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cloudwisp · 6 months ago

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𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. vaginal penetration. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

�� note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep��hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”

#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus lnd #sylus l&ds #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace

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foldingfittedsheets · 7 months ago

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In my household growing up scaring each other was like an Olympic level sport. We’d wait around corners, we’d hide under things. We took it seriously.

My mom started it. She loved scaring us. She has a cherished photo of me screaming that she took one Halloween night after jumping out of a dark bush at me. But my quickly brother latched onto the game with abandon. Mom quickly regretted teaching us to do this as turnabout did not seek like fair play to her.

At one point my sister was given a life size cardboard cutout of Legolas and the second we realized that thing was an instant jump scare we’d move it all over the house. The scream from the bathroom at 2am was my crowning achievement but Legolas tragically went missing shortly after. Read: my mom burned him.

Now, as the youngest I was at a severe disadvantage. I spooked the easiest after my mom. I was exceptionally sneaky and patient so I typically got my revenge but I quickly learned that if you didn’t jump then it was less fun. Thus began my campaign for nonreaction. Every time someone jumped out at me I startled a little less as I stamped down on the reflex.

After a year or so I would just blink at my brother when he popped out from a closet. Don’t get me wrong, I was still scared. The spike of adrenaline and panic still happened internally but I didn’t react anymore. My brother soon gave up on me and the game died to our mothers intense relief.

I largely forgot about that period of my life but every so often someone tries to scare me and is extremely disappointed.

My favorite of these attempts was at Red Robin. Servers loved to spook the hosts when they could, it was a fun pastime when they didn’t have enough to do.

The hosts were meant to open the doors for people when it was slow. The door we opened had a single seat beside it on the left, then a blind hallway that led to the bathroom.

One evening I was on door duty. I was facing slightly away from the seat on my left. A server buddy of mine snuck out of the bathroom quiet as could be. He waited for the perfect moment, then leapt over the seat to land in front of me with a huge, “RAH!!!!!” It was a feat of fear and athleticism.

Panic shot through me like a lightning bolt but grounded itself quickly. I didn’t outwardly so much as blink in surprise, and after a quick beat I turned to look at him calmly and said, “Hey, Joe.”

He deflated and all the other hosts jaws dropped. “How did you see me?!”

“I didn’t,” I assured him.

He scoffed in disbelief and slunk away defeated.

He hounded me for a week about how coolly I’d greeted him, asking if I’d heard him coming or if another host had tipped me off. “No, you scared me,” I told him. He never believed it and no further attempts were ever made on me.

#Red Robin #ramblies #ffs foibles #funny #jump scare #writing #story

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ofbatsandballads · 23 days ago

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have this thing I wrote in a flash of pure, unadulterated love for Jason that I felt while doing my hair routine after my shower. never needed a fictional guy more in all my life and honestly this may be my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written.

Thinking about domesticity with Jason Todd. Building a home with him, a life. How ever so gradually mine and yours becomes ours.

You’re brushing your teeth one morning and decide to try out his toothpaste, the one he always buys from the bodega down the block owned by the little abuelita that loves him to death. It’s fresh and it’s minty and you swear it leaves your teeth whiter than the brand name stuff you buy, so you let your tube get used up and never buy toothpaste again. Jason, without question, simply starts buying it twice as often as usual.

You’re fresh from the shower together after a night off for both of you. You’re warm and you’re happy and you’re both so in love it almost hurts. You watch enraptured as he towel dries his hair, roughly scrunching the water from his inky curls. You don’t like how he lacks gentleness with himself, so you take the towel from him and gesture for him to lean down. Ever obedient to you, Jason complies and smiles softly as you dry his hair for him. You think suddenly that while his curls are always soft to the touch, they could do with being a bit more defined. They tend to get really frizzy and poofy by the end of the day. So you grab your curl cream and gel and just absentmindedly do your own routine on him. He raises his eyebrow in question only to quickly relent when he realizes it means you’re playing with his hair for longer. Your hunch is right; once his hair dries, his curls are so pretty you think you could get lost in the waves of them. Jason’s just happy cause now his hair smells like you.

The only clothes Jason has that are his now is his Red Hood gear. The rest of his closet has quickly become co-owned by you. His brain never fails to short circuit when you walk out in his hoodies, or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his boxers. There’s not one piece of his civilian clothing that hasn’t been on both of your bodies at this point. Sometimes seeing you in his clothes has Jason blushing and his heart pounding with how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have this life with you. Other times seeing you in his clothes has him calculating the fastest way he can get them all off of you. You’re just disappointed that it can’t go both ways. But, alas, the struggles of having a massive boyfriend are that he’ll never be able to fit in your clothes. Whatever; it still does something for you when he finally wears the old Gotham Knights shirt that you’d stolen for months.

It’s also kind of funny sometimes. You two own a set of old, dark gray towels affectionately labeled “The Blood Towels”. The Blood Towels are only brought out after a really rough patrol or post-showering when you’re on your period. They came about after you’d nearly slipped while soaking wet from how quickly you’d tried to dry off to avoid bleeding on his good, fluffy towels. Jason just looked at you like you were a little ditzy, a flat “Do ya know how many times I’ve bled on these towels?” coming from his mouth. “I don’t care! I still don’t wanna ruin them!” you’d insisted. And thus, The Blood Towels were born.

Your bookshelf is never going to stop growing. You’ve actually had to go to IKEA more than once to get a larger one with how often you and Jay visit the old bookstore two blocks away from your apartment. Neither of you can resist a pretty cover, or a new annotated edition, or, heaven forbid, those rare, expensive first edition copies. At this point you’re not really sure which of the five copies of Pride and Prejudice first belonged to who, but really what does it matter when you’re both reading them anyways? And it’s always funny when you have to drag home a bigger bookshelf. You can never hold your laughter when Jason inevitably shouts “What the fuck! This wouldn’t be so goddamn hard if they actually gave you coherent instructions!” It’s also always nice to drag the old bookshelves to the apartment of the single mom downstairs whose kid loves reading. You both know she can barely afford the second hand books she gets him, so the shelves are happily given. You’re actually thinking of asking Jay if he’s willing to part with one of your first edition copies of Frankenstein for Christmas; the kid would freak.

All of this comes to a head with a cat. A big, fat, black cat that crawls up on your fire escape one night. You’d both been a little distracted–okay, a lot distracted by the feeling of being lost in each other's touch. You’d been making out for over an hour, just relishing in the intimacy of being together. It was definitely going to go somewhere until you heard the caterwauling of an animal outside your window. “The fuck is that?” Jason had asked as he pulled away from kissing bruises into your neck. “Sounds like a cat.” You’d begged, actually begged, Jason to let him stay. The next morning you came home with a grocery bag full of cat toys and bowls while Jason hauled a value-sized 40 pound bag of cat food on his shoulder. Atticus sits with you both while you watch TV now. Atticus still sometimes ruins the mood when he sees Jason sink his teeth into you and immediately swats his dad on the cheek. But Atticus is also undeniably your boy. And whatever, maybe you do start thinking about what Jason would look like with an actual baby in his arms when he’s cradling Atty as he shuffles around your home. But there’s time for that yet. You both know that. You know that beyond anything else, you’ll always have this life, this home together. It’s the best gift either of you have ever been given.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #remy writes 🖋️#I love him I love him I love him #you all don’t understand how much I love this man. ugh. why can’t he exist?!

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piastappies · 30 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. oscar piastri x wife!leclerc!reader

⋆ summary. christmas is never calm, when the piastris are involved, or one would think.

⋆ notes. another part of dad!oscar series 😁😁😁 its honestly one of my favorites ever. this is a small christmas fic, but i might write another part of christmas at the piastris 😁 not proofread (i will do that one day i promise)

BEFORE YOUR DAUGHTER WAS BORN, you and oscar never spent christmas together. it was pretty understandable, he went back to australia to see his family, while you ended up in monaco, spending the festive moments along your family and your brothers’ girlfriends. however, you’d always spend new year’s together — whether it was australia or monaco, no one could make you leave each other’s side. nevertheless, as suspected, the problems started occurring as soon chloe’s second christmas came up.

her first christmas happened just after she was born, so there was really no conversation about going anywhere with a newborn baby, while pandemic was still going crazy. christmas in the following year was putting more and more stress on top of your shoulders. you barely seen your family all year, so the need to fly home was even stronger than ever, you couldn’t though. beside his dad, oscar hasn’t seen his family much either and asking him to go see yours for holidays seemed unfair, you were not the only one, who missed the warm embraces of their mothers.

“why don’t we all just come to your place, love?” nicole, oscar’s mum, suggested on one afternoon, making the tension in your shoulders loosen a bit. “there’s no point in stressing yourself out about flying with chloe, when we can just come to you.”

it almost seemed like a plan put together beforehand, because a few hours later your mum has called you, suggesting the exact same thing. even if it was a plan, you really appreciated trying to ease your nerves about christmas.

and it became a tradition, one you held dearly to your heart.

it’s been still a few days left till the twenty-fifth, so it was only nicole, who flew to monaco, her daughters would arrive near twenty-fourth to have a day to recharge. you were bundled up in a blanket, a small girl sitting on your lap, not wanting to be away from you as her tiny fists had tightened their grip on your shirt.

“i get puppy?” chloe asked, tipping her chin upwards to have a look at you before turning her head — so fast you thought it would snap in seconds — to look between your husband and his mom. “please, please puppy?” she repeated, jutting her bottom lip and flashed her brown eyes at oscar.

you raised an eyebrow at the aussie, awaiting his response. the possibility of him cracking and accepting your daughter’s pleas was high, considering that chloe had him wrapped around her little finger, or rather around her wrist like a leash she could tug on, and at first thought her dad would do whatever she wanted him to. his gaze shifted towards you as he let out a sigh, his heart breaking as he’s about to disappoint his only daughter.

“ah, squish, but you have a dog already, don’t you?” nicole started, catching her daughter’s attention. chloe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. she has a dog already? is he invisible? “basil and rosie are yours too, aren’t they?” she asked in a gentle tone, the four years old perking up at this revelation.

“i do!” she exclaimed happily, letting go of your shirt to clap her hands, a big beam creeping up on her lips. “basie and rosie!” she said, her head bobbing up and down ecstatically. “my doggies.”

“and leo.” you chimed in, gently rubbing your hand against chloe’s back. the mention of your brother’s daschmund made the beam falter. “you don’t like leo anymore, squish?” you asked, a bit taken aback at the sudden change.

a pout appeared on your daughter’s face, her tone slightly bashful as she tried to explain. “leo pee-ed on me.” oscar’s lips were pulled into a tight line as he tried to suppress a chuckle. “s’no funny!” she frowned at her dad’s antics.

“he was just excited to see you, baby.” you tried your best reasoning with your daughter. “leo’s still just a baby, you know? babies pee when they get excited, it means he reaaaally likes you.”

“daddy’s baby, too an’ he don’t pee on me.” she scrunched her nose, unmoved by your explanation. “daddy don’t like chloe?”

baby. that’s how you’ve been referring to oscar for as long as you could remember, making chloe think that her dad is as much of a baby as she is. in different circumstances, you’d just start laughing — some guys, your friends’ boyfriend or fathers, random people on the street, probably acted like babies towards their partners or maternal figures, but not your oscar. he was the eptiome of a great partner, friend, and a parent, despite being a bit messy and leaving socks on your bedroom floor a few times, if you wished for someone better, you’d still get your oscar, because there couldn’t be anyone better than him, not for you and your daughter.

“well… daddy loves you so, so much, squish.” he began coyly, kneeling in front of the couch, to brush his nose against chloe’s, as an act of affection. “but i’m not a doggie, am i?” he asked, and while your reasoning seemed completely off to chloe, she bought oscar’s within seconds.

“no, silly.” the four years old giggled, putting both of her hands on oscar’s cheeks, leaving a small, sloppy kiss on the tip of his nose. “you papa.” a beam stretched across her mouth. “no doggie.”

THE CHRISTMAS CAME QUICKLY, which you were profoundly content with. it was one of the rare moments, when you could spend the time with your entire family, both sides. there wasn’t enough words to describe the amount of love you held in your heart for oscar’s relatives. you spent lots of hours, talking to your in-laws on the phone, when you couldn’t see them in person. it was natural that you wanted them in your daughter’s life as much as possible.

usually, the apartment was as quiet as it could be with a preschooler, although with almost twenty people inside, it was a mess. a positive one, one you would cherish every time it happened. your mum chatting away with nicole, tim, and chris, your brothers engrossed in conversations with oscar, while you talked to alex, and oscar’s sisters as your soon to be sister-in-law played with your daughter on the carpet, leo sleeping on his usual spot on the couch.

when you all sat down to open gifts, chloe was no longer playing with charlotte as she occupied the spot on arthur’s lap, giggling quietly, when he tickled her once in a while just to pretend he didn’t as she tried to pat his hands away.

“i give gifts, too!” she suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with excitement, pointing to a dozen of tiny boxes standing neatly next to (or on top of) one another.

it was small figurines made out of modelling clay that your husband has bought for your daughter. it wasn’t much, but it made your daughter feel involved in the gift-giving tradition. of course, you helped her throughout the process, so the figurines wouldn’t be just colours mixed together with no shape.

“oh, mon étoile. did you make them yourself?” your mum asked, a warm smile stretching across her lips as she unpacked the tiny star made out of modelling clay. that’s what pascale always called chloe, étoile, which meant a star, because she was the brightest star in your mom’s universe.

chloe nodded proudly in response, puffing her chest as she unpacked arthur’s box for him. “‘s me!” she giggled in happiness, placing the figurine in her uncle’s hand. “now, you ‘ill ‘lways remember me!”

“i could never forget you, squish.” arthur whispered into her ear, though loud enough for you all to hear, making the girl laugh from the sensation of his face in such close proximity to her ear. “i’ll always have it with me, okay?”

in the end, everyone was enamoured with the small gifts made by your daughter, which made her feel super proud of herself. she got a few toys (that you’d previously accepted, because if you had one more loud toy, you’d shred yourself into pieces) and… a racing helmet.

“we are not doing a project piastri, or whatever you’d call that.” you announced, giving your older brother a judgemental look. was it a surprise that charles gifted your daughter a racing helmet? not really, as he’s been talking about taking chloe karting. “she’s four.”

“i was four, when i started too.” he argued, a bit playfully.

“look what that made you. crazy.” you shook your head, taking a glimpse of the mesmerised look in your daughter’s eyes. “she’s too small for a go-kart. you’d have to put velco strips on her back and the seat, so she wouldn’t fell out of the thing.”

“that’s doable.” the ferrari driver shrugged, as he helped chloe put on the purple helmet. “uncle charlie wouldn’t let his squishy face get hurt.” he cooed at the girl, making you roll your eyes in exasperation.

cheering and stressing over your husband’s career was a thing you could live with, but having both oscar, and your daughter racing and karting? your poor heart wouldn’t handle it.

“i drive like daddy soon?” the four years old in question said, her voice slightly muffled by the helmet. once again, she clapped her hands happily.

and somehow, after a nice meal and gift openings, you were stuck in a conversation with your brother about taking chloe karting, while she quietly asked one of your sisters in law what karting exactly was.

1K notes · View notes

brunchable · 3 months ago

Text

The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × ×

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking.

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music.

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky.

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs.

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss.

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.��”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression.

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

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rememberwren · 1 month ago

Text

Just thinking relentlessly about Ghost who meets a clairvoyant (you).

You live life in relative peace and normalcy, but sometimes (something beyond this universe) convinces you to use your gift. When the urge strikes, you usually let it; you are not one to deny the powers of the beyond. Of fate. Of God maybe—who knows.

When you see the tall man outside the train station rifling through his backpack, brow low and angry, something in him calls to you. He’s handsome enough, a little intimidating especially thanks to his stature, but you feel no fear as you change course and cross the street to him.

“Left it on the tube, friend,” you tell him. He stares up at you with fathomless, dark eyes. Eyes that have seen so much brutality, that have shut against so much pain.

��What?” he asks.

You point to your mouth. “Your facemask. You left it on the tube. Rotten luck. Hope your day gets better!”

And while you don’t anticipate ever seeing him again, you’re hardly surprised when you do. That’s the universe for you. Or, more likely, that’s just Simon Riley. When he falls into step beside you the next morning, he’s wearing a new facemask.

“You been following me?” he asks.

You blink. “No? Think it’s the other way around.”

“How’d you know. About my mask.”

“Ah. Clairvoyant.” You tap your temple.

He scoffs. “What, like talking to the dead?”

“I do that too.”

“Don’t believe you,” he says. Ah, a skeptic. You know better than to argue with one.

“Alright. See you later, Simon.”

And it isn’t until you’ve turned the corner that he realizes he never gave you his name.

The next time he runs into you, he stops you in your tracks. People on the sidewalk flow around you both, irritated at the interruption in their walks, but you don’t care. Not when he pulls out a leather-bound book and hands it to you.

“Prove it,” he says, hand shaking a little. “His name was John. Johnny. He’s been dead for three months. I just—prove it.”

You take the book reverently, sensing how much it means to him. You nod and part ways. When you glance back over your shoulder, he looks disappointed—but sometimes these things take time.

At home, you open the book. It’s a sketchbook, filled with pages, figures unfamiliar to you (Simon. So much Simon), handwriting in a neat curl. You flick through it slowly, learning about John MacTavish the old fashioned way. When you come across the last page, you find it blank.

Perfect.

You pick up a pen—but no, that’s not right. You search for your charcoal pencils. That’s better. Then you begin to write in a neat handwriting so unlike your own.

The next time you see Simon, you hand him the book. He takes it with naked trepidation, mouth set in a frown beneath his mask.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him.

You both part ways. He isn’t sure what to feel—like a fool, mostly, for believing. Heartbroken, sure. He can admit it. He’d wanted to hear from Johnny one last time, some message that the man was at peace. Some idea, painful though it would be, that Simon’s feelings had been reciprocated.

He goes home and flips through the book, knowing each page by heart by now. The last one is his least favorite, forever blank—except this time it isn’t. And it makes his blood run cold.

Written in Johnny’s handwriting are a number of disjointed words:

help

help me

tunnels

Makarov

help me

head

boom

help me

sos

alive

Next.

#giggled the whole time I wrote this #ghoap #ghostsoap

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thehouseofurmotha · 6 months ago

Text

`✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ 𝕃𝕠𝕦𝕕 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖 ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵´★

Pairing: Bakugou x Aizawa's Daughter Reader

Warnings: Fluff, lots of fluff! Bakugou is vry anxious, a lil bit of cussing, possibly ooc Bakugou

Summery: you finally convince your boyfriend Katsuki Bakugou to meet your father. Little do they both know they already know each other.

"Katsuuuuuu" you whine pouting at your grumpy boyfriend. Even though you know that his anger is nothing more than a cover for every other emotion he's feeling, and right now you can tell he's anxious. No matter how many times you have asked him to meet your father you've been turned down with a simple 'I'm not ready yet', and even if you understands the boy's anxiety it doesn't make you any less disappointed.

"S'not that I don't wanna meet him doll, you know I do. Jus' what if he thinks I'm not good enough for you. You're just so perfect, and so calculated. Then m'jus reckless me." Letting out a long sigh afterwards because he really does want to meet the man who raised the girl he's so lucky to call his girlfriend, but he's scared. Rightfully so he thinks, because he really never will be good enough to deserve you.

"Kats, he's going to love you. I know me telling you probably won't end up changing how you feel, but you are good enough for me. You're everything I want, you treat me better than anyone else could, and if my father cannot see that he is painfully blind." You haven't had the heart to tell him who exactly your father is, especially with it being his teacher. You know it would only freak him out more, and that's the last thing that you need to do.

You know your boyfriend honestly probably better than you know yourself. As you've known him since you were in middle school. You can read him in a way no one else can. They see his brash. angry personality on the outside and they immediately assume that's all he is. Is a loud angry kid, but you, you see the parts of him that no one else is allowed to. You see the passion he has, the love he has for saving people, you see his softness. He's a different person around you. You bring out the best in him in ways that no one else could ever dream to do. As he does to you, because he also sees the parts of you nobody else has been allowed to see before. He knows your greatest fears, and the things that inspire you. He's supportive of your dreams as you are his. He'd never judge you, especially about the fact that you're not becoming a hero. Instead opting to take general studies at U.A. where you focus your studies on hero analysis instead.

"Do you mean it?" There's a hint of pain in his voice that would go unnoticed by anyone but you.

"Of course I do" you say as you gently cup his face with your hands. Then he gives you a look, one that is full of love. Love for you, and it's almost enough to make you tear up. But you fight it as to not spook him.

"Okay my love, I'll meet him." He gives you a small smile, and you think your heart may have melted right there.

"How about dinner at my house this Saturday kats? I'll make your favorite and we'll just have a nice evening." You say with an encouraging smile. You know how hard this must be for him and you're so incredibly proud of him.

"Okay, I'll let the old hag know that I'll be out be out for the evenin." He gently leans his forehead against yours after placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You love how gentle his is with you, like at any moment you could break in his grasp.

You giggle as you playfully hit his shoulder, "Stop calling her that Kats." Before he has the chance to respond your phone starts blasting your alarm, telling you that it's time to start your walk home.

"M'gonna miss you." He says as you carefully get out of his lap and stretch as you stand up.

"I'll call you as soon as I'm home, and we can stay on the phone all night." This answer seems to satisfy him as he stands up and gives you a kiss before grabbing your jacket to help you put it on.

"Goodbye katsu, I'll talk to you later." Giving him a peck on his cheek and opening the door to his room.

"Yeah, whatever bye nerd." Even though that would come off as rude to anyone else, it places a large smile on your face as you make your way out of his house. It really is a gorgeous house, his parents have wonderful taste.

As you start on your walk you think about how the conversation with your father will go. He'll more than likely be getting ready for his night-shift of patrol. He knew you were seeing someone but other than that he knew no details. You had never been one to share the details of your love life and he knew that, so he chose not to push. Hoping that you would trust him enough to tell him anything important.

As you arrive home, you put your key in the lock and carefully unlock the door. As you open the door to your guys apartment, you immediately see your father in the kitchen dressed in his hero suit making himself coffee. It was the only way he got through his night shifts. As he sees you he starts to walk over to you before giving you a hug and a kiss to the top of your head.

"Welcome home hun, how's your day been?" He says pulling away and giving you a smile. He knows you can handle yourself but there's a certain relief that comes with knowing that you're safe in your home.

"It's been good, but I've got something to talk to you about." As you say this his heart beats a little quicker, maybe something happened. He's already thinking of every horrible thing that could have happened to you. You gently place your hand on his shoulder taking him out of his thoughts.

"Saturday, my boyfriend's going to come over for dinner. So he can meet you." He sighs in relief, he can handle that. It's simply just meeting the boy who has stolen your heart. He's noticed the way you've changed, since you've started hanging out with that boy. You seem happier, calmer even. But all he knows is that it's been a change for the better, and he can tell this boy makes you happy. So, even though trusting someone else with the care of the most important person to him is terrifying. He knows you're happy and healthy, that's all that'll ever matter to him.

"Alright that's fine, but you're cooking cause you know I can't for shit." You let out a small giggle at this comment, because he really cannot cook to save his life.

"Already planned on it dad!" He could spend the rest of his life like this. In the sweet moments between the two of you. Due to his busy schedule he doesn't get to see you as much as he would like. Even though he knows you don't blame him, and never would he can't help but feel some guilt. He never wants you to feel like he's abandoning you in the way your mother did.

"Alright hun, I've got to leave for patrol, there's some money on the counter for you to order yourself dinner. I should be home around 3. Have a good night, I love you." Once again he plants a kiss to your forehead, with a small smile forming on his lips.

"Thank you, I love you too dad. Have a good patrol!" And with that he leaves for the night.

You spend some time debating on what to get, with the help of Katsuki's opinions. After you get your food and eat you and him both decide that it's time for bed. You fall asleep to the sound of his soft snores feeling the most content that you have in years.

The rest of your week goes by normally. With the same routine of going to school, seeing your boyfriend, and going home. A simple routine but one that you've grown to love. The normalcy of everything is so comforting to you. And before you know it Saturday has arrived. Throughout the day you're excited, you think. You're not actually really sure how you feel, you want to be exciting but then there's the thought of what if it doesn't go well. And now you're suddenly wondering if Kats will be mad that you didn't tell him who your father was. As it gets closer to the time that was agreed upon by the three of you, the panic starts to really set.

This does not go unnoticed by your father as he is an extremely observant man. Yet, for what feels like one of the first times in his life, he doesn't know how to comfort you. He wants to promise you that he'll like your boyfriend but he knows there's always a chance that promise would be broken. And he doesn't want to do that to you. He settles in just trying to tell you he'll be nice. He walks into the kitchen where you've started making curry. You're making two kinds because you know your father cannot handle the spice. You don't acknowledge his presence but he's aware you know that he is with you.

"Hey, uh I promise I'll be nice tonight, but I can't promise that I'll like him." He says as gently as he can, but he feels like that last part may have come out a little harsh.

"I know dad, it's not really you I'm worried about. He's just.. He's so anxious but it comes out in a way that's harsh, and I don't want you to think less of him." It was a hard confession for you to make to him. Fearing that he might connect the dots before your boyfriend gets here.

"I'll keep it in mind kid, because I know you're happy. I see it on your face." He walks back to his room as he says that. But it leaves a smile on your face. And it reminds you how much he truly cares about you.

You think about Katsuki the entire time you cook. Thinking about his smile that is so contagious to you. He's smiling and you are too. About his hair, and the way it's so pointy. Yet it somehow manages to be so soft too. His voice that is so loud and harsh with others, but is so gentle and soft with you. You think about the way he looks while he cooks. He'll say he enjoys your food tonight, and he might. But you both know that he is absolutely the superior cook. You think about his handsome face. Everything about it being so perfect and fitting together so well. The red of his eyes, and the small bags that fall under them. Everything about him is so perfect.

Eventually, you're interrupted from your thoughts by a knock on the door. 'Shit' you think is it really already time. You quickly go to open the door and you're pleasantly surprised at the sight in front of you. Your lovely boyfriend dressed nicer than you think you've ever seen. Wearing a nice pair of jeans and a red dress shirt that brings out his eyes. He's also holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"Uh. Here these are for you." He says has he shoves them into your hands. You smile at him.

"Thank you they're gorgeous. Would you uh, like to come in?" No matter how long you guys are together you'll honestly probably always have these small awkward moments between the two of you that you've grown to love.

"Oh uh yeah." He nods his head as he accepts your invitation and walks into your house. Taking a mental note of his surroundings, the place you, the girl he loves lives. He thinks it's simple, but nice, even more than his own house.

"Uh, by the way don't kill me for not telling you." You hear your father start coming down the hall and feel this is your last chance to say anything. And you decide to plead for your life. He looks at you with complete and utter confusion.

"Huh?" He says this as your father walks into the room and as the realization hits him, you see the color drain from his face. You look at your father and he has the same look on his face. Katsuki's seems to be more out of fear and your father's more out of shock.

"Y/n what did I say about loud blondes?" He says with a sigh, but you know he's not mad. He may just be trying to freak Katsuki out a little more.

With a giggle you respond, "to stay away from them?" Katsuki looks at you like you're crazy, you can only wonder what's going through his head. You take his hand giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Uh- hi Aizawa-sensei." He says with a shake in his voice. You can tell he's scared and you feel so bad for not telling him. You realize that it was a mistake you shouldn't have hid it from him, you should have just told him. But you don't have time to keep thinking before your father responds.

"Hello Bakugou, I'm assuming you were as left in the dark about this as I was?" Your father sends you a small glare.

"Uh yeah sir I was." He says huffing and shoving the hand that wasn't holding yours in his pocket, as he glares intensely at the floor.

"Msorry- I didn't know how to tell you guys.. I'm sorry." You say meekly, you really hadn't known how to tell them.

"it's okay, m'jus a little shocked." Now it's his turn to give your hand a comforting squeeze. He really isn't mad at you, but he does wish you had told him before. But that's something the two of you can talk about another day.

"I know you make my daughter happy Bakugou, so I'm not mad. And I know you'll be able to protect her. But this will not change our relationship at school, do not expect anything to be easier for you. If anything be prepared for it to be harder, if it's my daughter you'll be protecting." Your father sends a look to your boyfriend that conveys how serious he is about his words.

"Yeah yeah sir, I wouldn't want it any other way." He send a glare straight back at your father, you know this is his way of proving himself to the older man. So for now, you won't get in the way, as long as it doesn't get to out of hand.

"We should probably go eat before dinner gets cold." The two men nod in agreement before you guys make your way to the dining room. You sit next to Katsuki and your father sits on the other side of the table. You give both of them plates before making your own.

"I hope you enjoy it." You say with a weak smile. You watch as the both of them start eating and Katsuki gives you one of those looks that just shows you how much he is in love with you.

"Shit babe, this is so fuckin good." He says before taking anything bite. And this makes you giggle and return him the smile. Your father watches with an amused smirk and he realizes that calming the loud blondes may run in the family.

The rest of dinner goes well, you guys all talk and you father seems to accept of Katsuki. And that makes you happier than anything, seeing the two most important people in your life get along.

A/n: RAAAAH okay so I fear it's late and I'm a little eepy so I kinda rushed the end, so I might come back and change it or I'll js leave it I don't know! But this is the first time in a rlly long time I've written so it honestly probably sucks but I fear it's okay chat. I hope you at least someone enjoyed it!

Pt. 2, pt. 3

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pedrospatch · 1 year ago

Text

strawberry

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (TW) daddy kink, lots of dd/lg lifestyle elements, reader is collared (day collar) age gap that is self indulgent, reader is mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but tweak that to your imaginations if you like. SMUT; p in v sex, rough sex (that reader asks to try), spanking, possible overstimulation (if you squint??) Joel basically fucks reader too much and too hard. USE OF SAFE WORD. aftercare and lots of fluff, references to a pop culture film that i haven’t seen in forever but it’s fine. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF TAGS AND WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, no worries just scroll on by.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is totally self indulgent, all for me as someone who has dabbled in the lifestyle before. if this is not your thing, no problem at all but kindly keep any negative comments to yourself. huge shoutout to the lovely @swiftispunk for inspiring this with the snippets of her own upcoming series that i am oh so excited for, darling han thank you for not only inspiring this, but for listening to me talk about it and encouraging it! and also to sweet mya @cavillscurls because truth be told her own fic brought back so many memories of a time in my life where i was genuinely so happy, in love, and felt safe with a partner. okay, i am gonna run away to the gym now to listen to 1989 tv (again) and pretend posting this is not nerve wracking as hell.

He’s fucked you plenty of times before.

But never like this. No, never, ever like this.

He’s relentless.

His thrusts are coming quicker, sloppier, harsher.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense. Too intense.

Joel Miller is truly testing your limits tonight.

No, he was pushing you past your limits.

Because that’s what you’d asked him to do.

“Alright, sweet girl. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you before we get started. Are you absolutely, one hundred—no, one thousand percent sure that you wanna try this out tonight?” he had asked you beforehand, skimming the strap of your light pink, lace lingerie with his index finger, his feathery soft touch sending a plesant little chill down the length of your spinal column. Of all the sets you owned, it had to be Joel’s absolute favorite. Normally, it was him who would pick out what you would wear, but tonight he’d decided to let you choose for yourself and oh, you did not disappoint. He fucking adored you in the color pink; loved how sickeningly sweet, precious, and innocent you appeared in the hue as you did the filthiest things to him, with him. When you nodded eagerly in reply to his question, a sigh fell from his lips, the doubt written all over his face as he remarked, “I really don’t think you’re ready. I think we should wait just a little a while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you’d insisted, stubbornly. “I promise. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I thought I wasn’t. But I am, I promise, promise, promise I am.”

“Daddy knows what’s best for you, sweetheart—”

Fingers curled around his bicep, you’d batted your eyelashes, giving him those eyes that brought him down to his knees for you a lot more often than he cared to admit, those eyes that made Joel feel like he was learning his role all over again, despite over two decades of experience under his belt. He used to pride himself for his ability to stand firm against pouting lips, fluttering lashes, and pleading gazes. And then you come along and suddenly it’s like he is in his thirties again and he’s navigating this kind of dynamic for the first time. Even after a year and a half with you, he’s still trying to figure out how to completely unwrap himself from your little finger.

“Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Christ, you made things so goddamn difficult.

“You really think you’re gonna be able to handle it? You think you’re gonna be able to handle me when I get real rough with you, baby? Hm?”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Yes, Daddy. I can handle it. I know I can.”

You had been so certain that you could.

Confident, even. So confident that when he began going over the rules and reminded you to use your safe word if you needed him to stop, you’d giggled and stated, “I’ve never needed to use it before and I don’t plan on using it tonight.”

Oh, how very wrong you had been about it all.

You’d overestimated yourself, and underestimated Joel. Severely.

His hips snap roughly into yours without an ounce of mercy, over and over, again and again. Beads of perspiration start trailing their way down the sides of his face, the tip of his nose. His chest is flushed, red, and also slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

You’ve already shattered, unraveled, come undone all over his cock several times—every time with his granted permission, of course. Because you knew better than to come without Daddy’s permission.

Your cunt is swollen, sensitive, too sensitive and at a point where it could start aching if he doesn’t let up soon. However, it seems like Joel’s only getting rougher and rougher as he chases another release.

“Joel—Daddy,” you manage to correct yourself at the very last second through a slew of frantic little gasps for air. “Daddy, please! Daddy please—”

His large hand tightens around both of your wrists pinned to the mattress above your head. Surely he must think you’re begging him for more, when the reality is you’re about to start begging him to stop because it’s just too much and you can’t handle it; but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to stop, the part of you that doesn’t want to disappoint the man who means the whole, entire world to you.

The man you belonged to, the man you loved.

Even through the haze, you try telling yourself that it’s all mind over matter, mind over matter, mind—

“Stop,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I—can’t take it anymore, Daddy, I can’t take it—!”

Releasing your wrists, Joel pulls himself out of you and you breathe out in relief, until he flips you over onto your stomach without warning. You let out an audibly loud gasp when his hands reach down and take your hips, pulling them up off his bed, putting you on your hands and knees. He brings down one of his hands on your ass in a stinging slap. “That is just too bad, ‘cause Daddy ain’t done with you yet, darlin’ girl. Not even close to bein’ done with you.” Wrapping his other hand around his base, he grins to himself as he glides the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. When it grazes your clit, you jerk forward, away from him, and he tuts, bringing you back to him, his fingers digging into the pillow soft flesh of your hips. “Oh no baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But Daddy, I just can’t—”

You’re cut off by your own cry when you feel Joel’s length stretching your walls all over again. It’s just too much.

And you really, really can’t.

He leans over you and presses his lips to your ear. “You asked for this, didn’tcha? Asked to be fucked like a big girl, huh?” He bucks forward into you, eliciting another strangled cry followed by a string of pathetic whimpers. Bringing his palm down in a second strike, he demands, “Answer me when I’m takin’ to you. You wanted this, said that you could handle Daddy bein’ rough with you, ain’t that right now?”

“Strawberry.” You say the word so quietly, you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Joel spanks you for a third time, in the exact same spot—so hard, there was simply no way you would wake up without a mark in the morning. “I need’ya to speak up. You’re such a big girl after all—”

“Strawberry!” You grasp fistfuls of bedsheets and the signal for it all to end tears itself from the back of your throat. “Strawberry, Joel! Strawberry!”

It’s only a millisecond that he freezes, if that.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel curses under his breath, pulling out of you. The bed shifts as he climbs off of it and scrambles to pull on his sweatpants before he’s at your side—you’re still on your hands and knees, an unmistakable look of panic on your face. He puts a gentle hand on your back. “Baby, are you alright?”

Your heart is pounding, your breathing labored but you manage a small, tight nod of your head. “I-I’m fine. I just—” Stopping, you grip the sheets tighter, warm tears brimming your eyes. Shame over what you’ve just done is already creeping in and sinking into your bones.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

Joel’s voice is calm, but you can hear the concern that laces his tone.

“No.” Your own voice is small. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Is it alright if I move you?” he asks. When you nod your head, he reaches out for you and helps you to sit on the side of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he takes your hands and his and feels his stomach sink when he realizes they’re ice cold; he begins rubbing them between his own to warm them up. “Baby if I hurt you, you need to tell m—”

“I promise, you didn’t hurt me,” you reassure him, swallowing the thickness rising in the back of your throat. You clock the skepticism in his dark brown eyes and a tear slips out, rolls down your face, and splatters onto your bare thigh. “I’m not lying, Joel. I swear.” Tugging one of your hands out of his, you reach up and instinctively clasp it around the blue sapphire pendant hanging from the delicate, gold chain around your neck—he’d presented you with his birthstone last year, not only as a symbol of his ownership of you, but also as a beautiful reminder of your commitment to one another. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’m telling the truth?”

Joel’s expression softens. “‘Course I do, baby.” He cups the side of your face gently, brushing away a second teardrop with his thumb. “But I’d really like to know what happened so I can figure out how to best help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”

Embarrassed, you try turning your head away, but he holds your cheek in his hand, gentle but firm.

“S’okay. You can talk to me,” he encourages softly, his gaze meeting yours once again. “Tell me.”

“It was just too much,” you mumble, meekly. “And too intense.” Heat floods your face as you admit to him, “You were right. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for that yet.”

In an effort to lighten your mood, Joel lightly gives your cheek a delicate pinch and chuckles.

“Daddy’s got that real annoyin’ habit of bein’ right ‘bout a lot of things, don’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters. “Sorry for what?”

“For using the safe word—”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Y’know you ain’t supposed to apologize for needin’ to use your safe word, right? That ain’t how it works, darlin’.”

Dropping your necklace, you place your hand over his on your cheek. “But I feel bad,” you confess. “It makes me feel like—like I let you down, you know? And that’s the last thing I want to do. I just wanted to be really good for you.”

“Oh baby.” Joel lifts himself from the floor. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, brushing his lips against your temple. “You are such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“But I couldn’t take it,” you sniff. “I had to stop.”

“And that’s okay,” he assures you. He wraps you in his arms and gives your body a gentle squeeze. “It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed ‘bout. You’re still really new to a lot of this stuff, y’know? S’why I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

He winks. “You should always listen to Daddy.”

You offer him a tiny, watery smile. “I know.”

“And say we try this again one day and it’s just not somethin’ you like or that makes you feel good—or maybe you never wanna try it again at all,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s okay too. You are still my good girl no matter what—my perfect girl. Always. You understand me?”

“Really? You promise?”

Joel holds up his pinky.

“Oh, you’re being really serious,” you tease him.

“Sure as hell am, darlin’.”

You lock your finger around his and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur against his lips. You giggle again when he clears his throat and smacks your ass lightly, playfully. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Joel pulls away and touches the tip of his nose to yours. “How’s ‘bout we get in the bath and get all cleaned up? Hm?”

“A bath?” You instantly perk up. “With bubbles?”

“With bubbles. And I’ll even let you throw in one of those smelly ball things you fuckin’ love so much.”

You swat at his chest. “Hey! My bath bombs smell really good, thank you very much!”

Joel doesn’t particularly like emerging from a bath smelling like a petunia, but for you, he’s more than happy to bathe in a sea of them, glitter and all.

You trace his collarbone with your index finger.

“Daddy? After our bath can we just cuddle in bed? Maybe watch a movie?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly, adding, “Please?”

“‘Course. Pick any movie you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we have ice cream while we watch too?”

He pins you with a stern look. “Alright, now you’re just pushin’ it and takin’ advantage.”

You jut your lower lip. “Please, Daddy?”

There’s no arguing with that, not tonight.

Joel decides to let you have your way. “Alright.”

The two of you spend quite some time in the bath; normally a bath together ends with him inside you all over again, but tonight, all he’s doing is running a soapy wash cloth with your favorite shower gel—japanese cherry blossom—all over your body as he sits behind you, lips pressed against your ear. Joel washes you slowly, carefully, and all the while he’s whispering sweet, tender praise.

My good girl.

My perfect girl.

I’m s’proud of you.

I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.

After the bath, once you’re both dried and dressed in comfortable clothes—him in a clean pair of gray sweatpants and you in nothing but his t-shirt, Joel gives you the remote and instructs you to pick out a movie to watch.

“Make yourself real comfortable, baby,” he says to you, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be back with that ice cream.”

You shoot him a hopeful glance. “Strawberry?”

“You tryin’ to be funny with me, darlin’?”

“No! That’s just my favorite flavor, silly.”

Joel grins to himself as he leaves the bedroom.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

It’s why he always keeps a pint of it in his freezer.

You hop into bed and pull the blankets around you as your scan through the guide for a movie—you’d just decided on The Notebook when Joel appears again, a bowl and two spoons in his hands.

“You picked The Notebook again, didn’t you?” he asks without even looking at the flat screen that’s mounted on his wall over the fireplace.

“You said I could pick any movie I wanted.”

“Was just hopin’ you’d pick one we haven’t seen a thousand times,” he chuckled, sliding into his bed next to you. Joel places the bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap and hands you a spoon. “C’mere, my sweet girl. Come closer.”

You snuggle up to him, and the two of you dig into the frozen dessert as the movie begins to play.

“Baby?” Joel speaks after a while, just as Allie and Noah share a passionate kiss in the pouring rain.

“Hm?” you ask, your fixed eyes on the flat screen, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, you look up at Joel, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer honestly.

“‘Cause if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you…”

You purse your lips together and let out a tiny hum as you mull it over for a moment.

“You can hold me closer?” you finally suggest.

Joel shifts in his spot. “I can definitely do that—”

You stop him and point to the empty bowl.

“After you go and get us some more ice cream?”

He exhales an amused snort through his nose and shuffles out of bed, taking the bowl with him.

“Don’t get so used to bossin’ Daddy around,” Joel warns you playfully over his shoulder.

“Too late.”

divider credit to @saradika 🍓

#tw daddy kink #tw: daddy kink #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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hcneymooners · 15 days ago

Note

dad’s best friend ambessa perhaps ..? :3 i love ur age gap fics ur so talented

⋆ come, and be my baby.

dad's best friend!ambessa x f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you've always been a troubled, searching girl. ambessa, your father's long-time best friend, is your self-ordained solution. cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, reader is implied to be between 22-24, emotional hurt/comfort, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, you're a little bit of a conniving bitch still love you tho, unhealthy relationship dynamics, codependency, slight emotional manipulation, listen you had to lock in, non-sexual intimacy, pleasure dom!ambessa, rough body play, manhandling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, implied penetrative sex, implied strapping, oral fixation (ambessa), praise kink, mommy kink (specifically mama), implied exhibitionism, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, begging, spanking, impact play, face sitting, desk sex, you guys are definitely freaks but you love love love each other.

notes: hi, honey baby. this might be the most erotic questionable thing i've ever written. i hope you're happy with it. i went a little overboard and a bit non-conventional with the trope. i adore you & thank you for requesting, mami.

two things in this world reigned absolute: that you were glad your life would only be lived once, for you couldn't do this again, and that you were ambessa medarda's favorite girl.

the medardas were a family heavy with conflict, and perhaps that's why the matriarch and your father were best friends. they both were volatile people, sometimes prone to cruelty, with soft spots for certain people that were darkened with rot at the edges—perfumed with the sweet notes of their rage.

you were both of their favorites, and therefore, when your parents got divorced, you'd acted through the narrow scope of a confused and aching little girl and chose your father. once you'd shed that naive nature, you traced your way back to your mother in secrecy. you indulged in hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, timing your exits from your room with the fading beat of your father's boots as you left.

every month, she promised to get you.

the glass would fog with your breath as you waited in that tall, flaking phone booth, each passing car's headlights casting long shadows across your face. you memorized every crack in the booth's floor, every water stain on its ceiling, until they became as familiar as your own disappointment.

you wore the same outfit: thick, wool tights in burgundy tucked under the gleaming straps of your mary janes and layered underneath the dark denim of your favorite jeans. you cradled yourself into a black turtleneck, your hair tamed into two plaits that rested against your neck underneath the fabric. your eyes would be wide and searching, one hand gripping the curved handle of your brown leather suitcase and the other shaking around your well-loved copy of prozac nation.

she never came, but you showed up every time.

one night, a maserati did skate up to that ancient meeting spot, and you straightened from where you'd been dozing standing up. an overly tinted window rolled down, and you were met with the strong gaze of ambessa medarda, whom you hadn't seen since your early days. you didn't remember much, just yellow-tinged memories of being spoiled by her and being picked up and tossed into the bright sky above the farm she owned.

she must've moved back.

at first, she said nothing, just cataloged your most recent iteration of your "going with my mother" outfit and worked her jaw. finally, she leaned over and popped open the door before leaning back and letting you make the choice. embarrassed and teetering on the edge of emotional collapse, you slid in and shut down as she pulled away. this was how you met her again. seventeen and sobbing, emotionally wrought and disappointed from all angles. you probably came off unbearably young, dreamy, and unprepared for the challenges of real life.

it was only later that ambessa revealed that her first thought was that you needed a mother, that you needed her. that you were a girl abandoned and fighting your best against the more experienced hands of life.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

from then on you were her newest daughter, until you weren't. you noticed how 'miss' became 'dear' became 'darling,' each new endearment a step closer across the chasm between you. the way she said your name changed too, softening at the edges like butter left in sunlight.

by nineteen, you were practically sequestered to her house by your personal desires, curling at her hip as you grew into yourself. even now at an older age—still far younger than her—you came home from university only to lay all of your belongings in the warm wood of your makeshift bedroom (the guestroom, really). she taught you to appreciate aged whiskey, watching with amusement as you struggled not to grimace at the burn.

"small sips, little one," she'd say, her hand warm against your lower back.

you learned to love the taste, if only because it meant sharing these quiet moments in her study, the leather of her armchair creaking as she leaned forward to pour you another finger's worth.

you and mel even developed a soft friendship that lessened the tension between her and her mother, tall arguments tempered by the agreement that they would not aggravate your ptsd from the divorce days. sometimes you caught mel watching you both with worried eyes, but you'd grown tired of other people's concerns.

you'd rather have this - ambessa's fingers absently playing with your hair as she read reports, the way she automatically ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it, the subtle possessiveness in how she introduced you to her colleagues.

regardless, you knew that you and ambessa's relationship spun on an axis that could be labeled uncomfortably intimate, maybe even imbalanced. for all that everyone said, you couldn't find it in yourself to be concerned. you regarded her as all that you had, something that wouldn't leave.

she indulged you, kissing your forehead when she came in from a day at work or texting you about what replacements you had wanted for certain items on the grocery list. she rarely called you by your name, always coaxing you forward with firm, warm pet names. they were swollen with affection, a doting '(my) sweet girl', 'baby girl', or 'little one.'

your favorite one was invoked from a spontaneous trip to paris to meet an art collector she'd purchased from, only to return bearing handcrafted soaps and a penchant for calling you 'chouchou.' that stopped about two weeks later, but you wrote it down under your list of desired tattoos. what didn't stop was the way she'd buy authentic silken scarves to tie around your neck with careful precision, her fingers brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent you shivering.

the shift was gradual, like watching shadows lengthen at sunset. one evening, as thunder rolled outside and rain lashed against the windows of her study, she pulled you closer than usual. ambessa’s fingers traced patterns on your skin as she read, and when you tilted your head back to look at her, she met your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. the thunder cracked again and the peeking champagne of your bra strap slipped down your arm. still, neither of you moved.

the moment was eventually broken by mel’s surprise of coming home for the weekend. you pulled yourself upright, intending to put together a small plate for her. before you could leave, ambessa strolled up behind you and adjusted the strap, so that it was firm and held tight to the delicate bones of your shoulder.

for a moment, you thought you’d felt her lips right beside it.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"you're not a little girl anymore," she murmured one night, weeks later, her voice carrying the weight of aged whiskey and unspoken promises.

you were curled in your usual spot beside her, but everything felt different - charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle. you couldn't remember when the maternal comfort of her touch had transformed into something more, but you knew there was no going back.

"i haven't been for a while," you replied, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. her hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze, and you saw in her eyes the same hunger that had been growing in your own.

your fingers traced the rim of your whiskey glass, ice long since melted. the study had grown dark save for the amber glow of her desk lamp, catching the silver in her hair like moonlight on water.

you'd noticed her watching you more lately, her gaze heavy with something between concern and desire.

"you remind me of her sometimes," she said quietly, breaking the silence. "mel, when she was younger."

the comparison should have stung, but you knew better. you'd learned to read between her lines, to understand the weight she carried. you were not mel's replacement - you were something altogether different, more dangerous.

you set your glass down carefully, the crystal making a soft sound against the carpet.

"i'm not her," you said, voice steady as you rose from your chair. "i won't leave."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and threat. her laugh was low, throaty.

"no, baby girl. you're nothing like her at all, are you?"

she spoke the endearment deliberately this time, watching how it made you shiver. you'd both been playing this game for months - you with your calculated vulnerability, her with her careful restraint.

you moved to stand behind her chair, hands resting on her shoulders. through the silk of her blouse, you felt her tension, the way she stilled like a prey animal. but ambessa medarda was nobody's prey, and you both knew it.

"i need you," you murmured, the words leaden. you were trying not to sound as crazed as you felt . "and you need someone who needs you."

her hand came up to cover yours, her gold rings dense and cool against your skin.

"you're very clever," she said, something like pride coloring her voice. "i should send you away."

"but you won't." you pressed your lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her perfume - something expensive and french. mango wood and black rose if you remembered correctly, discovered during your illicit investigations of her bedroom. "because you understand me better than anyone. because we're the same."

she turned then, catching your wrist in a grip that walked the line between gentle and controlling.

"the same?" her thumb pressed against your pulse point, counting out the rhythm of your wanting. "you're barely older than my daughter."

"age is just a number," you said, and then laughed at how young it made you sound. "no—that's not what i mean. what i mean is that we both know what we want. we both know how to take it."

the silence stretched between you like spun sugar, delicate and sweet. outside, leaves skittered across the gravel drive, and somewhere in the house, a clock chimed eleven. you watched emotions play across her face - desire, concern, resignation, hunger.

"if we do this," she said finally, her voice rough like aged bourbon, "there's no going back. no playing innocent. no running away when it gets hard."

you smiled, all teeth and triumph poorly disguised as submission.

"i told you," you said, sinking to your knees beside her chair, resting your head against her thigh like you had a hundred times before - but different now, charged with intent. "i'm not going anywhere."

her hand found your hair, nails scraping gently against your scalp.

"my clever, terrible girl," she murmured, and you could hear in her voice that she'd surrendered to this animal between you. "what am i going to do with you?"

you turned your face into her touch, lips brushing against her wrist where her heart copied yours, beat for beat.

"keep me," you said simply. "just keep me."

the study grew quieter still, the only sound was your shared breathing and the distant whisper of wind through bare branches. you'd won, you knew, but then you'd been winning since that first night in the maserati, since you'd looked at her with calculated tears and let her save you. you loved her - truly, deeply, with all the fierce possession of your young heart - but you'd learned from your mother's absence that love wasn't enough. you had to learn how to hold on to what you wanted.

and oh, how you wanted this - wanted her, with her silver-streaked hair and elegant hands and eyes that saw right through you and wanted you anyway.

her fingers tightened in your hair, and you looked up to find her watching you with an expression that made your breath catch. the lamp clicked off, and in the sudden darkness, you felt rather than saw her move. her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

"stand up," she commanded softly, and you did, letting her guide you until you were perched on the edge of her desk. the wood was cool against your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of her body as she stepped between your knees. "are you sure about this?"

your answer was to reach for her, fingers curling into the cotton of her blouse.

"i've never been more sure of anything."

the clock struck quarter past, and the last autumn leaves rattled against the window as she leaned down to kiss you, tasting of whiskey and an affection hard won.

you kissed back lazily, squeezing your thighs together as one of her hands came to direct you by the base of your neck. she slotted the two of you together, lips sliding and grasping at each other between soft inserts of tongue. your teeth seemed to buzz with unnamable energy as she leaned forwards, hands bracing around you, so close to cupping your ass.

you needed her touch, needed to know whether your fantasies had been well-conjured or only pathetic in their imaginings. you’d spent nights tucking your fingers into yourself, trembling quietly as you pictured the shape of her mouth and how it would fit over you.

as if reading your mind, ambessa firmly spread your legs apart with a forceful hand and came closer to you. you let out a weak moan as her teeth scraped your neck, a hand coming to press down on your stomach as if to see how much space she had to fill.

you were so immensely grateful for the flimsy structure of your sleep shorts, the fabric tugged easily down your legs by only one of her fingers. she used that same finger to feel out the shape of your clothed cunt, her throat trembling with a low sound of satisfaction.

you were wet and desperate, wrapping an arm around her broad shoulders so that you could grind against what was now two fingers.

ambessa moved your panties aside with no great effort, sliding a finger into your tight heat. gradually, she built a rhythm inside of you until you were bucking where she held you. after a minute, she slid it out and into her mouth.

“mmm,” she said consideringly. “my babygirl is so sweet for me.”

you’d swallow a boat of fucking blackberries if you had to, choke them down despite your allergies and sealing throat if that meant she’d taste you again.

“ambessa.

she laughed and you saw her eyes glittering in the dark, the light brown so bright with want they seemed gold. it was then you realized you’d never said her first name alone before, and she must’ve realized as well because her hand suddenly clenched around your throat.

“do you remember when you turned twenty and got drunk with those miscreants from the town over?” your mouth twitched at her avid disgust. she could be quite classist. you’d work on that. “you don’t because you practically drank your body weight, but i do. do you want to know why?”

you gasped out a ‘yes’ as she used her free hand to grope the peach of your ass before switching to thumbing at your pebbled nipples.

“i remember that birthday because you stumbled into my room and climbed into bed with me.” you felt dread rising. “you bumped against my back, like a little bunny, and worked yourself into quite the state. and the whole time you kept apologizing. you were saying ‘sorry, mama’, all slurred and saccharine, over and over till you finished.”

you were so hot with shame you could’ve set the house burning. she smiled, slow and teasing, as she pinched your nipple hard. you let out a high moan.

“i liked that.”

you were squirming now, two of her massive fingers back to stretch your pussy.

“i liked it very much. i had to make sure not to wake you as i fucked myself.”

your eyes widened, like two coins, as the words registered. ambessa laughed again and lowered to her knees, yanking you forward so your ass hung off the edge of the desk. she was still tall enough to tower over you, shadowing the sopping mess of your cunt.

with an annoyed roll of her eyes, she pulled her fingers away and reached behind you, returning with a pair of scissors. with two efficient cuts, your panties were hanging in tatters around your hips. your pussy was exposed in all of its pink glory and it pulled apart with a soft squelch as she pushed your thighs up and out, guiding your hands to hold them for her.

she tugged a hair tie from around her wrist, drawing her gray mass of curls into a loose bun. several strands fell around her face, but she only pushed them impatiently behind her ears. you slapped your hand around blindly, eventually flicking on the bright desk lamp.

“i want you to see me,” you breathed, and she cupped your cheek.

“i’ve always seen you.”

and with that, she went down. she started with a long, luxurious lick up your cunt, her lips suckling around your clit as she reached the top. you moaned loudly and dropped your hands from your thighs, raising them to tug and pinch at your tits. she kept your legs open by sliding the bulk of her back between them, sliding back down to lap at your hole.

for someone as rigid as ambessa could be, she was messy when eating you. she didn’t care to savor, not right now. she’d wanted you for what felt like forever, and you wanted to black out beneath her.

she further spread you open, thrusting her tongue into your heat and feeling you clench. back and forth she went, slobbering over the pink of you until you were tearing up. she suctioned her mouth over one of your lips, large and gleaming, pulling away so that it slid from her mouth with a wet extended ‘pop!’. you clutched at her head, rocking yourself into her unforgiving hold. she blew gently over your hole, watched as it fluttered.

“mama, please.”

tenderly, she grazed her teeth over your clit, soothing the sting with her tongue as she sank three fingers inside of you. ambessa fucked you hard and fast, your tits bouncing as you whimpered with a hand over your mouth. a hand came down like thunder on your ass, the crack hard and hot. you wailed and clutched at her, begging her to go faster, to mark you, to swallow you whole.

“there you are, baby girl. tell me what you need.”

“mama, wait—” you shuddered around her crooked fingers, the world turning white as your head grew hazy. “wait. mama.”

“hmm?”

you scrambled at her, pushing her until there was enough space to slide from where you’d settled at her wrist. wobbling, you turned on your hands and knees, pushing your ass up into her face and falling into a brutal arch.

“like this please.”

“anything for my girl,” ambessa said and you shook because you couldn’t see her face but you could feel her voice.

her fingers dove back into you, her mouth joining the effort. you were floating, only briefly aware of the consistent slaps to your ass through the pain ricocheting pleasantly through you. you pushed back, fucking yourself the way you wanted. she let you, steadying you when you began to lose rhythm.

“bessa, i can’t—i can’t see you,” you slurred and she hummed into your weeping pussy.

your stomach grew tighter and tighter, the world narrowing down to the way she slurped and worked into your cunt. you gripped the opposite edge of the desk, extending yourself as your orgasm began to boil over. quickly, ambessa swung herself under you and brought you down on her face. her arms flexed around your stomach, the corded muscle circling you as she moaned into your cunt.

the vibrations set you off. you felt like you were flying, like you were fucking free.

“oh shit, mama. fuuuuckkkk.”

your voice was unrecognizable to yourself, cracking and raspy. time stretched and winded. you knew your legs were shaking, that you’d squirted over her and yourself.

you didn’t know how, but ambessa was undressed now and rearranging you like a doll. you were back up on your knees, but she was draped over you with her heavy tits branding your skin with their warmth and weight. her hair was down and around you; it smelled like her shampoo, a curtain of coconut and cinnamon.

she bumped her hips against you, caught the silicone tip of a dildo again and again against your loose hole. you turned your head and opened your mouth like a baby bird so she could spit into it, stuff her fingers in.

she began to break into you, bullying your cunt into accepting her cock. you did what you always did. you pushed back and let her in.

you only ever gave her what she needed.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

morning light filtered through dense curtains, casting the bedroom in baby pink. you watched your rings catch the light as you stretched - the marquise diamond throwing prisms across egyptian cotton sheets, your simple gold band warm from sleep.

you'd chosen them together - ambessa insisting on the marquise cut for the engagement ring (something as unique as you, sweet girl) while you'd wanted the classic simplicity of the wedding band, a quiet echo of forever.

the bedroom remained your favorite place - all cream linens and dark wood, familiar as breathing. in the mornings, you could pretend time stood still, pressing chapped kisses against her strong bare arms in the quiet before the day began. sometimes you climbed on top of her, sunk as far as you could into the broad helm of her body.

despite the passing years, she remained your most fortified sanctuary.

"baby girl?" ambessa's voice carried from the en-suite, still commanding even wrapped in morning softness.

you could hear the water running; a bath being drawn.

“coming, mama.”

© hcneymooners. ⚚ special taglist: @sugrcookiiee @icespiceluva @16novvs @tnash-tammy @dyk3miffy @iwasholic @absandsevikasgirl @blackdykegirlblogger @fortluocha @neganwifey25-blog @rottngrl3 just pop me a message or comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

#ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #ambessa x y/n #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa league of legends #wlw smut #lesbian #sapphic #arcane fanfic #arcane smut #arcane x reader #wlw #mine ; 🐎.#female!reader #fem!reader #ambessa smut

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himasgod · 28 days ago

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Morax x Reader

Where your soulmark will unite you to him forever and ever, but you cannot be with him.

Where Guizhong, in her infatuation with Morax, casts a spell on him to make him forget his soulmark that binds you, an adepti, to him, and he falls in love with Guizhong. Years later, when Guizhong dies, Morax takes importance to you and tries to get back to you, but you, hurt, reject him and forget him. Many centuries later, Xiao, Traveler and Paimon have a single mission during the Moonchase Festival: to reunite you and Zhongli after so long.

(chat, did I cook? Seriously, this might be my favorite thing I've ever written on Tumblr. Around 900 words, give it a chance, I promise it'll be worth it :P)

In Teyvat, Soulmate Marks were more than just marks on the skin; they were a shared destiny, a divine promise that no matter the adversities, two souls were destined to meet and complete each other. To mortals, it was a comfort. To gods, it was a reminder that even they were bound by the universal laws of love.

Guizhong, the Goddess of Dust, had always been a visionary. Her intelligence and charisma had cemented Guili Assembly as a haven of prosperity and harmony. But deep within her heart was a desperate longing: to win the heart of the Geo Archon, Morax. Ever since she met him, she had been convinced that her place was at his side, not just as an ally, but as his eternal companion.

When her soulmate mark appeared, Guizhong held her breath in hope.

But her mark showed no clue that connected her to Morax.

Rather than accept this fate, her ambition and fear of rejection led her to commit an act that would change the course of both their lives: with a spell of illusions, she altered her mark to match his.

“Love is selfish… and it must be. For the sake of the Guili Assembly, for the sake of our vision, he must be mine,” she told herself every time the weight of guilt threatened to crush her.

Meanwhile, Morax’s true destiny was entangled with another adepti: you. You were a noble soul, whose mark reflected a deep connection to the land itself. Though Morax had never paid much attention to his own mark, the relationship between the two of you had been one of mutual respect. You, dedicated to the creation of medicines and the healing of Yakshas tormented by their karmic debt, had shared meaningful moments with Morax. Yet there had never been a declaration of love between you.

Morax's heart always seemed to be occupied by Guizhong.

You, though wounded, had accepted your silent role. If Morax found happiness with Guizhong, then that was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

Guizhong's death was a devastating blow to the Guili Assembly and, apparently, to Morax. For years, the Geo Archon mourned her loss, immortalizing her memory in the ruins of Guili. But deception cannot remain hidden forever. As time passed, the spell that had altered Moraxs mark dissipated, revealing its true form.

When Morax discovered the truth, an unfathomable rage took hold of him. Not only had he been betrayed, but he had also allowed his true soulmate to suffer in silence while he protected Guizhong's lie. In a fit of grief and disappointment, he erased from his memory any vestige of love he had felt for the Goddess of Dust.

But the truth came at a price: how to face you after so many years of indifference?

You had found solace in your work. Alongside the Herblord, you had dedicated your life to creating remedies to ease the burden of the Yakshas and other Adepti. You had left behind any hope of a relationship with Morax. For him, there was no room in his heart for false gestures or empty words.

When Morax finally found you, he was greeted with a coldness he had never expected.

“What do you wish, Morax?” you asked, not looking up from the herbs you were grinding.

“I have come to apologize. To seek… redemption,” he replied, his voice laden with a sincerity he rarely showed.

“Redemption does not change the past. And your words will not erase the years of silence. Go find solace in Guizhong’s memories… or in your own decisions.—"

The conversation ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving Morax with a weight he hadn’t felt in millennia.

The Moonchase Festival filled Liyue with vibrant energy. The streets were adorned with floating lanterns, tables laden with traditional food, and the laughter of children echoed in the air. It was a celebration of togetherness, of remembering the past and looking toward the future. Among the attendees, the Traveler and Paimon moved with determination, knowing that the success of their plan depended on their discretion.

They had to bring you and Zhongli together after so many years again, and today was the perfect opportunity.

Xiao, who rarely participated in festivities, stood at the edge of the crowd, watchful. He had reluctantly agreed to help, aware of how much it meant to him to see Zhongli and you reconcile. Though his face remained impassive, the Yaksha couldn’t help but feel a certain hope. He had lost so much over the years; perhaps it was time to recover something.

The Traveler was in charge of taking Zhongli to the designated place: a secluded viewing point at the port, from where one could observe the spectacle of the lanterns ascending- so romantic.

Xiao, meanwhile, was accompanying you, who had accepted the invitation to the festival at the Herbalist's insistence, unaware that it was all part of an elaborate plan.

When the two reached the viewing platform, the atmosphere instantly became tense. You, recognizing Zhongli, stopped in your tracks and pressed your lips together. The ancient Geo Archon, for his part, showed a mix of surprise and something that seemed vulnerable, an emotion rare in someone like him.

"I… didn't know you'd be here," you murmured, your tone bordering on indifference.

"It was my initiative," the Traveler quickly intervened, trying to ease the tension. "I thought it would be good for both of you to enjoy the festival from a quiet place."

"Calm down?" you raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but I don't think it's wise."

Before you could leave, Zhongli spoke:

"Please stay."

The tone of his voice, deep and solemn, managed to stop you. There was something in it, a sincerity that you hadn’t expected.

For long minutes, you both remained silent, watching the lanterns light up the sky. Finally, Zhongli spoke up:

“A long time ago, I was blinded by my own decisions. I allowed my judgment to be clouded by loyalty and duty, and in that process, I hurt those who mattered most. You. And my mark is binding me to you, it burns every time I think of you, and it has all these years. I know it burns you too. Guizhong moved me with her manipulative fingers, but now that she passed away so many years ago that I can't even count them… the truth of her lies has come to light. And I feel stupid…”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you turned to look directly at him, your eyes reflecting years of repressed pain.

“And what do you expect me to say? To forgive you after everything?”

Your tone was cold, but there was a tremor in your voice that betrayed the internal storm you were struggling to control. “After how you ignored everything I did for you, while defending someone who wasn’t even your soulmate?”

Zhongli looked down, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I don't expect your forgiveness. I only hope that you'll allow me to prove that I've changed. That you'll understand how sorry I am for my blindness."

You let out a bitter laugh.

"You changed? Perhaps. But I changed too, Morax. Or I mean, Zhongli, I guess. Centuries don't pass in vain, and the wounds you left behind didn't heal easily. I'm not the same person who used to wait for you with hope. I'm now someone who learned to live without you, with this mark, but without you."

The silence that followed was heavy, but not hopeless. Zhongli, with his infinite patience, nodded slowly.

"I know. I can't pretend to erase the past or what I did. But I want you to know that I will never stop trying to make up for my mistakes. If you ever decide to give me a chance, I'll be here, waiting."

You looked at him for a long moment. There was something different about him; he was no longer the arrogant god who made unilateral decisions. There was humility in his words, a humanity you hadn't seen before.

“I make no promises, Zhongli,” you finally replied, your voice softer.

“But perhaps one day… we can try.”

Zhongli looked up, and for the first time in centuries, a small spark of hope lit up his eyes.

That night, though you were not completely reconciled, something changed between you. As the Moonchase Festival continued in the distance, Zhongli and you remained at the gazebo, sharing a quieter conversation. There were no promises, only a tacit understanding that time, though cruel, could also offer second chances.

From afar, Xiao, Traveler and Paimon watched the scene, Xiao's heart lightened.

Though he knew the road would be long, at least there was a start now.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

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whytheylosttheirminds · 1 month ago

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happy birthday, baby (part two: birthday boy)

(boyfriend!rafe x girlfriend!reader two-shot) (18+ only)

summary When Rafe's birthday finally rolls around, it's your turn to show him just how much he deserves to be celebrated. you never expected to be the one whose deepest wish comes true...

content dirty filthy birthday sex, pinv, light bondage, m recieving oral, use of ‘daddy’ sorry, 18+ minors do not interact!

(part 2 to this fic, but can be read separately)

-----------------ꪆৎ‎---------------------

“Tastes so good, baby.”

Little crumbs of red velvet cake collect at the corners of Rafe’s mouth. You laugh and brush them off with the pad of your thumb.

He’d made you swear not to buy him anything for his birthday, “‘s just another day…” he’d say. But it wasn’t just another day, not to you. Today was the day your universe began, all those years ago. So you’d made all his favorites, a five-course meal with a big finish: a triple layer red velvet cake, extra frosting.

“What did you wish for?” You ask hopefully, plucking the blown-out candles from the cake, licking the frosting off. A little dab of red frosting lingers on your cheek, making Rafe smile, but he doesn’t wipe it off, not yet.

“Nothin’,” he shrugs.

Your brows furrow in disappointment, you were trying so hard to get him to buy into the celebration of his birthday, to make him feel as special as he made you feel, and his answer seemed to confirm he wasn’t, “Oh. Okay.”

You step away from his hold and start to gather the dishes, failing miserably at hiding your disappointment. Rafe just smiles up at you, grabbing your wrist as you reach out to grab his empty dinner plate, pushing it out of the way with his other hand as he pulls you forward to sit on his lap.

Perched on his thighs, you avoid eye contact, feeling silly for being so emotionally invested in this. His grin never falling, he places two fingers under your chin, pulling your face to look at him.

“I didn’t make a wish,” he begins, using his thumb to pull at your pouty lower lip, “because I already have everything I could ever want right here in my lap.”

A blush tickles the apples of your cheeks, warming at his pretty words. You smile big, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his firm shoulder.

“Oh,” you laugh softly into the warm skin of his neck.

“Yeah, oh,” he teases you, his hand rubbing loving strokes on your thigh.

“Wait a minute,” you pull back suddenly, brow furrowed. “I’m supposed to be saying nice things to you!”

“No one’s stopping you,” he chuckles, lifting your hair and brushing it over your shoulder so he can kiss around the strap of your dress.

You pause him, hand on either side of his face to reclaim the moment. You lean forward so you’re the one kissing him, starting gently with his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper to him.

“You do?” He teases, as if you don’t already tell him twenty times a day and every single night.

“You know that I do,” you roll your eyes, reuniting your lips with his, then moving your kisses over to his cheeks and across his jaw, whispering sweet nothings the whole way.

When you pull back, his eyes are half closed, chest rising and falling heavily. He’s right where you want him, but tonight, the goal is to push him over the edge. You ponder what you can do to get him to let go completely, to give you the raw energy you know he’s been holding back.

Impulsively, you dip your finger into the thick icing on the edge of the cake, coating your fingertip in red frosting, and bring it to his lips. An incredulous smirk painted on his lips, his eyes narrow at you; the look a mix of what’s your game? and do you know how fucking hot that is?

After a beat, he draws your finger between his lips with a swirl of his tongue, the movement so sweet and so sexy you nearly swoon.

His hands grip your waist and he pulls you in closer, and you feel his hardness bury itself into the soft underside of your thigh. He has that familiar mischief in his eyes, like he’s scheming.

Then he leans forward suddenly, warm tongue licking the frosting off your cheek. You gasp and giggle, laughing loudly until your silenced by his tongue dragging its way across your cheek and into your mouth, kissing you slow and sloppy.

The two of you are always like this, all over each other, addicted. But something about tonight feels different. You couldn’t give him any presents, but you were ready to give him everything else you had. Everything you’d been too nervous to ask for, hoping he’d say it first.

He squeezes your waist, grinding you into him, and you know it’s time.

“I know you said you didn’t want any presents, but I got you a little something anyway,” you scrunch your nose with feigned guilt, though you weren’t actually sorry at all.

“Oh did you?” He tightens his grip on your hips, but you manage to wriggle away from him with some difficulty.

He scoffs in annoyance when he’s alone in the chair again, so you lean down and leave a peck on his pink lips, “I’ll be right back. Wait for me on the couch, yeah?”

“You’re real bossy for someone who was not born today,” he quips, not rising from the chair as instructed.

“And you’re very unspoiled for someone who was,” you explain, “I think we need to fix that.”

Rafe falls back onto the plush couch with a sigh as you disappear into the bedroom. The long, heavy day wears on him, his head falling back to stretch the tightness in his neck. He wishes he didn’t always feel so intensely, wishes a day could just be a day and not a weighted reminder of his messy past. He wishes, desperately, something could just drown out the noise, that someone could come take the weight of his shoulders.

Like an answer to his prayer, you appear in front of him.

You lean on the doorframe seductively, one arm up against the wood, popping out your hip, a silhouette he wishes he could bottle up and consume whole.

You’re wearing a silky, red lingerie set, the bra featuring a big bow tied in the middle, pushing your breasts together and begging to be untied. You do a little spin so he can see the similar bow tied over your ass, cheeks perked up nicely by the sky high heels you’ve added to the ensemble, clicking on the hardwood floor as you twirl for him.

“Holy shit,” he stammers, adjusting himself on the couch, already straining against his slacks just at the sight of you, all done up for him.

Rafe leans back on the couch, He raising both arms, fingers laced behind his head, doing everything he can to stifle the impulse to jump up and untie those fucking bows. He does that a lot, holds himself back, afraid to show you all of his fire and find out it’s too much for you.

“You,” he chuckles darkly, eyes twinkling with lust and impatience, “are unbelievable.”

“D’ya like it?” You bite your lip, fingertips twirling the ends of the ribbon innocently.

“Come here,” he raises his eyebrows incredulously, motioning for you, “come see just how much I like it.”

An excited giggle rises from your throat, your heels tapping as you hurry towards him. He opens his legs for you to stand between, rubbing your hands over his shoulders. The ridges of his taut muscles are visible under his black button down, still in his suit and tie from his long day at work. He turns his head to kiss the inside of your forearms, smirking knowingly as he snaps the silky pink scrunchie on your wrist, “what’s this for?”

“You know what it’s for,” you smirk, running your hands up the side of his neck and onto either side of his face, “gonna give you everything you like.”

“Yeah?” He asks in a low grumble, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he examines the bow over your tits, now resting perfectly in front of his face.

One hand playing with the cartilage of his ear, the other runs up to the top of his head, lacing into his messy hair, tugging gently to lift his gaze to your eyes.

“Is that what you want? You want me on my knees for you, birthday boy?”

Steadying himself, he places his hands on your waist, the bob of his Adam’s apple prominent with the way you’ve got his head pushed back. He swallows, something holding back his answer.

“It’s okay, baby,” you reassure him, “you can ask for what you want.”

This is one of the many things you love about him, he’s so aggressive and demanding with everyone else in his life, but still hesitant to be too rough with you. Today, though, you wanted all his fire, craved that fury, determined to snap his restraint.

You tug a little harder on his hair, “I’m your present, Rafe. I want you to open me up and do whatever you want with me.”

His nostrils flare, sparks flickering in his eyes. His hands slip down to your barely covered ass, squeezing the soft flesh so hard in his broad palms you gasp and stumble forward slightly. He takes advantage of your body coming closer to his face, leans forward and sinks his teeth into the flesh of your hip, right above the line of your panties.

A high pitched gasp leaves you, picking up into an involuntary squeak as his teeth mark your skin. He pulls back and licks over the bite mark he’s left, blowing on it gently, lighting up your body with chills.

“Mine?” He double checks.

“All yours, always,” you nod, still breathless from his possessive display. “Tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything.”

“Get on your knees,” he finally demands.

“Yes sir,” you nod, unable to hide your giddy smile, releasing his hair from your hand and lowering to the ground.

“Wait, wait,” he says, and you almost let out a frustrated sigh, assuming he was changing his mind. Before you could remind him that you wanted this, he grabbed a pillow off the couch, placing it down for you to rest your knees on, still loving on you even when he was about to do filthy things to you.

Your eyes are full of hearts as you kneel down on the pillow, gazing up at him lovingly once you’re settled between his legs. You pull your hair up, putting the scrunchie to good use, and sit back on your heels to take him in.

The sight of you, perched for him, eyes full of lust as your chest rises and falls with arousal, is all the gift he needed. But you’re nowhere near done spoiling him yet.

Once he’s settled back on the couch, you sit up, running a hand up each of his thighs, stroking slowly as you near his belt buckle. His abs tighten as the tips of your fingers brush against his stomach. Your eyes go wide at the large indentation of his cock against his pants, thrilled that he’s so hard already, the thought of his perfect dick sending butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

“Got me so wet thinking about taking you in my mouth,” you confess.

“You don’t have to-”

“Shhh,” you shake your head slowly, not even entertaining the thought.

After pulling the button from its loop, you unzip his slacks slowly, Rafe lifting his hips from the couch so you can pull them down just enough to reveal the outline of his pulsing cock straining against his briefs.

Focused, you lean over him, fingertips teasing the waistband of his Calvin’s, and place the gentlest of kisses on his clothed dick.

“Just wanna be your dirty girl tonight,” you say before dropping another kiss to the very tip, savoring the salty taste of his precome seeping through his boxers. “You gonna let me?”

Rafe nods obediently, eyes wide with amazement that you’re this good to him, “yes baby, give it to me.”

With that request, you pull the band of his briefs down, allowing his cock to finally spring free, humming contentedly at the sight. Before palming it, you pull his hand from your throat and move it to your hair. He catches on and wraps his fingers around your ponytail.

You wrap your fingers around his base, dribbling a glob of spit slowly from your lips onto the head, using it to ready him with a pump of your fist.

Rafe’s eyebrows knit together, in awe of you as he always is.

“Such a pretty cock,” you hum, “been waiting all day to taste you. I think about this dick all the time.”

It isn’t just for show, though you are speaking a little filthier than usual to add spice to his birthday gift, you really do think about him so often. He’s given you so much, the life changing sex just one piece of the puzzle he’s assembled for you through his love and care.

Eyes darting up to lock onto his, you flatten your tongue and run a single stripe up the column of his shaft, finishing with a playful flick at the tip.

His whole body shudders, the fingers wrapped in your hair tugging so gently you wonder if you’re imagining it, his other hand balled in a restrained fist on the top of his thigh.

“You know I love you, yeah?” Rafe whispers, soft like a prayer, like they’re the last words he wants to say before his soul leaves his body.

“I love you more,” your lips curl into a smile, punctuating the statement with a swirl of your tongue over his now throbbing head.

“Not fucking possible.”

You slip the hand not holding his cock to your lips over his clenched fist, guiding him to unravel it and laces his fingers with yours. You finally hollow your cheeks and sink your head down on him, softly gagging as your jaw goes to slack to welcome all of him into your warm, wet mouth.

When he’s all the way in, you gag again, the motion of your throat clenching around him mixed with the pornographic sound forcing his eyes shut as he grits his teeth at the intense pleasure. You lift up slowly then bob at a steady pace, slurping and gagging as you go, making the prettiest sounds for him.

You pop off of him momentarily to catch your breath, “you’re so big, love. ‘M gonna have to go slow.”

“T-a-ake your time,” he stammers out, hips jerking up unintentionally as you wrap both hands around his shaft and begin twisting your strokes at a steady pace.

As you stroke him, you rise up on your knees so your tied up tits move with each stroke of his cock.

“You haven’t opened your present yet,” you angle forward, eyes drifting to your barely covered chest until he catches on.

Rafe pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers twitching with every stroke of your hand on his cock as he tugs at the edge of the ribbon covering your chest.

Pulling the bow apart, your tits bounce slightly, spilling out for him, and he nearly busts at the sight.

“Fuck,” he moans out. “I swear to god, baby, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time every time. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Still stroking him, you stretch up to kiss him, the soft skin of your nipple brushing against his leaking tip. Rafe gasps into your mouth at the sensation, and you look at him with wide, mischievous eyes.

“Did you like that?”

You let your hardened nipple just barely brush against his overly sensitive tip again, and he’s nodding his head rapidly, “ye-yeah, yeah, yes…”

Lip between your teeth, you drag your nipple across his tip a few more times, collecting his precum on the hard bud. He’s nearly crushing your hand, biting back whimpers. You’re gasping again and again as your sensitive skin makes contact with his, surprised at how good it feels for you, too.

“This shit making you wet, baby?” He asks, eyeing the way your thighs squeeze together, body rolling desperately.

With a wicked grin you drag his hands to either side of your breasts, guiding him to squeeze them around himself. He lets out an immediate groan when you hinge your hips to raise and lower your torso, dragging his cock, sloppy from your spit, between your tits.

“Yes, so wet, Rafe. I love watching you fuck my tits, it’s so fucking hot,” you choke out between strokes.

He’s never seen you like this, so filthy and forward. But the beaming grin on your face as you watch him panting for your touch tells him you’re doing just fine, enjoying it even. He wants nothing more than to keep you looking like that, to keep making you feel good.

“What’d you wish for?” He asks impulsively.

“What?” You’re pulled from your focus on his pleasure at the unexpected question.

“On your birthday, what’d you want me to do to you?”

Your blush is immediate, shame swirling in your belly at the filthy fantasies that flash through your mind. You’re supposed to be making him feel good, but it’s these kinds of gentle reminders that he’s still in control that make your thoughts spiral to the dirtiest places.

When you don’t answer, Rafe leans forward, grabbing your hair again and tugging your head back just slightly, making you gasp at the pull. He kisses you hard and fast, a string of your mixed saliva hanging between your lips when he pulls back, just barely, to whisper, “said you were gonna be my dirty girl, yeah? Tell me what you really want, and I might just give it to you.”

The whimper that slips between your spit-slick lips is involuntary, and tells him exactly what he needs to know - that there’s more you’ve been waiting for, that you want him to be rough. Your next statement seals the deal.

“I wa…I wished you would tie me up,” you confess, voice so wispy and hesitant he can barely hear it. “I wished for you to tie my hands and fuck me ‘til I scream.”

For a second, you think he didn’t hear it, until he rises from the couch, forcing you to sit back on your heels. Rafe towers over you, his still-hard cock angry in your face. You look up at him from your spot on your knees, perched before him, gazing at your man with wide eyes.

You gulp down the nervousness in your throat, knowing you and Rafe were about to enter territory you’d flirted with but never fully crossed over into before.

He looks down at you, tilting his head. You’re so fucking pretty, perched for him, glassy eyes trained on him expectantly. He reaches behind your head and pulls the scrunchie out slowly, tossing it aside so your hair falls around your face. Hand returning to cradle your head, he thumbs your bottom lip gently, dragging it down with the pad of his large finger.

“Is that still what you want?” He breathes.

“Yes,” you nod.

“Good,” Rafe grabs both sides of his tie loop, pulling hard, exposed forearms under his rolled sleeves flexing as he tears the luxury fabric from his neck with ease like it’s some flimsy knock-off.

You’re practically drooling for him at this point. He rips his shirt open, revealing the sculpted chest and rigid abs you’ve been thinking about all day. He looks so fucking strong and powerful above you, it’s thrilling - the man everyone is scared of, you’d trust with your life. With your body. Giving it to him tonight, along with your whole heart, is the best present you can think of.

“Stand up,” he instructs.

You rise slowly, knees suddenly weak, trembling under his frame. He notices.

“You know I love you right?” He repeats his earlier words, but there’s something different about the question now. It’s a confirmation, and a warning. The subtext is clear in his low tone: ‘cause I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.

You nod slowly, grabbing the hand that’s not holding his tie, “Mhm, I love you too.”

“Good.”

He takes over your hand, pulling so you’re forced to spin, facing away from him. He holds your hand behind you, leaning low to drop a kiss over the racing pulse point on your wrist, another reassurance that this was all done in love.

Holding the tie between his teeth, he draws your other wrist back. Swift hands twist the tie around your wrists to hold them together tightly.

“Lay down,” he instructs with a final tug of the tie that makes you gasp, making moving your hands impossible.

Your knees sink into the plush fabric of the couch, turned head resting against the throw pillows as you arch your back up, ready and waiting for him.

The rest of his clothes torn off and strewn about the room, Rafe approaches, one knee in the cushions behind you. It’s just now that he notices your panties are crotchless, untying the bow over your ass with a smirk. Fuck does he love you.

His large palms glide over your ass, stopping to squeeze hard, “goddamn, I love this ass,” one hand wanders down, sliding through your slick folds without warning, making you suck in a sharp breath. “And I love this fucking pussy.”

One finger slips in, access to your core easy as ever with how drenched you are.

“You this wet from sucking my cock? Of course you are because you’re always such a good girl for me.”

“I love when you call me that,” you whine out.

“I know you do. Keep being good for me and I’ll say it again,” he adds a second finger, pumping harder than before, preparing you.

You whine and writhe below him, your wrists already straining against the restraint of his tie, desperate for more, “please, fuck me, Rafe. Please don’t make me wait.”

“What happened to ‘it’s your birthday, Rafe. I’m your present, Rafe’ huh?” He mimics your earlier words with a chuckle. He’s never talked to you like this, but you love it, knowing it’s all per your request he goes rough this time.

“But, y’know what?” Rafe wraps his hand in the tie around your wrists, tugging you toward him and making you squeak out a strained groan. “You’ve been so good to me all night, so I’ll give you what you want.”

He fists his cock, still wet from your mouth, in the hand not gripping the tie, guiding it toward your entrance. He starts with just the tip, making you arch your back to take more of him, confused as he holds still behind you. Just as you open your lips to question him, he tugs on the tie, pulling your body back so your pussy swallows his cock whole.

“Gah, fuck! Ohmygod, ohmygod do that again, please.” This position is everything you’d hoped it would be, and he knows it, grinning like a mad man as you babble below him.

Rafe braces himself, one foot still on the ground for leverage, his other hand gripping your hip so hard the imprint of his hand is surely permanent. He slides back out slow before pulling you back again. And again. And again.

Skin is slapping skin, and you’re barely coherent, a string of praises for him that he can hardly make out. He’s panting like a dog, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip as he memorizes the sight of your hands tied over your lower back as your ass ripples with each smack of his hips.

“So good…b-baby,” you croak out, the edge of something unfinished in your words.

He knew you were holding back one last thing, one last fantasy that you were denying yourself for fear of being too much for him. He needed to hear you say it, to know you gave him absolutely everything.

“Say it. Call me what you really want to call me. Let me hear it, angel.”

“Feels so good…d-daddy.”

You worried it’d be too far, but it felt so good, like honey dripping from your tongue, and it sounded like music to his ears.

“Ahhh, yeah, shit. That’s my good girl,” he drawls, dropping forward to sprinkle kisses over your spine. “How long you been waiting to say that?”

“Since the day I met you,” you admit, your brain is too high off of him to filter your thoughts.

Rafe chuckles darkly behind you, picking up speed as he snakes his arm around your waist, fingers dropping low to run over your clit. And just like that, your wish comes true - he has you screaming for him now.

“Ohhh fuck me too, baby,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “Thought I’d met a goddamn angel when I first laid eyes on you, looking so good in that little skirt, I knew I needed to have you. I knew you’d be mine. But I never could have imagined it’d be like this. That you’d be my slut and the love of my life? I’m the luckiest fucking guy on earth.”

Tears slip from the corner of your eyes, a swirl of the overwhelming pleasure and the immense love you have for him. He’s still pistoning into you, lips dragging up and down your spine, hand around the tie securing your wrists.

Your orgasm is building like a tidal wave, growing impossibly large and looming over you with the promise of destructive impact. The pleasure he’s giving you is building so intensely, you wonder if you’ll be able to handle it when it crashes on your shore.

Rafe knows it’s coming, knows you like the back of his fucking hand.

“Come for me,” he asks with another pull of the tie, fucking himself into you so deep you feel like you’re one body. “Be my good girl and come.”

“Yes daddy,” is the last thing you say before it hits you, soaking his cock and forcing him to empty himself into you, groaning your name like a gospel song into your ear.

He unties you almost immediately, and you know as much as he enjoyed having you like that, he’s still worried.

You twist under him so you’re chest to chest, his face wrinkled with concern as he pants above you.

Resting on one arm, he grabs your wrist, pulling it toward him to examine it closely. There’s a slight red mark where the tie was tightest, but they don’t hurt and you know they’ll fade within the hour. His face, however, is twisted in worry like you’re terminally ill. He kisses over the red marks soft and slow, as if he can heal them with just his lips.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, your chest still rising and falling as you return to earth from the heaven he gave you.

“I- I just…” you lay silent while he searches for his words. “I’ve hurt people before, I never want to hurt you.”

You pull your wrist from his grasp so you can cup his face in your hands, pulling his forehead to yours, “you didn’t, you couldn’t. I wanted it, I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“You don’t have to do things like that for me,” he shakes his head, eyes closed with worry.

“You’re not listening to me,” you say a little louder, causing him to open his eyes into yours. “I’ve never trusted anyone enough to do something like that. I’ve never felt safe enough with somebody to ask for it. But I’d trust you with my life.”

“Really?” He mutters, jaw clenched tight, though his body starting to sink into yours is a telltale sign that he’s finally relaxing.

“I’m like over the top, disgustingly in love with you, actually,” you smile.

His lips quirk to the side, eyes twinkling with relief, “Oh yeah?”

Your eyes soften, arms wrapping around his neck to draw him closer, “I adore you, Rafe.”

“Babygirl, I adore you too, you have no idea how much,” he promises before dropping his lips onto yours, his kiss slow and unhurried, like he plans to stay here for hours. “And I think I’m starting to like my birthday.”

“Really?!” Your eyebrows shoot up in excitement, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Really,” he smiles. “As long as I always get to spend it with you.”

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november 4th december 4th same difference. happy birthday, sluts.

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