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motorsportbarbie13 · 1 month ago

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Post It - Part 4 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings: once again, this is all fluff. (as always tho, special shout out to @lestapiastrisgirl for always listening to me whine and brainstorm at 2am 🙌🏻)

pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3.7k words

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -Master List

youusername posted

892,032 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, yourmother and others yourusername taking a little detour... hannahstjohn omg have so much fun! 😉 >>>yourusername see you in sazuka, Hanny 😘 >>>user029 oh hannah knows something...that winkey face doesn't lie. >>>user000 AND SHE'LL BE IN SAZUKA yourmother this is how i find out you're not coming back to boston?! >>>yourusername i called you yesterday! you didn't answer! >>>yourmother it was 3am my time silly girl!!! >>>yourusername oops! user992 lando in the likes AGAIN >>>user332 and quick too!

The engine of the private jet hummed softly in the background, the low thrum of the white noise quietly filling the luxurious cabin. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, illuminating everything around you in a bright glow. You were tucked away in a window seat, legs stretched in front of you while your laptop balanced on your lap.

Across the small aisle, Lando lounged on the bench seat while he watched you intently. You were engrossed in reading something on your laptop, stopping every once in a while to tap away at something on your phone before your eyes darted back to the screen. He had no idea what you were doing but watching you do it was fascinating. The way you bit at your bottom lip when you were concentrating, the way your brows tilted together as your eyes tracked across the screen, the way your fingers moved so deftly over the keyboard. It was all a mesmerizing dance, something that Lando could watch forever.

After finishing up post-race notes and analysis, Lando sets his own laptop aside before stretching out his leg to tap your leg with his toe. You look up, surprised, almost as if you had forgotten he was there.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his gaze. Lando was still pinching himself, waiting for the dream of you agreeing to go to Japan with him for the week to be over, but it seemed as if this was all real.

“Research.” You respond, eyes darting down to the five tabs you have open on the screen in front of you.

“Research?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Osaka, silly. And Kyoto. It looks like we could totally take a day trip to Kyoto if we wanted to. It’s only like an hour away by train and there’s this temple, well…” You pause, shrugging, “There are a lot of temples but this one in Kyoto is stunning. And the bamboo forests-” Your mouth snaps shut suddenly, ears going a bit pink.

It takes every ounce of control Lando has in his body not to lean over and kiss you, the look on your face is so cute. “Whats wrong? No bamboo forests?”

You shake your head, closing your laptop before setting it aside. Tucking a stray piece of hair that had fallen out of the haphazard bun that was piled on top of your head away, you’re eyes dart away from Lando’s gaze. You hated when you went off on tangents like that, it always led to people thinking you were a bit…weird. Not to mention the fact that you just realized you’d started planning over a trip that Lando had already been planning for who knows how long.

“Nothing.”

Lando narrows his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

He reaches forward, grabbing your hand before tugging you up and out of your seat. “C’mere.” Lando murmurs as he continues to pull until you’re close enough that he can grab you by the waist and pull you down onto his lap.

You let out a small sigh, leaning your head onto his shoulder. It’s weird, you think, as your body melts into his, the warmth of his muscles seeping beneath your skin. It’s weird how Lando’s only just barely come into your life again and already you’re fitting together like it’s been years.

You’d been up late last night about it, wondering how this man had so quickly nestled himself under your skin but then you had remembered the countless hours you’d spent with him on FaceTime. You’d learned about his family, his siblings, the pressures of being in a brutal sport like F1. You’d told him about the mask you felt you always needed to wear, the pressure you felt to be perfect and ‘on’ at all times for the followers and fans you met in real life. It was something he could relate to, even though his fame was on a totally different level. But that shared connection, of both of you being sure that neither wanted you for the fame and money your chosen careers came with, had bonded you in a way that neither of you had experienced before.

You felt at ease, comfortable, safe when you were within arms length of him and while it kind of freaked you out at how fast it was all happening, something inside your soul had felt so settled over the last few days, it was hard to deny.

“Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to kiss it out of you?” Lando says, lips dusting over the sensitive skin on your neck.

When you dip your head, fully intending on kissing him first, you’re surprised when he pulls back. Lando chuckles, swiping his thumb over your frown before shaking his head. “Don’t try to distract me. What’s going on?”

You hesitate only for a few moments, feeling silly at the weight of the anxiety sitting in the pit of your stomach. “I…” You start, leaning your head into the way Lando’s cupping your jaw. “I just realized that you probably have the entire trip planned and I was being a little bossy. This was your trip first, I’m happy to tag alone with whatever you want to do.”

Lando shifts you in his lap so he can see you better. “Well first of all, this isn’t my trip.” He says before his lips whisper over your jaw. “This is our trip so you get as much say in this as I do. Whatever you want to do while we’re here is what we’ll do, pretty girl. All I want is to be with you.”

Your heart hammers at his words, the sincerity in them has something squeezing in your chest. Lando’s pupils are blown wide as he looks up at you. He hadn’t really meant to be so…honest with you, it had just kind of slipped out. He’d never felt so protective over someone else’s wellbeing before and while he thought it should be freaking him out, it didn’t. It felt normal almost. Like the noise in his head was quiet when he had you to focus on, to be concerned about.

When you lean down a second time, Lando lifts his chin up to meet your lips half way. With Lando finishing second yesterday and all the media that came with it, you two haven’t had much time alone together. Most of your ‘alone’ time so far had been with the public just right outside your bubble. Here, in the privacy of the empty jet, you could allow yourself to be more free with your affection. It felt like Lando relaxed in this environment too. He laughed quicker, touched you more, allowed his eyes to wander easier.

You flourished under the attention because you knew he didn’t want anything else from you. He had his own career, his own fame. You were decidedly less famous than he was, for sure, but the feeling was the same. Not knowing who wanted to be in your life for what you could give them in return was an exhausting way to live. When Lando was with you, he knew you didn’t have ulterior motives and you felt the same.

Your lips met his in a soft but confident touch that quickly deepened into something more urgent. It was a silent affirmation between you both, an understanding that didn’t need words to confirm, just the heated press of two bodies molding together. It was just two souls, two completely different worlds, merging and finding solace in each other’s presence.

Lando’s hands move, cupping your face as his thumbs trace the delicate curve of your cheekbones. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body radiating through you, a comforting heat that chased away any lingering anxieties. The kiss grows more passionate, a silent conversation spoken not in words but in touch. It’s a blend of tenderness and desire, a slow burn that ignites a fire within you. You tangle your hands in his curls, fingers clutching for anything to bring him closer to you, even though you were already impossibly close.

He groans softly, a low rumble in his chest, his lips moving against yours with a newfound urgency that sends pleasure curling low and deep in your belly. Lando drops his hands back down to your hips, shifting you again so you’re straddling his lap now, knees digging into the soft cushions of the jet’s seat. Experimentally, you roll your hips deeper into his lap, pulling another low moan from Lando’s lips. You can’t help but smile against his lips, enjoying the way he feels hard against you, knowing that it’s your lips, your body, your mouth that’s doing that to him.

Lando pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips. His eyes are dark, like the ocean right before it storms on a dark summer night, intense in a way you haven’t really seen them before and it has your breath catching in the back of your throat. “God.” He whispers thickly. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A shiver runs down your spine, a delicious mix of pleasure and anticipation. You lean in again, your lips brushing against his. “Then maybe,” You murmur, voice barely audible, “You should show me.”

He grins in that wicked and cocky way he’s well known for. “Oh, I plan to.” He whispers as he drops his mouth back onto the hollow of your neck. He licks a long, heated line against your exposed collarbone and you immediately tilt your head back to give him better access. The whimper that leaves your lips is dangerous and has Lando grinding up into your core, desperate for more friction. His hands slip beneath the thin cotton of your t-shirt tracing the curves of your body, lingering on the sensitive skin that he’s never seen before.

He’s moments from attempting to remove your shirt from your body when the speaker system crackles to life, alerting you to your impending approach to the airport in Japan. With a deep sigh at the interruption, you scramble off of Lando’s lap before the flight attendant comes back to prepare the cabin for landing. Lando clears his throat, adjusting his joggers as best he can while starting after you as you settle back into your seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, patting the seat beside him.

“They wanted us to get in our seats for landing.” You reply, looking at him as if he’s got three heads.

“Yes, this seat right here is yours now. Get back here.”

“So needy.” You tease but you obey without any more fight.

“I have a feeling I’m always going to be needy for you.” He whispers in your ear before nipping at your earlobe. You barely swat him away as the flight attendant slides the cockpit door back open, smile on her face.

“Welcome to Japan, you two!” She says brightly with no indication that she has any idea of what had just been going on in the cabin moments before.

“What do you mean you’re not going to eat sushi with me while we’re here?” You stare at Lando incredulously later that day.

Lando wrinkles his nose in a way that makes it look like he’s just smelled something extremely funky and shakes his head, “Sushi is fish. Fish is disgusting.”

“You are an absolute child.” You laugh, shaking your head.

After the jet landed and your bags had been whisked away to the hotel for you, Lando had swept you off your feet and took you to your first destination: Osaka Castle. The grounds were practically deserted, probably because it was a Monday afternoon, so it felt like you had the entire place to yourself. The cherry blossoms were just beginning to burst open, the pink and white of the famous trees providing the most gorgeous backdrop to the photos both you and Lando were taking.

You continued on down a path towards the one of the many traditional Japanese gardens leaving Lando behind to continue to whine about how awful fish is. Reaching into your bag, you pull out your Nikon camera that you hadn’t used since you landed in China. Your fingers itched to put it to good use now, the scenery of the castle grounds were practically begging to be photographed.

“That is a gorgeous camera.” Lando remarks as he comes up behind you. You’d stopped on the path right at the edge of small lake. On a small bluff right behind it rose the white tiered castle that was one of Osaka’s most well known landmarks. A breeze flutters through your hair, spinning spare strands up in its gusts and whipping a few over into Lando’s face.

“My baby.” You coo, smiling over at him.

Lando sets his chin on your shoulder from behind, lip sticking out in a pout. “I thought I was your baby.”

You snort, rolling your eyes before lifting your free hand to frame his face. “Don’t worry, the camera won’t replace you, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” He murmurs, lips dusting the shell of your ear.

“Knock it off.” You chuckle before lifting the camera to frame a shot.

“Is that the new Nikon?” Lando asks, fingers reaching out to brush the body of the camera as he whistles long and low.

You nod, confirming his suspicions, before snapping a few test shots to figure out how best to use the late afternoon sun that’s casting gorgeous golden rays over the entire park. “I bought it as treat to myself when I hit 10 million followers on Instagram.”

The moment the words leave your lips your heart stops.

Fuck.

You turn around to see Lando’s brows furrowing in confusion. “10 million?” You can see the gears turning in his head. You both know you have just over 2 million followers and you had said ’10 million’ so confidently, Lando was sure it hadn’t been a mistake.

“Shit.” You whisper.

“What…I’m confused.”

Heaving a sigh, you decide you need to come clean. You’d become so relaxed around Lando you had just let the biggest secret you’ve ever hidden out into the open. “Have you ever heard of the photography account Pretty Little Lens?”

Lando’s eyes go wide as he nods. “Yeah, I’ve followed it for years. Their work is spectacular but no one knows who it is. The mystery behind who’s running that account has entire subreddit’s dedicated to it.”

You nod, tucking your camera back into your shoulder bag before taking Lando’s hand, pulling him over to a bench a few feet away. “I’m Pretty Little Lens, Lando.”

For several moments, Lando just blinks at you as he tries to process the secret you’ve just spilled. “You’re…you run Pretty Little Lens? The most secretive art account on pretty much any social platform in the last ten years?” His chokes out, voice full of disbelief.

You had started the account, with the full blessing of your parents, when you were 16 as a hobby. Two years later you had built up a huge following. You had decided from the get go though that you’d remain completely anonymous. You didn’t want to draw attention to yourself, preferring your art to speak for itself instead. Even now, almost ten years on, the only people on the planet that knew the identity behind Pretty Little Lens were your parents, your art agent, and your PR manager.

And now Lando.

“That’s me.” You say, trying to keep your voice light. You knew the kind of following PLL had on socials, how people devoted entire accounts to trying to figure out your identity. So far, you’d been able to evade the spotlight with your art and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

Lando blinks, rubbing the palm of his hand over his jaw. You shift uncomfortably next to him, starting to get freaked out by his silence. “Lan, say something.”

The anxiety of him judging your art, your decision to hide behind the anonymity of the account, especially when you are a pretty well known influencer as it was, set your teeth on edge.

“I have one of your prints hanging over my bed, a few in my living room too.” He says. You’re caught off guard by the admiration shining in his eyes. “I’ve followed you since I was 18…”

The fact that Lando, the man that you could feel your heart already falling for, had been a fan of your work for years, set something deep and meaningful tightening in your chest.

You’d never shared your passion for photography with anyone. You had a degree in it, sure, but as far as everyone outside your tiny little PLL bubble, everyone thought you just got that to be able to say you had a degree. No one thought you actually used it. Not even your professors in college were aware you were PLL. That had been an awkward day in class when you had been the subject of an entire lecture on landscape composition and lighting.

“Well, I’m glad you like my work.” You say weakly.

“Like your work?” Lando scoffs, still a bit unbelieving that he had solved a literal world wide mystery that millions would kill to know. Standing up from his spot on the bench, Lando pulls you to your feet as well. “Baby, I have been obsessed with Pretty Little Lens for years. Years.” Before you can protest, Lando is pulling you into his arms. “Part of why I got into photography was because of your account.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at the way he’s looking at you, all wonder and awe filling those pretty green blue eyes of his as they sparkle down at you. The smile that spreads across his face is so genuine, pleasure skitters down your spine in response.

“You’re kidding.” You breathe, a wash of disbelief crashing over you. “You started photography because of me?”

Lando nods, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looks at you for a moment, taking in the way that you’re looking at him, totally awestruck. It was a lot to wrap his mind around in such a short time. He’d been following PLL for ages and to find out the girl that he was falling for was the one behind the account? Wild. It made him look at you in a completely new light, like you two had been tied together by an invisible string for years now, the universe just waiting for the right moment to bring you together.

“It’s true.” He murmurs, his voice husky. “Your work is…it’s more than just pretty pictures. It’s like you have this insane ability to capture the feelings that you were experiencing behind the lens when you took them.” He looks down bashfully then and chuckles. “I have notifications on for whenever you post something new, you know.”

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer. There aren’t many people around to witness this public display of affection, not that either of you really care about what’s going on beyond your own little bubble. “I remember seeing your shots of the Banff in Canada last summer. The way you captured the sun reflecting off the lake in the middle of the mountains like that? It was…stunning.” Lando drops a kiss onto your nose before nuzzling into your your neck.

Warmth spreads through your chest, a strange feeling of pure joy at finally being able to share your secret with someone beyond your parents and agent. It felt like you were letting someone see you bare for the first time, like someone was able to see the real you that you kept hidden from everyone else. You had thought you’d feel exposed, raw, an a plethora of other negative emotions but instead, all that bubbles up inside your chest is relief and happiness that you can share this bit of yourself with someone else.

“I don’t know what to say to that. I never thought I’d ever actually tell anyone besides the people who already knew.”

Lando chuckles, a low and appreciative sound that has goosebumps pebbling your bare arms. “You don’t have to say anything.” He murmurs before brushing his lips against yours in a quick show of casual affection. “Just know that your work is incredible and that I’m proud of you.” He pulls back slightly, a hint of mischief on his face. “And,” He adds, “now that I know your secret identity, I expect exclusive access to all future content before it’s published.”

You laugh, a light and airy sound that echoes through the garden. “Is that so?” You tease, brow quirking up.

“Absolutely.” He says, voice firm but with a gentle teasing edge to it. “Those are the rules now. I give you kisses, you give me photography tips.” He leans in, lips brushing against yours again. “We could even collaborate. If you want.” He whispers, breath warm against your skin.

The suggestion sends a cool shive down your spine. The idea of collaborating with him, of sharing your passion with him was intoxicating and intriguing. You’d never worked with anyone before, not since college and certainly not where PLL was concerned. Lando though? Lando was the first person you’d ever considered sharing creative process with, the first person that actually made collaborating sound appealing.

“I’d like that.” You whisper back, your lips curving into a smile against his jaw.

He dips his head then so he can kiss you again. It’s soft and tender, somehow different than any other kiss you’d shared yet. It wasn’t cautious or questioning, it was confident and solid while still managing to remain full of promise and anticipation. The mix was a drug and Lando had injected it straight into your veins.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the castle grounds, you and Lando stroll down the path hand in hand, the secret of who was really behind Pretty Little Lens now a shared treasure between the both of you. The world around seemed to fade away. The bustle of the city, the demands of Lando’s F1 career, the pressure that you felt to be perfect every moment of every day, it all faded into the background as you allowed yourselves to tumble head first into the magic that was brewing between you two in the most unexpected way.

yourusername posted

302,019 likes liked by yourmother, lando, liamlawson and others yourusername first day in japan was a dream user992 your jacket!!! gorgeous! hannahstjohn but have you eaten sushi yet??? 😉 >>>yourusername YOU KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT 🤣 user043 can lando fight??? >>>user928 please, we don't even know if they're together. touch grass. >>>lando have you seen my biceps??? *POW POW* >>>user202 no fing way >>>maxfewtrell and here we have the first PR nightmare of the 2025 season.

lando.jpeg posted

982,245 likes liked by maxfewtrell, lnfour, yourusername and others lando.jpeg surrounded by all kinds of pretty things lately maxfewtrell oh! >>>lando.jpeg hi max! user919 lando so lando DOES know how to soft launch someone >>>user122 someone tag allegra. >>>user919 @/its_allegra_babes user233 just because they're traveling together doesn't mean anything... >>>user221 BE SO FR RN >>>user201 found @/its_allegra_babes burner account user029 not lando posting almost the EXACT same street picture as @/yourusername. you two aren't slick. WE SEE YOU.

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mpchev · 7 months ago

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Update on fanbinding dissertation: binding the dissertation itself!

After many days and nights of writing and wrangling footnotes and proofreading (where I couldn't convince my laptop that yes, I meant textualisation, not sexualisation), 'twas time to bind the beasts! In three copies, no less! Which I approached with way too much confidence from my one fanbind experience, and came with many fun little surprises due to the format guidelines I had to follow 🤡

This is going to be a long one, so here's my happy unfocused mug to confirm that it all ends well:

First pickle: The typesetting. I absolutely loved typesetting fanfic, but the dissertation had to be A4 (way less fun, boo-hoo), one-sided, with every page numbered. Did you know that LibreOffice won't let you add blank pages and only number the non-blank ones, without skipping numbers? In order to print signatures I could fold into one-sided pages, only numbered on the right-hand pages, I ended up switching to landscape orientation and including the equivalent of a blank page in the left margin.

Second pickle: The imposing, which I couldn't figure out using the amazing bookbinder with my weird landscape 2-page layout. I finally gave in and rearranged all the pages manually, which looked like p. 1 on the recto / p. 10 on the verso, then p2/p9, p3/p8, p4/p7, p5/p8, p6/p7. And because there was no way I was paying print-in-colour prices for all of this, I further split the manually imposed pages into two files, one for the greyscale printer (cheaper) and one for the colour printer (highway robbery). Still came up to ~£70, just for printing.

Very glad I went in chunks of 10 for the signatures, it made both the math and the folding using sheets from two different piles much easier, highly recommend (if for some absurd reason you also want to bind one-sided numbered pages in folded signatures).

Third pickle: Linear time. Had planned on having so much time to print and bind this thing, but kept writing and rewriting and proofing and oops! It was due in less than 24 hours and it was still not out of the laptop. So.

22/09/24, 6pm: Got to the library, started printing.

6.45pm: Found another printer where all the paper was the same shade of white, started printing again 🤦‍♂️ (kept the the misprints to use as scrap paper when glueing)

7.30pm: Started folding the 150 sheets of paper (3 x 100-page dissertation, 2 pages per sheet). Went from the last episode of The Magnus Protocol, to an episode of Welcome to Night Vale, to deciding restart The Magnus Archive, which felt almost poetic.

9pm: Headed back home, trimmed the edges (with a borrowed guillotine), folded the endpapers, stabbed everything. Lack of pictures to be blamed on my inability to mess with linear time, and the eventual sleep deprivation.

10.30pm, I think? Started sewing the signatures together, again with Supernatural (which I started rewatching when I submitted my first dissertation assignment in mid-May, and finished 2 days after submitting the dissertation itself, again, such poetry).

2am, probably? Tipped the endpapers and glued cheesecloth over the spines. Somehow figured out where to set the three textblocks to dry (I don't have a press). Sadly gave up on sewing on (or glueing) headbands, because time.

3am-ish: Cut the missing cover pieces out of millboard (had already cut 4 of 6 covers, since I knew it had to be A4), measured the spines of the three textblocks and cut those as well.

???am: Did some math, because sure, that's the right time for that. Cut the bookcloth to size, glued the cover pieces on the bookcloth. Remarkably only messed up the measurements on one of them! That means one of the copies has a millimetre of millboard showing in the inside corners of the back cover, but not enough time/bookcloth/millboard to redo it, onward we go!

Way past dawn: Took a break for food while the covers somewhat dried. Cased the three textblocks in the three covers, with the endpapers bubbling, which took me by surprise since it was the same paper and same glue I had used for the fanbind without any problem. I'm now thinking that bigger book = more time needed to apply the glue = endpapers getting warped, but I was so exhausted by this point that who knows. Again, no time to redo it!

9.30am: Stacked the dissertations under the heavy reference books I used to write the dissertation. Toute est dans toute hein. Went to bed while they (mostly) dried.

2.30pm: Woken up by my neighbour's dj set. Eventually put all that hard work in a tote and walked to school to hand it in at 4.30pm.

Fourth and last pickle: The titling. Couldn't find paper long enough to do a half-dust jacket like I did last time. Had big cutout plans, ran out of time and couldn't finish testing those. Also had some thicker textured paper I thought of cutting and glueing to the cover as a title card, but it turned out too thin and was warping. Finally resigned myself to submitting it with a blank cover, but one of my teachers asked if I would mind adding the title on with metallic markers to make it easier to identify (one copy will eventually be on the shelf at the Institute), and I'm SO HAPPY with how it turned out. Metallic markers. Why didn't I think of that. (I did, however, think about dressing appropriately for the occasion.)

So, is it possible to print and bind 3 books in less than 24 hours? Yes! Am I glad I did it? Also yes, very satisfying, love being extra! Would I do it again? God no, I've been sleeping for two weeks and I still haven't recovered. Can't wait to start binding something else though, so I guess it wasn't that bad.

That's it! That's over! Aaaaaah! Now waiting for the grade and comments, and hopefully soon I'll be able to share the content as well.

I'll also try to post some more about the research/writing process itself, somewhere between the late nights reading international treaties on income tax and the early mornings spent figuring out how to apply for a phd next.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed along, this was way more fun than I ever could have hoped!

#fan studies #fanbinding #bookbinding #research #ficbinding #dissertation #fanbinding dissertation #autoethnography #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 1 month ago

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8: PAINTBALL, PUNS AND PLANS

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Summary: A bachelorette party turns into a chaotic day of paintball, bruises, and a little too much fun. By the time dinner rolls around, exhaustion and cocktails lead to meddling friends taking matters into their own hands— by texting your "mystery boyfriend" without your knowledge. When Bucky actually shows up, the girls are left wondering: is he really your secret boyfriend, or have they just summoned The Winter Soldier to a bridal party?

Warnings: Mild swearing, alcohol use, meddling friends, and one very skeptical bridesmaid, fluff, humor, and a slightly tipsy reader.

Word Count: 3500

“I TEXTED YOU. YOU DIDN’T REPLY.”

“DID YOU PRESS SEND?”

You’d been up since the ass crack of dawn. When it came to your friends, you couldn’t say no. Everything had to be perfect for them. Although, setting up flags on a paintball battlefield wasn’t how you’d imagined spending the morning of Hanna and Aditi’s bachelorette party, but it was what they wanted— a day of adrenaline, followed by a night of indulgence— so you had obliged.

By the time you’d finished hanging up the flags, checking the boundaries of the field and making sure the bridesmaids had their protective gear, you were already feeling a little worse for wear. It hadn’t helped that you’d not gone to bed until 2am, checking and rechecking all the details of the plan. Luckily Hanna and Aditi’s excitement was infectious and you found yourself getting a second wind as you donned your jumpsuit and grabbed a paintball rifle.

The next few hours were sheer chaos. Camille, Aditi’s coworker, had taken the game far too seriously, barking out orders to incomprehensible strategies like she was leading a tactical unit. She was the chief resident on Aditi’s residency program. When you had first met her you had got the impression that she didn’t like you. Now you were convinced, since she targeted you almost exclusively. Her shots were relentless and you swore she was out for blood.

“Damn, Camille,” you called out, ducking behind a bunker after another near miss. “You know this isn’t actually a life or death scenario, right?”

Her response was a cheeky grin and another well-aimed shot that exploded right next to your head, splatting yellow paint across the side of your face and in your hair. You groaned and Hanna dived behind the bunker beside you to save herself from Aditi’s fire. Luckily, her poor aim compensated for Camille’s sharpshooter skills.

“You okay?” Hanna asked.

“Peachy,” you sniped, glad to have the spritely woman on your side.

Hanna jumped up and started firing in the direction of her bride and teammates, allowing the two of you to make a getaway.

“Hey!” Aditi yelled. “You’re supposed to be my bride! Isn’t there supposed to be some loyalty?”

“Not in this wedding!” Hanna hollered, peeking out just long enough to fire at Camille— and miss. Her paintball went wide, hitting Aditi right in the chest.

Aditi gasped dramatically, clutching her heart and falling to the floor like she’d been mortally wounded. “You’re supposed to be on my team! Divorce!” she shrieked, doubling over in mock betrayal.

“At least wait til we’re actually married!” Hanna quipped, laughing so hard she had to lean against the tree for support.

Your laughter joined theirs until another paintball hit your hip— courtesy of Camille, who clearly had no sense of humor. “Retribution!” she yelled joyfully, waving all the flags she had aggressively claimed for their team.

“Alright, that’s it,” you muttered under your breath, plotting your revenge. A few moments later, you managed to circle around behind her and fired three perfectly aimed shots, covering her back in pink splatters. Unfortunately Hanna and Aditi got caught in the crossfire.

Camille whipped around, stunned. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oops,” you said sweetly.

The rest of the bridesmaids gathered around chuckling, all quite pleased to see Camille get a taste of her own medicine. Hanna and Aditi were in stitches when they saw Camille’s scowl.

“You’ve really got it out for us today, don’t you?” Hanna teased later, still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you two,” you retorted before dropping your voices so only the brides could hear. “Camille, though? Totally on purpose.”

By the time dinner rolled around, you were sore and dead on your feet. Your arms were covered in round bruises and your hair still had the remnants of dried paint in it. But there was no denying it, you’d had fun. The restaurant and lounge was walking distance from the paintball field and the party had stripped out of the coveralls trudged over in cocktail dresses. The restaurant lounge was cozy and as evening fell, it was dimly lit, providing a sense of comfort and warmth.

The food being served was exquisite, the multiple courses providing variety and flavor. And the cocktails were good— dangerously so— and by the third round, your exhaustion had finally caught up with you. But not quite enough to loosen your lips.

“Alright missy, spill,” Hanna demanded, leaning towards you. “When are we going to meet this mystery man of yours?”

“Yeah,” Aditi chimed in, her glass of sangria swaying slightly in her hand. “You’ve been suspiciously vague about him.”

You gave them a small smile and feigned extreme interest in your own drink to avoid their inquisitive gazes. “You’ll meet him at the wedding,” you said airily. “He’s… busy.”

“Too busy for you?” Hanna asked, raising an eyebrow.

Camille leaned back in her chair, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know, when I met Gabriel, I used to think he was too busy for me. I mean surgical residency is no joke, right? But he’d show up at the randomest times— once, he even surprised me at 2am in the middle of my double shift with coffee and croissants.”

Hanna’s work friend, Swan, chimed in. “Same with me and Jung. He worked such crazy hours at the firm when we first started dating, but we always made an effort to never let over a week go by without seeing each other.” She shot you a pointed look. “You just know when someone’s serious.”

“Or fake,” Camille muttered under her breath, not quite quiet enough for you to miss it.

You scowled, rubbing your nose angrily. “He’s not fake.” Their stories had started making you uncomfortable until your guilt was overcome by outrage.

But Camille wasn’t about to let up. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about these secret boyfriends,” she smiled smugly. “And they’re usually so conveniently unavailable and, well… imaginary.”

“He looks awfully handsome,” Swan piped up in rescue from across the table. “Your Insta posts look pretty perfect.”

You hoped your blush would be attributed to your mildly inebriated state. “He’s pretty photogenic, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty easy to photoshop yourself into photos these days.”

“Shut it, Cami!” Aditi hissed as she spotted at your reddening expression and mistaking it for anger rather than embarrassment.

“Bucky is real,” you said with gritted teeth.

“Prove it,” Camille challenged with a saccharine smile.

“Well he’s coming to the wedding, so we can all meet him there!” Hanna elbowed Camille roughly under the table. “You can’t just hoard him forever. He must be judged; can’t just have our girl dating any random guy.”

You rolled your eyes, but gave her an appreciative smile. It was good to know they truly cared for you.

Aditi leaned forwards, her expression softening. “Seriously though, we’re just teasing. It’s okay if you don’t want us to meet him. But we just want to know that you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, your guilt flaring once again and tears crept into your eyes. And suddenly your defenses crumbled slightly. The alcohol and the exhaustion from the day catching up with you. Hanna and Aditi looked horrified but you waved them off. “I’m fine, it’s just been… a lot. Setting up all of this, trying to make sure everything’s perfect for you two— I’m just tired.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment, your vulnerability catching them off guard. Camille had the decency to look ashamed. Hanna, on the other hand, threw her arms around you and pressed a kiss on your cheek. “We appreciate you so much. You know you didn’t have to do all this alone, right?”

Aditi nodded, looking just as concerned as her fiancé. “You’re the best,” she said, squeezing your arm gently.

“And maybe he’ll surprise us all at the wedding,” Hanna smiled.

“Maybe,” you muttered, leaning back against the cushioned couches of the lounge. Your eyelids grew heavier and you didn’t know who had removed your glass of wine from your hand. The sound of everyone’s voices felt more and more distant and before you knew it your head was resting against the back of the couch.

Just a few moments to rest your eyes, you thought. But those moments turned to minutes and you were sound asleep. When Aditi and Camille noticed you’d drifted off, they exchanged mischievous glances.

“She out?” Aditi asked Camille, who nodded. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Way ahead of you.” Camille had already reached across the table to grab your phone. She swiped your screen to life. She held your phone in front of your face and grinned at how easily the lock screen disappeared.

Aditi whispered. “She’s gonna kill us for this.”

“What’re you doing?” Hanna asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Texting the mystery man,” Camille smirked.

“Camille!” Hanna hissed, reaching out to stop her, but failing.

Camille waved her off with a mischievous smile. “Relax, I’m doing her a favor. She’s clearly exhausted. If this guy’s worth a pinch of salt, he’ll come get her.”

She opened your messages and scrolled down. “What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” Aditi offered readily.

“Now, what do we say?” Camille smirked at the crowd.

“It needs to be convincing, but not too much,” Swan suggested.

Aditi scrunched up her mouth and tapped her lips. “Something simple, like, ‘Can you come pick me up? I’m too drunk to drive.’”

“Boring,” Camille whined and rolled her eyes. “We need to go big.” She started typing. Hey lover, your girlfriend misses you so muc-

Aditi grabbed the phone from Camille mid sentence. “No way. Subtle works better. She’s the least flirty person you’ll ever meet. He’s gonna know something is up if we get carried away.”

“Fine,” Camille said with mock exasperation and snatched the phone back from Aditi. She typed quickly, her thumbs flying across the keyboard.

“Can you come pick me up? I’m too drunk to drive.”

She dropped a pin of your location for good measure.

“Oh my God, Camille!” Hanna gasped. “You could have let us proofread it!”

Aditi covered her mouth to stifle a laugh to avoid waking you. “What if he doesn’t come? Or worse, what if he does?”

Camille smirked. “Oh he’ll come. Most men love to play the hero, they can’t resist a damsel in distress. And if he doesn’t, well... we’ll have our answer about him, won’t we?”

Everyone sat back in the wake of what they’d just done, the phone in the center of the table.

“Do you think it’s really him?” Swan asked.

Aditi frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“The guy in the photos.”

“She called him Bucky.”

“Yeah, Bucky Barnes. You know, The Winter Soldier.”

Aditi and Hanna looked at each other with matching looks of concern. Camille on the other hand pulled out her phone and did a quick google search. Comparing the images to your instagram. “Yeah, I guess they look kinda similar, but I’m not convinced. Didn’t think Y/N would be into the bad boys.”

“Isn’t he a killer?” Swan whispered.

“I thought he was Captain America’s best friend.”

“Or, he’s made up.”

“She’s texting with someone called Bucky.”

Their debate was interrupted by your phone buzzing and the group crowded around your screen.

10:45 PM - Bucky: On my way. Be there in 15.

The chatter in the lounge faltered when Bucky appeared in the doorway, only for a moment before a wave of excitement spread across the group.

“Oh my God,” Camille whispered, gripping Aditi’s arm so tightly that Aditi winced. “He’s gorgeous.”

“Is that him?” Hanna murmured.

“Hellooo, Winter Soldier,” Swan chimed, earning a round of laughter.

Bucky’s broad frame filled the doorway, his striking presence commanding attention. He glanced around the room, taking in the surroundings. His expression remained neutral despite the wariness he felt. His sharp eyes flitted past the bachelorette group until they landed on you— now curled up on the couch, blissfully unaware of the commotion your ‘boyfriend’ had caused.

A familiar crease appeared between his eyebrows as he took in the scene. He wasn’t thrilled to be there, you had not prepared him for this eventuality but he couldn’t exactly say no to a plea for help. But as he gazed at your sleeping form, his gaze softened, betraying a quiet fondness.

He had barely had time to take a step towards you when he was intercepted by Camille, like a predator stalking its prey.

“You must be Bucky,” she said, her voice practically dripping with sugar. She hooked her hand through his arm as she looked up at him with a flirtatious tilt of her head. “Wow, I see why she’s not been keen to share.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes flicking down to her hand before he offered a polite but tight smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of space between them.

Unfortunately Camille wasn’t one to give up easily. She hadn’t become chief resident by being shy about her goals. She slid her fingers up to his bicep, giving it an appreciative squeeze. “Wow, Bucky, do you, like, workout every day? Because like… wow.”

Behind her, Aditi and Hanna exchanged looks, half amused, half exasperated and came to Bucky’s rescue. “Sorry about Camille. She’s…”

“I’m Hanna, this is Aditi. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” Bucky shook hands with the brides and waved to the other women.

“So, umm, I guess I’m here to pick up… Sleeping Beauty over there.” He nodded his head towards you, making the group burst into a fit of giggles, wolf whistles and whoops.

“Can’t believe she’s been hiding him from us,” Swan shook her head.

Camille pulled out her phone, calling Bucky’s name as she snapped a photo. She was momentarily stunned as he evaded further opportunity for interrogation. He slipped past the ogling women and crouched down at the couch beside you. He put his hand on your arm but his mouth froze before he had a chance to call your name as he spotted the bruises on your skin. Gently he grazed his fingers over the darkened patches, his face etched with concern. But rather than asking the other women what had happened, he called your name softly. “Hey, Princess.”

You stirred, blinking groggily. It took a moment for your sleep and alcohol addled mind to focus on the man in front of you. When you recognized Bucky, a sleepy smile spread across your face. “Bucky! Hi, Bucky!”

He chuckled under his breath, feeling glad that you didn’t seem upset. “Hi. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Before he had the chance to help you up, you noticed everyone’s attention on you. You threw your arms around his neck. “Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Bucky!” you announced proudly in a slurred voice.

The girls cheered with a chorus of ‘awws’. Hanna buried her face in her hands, shaking with suppressed giggles. Aditi whispered to her, “She’s gonna hate us for this later.”

“Nice to meet you all,” he said dryly.

Camille, however, was still skeptical. “So boyfriend, huh?” she interjected with a smirk.

“Yeah,” you pouted and Bucky’s eyes widened, worried about what you were about to say in your current state.

“Look how handsome he is!” you declared. “Boy-friend.”

The group dissolved into another round of laughter.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with a faint smirk. “That’s me,” he said dryly, wrapping his arm around your teetering form. “Handsome guy with the sleepy girlfriend.”

“Guess you’re officially off the market, Y/N.”

“Completely,” Bucky said firmly and politely. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Sleeping Beauty here needs some actual beauty rest.”

“Hey,” you pouted. “I’m not sleepy.”

“You literally fell asleep in a room full of people,” he replied, smirking with amusement. “Let’s get you home before you try and prove something else.”

“Wait, you’re leaving already? Come on! We haven’t heard a single embarrassing story!” Aditi called after the two of you.

“I’ll be sure to remind her of this one tomorrow,” he said, glancing down at you as you leaned into his side.

“You’re the best, Bucky,” you murmured sleepily, letting him guide you out.

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

He walked you out, ignoring the cacophony of shouts behind you.

Bucky opened the passenger door for you to get in. “Come on, Princess. In you get.”

“They love you, you know,” you slurred, your words coming out in an exaggerated whisper.

He snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Pretty sure Camille was ready to propose back there.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, flopping back against the seat. “She was a little handsy, huh?”

Bucky smirked, leaning down to buckle you in. “A little?” he repeated dryly. “She actually asked for my workout routine. And I’m not sure she was referring to the gym.”

“She’s not your type, though,” you mumbled, your eyelids fluttering closed.

“And what exactly is my type?” he asked as he straightened up.

“Mmm... me,” you declared, the word coming out more triumphant than you intended.

Bucky froze mid-motion, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Why else would you be here?”

Bucky shook his head and closed the passenger door, circling around to the driver’s side. He slid into the driver’s seat and glanced over at you, clearly trying to fight sleep.

“Didn’t realize I’d be meeting everyone tonight,” he teased, starting the engine. “You sure know how to keep things interesting.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, the warm sound echoing through the car. “Yeah, you’re doing a great job of that.”

The ride was silent, the hum of the car engine pulling you towards slumber.

“Bucky,” you murmured.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here, you know?”

He glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Someone had to rescue you from the wolves back there.”

You giggled at that, your laugh fading into a content sigh. “Thank you, you’re so… good.”

Bucky stared at the road ahead of him, his grip on the wheel tightening as he took in your words. Good. Not a word he would have used to describe himself, but somehow he didn’t mind it coming from you.

“Get some sleep, Princess,” he said softly, more to fill the quiet than anything else.

For a moment, he let himself steal a glance at you, before turning back to the dimly lit road. And even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself just yet, a strange warmth was blooming in his chest— something he wasn’t ready to name.

The next morning, you woke up with a groan. Your head throbbed lightly. Thank God for Sundays, you thought. Picking up your phone, you shielded your eyes against the brightness of the screen, cursing about how it hurt your eyes. You hadn’t had that much to drink, had you?

Your phone buzzed and a message notification popped up at the top of the screen from your group chat: Power of 3.

10:15 AM - Hanna: Mystery boyfriend: No longer a mystery!

You sighed and rolled over, groaning into your pillow.

10:16 AM - Aditi: Can’t believe you’ve been hiding him. I don’t bat for his side, but I might consider changing teams for him.

10:16 AM - Aditi: Don’t tell Hanna I said that.

10:16 AM - Hanna: I can read this, you know!

10:17 AM - Aditi: Have you seen Camille’s Instagram yet?

10:17 AM - You: No… should I be scared?

You winced at Aditi’s message, but curiosity got the best of you. You opened your Instagram and tapped on Camille’s profile to be hit with a photo of Camille with a huge smile on her face, draped over an incredibly uncomfortable looking Bucky sporting a stiff smile.

The caption read “@charmedbynature sleeping on the job.”

You felt your stomach twisting as you watched her clinging to him. He clearly wasn’t doing anything wrong and the man looked like he’d rather be a thousand miles away. But seeing Camille’s beautiful smile next to him sparked a wave of something unfamiliar.

10:18 AM - Hanna: You’d better watch out because she looks like she’ll race you to the altar for that one.

You tapped off the picture and back to your messages. He hadn’t even bothered to text you to see if you were okay. Why did you even care? You silenced your phone and rolled out of bed. Maybe a run would help you shed this feeling.

As you opened your front door, your eyes landed on the whiteboard hanging on it.

“YOU MADE IT HOME! GOOD JOB, SLEEPING BEAUTY.”

Your irritation faded instantly, replaced by a reluctant smile. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a quick photo of the message before erasing it. After a moment's thought, you wrote back:

“THANKS FOR THE RESCUE, PRINCE CHARMING.”

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

No tag list. Follow me on @skittles-archive for notifications.

Posting schedule will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays around 2.30pm EST / 11.30am PST / 7.30pm BST

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes smut #plus one problems

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mercymaker · 8 months ago

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i got mal bloody for once and she's just !!!!

had an idea for some bg3 photos so decided to boot up the game real quick

'just snap a couple of quick shots, it's gonna be fine,' i told myself

well, we're almost two hours in wtf am i even doing

#the bg3 adventures #oc: maleane #goddd she looks so good covered in blood i'm salivating #i know totes get astarion i want to lick her...#anyway almost 2am time to go to bed #because i'm tav-thirsting yet again oops #blood cw

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tbgblr2 · 5 months ago

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Mickey and Skye - Trapped!

This one could have possibly taken 9 months to write, thanks to stops/starts, holidays getting the way, writers block and all sorts, but we got there in the end. Special thanks once again to @allkindsofpreg for the help in writing this. Enjoy!

---

Mickey and Skye were flustered, there’s no two ways about it. How they got into this predicament is a bit of a tale in itself. First we should delve into a bit of their history.

The two of them met at an apprenticeship intake for a local IT company. It was definitely an entry level data job but it helped give them a bit of spending money whilst they lived with their parents. At the age of 20 and 21 they suffered an unfortunate ‘oops’ moment as the condom broke and Skye found herself sporting her sizeable bump several months later. Their parents helped and in truth life was looking good for the young couple. They even got married, Skye wearing a dress which clung to her gravid belly, leaving no one in the congregation guessing about the nature of their marriage. However, they were young, in love, and things were working out.

As is the natural sequence of things Skye began to feel contractions around 10pm the night previous. After labouring at home for several hours, around 2am they were told to come to the hospital as the labour became more established. After getting admitted and assed, around 3am, the pair were completely exhausted but wanted to try and walk around the hospital corridors to move things on. Skye was 4cm dilated and was potentially looking at a long, drawn out labour.

Blindly they walked down empty corridors stopping for the occasional contraction until they reached a door. Pushing it open they were met with darkness. Thinking it was a quiet corridor and the motion sensors would turn on the lights as they walked down they trudged on, tiredness dulling their senses.

That was until they stepped inside, and the lights flickered on to show they were in a store cupboard. Mickey turned to find the handle was missing from the door. He pushed it - nothing. They were trapped.

As Skye was mid-contraction, the realization came upon Mickey first. He tried not to panic, because he was sure there would be a way out. Surely no reputable hospital would contain an inescapable room that two exhausted, unsuspecting parents-to-be could just wander haphazardly into.

He inspected the door more closely, the spike of adrenaline finally allowing his bleary eyes to focus, and he saw a metal plate over where the handle would be and a doorstop by his feet. Only then did he vaguely recall a paper sign taped to the other side of the door. He hadn’t read it, but he now guessed it said something like “Caution: do not close, door locks automatically.”

Still, this was a busy hospital; it couldn’t be that long before someone would need something from this supply closet, right?

When Skye’s contraction ended and her breathing normalized, she found her husband wide-eyed and stricken and any tiredness that had been clouding her mind vanished. “What? What is it?”

“Okay, don’t panic.” He held out his hands in an almost pleading gesture. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

His placating tone only made her fear ratchet up another notch. “What does that mean? What do you mean everything’s going to be okay?”

“Well,” he explained, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting her lean into him, “we seem to have found ourselves in a somewhat unconventional labour suite.”

Skye looked around, first confused, then slightly amused. “Oh. You’re right—no bed? no doctors? no epidural?? Yes, this is certainly no place to be having a baby.”

Mickey grimaced—she was right, but at the moment they had no other choice. “That’s the thing, yeah? The door is…” he trailed off, nodded toward the door, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t put the pieces together. “It’s kind of one-way, love.” Still no hint of recognition. “And that way… is not out.” He shrugged and did his best to adopt a more light-hearted tone. “We’re stuck.”

Skye’s eyes danced frantically around the small room—the low ceiling, the dirty floor, the packed shelves lining the walls, and finally the door. The very solid-looking, heavy and more importantly, locked door.

Her breathing quickened, heart rate spiking, as the reality of their situation finally began to sink in. “Oh shit,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mickey said again, as much to himself as to her.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she continued muttering, her eyes turning up to the dimly lit ceiling in an attempt to stave off the tears that threatened to spill over. Her midsection tightened suddenly, quick and fierce, and she gasped, her litany of curses cut off as she attempted to hum through the pain.

Mickey immediately moved from emotional support position to physical support position. He guided Skye’s arms around his neck and wrapped his strong hands around her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze of counter pressure.

“Mick,” she whined into his chest, and he squeezed harder as her fingers dug into his shoulders. They swayed together as the contraction built, but paused at its peak, clinging to each other tightly. He swept the hair back over her neck and away from her face and whispered in her ear until her body finally slumped against him. “That one felt stronger,” she said, “And longer.”

Neither wanted to admit what that might mean, and since neither of them had a watch so they couldn’t be 100% sure. But after three more merciless contractions in relatively quick succession, it certainly seemed like the stress of the situation had finally kicked her labour into high gear.

“Ok let’s keep calm” came the reasoning voice of Mickey as he tried to assess the situation.

“Calm! Calm! I can’t even turn around in here without either my ass or belly touching one of the sides. This is no place for a pregn… gah!” Skye’s rant was cut short by her hand grasping the underside of her belly as she groaned through another contraction. It was certainly not 5 minutes between them that’s for sure.

Mickey resumed his supporting position, using one arm to cuddle his wife whilst the other brushed at her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He felt tears stream down her cheek.

He looked at the floor. In the dusty grime on there he at least saw footprints. He explained it to Skye and both were buoyed that at least they were somewhere that someone visits. Perhaps they need to wait until morning… even then 7am, that’s at least 3 hours away, maybe more. If the day staff don’t arrive until 9am that’s even longer. Skye might not last that long.

As Skye came down from her flustered bout of crying, and he was confident that she could stand unaided he banged on the door and asked her to be quiet. He concentrated in the silence listening out for any reply beyond the edge of the door. He tried again and shouted a yell at the same time ‘thump… thump…thump’ went the rhythmical banging. Once again they listened out to be greeted only with silence. They even held their breath.

Until Skye yelped. “My waters!”

Mikey looked down at the water running down Skye’s leg. “At least there’s a mop,” he joked, which only made Skye glare first at the dirty water bucket and then back at her husband. “Sorry, bad timing?”

Skye’s face settled into something more like anxious resignation as her eyes welled back up again. “What if they don’t find us before the baby comes? I don’t- how am I supposed to have a baby in here?”

Mickey pulled her in close again and stroked gentle fingertips up and down her back. “No need to worry about that just yet. We’ll take things as they come, yeah?”

She nodded—what other choice did they have?

“How’re you feeling? How’s the little one?”

Skye took a deep breath, forced down the spiralling worst case scenarios playing in her mind, and actually focused on how she felt in her body at this moment. “Mm, baby’s low,” she said, noting how her stance had unconsciously widened after her waters had gone. “More pressure. Definitely moving down.”

If she thought the pressure was intense just standing there, she had no words for its severity once the next contraction started. It would have brought her to her knees if Mickey hadn’t already been holding her.

“Skye?” he asked with concern when she moaned and dropped into as much of a squatting position as the cramped space would allow.

The stinging weight filling her from within was unfamiliar and sudden and her hand found its way between her legs. She half expected to feel a bulge there, but of course there was nothing yet—it was irrational to think that a single contraction would progress things along so quickly, but fear and pain weren’t exactly known for producing rational thoughts.

Weathering the contraction in this position made her quads and glutes ache and by the time it was over she was sweaty and overheated.

“I’ve got to get this gown off,” she muttered, tugging at the thin fabric as she clambered to an upright position.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, unsure what she wanted or how to help her.

“I’m fucking roasting in here.” Skye clawed at the gown but it clung to her damp skin and she couldn’t unfurl her arms or twist well enough with her giant belly in the way. “I can’t get this fucking thing off!” she cried out in frustration, one elbow stuck in the arm hole.

“Okay. Okay, it’s alright, you’re just—“ Mickey stilled her frantic flailing limbs and pinched the open flap of her hospital gown. “Just a bit twisted up here.” He peeled the fabric over her shoulder and down her arm, which freed it to assist in freeing the other. He caught it before it hit the filthy floor—they may need it later—and placed it on top of what looked like a relatively clean surface.

Skye spent a few moments bending and rotating and testing her newfound freedom of movement. Once her breathing levelled out and she appeared to relax a bit, Mickey didn’t exactly mind the sight of his wife’s full, curvy figure bouncing and shimmying in front of him.

“Better?” he asked as she finally stilled, fully upright with hands pressed into her lower back. He loved looking at her like this, and he mentally scolded himself for starting to get hard at a moment like this.

It was as if Skye just remembered her husband was here, but once her eyes found his she recognized the look in them and she looked down at her naked body. Well, as much of it as she could see. It could very well have been a closet just like this in which their child was conceived, and the irony had her giggling.

Mickey looked somewhat perplexed at the change of tone, but didn’t object when she pressed into him, guided his hands to her bare breasts and kissed him. His body responded automatically, teasing her nipples as his tongue danced with hers.

“Fuck!” Skye gasped and he began to pull away, but she shook her head, kept his hands anchored to her body. “Do it again.”

His fingers barely brushed her, but her whole body clenched with the onslaught of another contraction. “Already?”

“Mmhmm.” Skye closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his hands on her body—so familiar, so comforting—and suddenly knew, no matter what, they could get through this. Together.

Skye’s response to the contractions had changed since she shed her gown. She no longer seemed to be focused on riding through them, but rather seemed to be actively working with them. Her hands were clamped around Mickey, pressing her body – at least the parts that were sticking out as a result of the pregnancy – tight against him. She breathed deep breaths in moments of relief between the pains, and made a lot of noise during the pain. The noises weren’t painful noises – shouts and screeches – more “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.”

It had the effect of causing her chest to heave up and down. Naked flesh pressed against Mikey’s clothing resulted in more friction, and in turn, her nipples were rock hard and being rubbed – not painfully though – quite the opposite. Mikey’s ears picked up a change in tone… almost erotic. He heard that noise a lot when they were in bed. It was almost a whimper. He risked a kiss to Skye’s forehead and she returned in kind, her head tilting up to allow her lips to meet his and they grabbed into an embrace.

Tongue met tongue as their natural instinct took over, though it was broken quickly by the onset of another contraction. This one took Skye a little by surprise and she wasn’t ready for it, her hands grasping Mickey’s hair and pulling tight as her voice let out the closest thing a yell of pain so far.

“You ok?” Mikey asked, concern in his voice as he felt Skye’s legs shuffle apart. She didn’t answer. “Babe?” he asked again. Still Skye pulled on his hair. It was getting painful now, but he knew he wasn’t exactly in any place to complain. He gritted his teeth and just rode it through with this wife.

Skye finally gasped, and much to Mikey’s relief, loosened her grip on his hair.

“What was that?” he asked, still a note of concern in his voice.

Skye blew out her breath, and took a moment to compose herself. “Just the joy of contractions I think. No two seem to be the same. Just hope I don’t have many more like that. That wasn’t fun.”

“Yeah,” came Mikey’s reply. “I didn’t like that, it hurt!”

The absurdity of the moment caused Skye to burst into laughter. “That hurt? Don’t be a baby. You should see what’s happening between my legs.”

Mikey took a gulp before continuing. “Lets not focus on the between the legs too quickly. I mean we need to get out of here first. Then I’ll gladly stare down the barrel of the gun and watch our baby come out, and I’ll not even complain when you squeeze my hand tight as you’re doing it.”

“Oh you charmer…” winced Skye, the next contraction building. This was starting to get exhausting, all she wanted to do was sit down and take her weight off her legs. There as nowhere to sit though unless she sank down onto the floor… and maybe then she might never get up. No… need to stay focused on getting out. Cross my legs, lean on Mikey. She had an inner monologue going through her head as she felt her midsection tighten, hold and release once more. Whilst it wasn’t exactly comfortable, she had gotten used to the pains happening again and again and found ways to cope. She just had to hope that they were released before it came to the main pushing phase. She really didn’t want to be caught on some CCTV pushing her baby out in a corridor, and she knew it was quite a walk back to the birthing suite based on how far they walked to get into the situation they were in right now.

They swayed, hummed, kissed and breathed through several more pains, but it was becoming harder to focus on anything but the steadily increasing contractions. The worst of the pain ebbed and flowed, but the pressure seemed constant now and she ached from her back all the way down to her ankles. She wasn’t able to catch her breath after one contraction before another one would begin and the discomfort became sharper—less a broad, dull ache and more concentrated, stabbing deep down through her core.

Skye wanted to ask Mickey to check her dilation, but firstly, she wasn’t sure either of them could contort themselves into a position that would make that possible at the moment, and secondly, she suspected it wouldn’t be all that accurate anyway. She just had to trust her instincts, and right now her instincts were telling her that things were about to get really intense.

“Mm, I need to—“ Skye shifted restlessly, wriggling her hips and pausing in several different positions before frowning. “I don’t know... something.” She bent over, leaning heavily into the shelf ledge as gravity shifted the pull on her gravid belly and a fraction of the tension in her lower back eased.

The next contraction was on her before she’d anticipated and her grip tightened. Natural reflexes took hold and she started to lower into a squat when Mickey’s panicked voice breached the fog of pain.

“Skye!” Mickey threw his body over his wife’s hunched form and several items from the higher shelves bounced off his back and onto the floor. With more force than intended, he ripped her hands away from the unstable shelving unit.

Skye didn’t resist, but cried out and collapsed onto her knees, which spread wide of their own accord. “Sorry, baby. Sorry,” she muttered as the objects rained down around her and she heard Mickey’s little “ow’s” and “oomph’s”. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t—“ She couldn’t finish the thought. Her breathing was shallow and quick, Mickey’s heat overwhelmed her already flushed skin and she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. “Sorry,” she finally said again, closing her eyes and willing the nausea to abate.

Mickey shushed her and gave her a little squeeze, which caused her to flinch. He pulled away and examined his wife more closely — curled in on herself tightly, both arms encircling her belly, and whiter than a wedding dress. He was sure if he could see her face it would be wearing a grimace.

How could he help her?

He tried pounding on the door again to no avail, and the added sensory input only made Skye wince even more. Looking around the room, he noticed that the mop bucket was actually two nested buckets, which meant the bottom one was empty and Skye could finally have somewhere to sit.

“I need you to stand for me, love,” Mickey pleaded, which earned him a pained groan. “I know, but only for a minute.” She started to get up, but then he realized that if she did then he wouldn’t be able to get past her to reach the bucket. Instead, he grabbed her hand and sort of ushered her between his legs as he stepped over her, which was awkward and hurt his shoulder, but he was glad he did when she nearly toppled over once he was on the other side of her. “Alright, up one more time for me. You can do it.”

Skye was shaky and a bit dazed and dizzy, but she allowed Mickey to help her to her feet and then leaned heavily against the door. Mickey bent down into the newly occupied space below her, but another contraction was building and she groaned loudly. “Mick, hurry.”

Mickey extricated the empty bucket and hastily flipped it over, but it was far from clean. He grabbed Skye’s discarded gown and draped it over the top, piling as much fabric as he could at the top. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable chair in the world, but it was better than nothing.

Skye’s legs were already splayed, so it didn’t take much effort to slide the makeshift stool between them. Wordlessly, and more like she could no longer hold herself up than that she’d realized what he’d done, she grabbed Mickey’s forearms and began sliding down the door.

“That’s it, there you go.” Mickey breathed a sigh of relief at the same time Skye’s laboured huffs picked up again. “Just relax and focus on the baby.”

Skye would have laughed at the idea of relaxing, but she had no air to spare—it was all going toward a meditative hum that was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

Things were moving quickly now. The contractions were long and brutal, right on top of each other and she blindly grabbed for Mickey’s hand. His grip was both strong and comforting and once again she reminded herself that she could do this as long as he was there by her side.

Her body was in transition—she could feel it, the descending, the opening, the hint of an urge beginning to build—and the hardest part was yet to come. If they were going to be found before the baby came… it would have to be pretty damn soon.

Mickey settled down into a squat between Skye’s legs as she hummed and groaned through one contraction after another. He held and squeezed her hand, rubbed her thigh and leaned forward kissing the belly. After about 20 minutes of what seemed like non stop pain he started feeling cramp himself in his legs and moved to a kneeling position, his jeans legs getting messy from the muck and liquid spilled on the floor. He looked around and tried to find something - anything that could mop up the mess. Best he could find was piles of toilet rolls.

“Better than nothing” he grumbled as he got up and pulled them off the shelf. He started unspooling the paper from the roll, dropping it in the floor and trying to mop things up with his foot. It looked comical. Not only was the paper disintegrating as it hit the wet floor, but the sticky mess was caked on his shoes within minutes.

He looks up to see Skye giggling.

“I know you’re trying to help but just give up will you?”

Mickey, flustered responded “I can’t have the floor this messy what if you do have the baby in here and you need to lay her down on the floor ?”

Skye still looked to have humour in her features, though she did seem to pant a little out of breath as she spoke.

“Firstly… I’m not having her here. Secondly… you see these?” She grabbed her breasts and jiggled them.

“Yeah, how could I not…” commented Mickey - his wife’s pregnancy enhanced bosom a constant source of pleasure for him since they got over the shock of the pregnancy.

“Well these will be where the baby will be, cradled in my arms even if it’s here, there or anywhere else in this building.”

Mickey sighed and reluctantly returned to his position on the floor supporting Skye. “Ok you’re right I’m just trying to find something to do.”

Skye had gone a little white as he said the last sentence. She announced “you might need to catch the baby… I think I need to push!”

Two equally powerful instincts warred within Skye—the desperate desire to give birth with the help of professionals in a big clean bed versus the absolute feral need to give in to her body’s need to push. As the next contraction built she clung to the former, panting and squirming and squeezing the hell out of Mickey’s hand. Anything that wasn’t bearing down with the impossible pressure.

She was able to weather another three or four contractions this way before the pain of holding back far surpassed the fear of giving in.

“Babe, I can’t- I have to—“ Skye whimpered, trailing off as the reality began to sink in.

It was Mickey’s turn to squeeze Skye’s hand, and she looked down into his determined gaze. “I know. I know, and it’s alright.” She nodded, but her face was pinched and tense and looked like she was trying not to cry. He put his free hand on the curve of her stomach and felt it clench and harden beneath his touch. “You want to try pushing?”

Skye hesitated, but then nodded again, breathing picking up as her midsection coiled and squeezed. There had started a small respite between contractions now, and it gave her precious time to renew her strength—both physical and mental. She released her hold on Mickey and closed her eyes to block out the less than ideal environment and instead focused inward.

The bucket seat was hard and awkward and caused an ache in her sacrum. She adjusted her position, scooting her ass forward and opening her knees as wide as they could go while leaning back and pressing into the unyielding door. Her palms and fingers dug into her thighs and everything tensed as she gave her first real push.

“Hhhah, hah, ah, fuck,” she huffed, kneading the muscles in her thigh before grabbing them and holding her breath and pushing again. She strained harder this time, tilting her hips up and shaking with the effort she was putting into it, but it was still like trying to roll a boulder up a hill.

When it was over she collapsed against the door and gasped in deep gulps of air, the sheen of sweat causing her heaving belly to glisten.

“Okay?” Mickey asked, coaxing her hands to release their death grip on her own legs. Her response was a disgruntled whine. “You’re doing great,” he assured her.

She “hmph”-ed again and opened her eyes to look at him. “It doesn’t feel like anything’s happening.”

Mickey chuckled. “It was one contraction. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

Skye pouted and rubbed both hands over her impressive swell. “It all just hurts. Everywhere. I can’t tell where she is. I don’t- I don’t know how to do this.”

“Is that all?” She glared at him, but he just smirked in response. “I think I can help with that.”

Mickey pulled her forward on the makeshift stool even more, then his hands moved up her thighs to between her legs. She was wet with birthing fluids and his fingers easily slipped between her folds. Her muscles instinctively clamped around him, then relaxed enough for him to push deeper, then clenched again with the start of another contraction.

“Relax,” he instructed, teasing her just enough to release the tension there but not enough to pull her focus. “Can you feel me?” He wiggled his fingers and her mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Push. There. Push for me, love.”

The effort was still there, painted into her features and posture, but more concentrated now. He could see the muscles in her abdomen press in, push down; he could feel the soft flesh press gently but insistently against his fingertips.

“She’s not far,” Mickey announced, voice suddenly thick with emotion. “You’ll have her out in no time.”

Skye redoubled her efforts. She could feel Mickey’s hand on her, in her, with her. She wasn’t just pushing her baby out from her body, she was pushing it into his hands.

She stopped keeping track of how many contractions came and went—didn’t want to lose that tenuous connection that was holding the three of them together—but then something shifted. It stopped feeling like there was no progress being made and started feeling like it was being made far too quickly. Like every push was testing the limits of her flesh. The pressure just kept building, and building, with nowhere for it to go.

Skye was pressed back hard against the door, but no amount of length in her spine would alleviate the fullness in her hips. She wailed as that immense force narrowed and sharpened, concentrated at a single unyielding point.

Mickey’s heart rate spiked as the last push came with a distinctive bowing out of her skin, evicting his fingers completely. He was about to tell her has such when they were both jostled harshly as a crack of light appeared in the doorway and a frantic voice on the other side was calling their names.

They had finally been found… but Skye wasn’t going anywhere.

Skye was jostled forward as the door opened. It only opened a crack before her body stopped it moving but the voices behind were recognisable as the two midwives the couple had met on their arrival.

“Hello! Hello are you ok?” One of the concerned voices shouted beyond the door.

“We’re alive, if that’s what you mean” shouted Mickey in response. “Skye’s pushing, I can feel the head right there. She can’t move. We need help. “

“What do you mean she can’t move, is she injured?” Asked the midwife.

Skye was the next to answer “no, there’s a bowling ball between my legs, I can’t get up!” She was clearly stressed and yelling. “I need to push it out, I don’t know what to do!”

Skye closed her eyes and gripped onto Mickeys hands, a clear sign her contraction had started again. The midwives listened carefully as Skye yelled out a few moments later, all her effort into a push.

“Is she dilated?” Asked the midwife.

“How do I tell?” Asked Mickey in response.

“If you can get your fingers sanitised you should put them in your wife’s vagina, you might be able to feel around the head and take a guess at how wide her cervix is open?” A hand poked through the gap in the door “ if it’s open up as wide as needed your fingers should be this wide” the disembodied hand showed a gap between thumb and forefinger.

“Listen!” Yelled Mickey to make his voice heard over Skye’s own pained moans “the head is fucking right there, it’s bulging out. I can’t even fit my fingers in right now.”

“Ok” came the voice from the other side of the door “sounds like she’s doing what she needs to be doing. I really need you to help her to her feet and get her out of the way so we can get in.”

“Nooooo!” Wailed Skye. “Don’t ask me to stand. Don’t think my legs will hold my weight. Need to push, need to push!” She closed her eyes and let out a grunting sound.

Skye’s body stiffened as the urge built up inside her once again. She threw her head back, the tendons cording in her neck as her face reddened. Some wet, strangled sound escaped her throat as she took in a few ragged breaths and then redoubled her efforts. She pushed this way for several contractions and the effort nearly made her sick, coughing and sputtering as she came down from the last one.

“Remember to breathe, Skye,” came the unhelpful reminder from the other side of the door.

“Don’t force anything; the babe will come. Relax if you can,” the second midwife added.

“Relax?” Sky growled, incredulous. How the hell was she supposed to do that? She looked down at Mickey and his eyes were pleading—she was giving it everything she had and still wasn’t crowning and he was worried about her. “Help me. Please.”

“Anything.” Their space was limited, but Mickey managed to lean forward, one hand still cupped around Skye’s sex, and kiss up her thigh, her belly, her breasts. “You’re so beautiful like this. So strong.” She was about to protest but he bit down lightly on her neck and she gasped, releasing the vice like grip she’d had on her legs and instead curling around the muscles of his shoulders. “Working so hard to bring our baby into the world.” Just as his lips reached her jaw she tensed and began to arch away from him, but he anchored her in place and whispered in her ear, “Stay with me, love. Right here with me.” She nodded against his temple and he smiled. “Good girl. Gentle pushes for me now.”

It seemed counterintuitive to Skye, that putting in less effort would yield greater results, but the subtle burning release she felt between her legs as she hummed and grunted her way through the next few contractions hinted that it was working.

“How are things progressing in there?” the midwives asked.

Mickey pulled back and Skye whimpered, grabbed onto his wrist. “I’m just going to take a look,” he promised, sitting back on his heels. When he finally saw what was happening between his wife’s legs, tears began welling in his eyes. “I- I can see the head,” he called to the crack in the door. Then, to Skye, “The head is right there, baby, even when you’re not pushing. You are the most amazing woman who’s ever lived.”

Sky giggled at that. “Pretty sure there are at least a dozen other women right down the hall doing this exact same thing right now.”

Mickey shook his head. “Nope. None of them are as amazing as you.”

“None of them doing it in a broom closet, though, I can assure you of that!” one of the midwives added, only slightly exasperated.

“As if that’s something to brag about,” Skye muttered.

Mickey was going to say something back about it at least being a damn good story, but then Skye’s eyes screwed shut and her chest heaved with laboured breaths. Her body pushed of its own accord and she wailed as her opening widened another fraction of an inch.

The midwives’ chatter picked up at the change in her tone. “Yep, sounds like the beginning of a crown to me!”

Skye let out a groan which echoed around the confined space of the cupboard. Mickey got himself back in close, his hands kneading Skye’s shoulders and his lips exploring her face.

“Just like that…” he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

Skye continued her effort, grunting, sighing, moaning and holding her breath almost in a cycle as she felt her body do the work it needed to do.

The burning sensation between her legs grew and grew, as the head of their babe continued its unrelenting journey, but at the end of each panting contraction, there was noticeable movement between Skye’s legs.

She had stopped any sort of conversation at this point, only managing enough energy to keep going, and when the contraction subsided, she used the opportunity to pant and catch her breath.

Mickey on the other hand was chattering on incessantly.

“I can see the head, you’re doing great. She’s almost got the head out. What do I do to catch it. The heads coming. Baby I’m so proud of you. Keep going, do what you’re doing. “

“Shutup shutup shutup!” The exclamation from Skye was unexpected and Mickey was taken aback for a second.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“It burns… it really burns. Mickey help me…” Skye looked pleading

“Anything baby… what I can I do”

“Rub my clit…”

The announcement may as well have been shouted out using a loud speaker the fact that Mickey and the 2 midwives both went silent.

Mickey froze, shook his head, certain he’d heard incorrectly. “You- I—what?”

“Mickey, please. Please, baby,” she whined, the words just as breathless and desperate as they were in the bedroom, but now for entirely different reasons.

When his mind finally caught up with her words, a slight blush coloured his cheeks. “What, here? Now? Can I do that?” Then, because he was sure the women on the other side of the door had heard her request as well, “Am I allowed to do that?”

“Never argue with a pregnant person,” one replied.

The other hummed in agreement. “Do what you need to do, sweetie. Whatever makes the pain a little easier to take.”

Babe!” Skye gasped—a warning, an appeal. She whimpered and panted and shifted her hips, but there was no relief to be found there. “Please,” she said again, and this finally spurred Mickey into action.

He adjusted the hand that was supporting the emerging head, his thumb immediately going to work on her sensitive bud. The motion was habit, done without thinking in his usual strong vigorous rhythm, and she flinched away from him with a cry. He snatched his hand away and examined her with frantic eyes. “Oh my god, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? The baby? I thought—”

Skye shook her head, reaching blindly for his hand. When it found her grasp, she guided it back between her legs. “Slow. Please. Gentle. Slow,” she managed punctuated guidance between panted breaths.

Tentatively this time, almost fearful, Mickey brushed his thumb featherlight across her clit and she shivered, exhaling a little more forcefully. Encouraged by her response, he pressed deeper into her folds, tracing the lines and edges in lazy circles.

“Mhmm, just like that,” Skye moaned, wincing as the pleasure mixed with the pain. The burn was intense now, stealing her breath just as quickly as Mickey’s ministrations allowed her to catch it. “Is the head, is it—hah, ah—is it almost—fuck—out?” Mickey’s pause was answer enough and Skye threw her head back against the door in frustration. “Fuck.”

“You’re stretching really good, babe.” Skye huffed. “No, really. So much is out already. There’s just… you’ve still got a little ways to go yet.”

Skye growled as another contraction wound its way around her midsection. “Just don’t stop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey said, a smile in his voice, shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers before returning them to their post.

This time, just to give her own hands something to do, Skye drew them up the curve of her belly and moulded them around her full breasts, kneading the tender flesh and rolling her nipples under her thumbs, between her fingers. The action seemed to intensify the contraction and she curled forward instinctually, her upper body wrapping around her tight stomach and one arm dropping to hook under a knee and pull her leg up and back as she released a primal strangled cry.

Mickey had to abandon his duties between Skye’s legs in favour of making sure she didn’t fall over. He put a steadying hand on her waist as her roar intensified, the pain now in full force without the distraction of his intimate touch.

“That’s it, baby. Keep going, let it out.”

“Burning. It’s burning,” Skye panted in desperation, wrapping her free arm under his and digging her fingers into his back. She nestled her head into his neck and grunted, getting in a few more small pushes before slumping into him as the contraction waned. “Hurts.”

“I know.” Mickey kissed the top of her head and she released her hold on her leg. His hand drifted back down her inner thigh and he gasped excitedly. “Holy shit, the head’s almost out!”

“Really?” Mickey nodded. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Mickey’s lips found hers and he guided her hand to where his had just been. Her whole palm filled with something soft, wet, warm, and she stroked her thumb along the gentle curve. “Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice thick with emotion. “We can’t wait to meet you. I can’t believe you’re almost here.”

“Just another push or two ought to do it. You were so close on that last one.”

“Mm, you better be right about that.” Skye let out a few short quick breaths before pulling her leg back once more, leaning forward into another big push.

“Ehm, about those instruction on how to catch…?” Mickey called out to the hallway as Skye’s screams began anew.

“Just hold the head as it pops out, DON’T pull it” came the supportive voice from beyond the other side of the door - though the end of the statement was punctuated by the warning which he readily took in.

Mickey leaned back to get as good a look as he could under Skye’s belly and he let out an involuntary gasp. Where before her hole was red and swollen it was now white, stretched to the extreme, and the boulder shape of their baby - an object easily as wide as his hand - rested there almost at the tipping point.

Skye didn’t notice Mickey as she whimpered, the sensations taking all of her focus until she suddenly flinched completely in her seat and let out a yelp then suddenly, just like that, the head seemed to surge forward and it was suddenly… out.

The bottom half of the head slipped forward as Mickey darted his hand down instinctively only to get it covered by amniotic fluid but he held onto… something. It took a moment to realise that nestled in his palm were the features of their baby. He could feel the nose, the mouth. He was dumbstruck.

“Mickey!” shrieked Skye

“Baby!” shrieked Mickey

“What happened” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“The… the heads out.” stammered Mickey. He took in the scene. Skye was panting big heaving breaths, taking what time she could to rest, their baby’s head was nestled in his hands and he was squatted down like a baseball catcher. The puddle of water that just came out of Skye was spreading wider on the floor beneath him… and he realised his thighs ached like crazy.

“OK stay exactly as you are. Keep supporting the head. Check the neck, make sure there isn’t a cord wrapped around it” came the voice of guidance

“How?”

“Stick your finger in there and run it around the baby’s neck.”

Mickey tentatively extended a finger and probed it into his wife. She didn’t flinch or react, oblivious to this tiny additional movement, but compared to before… it was nothing.

“No, it’s not there.” Mickey sounded relieved that’s for certain.

“Ok so the head will want to rotate, then when baby is turned to the side it’s time for the shoulders.”

Skye grunted, shifted in her seat as Mickey felt the head rotate. He took a chance to adjust his position, knees going to the soggy ground as the baby’s head turned.

Looks like things were happening again.

It was a strange sensation, feeling the baby shift partially inside and partially outside her. The consuming burn had eased with the passing of the head but the pressure remained just as insistent. Once again it felt as if the baby would simply fall out of her—if only it would be that easy.

“That’s it, baby, keep pushing, just a few more pushes,” Mickey encouraged as Skye grunted and bore down with the next contraction.

“Mmm, no, not again,” Skye pleaded with no one in particular as her tender opening bulged and stretched with the press of the shoulders behind it. “I can’t do it again,” she whined, breaths become erratic, panicked, pained, “I’m not ready!”

Well, she was ready for this all to be over, to have her baby in her arms and an actual bed to lie in, but the pain was still so fresh and raw, her tissues fragile and strained.

“S’okay, Skye. Take a break, take a breath. Baby’ll still be waiting for you whenever you’re ready,” came a voice through the crack in the door.

Mickey was thankful for their guidance then, as he’d had no idea what to say to Skye in that moment. As she puffed out quick breaths of air, he squinted in the dim light, peering under her belly. Now that the baby had rotated, it was actually facing toward him. Waxy and wet and scrunched, Mickey had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over a chubby cheek. The baby’s mouth opened and closed, already responding to his touch. “Go easy on mommy, okay? She loves you very much, but you’ve got daddy’s big head and she’s a little sore at the moment.”

Skye smiled at that, eyes still closed in a rare moment of rest, and reached down to stroke the top of the baby’s head. “You listen to your father now,” she warned, breathing picking back up again.

“Ready?” Mickey asked. Skye paused a moment, then nodded. “Whenever you’re ready—let’s have a baby.”

Skye nodded again, this time to herself, gathering her wits about her. Her groan was guttural, deep, primal, an animal driven by instinct. Her whole body seemed to bow inward, concentrating all its forces into her core. One shoulder would peek out, only to slip back in as soon as Skye sucked in a quick breath. She’d shift her hips and then the other would make an appearance, but then the stretch would become unbearable and cause her to cry out, weakening her efforts just enough for it to disappear back between her folds. She pressed her palms into her thighs, digging into her flesh and forcing her knees outward as far apart as they would go.

When another contraction came and went like this, Skye heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t,” she panted, “think I,” another breath, “can get the shoulders out like this.”

Mickey, their child’s head still cradled in his hands, bit his lips and directed his question toward the door, a tinge of worry creeping into his tone. “How do we do this? What- what can we do?”

“Just keep calm. The best thing to do is open up her pelvis. Either a nice deep squat, or we push her legs back to get the same thing.” The voice was reassuring, realising that Mickey was starting to panic.

“I’ll get down I’ll get down” voiced Skye as she lifted her butt up ready to push the bucket she had been resting on out of the way. She actually shuffled a step forward and overbalanced Mickey who tumbled to the floor, though he kept his hand fixed to the head of their child.

The commotion caught the attention of the team on the other side of the door who tried to make sense of the clattering and banging going on inside the closet.

Skye hunkered down and grunted, her deep squat resulted in Mickeys hand, holding the baby’s head, being pressed into the ground, in the muck and birth fluids that were pooling there.

A strong grunt, a whine and another grunt. Suddenly she yelled “help, it’s not moving”

From the other side of the door came the question “Mickey do you still have the head?”

“Yes…” came the response.

“Ok… let go, and pull Skye up.”

“You sure?”

“Trust us…”

Mickey wriggled his hand out from under Skye leaving the head exposed, grabbed her hands and heaved backwards so Skye was back on her feet.

“She’s up”

“Ok stand back, we’re coming in.”

There was a blur of activity. Finally the door opened wide, and Mickey and Skye were met with the sight of 2 midwives, someone wearing a pair of overalls presumably from the maintenance team and a cold blast of air as the air conditioned corridor opened wide.

One of the midwives rushed in and grabbed Skye by the arms as they led her backwards, wide legged and frog-walking out of the closet.

One kept close attention to the baby as Skye was turned around and lowered to the floor. Everything looked good as she was laid on her back, icy cold flooring sending shivers all over her body as her legs were pushed back and her hips were opened wide.

“Skye, give me the biggest push you can, right now!” the midwives commanded.

As the cold seeped into Skye’s bare flushed skin, she was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was completely naked in the very non-private hallway, with her legs spread open as wide as they were capable of going.

The medical staff, at least, had the decency to mind their own business even as the passersby gaped and gawked. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, but it made her self conscious about her actions, her noises, her progress, and she couldn’t quite give herself over fully to the next contraction.

Skye whimpered, close to tears and feeling like a failure that she still wasn’t able to get her baby out. She grabbed for Mickey’s hand and he knelt on the far side of her, hunching himself over her body and blocking at least her upper half from view from all but the most curious onlookers.

“Too big,” she whined, looking into his eyes for comfort or encouragement or sympathy, she didn’t know.

“I know, baby, but you’re so close. Your body was made for this, just a few more pushes, you’ll get out baby out, I know you will,” he murmured in the space between contractions. Then, when Skye released a sharp breath and her belly visibly tensed, “Come on now, as hard as you can.”

Skye nodded at the same time the midwives forced her knees comically far back and down, lifting her butt off the floor so that her vagina was practically sticking straight up toward the ceiling. When she crunched up, folding over her belly, her head was almost between her knees and all the air was forced from her lungs.

She held the push as long as she could, the baby’s head pressing up and away from her hips, attempting to free itself from her tight hole. She fell back to the floor, gasped in a breath, and curled back up, the baby’s head bobbing up and down in time with her efforts.

Mickey was so focused on his wife’s face that he didn’t see when the midwife stuck half her hand around the emerging shoulder in Skye’s opening, but he saw the change in her expression, heard as her cries escalated into strangled, wild howls.

“What are you doing!” Mickey asked frantically, bordering on yelling.

“Just helping the other shoulder along; don’t want it getting bruised or stuck,” the midwife explained.

Mickey wanted to protest, but Skye was nodding, eyes still screwed shut with pain. Something must have given way because Skye gasped, surged forward into an almost unexpected push as the baby was finally shifted into a proper position. She screamed one last time as the shoulders emerged, stretching her even wider than the head, and then the rest of the baby slid out easily, along with an impressive spray of amniotic fluid, and immediately placed on Skye’s bare chest.

The scream brought a few people running and Skye ended up being the unfortunate recipient of yet more public scrutiny… but at that point she couldn’t care. She’d done it. The sound of her and Mickeys baby crying loud wails was music to her ears and nothing could take that fact away.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and the same was true of Mickey, the events of the day had reached a point where he was just so glad it was over.

He sensed a figure appear behind him then heard a cough. Turning he looked at the maintenance man in his overalls behind him, holding forward Skye’s gown she had discarded earlier.

He thanked him and grabbed it, looking to the midwives for guidance.

“I’ve called for a wheelchair for Skye, I want to get her back to maternity before she has to deliver the afterbirth.” Mickey nodded at what the midwife had said. He moved around to the back of Skye and pulled the gown over her, as one of the midwives took the baby temporarily and held it - finally getting a good chance too look at the gender and realising the couple had a girl - as Skye did the best she could on the floor to pull the gown over her thighs and get handed back the baby again.

“Besides… I think Skye may need a few stitches… that last few moments were quite… forceful I think it’s fair to say.”

As the chair arrived and between Mickey and one of the midwives they managed to get Skye to her feet the group left at a hurried pace back to the room assigned to them.

For Tom the janitor, he just looked at the mess in the cupboard and sighed. Best get to tidying that little patch of chaos up… and changing that door handle.

#birth kink #fpreg #birth #pregnancy #labor kink

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