#oh my god i was a TINY LITTLE BEAN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ch0llies · 11 days ago

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FOREVER NOW | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO. PT.2

oneshot - chris x reader

You and Chris have been tied together by an invisible string ever since you met at 10. As you grew older, Chris became your safe place. He was always there, unknowingly shaping himself into the person you'd eventually fall in love with. By the time you were 18, you had become each other's first everything- first kiss, first love, first promise that neither of you could ever belong to anyone else the way you belonged to each other. And now, standing in the bathroom with ten pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, that promise felt heavier than ever.

story warnings: fluff, smut, pregnancy kink, basically everything that has to due with pregnancy and childbirth, established relationship, etc... if any of these topics upset you... don't read!

word count: 6k

MONTH 2

The sterile scent of the doctor’s office does little to calm your nerves as you sit on the exam table, your fingers gripping Chris’s hand like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room. The last week had been a blur- between the endless late-night talks, the baby name debates, and Chris spending way too much time researching the best prenatal vitamins- everything still felt surreal.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” the ultrasound tech says with a warm smile, squeezing the cold gel onto your stomach.

Chris tightens his grip on your hand. “You good, baby?” he murmurs.

You nod, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Me too.”

And then, the screen flickers to life.

At first, it’s just static, a mix of shadows and shapes you don’t quite understand. But then- there.

A tiny bean-shaped figure appears, nestled inside of you. The heartbeat echoes through the room, fast and steady, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, tears instantly pricking at your eyes.

Chris lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes glued to the screen, pure awe written all over his face. “That’s our baby?”

The tech smiles. “That’s your baby. And judging by the measurements, you’re about two months along.”

Chris lets out a stunned chuckle, running a hand down his face. “Two months,” he repeats, like he’s trying to wrap his head around it. He turns to you, his expression softening. “We’ve had our baby with us for two months already.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, and Chris leans over, kissing your forehead. His hand stays firmly in yours the whole time, never letting go.

And just like that, the little bean on the screen makes everything real.

You decide that night to invite everyone over and tell them the news. Your apartment is full- packed, really- with family, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of home-cooked food. Your mom, dad, and brother are here, chatting with Chris’s parents and all his brothers. It’s the first time everyone’s gathered together in a while, and they think it’s just a normal family dinner.

But you and Chris have other plans.

Chris squeezes your thigh under the table, shooting you a knowing look. It’s almost time.

“Hey, Mom?” you call out casually, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. “I think something’s burning… can you check the oven?”

Your mom, who’s been deep in conversation with Chris’s mom, Mary Lou, immediately moves toward the oven. “Oh shoot, yeah, of course.” She opens the door, peering inside. “There’s just a… roll?”

Mary Lou tilts her head, coming over. “Let me see this.”

Chris, still seated but now grinning widely, leans forward. “What’s in the oven?”

Your mom and Mary Lou both frown at first, then look at each other as realization dawns.

“A bun…”

Their heads snap toward each other, eyes widening, mouths parting in shock.

Then, utter joy.

Screams, happy shrieks, as they grab each other and start jumping up and down like teenagers. Your mom clutches Mary Lou’s arms, her eyes already welling up.

“Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD-”

Chris laughs, standing up just in time for his mom and yours to practically tackle you in a hug. “Are you serious?!” your mom exclaims, pulling back just enough to look at your face.

You nod, laughing through your tears. “Two months.”

Another round of screams.

The commotion quickly draws in the rest of the family. Chris’s dad steps into the kitchen first, followed by your dad and your brother, then all of Chris’s brothers- Matt, Nick, and Justin, who were mid-conversation and now just staring at the scene unfolding before them.

“What’s going on in here?” your dad asks, looking mildly concerned.

Your mom turns to them, face lit up with pure joy. “THEY’RE HAVING A BABY!”

Silence.

Then, another explosion of excitement.

Chris’s dad claps him on the back, shaking his head with a wide grin. “You little shit.”

Your brother lets out a stunned laugh. “Holy shit, I’m gonna be an uncle?”

Nick lets out an exaggerated gasp. “I’M GONNA BE AN UNCLE TOO!”

“You’re not special, we’re all uncles!” Matt chimes in, and Justin just shakes his head, laughing.

Chris, overwhelmed but beaming, pulls you into his arms, kissing you right there in the middle of the kitchen, his hands cradling your face.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

Tears still streaming, you smile against his mouth. “I love you too.”

MONTH 3

By the third month, your body is starting to change, though you’re not fully showing just yet. Your lower stomach has a tiny bump, just enough for Chris to become obsessed.

Every morning, before even kissing you good morning, he lifts your hoodie or pajama top to check your belly. “Lemme see our baby,” he mumbles sleepily, pressing a kiss to your skin. He does this every single morning.

At your 12-week ultrasound, you both hear the baby’s heartbeat loud and clear for the first time. Chris records the whole thing on his phone, his eyes misting over as he grips your hand tightly. “That’s our baby,” he whispers in pure awe.

Month 3 was fun but it came with mood swings. And they hit hard. One moment you’re laughing, the next you’re sobbing because you saw a video of a puppy and now you need one. Chris is patient, rubbing your back while hiding his laughter when you cry over the most random things.

Not to mention the weird cravings too…pickles with peanut butter. Chris gags every time you eat it but stocks up on both anyway.

MONTH 4

Your energy is coming back, and so is your sex drive. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, you need Chris all the time.

“You’ve been insane, baby,” he teases one night, hands tracing over your growing belly. “Not complaining, though.”

Chris also starts buying baby stuff constantly. You come home one day to find him unpacking an absurd amount of onesies, soft blankets, and a tiny Bruins beanie.

“We don’t even know the gender yet!” you remind him.

Chris just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Our kid’s gonna be a Bruins fan either way.”

MONTH 5

One night, you wake up to something- a small fluttering sensation in your belly. It happens again, and your breath catches.

“Chris,” you whisper, shaking him awake. “Chris, the baby just kicked.”

He sits up so fast he nearly falls out of bed. “Wait, what?!” His hands are on your belly immediately, waiting, eyes wide. When he finally feels the tiny kick against his palm, his breath stutters.

“That’s-” He swallows hard, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s our baby.” He spends the next hour whispering to your belly, telling them all about their parents and how much they’re already loved.

This is also the month you start turning the office into a nursery. You decide not to find out the gender until the baby is born and instead choose a yellow theme- bright, neutral, and happy.

You both spend an entire Saturday painting the walls, music playing, the windows open. Chris is in jeans, no shirt, covered in paint, while you’re in overalls, your baby bump finally visible. He insists on taking a picture of you holding a paintbrush to your stomach.

“For the baby album,” he says with a grin.

MONTH 6

Your bump is really showing now, and Chris is in love with it. He touches it constantly- rubbing it absentmindedly when you sit together, spooning you at night with his hands protectively splayed over your stomach, kissing it whenever he gets the chance.

“You’re glowing,” he tells you one day, watching as you fold tiny baby clothes in the nursery. “Like, actually glowing.”

The nesting instinct is kicking in full force. You’re suddenly obsessed with organizing and cleaning, and Chris is doing his best to keep up. One night, you wake up at 2 a.m. convinced the nursery needs rearranging immediately. Chris groans but helps move the crib- only for you to change your mind an hour later.

“Baby,” he mumbles, flopping onto the rug. “Please. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“No.”

MONTH 7

Your back hurts constantly, your feet are swollen, and even sleeping is uncomfortable. Chris gives you back rubs every night, rubbing your feet and making sure you’re drinking enough water.

Sex is still happening, but it’s… different. Your growing belly makes some positions impossible, limiting you mostly to doggy, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s more patient, more attentive- his hands steadying your hips, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along your spine. He’s careful with you, always checking in, always making sure you’re comfortable, but there’s something else in his touch lately- something hungry.

And then, one night, as his fingers trace the curve of your belly, lingering just a little longer than usual, he finally admits, “Baby… I think your belly turns me on.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “What?”

He shrugs, but the way his eyes darken as they sweep over you betrays his casual tone. His hand drags slow and deliberate over your bump, fingers spreading possessively. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Just… knowing our baby is inside you. That I put them there.” He shakes his head, smirking as he licks his lips. “It’s kinda hot.”

You roll your eyes, but the way your pulse quickens betrays you. Because honestly? It is hot.

“Yeah?” You challenge, your voice playful but laced with something deeper. You tug your shirt over your head, baring your swollen breasts and belly to him, your skin hypersensitive, your body already aching for him. “Wanna show me just how hot you think it is?”

Chris exhales sharply, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. His pupils dilate, his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he might actually lose his mind.

Then he’s on you, hands already reaching, already touching. His lips find your neck, warm and open-mouthed, his breath hot against your skin. “Get on your hands and knees, mama,” he rasps, voice thick with need.

You obey without question, shifting onto your hands and knees, arching your back just enough to give him the perfect view.

You had thought that since gaining pregnancy weight that Chris would be turned off… or maybe even stop finding you attractive completely. But it was the opposite. He loves it.

He grabs your love handles every chance he gets and rubs your thighs and massages your back, not because you asked, simply because he wants to. Because it turns him on.

Chris groans behind you, his hands immediately finding your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel grounded. He spreads his palms over your skin, dragging them down to your thighs, then back up, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You shiver at the heat in his voice, at the way he sounds almost wrecked already.

“Then show me,” you challenge, glancing over your shoulder at him.

His eyes flash dark with something dangerous, something wild, and then he’s moving- leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back as he kisses along your shoulder, his hands never stopping their slow worship of your body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hands slide under your belly, holding you, supporting you like it’s second nature. Like taking care of you is just as much a turn-on as anything else.

And when he finally pushes into you, slow and deliberate, a deep groan rumbles through his chest. His grip returns and tightens on your hips, and he drops his head forward, his breath hot against your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, voice strained. “You feel even better like this.”

A gasp escapes your lips as you adjust to the stretch, your fingers clutching the sheets. Chris moves carefully at first, like he’s afraid of hurting you, but it only makes you want more.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” you pant, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “You’re not gonna hurt the baby.”

Chris lets out a deep, shaky breath, his hands tightening on your hips as he keeps thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace. His self-control is tangible, the restraint in every roll of his hips almost maddening. Then, suddenly, his hands slide from your hips back to your belly, spreading wide, cradling the swell of it with something so tender it makes your chest ache.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost wrecked. “I just- fuck.” He exhales harshly, thumbs stroking the soft skin of your stomach. “I just love you like this.”

Your breath catches, and before you can respond, he moves- his grip tightening, his thrusts deepening, more purposeful now. He’s still careful, still mindful of you, but the hesitation is gone, replaced by something more raw, more desperate.

“Chris,” you moan, your fingers clutching the sheets, your body arching into him.

His hands stay on your belly, holding you there, like he’s grounding himself in the feeling of you- of the life you created together. His pace picks up, each thrust pushing you forward just enough to make your breath hitch. He’s panting above you, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your spine, his voice thick with need.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his grip flexing as he moves. “Carrying my baby, taking me so well.”

The words send a shockwave through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. You whimper, pushing back against him, needing more. He growls low in his throat, like you’re unraveling him, like he’s barely holding on.

“Yeah?” he breathes, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple. “You like that?”

You nod frantically, gasping as he rolls his hips harder, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” Chris groans, his voice strained, his movements more desperate now. “Gonna make you cum just like this, mama. You ready?”

Chris’s thrusts grow more purposeful, deeper, his control slipping as your body clenches around him. His hands remain firm on your belly, holding you close, grounding himself in the feeling of you- the mother of his child, his woman, so perfect beneath him.

You’re burning, every nerve in your body alight as pleasure coils deep in your stomach. The way he’s touching you, how he’s holding your belly like it’s something sacred while still fucking you so thoroughly- it’s overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.

“Chris- ” you gasp, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “I’m- oh my God- ”

He groans, gripping your hips again, pulling you back onto him harder. “I got you, baby,” he pants, his voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good- so tight, so perfect. You gonna cum for me?”

You nod frantically, the tension inside you about to snap. His hand slides from your belly down between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing firm, tight circles that send shockwaves through you.

Your moan is almost a sob as the pleasure crashes into you, your body shaking as you cum hard around him. Your walls clench tight, dragging him deeper, and he groans, losing whatever fragile control he had left.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he grits out, his rhythm growing erratic. His grip tightens on your belly again, his forehead pressing against your spine. “Gonna fill you up- fuck-”

You’re still trembling from your own orgasm when you feel him go rigid behind you, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he cums inside you, his thrusts slowing but still deep, still pushing every last bit of himself into you.

For a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of your mingled breaths, heavy and uneven. Chris collapses against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his hands still possessive on your stomach.

He lingers inside you for a moment longer before he finally pulls out, groaning softly at the loss of warmth. He presses a lingering kiss between your shoulder blades before sliding off the bed, heading to the bathroom. You hear the water run, and moments later, he’s back with a warm washcloth.

“Let me clean you up, mama,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with exhaustion and satisfaction.

You sigh as he gently wipes between your legs, being careful with every touch. His hands are slow and methodical, taking care of you like he always does. When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth into the laundry bin, then climbs back into bed, pulling you into his arms.

You melt into his embrace, your back pressed against his chest, his hands instinctively finding your belly again. He rubs slow circles over your skin, his lips pressing lazy kisses to the back of your neck.

Just as you’re about to drift off, his voice cuts through the quiet.

“Baby,” he says, his tone laced with something mischievous.

You hum sleepily, too comfortable to open your eyes. “Hmm?”

“We’re gonna have to record a movie or some shit with you pregnant,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “It turns me on way more than it should.”

Your eyes snap open as you twist to look at him. “What?”

He grins, completely unapologetic. “I’m serious. You obviously can’t be pregnant all the time… unless I get you pregnant again right after the first baby is out.” He smirks, his hand splaying possessively over your belly. “How do you feel about Irish twins?”

You stare at him, half amused, half horrified. “Chris.”

“What?” he chuckles, nuzzling into your neck. “I mean, just think about it…. another baby, back to back? You’d look so fucking good carrying my baby again.”

You swat at his arm. “Let me get through this pregnancy first before you start planning the next one.”

He laughs, squeezing you tighter. “Alright, alright. But just so you know, I’m putting the idea out there.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me,” he counters, kissing your shoulder.

You sigh dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Chris just chuckles, pulling you even closer. “Get some sleep, baby. We’ll revisit this conversation later.”

You shake your head but don’t argue, letting yourself drift off in his arms, knowing full well he’s absolutely going to bring it up again.

MONTH 8

Your families throw you the most beautiful baby shower. Chris spends most of the day looking at baby items like he’s in awe that they’re for his child.

He’s also officially in full-on dad mode. He refuses to let you lift anything, scolds you for overexerting yourself, and installs the car seat a month early.

One night, you find him sitting in the nursery, staring at the crib.

“Chris?” you whisper, stepping inside.

He looks up, a soft smile on his face. “I just can’t believe we’re gonna have our baby sleeping in here soon.”

You walk over, taking his hand and resting it on your belly. “Me neither.”

MONTH 9

Everything is ready. The nursery is done, the hospital bag is packed, and Chris is on edge 24/7.

Every time you shift in bed, he bolts upright. “Are we going? Is it happening?”

“No, Chris. I just have to pee.”

He starts leaving work early, checking on you constantly. One day, he comes home with even more baby clothes, a yoga ball, and a brand-new breast pump.

“Chris,” you laugh. “We already have everything!”

“I just… wanna be prepared,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

One night, as he’s helping you into bed, he kneels down, pressing his lips to your belly.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, voice full of love. “We’re ready for you whenever you are.”

And just like that, the final stretch begins. Any day now, your baby will be here.

MONTH 9, WEEK 1

Lying in bed, your body aching from the sheer weight of pregnancy, you shift slightly, trying to find some comfortable position. Chris, ever in tune with you, adjusts immediately, tucking himself behind you and rubbing slow, soothing circles on your belly.

“We need to talk names,” you murmur sleepily, your head resting against his chest.

Chris hums, his fingers trailing absentmindedly over your bump. “Yeah, we do. We can’t just keep calling them ‘baby’ forever.”

You smile, but then a thought strikes you. “Okay, hear me out- if it’s a boy, I still wanna name him Owen.”

Chris stills for a moment before tilting his head down to look at you. “Still?”

You nod, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. I just… I love the name, and I thought it’d be a sweet way to honor you.”

Chris is quiet, but then his lips press against the side of your head. “You know what, I love it,” he whispers.

Relief floods you, and you nuzzle closer. “For the middle name… I was thinking maybe after my dad or my brother?”

Chris grins. “Perfect. We’ll decide when we meet him.”

You nod before shifting again. “And if it’s a girl?”

Chris chuckles. “Do you remember what my pick was?”

“Aria?” you question, remembering what he had said months and months ago.

Chris exhales, and you swear you feel his heart pick up. “Yes. Aria,” he repeats, like he’s letting it settle. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, baby. And for the middle name,” you continue, tilting your head to look at him, “I was thinking… Lou.”

Chris’s breath hitches. “After my mom?”

You nod, watching as his face softens into something unbearably tender.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Aria Lou… that’s perfect.”

And just like that, your baby- Owen or Aria- finally has a name.

MONTH 9, WEEK 2

The first time you feel contractions, they hit out of nowhere. Your stomach tightens, and a dull ache spreads through your back, making you pause mid-step in the kitchen.

Chris notices instantly. “What? What’s wrong?”

You grip the counter, wincing. “I think… I think I’m having contractions.”

Chris immediately launches into action. “Okay! Okay, let’s go- hospital, now!” He grabs the pre-packed hospital bag, his keys, his phone, his soul practically leaving his body as he rushes to the door.

You exhale through the pain, holding up a hand. “Chris. Chris! It’s fine. They’re just Braxton Hicks contractions.”

Chris blinks, still frozen mid-panic. “The fuck is a Braxton Hicks?”

You sigh, rubbing your belly. “False contractions. My body’s just practicing.”

Chris stares at you like you just betrayed him. “Practicing?! Baby, I was ready to sprint down the hall and flag an ambulance!”

For the rest of the week, every single time you shift uncomfortably, Chris is on guard. If you so much as groan while rolling over in bed, he’s wide awake, scrambling for his phone.

You sigh. “Chris. I just have to pee.”

He squints. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

You’re not sure how he’s gonna survive the real thing.

MONTH 9, WEEK 3

By now, the baby is almost a month overdue and you want nothing more than to push it out. God must’ve heard your prayers because you wake up to an intense pressure in your lower belly, a sharp pain that pulls you out of sleep with a gasp. For a moment, you think it’s just more Braxton Hicks contractions- until you feel it.

A rush of warmth liquid. A pop.

Your eyes go wide as realization slams into you.

“Chris.”

Chris, who had been sleeping like a dead man, groggily lifts his head. “Mmm?”

You slap his chest. “Chris, my water just broke.”

It takes him exactly three seconds to process that before he shoots upright, fully awake.

“OH, SHIT.”

“CHRIS, GET THE FUCKING BAG!”

Chris dives out of bed, scrambling for the hospital bag while simultaneously pulling on his jeans and trying to call everyone at once. “Okay, okay- uh, shit, okay- baby’s on the way, holy fuck!”

“Chris, breathe!” you hiss, gripping the bed as another contraction rolls through. “Just get me to the-”

And then you glance outside.

It’s snowing.

Not just a light dusting- a full-on blizzard.

Chris follows your gaze, his face draining of color. “No. No, no, NO- Fuck. Okay, hold on.”

He rushes to the window. Your car is buried under the snow, the driveway completely covered.

“Oh no….”

“DON’T WORRY! I GOT IT!”

And for the first time in your life, you see Chris move with the efficiency of a goddamn Olympic athlete.

He grabs his coat, shoves his feet into boots, and runs outside with nothing but a shovel and pure desperation.

You’re standing in the doorway, gripping the frame through another contraction, watching him shovel like his life depends on it.

“CAREFUL, CHRIS!”

“I’M BEING CAREFUL, BABY!” He yells as his left boot slips on ice and he almost takes a tooth out on the frozen pavement.

After what feels like forever, he finally clears enough space to get the car out. Panting, sweating, frost forming on his damn eyelashes, he runs back inside, scooping you up like a firefighter.

“Okay- okay, we’re going, baby, let’s go.”

He gets you into the car, throws the bag in the back, and peels out onto the snowy road, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping yours tightly.

Between contractions, you hear him frantically calling his parents, your parents, anyone will who pick up. “Baby’s on the way! We’re coming- SHIT, THESE ROADS ARE ICY- but we’re coming!*”

“Chris, focus on driving!”

“I CAN MULTITASK!”

But through the excitement, the panic, the snowstorm- Chris still finds a second to glance over at you, his free hand tightening around yours.

“We’re about to meet our baby, baby.”

And despite the pain, the stress, the absolute shitshow of this entire night- you smile.

Chris has the gas pedal pressed way too hard, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he simultaneously calls every single family member he can think of.

“Mom! We’re on the way- baby’s coming NOW. I don’t care about the storm, just- just get to the hospital!”

You groan through another contraction, gripping your belly, your nails digging into the seat. “Chris, shut the fuck up and focus on DRIVING!”

He immediately hangs up on his mom and dials someone else. “Dad! Baby’s coming- YES, RIGHT NOW- NO, I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG LABOR TAKES, JUST GET THERE!”

“Chris,” you grind out, trying to breathe through the insane pain in your abdomen. “If you call one more person, I swear to God-”

“Hold on, babe- Nick’s calling.”

“CHRIS!”

“OKAY, OKAY, I’M FOCUSING!”

Chris barely slows the car as he swerves into the hospital entrance. He parks right outside the ER doors, throws it into park, and launches himself out.

“Hang tight, baby, I got you!”

You let out a pained groan as another contraction tears through you, doubling over in your seat. Chris yanks the hospital bag from the back, sprints to your side, and immediately pulls open the passenger door.

“Come on, come on, we gotta go- ” He tries helping you out, but you’re moving too slow for his patience. His head whips around and locks onto the valet guy standing nearby.

“TAKE THE KEYS!” Chris chucks them at him before turning back to you.

“Chris,” you grit out, “I need a second-”

“NOPE, NO TIME, HOLD ON-”

Before you can argue, he sprints inside and grabs a wheelchair.

And when you say grabs a wheelchair, you mean full-speed, NFL linebacker, dodging obstacles, yanks one from the hallway and sprints back.

“Okay, baby, up you go- ” He lifts you carefully, places you into the chair, grabs the bag, and immediately pushes you through the sliding doors, moving like a man possessed.

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” he yells to the entire hospital lobby. “WHO CAN HELP DELIVER IT?”

A nurse rushes over, calm and professional. “Sir, please lower your voice-”

You groan, grabbing onto the wheelchair handles, “Shut the FUCK up, Chris!”

The nurse blinks, unimpressed. “Yeah, you heard her. Follow me.”

You’re wheeled into a triage room, and Chris hovers like a nervous wreck as the nurses work quickly around you.

“How far along are you?” a nurse asks, helping you onto the hospital bed.

“Nine months and three weeks.” Chris answers way too fast. “She’s been having contractions for…how long, baby?”

You glare at him through the pain. “CHRIS, I DON’T KNOW, I’M IN AGONY.”

“Okay, okay, right, sorry-”

A doctor comes in, pulling on gloves. “Let’s check how dailated you are.”

Chris freezes. “Wait, check what?”

The nurse gives him a look. “Sir, if you’re gonna faint, step outside.”

“I’M NOT GONNA FAINT,” Chris yells, then immediately looks pale when the doctor starts checking your cervix.

“She’s already seven centimeters,” the doctor announces.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Wait, so that’s close, right? Baby’s coming soon?!”

“Labor can still take time,” the nurse says calmly, way too used to panicked fathers. “Let’s get her into a delivery room.”

Once you’re settled into the delivery room, Chris refuses to sit down. He stands beside you, gripping your hand way too tight, bouncing on his feet like a fighter waiting to enter the ring.

“Okay, baby, just breathe. Remember the breathing exercises? In through your nose, out through your-”

“I swear to fucking GOD, Chris, if you tell me to breathe ONE MORE TIME-”

“Okay, yep, shutting up- ”

The contractions are getting worse. Chris watches helplessly, his eyes flicking between you and the monitor tracking each one.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “How are you this strong?”

“Because I have no choice,” you snap, panting through another contraction. “Because you put a baby inside me, Christopher.”

Chris gulps, squeezing your hand. “You’re doing amazing, baby. I love you so much-”

You barely register the doctor’s next words.

“You’re at nine centimeters- almost time to push.”

Chris blanches. “WHAT? ALREADY?”

“You ready to meet your baby?” the nurse asks, beaming.

Chris nods rapidly. “Oh, hell yeah, let’s go, let’s do this-”

The doctor smirks. “Dad, maybe sit down before you pass out?”

“I’M FINE!”

You glare at him. “Chris, SIT THE FUCK DOWN.”

And for once, Chris actually listens and sits down in the chair next to your bed.

And then It’s time.

Chris stands up again, gripping your hand both excited and terrified, his forehead pressed to yours as the doctor counts down.

“Push, baby, you got this- Oh my God, I can see the head- holy fuck- ”

You’re exhausted, screaming through the pain, every fiber of your being focused on getting your baby into the world.

And then-

A cry.

A loud, beautiful baby’s cry.

Chris chokes on a sob as the doctor lifts your baby up.

“Congratulations! You have a-”

But Chris isn’t even listening. He’s already crying, already pressing kisses to your damp forehead, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you so much, baby, you did it-”

And then, they place your baby in your arms.

Tiny. Perfect. Yours.

Chris stares at them, absolutely wrecked with emotion, whispering, “Hi, baby,” his fingers brushing over their tiny hands.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse says softly. “6 pounds and 7 ounces. Perfectly healthy.”

Chris lets out a breathless laugh. “I knew it.”

Tears spill from your eyes. “Aria Lou,” you whisper, and Chris breaks, pressing his face into your shoulder.

“She’s perfect,” he chokes out. “You’re perfect.”

Chris holds out his arms the second the nurse gives the okay, gently lifting Aria from your chest. The moment she’s in his arms, his entire face crumbles. His hands tremble slightly as he cradles her tiny body against his chest, his thumb brushing over her impossibly small fingers.

A shaky breath leaves him as he leans down, pressing the softest kiss to her forehead. His voice is barely a whisper, full of so much love it physically aches.

“Hello, my baby girl. My beautiful, beautiful baby girl.”

Tears slip down his cheeks as he stares at her like she’s his whole world. Because she is.

SIX HOURS LATER

The hospital room is quiet now, the energy finally settling after a whirlwind of family visits. Both of your parents, Chris’s parents, his brothers, your brother- everyone had come rushing in, crying, hugging, taking turns holding Aria.

Mary Lou had sobbed the second she heard the name. “You named her after me? Oh, honey…” She hugged you so tightly you thought you’d burst into tears again.

But now, the room is peaceful.

Chris is sitting up in bed beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you cradle Aria against your chest. The hospital room lights are dim, and for the first time all day, it feels like time has slowed.

“She has your eyes,” you murmur, staring down at her delicate face. “Your beautiful light blue eyes.”

Chris hums, his hand trailing up and down your arm. “Yeah… but she has your lips. And your nose.” He leans down, tilting his head to study her. “And your little chin. And your cheeks.”

You laugh sleepily, pressing a kiss to Aria’s soft hair. “She’s perfect.”

Chris sighs, completely in awe. “Yeah, she really is.”

An hour later and you’ve fallen asleep, exhaustion finally pulling you under, but Chris stays awake. He sits there, just watching you breathe, his heart swelling at the sight of you curled up beside him, completely worn out from giving birth to the most precious thing in the world.

Carefully, he lifts Aria from your arms, cradling her to his chest. She’s so tiny, so fragile, her breaths warm against his skin.

Slowly, he stands, rocking her gently as he walks back and forth across the room. His fingers ghost over her little ones, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

And then, in the softest, most reverent whisper, he murmurs:

“I’m gonna love you forever now.”

And with that, his whole world is complete.

a/n: dad!chris is literally my favorite thing EVER😭😭😭

tags: @mattsobvimyfav @bernardsbendystraws @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 6 months ago

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God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

~2.6k words

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?"

He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

Part Three

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

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justastargirlbabe · 15 days ago

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BEST Friends | J. Routledge + J. Maybank

Innocent!reader x John b x JJ

Summary: Your best friends help swipe your v-card

Warnings: Loss of virginity, smut, oral (fem. receiving), Threesome, reader is a bit of an airhead when it comes to sex, aftercare...

“C’mon baby, there's no one better than us.” you’re currently sitting in between your two best friends, john b and jj. You might have let it slip that you’ve never had sex before, and the two gorgeous boys were quick with an idea. “Idk guys I mean, we're best friends a-and-and…”. You stutter, not having the courage to voice your thoughts. “And what princess?” jj blurts impatiently. “You’d have to see me yk… naked”. They both burst out in laughter hearing your confession. “Well duh cupcake, that's how it works.” jj goes back to laughing. John b speaks up, trying to settle your nerves. “Sweetie, c’mon were your best friends, we just wanna help you feel good,” he says rubbing your thigh soothingly.

“O-ok, but how do we umm start?”. You question cautiously. With no response jj gently takes your face into his hands and smashes his lips against yours, catching you by surprise. John b settles for your neck, placing gentle kisses as he sneaks his hand under your shirt. You pull away from jj, nervously looking at John B's actions. Jj intervenes before you get too unsettled. “It's alright cupcake, just lift your arms so me and jb can see your pretty tits”. Flattered, you lift your arms, allowing John b to remove your shirt, whilst jj unclips your bra. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this from us sweet thing.” this time john b claims your mouth, jj moving down your body to suck on your nipple, groping the other breast in his hand. You moan into the kiss with john b, and they both smirk. “You like that don’t you baby, c’mere lets get you out of those pants.”

john b removes his shirt, jj doing the same, and they both help you slide your pants off. Leaving you in your pink underwear. “Aw, princess your so fucking cute in your pretty little panties but these gotta go”. Jj tuts at you. Feeling nervous, you don't move. John b picks up on your body language. “Hey baby, it's ok. We just wanna take care of you, but you gotta trust us alright?” John B says. You nod in response but that just isn’t quite enough for John b. “ uh-uh honey, gotta hear you say it.” you take a deep breath before you break the silence. “ok, but uh please just go slow, oh and you guys gotta take your clothes off first.” The boys smile at you before moving to take off their pants. “Anything you need cupcake,” JJ confirms.

After staring wide-eyed at the size of their dicks, john b tugs on your panties, signaling it's your turn. He helps peel them off of you and you witness jj take them in his hand. Inspecting the pink cotton he touches on a wet spot and looks to John b. “I think someone's excited”. He says looking at you, making you blush.

You allow them to push you back on the bed, jj spreading your legs. “Sorry I'm all icky and not waxed” you say, panicking. “Hey hey it's alright, completely normal hun.” john b says assuring you. “Why don't you just start off by showing us how you make yourself feel good, that ok baby?” jj says trying to get a hint at what you like. You speak up cluelessly, “u-um what d’you mean?”, “y’know like when you flick the bean, or play with the pea, tickling your fancy-”, john b cuts him off. “He means Masturbating babe. Can you show us how you do that sweetie?” he questions. “Oh I um… uh, haven't done that before.” say surprised. “ Here I'm gonna rub on this spot and I want you to tell me how it feels.” jj starts drawing slow tiny circles on your clit. You throw your head back, shocked by the foreign yet amazing feeling. Sensing that you’re ready, John b delivers a quick kiss to your lips and sinks his mouth down on your soaked pussy. Jj goes to hold your head up, making sure you see how good they’re making you feel. “ oh-oh my god bee, your making me feel so good fuck”. John b smiles up at you as he sucks down hardly on your clit.

You whine at the loss of contact when he pulls a way to talk to you. “Yeah ik it feels good bunny, but i think you’re ready to take this cock yeah?” you almost gasp at his vulgar use of words. “It's alright mama, jj’s gonna open you up real good first. The boys swap places, “okay mama gonna stick a finger in, just remember to breathe.” you take a deep breath in as you feel his finger enter you. He begins to curl his finger inside, causing you to yell out and your body completely jolts. “Sh sh it's ok baby, he just found your sweet spot s’all.” john b cuts in. jj resumes, this time adding a finger. You cringe a little at the slight stretch but completely relax again when you feel John b kissing your neck. Without you even noticing jj has slipped in a third finger and you’re moaning louder than ever. “I think she's ready for some dick JB” jj claims.

John b slides a pillow under your head, as well as one under your hips. He spits on your pussy once, and runs his finger through your slick lips. He takes his fat cock, already glistening from pre-cum, and taps the tip against your throbbing clit. He lines himself up with your entrance, your eyes snap shut anticipating his actions. He tries to enter but you’re just too tense. “Dude what's up?” jj questions. “She’s too tight, honey you gotta relax your mind so that it can go in smoothly.” John B informs you. “I’m sorry, I just can't, I'm scared.” you confess. “Hey there's nothing to be afraid of, baby, just take a deep breath and focus on my fingers.” jj instructs. He starts applying pressure on your clit making you loosen up enough for john b to slide right into your pussy. Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as he moves in and out of your dripping cunt. “Mm bee dat feel s’good” you manage to mumble out. “yeah baby I know, you gonna cum already hm?” he says mockingly. “Mm- I-I dunno w-what that is”, you force out dumbfounded. This time jj steps in, “you know baby, like an orgasm”, he says shocked at your innocence. “Oh-oh, I uh I’ve never done that, I don’t think.” you clench around john b even more feeling a sense of heat building in your lower abdomen. John b notices the change in your face, “you feel it coming don’t ya pretty girl?” you frantically nod your head, feeling like a bomb is about to blow inside of you. Suddenly the greatest thing you’ve ever felt erupts inside you. John b continues his rough pace as feels your orgasm rush over you, his own following quickly after. Jj gives you sweet kisses as you come down from your high, and gets you a glass of water, allowing you to take small sips. John b pulls out of you slowly, and feeling the after effects of your orgasm, your eyes get heavier.

“Hey sleepy girl, c’mon I know you got one more left for me” jj says almost encouragingly. You whine, “it's ok hun, i’ll make it quick”. The boys swiftly swap places carefully making sure your body is supported at all times. Their sudden movements slightly alarm you. “Shh s’alright sweet girl, jj jus gonna use your pussy real fast,” he places soft kisses to your face as JJ slides in, his thumb nudging at your clit. You gasp feeling the difference of his cock compared to the previous one inside you. He slightly speeds up his movements, already getting close from just watching you. In no time, you reach orgasm #2 crying out whilst jj fucks you harder chasing his own release.

When he's finished and clears his head, JJ grabs a damp towel from the bathroom to wipe off the mixture of juices from the three of you. You wince and snap your legs close, the feeling of the cool rag on your worn out pussy becoming too overwhelming. “‘S alright mama, just cleaning you up”. “C’mon baby, ur sensitive but ya gotta open your legs for jay”. They persuade you. Once he's thrown the rags into the hamper and you’ve gotten some more water, the boys help you slip on one of their t-shirts and place you in bed. “W-what! You-you’re jus gonna leave me” you say panicked. “No honey, don’t worry we’re staying, just relax babe.” they both climb in on opposite sides of you. You lay your head on jb’s chest while jj spoons you from behind caressing your curves until you fall asleep.

#obx fic #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank smut #john b routledge #john b x jj #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x reader #jj smut #john b smut #innocent!reader #virginity loss #obx smut #john b x reader x jj

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mizgnomer · 6 months ago

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Behind the Scenes of The Star Beast - Part Eight

Excerpts from Benjamin Cook's Star Beast Set Visit - discussing the Camden night shoots:

Is nobody here having a bad time?? WHAT'S WRONG WITH THEM? "I had a little lull earlier," admits David, "at 2AM when we were waiting to turn over- I definitely yawned, maybe twice - but then the blood starts pumping again." Wrap isn't till 3AM. David lives across town. Isn't he worried he'll wake up his family when he gets in? "Listen, the kids are at Davison's," he says (this is Fifth Doctor actor Peter Davison, who happens to be David's father-in-law), "so I'm full of beans. Oh, and sugar. Do you want some?" He's bought a churro from a market stall that's stayed open because it's very much in shot. "You can have more than that." He breaks me off a bigger piece. "The sugar rush will do you good." He offers the director [ Rachel Talalay ] some too: "Go on, Rachel, you deserve it." "Are you doing OK?" she asks him. "Yeah! Sugar! I'll move on to the Yorkie bars next. I give not a fudge at this time in the morning." He claps his hands, dusting off the sugar from his churro. "But are you OK?" "I am at this moment," she says, waving to some fans. "Tomorrow at 4:30AM I might not be. Ask me again then." "You do get a lot of love from the fans, don't you?" says David. "In a tiny way, which is just lovely. I mean, I'm not you," she says, with a laugh. "I love hearing them scream for you. But I'm not used to any of this. And… I think it's stopped raining." "OK, here we go," says Scott. "Let's go for one. Stand by then, folks…" They go for another take. And another. When I catch up with Rachel later – much later, it’s October 2023, and she’s chatting over Zoom from her home in Vancouver – we’re five weeks away from The Star Beast airing on TV. “I didn’t know quite how well the episode was working,” she says, “till my family watched an almost-finished cut. I came downstairs, and my two girls were crying. It was like, oh, OK, this does work! And on a much, much deeper level too. To have them go, ‘We knew it would be full of joy’ – which I think it is – ‘but we didn’t expect it to be so emotional,’ that was very satisfying. It was an emotional time all round.” It was. In more ways than one. Which is something that Rachel wants to talk about �� here in DWM – for the first time publicly. “I think I can now,” she says, “because I’m close to two years in remission. I will be this month. Two years in remission. And Doctor Who really helped heal me. Directing Doctor Who while I was only a couple of months post-chemo.” A deep breath. “I had lymphoma,” she explains. “I’d been in chemo for seven or eight months. I wasn’t sure if I was going to survive. Then I was offered The Star Beast. I thought, I’ve got to do this. I didn’t tell anybody I was sick. I hadn’t told anybody except very close family. And I didn’t tell anyone on Doctor Who till I was there long enough to say, ‘Look, I’m well enough, so I don’t want you worried about me.’ Because, frankly, I don’t know that they’d have wanted to hire someone who might not have made it through the shoot. I totally get that. That’s fair enough. [...] “I could not have been surrounded by a more supportive crew,” says Rachel. “The best crew in the world. When I realised, it’s all night shoots, I thought, oh god, and I’m two months post-chemo. But that crew – David especially – made those night shoots so fun. It’s weird now, because I look back at the pictures – like that lovely one of me and David you published last issue – and that was my chemo hair. I was just getting my hair back. But I got healthier and healthier, stronger and stronger, as the shoot went on. When I got back to Canada, the doctor said, ‘You’re a poster child for how well someone can do after chemo. This is what people are capable of.’ “But it’s just what you do,” she reflects, “isn’t it? – when you love Doctor Who in your heart so much. There was no better place for me than Doctor Who.”

Additional parts of this set are in the #whoBtsBeast tag. The full episode list is [ here ]

#doctor who #david tennant #catherine tate #rtdedit #60th anniversary #dw 60th #rachel talalay #I'm so glad RTalalay was able to direct a special #and how special it was for everyone involved #apologies for the text being so long #but it seemed wrong to split it between 2 different posts #and I reused the photo of DT and RT since it gets a mention #stuff i posted #whoBts #whoBtsBeast #yay for talalay!

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inbloomwriting · 16 days ago

Text

Everything to me - Chapter 3

Chapter three - Raspberry

Chapter 1 II Chapter 2

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. Sorry it took so long to update this. I tagged everyone who showed interest in future parts and/or asked to be tagged. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

Jamie sleeps like a rock. It’s a new discovery for (Y/N) as she tries to unravel herself from his tight grip. She doesn’t remember falling asleep cuddled up to each other, in fact, she doesn’t remember falling asleep at all. It’s like one moment they were talking about the baby and the next she wakes up to the sun pouring in through the window and Jamie’s quiet snores filling the room. And his arms wrapped around her like a vice.

God that man is clingy.

And, whereas with any other man, this would scare her off, there is something about Jamie that makes the whole thing endearing.

Maybe it’s the fact that they are not dating, not even trying to. It takes some of the pressure off. All she has to be is a good mum and a good friend and while those two things are hard enough as they are, at least there are no romantic feelings involved, no expectations to uphold when it comes to being a girlfriend, a partner.

Jamie sleeps like a rock, doesn’t even so much as twitch when she slips from his grip and rests his arm back on the side of the bed she used to occupy just moments earlier. Even the squeaky floorboard doesn’t wake him as she makes her way downstairs.

A sweet smell permeates the air and makes (Y/N)’s mouth water. This heightened sense of smell is both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse. Most smells make her nauseous these days. Not today though, this one just makes her hungry. It smells of sugar and vanilla and all things sweet and warm.

Simon’s smiling face greets her as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. She wonders if this man ever stops smiling. He’s the personification of a ray of sunshine.

“Good morning, come have a seat. I’m making waffles.”

Waffles. (Y/N) can’t remember the last time someone made her waffles for breakfast. Dad did, sometimes when she was little, and stayed with him for the weekend. But then the waffle iron broke and he never got around to buying a new one. So pancakes and bacon it was. Beans sometimes. Sausages if he was feeling particularly fancy.

“I’d love some, thank you! It smells amazing.”

“Yeah? Oh, thank god. I was afraid the smell would be too much and make you feel sick. Only realized that after I poured in half the vial of vanilla essence though.”

The sheepish look on his face puts a smile on (Y/N)’s face. It’s nice someone cares about those little things.

“Never had to deal with anyone pregnant so I don’t know these things but I had a quick Google last night and it says 8 weeks means a heightened sense of smell. Also, the baby is the size of a Raspberry.”

If she didn’t know any better, (Y/N) would swear that Jamie and Simon must share some DNA. Both of them so clumsy in the way they care but infinitely endearing.

“Yeah, Raspberry or Blueberry or Kidney Bean. So tiny."

“Crazy isn’t it? To think it’s gonna be a proper human soon enough.”

She nods her head in agreement as Simon places a plate stacked with two thick fluffy waffles before her.

“You’re telling me. I know this is all happening inside my body and it’s still insane to think about. Doesn’t feel real.”

Simon regards her with soft eyes. There is warmth in there but something else. Something she can’t quite place. Georgie had the same look last night. Like they know more than she does. And fuck, maybe they do. They’ve done this before. Lived enough of life to know what the hell they are doing.

“Are you alright? “

(Y/N) was never big on sharing her feelings with anyone, let alone strangers. Life, and both her parents really, have taught her that talking about your feelings only makes you vulnerable. And being vulnerable usually ends in pain. So what you do is you take your insecurities, your fears, your sadness and you put it in a tiny little box and then you put on the lid. You tie a ribbon around it with a neat bow on top and then you take that box that holds your feelings and you bury it. And then you spend your whole life living like the protagonist in an Edgar Allan Poe story and that box becomes a beating heart under the floorboards of your life.

And the beating never ever stops.

“Sure. I’m good.”

She thinks he knows she’s bluffing but lets it go anyway. Opening up to Jamie is scary enough, takes up enough of her bravery. Simon is lovely and if she was another person altogether she’d love to share her worries with him, he seems like the best listener. She’s not someone else though, she is just herself and she can’t bring herself to talk.

“Okay. Just want you to know that if you need anything or — anyone. Georgie and I are always there to help. I know I’m not Jamie’s real dad but I do feel like that is my son. I don’t have children of my own and I only met Jamie when he was a pre-teen already so I don’t know much about babies but if you guys let me I am sure I can be a phenomenal grandad. My mum always used to say I was already born a little old man so this feels like I finally get a chance to be what I was always supposed to be. My time to shine has come.”

A harmony of their laughter fills the kitchen. God, is this whole family made up of the sweetest people on this entire planet? Do they make them in a damn factory or something?

“I will hold you to it. When the baby is screaming and I need some sleep I’ll come drop them off with you then.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready with some bedtime stories and lullabies.”

“You are sweet, Simon. And I really appreciate the offer. God knows Jamie and I don’t know the first thing about being parents so we can take all the help we can get.”

“Do you want to hear a secret?”

“Sure.”

“No one knows what they’re doing. As long as you try your best that’s all that matters. Kids are forgiving if they know you care.”

People always say that but there’s a little part of (Y/N) that believes those words to be untrue. Did her mum try her best and this was the outcome? Or did she just not care to do more, to be better? And which of those scenarios would be worse?

Jamie’s sleepy voice pulls her from her spiraling thoughts. “Morning, love.”

He places a soft kiss on the top of her head. So sure, so unbothered as if they do this all the time. Is this what it feels like? Being able to show your feelings and show affection without wondering what consequences it may bring? Without fearing that it makes you too vulnerable?

His hand finds her stomach and gives it a soft rub “And good morning to you, baby.”

It will never not be endearing to her to hear him talk to the baby. And neither will the way he pronounces the word ever lose its magic to her. That is his pride and joy there. His babeh.

“Aw Waffles, sweet!”

As Jamie plops down next to Simon and stuffs his face with vanilla waffles, leaving a slight dust of powdered sugar on his lips, (Y/N) is certain that all his worries are unjustified.

Jamie is all his dad and none of his father. Every inch and every fiber of him is a product of the love that Georgie and Simon have raised him with. He is them in the way he smiles and cares and the way he feels joy so freely and unabashedly.

And if only a smidge, only a sprinkle of that love is extended towards her child, that kid is gonna grow up so adored it won’t know where to put all of that love.

“Think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Like pregnancy barf or meeting mum nausea? “

Leave it to Jamie to put a smile on her face even when the world around her seems to crumble and fall.

“You gotta stop calling it that.”

“Alright, but you have to tell me which one it is so I know if I should hand you a barf bag or give you a pep talk. I’m getting awfully good at them if I dare say so myself. Learned a lot from Ted, yeah?”

If this was just the pregnancy making her nauseous everything would be so much easier. Ginger drops and rest would do the trick. But this is so much worse. This sharp feeling cursing through her veins, gnawing at her bones and devouring her like a hungry wolf. There truly is no one capable of breaking your heart like your own mother.

“Let me hear that pep talk then.”

As he navigates the car up the long driveway, flanked by big ornate mansions with brass iron fences and perfectly symmetrical hedges, Jamie regards (Y/N) from the corner of his eyes.

“Okay, well you don’t need to worry. Things are gonna be just fine. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Cause mums love me and middle-aged women love me. It’s cause they think I’m charming,” he says and glances at (Y/N) for a second. That radiant cheeky smile of his taking over his features. Oh, she hopes their kid gets his smile. “Which I am.”

“So charming, really.”

“You’d know,” Jamie replies and nods his head in the direction of her belly.

His laughter echoes through the car as she gives him a soft slap against the shoulder. There’s just something about Jamie that makes life feel a little lighter, a little more effortless. Even if it's just for a moment, just pretend. It does take the heavy weight off of (Y/N)’s heart for a second.

The car rolls to a stop in front of the gorgeous white house (Y/N) pointed out to him when they turned into the street. The lawn looks immaculate, the hedges are trimmed to perfection. This plastic palace all grand and gaudy. It never felt like home even though (Y/N) spent most of her life growing up in these very halls.

But really what is it that makes a house a home? Love and laughter and memories you want to return to. This is just four walls and a roof.

“Hey,” Jamie speaks up and places a hand gently on hers. “It’ll be alright but even if it won’t it will.”

“Huh?”

“I mean — look if she reacts badly, that sucks. But you have me, yeah? Always. Me and Rebecca and my Mum and Simon. Once we tell them I know the team will be obsessed with our baby, they’ll love her so much.”

“Or him.”

“Or him, yes. Ted is going to freak out, I know he’s going to want to hang out with our kid all the time. Roy? He’s already the best old geriatric uncle the world has ever seen. He won’t admit it but he’ll be really happy for us. Sam, Issac, Keeley, Higgins? All of them will be just a call away if we need help. I’m not sure about coach Beard though, he scares me not gonna lie.”

“I think he’s hilarious actually.”

“It’s because you’re smart and understand his jokes.”

“You’re smart too!”

“Nah, I just talk a lot and hope I end up saying the right thing. Anyway, what I mean is, this is your mum, yes, but in the big picture, she is just one person. And if she doesn’t love our baby there are so many other people who will. This baby will never, not for one second have to wonder if they are loved, because they are. So much.”

And as easy as it is for him to make (Y/N) laugh, as easy it seems to be to make her cry. Good tears though. Tears that say “I believe you that things are going to be alright”. Tears that say “thank you.”

“Jamie Tartt, of all the footballers that could’ve accidentally knocked me up, I am so glad it was you. You are going to be the best dad.”

“And you’re already the best mum. Well tied with my mum, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

(Y/N)’s childhood home feels cold, Jamie notices. There are hardly any pictures and those that are there are posed and awkward. He can tell it’s (Y/N) on those pictures but they don’t feel like her. There is no happiness in them, no joy. None of that sarcastic charm she exudes. He passes by a lifetime of being told how to sit and how to smile and what to do and probably what to say as well. It makes him feel miserable. And it puts things into perspective. It makes sense now, her worries and fears. If you grow up surrounded by nothing but the cold you eventually start wondering if you’ll ever be capable of creating warmth.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” (Y/N)'s Mum asks as she sits down at the head of the table. There’s something scary about this woman. She demands attention like a god-given right. She extends nothing in return. Her eyes are sharp and intense. It makes Jamie feel like she can see right through him down to all his insecurities and faults. She’s fucking terrifying.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He hates the way (Y/N)’s voice has become so small and timid ever since they stepped foot into this mansion. Hates that there is nothing he can do to make it better and take this weight off of her. Nothing but be there. So he does that at least. Be there in all the ways he can be.

It’s so silly really, how his heart beats just a little faster when he touches her hand underneath the table. When she welcomes the soft gesture. When she returns his gentle squeeze. And when she links her fingers with his.

So silly. Stupid little treacherous heart.

“Well, I gathered that much. I just wish you would’ve called ahead of time so I could’ve made some food.”

“Made some food? Since when do you cook?”

The look her mother throws at (Y/N) could freeze a lake solid. It’s mean and chilling and Jamie wishes he never would’ve pushed (Y/N) to come here. Hates himself a little for putting her in this situation.

“I did attend several cooking classes last year. See, if you’d visit me a bit more often you’d know that.”

And if she wasn’t such a raging bitch, maybe (Y/N) would visit her more often, Jamie thinks. Fortunately, he’s gotten much better at impulse control lately, well ever since Ted arrived really. The old Jamie would’ve blurted out those thoughts with no care of any consequences.

The old Jamie probably wouldn’t have stepped up to be a dad though.

“Anyway, I would’ve liked a little warning. Especially if you’re bringing someone.”

Being at the receiving end of that icy glare feels awful, Jamie decides as (Y/N)’s mother regards him with a mix of disdain and humor. Her eyes sparkle with a sense of smug superiority. Jamie is used to people underestimating him. They think he’s stupid. Some dumb footballer with straw filling the places where a brain should be. Quite honestly it doesn’t bother him, never had. He’s the first to admit that he can be dumb when it comes to certain things. He’s no poet and he has never been particularly good at math. But this woman and the way she looks at him rubs him the wrong way. She knows nothing about him and yet she thinks she’s got him all figured out. Flesh and bones and all.

“Yeah uh, sorry about that. It was a spontaneous thing really. We would’ve called — “

“Sure, whatever you say. James was it?”

His name sounds like venom dripping from her lips. James. He hasn’t been James since the moment he was born and Georgie first kissed his tiny head and whispered “You’re my little Jamie.” Not that he remembers that but it’s a story his mom has recounted to him many times.

“Jamie, yes.”

“Right, Jamie.”

An uncomfortable silence settles upon the room. It crawls into the cracks and crevices of their conversation. It spreads and festers and discomfort grows around them like mold on damp walls.

“Mum, we’re here because I wanted to tell you I’m pregnant.”

The confession shoots through the silence like a bullet. Cuts through it like a knife through a flimsy ribbon. If this was a movie they’d put in a freeze frame or underlay the scene with some dramatic musical score. But this is real life and it comes with no editing and no soundtrack.

No, it just comes with a bellowing laugh from (Y/N)’s mother. It’s not the kind of laughter that makes you want to laugh along. The kind that makes you feel like sunshine has erupted inside your ribcage and wraps you in a warm blanket. It’s not like (Y/N)’s laugh. This one is mocking. It’s ridiculous. It’s meant to make you feel small and dumb. It breaks his heart to know this is the laughter (Y/N) grew up with.

“You can not be serious. Pregnant?”

A short, quiet “Yes.” leaves (Y/N)’s lips. Jamie gently squeezes her hand in return. I am here. He says. I will always be here. She squeezes back. He hopes it means “I know.”

“You stupid little girl.”

(Y/N)’s hand grabs his more tightly. A lifeline to hold on to. Crescent moon shapes stamped into his skin. But if this is the price he’ll have to pay in order to be a good partner in all of this then he’ll pay it 10 times over. Of all the things in this world, all the ways to describe her, stupid is not one Jamie would ever think of.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that.”

Maybe a little bit of old Jamie is still there. The good parts. The protective, opinionated parts maybe. Not reckless but brave.

“She is my daughter and I will talk to her as I very well please. But you’re right. She is not a little girl, she’s a grown woman. Which makes this even worse. You should know better, (Y/N). Getting pregnant by some — some guy.”

“Some guy? Excuse me?”

“Well you’re not her boyfriend, are you? You are just some guy with no obligation to her. And if you wake up one day and realize what a massive mistake you made then you can just leave. She’ll be stuck being a mother forever.”

It boils his blood to hear those vicious words hurled at him and (Y/N). Mistake? Sure this baby wasn’t planned but they’re not a mistake. Not for one single second did Jamie think of his child as a mistake. A surprise. A shock even. But never a mistake.

“I know you don’t know me and quite honestly I don’t think I want to know you either but I can tell you one thing. That is my baby and I love it now and I will always love it. It is not a mistake. You can judge me, you can judge her and you can judge our decisions but stop talking about my child like that. That is just uncalled for. I know my word doesn’t mean anything to you but I was here from the moment (Y/N) told me she was pregnant and I will be here for the rest of my life. That is a promise.”

She has the audacity to scoff at him and completely ignore everything he just said. Instead, she moves her cold hard gaze towards (Y/N).

“What do you want me to say? Congratulations? Well, you’re not getting those here. Your father would be so — “

Before she can finish the sentence a shrill screeching sound cuts her off as (Y/N) pushes away from the dining table.

“I gotta get out of here.”

“Oh, what is this now? You’re just going to leave because you don’t get the reaction you hoped for? I can pretend if that’s what you want me to —”

“Mum, I am not running. I need to go! I am nauseous as fuck and if you don’t want me to empty my stomach onto your dining table just let me leave. I didn’t come here asking for your approval, I just thought you should know you’re going to be a grandmother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go throw up in your bushes.”

Jamie is hot on her heels, grabbing both their jackets and (Y/N)’s bag in the process as he rushes after her. Though even in the chaos and hurry he doesn’t miss the look of absolute shock and bewilderment on the older woman’s face. It feels like a small victory but it does paint a little smile on his lips.

“Oh don’t do that. I’m disgusting.”

“I’ll be watching you push out a whole damn baby. This is nothing compared to that.”

If it weren’t such an absurd situation, that comment probably would’ve sent her spiraling but really it’s the least confusing part of today. Of course, Jamie wants to be around for the birth. Now that he mentioned it, (Y/N) thinks she shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, he’ll be there. He’s been there for it all so far of course he’ll be there when the baby enters this world.

It’s almost a little dreamy and magical to think about. Almost. Because life doesn’t let her think too much about it before it sends another wave of vomit up her esophagus.

“I don’t mind holding your hair while you puke, you're growing a whole human it’s the least I can do. But I gotta ask you something.”

“What’s that?” (Y/N) asks and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. Desperate times, desperate measures. At least that’s how she tries to justify it to herself.

“Is that hedge purposely cut to look like a dick?”

He nods towards one of the boxwood trees at the edge of the property that (Y/N) has no doubt her mother hired a gardener to trim and shape and care for.

“Holy shit, it does.”

“And cut too. You think your mum knows?”

And suddenly the nausea is gone and forgotten about and in its place, a flurry of giggles takes over.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jamie asks once they both calm down a little.

Is she okay? Not really but this too will pass and it’s not like she expected anything else from her mother. Ever since (Y/N) was a little kid she remembers her mother dulling all her joy and whimsy. Why should things be different now?

“No. But I will be.” and when he takes her hand in his and places a soft kiss on her knuckles, for the first time since turning into this very street, she truly believes in those words.

“Good. Now do you wanna go home or do something else?”

“Home sounds good but uh — do you want to stay? Watch a movie or something? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Another kiss to her knuckles sends her heart into a little frenzy. Teeny tiny somersaults all around her ribcage.

“Yeah, can I pick? “

“Fuck no.”

“Alright, was worth a try.”

“It was a dream? That’s it?”

The ending credits to The Wizard of Oz play on her little TV screen as (Y/N) and Jamie sit on her couch, a bowl of microwave popcorn long devoured and now empty resting between them.

“I mean, you can interpret it however you want.”

“Meh, didn’t like that one very much. Next time we should watch the Muppets treasure island. That’s a good one.”

There truly is something so sweetly endearing about Jamie’s childlike qualities. His unintentional goofiness and his ability to make even the worst day turn into an okay one. An “all in all kinda good” one.

“Okay, fine. Next time we’ll watch the Muppets. It just — my dad had the Wizard of Oz on DVD. One of the few movies he had. So whenever I’d stay with him we’d watch it together. I think I just wanted to feel close to him today.”

“Hey,” Jamie chimes up and gently nudges her shoulder with his. “I didn’t know your dad but from what you said about him he seemed like a fun guy. A good guy. So I think your mum is wrong. He’d be proud of you. I know that.”

And for the second time that day (Y/N) thanks whatever cosmic power there is for putting Jamie in her life. For making him the person who goes through all of this alongside her. For making him her partner in this crazy adventure. For making him the father of her child.

“Thanks, Jamie. I really appreciate that you stood up for me and the baby. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just froze. Every time I talk to her I want to say so many things but they get stuck somewhere on the way from my brain to my mouth.”

“It’s okay, I get it. It’s like that with my dad too. We’ll just have to be each other’s voices then I guess.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.”

He does it again then, that tiny insignificant kiss on the top of her head. It means nothing.

But it means everything.

“Hey uh — I’m not really tired yet. Do you wanna start that Muppets movie now?”

“Uh yeah? Absolutely. I’ll never say no to Kermit. He is THE frog.”

Just a little while later, while Kermit and Miss Piggy sing a love song on screen while hanging off a cliff, (Y/N)’s eyes fall shut, her head resting gently against Jamie’s shoulder.

For the second time in less than 24 hours (Y/N) falls asleep in Jamie’s arms. And though she might not realize it right then, she has never felt more safe and secure ever before.

Maybe things really will be alright.

“Now I know that life can take you by surprise, And sweep you off your feet. Did this happen to us, Or are we just dreaming? Love led us here.”

@captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy - @zbeez-outlet - @burnafter-reading - @britbratface - @labellapeaky - @mavisvermillion-first - @ladygrey03 - @charlesgirl16 - @cantbecreative - @nerdgirljen - @qardasngan - @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x fem!reader #reader with established backstory #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt imagines #ted lasso tv show fanfiction #everythingtomefic

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misshoneyimhome · 1 month ago

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I’m not sure if you’ll write this but I’m dying for it and your writing is incredible. Willy Nylander dating a Bruins fan PLEASEEE

Hey there, love 🤗

Alright, so this feels more like a blurb than a proper fic chapter, but I just wanted to say I absolutely love your idea—and I hope I’ve captured at least a bit of it 😘 I don’t know much about being a Bruins fan, so I just followed my intuition on that one 😉

I will say, though, I can definitely see the potential for a series here—not necessarily based on this particular one-shot, but in general, there’s so much to explore! It might be worth diving into - so many details I didn't include 🥰

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as it is 😘

Tropes & Warnings: William Nylander x reader, enemies to lovers, rival teams, no warnings, just fluff

Word count: 3.2K

➼｡ﾟ

Rivals in Love I William Nylander

It had been a long day at work, and you were in desperate need of coffee before tackling the rest of your to-do list. The little café tucked on a quiet street near downtown Boston was your go-to spot. The place always had the best lattes and, more importantly, it was never crowded.

You pushed open the door, the tiny bell jingling to announce your arrival, and stepped inside. The smell of fresh coffee beans and warm pastries instantly soothed your nerves. But you were so focused on debating between a caramel macchiato or a cold brew that you didn’t notice someone walking toward you until—

Crash.

Hot coffee spilled down the front of your sweatshirt, and a sharp gasp escaped your lips.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” a voice said.

You looked up, your initial annoyance faltering when you saw the man responsible. He was tall, his blond hair slightly dishevelled, with bright blue eyes staring at you apologetically.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, though the sticky heat soaking through your shirt suggested otherwise.

“Here,” he said quickly, grabbing a handful of napkins from a nearby table and handing them to you. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. That’s on me.”

“No kidding,” you replied, dabbing at the mess. Then, as you glanced back up at him, recognition dawned. “Wait a second… I know you.”

He tilted his head, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “You’re William Nylander.”

His smirk grew, but before he could respond, you added, “I guess it makes sense. Leafs players are used to fumbling.”

His eyebrows shot up, and then he let out a laugh—a genuine, hearty laugh that caught you off guard. “Wow. That’s the first thing you say to me?”

“Don’t take it personally,” you said with a shrug, trying to ignore how ridiculously good-looking he was. “I’m a Bruins fan.”

“Ah, that explains it,” he said, his smirk returning. “I’ve been told your kind can be… difficult.”

You rolled your eyes. “Difficult or honest?”

“Depends on the day,” he replied, and there was something in his tone—teasing, but also intrigued.

You expected him to brush off the conversation and move on, but instead, he stuck around, asking for your name and making casual small talk while the barista quickly made William a replacement drink.

“I’ll pay for hers too,” William insisted, handing over his card before you could protest.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, meeting your gaze with an easy smile. “Consider it an apology. And maybe a peace offering? Even if you are a Bruins fan.”

“Fine,” you said, trying to suppress the small smile creeping onto your lips. “But this doesn’t mean I like you or your team.”

“Fair enough,” he said, grabbing his own drink from the counter. But as he turned to leave, he hesitated. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Will you be at the game tomorrow night?”

“Why? Hoping to convert me?”

“No,” he said, his grin widening. “Just wondering if I’ll have to skate extra hard to impress you.”

Before you could respond, he gave you a playful wink and walked out the door, leaving you standing there, completely caught off guard.

The next evening, you found yourself in a dilemma. You hadn’t planned on attending the Bruins-Leafs game—you usually watched from the comfort of your couch, where you could yell at the TV without judgment. But after yesterday’s unexpected encounter, a part of you couldn’t shake the thought of William Nylander skating with that cocky grin, wondering if you’d shown up.

Against your better judgment, you grabbed your Coyle jersey and headed to TD Garden, promising yourself it was only because your best friend, a Leafs fan, had an extra ticket. You weren’t going because of him.

Right?

The Garden was buzzing with energy. You cheered along with the crowd as the Bruins took the ice, booing extra loud when the Leafs players followed. Your friend rolled her eyes at your antics, but you didn’t care.

As the game started, you tried not to pay attention to the opposing #88, but it was impossible. William was everywhere—stealing pucks, setting up plays, and skating with an effortless grace that made you grit your teeth.

And midway through the second period, he scored. The Leafs bench erupted as the puck sailed past Swayman and into the net. You groaned, burying your face in your hands while your friend celebrated.

“That’s your guy,” she teased, elbowing you.

“He’s not my anything,” you shot back, though your cheeks burned.

As the arena quieted for the faceoff, you glanced down at the ice and caught him looking in your direction. He wasn’t even subtle about it—he skated slowly, his gaze locking with yours as he passed your section.

And then, to your horror, he winked.

You sank lower in your seat, cursing yourself for even being here.

After the game—a crushing overtime win for Toronto, much to your dismay—you were about to make your escape when your phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Enjoy the game, Bruins fan?

You froze, staring at the screen.

You: How did you get my number?!

Unknown: I have my ways. A little birdie at the café helped me out.

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice.

You: I can’t believe you’re this desperate for validation.

Unknown: And yet, you came to the game. What does that say about you?

You hated how much his teasing made you smile.

And a few days later, you were back at your favourite café, quietly working through some emails when a shadow fell across your table. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

“You know, I’m starting to think you only come here hoping to bump into me,” William said, setting his coffee down across from you.

“I was here first,” you replied, glancing up at him. “Shouldn’t you be in Toronto or something?”

“We have a few days off,” he said casually, leaning back in his chair. “Thought I’d stick around Boston for a bit. It’s growing on me. Besides, my friend lives here; Pasta, you know him.”

“Careful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like a Bruins fan.”

He chuckled. “Not a chance. But I could be convinced to stick around… if you let me take you out sometime.”

The audacity of this man. You should’ve laughed in his face, reminded him of the years of heartbreak his team had inflicted on yours. But instead, you found yourself smiling.

“Fine,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “But don’t think this changes anything. I’m still wearing my Coyle jersey.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said with a grin.

A couple of weeks had passed since your impromptu coffee shop agreement to a “date” with William. You’d been casually out together a few times since then—dinners at quiet restaurants, coffee runs, even a casual walk through Boston Common—but you still couldn’t quite figure him out.

William Nylander, the Toronto Maple Leafs’ golden boy, had women fawning over him wherever he went. Yet somehow, you, a loud, opinionated Bruins fan, were the one he seemed determined to spend his free time with.

So, when he casually dropped the idea of you coming to Toronto to watch a game, your first instinct was to laugh it off.

“Right,” you said with a chuckle, taking a sip of your coffee. “I’m sure I’d fit right in at Scotiabank Arena in my Coyle jersey.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’d be the most interesting person there. Besides, you’ve already seen us play in Boston. It’s only fair you experience it on my turf.”

You waved him off, brushing it aside as another one of his playful jabs.

But then, the next day, a notification lit up your phone: a plane ticket from Boston to Toronto, sent by none other than William.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity.

This had to be a joke, right? A Leafs player going out of his way to invite you, a Bruins fan, to Toronto? It didn’t make sense.

He had options—lots of options. The kind of options who probably didn’t wear rival jerseys to dinner or roast him about Toronto’s lack of playoff success. So why was he bothering with you?

Your friend didn’t help, either. “I mean, it’s kind of romantic,” she said, scrolling through Instagram while lounging on your couch. “Maybe he just likes a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes. “Or maybe he just wants to prove he can win over a Bruins fan for the fun of it.”

“Why does it matter?” she said. “He’s into you. Who cares why? Take the trip.”

But you couldn’t shake the nagging doubt in the back of your mind. What if you went, and it turned out you were just some fleeting distraction? What if this was all a game to him? A bet between teammates?

You almost cancelled the flight.

Almost.

The day of the trip arrived, and you stood at Logan Airport, suitcase in hand, still second-guessing yourself. But as you boarded the plane and settled into your seat, you decided to stop overthinking. Maybe this was a bad idea—but maybe it wasn’t.

And a few hours later, you landed in Toronto, where William himself was waiting at the arrivals gate, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You actually came,” he said, his grin as wide as the Toronto skyline.

“Don’t make me regret it,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but smile back.

The night of the game, you were a bundle of nerves as you slipped on your Coyle jersey. True to your word, you weren’t about to switch allegiances, even for William.

When you arrived at Scotiabank Arena, the Leafs fans around you gave you a mix of side-eyes and incredulous stares, but William had made sure you were seated in a private box to avoid any real drama.

And from the moment the puck dropped, your attention flicked between the ice and William. He was in his element, skating with that effortless confidence, his hair slicked back under his helmet.

Every time he touched the puck, your heart raced, though you’d never admit it. And when he scored late in the second period, his celebration was as dramatic as ever—this time, pointing directly at you in the box.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was so infuriating.

After the game, he found you waiting near the locker room, his grin as cocky as ever.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, still catching his breath.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, crossing your arms.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he teased, his voice softer now.

You wanted to argue, to push back, but something about the way he looked at you made your walls crumble. Maybe he wasn’t just playing a game. Maybe this was real.

“Fine,” you said, your voice quieter. “Maybe I did enjoy it. Just a little.”

William’s smile widened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. “Good. Because I’m not giving up on you that easily.”

Over the next few weeks, your relationship with William started to feel… real. The texts, the calls, the late-night FaceTimes where he’d tease you about the Bruins while you fired back equally sharp chirps about the Leafs’ playoff history. It was comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected—like you’d known each other forever instead of just a few months.

He’d flown back to Boston twice since your trip to Toronto, once surprising you with tickets to a game that you’d begrudgingly attended (in your Bruins jersey, of course). And despite the growing attention from both your friends and random Leafs fans online—thanks to William’s not-so-subtle Instagram stories—it felt easy.

And that ease was what brought him to your apartment one chilly Thursday night, fresh off a practice in Toronto and desperate to escape the chaos of hockey for a few days. He showed up at your door with a crooked smile and a bag of takeout, unapologetically dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, as if he wasn’t one of the most recognizable players in the NHL.

“I told you not to come here empty-handed,” you said as he stepped inside.

“I brought food,” he said, holding up the bag. “And me. That counts, right?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, leading him to the couch. The night unfolded in your usual way—dinner, teasing banter, and a ridiculous movie you half-watched while he tried to convince you to root for the Leafs just once.

“Never,” you said, nudging him with your elbow as the credits rolled.

“Not even if I score a hat trick in the playoffs?”

“Please. Like Toronto’s making it past the first round.”

He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back against the couch. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

“And you love it,” you shot back, earning a smirk that made your stomach flip.

As the room fell quiet, you realized how close he was. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his body turned slightly toward you, his blue eyes soft as they studied your face.

“What?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Nothing,” he said, but the way his gaze lingered told you otherwise.

You felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny, and before you could overthink it, he leaned in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. His lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as the kiss deepened. The world outside faded, the only sound the faint hum of the TV and the quiet hitch of your breath as his fingers traced along your jawline.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

“You’re one to talk,” you whispered back, your heart pounding against your ribs.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the quiet intimacy stretching between you like a fragile thread. It was a different kind of silence—one that felt warm, electric, and charged with a million unspoken words.

“You know,” he said eventually, his voice low, “I don’t just come here for the food.”

You laughed softly, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “I figured as much.”

“Good,” he said, kissing you again, slower this time, like he wanted to savour every second. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

Until you didn’t.

The first crack came during a Friday night dinner at a cosy Italian spot in the North End.

It was supposed to be a quiet evening, but halfway through your meal, the whispers started.

“That’s William Nylander…”

“…isn’t she a Bruins fan? What’s she doing with him?”

“…he’s always with someone new…”

You tried to brush it off, focusing on your pasta while William remained unfazed, casually twirling his fork like he didn’t hear a thing. But the longer it went on, the harder it was to ignore.

By the time dessert arrived, the insecurities you’d managed to suppress since Toronto had resurfaced with a vengeance.

“Do you ever… get tired of this?” you blurted, pushing your tiramisu around with your spoon.

William looked up, his brows furrowing. “Tired of what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “The attention. The whispers. Everyone thinking I’m just another one of your… whatever.”

His expression softened, but you didn’t stop.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had fun—really. But maybe this was just a thing, you know? A fun distraction for you while you’re on the road. I mean, you’re William Nylander. You could date anyone. Why me?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and the silence was deafening. You stared at your plate, feeling the familiar sting of regret creeping in. Maybe you’d gone too far. Maybe he’d been looking for an out, and you’d just handed it to him.

But then, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Why not you?” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You’re smart, funny, and the only person who makes me actually want to argue about hockey. You’re not afraid to chirp me when I deserve it—and even when I don’t. And yeah, the attention sucks sometimes, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is you.”

You blinked, your throat tightening as his words sank in.

“And for the record,” he added, a small smirk creeping onto his face, “you’re not a ‘fun distraction.’ If you were, I wouldn’t have flown to Boston twice in a month just to see you.”

Your lips twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through. “You’re really laying it on thick, huh?”

“Is it working?” he asked, his smirk turning into a full grin.

“Maybe,” you admitted, rolling your eyes but squeezing his hand back.

But the drama didn’t end there.

A few days later, an article popped up online: William Nylander Seen Cosying Up to Mysterious Bruins Fan in Boston.

The headline was bad enough, but the comments? Worse.

“She’s just another puck bunny.”

“Why would he date a Bruins fan? Total PR move.”

“She’s not even that pretty…”

You tried not to let it bother you, but when William called that night, you were unusually quiet.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Nothing,” you lied, staring at your laptop screen where the article was still open.

“Come on,” he pressed. “Talk to me.”

You sighed, finally breaking. “I don’t know if I can do this, Will. The articles, the comments… people think I’m just using you, or that I’m some… whatever they want to call me.”

“They don’t know you,” he said firmly. “And they don’t know us.”

“But they think they do,” you argued. “And it’s exhausting.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you braced yourself for the worst.

But then he spoke again, “What if I made it official?”

You froze. “What?”

“What if I posted about us?” he said, his tone calm but confident. “Let people see that you’re not just some random girl. That we’re serious.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but doubt still lingered. “Won’t that just make it worse?”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I don’t care. I want to be with you. And if that means dealing with some noise, so be it.”

You were silent, his words hanging heavy in the air.

“Look,” he continued, his voice softening. “You can take all the time you need to think about it. But just know that I’m not going anywhere.”

A week later, you were scrolling through Instagram when you saw it.

A picture of the two of you at dinner, taken from a slightly awkward angle but undeniably sweet. The caption?

“Even a Bruins fan can’t resist a little blue and white 💙🤍.”

The comments were a mix of support, chirps, and Leafs-Bruins banter, but for the first time, you didn’t care.

Because when you texted him to call him out for posting it without warning, his only response was:

“Told you I’m not going anywhere.”

#my asks #bruins!fan x William #wn88 imagine #William Nylander imagine #Toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl imagines

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girliism · 6 months ago

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girl dad!art hasn’t had to stay home only with your daughters since she’s been born so when he sees you getting ready for a night out he’s confused.

“where on you going?” art stands behind at your vanity. “tashi invited me out and i haven’t been out since the bean was born so.” you shrugged retouching your lipstick. art follows behind you while you pack your purse. “is your mom coming over to watch bean?” you tell him he is and watch him freeze up.

art loves his daughter but watching her alone without you. what if something goes wrong. “baby, you’ll be fine. it’s almost ten and she’s been fed all you need to do is change her then put her to sleep.” you reassure him. “oh and remember to warm up the bottle under hot water. she likes to hold it herself while someone rocks her to sleep.” you kiss your daughter and art goodbye heading out to tashi’s car.

“alright looks like it’s just you and me bean.” art picked her up the two of them smiling at each other his full mouth of teeth and her five tiny ones. three at the bottom two at the top. “so what do you wanna do first.” art pokes at her cheeks. she opens her mouth as if to answer but instead throws up all over arts white t-shirt. “fuc-fudge.” art stops himself from cursing looking at his daughter in disbelief. she just giggles.

back at the club you are a worrying mess. “ok you’ve been setting here for thirty minutes staring at your phone.” tashi plobs down next to you. “this is supposed be girls night out no kids no husbands just girlfriends.” you sigh. “i know i know, but i’ve never left art alone with bean before, and it’s just been me and her her and me for so long. i think i’m having separation anxiety.” you rant. “i don’t even know why i came out it’s not like i can drink yet.” tashi shushes you. “no none of that no mopey mom feelings ok. trust i know how you feel but think about how much when we need this. we have been sitting at home with nothing but shitty diapers and achy boobs. who cares if we can’t drink yet let’s just dance and let loose. art and patrick have everything under control ok.” you nod your head standing up to go hit the dance floor with tashi. this night out is more than deserved. “wait you left lily home alone with patrick?” “course not my moms there. now let’s go.”

“ok bean, daddy’s got a new shirt you’ve got a new diaper now drink this bottle and go to sleep.” art’s seated in the rocking chair handing her the bottle. she immediately chucks it across the room laughing. art goes and picks it up trying again. only for her to throw it again laughing even harder now. art stares at her in shock. “so you think this is a game?”

after 20 minutes of trying to get her to sleep he finally succeeds laying her down in her crib whispering a good night.

art sets down on the couch with a beer flipping through the channels. “god, how does mama do this every night.” he turns on adult swim cause why not and then he hears it. the sound of banging and giggling coming from the baby monitor. picking it up he’s thinking there’s no way that could be bean cause bean is sleeping. but there she was on the monitor screen bouncing in her crib hitting her toy against the rails.

art opens the door to her nursery and is greeted by a very smiley and very awake baby. “you’re not gonna go to sleep are you.” she just laughs making grabbing hands at him.

the next hour art spends playing peak-a-boo, pretended to steal her nose and she still wasn’t a little bit tired. “come on baby cut me some slack here. what does mommy usually do to get you to sleep?” she perks up at the mention of her mother. “ma ma ma ma ma ma.” shes babbles. “yea mama what does mama do? does she read to you or sing you lullaby’s?” your daughter does her little baby dance when art mentions lullaby’s. and art can do that he can sing lullaby’s it’s just he doesn’t know any. so he improvises.

“okay lullaby time. time to sing a lullaby.” art thinks hards but none are popping into his mind. “looks like we’re gonna freestyle this bean.” art clears his throat. “bean bean one year old bean i really need you to go to sleep. sleep sleep is pretty neat especially if you’re a one year old bean.” art looks down at his daughter resting on his shoulder playing with his necklace. assuming the song is working he repeats it three more times before they’re both passed out on the couch.

“thanks for tonight tash i’ll call you in the morning.” you watch her car drive off making your way to your house.

pushing open the front door walking into the living room to be met with a mess of toys and your husband and daughter asleep on the couch. you snap a picture before running your hand through arts hair waking him up. “hey you’re back.” art whispers moving to sit up slowly as not to wake your daughter. “did you have fun?” you nod your head. “looks like you and bean had your own fun.” art stands. “love, she just would not sleep i had to made up a lullaby.” you laugh the both of you walking to her nursery to put her down. you guys watch her sleep for a while before leaving.

“thanks for doing this.” you reach up places a kiss on arts lips. he shrugs. “it’s nothing. watching after her is my responsibility to. i’ll start doing it more so you can go hang out you know start having a life again.” even though it’s truly the bare minimum you still feel happy that he would suggest such a thing. you give him one last kiss before walking off to get ready for the night.

“you look hot by the way.”

(i nicknamed the baby bean for this cause i didn’t wanna keep calling her daughter .)

#girliism #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #girl dad!art #art donaldson fluff

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1920sladydectective · 1 month ago

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Romans V Elephants - Professors AU 2.9K

Here it is my loves, part one of my modern Professor x Student AU.

I hope you like it, hoping for it to be around 3/4 parts.

No smut in part one as its just the set up, but boy oh boy is it coming.

Let me know!!

tag list: @nikaachuuuu @shinyshayminflower @chocolate-quotes @fruitfulfashion @wolfessa @lia-winther @ivorydevil @borderline-fixated

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61817521/chapters/158064463

She's Got A Wicked Smile, Angel Eyes:

Gentle summer sun lingered on the autumn winds as you slipped through the ancient cobbled halls with a steady thwack thwack thwack.

Cambridge was as imposing and beautiful as you’d hoped. It spoke for itself, history resting tenderly in every crack and crevice. You didn’t belong yet, but you were determined to pretend. You deserved your place here and each morning waking up in a tiny, poorly insulated room you reminded yourself of that.

There was an odd balance here of knowing you were privileged to learn in such hallowed halls and rolling your eyes at the insensitivity of your comfortable, rich classmates. Each night out at a fancy pub had to be budgeted, beans instead of mince in your dinner, as they racked up tabs higher than your monthly food budget in an hour and then failed to turn up to their lectures. Still you smiled and nursed a cider, nodding as you discussed your latest charity shop find. That was cool here, trendy and sustainable, just as long as you pretended to have a Barbour coat and signet ring to wear with your £2.50 jumper.

One such evening had drained you of all energy and thus you had overslept, curled obviously under a thick gingham duvet set. Now, as penance, you were dashing as fast as you could to your first lecture at half nine. It was naturally with your most important Professor.

Professor Medarda was a legend. Her presence lingered around the Humanities buildings as some kind of God. A Professor of History, with a specialisation in Ancient Rome, she had seen more of the world and knew more of its jaded growth than you could ever hope to. She was precise, exacting and unforgiving. That’s to say, lateness to her was as much a sin as murder.

You knew this theoretically, but feeling her amber eyes cut into you as you slipped into the room at 9:03 was entirely different.

“You’re late,” Her gruff voice froze you in place, halfway to your seat.

“I-Im sorry, I”

“And now you’re being disruptive, sit down and be quiet,” It was a command, wrapped in a sardonic smile.

You sat, hands trembling in your lap, trying to absorb literally anything she said.

Her classroom, distinct in its opulent furnishings and softer lighting, offered little comfort. Matters were made worse by your jittery, illegible notes and her closing statement.

“Now, as I’m sure you know, I only accept two thesis proposals a year, and the other nine of you will have to work with the other Professors in the department,” Professor Medarda spoke plainly, deft fingers slamming a book on her desk shut, “I expect to have all of your proposals in my inbox by four o’clock on Friday,”

It was Wednesday, and you had somehow missed this memo. You needed her as your thesis advisor. She was the best and you hadn’t fought this far just to settle for less than at the final hurdle. So the whole being late thing was great, you’d really put yourself on the map, really pissed her off. Your body grew tenser, as you mutely packed up and left the room amidst the throng of perfume and dark academia pinterest.

Hours slipped by meaninglessly as you stared at your battered Dell laptop. You had direction, you had purpose and you had a boulder of anxiety blocking the flow of anything else.

Romans V War Elephants.

That’s all you’d written so far. You knew it was a good idea, with a rich pool of resources to rely on, and yet. There was always a yet with you. A crumbling Nature Valley bar made a sandy blanket on your lap. Your tea was cold and your mind was empty.

Friday morning came and you had poured your soul into a Thesis proposal you were certain was not going to earn you a spot with your dream Professor. Her lecture was eleven am, and at no point did she even acknowledge the prospect of making a choice. You would know when you knew, it seemed.

Tuesday, bleak as summer recessed into the fickle British memory and autumn summoned brutal winds. You were halfway through a disappointing panini, essay mostly written, when a gmail ding made you jump. Sriracha spilled down your front, clumsy hands mopping it with a tea towel. Onto Mount Laundry it went, as your eyes darted over this new email.

Three times and still the words would not compute.

‘..consideration, I am pleased to extend an offer to be your Thesis advisor,

Blah blah blah scheduling hours blah blah resource allowance blah

Professor Medarda’

Lukewarm ham and cheese forgotten, sharp and unsure breaths rattled against your laptop screen. Somehow, fuelled by Lidl energy drinks, you’d done it. She was yours and that almost guaranteed major success.

Your email was redrafted nine times, as you sought to teeter on the edge between ass kissing and nonchalant. Three times a week you would spend time with her, learning as much as you could, crafting a paper you could be proud of. You needed to invest in a better alarm clock immediately.

Cambridge was well and truly orange now, leaves and litter scattered everywhere as you fought to keep your hat on your head. Your next lecture was with Professor Medarda, and after that came your first supervision session. New stationary, thick ringed notebooks from your sister back home and a lipsticked smile, you could almost pretend that you were confident and prepared. Almost. Pale skin and twitching limbs gave it away. Quarter past twelve, and your wobbly knees lingered.

She gathered her things silently, tucking them under a muscular arm and strolling into her adjourning office. A pause, rustling and the bounce of curls reappearing.

“Do you wish to use your time or not?”

Shit. “Yes, of course,” You fell over yourself to follow her, the elusive space suddenly enveloping you.

Walls filled with aged wood shelves, perfectly varnished and housing more books than you could hope to own. Leather Bound tomes, first editions, signed copies. All amazing, all pretentious, all very Cambridge. A spiced scent lingered in the air, oaky and deep, as your gaze flicked to a dancing flame.

“I thought you weren’t allowed candles in these buildings, just in case,” You regretted it before you’d even finished speaking.

She snorted, her gaze set on yours, “Going to tell on me, child?”

“Course not,”

“Can be our secret then,” She passed you a small, china cup of tea, “Sugar?”

You shook your head, taking the black murky tea and adding a drop of milk.

It was like a warm blanket, soft and tender. Oh. So she could be nice. You nodded your thanks, and took a scalding sip. The heavy door clicked shut at her bidding, sealing you away into a little pocket world with her.

“So,” Her strong voice commanded the room, “Show me why you’re worth it, Dear,”

Not why the topic mattered or how sound your research was, why you were worth it. The room narrowed, as did your windpipe. Selling yourself was part and parcel of the academia world, but to her? You’d already used that energy for a babbled report.

Still, smooth and confident words left your mouth, a dance and proposition in one. Your eyes had cleared, a dissociation sailing you through the initial conversation. Your charm bled through, thick and false, as the need to succeed overtook the doubt. As it always did. You were here after all.

“Well, I suppose this will be of use then,” She grinned, a haphazard throw landing a gilded book in your lap, relishing in your gasp.

“This is impossible to source,” It was a book you’d seen snippets of, and nothing more, “I didn’t realise the University had one,”

“It doesn’t,” The clink of a cup on a saucer, “I do,”

“T-That’s amazing,”

“Read it, make notes and write me a list of other resources you need but cannot find,” a thick stack of papers, essays presumably, “Whilst you do, I shall mark these,”

“Now?”

“Do you suggest some other time?” Her eyebrow raised, “This is rather the point of this time,”

A laugh, high and choked, as you nodded. “Yes, I’ll get on it,”

Professor Medarda cleared a part of her desk for you to rest your possessions and you tugged the heavy chair forward against the patterned carpet so that you could read and type at the same time. You worked silently, as she laughed and rolled her eyes at the papers that red pen seemed to reduce to shreds. She seemed totally used to you, as if you were another little trinket in her space, and though she was still stern, eyes focused, her charismatic nature was potent here. Constant tea, biscuits and an apple when you wrinkled at the fourth bourbon cream.

You tilted your head, taking the royal gala from her grasp.

“First piece of fruit you’ve had since moving here?”

“Well,” A slight giggle, “I had dried mango yesterday,”

“Big spender, expensive stuff,”

“Not at Lidl,” A slight cringe in your soul. She was Waitrose through and through. You idiot.

“Not at Lidl,” She repeated, smirk on her face, “Thanks for the tip,”

When your allotted time finished, you folded yourself away back into your satchel and thrust the book towards, with a slip of paper on top, “That’s the list, only managed to read half today,”

She crossed her arms, jewellery twinkling prettily, as she snatched one and handed back the other, “Finish it for Monday, we can discuss where it will fit in your thesis then,”

“You’d let me take it?”

“Is this your way of saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“Of course not, Professor,” A gulp, “It’s just so precious,”

She was ushering you out with a smile, hand on your shoulder,”Then treat it as such, see you on Monday,”

The door shut. Pop. The bubble of her pocket world shattered around you, leaving a magic book and a grumbling stomach.

When you’d told your mother that at Cambridge you wouldn’t be allowed to work, that it was against policy because of the shortened terms and immense workload, she had laughed in your face. No help from me, she had reminded you again and again. You’re on your own. Laughable, as if you hadn’t been fending for yourself for years. Now, as you bundled in your bed with a packet of crisps, you wished she was somebody she was not, somebody with endless money and kind words. You had your waitressing job, which had worked you into the ground, and now you lived off the pittance you had been able to save and a maintenance loan that left your account for rent before you’d even noticed it.

In short, it was lunch OR dinner, and this time lunch had won out. Dinner was aforementioned crisps and a good helping of tap water, mixed with the nurturing words of your newest book.

Weeks slipped by under the iron thumb of Ambessa Medarda, your workload heavier than ever as she steered you as if you were a little remote control sailboat. It was a wonder she managed to see any other students, you seemed forever in her office listening to her dulcet tones or cataloguing research papers. Sometimes, on less busy days, she lets you hang around to study rather than forcing you to go to the library. She seemed to read you as easily as her books, amber eyes welcoming and dangerous.

“Some of the best places in the world to study,” Her voice started one wednesday, “and yet here you stay,”

“Bit too much noise for me,” You muttered half into a textbook, “Too many of Daddy’s credit cards,”

Her barked laugh brought you back, “Well, feel free then,”

You hadn’t meant to say that, not at all. You resembled a tomato, “Just prefer the quiet,”

A knock at the door saved you. Her Chinese food had arrived. It smelt divine, and you let out a little sigh.

She sat eating, composed and methodical. Several times she had prompted you to eat your own lunch, until you meekly admitted you had none. Narrowed eyes pinned you in place.

“Why?”

“More of a dinner perso-” A loud, unavoidable grumble from your torso.

“Your stomach doesn’t seem to be,” Her chair creaked as she chucked you a small bag, gaze straight back at her things.

It was a hot, slightly greased bag. Spring rolls. Twelve of them, warm and crunchy, begging to be eaten, “Are you sure, Professor?”

“Eat,” was the only word she gave you.

Winter crept up on you, frozen air a shock as you walked back with groceries. Somehow you’d been in Cambridge for nearly two months and spent most of that time with Professor Medarda or curled on your plastic desk chair. Still, the magic of Christmas began to loom in the early November air. It came sooner and sooner, as did the expenses. That’s why you sat once again in the pub, this time with mulled wine and a mince pie, chattering away with your tiny circle of friends.

“So,” Matilda asked, focusing directly on you,“Any developments? Any new friends? Cheap dinner deals?”

Fabulous, an audience to make you feel like a lifeless loser, “Not really, just been work work-”

“Work,” Nat interrupted with a giggle, “We know babe,”

“At least you’ve got that sexy Professor to while away the days, I could climb her” Matilda continued, sipping her beer.

You were a tableau, brows crinkled in confusion. “Climb who?”

“Professor Medarda, you tit,” Her eyes rolled, “Who else? Professor Daniels, the seventy-six year old?”

“I-I don’t, I mean she’s pretty I guess,” You stammered, “I don’t really see her like that,”

“Then you’re fucking blind,”

You laughed. Forced. Was Professor Medarda hot? You guessed her face was nice, all angular and sharp, with soft edges that made her seem inviting. She did have that towering frame, honeyed voice, plush curves. You were warm. It was not because of the wine. You pushed that confusing train of thought into a distant, long since abandoned station.

Something about that night had set you off balance, mind muddling over old interactions with a new rosy hue. She was nothing but professional, considerate and gentle, a guiding hand to your education. But her words, her voice, were they suggestive? Fuck. You hated your friends, they made everything confusing. That was why you were cold, that was why you were suffering. They had made you forget your scarf and gloves. It had nothing to do with finding your Professor attractive.

She was late which was unusual. You were anxious, which was not. When she wandered in, a small bag in hand, your eyes met and you felt a jolt that had not been there a few days before. Was the golden glimmer brighter now? More alluring? You couldn’t tell.

“Come on in then,” She muttered, key clicking pleasantly to unlock the office, “I grabbed us some pastries,”

You beamed, taking the brown paper bag she offered, as you situated yourself in your chair.

There was nothing majorly different and yet everything had changed.

She was a beautiful, majestic thing and you felt like a lump of neglected, sprouting potatoes. If she noticed your repetitive glances she did not comment on them, merely continuing to offer feedback on your work and provide advice on what to explore next. You had a lot more than Romans V War Elephants written down now.

The croissant was perfect, its flakiness distracting you for mere moments, before you fixated on a tiny bit of pastry attached to her red lips. A practiced tongue darted out to steal the offender, wetting her lips as she scrawled down words. Your stomach clenched. This nonsense was not going to end well.

Finally, mercifully, the day’s session ended, and with it did the proximity that made your mind fuzzy.

It was bitter now, as she walked with you out of the Humanities building, colder than perhaps any other day yet. You murmured nonsense, distracted replies to her conversation and all at once she stopped you, abrupt and calculating.

“You forgot your scarf today,” It wasn’t a question.

“Y-yes,” You nodded, cheeks already red from wind burn, “Was in a rush,”

“You have a twenty minute walk ahead of you,” She frowned, a ghost of concern and something else in her eyes, “Whereas my car is a few steps ahead,”

“I don’t-” Heated cashmere fabric collided with you, as her hands deftly wound her own scarf into a knot on your neck.

“There you are,” She cooed, tucking it into your coat, “Can’t have you getting cold, Sweet Pea,”

“Thank you, Professor,” You almost slurred, mind fixated on something else, “I’ll give it back when I next see you,”

“No rush,” With that, she was climbing into her car with a wave.

It was all you could think, smell, understand. Honey, loose leaf Earl Grey and the woodiness from the office candle.

Numb, dazed feet dragged you home, where you curled into sheets, scarf still on.

You were drowning in the smell of her. You wanted to bottle it, choke on it forever.

Proper crush on your thesis advisor? Tick.

Professor Ambessa Medarda was the most gorgeous woman you had ever met, and you were the shittiest, stupidest cliche.

#reader insert #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #arcane #ambessa smut

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mountttmase · 1 year ago

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Little Bean

Note - happy Friday, here’s just a tiny something I wrote yesterday after we were talking about pregnancy cravings 🩷 feedback would be appreciated as always 😌

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 986

Warnings - fluff

‘So you want peanut butter and… pickles?’ Mason asked, a questioning tone to his voice as if he thought you were mad but you’d been craving the strange combination all day.

‘Maybe some chocolate chips too? Oh and the really cheap fluffy white bread, none of that 50/50 crap’ you told him.

‘You’re absolutely sure that’s what you want?’

‘It’s not what I want Mase, it’s what our little bean wants’ you told him, your hand falling to your rather large belly. Truth be told your little bean wasn’t so little anymore but it was yours and Mason's first nickname for your baby and it had just stuck so whilst you were still deciding on names the pair of you always referred to them as your little bean.

‘You want a drink or anything else?’

‘You know what I really fancy a vimto’ you told him, watching him shake his head with a laugh before kissing your forehead as he got up.

‘Okay well I won’t be long’

‘Thank you, Mase. I really appreciate you going to get it for me’ you told him sincerely but he was more than happy to do it for you.

‘Well it’s my duty as a dad’ he laughed. ‘You’re giving me a baby, the least I can do is go buy the love of my life some pickles and peanut butter at 11:30 at night’

‘Don’t forget the vimto’ you called as he got closer to the door and the loving smile he sent your way made your heart race.

‘I won’t baby. I’ll be as quick as I can, yeah? Love you’

‘Love you more’ you called, blowing him a quick kiss that he adorably caught, putting it in his pocket before leaving the room.

The small Sainsbury's was only a few minutes away and Mason kept his hat on and head down the whole time he was in there. Laughing to himself as he picked up everything you’d asked for and even getting a multipack of vimto just in case you wanted more tomorrow.

When he’d asked you earlier on if you fancied a snack he was expecting you to say ice cream like you had been for weeks but this new concoction had him stunned and confused. You were giving him the greatest gift he could ever ask for though so as soon as your order was in he was off to get it for you.

The shopping trip went without a hitch and he was home within 15 minutes. Unpacking his little haul before he got to making your special sandwich of peanut butter and pickles with chocolate chips and an ice cold vimto on the side. Nearly gagging as he placed it all together on the plate but if that’s what you wanted then that’s what you were getting.

You were sat up and waiting for him when he returned to your room, eyes lighting up and the sight of him and your heart thumped at the way he presented you your creation with a proud smile on his face.

‘Thank you, Mase. I really do appreciate you’ you told him. Kissing his cheek quickly as you took the plate from his hands and as soon as he set your glass on your bedside table he was undressing himself and getting back into bed next to you.

He watched on in what would only be described as fascination and slight horror as you took your first bite. Thinking maybe it had been a joke this whole time but there you were, eyes rolling back in your head as you munched away and as much as mason wanted to ask how it was he didn’t want to disturb your moment.

‘God that hits the spot. It's better than I thought it would be’ you told him after your second bite, looking over to him to find him trying to hold back a laugh. ‘You know what? The chocolate chips really set it off, I’m a genius I swear’

‘Yes you are baby’ he laughed, kissing your shoulder before he started to shuffle down and lay next to you.

‘You want a bite?’

‘You know what, I’ve got training early so I best not’ he told you, but you knew it was just an excuse. ‘Maybe tomorrow’

‘I’ll have one waiting for you when you get home’ you joked, watching his face scrunch up in disgust causing you to laugh loudly.

‘Can’t wait’ he chuckled, settling himself down next to you. ‘You gonna be able to sleep after all that sugar?’

‘I’m six months pregnant Mase, of course I’ll sleep’ you told him. Reaching out to run your fingers through his hair, your heart racing as his snuggled into your thigh and wrapped his arm around your leg. ‘Just let me finish and we can cuddle’

‘Fine but I wanna be the big spoon. Not sure I want pickle peanut butter breath in my face all night’

‘I’m gonna clean my teeth you big baby’

‘Doesn’t matter how much you clean them, I’ll still know’ he teased and you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

‘You’re insane’

‘Says the one eating something i could find in a bin’

‘Hey, stop being mean’ you laughed. Polishing off the last of your sandwich as he kissed your thigh as an apology. ‘I’ll be back in a sec yeah?’

‘You want a hand up?’ He offered sweetly but you just shook your head and stroked his hair.

‘I’m good, thank you though’ you laughed. Getting yourself out of bed to clean your teeth but you stopped as you got to the door so you could look back at Mason all curled up in bed waiting for you. You heart thumping at the sweet man you got to call your own with tonight only confirming to you once again he would be the only man you’d ever need.

#mason mount #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount fic #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #mason mount story #mason mount fan fiction #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer imagines #footballer imagine #footballer fan fiction

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twstfanblog · 2 months ago

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🔪: *Filming the Tsums dancing together*

🔪: Oh my god...they're doing a little dancey dance. I can't wait to show this to everyone.

👑: I do not understand how you're so enraptured every time these things come here.

🔪: Well, excuse me for feeling joy and pride in my tiny bean sons, a feeling you've clearly NEVER felt.

👑:

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #yuu oc #vil schoenheit #valcorrectquotes #twisted tsumderland #tsumsted wonderland

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xiao-come-home · 2 years ago

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Genshin + HSR men as dads;

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

✰ Characters:

↳ Genshin: Ayato, Itto, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Zhongli, Xiao.

↳ HSR: Blade, Jing Yuan, Luocha.

✰ Words: 3,5k.

✰ SFW ; afab!reader, because pregnancy mentions. fluff.

Warnings: established relationship, the characters are reader's husbands, mentions of pregnancy, babies, ayato always ends up kinda horknee????? slight spoilers about blades past, not beta read THERES NO TIME FOR THAT

A/N: this is my first time writing for hsr and kaveh, but I tried my best </3 also I have work in 2h and I haven't slept yet. this is more important. pog also give me feedback if you like hsr pieces ;q;

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

Ayato Kamisato:

he's such a girl AND boy dad you can't convince me otherwise. i just can't get that out of my head: imagine just chilling with your husband, you two enjoying some tea or coffee, while watching your children happily yell and play outside; ayato plays with your palm slightly, switching between rubbing it with his fingers and interlocking it, giving you occasional glances and tiny smiles.

ayato's definitely a strict parent, but wants his children to feel freedom - he does not force them to practice something they don't like, but teaches them necessary stuff they need to know if they are to be the future of the Kamisato clan.

he DEFINITELY had a boy first. and his son DEFINITELY looks like a perfect mixture of you two - he has ayato's eyes and hair type, but your hair color and smile.

your daughter, on the other hand, is exactly like ayato's copy, except with your personality - and he's extremely whipped for her. his little girl wanted to practice a new hairstyle with multiple pink hair clips? oh well, looks like he goes like this to his important meeting.

though, your son is just as mischievous as his father, if not worse - has probably trolled Itto more than once by the shy age of just three. he's also definitely interested in ayato and ayaka's battle styles, like hello??? HOW DO YOU JUST DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT??? AND TURN INTO SNOW??????

even though some fights between his children happen, as it's a thing you can't avoid - the big brother is very protective of his little sister and would do anything to make her happy! even if it means princess tea time. it reminds ayato of his, though not as fortunate, childhood memories with ayaka before she grew up to be the strongest woman and best auntie we know.

ayato probably teases you about wanting a third one, so they look like you this time. "say, darling, how about we get another little one?" feeling his smile, ayato whispers into your ear, "think about it, love," he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, "you just look so perfect I can't resist you."

Arataki Itto:

i do nOT care, his child is just as hyper as him. they're his absolute best buddy, partners in crime, you name it. but there's a plot twist - thank god your child thinks more often than their father AND stops him sometimes.

listen. absolute boy dad. his son is his pride and joy,he bragged so much about his boy to the point that Raiden Shogun herself heard about him.

so, remember itto being severely allergic to beans as an oni? his son absolutely loves beans and could eat them with no side effects. but itto being itto, prepares him meals with beans and takes it as a challenge. he just might cry, or throw up at worst. but hey, everything for his little sunshine.

^^your son absolutely cheers when he's making him dinner and suffering like?? "go dad! you're so awesome!" "yummy!" and itto's screaming back with tears dripping down his cheeks, "yes, YES!! THE BEST COOK OF INAZUMA, ARATAKI ITTO!"

itto prides himself in creating the most perfect small person to ever exist. your son inherited itto's golden heart and your brains (thank god). he's truly a ball of sunshine, and possibly the happiest and polite boy in Inazuma. with a pair of red horns just like his dad, red streaks in his hair and markings, itto's pupils and your eye color.

hear me out: total best pals with ayato's son. they love playing board games and battle onikabuto with each other, and much to itto's delight, his son is usually the winner, but the boys always politely thank each other for the game and move on.

your son is actually such a smooth talker to ayato's daughter to the point that he considers giving them a blessing and suffering being in-laws with itto.

he's also (great)grandma oni's favorite child now... he loves baking, cooking and sewing with her, and showing her his favorite onikabuto that you and itto let him keep as a pet!

itto's actually VERY down to have a few more kiddos if your pregnancy went well. he'd love a little girl to spoil his long hair, or maybe two. and two more sons so he wouldn't be lonely..

that time itto caught ushi sound asleep with his ball of sunshine next to him was the day he'll never forget. with tears in his eyes, he covered them in a warm blanket and let them snooze for a little more before bedtime.

Alhaitham:

literally no one, not even one soul knew that alhaitham has a child until they saw him walking a three-year-old. and the said child is probably the most behaved child that has ever been born.

seriously, your son is probably the smartest child ever. alhaitham, despite some worries, did and still does very well as a father - he began teaching him to talk earlier, he also seemed to have taken a liking to some instruments when he got older. the scribe's little one also enjoys it when his dad reads with him! be it alhaitham's books or fantasy ones, they have a special routine just for reading.

your son absolutely looks up to his father. when he sees him drafting some documents, his eyes shine with curiosity and adoration. alhaitham, can't help but smile slightly when he isn't looking.

nahida promoted alhaitham as the Acting Grand Sage. he promoted her as his babysitter.

^^but in a more serious tone, I genuinely think Nahida would be somewhat interested in your child - not in a negative light in any way, but.. it does make her wonder how a small child could be so smart. though his son has a long way to go and grow up, each year he manages to surprise her.

when his son is too bothered by the attention of other people, alhaitham gives him his noise-canceling headphones; they're a bit too big on him, but he appreciates it anyway.

alhaitham makes sure your son remembers his late grandmother, despite having not met her. even if the scribe does not consider himself a very emotional person, he wants the memory of her to live on.

he encourages his child to make his own decisions, too - just like he had that choice as well; if his son wants to break the ice and become more outgoing - alhaitham will not stand in his way. he wants him to grow up as the person he truly wants to be.

he definitely explained some god-tier science to his toddler son while holding him in his arms, receiving only some confusing "blah blag bwwwug" in return, watching him bite his tiny hand in happiness. he continued.

if there's something that alhaitham shares with his son, it's his love for naps. sometimes you all sleep together, and when it's time to wake up - both of them whine and your son snuggles up to his dad, to which your husband responds by getting his arm over the little one and giving you a small chuckle with one eye open, shortly before falling back asleep.

kaveh is your child's godfather. no, it wasn't his choice.

after a bit of hesitation and a lot of thoughts, he wouldn't mind to have another one; genders don't matter to him by any means, but I see him with yet another son :)

Kaveh:

kaveh and his twins could rival itto and his son's enthusiasm - it's what kaveh wants his kids to always remember - he wants them to enjoy every single bit of life, even if it's something simple.

the famous architect has decided to work hard to provide for you and the baby when you told him about the pregnancy- or, rather, about his future children; some of his work truly shone and got him quite a bit of attention, and therefore - a bunch of well-paid commissions.

kaveh has fought his empathy many times and tried not to overly spend money, which resulted in him being able to create and build your house that you share together; each of the twins has their own room, decorated according to their tastes.

your children have great emotional intelligence, just like your husband; if there's ever any conflict, they rather talk about it, than pout for hours, similar with you two. kaveh teaches them to always be honest, especially to themselves. they're also talented, but in different ways - your daughter seems to be fascinated by the role of the architect as well, but your son, regardless of what he's doing - he always makes sure it's perfect and polished as much as possible.

you cannot tell me this man doesn't do some kind of weekly family time - kaveh loves his family to the bone and would risk his life to protect you and your children with no hesitation. he's very involved in his children's lives and wants to be considered as their friend as well, not just a father; kaveh wants to know what they are interested in the moment, who they had their last beef with and who their crush is. he just really wants to gossip with them lol.

contrary to what a lot of people think, the twins and alhaitham's child(ren?) get along very well, and are aware they're just mirrors of each other. they can't however, understand how they managed to live together under one roof for so long... they never complain if they visit uncle alhaitham though, as he lets them search through his library so they can find out more about their interests.

in revenge, alhaitham is the godfather of the twins, just so you know.

Zhongli:

not only did he fall in love with you, but after hearing the cry of his little girl after she took her first-ever breath - zhongli fell in love once again.

he's so, so overprotective of his baby, regardless of her age. he's swooned by her - how tiny her fingers are compared to his when she finally grips them for the first time, how every month she looks even prettier than last one - he's always by her side, making sure she's the happiest she could possibly be.

since he has to sleep only once for a few days, he's willing to spend every second with her, especially after birth - zhongli also wants you to rest as much as you can, so you can both create memories together.

he most certainly takes her on a lot of walks with you when she gets older; not only around liyue harbor, but places dear to him and her only, if they discover one.

when your daughter grows up and begins to show interest in zhongli's hobbies, he smiles at her gently and sits her in his lap, only to start explaining it and feeding her curiosity; sometimes he has to stop himself for a moment to admire her twinkling eyes.

oh he DEFINITELY does her hair every morning. he's practiced on you before, having learned many new hairstyles to later on perform on your daughter; he carefully strokes her hazel hair with golden tips with a brush, feeling as he's almost watching his own in a mirror. sometimes, he adorns her hair with his own hairpin.

xiao was definitely the first person to know about your daughter. knowing that archon blood runs in her veins, he's less worried about being around her, therefore always more willing to spend time with her. both grow from this interaction - the little one knows how to protect herself (or to call uncle xiao when she's in trouble), and xiao understands small humans just a bit better.

zhongli's thrilled to know what her favorites are - no matter if it's tea, food or fabric, he has to know! perhaps they share the same favorites?

with the help of kamera, he's now able to immortalize the sight of you and your daughter. each birthday, he takes a picture and cherishes the young years of your baby, knowing they won't last long; erosion be damned, as long as he has the pictures - he'll always remember.

Xiao:

xiao was clueless. clueless and frightened. he wasn't supposed to have a child - with a mortal on top; albeit he tries to stay calm for your and baby's sake, he wants both of you to heal well.

it took quite a bit of time for xiao to fully embrace that he's a parent - and he adapted very well, having you by his side; the only worry that hasn't gone away is the thought of harming his daughter with his karmic debt.

but so far, the little one hasn't shown any signs of it, which makes xiao more than happy. she's yet another reason to warm his cold heart up, which he always compares to being engulfed by comfy scarf in the winter.

he automatically turns his head around whenever he hears her tiny little "tap taps" with her feet; not only does he find it adorable, but he knows she once again managed to lose her slippers and socks.

listen. she inherited the same diamond mark on her forehead - and he finally understands why you always insisted you liked kissing it for no reason.

he always. ALWAYS shares his almond tofu with his baby girl.. and she always makes a mess while eating it.. but it's worth it.

your daughter seemed to have taken a liking to watching finches from a distance; they always look for a nice spot in liyue plains, make a small picnic and feed the leftover bread to the birds. she finds them so adorable to the point that xiao was looking for a finch plushie for WEEKS. that made her good friends with qiqi, whom she tries to remember as "the finch friend."

Zhongli never says it out loud, but thinks of Xiao as his son. therefore, he finally earned a title of a grandpa (though unofficial). he's very proud to see Xiao stand up in a role of not only a protector of liyue, but the ones closest to him.

yes, your daughter actually calls morax himself, grandpa. (he doesn't correct her. ever)

imagine xiao with baby carrier. now you don't have to imagine it anymore.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Blade:

don't even say he isn't a girl dad. HE IS.

he thinks he's a mere blade whose humanity has been lost hundreds of years ago - it's nothing more but a delusion in his mind. if that was the truth, why would he stay near his daughter's crib and watch her sleep peacefully, flinching when he saw her stir in her sleep?

she's absolutely not afraid of his cold, death stare, in fact - she looks at him back, waiting him to break first. just imagine a tiny baby eating a rice waffle, blade next to her and he just.. stares at her. but she stares at him back and eats the waffle like it's nothing.

your baby girl inherited blade's hair- or rather, yingxing's pearly white hair. he often pats her head gently and goes his hand through her hair, his eyes holding a tinge of bitterness and anger; not at her, however, but at the one he's after.

since blade spends most of his time on various missions with the stellaron hunters, he tries to make it up to your daughter by giving her gifts; hairpins, stickers (ekhem, silver wolf), coloring books, you name it. he slowly warms up to the idea of spending more quality time with her - after so many missions and the thought of his family waiting for him at home, his heart longs to see you again.

sometimes.. you can catch a faint smile on his lips when he plays with her. it's a sad smile - a smile yearning for it to happen back in simpler times, before getting reduced to a weapon, or perhaps in another lifetime.

he never admits it out loud, but he gets used to the new routine a bit too comfortably. before, when it was just you - in contrast to now, when he barely closes the front door and hears his daughter sprinting to him and clinging to his leg; he picks her up and feels her squishing her cheek against his while grinning. "welcome home, daddy!" are the first words he hears - and hopes to hear until it's his time to leave.

at times, blade becomes genuinely terrified - terrified of no longer craving death and wanting to stay. it sends him in so much emotional turmoil he starts to shake; how else do you process this? after so many years of attempting to look for that one thing that finally stops your breath, only to get swarmed by the thoughts of not wanting to leave your daughter behind? what if something happens to her and there's no one to help her?

there's a thing that I can't stop thinking about: I want to leave it up to you how you name your daughter, but I feel like blade would truly like the name Mari.

he lets her decorate him with stickers. it was silver wolf's idea.

Jing Yuan:

he was blessed with a daughter, as well. and then again. and then... again.

he absolutely adores his three little girls, hellO?!?!? but if you think about it, it makes sense - almost all of them took after his personality.

there is a mandatory nap for him and his girls that no one can disturb, unless the planet is on fire or someone got you mad. they all snore quietly while cuddling their dad, one of them on his chest, second on his stomach, and last one has her face somewhere next to his hair. makes you wonder how they got in these places, considering they started sleeping beneath a pink blanket decorated with lions.

speaking of lions, mimi claims your daughters as her cubs and does not let jing yuan take them away. she loves being pet and getting small kisses from them, there's no way she gives him that amount of attention back.

jing yuan loves your daughters to death and spoils them with absolutely EVERYTHING. new plushie? will be here in a few hours. a damned rock that's stupidly expensive, holds no value but one of them liked it? he'll take five. hell, he might even buy them a dog or another lion and hope for easy consequences from you.

he's slightly scared of how fast his oldest got so good at chess.

the girls get very upset when someone mentions they have no older brother - after all, how could they forget about yanqing?

there is a high chance of him losing one of them at home. they're walking, he turns around and.. suddenly the math doesn't add up..

if it's princess tea time, it is princess tea time. fu xuan either becomes a princess or comes back later.

even though they sometimes bring a lot of trouble, jing yuan always tells them to appreciate you - when it's mother's day, they all sit down and prepare a gift for you, same for your birthday; your special days will never go unnoticed.

probably wouldn't mind having another child, but is fully prepared for another girl lol.

Luocha:

he fathered a beautiful boy and girl a few years after. none of them were planned, but very welcome by both of you.

he's.. such a doting father. he always takes care of his children well, shows them affection - especially as small babies, he can't get over their chubby cheeks and peppers them with kisses, so he could hear them giggle.

in general, I think he just. can't get enough of them when they're toddlers or even younger. he loves holding them. he loves seeing his tiny babies get curious when he prepares medicine. he loves when they extend their hand to him for seemingly no reason, so he has an opportunity to give it a kiss. ARGH

he's thrilled to share his medical knowledge with his kids, if one shows interest in it!

luocha's definitely the one to style his babies' hair, I mean have you seen this man's gorgeous locks???? he's also the one to cut it if they don't like it long.

this isn't really about the children themselves, but.. he's just so grateful that you brought them into this world?? and he makes sure you know it every day, be it through actions or words. when you gave birth to your daughter, he held her in her hands and approached you from behind, leaning down and planting a chaste kiss on your cheek. "love, she's so wonderful, thank you for your hard work. I can't stop looking at her, and I wouldn't have that opportunity if I didn't meet you. I've never been more happy to meet such a person like you."

just like kaveh, he wants to be very involved in their lives. he always asks them about their day in school, if they made any friends. luocha also tries to be stern and has only one expectation as a father - he wants them to have a good, comfortable life, in which he'll assist in achieving as long as they need.

your son is very, very talkative with his dad and they could converse for hours. like for real. he's so smart, luocha is more than happy to broad his horizons, even in topics of lesser importance.

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mattsfavbigtitties · 8 months ago

Text

Pregnant w/Matt's Baby (Headcanons)

Warnings: Smut this time my boos, lots of fluffy, breeding kink, and a tiny bit of cussing.

MASTERLIST TAGLIST

A/n: This is dedicated to my lovely @riowritesitall and i appreciate u so muccchhh for helping come up with these ideas my boo😘

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

- It was so exciting to see your first ever ultrasound of your baby, you just couldn’t wait! Sitting in the waiting room with Matt was so nerve racking you never thought you’d survive the teasingly short wait.

Once in the room and laying down you held onto Matt's hand while waiting for the sonographer to come in. “I feel the need to just run away Matty.” You tried to joke around and laughed a bit. Matt smiled softly at you and chuckled replying, “It’s alright baby, don’t be too nervous. We’ll finally see our little bean.”

The comment made your nerves calm down a bit as you breathed in and out slowly to regulate your heart. Soon after the sonographer finally came in and got the machines ready you were ready for the gel to be applied.

“Alright mama, are you ready to see your baby?” The doctor asked with an encouraging smile on her face. “Yep! Can’t wait.” You nervously laugh and Matt squeezes your hand to remind you he’s there for you.

“This will be a bit cold so don’t freak too much haha” She chuckled and went ahead and took the gel from the holder squeezing it at the bottom of your stomach. You flinch a bit at the sudden coldness and watch as she gets the camera stick thing to put on the gel. She spreads the gel while looking at the screen showing you where everything is.

You gasp loud when you see the little bean baby. “That’s my baby?” You whisper to Matt with a little wavering voice. Matt leans his arm around you in a slight hug(standing beside your bed) while both of you are staring at the screen.

“Yeah baby, aren’t they the cutest?” He whispers in your ear with a small sniffle. You hum in recognition, turning your face into his chest crying silently from seeing your baby. He rests his head on yours and smiles while continuing to stare at the screen.

- Telling the other 2 about the baby a day after the ultrasound^. You’re currently sitting the closest you can be to Matt without sitting ON him. You and Matt made Nick and Chris sit on their couch for a ‘family’ meeting.

The ultrasound photos in an envelope are clutched tightly in your hands. You know you had nothing to worry about the two boys would never have a bad reaction from the way they’ve talked about kids in the past.

“Well, are we just gonna sit here and collect dust or are you guys actually gonna say something.” Nick throws his hands up in desperation. Chris agrees with him making you sigh in exasperation and plunge the envelope into Chris’ arms which were the closest to you.

Nick goes silent with some suspicion written on his face side eyeing you two and watches Chris open the paper. Chris’ mouth drops open in shock and his eyes go straight to your stomach where you seemed to have moved your hands to in the meantime.

You and Matt both give him a nod with a sweet tight lipped smile in anticipation. Nick got antsy and felt a little left out there and ripped the envelope and what seemed to be pictures(?) out of his brother's hand.

“Oh my God..” One of Nick’s hands flew up to his mouth real quick. “This is amazing guys!!” Chris cut through the silence easily and jumped up to hug you tight. Which knocked Nick out of his shock and looked at you both with such admiration and a bit of disgust.

“Although I'm really happy about this, I just can't get that you two actually HAVE sex in this house out of my head to make this little turd in your tummy.” The joke made you sigh and laugh after he finally got up to pull you in a hug.

“Well thanks Nicky-poo I appreciate that.” You hug him back just a bit tighter than usual. You laid your head on his chest while he pat your head once then rubbed your back.

“You do know all the shit I'm gonna get you now right?” He said, making you laugh again.

- The first weird food cravings you get is when you’re in the second month of your first trimester. When your cravings began they started with small little things like adding in foods you’ve never liked and definitely worked their way up to the weirdest combinations fast.

The first time Matt saw you eat something you hated it was with mayonnaise. It was just a normal day hanging out with the triplets in their living room when you suddenly had the urge to eat a ham sandwich with mayonnaise. You’ve never eaten a single thing with just straight up mayo before around him.

So when Matt looked over at you when you said you were hungry and went to make something to eat he never once in his life expected you to whip out the mayo from the fridge.

He was so flabbergasted as he said “Babe? I thought you hated mayo?” with the cutest and most confused face and voice ever. It made you laugh quite a bit as you were a bit confused too until you realized what was happening.

The first weird combination you had was definitely the first of the worst if it was Matt's opinion. When Matt came into the kitchen to see you spreading some peanut butter on a piece of bread he thought you were making a pb&j, so he was pretty cool about it.

Until he saw the pickles next to the plate of bread. “Pickles too!?” He said in a disgusted voice with a crinkled nose. You giggled facing him with the knife in your hand, “Yeah baby, just got the craving.” And went back to making your peanut butter and pickle sandwich. Matt just made an ‘ugh’ sound with a dramatic shiver of his body and went to get in the fridge.

- You never noticed your little bump before, but one day when you were changing Matt saw it! It was early in the afternoon and you had decided to finally change out of your pajamas. Matt was currently playing fornite with his brothers on the computer, so you chose to sneak in quietly.

Of course you weren’t too quiet getting your clothes out of the closet as he asked what you were doing and if you were okay. “Yeah babe, just changing into actual clothes.” You reply with a snort. You hear him hum in response as you leave the closet with the clothes in hand.

Obviously this far into the relationship you were comfortable enough to change without turning your back to him. So when you started taking off your pants and shirt Matt glanced at you, sticking his eyes just a little longer on your stomach.

You pick up the shirt you chose off the bed pulling it over your head as you hear a small gasp from your lover. You look at Matt and see his mouth agape with aw.

“What is it?” You ask in confusion. He got up, placing his headphones on the desk and walking towards you. “Baby, have you not noticed yet?” He relished in his excitement. “No? What’s it Matty? Tell me.” You stamp your foot pulling your shirt down with a small whine.

Matt grabs your shirt and pulls it up with a contagious smile on his face, clearly excited for some reason you have no idea. He held one of your hands with his other to your tummy telling you to look down.

Your face lit up in happiness, see the tiniest of bumps right there on you. You gasp softly and smile brightly, “Oh my fucking God, this is so cute! My first ever baby bump coming in.”

“Yep my sweet baby girl. Both of my babies are so precious and pretty.” Matt chuckles and kisses you softly as you kiss back.

- It was a pretty chill day when you first felt the slight kick in your bladder. The swift kick made you jolt in place startling Matt who was next to you on the couch.

It all happened so quickly and forcefully you almost peed yourself and had to run to the bathroom. Mat called out for you asking if you were okay or needed anything, but all you were focused on was to see if it would happen again.

After finishing up wiping you stood in front of the mirror holding up your shirt intensely watching your tummy bump. A few seconds went by and they kicked again!

When Matt never got a reply he got worried and set his phone down speed walking to his bathroom. “Babe? You okay in there?” His gentle knock on the door snapped you out of your stare, sounding so worried you felt a bit guilty.

You left one hand holding your shirt up and used the other to open the door to face the cutest furrowed eyebrows ever. “I felt a kick, Matty!” You tell him excitement clearly in your voice. His eyebrows shot to the ceiling, “What?! Lemme feel.” He couldn’t hide his own excitement at all making you laugh a bit grabbing his hand quickly placing it on your bump.

“It’ll happen just wait a bit baby.” You say after a while of nothing. When they do kick again a few minutes later Matt feels it on his hand. “Oh my God, this is amazing baby.” He whispers with the largest smile on his face you’ve ever seen.

- Gender reveal party beginning of 3rd trimester. You had let Nick(and a little bit of Chris) plan everything for the gender reveal. The little rascal chose to make a small cookout with some fun games to play.

Since the baby was due in October he decided to make the theme halloween-y and bought a cute pumpkin cake with the color of the baby inside. You were so happy to see your closest best friend make such big plans for you. You had such a great time playing all the baby dedicated games and seeing all the stuff matts and your family got you for the baby.

Your favorite part(of course) was the big reveal! When Nick took the cake out of the fridge and sat it in front of you at the patio table. “It’s so cute Nick, thanks bro. We really appreciate it all, for real.” Matt squeezes your hand with his smiling at your equally bright grin.

“Yep! It’s all so adorable!” You squeal giving Nick a kiss on the cheek before he goes to sit beside Chris who was right next to Matt. “You better be! It was real hard work!” Nick points at you while failing to hold back his smile telling you it was one of his jokes.

“Alright! Let’s cut this bad boy open huh mama?” Matt holds the knife up for you to grab it with him. You place your hand on top of his and start to cut through the pumpkins eye.

After cutting the piece in a triangle you get antsy and wiggle in your seat. The knife went under the cake slice slowly pulling it out and onto the plate. Everyone starts clapping and shouting in happiness and congratulating you for the new baby boy!!

You squeal and jump up bringing Matt with you hugging him real tight. “I can’t believe it Matty! We’re gonna have a baby boy..” You sniffle into him, tightening your hands on his shirt holding him fit against you.

You felt his hand on your waist with the other rubbing the back of your head. “I know baby, isn’t it so exciting.” He places a kiss on your head as you hear a little sniffle too. “I know..” He whispers into your head resting his on yours while swaying you both side to side.

- Getting off the flight from Boston was definitely tiring to say the least. For your feet specifically. After all the standing around at Matt’s family house for your gender reveal, you were sure to feel it for days. They were hurting practically the whole flight, but you being you, never told Matt anything the entire way back.

Though when you did tell him in the car on the way to their house he’d made a big deal about it to you telling you he’d make sure to rub them when home. You were eternally grateful for said massage when finally home in Matt’s bed.

- More often than not these days you’ve been hornier than usual. So when one early morning Matt unsurprisingly awoke to you rubbing your ass on him. You heard him groan and grip onto your hips rutting his growing erection into your ass.

You bit your lip trying to keep quiet since you were currently in Matt’s bed at the triplets house. “You love making it difficult for me, don’t you baby” Matt whispered huskily into your ear while running his hand down your stomach to where your aching folds rest under your pink panties.

You hum in response and bring your own hand back towards his hips to his aching member pulsing in his boxers. It’s pretty amazing to you that in such little time you can make Matt’s dick hard as a rock.

You squeeze him and start teasingly rubbing him while he rubs between your lips to reach your clit. You turn your face to press your lips against his and moan into his mouth when he speeds up his fingers on your bud.

A few seconds go by and Matt starts to get fed up with the teasing and decides to get to it. He takes his mouth off yours and pulls off your hand only to take off his boxers along with your panties. You rest one of your hands under your pillow and the other on Matt’s hips to help line him up with your glistening hole.

He lifted up your leg to really get in there and to bring you impossibly closer to him. “You ready baby?” he gently asks you. When he sees you nod that’s all he needs to know before he pushes his dick head in slowly.

You moan softly, sounding like a sigh, at the full feeling when he’s fully settled inside. You hear him groan lowly from behind you still holding your leg up with a tight grip on your thigh. He rests his forehead on your nape and you feel his shaky warm breath against your hot skin.

“You can move now.” You whisper, squeezing his hip as a signal to keep going. You feel him move his head off your nape just to press gentle kisses to your shoulder as he starts moving his hips back.

You clench around him and get a stuttered hip in response. Once his tip is back at your entrance he waits a few seconds then sharply slams his hips in at full speed. You squeak loud and gasp at the pressure inside as your boyfriend continues to thrust in and out quickly.

You feel Matt let go of your thigh and instead put his hand around your stomach. He uses his other arm that was under your shoulder to put his hand over your mouth.

“You don’t want the guys to hear you, do you? Unless you wanna be heard by the whole world then I think you’d best be quiet huh?” Matt groans by your ear making you clench around him and moan in response opening your mouth to accompany his fingers.

He slows his hips as soon as he feels that tug in his stomach, pushing his fingers deeper in your throat. “Don’t you just look so pretty, all plump and round with our baby. Makes me wanna keep you pumped full of my cum everyday just to get you all big again.” He moves his hand from your mouth to clutch one of your boobs and reach his hand that wrapped around your bump to your clit once more.

You start rutting your hips up into his hand whining for more. Matt’s hips increase in speed like before as he bites into your shoulder. Your climax comes up fast and quick as you feel him penetrate in deep spots you’ve never felt and your legs begin to shake from the pleasure.

“Ohhh Mattyyyy, I’m coming~.” you gasp in between speaking as you feel him pull back from your shoulder. “Oh fuck babygirl. I’m coming too.” He breathes whispering loud enough for only you to hear.

His climax finally bursting inside you, squirting your insides with his creamy liquid. He halts deep in you and slowly pulls his member out, seeing all the cum seep out from your abused hole. All you could hear in the room was the heavy breathing from both of you.

You turn around to him to kiss him and lay your head on his chest. “I love you Matty.” You feel his chuckle from the movement and feel one hand rest around your wait and the other scratch your scalp.

“I love you too baby, now go to sleep, pretty lady.”

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

TAGLIST: @riowritesitall

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #mathew sturniolo #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo fanfic #mattsfavbigtitties #mattsfavbigtittiesaus #soph'saus

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