and Harry both burst into quiet laughter, trying not to wake the baby.

You fall into step beside him, the gravel crunching underfoot. The path is scattered with fallen blossoms from some early-flowering tree, pink petals caught in puddles and clinging to your boots.

“Can you believe we’re here?” you say softly. “Family of four. Two whole kids.”

Harry exhales, long and warm, like he’s been holding that feeling in his chest and is only just letting it out. “I know. Feels unreal. Like we blinked and suddenly… we’re outnumbered.”

You laugh. “You’re the one who wanted more chaos.”

“I did,” he admits, smiling. “And I’d do it all again. Every nappy, every midnight bottle, every ‘I want juice’ at four in the morning.”

You glance at him with a smirk. “That last one was you.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? Apple juice tastes better at night.”

A soft wind stirs the leaves around you. You adjust the pram handle, and Harry watches you for a moment before speaking again.

“Y’amazing, you know,” he says quietly. “Like. I watch you with them, and I think—how did I get so lucky?”

You look over at him, touched. “You were charming. And tall. That helped.”

“That’s it then?” he laughs. “Tall and charming?”

You lean into him a little, shoulder brushing his. “And you make a very good climbing frame.”

From above, your son yells, “I’m a tree-climber! I’m on top of Daddy Mountain!”

“Hold on, little explorer,” Harry says, pretending to wobble. “Daddy Mountain’s feeling an earthquake in his back.”

“Don’t fall, Daddy! I’m too small to raise a baby!”

That has you both laughing so hard you have to stop for a moment. You reach up and steady your son’s leg while you catch your breath.

The trail starts to widen, and ahead you can see glimpses of the high street through the thinning trees. The edge of town greets you with the smell of fresh bread from the bakery and a faint bell from someone opening a shop door.

Harry glances over. “Mum said she got us the corner table outside. Figured we’d want space for the pram.”

You nod, grateful. “She always thinks of everything.”

“She’s been dying to show off the baby,” he adds. “I think she’s printed pictures for strangers on the bus.”

“She’s so excited to have another granddaughter, she’s got so many plans already.” Harry adds. “For both of them.”

You smirk. “Like what?”

“She wants to take her first grandbaby to the petting zoo, just them two. And she said we should have a nap together while she watches the baby.”

You blink, surprised. “A nap together? Like… sleep?”

“I know,” Harry teases, “remember that?”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest bloom. You’d give anything for just one afternoon of that quiet kind of closeness again. But for now, this walk—this moment—is enough.

As you turn onto the main road, your son gasps. “There’s Nana! I see her!”

Anne is already waving from her spot at the café, wearing a scarf you bought her last Christmas and holding a takeaway cup in one hand. When she sees you, her whole face lights up. She stands before you even reach her, arms out.

Harry gently lifts your son off his shoulders, setting him down. “Go on then, give Nana a cuddle.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice—he races ahead, nearly colliding with her in a hug. Anne laughs and scoops him up effortlessly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Then she turns to you, eyes misty.

“There’s my girl,” she says, kissing your cheek, then leaning over the pram. “And there’s my littlest love. Oh, she’s perfect.”

Harry wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into him. “We made some good ones, didn’t we?”

You lean into him, smile tugging at your lips as you watch your family. “We really did.”

Anne looks up. “Well, I’ve ordered you both tea, and I got extra pastries because you’re both barely eating anything proper—”

“We eat!” you protest.

“You nibble. Like nervous mice,” she says, waving her hand. “Now sit. Warm up. I’ll cuddle this one in a minute.”

[honeydippedfiction]

Can I get 15. "eyes open. keep looking." and 16. ^ and in the mirror--it's their large hand splayed across your abdomen, another wrapped around your perking nip. as they thrust into you, hard, slow, deep. their teeth sinking into ur neck.

with Joe and Angel, I just know they're nastyyy🤪

Listened to ‘Maybe’ by Teyana Taylor while writing this so everyone say thank you Teyana for the inspo

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#15. "eyes open. keep looking." & #16. and in the mirror--it's their large hand splayed across your abdomen, another wrapped around your perking nip. as they thrust into you, hard, slow, deep. their teeth sinking into ur neck.

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It was supposed to be a chill weekend.

With baby Zariyah gone to spend two blissful days with Joe’s parents—Robin and Jimmy, who were beyond thrilled to take over spoiling duties—the Burrow household had finally fallen into rare, golden silence. No bottles to warm, no 3 a.m. wake-up cries, no schedules to juggle. Just peace. Glorious peace.

Joe had made plans, quiet ones. Sleep in. Watch a little film. Maybe grill something. Wrap Angel in a blanket and cuddle until neither of them knew what day it was. It was supposed to be recovery—for both of them.

But by noon, Joe was starting to realize something: Angel had no intention of letting him enjoy any of it.

From the moment she rolled over that morning, her attitude had been locked in. Petty. Sharp. The kind of bratty that didn’t come from actual frustration—it came from intent.

“You breathing loud again,” she muttered from her side of the bed, voice low and gravelly with sleep, but lined with attitude like sharp eyeliner.

Joe blinked, still half-asleep. “What?”

“I said you breathing loud. Sound like a busted radiator.”

He frowned, turning his head toward her on the pillow. “I was asleep.”

“Exactly.” She yanked the blanket tighter around her like he’d committed some great offense simply by existing.

Joe stared at the ceiling for a long beat. Okay…

He let it slide. For now.

The day went on like that. Little digs. Passive-aggressive comments with a smile. Petty nonsense that she served up like appetizers at a dinner party. At first, Joe let it slide. He knew Angel. Knew when she got this way it was usually about something deeper—or nothing at all. But this time, there was no mystery. No hidden frustration. She was just… acting up.

On purpose.

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Later, he padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hoping coffee might at least smooth things over.

Angel was already there. Perched on the counter in one of his old LSU hoodies—bare-legged, smug, and scrolling her phone like she was too cute to be guilty. She sipped from her mug without looking up.

“Morning,” Joe offered.

She made a noncommittal sound in response. Something between a hum and a hmmph.

He tried again. “I made coffee. Want some of mine?”

She finally looked up, blinking slow. “Did you put that dusty almond milk in it?”

“No. I used the new one.”

She took a sip of her own drink, then wrinkled her nose dramatically. “Well, mine still nasty. Probably your fault. You opened the fridge too long yesterday.”

Joe squinted. “What does that even mean?”

“Means now everything taste like fridge air and disappointment.” She hopped down, walked past him, and added, just loud enough, “Don’t nobody ask you to help and you still messing stuff up.”

Joe turned, confused, but she was already halfway back to the living room.

That was round one.

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An hour later, Joe tried to lose himself in film. He pulled up Week 5’s offensive breakdown and plugged in his AirPods. Angel was curled up on the couch beside him, allegedly watching TV—but what she was really doing was finding ways to drive him to the brink of madness without ever raising her voice.

First, she stole the throw blanket from his lap with no explanation.

Then, she took the last two slices of the cinnamon toast she knew he had been saving.

And finally, when he got up to go switch the laundry over, he came back to find the remote gone.

“Angel.”

She didn’t look up from her phone. “Hmm?”

“Where’s the remote?”

“Oh.” She paused for a beat, chewing her nail. “I think I dropped it behind the couch.”

Joe gave her a look. “You think?”

“Or maybe I put it in the laundry basket with the whites. Thought it was a sock.”

He stared at her, deadpan. “You put the remote control in the laundry?”

She shrugged with the exact amount of indifference that could drive a man to madness. “Don’t act like you use it. You just watch the same plays over and over. Ball. Throw. Catch. Repeat.”

He took a slow breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Angel turned her head and finally gave him her full attention. That familiar gleam was in her eyes—trouble, dressed up as flirtation. “I do. Question is… do you?”

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Later that morning, Joe tried to get a jump on laundry while Angel scrolled through her phone on the couch, pretending not to watch him.

He held up one of his favorite hoodies—the gray Bengals one with the frayed cuffs.

“Why is this in the bottom of the hamper?”

Angel barely glanced over. “Zariyah spit up on it. I used it to wipe the floor.”

Joe looked at her like she’d just confessed to a crime. “You used this as a mop?”

“It was right there,” she said with a shrug. “Quick reflexes. You should be proud.”

“That hoodie is from my rookie year.”

“And? You got a whole closet of free gear. You’ll live.”

Joe closed his eyes and took a slow breath. She’s trying to get under your skin, he reminded himself. Don’t let her win.

He tossed the hoodie back into the hamper and walked away.

Angel smirked.

Round one: her.

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By early afternoon, Joe was back on the couch, trying to reset the day. He figured if he could just carve out an hour—maybe two—to review some film, he could salvage some peace. Angel had drifted into her own little world, tucked into the corner of the sectional with snacks and a blanket, one leg draped over the armrest like she owned the place. Which, in many ways, she did.

Joe slipped on his noise-canceling headphones, pulled up game tape from Week 5 on his iPad, and settled in. All he needed was silence. Just enough to dissect a few coverages, double-check a couple reads.

But it didn’t take long for Angel’s show—some chaotic reality series where every scene sounded like a wine-fueled argument— to start bleeding through the headphones.

He paused the video with a sigh, pulling one earbud off. “Babe,” he said, turning toward her, “can you turn that down just a little?”

Angel didn’t even glance at the remote. “You got headphones in.”

“They’re noise-canceling,” he said, with measured patience, “not chaos-canceling.”

Angel slowly turned her head, one brow raised with deliberate sass. “You mad because my show got drama or because yours is boring?”

Joe blinked. “I’m mad because I can’t hear my tight end’s route because some girl named Shayla is screaming about her eyelash business.”

She scoffed, unapologetic. “Well, maybe Shayla got bills to pay. Unlike some people, she can’t afford to sit around analyzing football all day.”

Joe’s jaw ticked. “I don’t sit around, Angel. This is my job.”

Angel fluffed her pillow, adjusting it behind her like she was settling in for a long, loud binge. “Mmm. And this is my couch. I pay rent in sass and vibes.”

Joe dropped his head back with an exasperated groan. “I’m not asking you to go mute. Just lower the volume like… two notches.”

She turned back to the screen and, with all the exaggerated flair in the world, hit the volume up instead. The surround sound blared a high-pitched “YOU AIN’T GON’ DISRESPECT ME IN MY HOUSE” from Shayla, just to hammer it in.

“Seriously?” he said, sitting up straighter.

“Seriously,” she echoed, cool and unbothered. “But feel free to go in the guest room if it’s that serious.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Angel finally glanced over again. Her expression was smug, unbothered, her whole body language reading what are you gonna do about it?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, voice saccharine. “I’m just minding my business. Watching my stories.”

Joe stared at her, the tension starting to settle into his shoulders. Not angry—but definitely annoyed. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t just being difficult. She was playing with him. Poking the bear. Testing how far she could go before he snapped.

Round two?

Definitely hers again.

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A few minutes passed. Joe didn’t bother restarting the film. He knew there was no point. Angel had kicked her feet up now, her legs stretched out across the cushions like a queen on her throne. She reached into the bag of Hot Cheetos next to her, crunching obnoxiously as she side-eyed him through her lashes.

“Hey,” she said, casual as ever.

“What?” he muttered.

“You left the fridge open earlier. Everything’s warm now. Might wanna double-check your almond milk before you start blaming me again.”

Joe turned his head slowly. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m adorable,” she corrected.

“You’re a menace.”

Angel smirked, licking red dust from her fingers. “And yet… you still married me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped himself, catching the way her lips curled at the corners—the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes. She was baiting him. Hard. And the worst part? She was enjoying every second of it.

That realization settled in his chest like a match on dry leaves.

She wanted a reaction.

And if she kept going like this… she was going to get one.

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By dinnertime, Joe was running on fumes.

The kind of mental exhaustion that didn’t come from workouts or playbooks, but from one beautiful, petty little storm of a woman who had clearly made it her mission to test every ounce of his restraint.

He’d stayed calm longer than he thought possible. All day, Angel had poked, pushed, and prodded. The smirks. The side-eyes. The backhanded compliments. And the worst part? She did it all with that same effortless confidence, like she was swatting flies for sport.

He walked into the kitchen with the vague hope that a quiet meal might buy him a few minutes of peace. Maybe food would reset the mood. Ground them both.

But the second he opened the fridge, that idea died.

There, stacked neatly on the top shelf, were three sushi containers. His favorites, even. Tuna, shrimp tempura, avocado rolls. Perfectly chilled. Perfectly untouched.

But there were only three containers—and none of them were for him.

“You ordered food?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mmhmm.” Angel didn’t even look up from her phone. She was sitting at the table, one leg crossed over the other, typing away like she hadn’t just committed the ultimate disrespect.

Joe shut the fridge door slowly, deliberately. “And didn’t get me anything?”

“You were busy,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t want to interrupt your little quarterback study session.”

Joe turned, leveling a look at her. “I’ve been home. All. Day.”

She glanced up then, smile faint and maddeningly fake. “I didn’t think you’d want sushi. You’re always talking about mercury levels. Brain health. All that boring stuff.”

He walked over to the table, jaw tight, frustration starting to simmer just beneath his carefully built surface. He didn’t speak right away—just stared at her, like he was trying to read between the lines of her expression.

Angel finally set her phone down, folded her arms, and met his gaze head-on.

“You’ve been doing this on purpose,” he said.

She tilted her head, mock-innocent. “Doing what?”

“Acting like a brat. All day. You’ve been trying to piss me off.”

Angel leaned back in her chair slowly, the smugness in her expression blooming like a satisfied cat. “Maybe I have,” she said. “What you gonna do about it?”

Joe stepped in, closing some of the space between them, shoulders squaring. “Why?”

She stood up too—deliberate, calm. Not backing down, not flinching. She moved toward him like a challenge incarnate, the edge of her voice dropping into something softer, silkier, yet still taunting.

“Because,” she said, stopping just inches from him, “you’ve been walking around here all peaceful and patient. Quiet. Like you don’t see me. Like I’m just background noise.”

Joe blinked. “You think I don’t see you?”

“I know you do.” Her voice dipped lower now. “But you’ve been treating me like I’m some tired wife with spit-up on her shirt and oatmeal in her hair. I wanted to remind you I’m still me. I still need attention.”

“This was your way of asking for attention?” he asked, voice low, incredulous.

Angel smiled then—but it wasn’t sweet. It was the kind of smile that came with danger. Daring. A trap that she knew he would step into. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Joe stared at her, jaw clenching harder. “You really wanna test me right now?”

Angel lifted her chin, gaze steady, unblinking. “I’ve been testing you all day, baby. The real question is—how long you gonna let me?”

That was it.

That was the moment the tension snapped like a stretched rubber band. Joe moved before he had time to think it through. One hand gripped her waist, yanking her close. The other slid up the back of her neck, into the thick curls she’d piled into a loose bun that was now slipping free.

His voice dropped, rough and warning. “You sure you’re ready for what you’ve been begging for?”

Her breath hitched—but there was no fear in her face. Just desire. Hunger. Victory. She’d poked the bear until it finally turned—and she loved that it was her who brought it out.

“I’ve been ready, Joseph,” she whispered, voice velvet. “You’re the one who's been dragging your feet.”

His eyes darkened. “Say one more slick thing.”

Angel’s grin widened, slow and triumphant. “Make me.”

And that was all he needed.

Joe didn’t just respond—he reacted. He pulled her flush against him, locking her in place with the kind of intensity he’d been holding back all day. Every little comment, every eye-roll, every subtle jab had been leading to this. She’d wanted the fire behind the calm. The man behind the quarterback.

And now she had him.

Fully.

Completely.

Undeniably.

Angel had pushed every button he had. Poked every nerve. And now, as she found herself exactly where she wanted to be—held in place, breath short, eyes wide with anticipation—she knew one thing for certain.

She was finally being put back in her place.

And she was loving every second of it.

Joe moved his hand from the nape of her neck to the front of her throat—not gripping, not squeezing, just placing it there. Wrapping around it. Not enough to even slightly cut off her air supply, but enough to make it clear that he could.

It was enough to send a wave of heat straight to her core.

“You wanna play this game, babygirl?” he murmured, eyes boring into hers. “You think you can take it?”

“I know I can,” she replied, voice steady despite the tremble in her legs. She couldn’t help but smirk. “In fact, I’m gonna win it.”

That earned a snort from Joe, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Big words for someone who can’t even last five minutes without running that pretty little mouth of hers.”

Angel felt the challenge spark between them, hot and immediate. “Then why don’t you shut me up?” she said, voice dropping to a taunt. “If you can.”

Something feral lit in Joe’s eyes, and before Angel could take another breath, she was being turned around, her back flush against his chest. She could feel his erection pressing against her lower back, hard and thick through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. His hand stayed at her throat, keeping her in place, while the other gripped her hip, holding her close.

“Is this what you wanted?” Joe growled, his breath hot against her ear. “You wanted me to lose control, didn’t you? You wanted me to snap.”

Angel licked her lips, her heart pounding. “Maybe I did,” she breathed. “Maybe I wanted to see the real Joe. Not the controlled quarterback, not the calm, composed husband. I wanted the man underneath it all.”

She could feel his grip tighten on her hip, his fingers digging into her skin. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned. “The man underneath it all? He’s not always pretty. He’s got rough edges, dirty thoughts, and a hunger that never quite goes away.”

Angel shivered, a thrill running down her spine. “Then show me,” she whispered. “Show me all of it.”

Joe let out a low growl, his hand moving from her hip to the front of her thighs, pushing them apart. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, and Angel complied without hesitation, her breath coming faster now.

His hand slid up, fingers tracing along the seam of her leggings, finding the wet spot between her legs. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Already soaked for me, aren’t you? So ready to be fucked.”

Angel couldn’t speak, her voice caught in her throat. All she could do was nod, her hips moving involuntarily against his hand.

Joe chuckled, the sound low and dark. “But you don’t get to come that easy, babygirl. Not this time. This time, you’re gonna work for it.”

Angel felt a surge of heat at his words, but she couldn’t help but push a little more. “Work for it?” she repeated, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I thought you were going to shut me up, not make me work.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. “That’s it,” he growled. In one swift motion, he picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Angel let out a surprised squeal, her legs kicking instinctively.

“Joe! What the hell—”

But he ignored her protests, carrying her out of the dining room and down the hall to their bedroom. Angel’s heart raced, her mind buzzing with anticipation and excitement. She’d pushed him, and now he was pushing back.

Hard.

Joe kicked the bedroom door open, then slammed it shut behind him. He set Angel down on her feet, then sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at her with dark, hungry eyes.

“Strip,” he said, his voice low, not playing around.

Angel felt a shiver run down her spine, but she didn’t hesitate. She reached for the hem of her shirt, slowly lifting it over her head. Joe’s eyes followed her every move, drinking in the sight of her exposed skin.

“Faster,” he ordered, his voice rough.

Angel bit her lip, her hands moving to the waistband of her leggings. She hooked her thumbs underneath and began to push them down, slowly revealing her panties. Joe’s eyes locked onto the sight, his jaw clenching.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice strained.

Angel stepped out of her leggings, then reached back to unclasp her bra. She let it fall to the floor, her breasts bouncing free. Joe’s gaze was fixed on them, his eyes dark with desire.

“Panties too,” he said, his voice husky.

Angel complied, sliding her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. She stood before him completely naked, her heart pounding, her body trembling with anticipation.

Joe didn’t move for a long moment, just looked at her, his eyes roaming over every inch of her exposed skin. Angel felt exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on. She’d never seen Joe look at her like this before, with such raw, unfiltered desire.

“Come here,” he finally said, his voice low.

Angel took a step forward, her legs trembling. Joe reached out, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. He looked up at her, his eyes locked on hers.

“You wanted to know the real me?” he said, his voice dark. “This is it. This is the man you married. Now bend over my knee.”

Angel felt a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of fear. She knew what Joe had in mind, and while part of her was nervous, another part of her—the part that had been poking and prodding all day—was eager to see where this would go.

She bent over Joe’s knee, her ass up in the air, her face burning. Joe’s hand rubbed over her buttocks, the touch firm but gentle.

“You ready, babygirl?” he asked, his voice low.

“Ready for what?” Angel shot back, her sass coming through even in her vulnerable position.

Joe’s hand stilled, then he brought it down hard on her ass. Angel let out a yelp, her body jerking at the sudden impact.

“What was that?” Joe asked, his voice firm.

Angel bit her lip, trying to catch her breath. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice muffled.

Joe’s hand rubbed over the spot he’d just spanked, the touch soothing. “Good girl,” he murmured. Then, without warning, he brought his hand down again, this time on her other cheek.

Angel let out a moan, her hips moving instinctively. Joe spanked her again, and again, each blow landing in a different spot. Angel’s ass began to burn, the pain mixing with pleasure.

“You gonna keep being a brat?” Joe asked, his hand pausing to rub over her heated skin.

Angel nodded, her eyes squeezing shut. “Yes,” she whispered.

Joe let out a low laugh. “We’ll see about that,” he said. And then he started again, his hand coming down hard and fast, alternating between her cheeks.

Angel’s moans filled the room, her body jerking with each impact. The pain was intense, but so was the pleasure. She could feel her pussy throbbing, wetness dripping down her thighs.

After what felt like an eternity, Joe stopped. Angel lay over his knee, panting, her ass on fire.

“How many was that?” Joe asked, his hand rubbing over her sore skin.

Angel tried to think, but her mind was fuzzy. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted.

Joe let out a sigh. “Then I guess we’ll have to start over,” he said.

Angel groaned, but before she could protest, Joe started again. This time, he made her count out loud.

 “One,” she said after the first spank. “Two,” after the second. She made it all the way to eight before losing count again.

Joe sighed again. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

Angel shook her head, her face burning with embarrassment.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joe said. “So for every time you lose count, you get five more.”

Angel groaned again, but didn’t protest. She knew she’d asked for this, and a part of her wanted it—wanted to be pushed, wanted to feel the sting of Joe’s hand on her ass.

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Joe made her start over three more times before he finally stopped. By then, Angel’s ass was bright red, the skin hot to the touch. She lay over his knee, breathing hard, her body trembling.

Joe’s hand moved over her sore flesh, then dipped between her legs. Angel let out a gasp as his fingers traced over her slit, feeling her wetness.

“You’re soaked,” Joe murmured, his fingers teasing her entrance. “So wet for me, even after all that.”

“You want to come, babygirl?” Joe asked, his fingers continuing their torment. He circled her clit with one fingertip, feather-light. Angel jerked at the touch, a small sound escaping her.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Please, I need it.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dark. “I know what you need. But do you know what I need?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, dipping two fingers inside her again. Angel’s back arched, a whimper escaping her lips.

“You need to admit it,” Joe continued, his fingers moving just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “Tell me what you are.”

Angel frowned, confusion cutting through the haze of pleasure. “What I am? What are you—”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “Tell me why you’ve been acting out all day.”

Angel bit her lip, trying to focus through the pleasure. “Because I… I wanted your attention?” It came out like a question, uncertain.

Joe shook his head, fingers stilling. “No, that’s not it. Try again.”

She squirmed under him, trying to get him to move his fingers. “I was bored?”

Another shake of his head. “Wrong again.”

“Then tell me!” Angel snapped, frustration mounting.

Joe leaned down, his face inches from hers. “You’re a brat, Angel. You love pushing my buttons because you want me to put you in your place. You want me to remind you who’s in charge. Admit it.”

Angel glared up at him, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and desire. “Fuck you, Joseph.”

But even as she said it, she knew he was right. She had wanted to push him. She’d craved this—his intensity, his dominance. She���d missed it, truth be told. With the baby, they hadn’t had much time for anything like this. And she’d been getting a little… restless.

Joe’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t get angry like she expected. Instead, he just sighed, resigned. “Alright, Angel. If that’s how you want to play it…” He pulled his fingers out of her, ignoring her whimper of protest.

“Joe, wait—” but she didn’t get to finish. In one smooth move, he threw her to land in the middle of their bed, flipped over on her back, pulling her to the edge. Before she could even process the move, he’d knelt on the floor.

He found his home between her thighs, and he made sure she knew it. Every lick, every suck, every tease was deliberate. It was a promise of what was to come—and a punishment for what she’d put him through. Angel had wanted a reaction? She had it. And more was yet to come.

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him grunt against her pussy. The sound vibrated through her, drawing a guttural moan from her throat. He licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit, slow, savoring the taste of her. The way she shuddered, the way her breath caught—it was all fuel to the fire he’d been stoking all day.

Angel gasped, hips bucking involuntarily. Joe’s hands clamped down on them, holding her still with a grip that was anything but gentle. She tried to move, to grind against his mouth, but he was immovable. His control was absolute—and she hated how much it turned her on.

“Joe, please—” she broke off with a sharp cry as he sucked her clit between his lips, tongue flicking mercilessly. Her thighs trembled around his head, the muscles taut with the effort of staying still.

He pulled away, a string of spit still connecting his lips to her pussy. “Please, what? Tell me exactly what you want, Angel.” His voice was a dark rumble, eyes glinting with a mixture of desire and something far more dangerous.

Angel’s chest heaved, trying to catch her breath. “I want—I need—” She couldn’t find the words, her mind a haze of pleasure and need. But she didn’t have to find them. Because Joe knew. He always knew.

And with that, he leaned down and licked a long, hot stripe from her entrance to her clit. Angel cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Joe didn’t stop there. He continued to lick and suck her, his tongue delving inside her and then moving up to circle her clit. Angel writhed beneath him, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth.

“Joe,” she cried. “Oh god, Joe. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Joe hummed against her, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through her body. He continued to eat her out, his tongue and lips working her into a frenzy.

Angel was close, so close. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly. She was almost there, just a little more…

But then Joe pulled away. Angel cried out in frustration, her hips chasing his mouth. But Joe held her down, his grip firm on her thighs.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice husky. “You don’t get to come yet, babygirl. You have to wait until I say so.”

Angel whined, her entire body shaking with need. “Please, Daddy,” she begged. “I need to come. Please let me come.”

Joe smirked, his thumb brushing over her clit. “Not yet, we have all night. And I plan to take my time with you,” he repeated. “But soon. I promise.”

Without another word, he dove back in. This time, there was nothing teasing about it. It was all consuming, relentless. His tongue worked her clit in tight, focused circles while his fingers pressed inside her, curling just so. Angel arched off the bed, back bowed in a perfect arc of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes—” she chanted, hips moving of their own accord now. Joe let her, one hand releasing her hip to grip her thigh instead, spreading her wider. He sucked her clit harder, fingers thrusting in time with his tongue.

She was close. So close. She could feel it building, that coiling tension in her lower belly, the sparks of pleasure that started at her core and spread out to her fingertips. She was almost there—

Joe stopped. Pulled back completely, leaving her empty and gasping. His fingers slipped out of her with a wet sound that made her face burn with embarrassment and need.

She propped herself up on her elbows, glaring at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” He leaned in, crowding her space until she was flat on her back again. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his erection hard against her hip. “You’ve been a little brat all day, Angel. Pushing my buttons, testing my patience.” He nipped her lower lip, none too gently. “Now it’s time to take your punishment.”

Angel’s breath hitched, a thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation racing through her. She knew that tone, that look in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. And as much as she wanted to keep pushing, to see how far she could go… part of her wanted this. Wanted to give in, to let him take control.

Because when Joe took control, it was never just about him. It was about her pleasure, her needs, her desires. It was about pushing her boundaries and bringing her to heights she hadn’t known existed. It was about trust and vulnerability and connection on a level that transcended the physical.

And right now, she wanted that connection more than she wanted to keep fighting.

She whined in frustration, her hips bucking against his hand. “Please touch me,” she begged. “Please make me come.”

Joe’s chuckle was dark and sinful. “You’ll come when I’m good and ready for you to come,” he said. “Now be a good girl and take what I give you.”

Joe didn’t let her rest for long. His hand slipped between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. Angel let out a moan, her head falling back.

Angel wanted to argue, wanted to push back, but the way Joe’s fingers were moving between her legs made it impossible for her to think straight. She could feel her orgasm building, could feel it just out of reach, and she was desperate for it.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

Joe kept her on edge for what felt like hours, his fingers teasing her, bringing her close to the edge, only to pull back every time. His mouth found her, tasting her, devouring her, but always stopping just before she could tip over into climax. He played her body like an instrument, knowing exactly which buttons to press, which strings to pull.

He looked up at her, lips glistening, eyes dark with lust and a hint of amusement. “What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Angel groaned, frustration and desire warring inside her. “Why did you stop?”

Joe sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because you were about to cum. And you don’t get to cum until I say so.” His voice was calm, almost conversational. But there was an undercurrent of steel in it that made Angel shiver.

He started again, this time with fingers first. Two, thrusting deep, while his mouth found her clit. Angel’s head fell back, a low moan escaping her. He was relentless, working her up again with practiced ease. She was sensitive now, her nerves alight with the aftershocks of her interrupted orgasm.

This time, when she started to get close, she felt it sooner. The tension built faster, the pleasure sharper. Joe noticed it too. He could read her body like a book, every twitch, every tremor. And when she was on the edge, he pulled back again.

Angel whimpered, hands reaching for him. “Joe, please—I need it. I need to cum.”

He caught her wrists, pinning them beside her head. “You need to learn your place. You think you can push me around all day and then just get your reward? That’s not how this works.”

His hips settled between hers, the hard length of his erection pressed against her thigh. Angel tried to tilt her hips, to get that friction where she needed it most. But Joe held her still, her wrists immovable in his grip.

Angel bit her lip. She wanted to come so badly, but a part of her didn’t want to give in. “I… I…”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, babygirl? Too fucked out to speak? What happened to all that back talk earlier?”

Angel glared at him. “I don’t want to admit it.”

Joe shrugged. “Then you don’t get to come.”

Angel let out a frustrated growl. “That’s not fair,” she said, stamping her foot.

Joe chuckled. “Life’s not fair,” he said. “But if you’re a good girl and admit what you are, I might let you come on my cock.”

Angel’s eyes widened. The thought of taking Joe’s thick length after all this foreplay was too tempting to resist. Slowly, she nodded.

“I’m a brat,” she said, her voice soft.

Joe smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Good girl,” he praised. Then he stood up, lifting Angel onto her feet. He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth.

When he pulled back, Angel was breathless. “Now,” Joe said, his voice low. He began to strip off his clothes, his eyes never leaving Angel’s. Once he was naked, he laid back on the bed, his back against the headboard.

“Come prove to me you’re sorry,” he said, his cock hard and ready.

Angel didn’t hesitate. She crawled up the bed, straddling Joe’s hips. She reached between them, gripping his length and lining him up with her entrance. But before she could sink down onto him, Joe gripped her hips, stopping her.

“Only good girls get to look at my face,” he said, his eyes dark. “Turn around and watch yourself in the mirror.”

Angel bit her lip but complied, turning her back to Joe. He helped her, placing his hands on her hips and lifting her, then turning her so she faced the mirror that hung on the wall across from the bed.

Angel’s breath caught as she caught sight of herself—naked, legs spread, Joe’s thick cock nestled between her thighs. Joe’s hands gripped her hips, holding her in place.

“Bend forward,” he ordered.

Angel did as she was told, bending at the waist. Joe’s cock slid between her legs, the head catching on her entrance.

“Now ride me like you mean it,” Joe said, his voice rough. “Show me how sorry you are for being a brat all day.”

Angel didn’t need to be told twice. She slid down onto Joe’s cock, taking him to the hilt. The stretch burned, but it was a good kind of pain. She began to move, lifting herself up and sliding back down.

Joe let out a groan, his hands gripping her hips tighter. “That’s it, babygirl,” he praised. “Just like that. Show me what a good wife you can be.”

Angel rode him hard, her hips slapping against his. She could see herself in the mirror, her tits bouncing, her face flushed with pleasure. Behind her, Joe was moaning, his hips meeting her thrust for thrust. Suddenly, his hand came down on her ass, the slap ringing out in the room.

Angel yelped but didn’t stop moving. Instead, she rode him faster, her pussy clenching around his cock. Joe spanked her again and again, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

“Talked so much shit,” Joe growled in her ear, “now look at you. Taking my cock like a good little slut. This all you needed, baby? Your husband to fuck the brattiness out of you?”

“Yes,” Angel breathed. She was close, so close. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly.

Joe’s hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her up until she was laying back against his chest. His other hand slid around to her front, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed her in fast circles as he fucked up into her, deep and slow.

Angel could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The pleasure was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once. “Joe,” she begged. “Please, I need to come.”

“You need to come?” Joe repeated, his voice mocking. “Well, that’s too bad. I don’t think you deserve it.”

Angel let out a sob, her hips moving faster. “Please,” she begged again. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll be the best wife, the best girl. Just please let me come.”

Joe reached his other hand up, wrapping it around her throat. He slowed his thrusts, fucking into her with long, deep strokes. “Hmmm, are you done being a brat?” he asked.

Angel nodded frantically, her eyes wide. “Yes,” she said, her voice choked. “I’m done, I promise. Please, Joe. Please let me come.”

Joe chuckled, the sound dark. “Such a good girl now, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Eyes open. Keep looking.”

Angel did as she was told, her eyes opening to look at her reflection in the mirror. She saw the large hand splayed across her lower abdomen, the other wrapped around her throat. She saw Joe’s broad chest behind her, his muscles rippling as he moved. She saw his thick cock, buried deep inside her pussy.

And she saw his eyes, dark and intense, locked on hers in the mirror.

“Good girl,” Joe praised, his hips never stopping. “Keep those eyes open. Keep watching yourself get fucked. Watch yourself come undone on my cock.”

Angel couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. She was mesmerized by the sight of herself, by the pleasure coursing through her body. Joe’s hand on her throat tightened slightly, and his fingers on her clit moved faster. His teeth sank into her neck, biting down on the sensitive skin.

“Come for me, babygirl. Show me how much you love your punishment.”

Angel couldn’t hold back anymore. She came hard, her eyes rolling back in her head, her scream echoing off the walls. She squirted all over Joe’s cock, her juices flowing out of her and down his balls.

Joe groaned at the feel of her coming, his fingers never stopping on her clit. He kept rubbing her, drawing out her orgasm until she was a shaking, sobbing mess in his arms. Then, after a few more thrusts, he came too, his seed shooting deep inside her.

Angel collapsed against him, her body spent. Joe wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard. Slowly, Joe released his hold on her throat, his fingers gently massaging the skin. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then her shoulder.

“Good girl. There’s the woman I married,” he murmured again.

Angel smiled, her body lax against his. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet.

Joe chuckled. “For what? Fucking you into next week?”

Angel laughed. “No, for putting me in my place.”

Joe pulled out of her, then turned her in his arms. He looked down at her, his eyes softening. “You’re perfect just the way you are,” he said. “Brattiness and all.”

Then Joe gently lifted her off his cock and laid her down on the bed beside him.

He pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. “You okay, baby?” he asked, his thumb rubbing over her cheek.

Angel nodded, snuggling closer to him. “I’m perfect,” she said, her voice filled with satisfaction.

Joe chuckled. “Good,” he said. Then, after a moment, “You’re still a brat, though.”

Angel laughed, slapping his chest lightly. “Shut up.”

Joe just grinned, kissing the top of her head. “I love you, baby,” he said softly.

Angel looked up at him, her eyes shining. “I love you too.”

As they laid there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Angel knew that she’d gotten exactly what she needed. She’d needed Joe to put her back in her place, to remind her who was in charge. And he’d done just that.

But more than that, she’d needed to be reminded that no matter what, Joe would always love her. That he would always be there for her, even when she was being difficult. That their love was strong enough to withstand anything, even a bratty wife.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

Just as Angel’s eyes began to flutter shut, the soft haze of sleep tugging at her, she felt herself being lifted gently off the bed. Joe’s strong arms wrapped around her, his chest warm against her cheek as he cradled her with practiced ease. She murmured something unintelligible, half-protest, half-contentment, but he only kissed the top of her head and kept walking.

The en-suite bathroom was softly lit, the overhead light dimmed to a golden glow that made the marble countertops gleam. Steam curled up from the large soaking tub, where fragrant bubbles danced on the surface of the water. Lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

Joe knelt beside the tub and slowly lowered her into the water, careful to ease her in rather than startle her with the heat. Angel let out a long, luxurious sigh as the warmth seeped into her muscles, dissolving the aches of the day. Her head fell back against the edge of the tub, her curls brushing the porcelain.

“Hold still,” Joe said gently, grabbing a silk scrunchie from the counter. He gathered her curls with care, tying them up into a loose bun to keep them from the water. “There we go. Perfect.”

She watched him move around the bathroom, his steps quiet but purposeful. When he turned toward the door presumably to go change the sheets on their bed, she made a small noise of protest, eyes fluttering open again.

Joe paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “Shhh,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll be right back, baby. Just gonna get the bed ready.”

She let him go, the sound of his footsteps fading. In the silence, the soft pop of bubbles breaking on the surface of the water became almost meditative. The warmth, the scent, the quiet—she could’ve stayed there forever.

But only a few minutes passed before he was back, stepping carefully into the room with two tall glasses of ice water balanced in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hydration, my love,” he said, placing the glasses on the ledge within reach. Then, with a contented groan, he climbed into the tub behind her, water lapping up the sides as his weight settled in.

Angel shifted slightly, nestling herself between his thighs, her back resting against his chest. Joe’s arms came around her, one hand finding hers under the water, fingers intertwining.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then nuzzled into the curve of her neck. “Music?”

“Anything,” she murmured, her voice nearly a whisper.

Joe chuckled against her skin, the vibration of it soothing. “Dangerous thing to say to a man with questionable taste.”

“You’re lucky I’m too relaxed to argue,” she said, smiling sleepily.

He opened his music app and started scrolling. “Let’s see… Jazz? R&B? Or are you in one of those movie-soundtrack-mood kind of nights?”

“Surprise me.”

He started reading off a few titles, his voice deep and warm, the cadence of it washing over her. By the time he settled on a mellow playlist and set the phone aside, her eyelids were already growing heavy again.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

Minutes passed—or maybe longer—and eventually Joe reached in front her and pulled the plug. The water gurgled and swirled, draining away in a slow spiral. Angel shivered as the steam dissipated and the cool air of the bathroom returned.

Without a word, Joe stood and stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel before returning to help her up. He grabbed a warm towel from the towel warmer and wrapped it snugly around her, patting her skin dry with gentle hands. “You good?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

She nodded, still wordless, letting him take care of her.

He lifted her again, as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her back to the bedroom where the bed now lay freshly made, the sheets crisp and cool. He laid her down carefully, smoothing a hand over her back before returning to the bathroom to hang the towels.

When he came back, he had the ointment in hand. Angel was already on her stomach, her arms tucked under her pillow. He sat beside her, uncapping the bottle, and squeezed a generous amount into his palm. The smell of menthol mixed with something floral rose into the air. He rubbed a generous amount onto her ass, the coolness of the ointment soothing the heat there.

She winced at first as he began to rub it in, but then her body gradually relaxed, melting beneath his hands.

“Mmm… thank you,” she mumbled into the pillow.

He smiled and didn’t reply, just continued the slow, soothing motion of his hands until every trace of tension was gone. When he was done, he wiped his hands off and tossed the towel into the hamper with practiced ease.

Without missing a beat, Joe grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts—soft and worn, smelling like him—and helped Angel into it. Then, from the nightstand drawer, he pulled out her satin bonnet.

She looked up at him with a grateful smile as he gently slid it over her curls. “You know I hate waking up looking like a madwoman,” she murmured.

“Which is why you never do,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

With that, he shed his towel and pulled on a clean pair of boxers. Then he climbed into bed, pulling the comforter over them both and wrapping his arms around her.

Angel curled into his chest, her cheek resting over his heart. The steady thump of it was her favorite lullaby.

“Love you,” she whispered.

“I love you more,” Joe replied, kissing the crown of her head.

Sleep claimed her swiftly, the weight of his arms and the beat of his heart anchoring her in a safety she never took for granted.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the car windows as they cruised down the highway, soft music playing low from the speakers. Angel’s phone buzzed in her lap. She picked it up, swiping the screen, and smiled instantly.

Joe glanced over from the driver’s seat. “What’s got you grinning like that?”

She turned the phone toward him. A picture filled the screen—Zariyah, their six-month-old daughter, laying on her little baby gym. She wasn’t playing with the hanging toys like usual. Instead, she had her head turned to the side, her eyes closed in serene contentment, a smile tugging at her lips as she sucked her thumb.

Joe chuckled, his eyes flicking from the road to the image and back. “Looks like our girl’s a little brat… just like her mama.”

Angel gasped in mock offense, swatting his arm. “She’s a baby, Joseph! Don’t even start.”

“She is your daughter though,” he teased, clearly trying to hide his grin now.

“Whatever,” she muttered, rolling her eyes—but her cheeks were flushed with affection.

Joe reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together with a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but deeply felt.

Angel looked at him, her heart full. “I love you too.”

And in that moment—sunlight on their faces, laughter in their voices, and love thick in the air—everything felt exactly as it should be.

[thirteenheavens]

Vernon coming home after tour extremely tired just wanting to cuddle but also horny so you ride him and he falls asleep mid fuck

Did you fall asleep?|| Chwe Vernon

Notes: back to writing enjoy thank you anon!

Vernon stumbles through the door of your shared apartment, his eyes heavy with exhaustion from his long tour. He drops his bags on the floor and lets out a deep sigh, collapsing onto the couch.

"I'm so tired," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "I just want to sleep for days." You come over to him and wrap your arms around him, feeling the tension in his body. "You're home now, babe. You can rest."

Vernon leans into your embrace, nuzzling his face against your neck. "But I also want you," he says softly, his voice rough with desire. "I've missed you so much." You can feel him getting hard against your thigh, but you can also sense his exhaustion. "Maybe we should just cuddle for now," you suggest gently.

Vernon nods, but his hands start to wander over your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "I don't know if I can just cuddle," he admits, his voice thick with need. "I've been dreaming about you every night." You can tell he's struggling to stay awake, his eyelids fluttering as he tries to focus on you. "Let me take care of you," you whisper, straddling his lap. "Just relax and let me make you feel good."

Vernon protests weakly, his eyes half-closed as you straddle him. "You don't have to do anything, Y-N. I can wait until I'm more awake." But his body betrays him, his hands gripping your hips as he grinds up against you. He's so tired, but the feel of you on top of him is too much to resist.

"Maybe just a little," he whispers, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Just... be gentle with me." You kiss him softly, taking control as you slowly grind against him. Vernon's body relaxes beneath you, his eyes closing as he lets out a soft moan.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he starts to drift off. "Love you so much..." Vernon groans as you pull his pants down, his cock springing free. He's so hard and already leaking precum, but his body is starting to go limp with exhaustion.

"I can't... stay awake," he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut again. "You feel so good..." You continue to move against him, sinking down onto his cock slowly as you watch him struggle to stay conscious. His breathing is slow and deep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

"Just let go, babe," you whisper, kissing his forehead. "I've got you." As you ride him, Vernon's body becomes heavy and relaxed beneath you. His hands fall limp at his sides, and his breathing becomes deep and even.

You're so caught up in the pleasure, moaning and gasping as you take him deeper, that you don't notice him falling asleep. His eyes are closed, his face peaceful as he drifts off into a deep slumber. You continue to move on top of him, your own pleasure building to a crescendo. Finally, with a loud cry, you reach your climax, clenching around his cock.

As you come down from your high, you realize that Vernon is fast asleep, his cock still inside you. You smile softly, gently pulling off of him and tucking him into bed. You giggle softly as you tuck Vernon in, feeling a mixture of amusement and affection for your exhausted boyfriend. You carefully cover him with the blankets, making sure he's comfortable.

"Sleep well, my love," you whisper, kissing his forehead before turning to clean up. As you head to the bathroom, you can't help but laugh at the situation. Vernon had been so determined to stay awake and take care of you, but his body had other plans. You shower and change into pajamas, still giggling at the memory of Vernon falling asleep mid-sex. As you brush your teeth, you glance at his sleeping form in the bedroom and shake your head.

"I should've known he wouldn't be able to stay awake," you mumble to yourself, amused. "He was so tired." Once you're ready for bed, you climb in next to him, careful not to wake him. You cuddle up against his side, wrapping your arm around his waist as you drift off to sleep, thinking about how cute he looked when he was exhausted.

The next morning, you wake up to find Vernon still sleeping peacefully beside you. He looks so innocent and vulnerable, his hair a mess and his face buried in the pillow. You smile and gently shake him awake, feeling a pang of guilt for not letting him get more rest. "Vernon, babe, wake up," you say softly. "It's morning."

He stirs and opens his eyes slowly, blinking in confusion. "Did we...?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep. You laugh and nod, explaining how he had fallen asleep during your lovemaking. Vernon blushes furiously, clearly embarrassed.

"I can't believe I did that," he mutters, covering his face with his hands. "I'm so sorry, Y-N." Vernon sits up in bed, his eyes wide with shock as he processes the fact that he actually fell asleep during sex.

"I can't believe it," he says again, running a hand through his hair. "I was so tired, but I didn't think I would actually pass out like that." He looks at you with a mix of embarrassment and apology. "I'm really sorry, Y-N. I know I promised to take care of you last night, and instead I just... fell asleep."

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. "It's okay, babe. You needed the rest. And honestly, it was kind of adorable."

Vernon laughs self-deprecatingly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Adorable? I don't know about that. I must've been exhausted if I couldn't even stay awake for you." He pulls you onto his lap, holding you close as he buries his face in your neck. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just give me a few hours to recover from this embarrassment."

You giggle and kiss the top of his head. "No need to be embarrassed, babe. We all have our moments. And besides, I still got to ride you, didn't I?" Vernon smiles against your skin, his arms tightening around you. "You're too good to me, Y-N. I don't deserve you."

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes soft with affection. "But seriously, I'm going to make it up to you today. I'll take you out for a nice breakfast, and then we can do whatever you want." He leans in and kisses you gently, his lips moving against yours with a newfound determination. "No more falling asleep during sexy times, I promise."

[sturniololuvz]

can you do a fluff fic where y/n and the triplets are best friends, but she’s the closest to chris? maybe one night she’s been broken up with in a horrible way and she’s crying and she asks the triplets if she can come over and spend the night? chris maybe relates to her the most and is extra caring and loving towards her? (i love your work sm🩷)

thank uuu

“You Can Always Come Here”

It was just after 11 when the group chat pinged.

Nick was mid-scroll on TikTok, Matt was half-asleep, and Chris was getting water in the kitchen when he heard it first — the ding that made him instinctively check his phone. One glance at the screen had him freezing.

Y/N:

“Can I come over? I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Three dots danced at the bottom like she wanted to say more, but they disappeared.

Then came another:

Y/N:

“He broke up with me. Over text. Said I’m too much.”

Chris stared at the message for a second, heart sinking into his stomach. He didn’t wait. He was already grabbing his keys.

Nick and Matt read it too, voices low.

“I’ll make the pullout,” Matt murmured, already moving toward the guest blanket stash.

“I’ll get the snacks she likes,” Nick added.

But Chris was already out the door, hoodie half-zipped, phone clutched in his hand as he sent her a quick text:

Chris:

“I’m coming to walk you over. Wait outside, yeah?”

He found her sitting on the curb outside her apartment building, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t even look up when he approached — she just felt him before she saw him. And when he dropped down next to her, she crumpled into him without hesitation.

Chris wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

“He didn’t even call,” she choked out, voice cracking. “Just… left. Said I care too much. That I’m exhausting.”

Chris’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say what he wanted to — about how cruel that was, how wrong, how someone who actually loved her would never make her feel like a burden for being soft, for feeling deeply. Instead, he held her tighter.

“You’re not too much,” he said softly, forehead resting against hers. “He was too little.”

She let out a breath that was half a sob and half a laugh, shaking her head. “You always know what to say.”

“Only with you,” Chris murmured, helping her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

⸻

By the time they made it to the triplets’ apartment, the couch was made up, her favorite tea was steeping, and Nick was pretending not to hover while Matt tossed her a fuzzy blanket.

“You can take the couch,” Matt offered. “Or Chris’s bed. We’ll make him sleep in the bathtub.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “She’s taking my bed. And I’m not sleeping in the bathtub.”

Y/N looked at him through red, watery eyes. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

Chris shrugged like it was the easiest answer in the world. “Next to you. If that’s okay.”

Her bottom lip wobbled again, but this time it wasn’t just heartbreak — it was gratitude.

⸻

Later that night, with the lights off and Chris’s room filled only with the sound of rain and their slow, steady breathing, she turned to him in the dark.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris didn’t speak at first. He just reached for her hand under the blanket, interlacing their fingers like it was muscle memory.

“You’ll never have to find out.”

She blinked up at him, barely visible in the soft light from the hallway.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” he whispered. “And I mean that in the realest way. You break? I break. You hurt? I hurt. There’s no version of this world where I wouldn’t want to be the person you call when everything falls apart.”

A tear slid down her cheek — but this one wasn’t heavy. It was light. Releasing something she’d been holding too long.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chris gently wiped the tear from her face with the back of his hand.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time that night, she believed it — that she was safe, that she was loved, and that no one could ever make her feel like too much again.

Because with Chris… she was exactly enough.

⸻

[inkedtension]

Title: “Warm Enough for You?” Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Toji wasn’t much for cuddling.

You knew this. Liked him anyway. Loved the scars, the bluntness, the way he filled a room like a shadow you’d never quite get rid of—and never wanted to.

The heater in your apartment was busted. Again. Your hands were freezing. Toji had just finished his shower, towel slung low on his hips, muscles still damp and glistening under the shitty bathroom light. He raised a brow when he found you curled in bed like a shivering ball, blankets up to your ears.

“Seriously?” he muttered, dropping the towel and pulling on just his boxers.

You peeked out. “It’s freezing. The blankets aren’t working.”

“Mm.” He climbed into bed next to you anyway, lifting the covers and slipping behind you. One arm lazily draped over your waist, his breath already hot on your neck.

Still not warm enough.

You squirmed a little, pressing back into him, feeling the hard lines of his body—and the heat, God, the heat he gave off like a furnace.

“Toji,” you whispered, soft and careful, testing the waters.

His hand gripped your hip lazily. “Yeah?”

Your face flushed, but you turned just enough to meet his eyes in the dark.

“Can I—can we... just cockwarm? For the heat.”

He went still for half a second, then let out a slow, surprised laugh. “That what you want, mama?” he rasped. “You cold enough to beg for me like that?”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “Please. Just wanna feel full. I’ll be good.”

His voice dropped to a growl—low, dangerous, but amused. “Fuck. You’re really somethin’, you know that?”

He moved behind you, slow and heavy, large hand sliding up your thigh, gripping you just under the knee as he shifted your leg forward.

“No squirming,” he warned. “You ask for this? You better take it like a good girl.”

You did.

And when he pressed flush against you, sliding inside in one long, possessive motion—you finally felt warm. You breathed out something between a sigh and a whimper, head dropping back against his shoulder.

Toji exhaled against your skin. “There. That warm enough for you, baby?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now go to sleep like this. Mine. Stuffed full. Pretty little heater, huh?”

You smiled softly in the dark, heat blooming low in your belly, every inch of you claimed and wrapped in him.

You were trying to focus on the warmth, on staying still like you promised—but he was so deep. Toji filled you in a way that made you feel split and whole all at once. Heavy. Hot. His.

You shifted slightly, trying not to move too much. But even the tiniest motion had his breath catching behind you.

“Mm.” His voice rumbled against your spine. “Thought you were gonna be good.”

You bit your lip. “I am.”

Toji chuckled darkly, hand sliding up your body beneath the blankets, rough fingertips tracing the shape of your waist, ribs, then—slowly—your breasts. He exhaled like he was looking at a damn shrine.

“Goddamn,” he murmured. “These tits... always so fuckin’ perfect.”

You gasped when he cupped them fully, massaging them with reverent, greedy hands. His thumbs brushed your nipples, and they hardened instantly in the cold air as the blankets slipped down. You felt him twitch inside you. He grinned.

“You’re warm now, yeah?” he whispered. “So you won’t mind if I enjoy myself a little.”

Then—he thrust up.

Not hard. Not fast. Just deep and slow enough to make your eyes fly open, a soft, choked sound catching in your throat.

“Toji—!”

He hummed. “You said cockwarming,” he teased, thrusting up again, just a little firmer. “Didn’t say I couldn’t have fun.”

Your back arched when he rolled one nipple between his fingers. “Fuck—just like that. Look at ‘em…” He leaned in, mouth dragging hot along your shoulder. “Softest fuckin’ tits I’ve ever touched. Could fall asleep with my mouth on ‘em.”

You moaned when he pinched, then soothed the sting with his tongue. He moved you onto your back with ease, never pulling out, just pressing in deeper.

Now he was above you—big, heavy, eyes dark with lust and that twisted kind of worship he’d never admit to.

“Gonna take my time,” he said low, dragging his tongue over your nipple, then sucking it into his mouth like he needed it. “You’re warm, wet, full, and lookin’ at me like you wanna cry if I stop.”

He thrust up again—slow, teasing, maddening.

“Say please” he said around your breast. “Say please, mama.”

“Please” you whispered, breathless. “Toji, please.”

He groaned like that word did something to him. Mama. Sweet. Filthy. Yours.

“That’s my girl” he said, dragging his tongue over your chest again, teeth grazing sensitive skin, squeezing them tits with his hands then burying his face in the soft skin. “Fuck, I could stay right here all night. Buried in this pussy, mouth full of these tits. Best goddamn heater I ever had.”

“Fuck this,” he muttered. “I’m done playin’.”

You barely had time to breathe before he slammed his hips forward, deep and hard, knocking a full moan out of you—raw and stunned.

“God—Toji!”

He growled. Not soft, not amused—feral. Like the leash he kept on himself finally snapped.

“You beg like that and expect me to hold back?” Another thrust—rougher this time. His hand fisted in the sheets by your head, his other on your jaw, tilting you to look at him. “Nah, mama. You knew what you were doing.”

You tried to answer, to explain it wasn’t a trick—but it didn’t matter. His rhythm had gone from slow and teasing to animal. Deep. Brutal. Overwhelming.

His eyes locked on your face like he was reading every reaction, memorizing the way your mouth opened with every push, the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. You were a mess under him, and he loved it.

“This pussy’s too good to waste on patience,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his jaw as he fucked into you harder. “You keep clenching like that, makin’ those fuckin’ noises—what did you expect me to do, huh?”

You cried out, fingers digging into his back, legs locking around him on instinct.

“Toji—!”

He snapped his hips again, faster now, chasing the sound of his name like it fed something inside him.

“Yeah,” he panted, breath hot against your mouth. “Say it again.”

“Toji—!”

“Louder.”

“Toji—please—!”

“There she is,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “That’s my fuckin’ girl. All mine.”

His mouth was on your neck now, biting, licking, breathing against your skin like he needed to mark you everywhere. His hand slid down to your thigh, pulling your legs over his shoulders, gripping tight enough to bruise as he pounded into you like he didn’t want to stop. Like he couldn’t.

“Feel that?” he grunted, voice wrecked. “That’s what you do to me. Every time. You break me, mama. You fuckin’ ruin me.”

“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” he mutters, his grip tightening around your waist.

He pinches a nipple, tugging it between his fingers.

“Can’t help but play with you, mama. You’re just too goddamn perfect.”

He leans over, closer to your face, spits in your agape mouth and watches you gulp it down, your two legs are then pushed again, onto a mating press and he starts pumping into you, resisting the urge to roll his eyes back to stare at your face.

“You’re so fuckin' perfect,” he groans, his voice ragged as he holds you steady.

You’re lost, fully lost in him now, everything around you spinning—his hands, his voice, his control.

He holds you still, hands coming up to your wrists to hold then above your head, mouth meeting yours in a gruffly affectionate kiss, moans and groans matching yours, as he cums, deep.

“Yasss, mama, there we go,” he says while kissing you down the way, as you shivered a little.

“She took it all in, how sweet,” he puts your panties back on.

[cassiemaebarnes]

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 14

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Masterlist

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 7,051

When you woke up to Bucky’s alarm again the next morning, you were exhausted. Bucky just reached over and turned it off, arm immediately coming back to it’s place around you.

“Mmm no,” you groaned, pushing your face deeper into his chest.

“What baby?” he murmured.

“Don’t wanna get up,” you groaned again, moving your hand from his chest to wrap around his side, pulling yourself closer to him.

He just chuckled, tracing random patterns on your back as you laid against him. “You’re gonna have to, doll.”

“No.”

“I mean, I could text Steve and tell him you don’t feel well.”

You just sighed and finally lifted your head up. “He wouldn’t believe that,” you deadpanned.

“Well – no, probably not,” he said, smiling. “But he definitely wouldn’t ask about it. He’d be too embarrassed.”

You just laughed at the thought before you pulled yourself up. You just sat there for a bit before climbing out of bed, Bucky immediately sitting up and throwing the blanket off of him.

“You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to,” you said, waving him off. “I know you don’t have training today.”

He just got up anyway, picking his sweatpants up off the ground and pulling them on. “No, that’s okay,” he said, smiling at you. “Someone’s gotta pour your coffee.”

You just scoffed, stretching your hands above your head before relaxing again. “I’m pretty sure I can do that myself.”

“Well, I guess today’s your lucky day, because you don’t have to,” he said, smirking.

You laughed softly before pulling the door open and standing in the doorway as Bucky made his way over to his closet.

“Gotta grab a shirt since someone decided to steal mine,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you, failing to hide the smile on his face.

“I take your shirt, you keep my underwear on your floor…seems like a fair trade to me,” you said, giving him a smug smirk.

He just sighed and shook his head, eyes darting to your underwear still on the floor before meeting your eyes again. “You’re killing me, doll.”

You just gave him a fake-innocent smile before turning and padding down the hallway, him following right behind you.

When you got to the kitchen, the only person in there was Steve. He took one look at you – walking in with Bucky, in your sleep shorts and what was obviously Bucky’s t-shirt – and just raised a brow, but didn’t say anything.

You both told him good morning, you settling in a stool at the island and Bucky pulling two coffee mugs from the top shelf.

“Morning guys,” Steve said, trying to hide a smile behind his mug. “Get any sleep last night?”

You and Bucky locked eyes for just a brief second, trying to hold back a smile as you turned toward Steve. “Yeah.”

Bucky just chuckled, pouring the coffee before walking over and setting one in front of you, lowering himself into the stool beside you. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we?” he responded, raising an eyebrow right back at Steve before smirking.

After just sipping your coffee for a while, you got up, making your way to the fridge and pulling out the yogurt.

“Either of you guys want some?” you asked, reaching into the pantry and grabbing granola.

Steve just said “no, thank you,” but as you turned back toward the counter, Bucky was already up and grabbing two bowls.

He opened up the yogurt container, then grabbed a spoon to start filling the bowls.

“No fruit?” he asked, reaching out to grab the granola from you.

“Eh, didn’t feel like cutting the strawberries,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders.

“I got it,” he said, not looking up from the bowls as he started pouring the granola. “You can go ‘head and sit down.”

You just raised an eyebrow at him, leaning against the counter as he finally looked up at you.

“You spoil me, y’know,” you said, laughing as you walked back over to your stool to sit down.

“I know,” he said, opening the fridge and pulling out the strawberries.

Steve just sighed from the other end of the counter, setting his coffee mug down.

“You spoil her?” he echoed, eyebrows raised. “What parallel universe did I wake up in this morning?”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “You’re just mad no one asks you to cut strawberries.”

You snorted into your coffee, and Steve gave you a look like, please don’t encourage him.

“I mean, come on,” Steve continued, gesturing toward the two of you with the mug. “This guy–” he pointed to Bucky, “–used to grumble if anyone even looked like they were gonna ask him to do something domestic. Now he’s making breakfast?”

“I didn’t ask him to,” you said quickly, acting innocent. “He offered.”

Steve raised his brows. “Yeah, that’s my point.”

Bucky just shook his head, slicing the strawberries with easy, practiced movements. “People change, Steve.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I just never thought you’d go full suburban husband before nine in the morning.”

“I haven’t vacuumed yet,” Bucky deadpanned, sliding the bowl in front of you with a small smile. “Give me an hour.”

You let out a quiet laugh, already digging into your yogurt.

Steve watched the whole thing with a kind of stunned, amused expression, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was his life.

After a pause, he shook his head again, though this time there was a softer edge to it. “Nah, I’m happy for you, Buck. Really. I just…never thought I’d see the day when you made breakfast for your girlfriend while she’s wearing your t-shirt.”

Bucky glanced down at your shirt – well, technically his shirt – and smirked. “Yeah, well. You’ve seen worse.”

Steve raised his mug again in a mock toast. “That I have.”

You just smiled to yourself as you took another bite of yogurt, warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the coffee.

Steve just shook his head once more before pushing himself up and walking toward the hallway. “I have to make a quick call, but I’ll meet you in the training room.”

“Okay,” you said, mouth full, before he just chuckled and stepped out.

The second he was gone, you looked over at Bucky, who was already trying – and failing – not to smile.

“Did you see his face?” you said through a laugh.

“Oh, he looked personally offended by the strawberries,” Bucky replied, chuckling as he leaned his elbow on the counter. “Like I’d betrayed every version of myself.”

You grinned, swirling your spoon through the yogurt.

“Sergeant Softie strikes again,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your knee under the counter.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but the smirk gave him away. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh no, it’s adorable,” you said sweetly, flashing him an exaggeratedly innocent look. “Just don’t let Steve catch you fluffing the couch pillows later.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Okay, first of all, I only did that once–”

“Twice.”

“–because they were squished and uneven,” he finished, ignoring your interruption as he reached out to pluck your spoon from your hand and take a bite of your yogurt without asking.

You gasped in fake offense. “You strawberry thief! I see the domestic bliss has gone straight to your head.”

“Just making sure I earned my ‘Softie’ title properly,” he said with a grin, handing the spoon back.

You laughed again, shaking your head, heart full. “You really have changed, y’know.”

He gave you a softer look then, eyes meeting yours for a beat longer.

“Yeah,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “I think that’s a good thing.”

You just smiled and reached out, brushing your hand gently over his.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do too.”

After you finished eating, Bucky grabbed both of your bowls without a word, standing up and taking them over to the sink, rinsing them out.

When he was done and wiped his hands on a dish towel, you got up and made your way to the hallway, him following behind you.

“So, whatcha gonna do while I’m in PT?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He just hummed, walking a few more steps before looking over at you with a smirk.

“Probably just lay in bed. Yearn. Look at your picture on my phone. Miss you.”

You just busted out laughing, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself while you kept walking. “Y’know, I wouldn’t put that past you.”

He just scoffed, still smiling. “Oh c’mon, I’m not that far gone.”

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Mhmm. Sure.”

He just rolled his eyes as you made your way into the elevator.

When you got to your room, you went straight to the dresser and started rummaging through it, looking for the workout set you wanted.

You just sighed when you realized you wore it a couple days ago.

“Ugh, I need to do laundry today,” you muttered, grabbing another set and shutting the drawer.

Bucky shrugged, leaning against your doorway. “I can start it while you’re at PT.”

You turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. “Oh…really?”

He raised both hands in mock surrender, but the smirk was already spreading. “What?”

“You? Volunteering for laundry? That’s interesting coming from the guy who said – and I quote – ‘I draw the line at laundry,’ like the day after we met.”

He snorted, head tilting back slightly with a laugh. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

And before you could respond, he casually walked over and grabbed your laundry basket from the corner like it was nothing.

You let out a soft, amused breath and shook your head. “God, I love you,” you said easily, with a little laugh.

And then you turned, taking one step toward the bathroom before your body went completely still.

Your heart stopped when you realized what you’d just said.

Bucky, still holding the basket, blinked once. You didn’t turn around. Neither of you said anything for a second.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, slowly, like you were afraid of what you’d see, you turned around.

Bucky was still standing there, laundry basket in his arms, eyes wide and frozen like he’d just short-circuited. His lips were parted slightly, like maybe he was about to say something – but hadn’t gotten that far.

Your eyes were wide too. “I mean–” you started, but your voice cracked, and the words fumbled out of your mouth in a rush. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean it like that, or – I mean, I did, but not like – like in a serious, declaration kind of way–”

You were gesturing vaguely now, backing up a half step, your thoughts tripping over each other faster than your mouth could catch up. “I mean I do love you, obviously, because – well, I mean, come on – but I wasn’t – this wasn’t–”

You stopped when you heard him start to laugh softly.

You blinked and looked up.

Bucky had set the laundry basket down gently, and now he was crossing the space between you with calm, unhurried steps. You froze again when he reached out and placed both hands lightly on your shoulders.

You looked up at him, breath caught in your chest, heart racing like you were about to be pushed out of a plane.

He was smiling.

Not teasing, not smug – just soft. Steady. Like he knew exactly what you were feeling because, somehow, he felt it too.

“I love you too,” he said quietly.

Your breath hitched.

For the first time in the last thirty seconds, you stopped moving. Stopped sputtering. Stopped panicking.

And just looked at him.

“…You do?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He nodded once, smile deepening as his thumbs brushed gently over your arms. “Yeah, doll. I do.”

You finally fully relaxed, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, before you started to laugh awkwardly.

“Well, good,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought I’d just ruined this.”

“Aww, c’mon,” he said, “you really think you could ruin this?”

“I mean, probably not,” you replied, smirking. “You seem pretty down bad to me.”

“I’m just being a good teammate,” he said, smirking back as he dropped his hands from your shoulders.

“Teammate?!” you exclaimed, eyes wide. “So when Sam’s doing a good job in training, you tell him he’s doing ‘so good for you’ in that low voice of yours?”

He busted out laughing before smirking at you again. “So you liked that, huh?”

“…Maybe,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk just got bigger as you turned toward the bathroom. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he called out to you.

“Get outta here,” you said, smiling and waving him away as he picked up your laundry basket again.

You could still hear him chuckling as you shut the bathroom door behind you.

--

After you finished physical therapy and iced your ankle, you were walking out of the training room and almost ran right into Nat and Wanda.

“Oh, good,” Nat said, “we were hoping to catch you.”

“Don’t plan anything the rest of the day,” Wanda said, pointing at you.

“Why, what’s up?”

“Since we have the day off, we’re doing a girls’ day!” Wanda exclaimed.

“Which means no boyfriend,” Nat added, smirking.

“Oooh, okay, sounds fun,” you replied, starting to walk with them down the hall. “What are we doing?”

“Well, we thought we’d get lunch first, then maybe do some shopping?” Nat said, shrugging.

“And getting our nails done,” Wanda said, wiggling her fingers at you.

“Okay, I’m in,” you said, smiling. “Just gotta shower first, then I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Okay, we’ll be in the common room,” Nat said as they turned away, heading in the opposite direction.

You got in the elevator, then made your way to your room, quickly jumping in the shower before you wrapped yourself in a towel and made your way back into your room to get dressed.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Bucky was sitting in your bed, leaning back against the headboard.

“Oh,” you said, jumping a little. “Hi?”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, sitting up, eyes sweeping over you. “I heard the shower running so I thought I’d just chill here ‘til you came out.”

You just laughed as you started walking over to your closet. “You waited in here while I was showering?”

Bucky shrugged like it was the most casual thing in the world. “I figured you’d come find me after, so I thought I’d save you the trip.”

You opened the closet and pulled out a nice, fitted top. “You are so down bad.”

He let out a low chuckle, leaning his head back against the headboard. “Yeah? And what does that make you?”

You gave him a pointed look over your shoulder. “I’m not the one lurking on someone’s bed.”

He raised a brow. “I’m not lurking. I’m lounging.”

“Right,” you said, smirking as you walked to your dresser and pulled open the drawer, grabbing your new pair of jeans. “Very dignified of you.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding. “I take my lounging seriously. Especially when it involves you coming out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh but didn’t deny it. “Okay, Sergeant Softie. Enjoy the view.”

Bucky was still watching you, that cocky little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what effect he had on you.

So you smirked right back.

Then, without warning, you turned your back to him, dropped your towel, and started getting dressed right there – completely nonchalant.

You heard him inhale sharply, followed by a brief, stunned silence.

You pulled open your dresser drawer, pulling on a pair of underwear and a bra.

“Need me to leave?” he asked, voice a little raspier than before.

You stepped into your jeans slowly, shimmying them up with deliberate ease before pulling on the shirt and smoothing it down.

You turned around, now fully dressed and giving him a smug smirk. “Oh no, you waited this long. Least I could do was give you something to look at.”

His eyes were definitely not on your face.

But when they finally met yours again, they were dark with amusement. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Better me than on a mission.”

That made him laugh out loud as he pushed himself off the bed and walked toward you, hands finding your waist as he dipped down to brush a kiss to your lips.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

“You love it,” you whispered.

“I really do.”

Bucky let his hands slide off your waist as he stepped back just slightly, letting his eyes sweep over you, with a dramatic tilt of his head.

“Well, look at you,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Who’re you getting all dressed up for, huh?”

You grinned, grabbing a pair of socks from your dresser. “Girls’ day with Nat and Wanda.”

He immediately gasped dramatically, one hand flying to his chest. “Girls’ day? You’re abandoning me?”

You just rolled your eyes, heading back toward the bathroom. “You’ll survive, Barnes.”

“No, I won’t,” he called after you, following like a sad puppy. “I can feel my heart breaking already.”

You reached for your hair dryer, plugging it in and flipping your head to the side to start drying your hair. “You’re so dramatic.”

He leaned against the doorframe, watching you like it was his favorite channel. “Only because you’re my favorite.”

You just shook your head with a laugh, aiming the dryer down the length of your hair.

A few moments passed – just the low hum of the dryer and Bucky’s eyes quietly trailing your every move. His arms were crossed, shoulder resting on the frame, like he had no plans to be anywhere else.

You glanced at him in the mirror, catching the soft, absolutely smitten look on his face.

You turned the dryer off for a second and gave him a teasing smile. “You really don’t know what to do with yourself without me, huh?”

Bucky just smirked, not even trying to deny it. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You laughed again and flipped the dryer back on.

He stayed right there, watching, smiling, completely content.

Like just being near you – even if you were doing something as boring as drying your hair – was more than enough.

Once your hair was dry, you flipped off the dryer and set it on the counter, glancing up to see Bucky still posted in the doorway like a statue.

“You’re still here?” you teased, reaching for your makeup bag.

He just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Free show.”

You laughed, pulling out your mascara. “You really have no hobbies outside of bothering me, do you?”

He grinned. “I mean…watching you do your little morning routine while I lean dramatically in a doorway? That is my hobby now.”

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the mirror as you started applying light makeup – nothing fancy, just enough to feel put together. A little tinted moisturizer, mascara, and a swipe of lip balm.

Bucky stayed quiet while you worked, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. That soft, completely ruined kind of gaze, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

As you capped your mascara and leaned back to check your reflection, you glanced at him in the mirror. “You good?”

He just gave a slow nod, his smirk shifting into something warmer. “Yeah. You’re cute when you concentrate.”

You made a face at him. “Okay, now you’re just trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

You tried not to smile, but failed. “Yes. Shut up.”

When you finally finished getting ready, you put everything away then made your way toward him.

“Alright,” you said, straightening your shirt. “Time for me to go paint nails and talk about boys.”

Bucky reached for your hand as you passed, tugging you to a stop. “Hey – have fun, okay?”

You smiled, fingers brushing his briefly. “I will.”

He didn’t let go just yet. “Text me when you’re on your way back.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You gonna be waiting in my bed again when I get home?”

“Only if you’re lucky,” he said with a wink.

You let out a soft laugh and shook your head as he finally released your hand. You gathered up your phone, purse, and a jacket, and he fell into step beside you, walking with you toward the elevator.

When you stepped inside and the doors slid closed, he leaned against the wall casually, hands in his pockets. “You know, I should get extra points for chivalry.”

You gave him a sideways look. “For escorting me to the common room?”

“Exactly. I am but a humble man seeing his girl off to war.”

“You’re seeing me off to lunch.”

“Same thing,” he said, deadpan. “Less bloodshed. More gossip.”

You just grinned as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

Sure enough, Nat and Wanda were waiting in the common room, both of them perking up the second they saw you walk out – with Bucky.

“Oh, he’s escorting her now,” Nat said, grinning.

Wanda gasped dramatically. “Wait – is this goodbye? Is this the part in the rom-com where they kiss before she gets in the cab?”

You turned to Bucky and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, Sergeant Softie.”

He smirked. “Bring me back something. Like your attention.”

You rolled your eyes and walked off, laughing as the girls practically dragged you out the door – already peppering you with questions.

Bucky just stood there in the doorway for a second, watching you go.

And smiling like an idiot.

--

“Tell us everything,” Nat said, eyebrows raised.

You were sitting at a table across from Nat and Wanda, feeling like you were at an interview instead of a restaurant.

“What do you mean everything,” you asked, laughing.

“Well, we obviously saw you all over each other in the elevator,” Wanda said, smirking. “But when was your first kiss?”

You just sighed at them, trying not to smile as you thought back to it. “It was right after we got back from shopping. In my room.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Your room, huh? So what happened after?”

They both leaned in dramatically, making you laugh.

“Nothing happened after! We came down and made supper.”

“Uh-huh,” Nat responded, not looking convinced.

“But how did the kiss happen?” Wanda said, resting her chin in her hand and looking up at you.

You sighed again, rolling your eyes, but you knew they were going to eat everything up.

“So, you remember him joking about letting you guys know how I looked in my new bra the next morning?”

They both nodded, eyes lighting up.

“Well, I was obviously flustered, and he was being smug as hell about it. So, I had to get him back. So when I changed, I made him cut the tags off of one of my new bras for me, then I ‘accidentally,’” you said, doing air quotes, “forgot to grab a shirt.”

Their eyes went wide and Wanda’s hand shot up to cover her mouth.

“So, I walked out of the bathroom in just shorts and a bra, which shut him up pretty quick.”

“No way!” Nat said, laughing.

“Yes way,” you said, smirking. “But it gets better.”

They stopped laughing now, leaning toward you in anticipation.

“He got bold. Walked over and started running his hands up my arms, telling me I’d look better in my red one.”

Nat’s jaw dropped. Wanda gasped.

“BUT THEN,” you said, holding up a finger to stop them from saying anything yet, “he hooked his fingers under the bra straps, and started playing with them.”

“WHAT?” Nat yelled, jaw dropping.

“Bucky did that?” Wanda say, still covering her mouth.

“Yeah,” you replied, nodding your head. “So I was obviously beyond flustered. But then, I was kinda thinking about the whole day, and how much I realized I liked him, so as he started to pull away, I pulled him down to me and kissed him.”

Wanda’s eyes went wide as Nat put her hands up to stop you. “Wait wait wait, you mean to tell me you initiated the first kiss? He’s so down bad I was sure it was him. Especially after seeing that elevator scene.”

You just laughed, shaking your head. “Nope, it was me.”

“Wow, that’s surprising,” Wanda said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I mean, not really,” you responded, shrugging. “He practically asks me for permission before everything.”

Wanda froze as Nat narrowed her eyes at you.

“What do you mean everything,” Nat said, leaning in.

You froze, realizing what you just admitted. Obviously you were talking about last night, but you weren’t planning on telling them about that.

“I mean – just – like, before we kissed again.”

Nat raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You mean to tell me he asked for permission before basically attacking you in the elevator?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “I mean – not that time, but–”

“Oh come on,” Wanda groaned. “Just tell us.”

You sighed, leaning your head back before looking at them again. “Fine. But you can’t tell anyone else.”

“We won’t,” Wanda said quickly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nat said, leaning in once again.

You just sighed once more, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay. We had sex last night.”

“What?” Wanda said, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Nat muttered.

“I know it’s super soon, but – I don’t know – it just felt…right? Like at the time.”

“Well, what about now?” Wanda asked, softly. “Does it still feel right.”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t regret it.”

“That good, huh?” Nat said, smirking.

You just huffed out a laugh, but when you opened your mouth to say something, you just started grinning before anything came out.

“Alright, alright,” Wanda said, holding up her hands.

“Yeah, never mind,” Nat said.

You just laughed. “I mean, you know the answer to that.”

“Okay but, you said he asked permission before he did anything?” Wanda asked.

“Yeah, like before everything. Before every piece of clothing he took off, before he did anything new. Didn’t even allow a nod, I had to say yes.”

Wanda’s jaw dropped again as Nat’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my god,” Nat said, looking a little horrified. “Did he tell you to use your words?”

“Well – no, not exactly like that.”

“Then…what’d he say? Wait, do I wanna know?” Nat said, partially covering her ears.

“He said,” you paused, neck heating up as you replayed the scene in your head. “Say it, baby.”

Wanda covered her mouth, saying “oh, wow.”

“Wait,” Nat said, dropping her hands back down to the table. “That’s kinda hot.”

“I know right?” you said, smiling like a fool.

“Did he dirty talk a lot?” Wanda asked, before covering her mouth again. “Wait, is that weird to ask?”

You just laughed, but before you could respond, Nat cut in.

“Let me guess, he practically worshipped you, didn’t he?”

You just gave them a sheepish smile. “Honestly, that’s kind of understating it a bit.”

“See, told you,” Nat said, pointing at you.

“Wow,” was all Wanda said.

“But, to answer your question, yes. He did. And it was hot.”

You guys just giggled together before Nat raised up a hand to stop you.

“Question. What was the hottest thing he said?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “As long as it’s not super gross,” she added quickly.

You just hummed, staring down at the table to think about it.

“I don’t know, that’s hard,” you said, finally. “But probably,” you paused covering your mouth and giggling a little bit, feeling weird saying it out loud. “He said ‘you’re doing so good for me.’”

Nat’s jaw dropped and both of them started to blush.

“He also said ‘that’s my girl,’ and I could’ve died right then and there,” you said, face burning.

The three of you started giggling again, just barely calming down as the server finally came out with your food.

You dug in, face still flushed, but loving that you could talk about this with them. It made it so much more exciting when it felt like you were at a high school lunch table discussing it.

You mainly ate in silence, other than a few more comments from Nat and Wanda, but when you finally finished, they pushed their plates away and leaned in once again.

“So,” Nat said, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Have you put a label on it yet? Started planning your wedding?”

You just laughed, waving her off. “No and no.”

Wanda looked at you, shocked. “You really haven’t talked about that?”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Nope. They definitely did things different back in the 40s, so he probably thinks it’s just a given we’re dating. I mean – we did have sex. Plus, Steve made a comment about me being Bucky’s girlfriend this morning and he didn’t even bat an eye.”

They both nodded.

“Yeah,” Nat started, “if you asked him ‘what are we?’ he’d probably just look at you like you were crazy.”

“Probably,” you said, laughing.

After talking for a little while longer, you guys made your way out and headed to the mall. You walked around for a while, doing some shopping, but mostly gossiping.

You bought a new purse, a couple cute t-shirts, and a couple pairs of sweatpants, and when you sat down in the nail salon, you were glad to have a break from holding all your stuff.

“Man, I wish Bucky was here just so he could hold all my bags again.”

They both laughed, then as they started looking at different nail polish colors, you pulled out your phone, sending Bucky a quick text.

I have to carry my own bags. Wish you were here😔😂

He answered almost immediately.

Just say the word and I’ll come carry them for you.

You smiled.

You: Can’t, it’s girls’ day. That’s illegal.

Bucky: I’ll find a wig and borrow one of your dresses.

You: Now that I’d pay to see😭

You slid your phone back into your purse before standing up to join Nat and Wanda. Nat had a dark blue polish in her hand and Wanda was holding a dark red.

“What color are you gonna get?” Wanda asked.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” You reached out and grabbed a pale blue one off the shelf. “I was thinking a light pink, but this blue is really pretty.”

“Oooh, I love both of those,” Wanda said, eyes lighting up.

“Maybe you should have your boyfriend decide for you,” Nat said, smirking at you.

You just laughed as you grabbed a light pink polish off the shelf. “Actually, I kinda wanna see what he would say.

The three of you walked back over and sat down. You pulled out your phone and opened up facetime, clicking on Bucky’s name as Nat and Wanda crowded around you.

The call rang twice before Bucky’s face filled the screen. He was clearly in the common room, kicked back on the couch, still in his t-shirt and sweats.

“Hey, doll,” he said, smiling the second he saw your face – and then immediately squinting. “Wait. Why are Nat and Wanda looming like henchmen?”

“We’re at the nail salon,” you said, smiling sweetly. “And I need help picking a color.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, sitting up a little straighter like this was a very important task. “Alright. Show me what we’re working with.”

You held up both polish bottles – light pink in one hand, pale blue in the other.

“Okay…” he said, tilting his head. “Pink is soft and pretty. Kinda classic. But that blue – that’s different. Clean. Cool. Matches your eyes.”

Nat and Wanda burst out laughing in the background.

“Oh my god,” Wanda said, covering her mouth. “He took that so seriously.”

“He gave you a compliment while analyzing the tones,” Nat said, shaking her head. “You’ve ruined him.”

Bucky just smirked on the screen, unfazed. “Sorry, I thought the whole point was to help her decide.”

“Oh no, keep going,” Wanda said, still giggling.

Bucky looked back at the screen and pointed. “Pink says soft girl, delicate. Blue says confident and fun.”

You bit your lip, pretending to consider. “So…which one should I do?”

He leaned in closer, like he was really considering. “I’m gonna say blue. You’ll look great in either one though.”

Wanda made a strangled sound while Nat leaned out of frame like she physically couldn’t take it.

“Oh my god,” Nat shouted from somewhere off-camera. “I’m done. I’m done.”

You were laughing so hard your hand wobbled, and Bucky just smiled, like he was proud of himself.

In the background of his screen, you suddenly heard Sam’s voice yell out: “Are you seriously helping her pick nail polish right now?”

Then Tony: “Barnes, blink twice if they’ve taken you hostage.”

Steve: “Leave him alone, he’s in love.”

Nat and Wanda started cracking up again while Bucky turned the camera slightly to flip off the guys behind him.

“I stand by the blue,” he said, smiling at you.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, but you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. “Blue it is.”

“Good choice,” he said, smirking. “Show me when it’s done.”

“Oh, you’ll see,” you teased, grinning. “I’m gonna make you hold my hand for an hour just so you can admire it.”

Bucky leaned back again, still grinning. “Deal.”

Nat and Wanda made dramatic swooning sounds beside you.

“You’re done for,” Nat said.

“Oh, completely,” Wanda added. “You’re gonna be married by next week.”

You just smiled, then waved at Bucky. “Bye.”

“Bye, doll. Love you.”

The call ended and Nat and Wanda froze.

“Wait. Did he just say he loved you?” Nat said, eyes wide.

“Wow – you’re like…serious serious.” Wanda added.

You just cringed a little. “Uhh, yeah. I kinda said it accidentally this morning.”

“An accidental ‘I love you’ and he didn’t freak out?” Nat said, shocked.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing. “I thought he was gonna panic, so I tried to take it back but just stumbled over my words. He just laughed, though. Then said it back.”

“Wow,” Nat said, just sitting there. “So you really will be married by next week at this point.”

You just scoffed, waving her off as the nail tech called you guys over. You tucked your phone away and made your way over, pale blue nail polish in hand.

--

“Bye, doll. Love you.”

The words left his mouth easily – like breathing.

He didn’t even think about it. Not because it wasn’t important – just because it was. Simple. True.

But the moment he hit end call, he felt it.

The silence.

Not from his phone.

From them.

“Wait a minute,” Sam said, practically leaping over the back of the couch. “Did you just say ‘love you’?”

Bucky turned his head slowly, already grinning. “Yeah?”

“Oh my god,” Tony muttered, standing with his arms crossed and an incredulous look on his face. “That wasn’t even subtle. That was like full-on Hallmark Channel.”

Steve, lounging on the opposite end of the couch, just sipped his coffee and said, “Told you. He’s in love.”

Sam stared at Bucky like he’d grown a second metal arm. “No, but – out loud? In front of witnesses?”

“She facetimed me to ask about nail polish,” Bucky said, still lounging like he didn’t just drop the L-bomb in front of half the Avengers. “What was I supposed to do? Hang up and fist bump her?”

Tony made a mock gagging sound and flopped onto the couch. “I miss the days when you were scary.”

Bucky just smirked. “I’m still scary.”

“Not when you’re talking about which shade of blue matches her eyes,” Sam said, sitting beside him and mimicking, “‘It’s clean, cool…like you, baby’” he said, laughing. “You’re soft.”

“Soft?” Bucky repeated, raising an eyebrow and reaching behind him to grab a throw pillow off the couch. “Say it again.”

Sam held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not judging. It’s cute. Just didn’t expect Sergeant Grump over here to turn into a walking heart emoji.”

“Man’s out here writing poetry about nail polish,” Tony said. “What’s next, crocheting sweaters?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said with a shrug. “She gets cold easy.”

Steve snorted into his mug, shaking his head, and Sam just rolled his eyes.

There was a beat of silence, and then Sam said, “Okay but…seriously. You meant that, right?”

Bucky looked at him, eyes a little softer now.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

The teasing quieted a bit after that. No one laughed, no one cracked a joke. Just Steve giving him a small nod, and Sam letting out a breath like he finally believed it.

Tony was still scrolling on his tablet, but even he said, “Well…guess that explains why you’ve been smiling like a damn idiot all week.”

Bucky just chuckled and leaned back again, a little more smug now, arms stretched across the back of the couch.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s kinda worth smiling for.”

--

When your nails were completely done, you immediately handed your phone to Wanda and set your hands on the table, having her take a picture for you.

You sent it to Bucky and he answered just a few seconds later.

Bucky: Those look so good! That blue? 10/10.

You: You’re such a simp and I love it

Bucky: You picked me. You don’t get to act surprised.

You: Fair point

You: Sooo…did you get bombarded with questions after you said “love you” on the call??

Bucky: Oh yeah. The second I hung up, it was like a pack of wolves.

You: LMAO I knew it. What’d they say?

Bucky: Sam called me soft. Steve just nodded like he saw it coming.

You: I knew Steve wouldn’t even blink, he’s been calling me your girlfriend anyway

Bucky: He’s been waiting for me to catch up. And Tony said I sounded like I was writing poetry during the polish analysis 😂

You: To be fair…you kinda were

Bucky: Guilty. Can’t help it when you look that good, doll.

You: You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d have to roast you for being this romantic over nails

Bucky: I’ll take the risk. Also, when you get back, I am holding your hand for an hour. That wasn’t a joke.

You: I’ll allow it (but only because you were brave enough to say “love you” in a room full of men who live to roast you)

Bucky: Worth it.

You were still smiling down at your phone when Wanda leaned over and peeked at your screen.

“Let me guess,” she said, grinning, “Sergeant Softie again?”

You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips, but it was useless. “Maybe.”

Nat rolled her eyes fondly. “You’ve got that lovesick look. Like your brain just shut off mid-text because he called you pretty.”

“He complimented my nails,” you said, holding your phone to your chest like it was a secret love note. “And he meant it.”

Wanda gasped dramatically. “That’s practically a marriage proposal in nail salon language.”

You just laughed, standing up. “Okay, okay. Mock all you want.”

“We will,” Nat said, linking her arm with yours as the three of you headed for the door. “Because you deserve it. You’re way too cute right now.”

“I’ve never seen someone get flustered over a text that says ‘I’ll hold your hand for an hour,’” Wanda added, still giggling.

“Well,” you said with a shrug, “he is very good at holding my hand.”

Nat groaned. “I’m gonna puke.”

You just beamed, swinging your shopping bag a little as you walked.

Once you made it back outside and started heading toward the exit, you spotted the pretzel cart.

“Oh my god,” you said, already steering them toward it. “We’re stopping.”

“Obviously,” Wanda said, already digging into her purse for cash. “We’ve earned it.”

“You’re just craving salt after that sugar overload from your texts,” Nat teased, nudging you.

You stuck your tongue out at her but didn’t deny it.

The three of you crowded the cart and placed your orders.

As you checked your phone again, Bucky had sent another message:

You should bring me home a pretzel. I’m craving one now.

You smiled again – because of course he knew where you were without even being told.

They called your names, and you took the first bite of your pretzel before you’d even made it away from the cart, nearly groaning at how warm and soft it was.

“Oh my god,” you said, holding your napkin under it. “This was the best decision we’ve made all day.”

“Agreed,” Wanda said through a mouthful of hers.

The three of you leaned against a nearby bench, bags at your feet, enjoying the pretzels in silence.

When you finished, you tossed your napkin in the trash and grabbed your purse. “I’m gonna grab one for Bucky before we go.”

Nat immediately groaned. “Of course you are.”

“You’re such a girlfriend,” Wanda said, grinning around her last bite.

You just rolled your eyes and shrugged. “He said he was craving one. It’s the least I can do after making him suffer through polish debates.”

“Oh, no,” Nat said, putting a hand over her heart dramatically. “The horror. Nail polish and a warm pretzel? What a brutal life he leads.”

You just laughed and ignored them, already turning back toward the cart and getting back in line.

“Get him one with extra butter,” Wanda called after you. “Feed the simp.”

You just smiled to yourself and ordered a second pretzel, this one wrapped up neatly to go.

When you returned, pretzel in hand, Nat gave you a slow clap.

“You’re gonna hand-deliver that thing like it’s a peace offering,” she said as the three of you made your way back toward the car.

“Yeah,” you replied, completely unbothered. “And he’ll be grateful. Because I’m amazing.”

“And humble,” Wanda added with a wink.

You just laughed, climbing into the back seat, Bucky’s pretzel carefully cradled in your lap.

--

Masterlist

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[mintyys-blog]

This Is not a request this is me spouting nonsense

My head is filled with Prisoner mark 😭 imagine he comes back to reader who has a baby and his dumb ass thinks its not his 😭 which leads to him wanting ANOTHER baby so he could be there for her this time

I’m foaming at the mouth I need that man

STOP because that is exactly what his emotionally constipated, guilt-ridden self would do.

scenario based on this;

The door creaks as he pushes it open, muscles stiff with hesitation. The house is warm, a little cluttered, lived-in—there are signs of you everywhere. Blankets tossed on the couch. Your slippers by the door. The faint scent of your shampoo. But it’s the sound that roots him in place.

A soft, breathy coo. Small. Fragile. Alive.

His eyes lock onto the bassinet across the room before he even realizes he’s moving. It’s instinct, or maybe something older. Something aching in his bones. The baby is asleep, little chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, wrapped in a blanket he doesn’t recognize.

He stares, expression unreadable—except for the way his fists clench.

He turns when he hears you behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice hoarse. Not angry. Not even wounded. Just… broken.

You blink, confused. “Tell you what?”

He gestures to the baby, jaw tight. “That you had someone else. That you moved on.”

It hits you like a punch to the gut—and then it clicks.

“Oh my god, you think she’s not yours?” you scoff. “Mark—look at her.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

So you pick her up gently, walk over, and hold her out to him. “Look. The scowl? That’s all you. Her eyes? Same gold as yours. You really think I’d let anyone else near me after what we went through?”

His hands tremble as he takes the baby, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt her just by holding her wrong. She yawns and curls tiny fingers around one of his, and he visibly flinches.

He doesn’t deserve this. He wasn’t there.

“I should’ve been here,” he murmurs. “I should’ve protected you. Both of you.”

You sigh, softer now, one hand on his chest. “You’re here now.”

But his mind is racing. Spiraling. Guilt and grief and want clawing at his insides. And before he can stop himself, he blurts out:

“We should have another.”

You blink. “I—what?”

“I could be here for that one. I could… do it right. From the start.”

You stare at him, stunned. “Mark, babies aren’t… replacements. This isn’t a do-over. You have a child. She’s yours.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know that. I just—I want to be what she needs. And if we had another… I’d have a chance to prove I can.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-heartbroken. “You already have a chance. Right now. With her.”

There’s a long pause. Then, barely above a whisper:

“Do you think she’ll even like me?”

You reach out, brushing a hand over his cheek. “She already does. She’s too little to know what you’ve done… but even if she did? You’re trying. And she’ll know that. One day, she’ll see what I see.”

He looks down at the sleeping baby in his arms. His baby. All his.

[xcaptainhannax]

In the Absence of Blood (ellie williams x platonic! reader)

Plot: You thought Joel was dead. He thought he'd never see you again. Then he returns with a kid who doesn’t want a mother, and you—who’ve spent years learning to survive alone—slowly become exactly that. After Joel’s death, Ellie remembers.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: for someone who doesn't want kids i sure read a lot of ellie x reader mom fics, i've had this idea on my mind for a bit, hope everyone likes it :) btw i kind of ignored david and that part of the story...just follow along pls

You’d stopped hoping a long time ago.

When Jackson’s scouts had found your group, you were half-starved and half-broken, you lost Joel in the chaos. Months had passed. Then more. Then winter. You assumed the worst, and the ache in your chest became part of your body—dull, familiar, inescapable.

So when you hear Tommy yelling from the gate and see a rider approaching through the snow, you don’t dare believe it.

And yet… there he is.

Horse hooves crunch through frost as he rides into view—his hair streaked with more gray, beard fuller, shoulders tired from more than just the ride. And behind him, a girl—scowling, sharp-eyed, clutching a rifle like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

But all you can see is him.

You don’t run. You walk, because if you move too fast it might shatter the illusion. When Joel slides off the horse, it takes everything in you not to cry.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His eyes find yours, and in that moment, something breaks—something that’s been locked inside both of you.

You step into him, hands on his chest, fingers fisting in his coat, just to make sure he’s real.

And then he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

“I thought you were gone,” you whisper.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I thought the same about you.”

And just like that, you're home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ellie doesn’t trust you.

Not at first.

She watches everything—the way your hand lingers on Joel’s arm, the quiet way you move around the house, the way Joel softens when he looks at you. It makes her defensive. Sharp.

You don’t push. You’ve seen enough kids like her—scrappy, wounded, scared of being left behind. You don’t try to mother her.

You just stay.

That night, Joel’s out catching up with Tommy; Ellie finds you on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, sipping something warm.

“You and Joel… were a thing?”

You glance at her. “We still are. Even if we had to survive apart for a while.”

She nods like it’s just a fact. But there’s a flicker of something else—longing, maybe. Curiosity. Hope, buried under sarcasm.

You offer her the other half of your drink. She takes it without a word.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Joel is stabbed and Ellie drags him to safety, you’re already out there—searching, frantic. You knew that you had to go with them but Joel insisted that you stayed at Jackson, after all you had built a life there and he promised that they were going to the Fireflies and come back to you.

After looking for them for hours you find the house. You find her watching over him, gun in hand, eyes swollen from lack of sleep.

She doesn’t speak when you kneel beside her and check his pulse. She just shifts slightly, giving you space. But she doesn’t leave the room.

Later, when Joel finally opens his eyes and croaks out your name, Ellie bursts into tears and rushes from the room like it caught her off guard.

You find her outside. She tries to play it off.

“He’s fine,” she says. “Guess you can go back to playing nurse or whatever.”

You sigh, not taking her words to heart as you've seen the way her eyes watered once Joel was awake.

You sit beside her. “You did that, not me.”

She shrugs. But when your hand rests on hers, she doesn’t pull away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bond forms slowly.

She lets you teach her how to bandage better. Then how to cook something that isn’t burned. Then she asks—just once—what Joel was like before all this.

You tell her stories. Some funny. Some painful.

She starts calling you “Ma’am” to be annoying. You roll your eyes and call her “Kid.”

Then one day, after days of travelling together , she mutters “Thanks, Mom—shit, I mean—sorry.”

You smile. “No need to apologize.”

Joel, walking just ahead, pauses for a second. Doesn’t turn around. But you catch the way his shoulders ease, just slightly. It’s like a weight shifts off of him, something warm in his chest he didn’t know was there—didn’t know he’d see again. He didn’t think he’d ever see you act maternal like that again. Not after Sarah.

She won’t look at you for a while after that.

But something changes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Joel dies, it hits like a freight train.

You’re there—covered in blood, screaming, begging for him to breathe. But the world doesn’t listen.

Ellie watches it happen, helpless.

She barely speaks for days after. She feels everything at once, the guilt, the anger, the desire to go after the person who killed Joel. And she thinks of you, the way she stopped talking to you once she found out the truth about the Fireflies, the lies you and Joel created to shield her from the truth.

But then you’re injured too. Not badly, but bad enough. You take a blow to the ribs trying to protect him but you failed. You don’t tell Ellie.

But she sees you limping.

And suddenly, she’s there.

At your door. At your side.

Hovering like a ghost, trying not to care but already caring too much.

“I—I thought I was gonna lose you too,” she says one night, voice trembling, eyes glassy.

You open your arms, and she folds into them like she did when she was fourteen—skinny and scarred, trying not to cry.

“You didn’t,” you whisper into her hair. “You still haven’t.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Months later, after blood and fire and the silence Joel left behind, after chasing Abby until what felt like the end of the world (wich was ironic considering it's the end of the world already) Ellie stands on the edge of Jackson, hands in her jacket pockets, breath fogging the morning air.

You’re still in the house she once called yours too. Still tending to the quiet things—woodpiles, porch plants, Joel’s guitar.

She watches you from a distance sometimes. Doesn’t come close. Not yet. Too much has happened. Too much not said.

But she sees you.

Sees the way you keep Joel’s flannel shirts hanging near the fire. The way you still hum under your breath when cooking.

Ellie’s heart aches in that old, familiar way. But this time, there’s no rage behind it.

Just memory. And warmth.

“I didn’t let you say it,” she whispers one day, watching you hang laundry in the wind. “But you were. You were my mom.”

The words disappear into the breeze. You don’t hear them.

But maybe… somehow, you already know.

And maybe, one day, she’ll say them to your face.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Years later, she comes back.

Not as often. Time has done its thing. But she visits.

She helps stack firewood. She hums Joel’s old songs when she thinks you aren’t listening. And sometimes, she stays long enough to fall asleep on your couch.

One day, she brings you a photo.

It’s a sketch she made of Joel. He’s smiling, faintly, in a way he rarely did. In the corner, she’s scribbled a note:

"He was a better man with you. And I was a better kid. —E"

You frame it.

One day she starts to spill everything to you, everything that she didn't say before.

She tells you about how she moved in with Dina and her baby after chasing Abby, how she had to gain her trust again and that they were now living in Jackson once more because Dina still was trying to trust Ellie, she also tells you how she is trying to remake her life but doesn't mention about how hard it is.

She also feels guilty about leaving you here all alone with Joel's memories all around you, but doesn't say anything just makes a mental promise to visit you more often. After all you are her mom.

She doesn’t say it aloud, not then, but she holds you tighter when she hugs you goodbye.

And when she turns back toward the door, her voice drifts behind her:

“Love you, Mom.”

You freeze. Then smile. And finally, finally, say it back.

"Love you too, kid"

[wiselyghost]

💙 When They Realized They Fell in Love With You

⤷ Warnings: none | includes: Kuroo, Bokuto, Hinata, Atsumu, Suna

⤷ long format | soft romance | emotional realizations | fluff with feelings

⤷ Sorry if it's ooc............

🏐Kuroo tetsurō - He falls for your smile.

You're curled up on the couch with Kuroo, blanket over your laps, the light from the TV flickering against your skin. It's some cheesy sci-fi film he insisted you'd "hate so much you'd love it,' and you're both half-watching, half-narrating every awful line.

You reach for the popcorn at the same time he does, fingers brushing. You laugh softly. He glances over, already smiling, ready with some dumb remark—but the words never come.

You're lit only by the soft light of the screen, your smile worn ear to ear, he's favorite sound echoing in the room. Your laughter. Your hair falls into place. The air in his lungs get knocked right the fuck out. As his eyes widen at you, he brings his hand to his left chest where his heart should be, it aches for you and only you, only now is he really realizing it.

You notice his stare "What?"

He swallows the hollow lump in his throat.

"Nothin'... you just look cute when you're judging bad CGI."

You giggle. "Oh shut up, you're the one who picked it."

But he doesn't respond right away—because all he can think is oh. So this is what falling in love feels like. It's not loud. It's not dramatic. It's just... you, here, close enough to touch, and it's enough to undo him.

🏐 Bokuto Kōtarō - He falls for your laugh.

He's telling you some absurd, made-up joke—something about owls and protein powder—and you're howling. Your laughter is the kind that comes from your belly, the kind that makes your eyes crinkle and your hand smack his arm mid-giggle.

And Bokuto, being Bokuto, gets too excited reenacting the punchline and stumbles backward, tripping over a dumbbell he swore he moved.

You rush over, trying not to laugh more. "Bo! Are you okay?"

He groans dramatically. "I'm fine, but the floor definitely hit back."

You reach out your hand to help him, and as he looks up at you—laughing, flushed with joy, lit up by the warm sunset through the window—he sees everything.

Your smile. The golden lighting kissing your skin. The way your eyes shine when you look at him like he's your favorite part of the day.

And it slips out.

"I think I love you."

You blink. "...What?"

His eyes widen. "Wait—did I say that out loud?"

You laugh even harder, cheeks flushed now too. "Yes, you big dork."

He accepts your help off the floor, wrapping you in a hug so tight you squeak. "Well. I meant it."

🏐 Hinata Shōyō - He falls for the way you feel like home.

The sun's low, casting a soft golden hue into the apartment as your favorite slow song comes on. You're standing in the kitchen, swaying slightly with a glass of juice in your hand, eyes twinkling as you look at him.

"Dance with me?"

Hinata blinks. "Like... now?"

"Yes," you grin, tugging his hand. "C'mon. It's romantic."

He laughs, a little awkward, a little flustered, but follows you anyway. He's clumsy at first, bouncing too much on his toes, but you guide him—hands on his shoulders, moving gently together by the sink.

You ask him about practice, His favorite part of the day, and he talks with that usual spark. But then he looks down at you midsentence—and it hits him all at once.

Your head resting against his chest. Your content little sigh. How peaceful this feels. He wants this every day. He wants you every day.

“Y/N?” he says, softly.

“Hm?”

He smiles so wide it hurts. “This is my new favorite part of the day.”

🏐 Atsumu Miya – He falls for your voice.

He’s on a road trip with his team and calls you from the bus. It's late, and his voice is soft, tired but warm.

“You still awake?” he asks.

You are. You were waiting for him.

You talk about nonsense—the snacks he bought, how cramped the ride is, some weird music Suna put on. But then there’s a quiet pause. He hears you yawn.

“You should sleep, babe,” he says.

“M’kay. But I like hearing your voice.”

He goes quiet.

“What?” you ask.

“…I was gonna wait ‘til I got back, but…” He exhales. “I’m in love with you.”

You freeze. He’s rambling now, nervous. “I mean, I’ve probably been in love with you for a while, but like—now I’m aware of it, and—”

“Atsumu.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

The grin on his face is instant, pure. He tucks himself against the window and whispers, “Can’t wait to come home.”

🏐 Suna Rintarō - he falls for your everything.

It's 11pm and you've dragged Suna out because you're craving ice cream. He grumbles about it but still shows up in sweats and a hoodie, car keys dangling from his fingers.

You're half-asleep in the snack aisle, comparing flavors while watches from behind the cart.

You're babbling about your favorite toppings, the weird candy combinations you like, and your bare face is soft and sleepy, hair tied up messily. You look like home.

This? This is it.

Not candlelit dinners or perfect dates. This—you in pajamas under fluorescent lights, waving around a pint of mint chocolate chip—is what love feels like.

He walks up, plucks the ice cream from your hand, and tosses it in the cart.

"You're buying that," he says.

"Why?"

"Cause I'm in love with you and I say so."

You blink.

"Rin."

"What?"

"You can't just drop that in aisle seven."

He shrugs. "You wanted ice cream. I gave you romance."

💌 Reblogs & likes appreciated! 💭 commissions open | do not repost

[thedeviltohisangel]

Give You My Wild

a/n: happy belated birthday to my sweet baby @jetjuliette who i bullied into watching the pitt and rotted her brain for shawn hatosy in the process. love you long time girlie and i hope you love this xoxo

warning: smut

There was something about Alex being his that would never cease to amaze him. And this morning was proving to be no different. Her alarm went off, Jack never set one, and she was off to the en suite bathroom to run a wipe over her face, brush her teeth and hair before it was put right back into her favorite messy bun. Then she would crawl back over the top of their comforter to kiss her admiring husband on the lips, just as she did this morning.

“Good morning, bunny,” he whispered as he sat up against the headboard and held her face to his lips for a few extra pecks. “You look beautiful today.” She blushed under his attentive gaze but had learned not to try and look away. His eyes always had a habit of finding hers.

“Thank you, baby, not looking too shabby yourself.” It hadn’t been until after their wedding last year and Ollie starting preschool that she had managed to convince him to start moving towards day shift at the hospital. And to start treating his days off as actual days off. She would never be able to break him of the habit that was listening to the police scanner but it at least meant they were able to establish a routine for themselves and their toddler. “You want breakfast or wake up duty today?” Jack hummed in contemplation but his fingers were moving towards the buttons of her pajama top. 

“I think, you got every inch of me waking up and I need your help calming it back down.” Alex laughed. Just the night before he had swore that he was too restless to sleep and tangling up between the sheets with him was the only way to soothe his mind to sleep.

“Is that your official diagnosis, doctor?” she asked with a smile. The sight of her skin slowly but surely becoming exposed to his eyes was the only thing that tore the browns of his away from her face.

“All I can do is follow the research.” The white top slid from her shoulders as he moved his mouth to the side of her throat and marked her as he always liked to do. 

“We don’t have time for the full scientific method. We still have to make breakfast and pack lunch and-” Her protests silenced into a moan as he pulled her nipple to his tongue.

“Bunny?” She hummed her acknowledgement, “Are you doubting my ability to get you there in the time we have?”

“No.” Not when that man knew her body better than she did.

“Okay. Good. I’m very proud of my ability to take care of you.” And it had taken so long for her to let him. To prove that he wasn’t going anywhere and he was ready and stable and willing to be all that she and their son needed. It had taken time for them to find their way back to each other but they had. Sometimes stars were meant to be in each other’s orbit.

“Today might just be an ‘underwear to the side’ kind of day.” She rose to her knees as Jack threw the blankets back, freeing himself from the pajama pants he had thrown on in the middle of the night when Oliver had needed help using the bathroom, and squeezed his hands around her hips as she settled back over him.

“Eyes on me,” he whispered. One hand moved to pull her hair free from the top of her head, wrapping it around his fist for leverage, the other grabbing at the curve of her ass as he slowly disappeared inside of her.

And Jack Abbot was still the only man she had slept with that leaned in with his pleasure. He didn’t throw his head back and close his eyes. He didn’t settle in to watch and enjoy the show. He wasn’t afraid to explore each and every erogenous zone on her body. He derived more pleasure in making her fall apart than he ever did in falling apart himself. “You take me so fucking well everytime, Lex.” 

Their foreheads stayed pressed together as their tongue tangled to the same rhythm her hips were moving to, the gentle brush of curls to her clit agonizingly tantalizing with every motion.

“Fuck me, Jack, please,” she panted as her body thrummed with the need for more, more, more. His hips snapped up to meet hers before she had even finished fully making the request of him. He had known what she needed before she even did. The arousal leaking onto his shaft was evidence enough.

“Is that the right spot, baby?” His hand moved from her ass to press his thumb to her clit, pulling back the hood so the sensitive pearl could chase the friction of their bodies coming together.

“Yes!” she chanted as she used both hands to pull his lips to her, teeth clashing as they lost the ability to focus on anything other than the way he felt inside of her. “Don’t stop,” she moaned as she gave his curls a little tug to spur him further.

“Mommy? Daddy?” The little voice was accompanied by a timid knock. “I’m hungry.” 

“Okay, maybe you should stop!” Alex paused her grinding and shrugged her short back onto her shoulders, her hand flattening to Jack’s chest to push him back into the pillows. 

“Don’t move,” he said through gritted teeth. He pressed his mouth to her collarbone just as the door to their room creaked open ever so slightly. 

“Mommy?”

“I’m right here, my love!” Once again she tried to move and his grip on her hips tightened. It was as his back muscles quaked beneath her palms that she realized why she couldn’t move. His orgasm was washing over him in waves and his release was hot and thick inside of her.

“Waffle time?” Oliver padded a few steps closer to the bed, his trusted blanket trailing alongside him and Zeus, the German Shepherd they’d rescued a few months ago after his veteran owner had coded during Jack’s shift, trotting dutifully behind as the little boys assumed bodyguard.

“If I move, how badly will he be scarred?” she whispered as her husband seemed to be catching his breath.

“Move slowly.” Alex lifted her hips and gasped the sensation of him slipping out of her, pulling her panties back to their rightful place and frantically doing back up the buttons of her shirt. Jack reached forward and pulled the lace waistband then let it snap back against her skin. “Don’t lose any of that.”

“Mommy, waffles!” 

“Yes, yes, waffles, my love. Let mommy use the bathroom and we can have waffles.” one last kiss to Jack and a throw of the blanket over his lap and she was off to start their day. 

They had just recently decided to try for another baby. It had happened completely by accident with Oliver that they were hoping they would have some of the same dumb luck. This time, Jack would be there for all of it. The appointments and the cravings and the nursery painting and the birth. He had missed all of that with his son and he planned on making up for all of the lost time. 

“Hi, Daddy!” Jack kissed his son soundly on the cheeks as he toddled over, scratching Zeus behind the ears and smiling at the way his tongue lolled to the side with the attention.

“Hi, buddy. You excited for school today?”

“No.”

“No? Why not? I thought you loved school.” Ollie hadn’t even shed a single tear when they had dropped him off on the first day. He had immediately realized all the new friends he could make and wanted nothing to do with his parents in the hallway and everything to do with new coloring buddies and playground partners. 

“I miss you,” the little boy answered honestly and simply. 

“Come here.” Jack lifted him onto the bed and held him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his black, curly mop. “I miss you, too, when you’re at school or when I’m at work. But I love you so so so much and school is making you so so so smart.” 

“Like you?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrows and pride flickering in his eyes. Jack hadn’t been around for the early months of Oliver’s life and he was often afraid that the boy would hold it against him. Even though Alex had told him that she never spoke ill of Jack to their baby, and even though Jack believed her and her word, it was moments like this that reminded him why he was so thankful for her. She had given him the opportunity to have a relationship with his son before he had even known he existed.

“Just like me and your mom,” Jack answered with a tap to the tip of Ollie’s nose, who giggled in response. 

“Okay, who wants waffles?” Alex emerged from the bathroom and Zeus barked while Ollie frantically cheered that he did.

“I’ll be down in just a minute.” She leaned down for a kiss and lifted their wiggling monster onto her hip, immediately nodding along as he launched into a story about Zeus almost eating a worm in the backyard yesterday afternoon. 

He listened to the chatter of his son until it faded with distance, a soft smile on his face. Sure he had regrets about the time that had stacked between them and prevented him from having all of this even a moment sooner. But he would do nothing different knowing he ended up right here.

----

All day, her feet had been bothering her. She had given up on wearing heels as soon as she was pregnant with Oliver and had never looked back. The pink ballet flats were worn a breadth away from being thrown out because they were her comfiest pair. Her favorite thing to wear on the days spent organizing the studio. But today they just weren’t doing the trick.

And that wasn’t the only thing that was bothering her. She couldn’t get the sheets to drape right for her shoot that she was supposed to have the next day. The editing software in her office was moving so slow she was ready to throw it out the window. Then, when it had finally loaded, she was working on her favorite photo of Jack and Oliver from their long weekend in Houston last month when it made her body wrack with sobs. Something was off and she knew what that something was even before she took a detour to the CVS just outside her neighborhood. Even before she was standing in the reproductive health section and looking at lubricants and pregnancy tests and condoms. One of every kind. That should do.

It smelled like barbecue sauce when she walked through the door and the sounds of Oliver’s remote-controlled car zipping around the kitchen and the clacking of Zeus’ nails as he chased after it greeted her. 

“Hey. You’re home a little late. Everything okay?” Jack was setting the table for dinner but paused to kiss her forehead as she hung her coat by the door. 

“Yeah, sorry. Got lost in my own head editing for a little bit. Everything go smoothly with his little play date?” Oliver had made one of his first friends all on his own at school and had asked if they could play after school together. Alex had organized an afternoon for the boys to play on the playground together after school to see how it went, Jack offering to chaperone since it was his day off from PTMC.

“He had a great time. It was cute to watch him run around with Eli and listen to their little conversations.” She followed him back into the kitchen and moved to grab milk from the fridge for her son and fill the other glasses up with water.

“I’m sad I missed it. How was Eli’s mom?” When she turned around, a glass of water to her lips, Jack was standing still at the dining room table, a pot of rice in his hands and ready to be served. “What?” There was always something about his gaze that could read her as easily as the alphabet. God, he fucking knew. She hadn’t even had time to take a test and somehow he fucking knew.

“Something I should know?” 

“Not yet.” Jack could accept that. His wife would tell him when she was ready. Not that it would do anything to quell the absolute buzzing in his veins at the possibility of his intuition being right. Which he was certain it was. As it usually was.

He abandoned the pot and made it to her, prying the glass from her hands and cradling her face in his palms like the precious artifact that she was. “I love you.” No matter what. Always and forever.

“I love you, too.” He kissed her slow and lazy and with a smile on her face the entire time. It felt so good to be loved. It was warmth and comfort and safety and a place you knew you would always belong. Even though they had taken time apart, there was a reason they had found their way back to each other. And it was for moments like this, right here in their kitchen. 

“Ew!” They broke apart to see Ollie with a grimace on his face and an accusing finger pointed in their direction. “Mommy only kiss me!” 

“Is that right?” Jack asked rhetorically as he smirked at Alex before turning to face their son. “I think that deserves a visit from the tickle monster.” Oliver shrieked and ran for cover, calling for Zeus to protect him as Jack pretended to chase him around the living room. 

“Mommy, help!” he squealed. Alex opened her arms just in time to catch her little leapfrog as he landed against her chest and buried his face under her chin. 

“You’re safe now, baby, Mommy’s got you.” Zeus barked in agreement, his tail wagging as he waited for Jack to reward him for getting Olliver to safety.

“Yeah, yeah, you can have a piece of chicken in your bowl.” Zeus preened. 

Alex adjusted Oliver into his booster seat on the chair and helped cut up his barbecue chicken as Jack finished serving the two of them. “I hope the next one’s just like him,” he whispered before tucking into his dinner. Alex kissed the top of Ollie’s curly hair.

“I hope so, too.”

----

“Hey! Look who it is!” Alex smiled at the warm welcome, hugging Dana tightly as she made it only a few steps into the Emergency Department before she was enveloped. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Thought Jack might like a little surprise for lunch,” she held up the paper bag that held two patty melts from their favorite greasy hole-in-the-wall, “but I can take mine to go if he’s too busy.”

“He’s wrapping up with a snake bite so he shouldn’t be too much longer. Let me see some pictures of that beautiful little boy of yours.” 

A few minutes later, Jack walked out looking at an iPad but recognized the beautiful twinkle of his wife’s laughter coming from central. There were a few nurses huddled around her phone and they were all cooing over whatever it was she was showing them. Maybe a video of Ollie and Zeus cuddled together and asleep from last week. Or maybe photos of the sprinkler day they’d had outside when he had insisted on wearing goggles.

“Hey, baby, what are you…” He trailed off as he went to press a kiss to the top of her head as his eyes narrowed in on the video that was playing on her phone. He had been right that it featured their son being adorable, he was playing on his plastic xylophone, but it also featured Jack, a rapt audience member who was swaying and singing the lyrics to Hot Cross Buns. “Okay this feels like collusion.”

“Look how cute you two are!” Dana beamed. 

“They didn’t know you could smile, my love,” Alex teased, tilting her head back and puckering her lips for a kiss. He granted it with a huff.

“Mr. Ray is good to be discharged and the teenaged girl in South 15 can be moved to the hall for monitoring to free up a bed,” Jack said with a tone of authority. The nurses dissipated to enact his orders and begin the process of bringing back someone new. It was a never ending cycle that he was never able to get ahead of but he tried his hardest every shift anyways. “You okay? Ollie okay?” His brow furrowed with concern as he sat on the desk to get a good look at his wife.

“I just thought you could use a little lunch time pick me up.” She motioned to the greasy paper bag. 

“And?” Because of course he knew there was more to her visit. 

“And maybe…there was a room where we could check on something?” Jack called to ask Dana what was open and guided Alex with a hand on the small of her back. 

He pulled the curtain closed to give them privacy and sat next to her on the bed. “How worried do I need to be?” He was doing his best to stay calm and even but his brain couldn’t stop thinking of all the different reasons why she would be here. For her to come here in person, it had to be bad.

“The other night when you noticed something was off, it was. I’ve had 10 positive pregnancy tests since then.” She reached to hold his hand for her own comfort and squeezed as she watched him process her words and distill them into a thought.

“10?” She nodded. “Holy shit.” His arms were around her in a heartbeat, bringing her to his chest so tightly that she thought their hearts were going to merge into one. He was laughing into her shoulder and kissing at the skin of her neck.

“I wanted to get an ultrasound and a blood test just to be safe.” He pulled back and thumbed at the tears of happiness spilling over her waterline. He knows Alex had been through a miscarriage before, a couple of years before Ollie, so he could feel the way her brain was threatening to bring back those emotions of anxiety and fear. 

“We can do that. Just lie back for me.” Jack moved to the ultrasound machine as she got comfy against the pillows and undid the buttons of her pink cardigan to expose her stomach. She hissed slightly as the cool gel hit her skin and reached for her husband's hand on instinct for comfort and solace. He welcomed the tangling of their fingers without a second thought. “Let’s see what we can find.” Jack moved the wand for a few seconds and couldn’t see anything clearly on the screen.

“I’m sorry I took you away from work for this. I should’ve known they were false positives,” she began as the anxiousness rose into her throat. 

“Come on, little one,” he whispered to himself as he pressed a little harder into the skin. 

“Jack.” Alex felt like she was bordering on a breakdown. 

“There they are.” It felt like the world paused as the grainy image took shape on the screen in front of them. “Mama just didn’t drink enough water today and it made you a little hard to see.” She let out a wet chuckle.

“There’s really a baby in there?” 

“Our baby. Ollie’s going to be a big brother.” Her hands came to cover her mouth as a sob of relief wracked through her body and Jack gently toweled over her skin before placing a kiss just below her belly button. “Thank you for giving me a second chance to experience this with you. To experience every step of this baby and their life and the life we are building together. I’m going to do it right this time, I promise.” She reached for him, capturing his cheeks in her palms and kissing him hungrily as the adrenaline of joy raced through her veins. 

“I love you, Jack Abbot. There is no one else I could ever want this with.”

“You’re my world,” he whispered against her lips, “You, Oliver and our new little angel. There is no me without you three.” His trips to the roof had been less since she’d come back into his life. The sleepless nights and the police scanner were fewer and farther between. She had settled him. Just as she had in the desert against the backdrop of war when they’d first met all those years ago. “You and me, bunny, whatever comes our way.” Because there was a whole world waiting for them outside the exam room doors. Beeping and screaming and itching to test them to their very limits. But as long as they had this space to retreat back to, to find respite, then they would be okay. And for Jack Abbot, who knew how dark the world could be, okay would always be enough. Anything more would be dangerous.

[sturnboos]

KIDNAPPED BY CHRIS PART TEN

CURRENT WARNINGS: stockholm syndrome, eating disorder, nausea, Delilah has a mental breakdown, read at your OWN risk

READ OTHER PARTS HERE

I wake up the next day in Chris's arms. Again not remembering when I had fell asleep. I smile and look up at him, "good morning" he whispers in a deep morning voice.

"Morning" I smile, he smiles down and me then leans down and places a small kiss on my forehead.

"Nick and Matt didn't come home?" I ask, "Nick stayed at our friends house" he whispers. "and Matt did come home late last night, he just left again to go get Nick."

I cuddle my head into his chest again. "Cant Nick drive?"

"No." Chris chuckled. "Matt's been our designated driver since highschool. I recently got my learners license but like- I’m not supposed to drive without another licensed person in the car... so Matt's usually on taxi duty"

"Mhm" i mumble a reply then mintues later I hear the front door open. Chris kisses the top of my head then gets out of bed and slips out of my bedroom. I sigh. I sit up and look at the time. 10:23am.

"Delilah breakfast is ready" Chris yells for me.

Oh, breakfast. How did they make it so fast?

I get out of bed and walk out of my room and into the kitchen. I look at the hash brown and pancakes sitting on the counter in a white foam container which shows they clearly brought it already cooked from somewhere. I sit down on a stool, I look at the food infront of me. Chris leans against a bench eating his food. I have to eat it, Chris will think I'm stupid. I grab the plastic knife and fork and get a small peice of pancake, Chris leans on the counter and stares at me. I look at the food on the fork. Stop being stupid Delilah.. Just eat it. I quickly put it in my mouth, I chew for a couple seconds.

I'm gonna throw up.

I quickly get up and run down the hall. I hear Chris follow me as I run into the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. I look at Chris, he stares at me. I promised.

A tear leaves my eye. "I'm sorry" I whimper. He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me. I fall to the ground. He pulls me onto his lap. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" I repeat the same words.

"Delilah it's ok" he whispers and pulls me on top of him. I wrap my arms around his neck and cry. He holds me tightly.

It hurts Chris seeing her upset. He loved her. He knew he’s not supposed to but he does. Matt and Nick appear in the doorway.Delilah doesn't see them tho only Chris spots them. Chris closed the lid of the toilet, "shhhh" he whispers to Delilah.

Nick finally realizes what happened to Delilah. His facial expression changes. He looks at Matt, Nick grabs Matt's arm and pulls him away. Chris kissed Delilah on the head softly, "your alright Delilah" he whispered.

"I want it to stop" i sob

"I know you do... but sometimes thats not how it works" he slowly stood up and carried me bridal style. I continue to cry. He carried me down the hall and into his room. He sat down on the bed and then lays down pulling me down beside him I lay next to him and put my head in his chest. He wraps his arm around me and runs my back softly until i calmed down and I fall asleep, Chris pulled the blanket over us carefully.

Then he plays with my hair, he pulled out his phone and scrolls on it as I slept.

The door suddenly opens. Matt barged it.

"Chris-" he looks at us then froze smirking.

"I knew it, Nick, I told you" Matt yells and walks out. "They've been fucking around behind our backs" Matt adds on.

Chris chuckled. Delilah moves a little.

"I totally ship it" Nick shouts back to Matt, as Nick was in the living room and Matt still in the hallway.

"Can you tell them to shut up" i groan still half asleep but the shouting woke me a little . "Go back to sleep" he whispers, "I can't when they're yelling" i whined. I pull a couple blankets from under us and pull them over us.

"Shhh" he smiled. A couple minutes later, I’m deep in sleep again.

TAGLIST: @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @thealexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @sturniolos67 @norahsturns @blushsturns @blahbel668 @riasturns @iloveduckssm @cl1tlover3000 @emmaweasley @chrissbxby @mattscumdump @kayskreativeideas @dolliraez @jibitzlesscrocs @tits4matt comment here to be added

[0ogiebo0gie]

Sally face x

Pregnant!Reader

headcanons!

Request from @larrrrryjohnson! I had a lot of fun writing this, thankyou!

Another lil bit, I know Travis is canonically gay, and i'm a she/they so in my mind, Pregnant!Reader is a surrogate for him. But transmascs exsist, so i never outwardly said that was what's going on. Implement yourself however you please! Anyway 🔽🔽🔽

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✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Sal Fisher:

The pregnancy wasn’t planned. You both had agreed on a kid-free life—or so you thought.

Deep down, Sal always wanted to be a dad. He just didn’t think he deserved to be one.

He cries for days after you tell him. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears. Soft, silent, endless tears.

Becomes ridiculously protective—he’s always been gentle, but now it’s extreme caretaking mode. I’m talking he won’t let you carry anything heavier than a sock. Overdresses you if it’s even slightly cold: “Just in case.” Spoon-feeds you. Puts you on “bed rest” even when you insist you’re fine.

Likes pressing the scarred side of his face to your belly so the baby can “feel” him before they see him.

Secretly terrified the baby will be scared of him. Never says it directly, but you know. Sometimes you wake up at night and he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, deep in thought, quiet and anxious.

“You’re doing it again,” “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” “I don’t mind,” you say. “But you should come back to bed. I'm cold without you behind me.” “I was just... thinking.” “C’mere, Sal.” He crawls back under the blankets without protest, but you tug him into a proper hug, his body fitting around your bump like a puzzle piece. He rests his forehead against yours. “I’m scared they’ll be afraid of me,” he whispers. “When they see me.” “Then they’ll learn to see you the way I do,” you whisper. “They’ll grow up hearing your voice, feeling your hands, and knowing your heart. That’s what they’ll know first. Not the mask. Not the scars. You.” “…I sing to them,” he admits, sheepishly. “When you’re asleep.” “I know,” you say with a little smile. “I pretend to be asleep so you’ll keep doing it.” He groans and buries his face in your shoulder, embarrassed and pink at the tips of his ears. You guide his hand to your stomach, where a gentle flutter stirs under the skin. “They know you, Sal. Already.”

He goes to Henry (his dad) constantly for advice—especially about your cravings. Henry shows him recipes Sal’s mom used to love while pregnant. It becomes a bonding ritual.

Sal sings to your bump all the time. Quiet lullabies, soft melodies. He hopes his voice will comfort the baby.

Gives you full-body massages every night. From your feet to your scalp. No skipping, no exceptions.

Likes sleeping as the big spoon so he can wrap his arms around the baby bump—it calms him.

If you even hint at discomfort, he’s already adjusting pillows, making tea, or Googling something with terrifying intensity.

Refuses to let you feel guilty for anything—your moods, cravings, sleep schedule. "You’re building a person. You win. Every time."

Keeps a small music player on your belly sometimes so the baby can hear his guitar playing, calling it “band practice.”

He starts writing songs again—soft, private things he never plans to share. Some are for you, some for the baby, some just for himself.

He pulls out old tapes from the band and plays them quietly for the baby—even the rough demos—just so they can “hear Uncle Larry.”

Labour and Birth!

The first sign something’s happening is a sharp gasp and a hand on your belly—Sal’s immediately at your side, asking “Are you okay?” on repeat, fumbling with his phone and the hospital bag in a panic. But before you can even answer, there’s a sudden gush—your water breaks right there. He freezes. Then he starts crying—tears of excitement, fear, love—all while rushing around trying to get ready.

In his panic, he forgets a few minor essentials: his prosthetic mask, his shoes, and oh yeah, his pants. So there you are, in your sleep shirt, soaked in amniotic fluid, and Sal, in just a hoodie and boxers, barefoot and frantic as he speeds down the road well over the limit. You're breathing like the books told you, and Sal's knuckles are white on the wheel.

The second you arrive, he picks you up bridal style and bolts inside, still pantless. When you’re in the delivery room, he doesn't leave your side for a second. He's holding your hand, breathing with you, whispering affirmations through tear-choked words. When the moment finally comes and you’re handed your baby girl—tiny, crying, with tufts of thin blue hair—Sal places a trembling hand on your arm.

She’s crying… but as soon as her head rests against your chest, she stops.

Then a shadow crosses his expression—fear. What if she’s scared of me? What if the scars… what if it’s too much?

But you meet his eyes and silently beg him to come closer. Your daughter opens hers, looking between you both—no fear, no tears, just quiet wonder. He reaches out, hand shaking, and gently touches her head.

She’s perfect.

And as he finally cradles her in his arms, the weight of the world seems to fall away. It’s clear in that moment—he was born for this.

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Larry Johnson:

The pregnancy was kinda planned, but also kind of not—it started with, "Hey, babez, do you wanna have a kid?" and you were just like "I wouldn't mind a kid." Then BAM! baby is conceived.

He was right there in the bathroom when you peed on the test. When it came back positive, you both jumped for joy—until he promptly told you to stop, "We want a baby, not a milkshake! you're giving little dude-or dudette, motion sickness, bea."

From then on? Feet up, snacks ready, Larry’s your loyal servant. Except for cooking. Cooking is not his ministry.

Constantly has his ear on your belly. If the baby kicks? He weeps into your stomach like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Told EVERYONE immediately—bounding up like a puppy, showing you off like you’re Peter Steele’s bass guitar.

He constantly puts headphones on your belly and plays Sanity Falls. “Gotta teach ‘em the classics,” he says, totally serious about it.

Every two weeks, he paints you nude—capturing the way your body changes, worshipping every detail. You were shy at first, but over time, it became your favourite kind of love letter.

You tug at the edge of your robe. “Larry, I really don’t feel like—my skin’s all weird today and I’ve got that stupid puffy face thing going on—” “Babe.” He kneels in front of you, resting his warm hands on your thighs. “I need you to understand something.” You raise an eyebrow, suspicious. “I’m not painting you because you’re some perfect porcelain goddess or whatever,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “I mean—don’t get me wrong, you are—but that’s not the point.” “Then what is the point?” He leans forward, presses a kiss just under your belly button. “It’s you. Us. All of this. Your stretch marks, the way your body’s changing, the little frown you get when you’re feeling insecure. I love it all. I want our kid to grow up and see these paintings and know how much I adored you through all of it.” You blink at him, heart all gooey and sore. “And if I don’t keep doing this,” he adds, half-smiling as he grabs the brush again, “I’m gonna forget what this exact version of you looked like—and that would be the real crime.” You sigh, loosen the robe. “You’re lucky I love you.” Larry grins, already sketching. “I know.”

Your expanding belly button sends him into hysterics. He pokes it constantly and kisses it every time he walks by, like it’s your stomach’s little nose.

Skincare days stay a common occurrence(if not more often)— but now he puts a face mask on your bump and wraps a headband around it like it's a spa guest.

When he told his mom, he broke down crying. Not from fear—but because he realised this was something he’d dreamed of giving her since he met you.

He always sleeps facing you, one hand under your cheek, one hand on your belly. He says it helps him feel close to both of you.

If you even think you’re having contractions, he’s dropping everything and sprinting home. He’ll ghost friends, call in from work, climb out a window if he has to.

When you’re throwing up from morning sickness, he’s right there holding your hair and whispering you through it. You’re flushed, sweating, miserable—and still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

He makes everyone touch your belly if you’re okay with it. He wants the whole world to know how special this is.

He paints a mural in the nursery—stars, skeletons, and one massive sun—just like the ones he used to draw with his mom. It’s his way of passing childhood magic forward.

Labour and Birth!

Somehow, Larry just knows. He’s been saying for days, “Babez, I think it’s gonna be soon,” and obsessively checking the hospital bags by the door. Then, in the middle of the night, you bolt upright—and Larry’s instantly awake.

“Larry… I think you were right.”

No panic. Just game face.

He throws on the outfit he’s dubbed “Meeting Mini Bae,” helps you clean up and change into something comfortable, and hauls the bags to the car like he’s trained for this moment. The whole drive over, he’s grinning, throwing out “WOO!”s between red lights, and hyping you up like you're on your way to a concert. Once at the hospital, he doesn’t bother parking straight—he’s too busy carrying you through the doors like Simba, shouting, “I need the doctor who's gonna make me a daddy!”

In the delivery room, he’s glued to your side. Hand in yours, smiling like a maniac, cheering you on between pushes. And when your baby boy is finally in your arms—with a full head of hair and a little mole on the opposite cheek from Larry’s—he breaks out into a full-blown victory dance. Headbanging. Jumping. Nearly slipping on the tile.

You’re about to ask why the baby isn’t crying—but instead, you hear soft laughter. Your son is laughing, watching his dad like he’s the funniest person in the world.

Larry doesn’t wait long. He gently takes him from your arms, cradles him close, and starts humming the lyrics to Sacrifice by Sanity Falls under his breath. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t so tired.

Larry eases onto the bed beside you, still in awe, as if he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He lifts the baby boy up with a reverent grin, whispering, “Babez. Look at him. He’s perfect.”

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Ashley Campbell:

You weren't sure if Ash wanted kids, but the day you brought it up, she agreed so fast, it shocked you! And when you told her you were pregnant, her eyes widened with wonder—she hugged you so tightly you almost fell over. She whispered, “We’re gonna be so good at this,” like she already knew your baby was in good hands.

Ash is endlessly sweet, but she takes charge in the best way. She brings you snacks before you know you're hungry and organizes doctor visits with militant precision—but all out of love. You never have to ask for anything, because she's already halfway done doing it.

She loves massaging your back and feet, but never makes a show of it. It’s just part of her routine now—grabbing lotion, propping your legs up, quietly kneading the day’s stress out of your body while humming to your bump. She thinks your comfort is non-negotiable.

When you get emotional or anxious, she’s the calm to your storm. She wraps you in her arms, talks in a soft voice, and reminds you that you're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling. Her gentle reassurance is like a weighted blanket for your soul.

Ash is obsessed with your baby bump. She’ll cuddle up to it like it’s a separate person already, holding conversations with the “little one” while rubbing circles on your skin. Sometimes she even tells your bump secrets, like “Your mama is the bravest person I know.”

She’s a bit superstitious about health stuff. Like making you wear socks on cold floors because “pregnant feet are sacred,” and buying every fruit that supposedly helps with brain development. You’re not sure it works—but you’ve never eaten this well in your life.

Ash starts knitting. Badly. She's never knit a thing in her life, but she insists your baby will wear a handmade hat, even if it looks like a squished jellyfish. It's endearing as hell watching her cuss under her breath with pink yarn tangled around her fingers.

She paints little stars and vines around the crib. It’s a soft, homey touch, and she always invites you in for feedback—“Should I add a moon here?”—but you love whatever she does. It smells like paint and lavender when you fall asleep in her lap.

She’s deeply protective of you, in quiet, feral ways. If someone makes an insensitive comment, she’ll glare them into silence. If a doctor dismisses your discomfort, she’ll be firm but respectful, and always advocate for you like a warrior with a clipboard.

Every morning, she presses a kiss to your belly and says, “Morning, starshine.” It doesn’t matter if you’re throwing up or cranky or tired—she still does it, as if to remind you both how precious this chapter is. You start to look forward to it more than coffee.

Ash gently rests her hand on your growing belly, her thumb softly tracing circles on your skin. She smiles, eyes glistening as she whispers, “Good morning, little starshine.” You chuckle, half-sleepy, and press your head back into the pillow. “Morning, hon,” you murmur, sleep still thick in your voice as she brings her lips to your temple. Ash leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your belly, “You’re gonna be perfect, you know that?” she says, voice tender but full of certainty. “Like, the perfect little human.” You grin, turning your head to meet her eyes, “Perfect little human? What, like their mom?” She laughs softly, her fingers running over your bump. “No,” she says, pretending to be serious. “They’ll be perfect because they have you to teach them everything they need to know. I’ll just be the backup dancer.” You laugh, reaching out to tug her closer. “I think you’re the main event, Ash.” Her grin is as warm as the morning light flooding through the window. “Why don’t we both take centre stage then.”

She documents the pregnancy with Polaroids. But she never forces you to pose—instead, she catches you laughing, sleeping, wearing mismatched socks and talking to the belly. The photos are messy and real, and she keeps them in a shoebox labelled “Our Universe.”

She plays soft music in the mornings, classical or instrumental post-rock. Says it helps “set the baby’s vibe for the day.” You both end up lying on the couch, her hand on your bump, half-asleep in a sunbeam while Explosions in the Sky hums in the background.

Ash will happily carry everything you even look at for more than a second. You reached for a bag of rice once and she practically threw her back out trying to beat you to it. “That’s not a craving, that’s a lifting hazard,” she muttered.

She reads every queer parenting blog she can find. Half the bookmarks on your shared browser are titles like Lesbian Moms & Lactation Tips and Raising Baby in a Gay Way: Pride from Day One. She wants your baby to grow up knowing that love built their world.

Ash insists on decorating the nursery with “you energy.” She brings home trinkets, dried flowers, little frames with quotes you’ve said. “I want them to feel you in the room, even when you’re not here,” she tells you one night while holding your hand.

Labour and Birth!

Ash has been tracking your contractions to the minute. The second they hit five minutes apart, she’s hauling you onto her bike—no protests, no hesitations. Ideally, you would’ve taken the car, but it was out of fuel, and Ash isn’t about to waste time with that. Good thing, too, because your water breaks right as she pulls into the hospital parking lot.

She secretly loves that it happened on the bike. “It’s official,” she grins, steadying you. “Baby Maker lives up to her name.”

As you walk inside, she holds you close, supporting your weight with gentle strength. When your legs start to give out, she just picks you up—no warning—cradled securely under one arm like you weigh nothing at all. She has zero patience for the slow-moving receptionist and demands a room without taking no for an answer.

During the delivery, she never once lets go of your hand. Her thumb strokes your cheek, soft and steady, as she whispers how much she loves you, how proud she is of you, how ready she is to become a mother by your side. When the doctors try to offer instructions mid-push, she waves them off—“Let them breathe, damn.”

And then, your handsome baby boy is here.

Ash immediately asks the nurses to wait for the cord to turn white before cutting it. While she’s bickering, you steal a first look—bald as a cueball, but already scrunching his face into the goofiest expressions.

Ash turned back just in time to catch that. And then she cried.

“He's gorgeous,” she whispered, pressing a trail of kisses across your face while her pinkie curled into his surprisingly strong grip. “I knew he’d be perfect.” She sat beside you, overwhelmed and glowing, whispering to him between happy sobs. When you finally passed him into her arms, she cradled him to her chest like he’d always been there.

“Welcome, little starshine,” she breathed, voice cracking. His eyes blinked open slowly, like he already knew her—her voice, that nickname, the love surrounding him.

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Travis Phelps:

Emotional Distance but Deeply Caring: Travis may act tough, but there’s an undeniable softness when it comes to the baby. He can’t help but care for you, and the growing bump reminds him of how much he has to protect.

Struggling with Touch: He’s used to being the tough guy, and touching, especially in this vulnerable situation, makes him uneasy. He’ll stand a little too far away, watching the way you cradle your belly. His hands shake when he wants to touch, but he doesn’t know how. You’ll often guide his hand to rest there, reassuring him with a quiet “It’s okay.”

Words Are Hard: Travis doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. He’ll stumble over his words, usually saying something like “Uh, how’s... uh, how’s it feel in there?” He tries, but he’s never been great at being open about his feelings. Still, you can see the way his eyes soften when he watches you with the bump.

Silent Conversations: He’s not one for sappy talks, but you’ll catch him staring at your stomach in silence, like he's trying to figure out what’s going on in there. He doesn’t need words to show he cares; sometimes, he’ll just rest his hand near your belly, silently connecting with the baby, and you can tell it means a lot to him.

Reluctant Affection: When he does manage to touch your belly, it’s quick and almost hesitant, but it’s there. If the baby kicks while his hand is on your belly, he’ll freeze, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’ll mutter something under his breath, like “Damn, that’s crazy,” and then look away, still processing the whole thing.

Protective and Observant: Travis has a habit of quietly observing how you’re doing, making sure you’re comfortable or not overexerting yourself. He won’t say much, but he’ll notice when you’re uncomfortable and take a mental note to fix things. He’s always looking out for you and the baby in his own, gruff way.

The First Kick: The first time the baby kicked, Travis was mesmerized. His hand was on your belly, and he felt the movement, not realizing at first that his eyes were filling with tears. When he noticed the tears, he tried to act tough, quickly wiping them away, but his hand stayed in place, not wanting to move. It was a moment of raw emotion that he didn’t know how to handle.

Travis sat stiffly at the edge of the couch, his hand hovering awkwardly over your bump. “I don’t… I mean, you sure it’s okay?” You took his wrist and gently placed his palm against your belly. “They’re your kid, Trav. You don’t have to ask permission to feel them.” He didn’t respond at first, too focused on the stillness beneath his hand— Then a flutter. A kick. Just one. His breath caught. “Was that—?” You nodded, watching his face change in real time. Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent. Then… a tear slipped down his cheek. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing at his face with his sleeve like it betrayed him. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, sorry.” “Don’t be,” you said quietly. “They kicked for you.”

Protective to the Extreme: If someone bumps into you or is too rough around you, Travis doesn’t hesitate to get mad—really mad. His first instinct is to throw hands, and he’ll get in their face, fists clenched, ready to explode. But once the initial rush of anger settles, he forces himself to calm down. He knows getting into trouble would mean missing the birth, and that’s something he’s not willing to risk. After a few sharp words and a deep breath, he’ll mutter something like, “You better watch it next time,” and keep his distance from the person, but his anger doesn’t easily fade.

Secretly Reads Baby Books: He’ll act like he’s too tough for it, but Travis has been sneaking baby books when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s a weird mix of him wanting to be prepared but not wanting to admit it. It’s not his idea of fun reading, but he wants to make sure he’s not totally clueless when it comes to taking care of the baby.

The First Ultrasound: The first time you both see the baby on the ultrasound screen, Travis is hit with a wave of emotion. He’s never been the type to cry in public, but this moment hits him hard. He feels a connection, something raw and unspoken, and he can’t help but stare at the screen, a quiet "Holy shit" escaping his lips. It’s the first real glimpse of his child, and it shakes him to his core.

His ‘Big Brother’ Instincts: Growing up with his own chaotic, unpredictable home life, Travis often finds himself worried about creating a stable environment for his child. The thought of being a good dad nags at him constantly, but he’s determined to be better than what he had. He asks for advice more often than he’d admit, just to make sure he’s doing right by the kid.

Sleepless Nights: Even though he puts on a tough guy act, Travis finds himself unable to sleep at night, especially if you’re not feeling well. He’ll be up, pacing the room, trying to think of ways to help, and all the while, he's silently worrying about you and the baby. If you wake up and catch him, he’ll try to pretend he’s fine, but you can tell he’s not.

Baby Shopping with You: Travis tries to act all tough about baby shopping, but he’s surprisingly good at it. He’s picky about what the baby wears, insisting on getting only the best (but without going overboard). He’ll try to get the most practical things, but you can see the glimmer of pride in his eyes when he picks out something that looks perfect for his little one.

Belly Casting Obsession: Every time he notices a change in your bump, Travis insists on having a professional belly cast made. He’s fascinated by the process and wants to preserve every moment, from the smallest change in size to the curve of your belly as it grows. The casts end up all over his place, a testament to his odd but heartfelt desire to immortalize each stage of the pregnancy. At first, you think it’s a bit much, but the thoughtfulness behind it is something you can’t help but love.

If you ever try to do something yourself—like pick something up or bend over—Travis will immediately stop you, giving you a hard, almost scolding look. "What did I tell you about that?" he’ll say, gently but firmly. He’ll do everything for you, even if you protest, because he’s determined to make sure you don’t strain yourself. He’s very much in overprotective daddy mode and won’t hesitate to act on it.

Labour and Birth!

Travis gets the call while he’s at work. Your voice is shaky, telling him you think your water just broke. The moment you finish speaking, he doesn’t say a word—he just hangs up. There’s no time to waste. He storms out of the office without telling anyone, knowing the clock is ticking.

On his way to you, he quickly types out a message, his fingers shaking with nerves. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hang up like that... Don’t move a muscle, I’m on my way.”

He’d been preparing for this moment, keeping the bags in his car for weeks. Still, that doesn’t stop the whirlwind of anxiety tightening his chest as he drives. He mutters to himself, “Don’t panic, just breathe, don’t panic.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you, or trying to convince himself of that.

His speed? Well, it’s more than a little reckless. You end up getting tailed by a cop, and instead of slowing down, he steps on the gas. It’s a high-speed chase now. When he finally pulls up to the hospital, he swings open your door… but is immediately tackled by the cop tailing him.

The officer looks down at him, then at you, clearly understanding. He doesn’t press charges, but Travis still gets a ticket. The cop helps you into the hospital, making sure you’re seen immediately before walking off.

As you’re labouring, Travis paces the room, hands raking through his hair. Then, he hears you shriek—everything in him shifts. He’s at your side in seconds, holding your hand, reassuring you through the pain. You’ve never seen him so raw, so vulnerable.

In between your contractions, he starts to speak, voice shaking, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You’re amazing, y’know that? I don’t say it enough… but I really do appreciate you, everything you’ve done for me, and everything you’re doing for us. I love you… I’m just so grateful for you.”

When the beautiful baby girl is born, Travis doesn’t waste a second. He scoops her up, bringing her close to his chest, overwhelmed with pride. He whispers to her as he holds her, a promise forming in his voice. “I’m gonna be the best dad the world’s ever seen… You’ve got a good one, kid.”

She’s perfect—golden eyelashes, a tiny strand of golden hair sticking up at the top of her head. Travis looks at her with a love you’ve never seen before. There’s no doubt in your mind—he’s going to be an amazing father.

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Also had to draw Larry snotting over your baby bump, I couldn't not, it was so clear in my head.