#what a crooner

[tiramegtoons]

🎵“Tiptoe through the window

By the window, that is where I'll be,

Come tiptoe through the tulips with meee-HE-HEE!

Oh, tiptoe from the garden

By the garden of the willow tree

-HOO-HOO!

And tiptoe through the tulips with meEeEEe!”

[drygrasses]

JOEY IS LEAVING KOOZA….I THOUGHT HE WAS LEAVING IN OCTOBER…….I HAVENT GOTTEN TO SEE HIM PERFORM AS THE TRICKSTER AGAIN YET IM SO SAD

[duranduratulsa]

Here's today's Christmas CD 💿 Playlist...

Christmas With The Chipmunks (1962)

What A Swingin' Season (2007)

Elvis' Christmas by ELVIS PRESLEY (1957)

A Charlie Brown Christmas by Vince Guaraldi (1964)

Crooner's Christmas (2008)

Merry Merry Christmas by New Kids On The Block (1989)

#thechipmunks #christmaswiththechipmunks #alvinsimonandtheodore #DavidSeville #whataswinginseason #Elvis #elvispresley #elvischristmasalbum #ACharlieBrownChristmas #charliebrown #peanutsgang #vinceguaraldi #VinceGuaraldiTrio #CroonersChristmas #newkidsontheblock #nkotb #merrymerrychristmas #50s #60s #80s #2000s #CD #Christmas #merrychristmas #merrychristmas2024

[bananaironoyumemoichido]

The crooner but trans imagine

Imagine him literally just finding out he’s a trans girl and then having a straight up mental breakdown because blawg found out he’s a girl and thinks he’s not enough of a girl because of the weird transphobic stuff all around him and the misogyny that’s been surrounding him nearly half his life

[mazzy-rockstar]

[necrowyrm]

Love seeing a bunch of posts from different people that were clearly spawned from a single groupchat or call. The power of friendship produces funny posts and/or indecipherable bullshit

[ooc-miqojak]

The most wildly wrong post I've seen on this site since the CEO dug his own proverbial grave. I listen to a little of everything except country (and as a young kid growing up in the U.S. south I listened to it - I loved Billy Ray Cyrus so much that I memorized Achey Breaky Heart... and to this day I still know many of the lyrics, despite not hearing it for almost 30 years) and that ranges from artists like CORPSE and 3TEETH to Eartha Kitt, and Louis Armstrong.

There are few things worse than people like this - music snobs who put people in boxes and talk down about others' music consumption. This is worse than a Meyers Briggs personality test - what a hipster-wannabe take that diminishes other people.

What your answer to "what music do you listen to?" means to me:

"Anything but country" >> solely music released in the last 20-30 years at most

"Anything but rap" >> I'm side-eyeing you. Are you Ben Shapiro?

"A little of everything" >> indie folk, some basic hip hop, and one or two artists from the 70s-80s

"How much time do you have?" >> someone who is really passionate about at least one band/genre, maybe more

"Lately I've been getting really into—" >> about to tell me the most obscure genre in the world

[boytoycowboy]

Re: your tags

Just from vibes, I would not doubt if Orville was your top artist l. Congrats on the gay cowboy agenda : )

anon, this is the best thing someone could ever say to me. thank you 🤠

[ladyannemarie5]

I finally got to watch “The Witcher: Sirens of the Deep” again, so here's the third part of:

Things we learned/confirmed about our bard in “The Witcher: Sirens of the deep”

Geralt is always ready to protect his bard on hunts.

He and Geralt share the coins from the hunts and his performances as a bard (awww like in the fanfics). 

He often suffers from financial problems thanks to sharing Geralt's coin and moral code (but he never leaves him alone)

Geralt lets Jaskier touch him as he pleases even though physically Jaskier couldn't move an inch of the witcher if Geralt didn't want to (you know, that scene at the beginning where they're in the tavern, Geralt gets up to leave and Jaskier with a firm hand on his shoulder puts him back in his sit)

He went to Bremervoord, his old town where no one appreciated him and he suffered from bullying and from which he fled so desperately to be himself, just because Geralt was avoiding you-know-who.

He never misses an opportunity to badmouth Yennefer LOL.

He was the driver of the carriage on Ellander's trip to Möen that Yennefer was talking about in S3E1 where she and Geralt did everything but talk (to be honest, I'm not really sure on this point but in the scene where the driver is seen steering the carriage you can see a blue doublet that may be Jaskier's trademark, but maybe I'm just projecting my bard on everything LOL)

It's Jaskier The Bard, The Song Don of Oxenfurt, The Crooner of the Continent

Essi “Little eye” is like Jaskier's little sister and the bard's #1 defender (Sooo cute and sad considering that probably, and following canon, that was the last time Jaskier saw Essi)

Geralt only learned that “Julian” was the bard's real name 20 years later. 

He used to say he was originally from Oxenfurt (considering this point, it makes me wonder at what point the Viscount of Lettenhove thing came in).

He was meant to be a man of the sea, but he was “creative and different and they treated him horrible because of that” (MY SHYLAAAAAA, I liked that they gave more lore to his past, is it better than what I've read in fanfics? I don't think so, but it's appreciated anyway)

He's a superstar, master of the scene (we already knew this but it never hurts to remember it).

Jaskier steals Geralt's beer 

Geralt is quite used to Jaskier's nonsense and dramatics (that scene where Jaskier spits out the beer, which he took from Geralt, for knowing that Essi is a bard and the witcher just shakes the drink off without blinking)

“If you know my name, it's because you know his songs” (What the hell???? Geralt was so ready to defend his bard's honor).

Jaskier is Geralt's official wingman (he just doesn't want him to be with Yennefer). 

Geralt hunts and cooks for him (awwww)

Jaskier doesn't like Geralt's cooking.

Jaskier knows that Geralt has a big heart and is a softie. 

And there was only one tent, Geralt sleeps outside the tent (probably to keep watch, but there's no way they haven't shared a tent at least once)

Jaskier is a very heavy sleeper

As a bard, he is aware of political, social and economic issues in many parts of the Continent (which helped Geralt to solve the Sirens' problem). 

He is the beauty and moral support in the team (he is gorgeous).

Geralt removes Jaskier from the path of danger (that scene where Melusina in the form of the princess goes for Geralt and he removes Jaskier)

No matter what anyone says, Jaskier solved the case. 

Moral support of Geralt when they call him “sewer cleaner”. 

“And yet, for all the talk of Witchers lacking emotions, I know how to hurt you *proceeds to order Jaskier's death.

Jaskier was already saying goodbye to Geralt and blaming himself for returning to Bremervoord.

Jaskier may always be the damsel in distress, but when the situation calls for it he knows how to use a sword and fight in spite of his fears (keep the swords away from the bard when he is shocked and scared)

Zelest, welcome to Jaskier's harem.

Despite all the drama and commotion in the fights, Geralt constantly checks that his bard is alive and well, always ready to drop everything and help if needed.

Jaskier is quite used to Geralt's favorite technique of being eaten.

Jaskier has been to many royal weddings 

Jaskier gave up his life and everything he knew in order to fulfill his dream of being a bard (and he made the right decision) 

“But for now, looks like Jaskier will have to do” (To be honest, I don't know how to take this lol).

Jaskier is the one who decides where to go in his adventures with Geralt. 

The whole Sirens of the deep is set immediately before the dragon hunt (and that breaks my heart)

And last but not least, Joey Batey is the love of my life (and I love that they respected his incredibly blue eyes). 

(I didn't think this would turn out to be so long but here we are, sorry for the verbal vomit).

You can check the previous parts here and here

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part seven)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve's visitors in the 1950s force him to accept the truth. The new Captain America drives a wedge in the reader's relationship with Bucky.

themes/warnings : pining, angst, Loki and Mobius featured

word count : 2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

The 1950s, seven months after Steve's arrival

You're not supposed to be here.

The sound of an old radio drifts lazily through the air, some crooner from a time long forgotten. Loki lingers behind Mobius in the living room, adjusting his coat with a smirk that practically drips with condescension. He's enjoying the storm of emotion on Steve's face.

"What do you mean?" The former Captain America asks.

Mobius and Loki exchange glances before Mobius steps forward, pulling out a small, metallic device that flickers with a strange light.

Mobius gets right into his explanation, gesturing to the TemPad, its holographic images flashing in front of Steve: timelines splitting, branches forming, collapsing under the careful pruning of the TVA.

Steve simply watches as the enormity of it sinks in. His world is crumbling around him yet again.

"What do you think you're doing here, Captain?" Loki drawls, his eyes glinting with an odd mix of amusement and sympathy. "Living the quiet life, are we? Playing house in the 1950s?"

Mobius sighs, ignoring Loki's taunts. "You know why we’re here, Steve. We came to bring you back. You weren’t meant to stay."

Steve’s eyes flicker with a brief flash of something – regret? Guilt? Or was that hope? He turns slightly, casting a glance at the quaint home he stands in, and then back at Mobius. "I made my decision."

"Yeah, you did," Loki interrupts, crossing his arms as he sizes up the man in front of him. "And look where that’s gotten you. Hiding out in a time that doesn’t belong to you."

Steve’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening. He can feel the accusation hanging in the air, too familiar, too true. But he keeps his voice steady, his shoulders stiff. "I came back to claim what I deserve."

Mobius steps closer, his voice softer now. "While I understand that, Steve... Right now, you’re living in the past – a time which was never meant to be your present."

Steve says nothing. The truth is a splinter lodged in his chest, one that’s been festering since he first stepped into this world that wasn’t his. Because it wasn’t really about Peggy anymore. It was about you.

You. The one he left behind, the one he’s thought about every single day since he made that fateful choice. He had convinced himself he was doing the right thing, that he could live in the past and let go of everything. But the truth gnawed at him. He wasn’t living here – he was hiding.

"I had to come back," Steve mutters, almost to himself. "I owed it to Peggy."

Loki lets out a sharp laugh, drawing Steve’s attention. "Oh, please. Owing someone something doesn’t mean trapping yourself in a past that doesn’t need you. Peggy moved on, Steve. She had a life. But you? You abandoned yours."

He abandoned you. He abandoned Bucky.

Mobius sighs again, hands slipping into his pockets as he tries to cut through Loki’s sharp edges. "Steve, we’re not here just because of your choices. You staying here, in this time – it’s creating problems. Serious ones."

Steve frowns, straightening. "You prune timelines. What’s one more divergence?"

Mobius rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Loki before answering. "You're not just some random variant. You're Captain America. The impact of your absence is like pulling a thread from a tightly woven tapestry. Everything starts to unravel. Even the TVA can't stop the consequences of that for long."

Steve’s face hardens. "I'm just living quietly, out of the way. No one knows I'm here."

Loki’s voice cuts in, sharp and cold. "And every day you stay, more branches form. The longer you hide from where you're meant to be, the more damage is done."

Mobius steps forward, his voice steady but urgent. "Steve, we can only prune so much before the entire thing collapses. And trust me, when that happens, we don’t just erase this reality. We erase you."

"I don't believe – "

"We erase her."

Steve’s breath catches, his mind racing. This wasn’t what he thought. Now that harm is directed to you, the situation has drastically changed for him.

"And what if I go back?" Steve’s voice is tight, controlled, but beneath it is a thread of fear, of hope.

Mobius softens, sensing the shift. "If you go back, the timeline stabilizes. The branches collapse. The Steve Rogers your world remembers – the one who fought for the future, not the past – returns. And her…" He pauses, carefully choosing his words. "She's still waiting for you, Steve."

"Is she?" Loki cuts in, his tone mischievous as can be. "Didn't they just – "

Mobius sharply stops him right then and there. "Shut up, Loki."

Steve's heart twists painfully. His choice had been selfish, and he knows that. He'd run from you, from a future he was afraid to face. A life he believed could never offer peace.

"What if it's too late?" His voice breaks, just a little, his heart finally admitting the one thing he’s been too afraid to say.

Mobius smiles gently. "You’ve made tough calls before, Steve. But this isn’t about war, or duty, or sacrifice. This is about you. You deserve to live in your timeline – with the people who need you. She needs you. Go back, Steve. Fix what you can still fix."

Steve stands in silence, torn between the life he thought he wanted and the one that’s still waiting for him. He thought staying here would bring him peace, but all it's brought is doubt, regret, and a gnawing emptiness. He doesn't have his heart here with him.

Steve is about to speak, when Hunter comes bounding in the room, tail wagging wildly as he takes in the intruders. Another thing that Steve will have to leave behind.

But, apparently not.

"The dog can come with you," Mobius offers, shrugging lightly.

"What?" Loki turns to him in amused disbelief.

"Oh c'mon. Hunter is just as much hers, as he is Steve's."

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

For a while, everything had felt right.

Whatever right was in your lives.

Until the TV in your apartment blared the news about John Walker, Captain America 2.0.

Bucky watched it, jaw clenched, as some stranger stood there in Steve's uniform, parading the shield like it had only ever been his.

Bucky saw the flash of pain that crossed your face, which quickly transformed into anger.

He felt it almost immediately. You were pulling back, closing yourself off, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when the ghost of Steve is hovering between the two of you.

Was it still about Steve? Or was it about the future you both thought you had a handle on, until some nobody took everything that Steve represents?

Bucky knows you're hurting. He feels it. He's felt it since the moment Steve left – when you were left behind, and so was he.

And it kills him, seeing you like this, maybe even more than the pain he feels from being left behind.

Steve's shadow is keeping you from fully being here, with him, and it's a fresh kind of hurt.

You shut the TV off and irately toss the remote somewhere in the room.

Bucky clenches his fists and finally speaks, his voice rougher than usual. "We should go see Sam."

"Okay," you respond, your voice calm yet empty.

He's not going to lose you. He can't.

"Doll?"

Your response is a barely audible hum.

Bucky reaches for your hand, his anchor. "We're gonna be okay."

You nod, and offer a weak smile.

It's enough, for now.

When you arrive at Sam's, the tension doesn't ease. Sam takes one look at the two of you, and immediately detects that something is off.

Obviously, there's the matter of Walker. But he sees that there's something different too.

Just what the hell did you and Bucky get yourselves into?

Bucky and Sam exchange a look – one loaded with frustration – before Bucky breaks the silence. "We can't let Walker carry that shield, Sam. Before Steve left, he – "

Sam sighs, shaking his head. "He hinted at wanting to pass the mantle on to you or me – "

Bucky intervenes, "It should be you."

" – but... it's out of our hands, Buck. The government's already made their decision."

The words hit Bucky like a punch. You stay quiet, your mind whirring. You're thinking about Steve again – Bucky can see it.

Something settles in the pit of his stomach. It's nasty and unwelcome, and it makes him want to reach for you and shake Steve out of your thoughts.

He wants to tell you that he's here, and Steve isn't.

He's jealous.

Great, Bucky groans internally, I'm jealous of a damn ghost.

Sam watches the two of you for a moment, sensing the tension. "We'll figure something out. But for now, we have to let this play out. I've got other things on my plate right now."

"What is it?" you finally speak up, concern evident in your tone. "Anything we can do to help?"

"I've been hearing talk about this group. They call themselves the Flag Smashers. I can show you guys the briefing. They're out there right now, and they're not gonna wait for us to get our act together."

"We're coming with you," Bucky says, his voice steady and unflinching.

"Non-negotiable," you confirm, smirking, stepping closer to Bucky as a show of unity.

Sam hesitates, arms crossed as if weighing his options, then his gaze lingers on Bucky's neck. Then slowly – too slowly – he glances at you.

That's when he finally catches on.

The look on his face is almost comical, his eyes widening as he clocks the similar, telltale mark at the crook of your neck.

"Oh, man. Really?"

You feel your cheeks heat instantly as Sam's smirk grows wider.

"What? It's not – " you try to speak, but Sam's having none of it.

"No, no, no. This explains a lot. Like, a lot." He's grinning now, shaking his head like he's finally in on the joke. "I mean, all this weird energy... I thought y'all we're just mad about Walker, but now I get it. Shoulda known. It makes a lot of sense, the two of you."

You glance at Bucky, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but in that room.

"It's not like that," you mutter defensively, even though it's pointless with Sam.

"Sure, sure," Sam says, failing to suppress a chuckle. "You two just happened to get the same exact bruise in the same exact spot. Must have been a hell of a battle, huh?"

Bucky just scowls, though his ears are tinged pink. "So are you going to brief us or what?"

"Nah, man, you're good. So, what's the plan? You gonna take on the Flag Smashers like it's some couples' retreat?"

You sigh. "We're helping. That's it. This conversation is over."

"Okay, okay," Sam raises both hands in surrender, but he doesn't miss the chance to land another jab. "You're in. But maybe leave the hickeys for after the mission, yeah?"

"Shut up, Wilson," Bucky grumbles. Then he mutters under his breath, as Sam walks away to retrieve the files – "No promises."

You shoot him a look that lets him know you heard him, and he meets your gaze coolly. He wanted you to hear.

You feel a bit lighter – it's the effect he has on you.

Even though chaos has set back in your reality, and even though you're not quite sure where things stand between you and Bucky, there's one thing you know for sure – you're going into this together.

Non-negotiable.

Read part eight here ~

taglist (let me know in the comments if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer @integers @imthebadguyyy @iidear @blackhawkfanatic @smhnxdiii @nommingonfood @loki-laufeyson68 @queenofshinigamis @samkickikc @utterlyhopeful-fics @mthealy @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321 @cloudroomblog @haruvalentine4321 @pommblog @yujyujj @thetorturedbuckydepartment @sanoorie1 @cjand10 @micasaessakusa @croftyspock90 @froobaloob @mavrellover91 @dexter99 @barnes70stark @ordelixx @radiantdanvers @chaotic-wanda @mrsnikstan (continued in comments...)

Some notes in the margins...

Stevie boy's coming back! With Hunter!! I guess you can say he'll actually give Bucky something to be jealous about. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Judging by the results of this poll, yous are heavily pro-Bucky. Can't blame ya. But is he endgame?

What do you think will happen when they're all back together in the next part? 🙃

[samson-hart]

Unlucky. feels more fitting. If Richard wasn't so busy feeling sorry for himself, he'd have a little more understanding for Silas' attitude. "Shit head!" Samson growls, hand reaching for his neck, as though he could hold it and soothe the sharp pain. It's a loose but still pointedly not friendly backhand into Silas' side. "Work on your bedside manner, kid," he says like he isn't being a massive hypocrite.

"That or you're lucky," he was quick to reply, knowing that something that bad would've easily gotten infected by now. He was no doctor, of course, but having seen his fair share of gore he knew what was what. "Wow, usually I ask for a pretty please but if you insist tough guy," he said as he slapped his hand against the other's neck - mainly as a 'don't be a dick' warning - before letting the wound heal. "There, happy?" he said as he let his hand fall down to his side, wiping the blood off on his pants

[goblinontour]

Baby, I’m Yours

santa is coming, indeed

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, smut, piv, raw, breeding kink (i guess), mentions of pregnancy and bodies and stuff like that

word count: 6.9k

If someone had asked him a few years ago how he thought he’d be spending Christmas, he’d have said anything but this.  

Anything but sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with his hair sectioned off into impossibly tiny braids and adorned with about a million butterfly clips — those obnoxiously small, multicolored ones that came in packs of fifty (and you had at least ten of those in the house). He knew he’d eventually step on them when he least expected it, like the Lego pieces of a girl dad. Not that he thought Legos were strictly for boys, she had those too, of course, but you know.  

“Alright.” he muttered under his breath, his eyes flicking to the mirror propped against the wall where he could just make out the glittering chaos atop his head. “I think that’s enough, girls.”  

“No!” you and Poppy exclaimed at the exact same time, your voice louder than hers, embarrassingly so.  

He turned his head to look at you, raising one eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. 

“What woman,” you began, defensive already, “what girl, soul, or being would say no to this?” You gestured toward him dramatically, and he rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.  

“Yeah, Daddy!” Poppy chimed in, tugging on the left side of his hair. Her side. “We’re not done yet!”  

Alex sighed, the kind of long-suffering sigh that made you laugh every time. “Okay.” he said quietly, turning back around, his gaze dropping to the tangle of clips and elastics scattered across the rug. 

The pull on his hair — gentle from you, enthusiastic from her — was a constant he’d grown used to. He didn’t even flinch anymore.  

He let his eyes wander to the Christmas tree, its lights casting a warm glow across the room. It looked like a scene from a postcard, all soft edges and muted colors, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in it. The music playing faintly from the speaker in the corner wasn’t one of his own songs — he never let his own voice be the soundtrack to days like this, or any days really — but something slow and nostalgic, a crooner he didn’t even realise he’d hummed along to until you pointed it out.  

He couldn’t help but think about how strange it all was, how far removed this was from the life he’d imagined for himself. There were years where he’d have spent Christmas nursing a drink in some dimly lit bar, or jetting off to some remote location just to avoid the holiday altogether. He’d been good at running, then. But now?  

Now, he had butterfly clips in his hair and a daughter who thought he hung the moon just for her. He had you, with your too-loud laugh and your insistence on calling him beautiful whenever you got him to sit still long enough to let you mess with his hair. He had this house, this tree, this moment.  

“Alright, what d’you think?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. You were leaning back now, surveying your work with an air of seriousness.  

Poppy giggled, clapping her hands. “You look so pretty, Daddy!”  

Alex turned to you, his dark eyes narrowing. “Pretty?” he repeated, his voice dry.  

“Gorgeous.” you corrected, grinning at him.  

He shook his head, the clips jingling slightly with the movement, and you laughed again, that unrestrained sound that always seemed to fill the room.  

“Alright, but if either of you take a picture, I’m cutting you both off from biscuits for the rest of the day.” he warned. He wouldn’t. 

Poppy gasped, scandalized. “You wouldn’t!”  

You just smirked, holding up your phone and snapping a quick photo before he could stop you. “Too late.”  

He groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair — a futile effort, given the number of clips now embedded in it. But as he looked at the two of you, your faces flushed from laughter, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

If someone had told him a few years ago that this would be his life, he might’ve laughed. Or maybe he’d have walked away, afraid of what it would mean to care this much, to have this much to lose. 

He wouldn’t trade it for anything.  

He wouldn’t trade this for anything, either. Your hands in his hair, leaned over his shoulder, your careful concentration as you plucked out those clips by the end of the night, your smile that curved wider with every one you removed. It was reflected in the bathroom mirror, the same mirror where he caught glimpses of himself on days he barely recognised the man staring back. 

Alex could have taken them out himself — there wasn’t much he couldn’t figure out when left to his own devices — but he let you do it instead. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see them properly in the back. Or maybe it was because he liked this, the way your fingers lingered in his hair, tugging gently, setting his scalp alight with a low, pleasant sting.  

“You know,” he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, “maybe I should buzz it again. Save us all the trouble next time.”  

Your hands stilled mid-motion, and your reflection whipped up to meet his. You looked scandalized, genuinely offended, gasped like he’d suggested chopping down the Christmas tree and setting it on fire.  

“Never again, Alex!” you warned, swatting him lightly on the shoulder.  

He grinned, leaning into the dramatics of it. “Why not?”  

“Because!” you exclaimed, as though the answer were painfully obvious — Oh yes, he knew — “If you do, I won’t be able to do this.”  

Before he could pretend to not know what this was, your fingers curled tighter into his hair, and you tugged — hard enough to make him gasp. His head tipped back instinctively, exposing the long, pale stretch of neck. You didn’t waste a second. Your lips found the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, brushing lightly before your teeth followed, scraping a slow path that made his breath hitch.  

“Christ-” he muttered, his hands flying to the sink for balance. His knuckles went white against the porcelain as you trailed your mouth lower, your teeth leaving soft, fleeting bites before you soothed them with your tongue.  

“Oh yeah…” he whispered — something tender, but also wanting.  

You smiled, your lips curving against his neck as you pressed another kiss there. And another. “You were saying?” you murmured, barely audible against his skin.  

His eyes flickered open, meeting yours in the mirror. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing uneven, and you smiled against his neck, pleased with yourself.  

“Thought so.” you whispered.  

“You can get so feral sometimes.” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours in the mirror. He let out a breathless laugh, a sound that was almost a groan, and tilted his head further to the side, giving you more access. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”  

“Only to you.” you replied, letting your teeth scrape gently against his jaw before pulling back.  

He huffed out a breath and shook his head slightly. “Not sure if that’s a warning or a promise.”  

“It’s both.” you said, smirking as you plucked the last clip from his hair and set it on the counter beside him. “There. All done.”  

You punctuated the word by dragging your lips up to his jaw, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there, and then biting softly at the hinge.  

“Think I liked it better when they were still in.” He reached up, running a hand through his hair to shake it out, and gave you a look. “At least you were being nice to me then.”

You laughed, sliding your arms around his waist from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You loved it.”  

“Careful.” he said. “You’re playing with fire, baby.”  

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Am I?”  

He turned his head just enough to face you. “You know you are.”  

“Mhm.” you hummed, swaying him slightly. “You’re a sucker for attention. Especially mine.”  

“Guess I can’t argue with that.”  

His breathing was shallow now, and your lips were still close enough to graze his. 

But then Poppy’s voice rang out from the living room, breaking the spell.  

“Daddy! Mummy! Look what I made!”  

The two of you froze, the moment suspended in time, before Alex exhaled sharply, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Saved by the kid.” he muttered, his lips twitching into a crooked smile.  

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to his temple before stepping back. “Go on, then. She’s probably building an empire of Lego castles.”  

He straightened, running a hand through his hair, again, wincing slightly when he hit a tangle you hadn’t yet smoothed out. “And I’ll be stepping on every piece of it when I least expect it.”  

“Your dad feet can handle it.” 

He glanced at you, his expression softening as his hand dropped back to his side. “What would I do without you?”  

“Buzz your hair, apparently.” 

“God forbid!” he said, shaking his head as he made his way toward the door.  

But before he left, he paused, turning back to look at you. 

“Hey.” he said softly.  

“Yeah?”  

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Your teasing smile faltered. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”  

Getting Poppy to bed had been a feat in itself. It always was. She was a tiny, determined ball of energy, fueled by excitement and the sugar cookies she’d insisted on helping “decorate” earlier…Alex had only managed to coax her into her little bed with promises of Santa coming in the morning — though he wasn’t entirely sure she even understood who Santa was or what he was supposed to do.  

It didn’t matter. When he mentioned there would be more hair clips and playing with his hair tomorrow, she’d finally relented, settling down with a sleepy grin. He sat by her bedside for a while, stroking her curls until her breathing evened out and her little hand loosened its grip on his thumb.  

God, he was lucky. So lucky.  

Really lucky, he corrected himself when he stepped into the bedroom and saw you waiting for him.  

You were lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow, wearing…well, not much at all. A slinky piece of red lace that barely covered anything, with a sheen to it that caught the dim glow of the fairy lights strung along the headboard. His mouth went dry instantly.  

He could feel his pulse quicken, blood rushing downward, hot and immediate. It embarrassed him sometimes, how little it took — how just the sight of you like this, your bare legs stretched out, your hair falling loose around your shoulders, could make him so…hard.  

But then again, at least he could still get it up, right?  

“Merry Christmas, baby.” you said, as though you weren’t fully aware of what you were doing to him. You smiled, your teeth catching your bottom lip in a way that made his brain short-circuit.  

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool, but failing. Miserably. “Merry Christmas.” he managed.  

You stretched slightly, shifting so the hem of your lingerie rode higher on your thighs, and his breath hitched audibly.  

“I didn’t know what to get you.” you said, “so I thought…”  

Alex didn’t let you finish. He crossed the room in three long strides, practically lunging onto the bed and over you, his hands already on your waist as he pinned you beneath him in a tangle of limbs and heat.  

“You thought right.” he murmured as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So, so right.”  

His mouth found yours, desperate and insistent, and the kiss was a mess of teeth and tongues and heat. He could feel your smile against his lips, the soft sound of your laughter muffled as he pressed you deeper into the mattress.  

“Fuck me…” he breathed, his hands already roaming over your body, fingers curling into the lace at your hips.  

“That’s the plan.” you teased, your voice a low purr as your nails dragged down his back, making him shiver.  

His head dropped to your neck, his lips finding the pulse point there, and he bit down just enough to make you gasp, his hands tightening on your hips.  

“God.” he muttered against your skin, his voice ragged. “You’re- baby, you’re perfect.”  

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you arched into him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”  

He let out a breathless laugh, his teeth grazing your collarbone as his hands slid up your thighs, taking their time, memorising the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. You squirmed beneath him, impatient as ever, and he grinned against your skin.  

“Patience.” he murmured, though he was quickly losing his own.  

“You’re one to talk.” you shot back, your voice breathless as you tugged at his shirt, your fingers curling into the fabric, desperate to feel him — all of him.  

Something shifted in his eyes, dark and molten, and for a moment, he simply stared at you. His lips parted as though he had something to say, but whatever it was dissolved before it could leave him. He reached down and gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head.  

His chest was bare now, the lean muscle of his torso taut and glistening faintly under the soft glow of the fairy lights. His collarbones cast delicate shadows across his skin, and the faint trail of dark hair that started at his navel and disappeared below his waistband made your stomach twist in anticipation. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and you could see the tension coiled in his body — the way his shoulders flexed, the way his hands twitched like he was holding himself back.  

And then he was on you.  

His hands were everywhere, all at once, moving with a sort of urgency that made your breath catch. He didn’t just touch you — he claimed you, his palms skimming over your hips, your waist, the curve of your ribs, before sliding up to cup your face. He kissed you like he needed it, like the air he breathed wasn’t enough, his lips trailing over your cheeks, your jaw, your throat.  

“Christ-” his voice came out muffled against your collarbone. “You’re-” words faltered as his lips found your shoulder next, his hands working to rid you of the thin scrap of lace that had been driving him mad since the moment he stepped into the room.  

When he finally pulled it free, he paused for a moment, his gaze raking over you, reverent and unhurried. You swore you could feel the heat of it, the way his eyes traced every inch of your bare skin.  

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, the words raw and honest, as though they’d escaped him without permission. His voice cracked slightly, and you could see the faint flush spreading across his cheeks, a mixture of awe and need.  

You smiled, soft and teasing, but before you could reply, he kissed you again, harder this time, his hands pressing into your skin like he was afraid you might slip away. His lips moved lower, leaving a trail of heat down your chest, over the curve of your breast, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.  

He kissed you everywhere — everywhere. Your shoulders, your stomach, the inside of your thighs, until you were trembling beneath him, your fingers buried in his hair, tugging at the dark strands. His touch was possessive, his mouth lingering in places that made your breath hitch, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent sparks of sensation racing through you.  

“God, you’re so perfect.” 

He was back up, pressing kisses to your cheeks. And then you felt him shift against you, the hard length of him nudging insistently against your thigh, a low groan rumbling in his chest.  

“Alex-” you breathed, tugging his head back up so you could look at him. His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed, and his chest heaved as he hovered over you. 

“Can I fuck you now?” he asked, tinged with a desperate edge that made your stomach tighten.  

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, breathless and a little giddy. “Can you?”  

His face turned red all over immediately, a crooked, embarrassed smile pulling at his lips. “Shut up.” he muttered, though the way his eyes softened told you he didn’t really mean it.  

But just as he leaned back down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours, you saw it. A small figure in the doorway, clutching something soft and worn. You blinked, your stomach flipping — not the good flip this time.  

“Oh, fuck- Poppy!” you whispered, your voice sharp enough to make Alex pause mid-kiss.  

“Poppy?” he repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. He followed your wide-eyed gaze over his shoulder until — “Poppy. Oh. Oh shit.”  

There she was, your little girl, her tiny legs and arms hugging Mr. Bear as she stood quietly in the doorway. Her sleepy eyes blinked up at the two of you, oblivious to the sheer chaos she’d just unleashed.  

Alex moved instinctively, his broad shoulders blocking your, well, compromising position from view. “Uh, Alex.” you hissed, trying to stay calm despite the fact that you were very much — not dressed — beneath him. “You said you’d put her to bed.”  

“I did!” he whisper-shouted back, glancing at you over his shoulder.  

“Well, clearly not well enough. Do something!” you whispered, gesturing frantically toward her.  

“What?!” he whispered back, incredulous.  

“Now, Alex!”  

With some very careful rearranging of the sheets — and an awkward shuffle on Alex’s part to ensure his, uh, situation wasn’t obvious — he climbed off the bed. His movements were stiff, his steps slightly stilted as he crossed the room to kneel in front of your daughter.  

“What’s wrong, Pop?” he asked softly, his voice a perfect blend of calm and concern despite the…circumstances.  

She looked at him with big, curious eyes, clutching Mr. Bear a little tighter. “Where’s Santa?”  

Alex blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate an answer. “Oh…well, uh, Poppy, if…if you don’t go back to bed, Santa won’t come.”  

“He’s not the only one!” you muttered from the bed, earning a quick glare from Alex over his shoulder.  

“Santa won’t come?” Poppy asked, her little face scrunching in confusion.  

“Not if you’re awake.” Alex said, nodding earnestly. “Santa only comes when little girls are fast asleep in their beds. So, you’ve gotta help him out, okay? Go back to bed, and I promise he’ll come.”  

Poppy seemed to think about it for a moment, her little brow furrowing. Then, with a small nod, she turned and padded back toward her room, Mr. Bear swinging from her arms.  

Alex waited until she was out of sight before letting out a long, slow breath. He turned back to you, his face a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment.  

“Well…” he said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “That’s a mood killer.”  

You snorted, unable to help the laugh that escaped you even as your body still hummed with unmet need. “I don’t know.” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “You did a pretty good job handling that. Very dad of you.”  

Alex climbed back into bed with a groan, pulling the sheets up around the both of you as if to erase the interruption. He flopped onto his back for a moment, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest still rising and falling unevenly from the tension of moments ago.  

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna need a minute to recover from that.”  

“Oh, take your time.” you said, smirking as you leaned in to kiss his jaw. “Santa can wait.” 

“Sure he can, but…” he said, dragging his hand down his face. “Kind of hard to, uh, stay in the zone when your kid asks about Santa mid-”  

“Mid this?” you finished, arching a brow as your hand trailed down his chest, brushing over his stomach.  

“Exactly.”  

You didn’t miss the way his cock was still hard, twitching faintly against his thigh as if it hadn’t gotten the memo about the interruption.  

“Doesn’t seem like it’s bothering everything.” you teased, your fingers dipping lower, brushing against the base of him.  

“Jesus-” he muttered, his hips jerking slightly as he looked at you, his cheeks flushing pink. “You’re relentless, you know that?”  

You smiled, wicked and unapologetic, as you wrapped your hand around him, marveling at the weight of him in your palm. He was thick and heavy, the velvety skin burning hot against your fingers and even though you couldn’t see it yet you knew his tip was flushed, glistening with evidence of just how much he still wanted you.  

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already.” your voice got low as you stroked him slowly, watching his face shift from mock indignation to something much darker, much hungrier.  

“Giving up?” he repeated, his voice rough as his hand shot out, gripping your wrist to still your movements. “You’re kidding, right?”  

Before you could reply, he was on you again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was hot and insistent, a sharp contrast to the tender, teasing pace from before. His hands slid down to his waistband, shoving his pants and boxers down in one hurried, almost clumsy motion.  

You pulled back just enough to watch as his cock sprang free, flushed and hard, the sight of it enough to make your thighs clench involuntarily.  

“See?” you said, smirking as you reached out to touch him again. “You’re fine.”  

“Just shut up.” he muttered, though the crooked smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

His palms were hot on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed you back onto the mattress. He hovered over you, his body warm and solid against yours, his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.  

“Where were we?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he rocked his hips, the slick head of him dragging against your skin.  

“Right about…here.” you replied breathlessly, your hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back, desperate to pull him closer.  

“Yeah?” he said, his voice dropping lower as he guided himself to your entrance, the thick head of him pressing against you, teasing you. “Think you can focus?”  

“Think you can?” 

He shifted, angling his hips to let the tip of him slide in, just barely. A tease of pressure that left you aching for more. He moved deliberately, dragging himself along your slick folds, his breathing ragged as he worked to build the tension.  

“Fuck.” he groaned, his voice thick and uneven as he watched himself move against you. “You’re so wet. Always so fucking wet for me.”  

“Alex.” you whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his, desperate for him to give you more.  

He gritted his teeth, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he teased you further, letting the tip of his cock nudge against your clit before sliding back down. 

“God, I want to be inside you.” 

“Then do it.” you said, your voice shaking as you wrapped your legs around his waist.  

His response was a low groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as he slid deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside of you. His hands slid up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kissed you again, slower this time.  

“You-” he muttered against your lips, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, the movement unhurried but devastatingly deep. “You feel so fucking good. Always so good for me.”  

He slid his arms around you then, pulling you close, his hands splayed across your back as he shifted you into his lap. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your chest pressed against his as he settled you over him.  

“Come here.” he murmured, his voice soft now, coaxing, as he guided you down slowly, the stretch of him making your breath hitch. 

His eyes met yours, and there was something raw in his gaze, something vulnerable and unguarded that made your heart ache. You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and kissed him, slow and deep, your lips moving against his in perfect sync. He groaned into your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as you began to move.  

His head fell back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands roamed your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “You feel-” His voice cracked, and he shook his head slightly, as though words weren’t enough. “Like heaven.”  

Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips brushing against his jaw as you whispered, “So do you.”  

And for a while, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet creak of the bed beneath you. It wasn’t hurried or frantic — it was slow, intentional, the kind of intimacy that left no room for pretense.  

Whenever he slid into you, it was like the air had been stolen from your lungs. You’d gasp softly, your body stretching to take him in, the familiar fullness making your back arch. The way he filled you, the way you took him in — it was the same as it had always been, the same old love, but it never failed to unravel you completely. The way he moved felt like second nature now. The way he’d fill you completely, only to pull out just enough to make you crave him again. He knew you like the back of his hand, like he’d memorised every nerve, every response.  

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he moved inside you. You clenched around him. His tip hit you there, up and deep, that spot deep inside you, the one that made your toes curl and a soft, involuntary moan spill from your lips. 

Panicked, you bit into his shoulder to stifle the sound, your teeth sinking into the firm muscle there. You couldn’t risk it, couldn’t let yourself get too loud. He hissed quietly at the sensation, his fingers tightening on your waist, but he didn’t say a word.  

He didn’t have the same problem. Alex had always been quieter than you during moments like this. He never made much noise. It wasn’t that he wasn’t affected — you could feel how his breath hitched, how his grip on your hips tightened when you tightened around him — but he rarely let those sounds escape him. It was just who he was, the same shyness that sometimes bled into other parts of your life together. Even now, it lingered, making him quiet, careful, while you were left fighting to keep your own sounds contained. Even now, as his lips brushed over your jaw, his breathing ragged, he kept his composure in a way that made you curse him under your breath. You hated him for it, just a little — how he could stay do controlled while you had to bite your lip, dig your nails into his back, anything to keep from waking her up.  

You definitely couldn’t wake her up.  

He knew it, too. You could see it in the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he kissed along your jaw, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.  

“Al…” you whispered, a warning, though it came out more like a plea.  

He grinned against your skin, the kind of grin that made you want to both kiss him and smack him at the same time. “Shh…” he murmured as his hips rolled deeper, more deliberately, like he was testing you. And your nails raked down his back, leaving faint red lines in their wake. His smirk grew, and he kissed you then, his lips soft but insistent, swallowing the soft gasps and moans you couldn’t keep down as he thrust deeper and harder.  

And then, as if out of nowhere, he whispered, “We should get married.”  

Your head snapped back, your breath hitching as you stared at him. A “What?” tumbled out, half-gasped.  

“It’s the perfect time.” he said, his lips brushing over yours as he spoke, like the words had been building inside him, waiting to spill out.  

“Perfect time for what?” you managed, though the words were broken, fragmented by the way he was moving inside you now — harder, deeper, his hands guiding your hips to meet his thrusts.  

“Before…” He trailed off, capturing your mouth in another kiss, and you swore you could feel the words vibrating against your lips.  

“Before what?”  

“Before you’ll have a big belly again.” His hips snapped into yours, and you felt the words before they fully registered. “Because I’m gonna fuck another baby into you.”  

Your eyes widened, your body tensing in shock as you gasped, “What?!”  

“We should have another baby.” he said, his voice a little desperate now, as though the idea had overtaken him completely and he just couldn’t stop it from pouring out. “I- I want to have another baby with you.”  

“You’re insane.” you managed, though your voice was trembling, your hands gripping his shoulders as he held you close, his movements growing more erratic.  

“I’m serious.” he murmured, his lips trailing down your throat, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I love you. I love her. I want…more of this. More of us.”  

“Alex.” you whispered, your voice breaking, and he kissed you again, silencing whatever argument you might have had.  

“Say yes.”  

“To what?” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he thrust into you.  

“To everything…To me. To this. To us.”  

You kissed him then, your lips soft and searching, though the answer to his question could be found there, in the quiet desperation of your touch. 

You were already his. And he was yours.  

And as he held you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, you realised you didn’t need to say anything at all.  

Except you did.  

“Fuck it into me.” you whispered, the words spilling out like a secret you hadn’t meant to reveal that held more tenderness in it then the way it came out. 

He froze for half a second, his eyes flickering to yours, his lips parted slightly in disbelief. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice rough and thick, his breath fanning against your cheek.  

“Yeah.” you breathed, your lips brushing his jaw as you repeated yourself.  

His composure shattered in an instant. His grip on you tightened immediately, his fingers digging into your waist as he pushed you back down onto the mattress. The shift was sudden, almost jarring, but you didn’t care. You wanted this — wanted him — with a kind of intensity that left no room for hesitation.  

“You want me to put another baby in you?” Dangerous. He sounded dangerous and he needed to hear you say it again.  

“Yes.” you said, the word trembling on your lips as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair.  

“Fuck.” he groaned. 

His movements were different now — less careful, less restrained. There was a new purpose in the way he moved, a new fire that burned between you. Dirty words spilled from his lips, low and ragged, each one landing hot against your ear. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect. Made for me.”  

You whimpered in response, your nails raking down his back as he drove into you.  

“God, you feel so good. Always so good for me, yeah?”  

“Always.” 

His hands roamed your body, gripping your thighs, your waist, your breasts, like he couldn’t get enough of you. Like he needed to touch every part of you, claim every inch of you as his own.  

“You’re gonna look so good,” he whispered. “You’ll look so fucking beautiful, you know that? All round and full. Carrying my baby again.”  

“Alex,” you whimpered again, your hands gripping his shoulders.  

“You will.” he continued, his voice softening slightly, though the hunger in his tone remained. “You’ll be glowing. Just like last time. Fuck, I remember it so clearly.”  

He slid a hand down your body, his palm coming to rest on your stomach, flat and soft beneath his touch. His movements slowed for a moment, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was trying to picture it, imagine what it would look like, what it would feel like.  

“I’ll feel it.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Every time I touch you, I’ll feel it growing inside you. My baby. Our baby.”  

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice trembling as his words wrapped around you, making you dizzy with the weight of them.  

“I’ll talk to it, just like before.” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “Every night. I’ll put my hand right here…and I’ll tell it how much I love it. How much I love you.”  

Your breath hitched, your hands trembling as they clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest.  

“And you’ll be so beautiful, baby.” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “All round and soft. You won’t be able to see your feet, and you’ll complain about it, but fuck, I’ll love it. I’ll love every second of it. You want that?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against your jaw. “You want me to fill you up?”  

“Yes.”  

“Say it again.” he demanded, his voice thick with need, his movements growing more erratic.  

“Yes.” you cried, your hands clawing at his skin as his hips snapped into yours. “I want it. I want you. I want-”  

Words dissolved into a moans as he shifted slightly, angling himself deeper, his movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge.  

“I love you.” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. “You’ll be mine.” he murmured, his lips trailing down your throat, the heat of his breath making your skin prickle. “You already are, but fuck me, I’ll make sure everyone knows it. You’ll be carrying my baby, and no one will ever doubt it.”  

You could feel him, the fat tip of his cock dragging against that sensitive spot deep inside you, pulsing and swollen as he pushed deeper, deeper, until there was nothing left of him that wasn’t inside of you. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbbed inside of you as though his body was desperate to mark you in every way possible. You whimpered into his mouth, your body tightening around him. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. You could feel him swell inside of you, his cock thickening as your walls fluttered around him, desperate and needy. His hands slid up your body, one of them coming to rest on your stomach again, his palm pressing against your skin like he was imagining what it would feel like to have you full with his child.  

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” he admitted, his voice low and breathless. “You. Pregnant again. Carrying my baby- Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. “I can feel it- you’re close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”  

“Yes-” you gasped, your voice trembling as your hips bucked against his. “Alex, I-”  

“Come for me.” he urged. His hand slid down to grip your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust harder, his movements precise and unrelenting. “I want to feel you. Come on, baby, let go for me.”  

And when you did, it was like the world shattered around you. Your body tensed, every muscle locking up as the release crashed over you, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure that left you trembling beneath him.  

“Fuck, that’s it.” he groaned, his voice breaking as he felt you clench around him, your walls milking him for everything he had. “That’s so fucking good. You’re so fucking good for me.”  

He followed soon after, the sharp rhythm gaving way to something deeper, slower, his hips slamming into yours one final time as he buried himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse inside of you, thick and hot, as he came.  

“Take it.” he breathed, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Take all of it. Fuck, you’re gonna look so perfect.” His teeth grazed your skin, sharp and insistent, and then he bit down, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave a mark, a physical reminder of this moment. You gasped, your nails raking across his skin as if to claim him in return.  

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice softer now but no less intense. He pressed his palm against your stomach. “I can feel it- feel you taking me.” You gasped, your body still shuddering from the aftershocks as he continued to move, slowly. “You’re so mine.” 

And as he kissed you again, soft and unhurried, you couldn’t help but believe him. 

Your limbs felt disconnected, your body humming with a soft ache, the kind that only came from being completely unravelled. The world beyond this room felt impossibly distant, blurred at the edges, as if it had been reduced to the faint glow of the fairy lights above and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.  

Neither of you spoke at first, the silence broken only by the faint rustle of the sheets and the soft, labored sounds of your breathing. For a while, there was nothing but that. It was that strange, floaty kind of quiet where time didn’t seem to exist.  

His hands wandered idly over your skin, tracing lazy patterns along your waist, your hip, as though he couldn’t quite let go of you yet.  

“Wow…” he muttered after a while, his voice soft and hoarse. His lips brushed against your collarbone, a gentle apology for the bite he’d left there. “You okay?” 

“Mhm.” you managed, still catching your breath. “I’m more than okay. You?”  

He lifted his head to look at you, his hair a wild mess, his cheeks flushed. “Yeah.” he said, grinning. “Though, uh��I think you scratched me.”  

“Good.” you teased, your fingers tracing the faint red lines on his back. “You deserved it.”  

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, the kind that always managed to undo you. He leaned in, kissing you softly, his hand slipping down to your stomach again, his palm pressing flat against your skin as if he could feel something there already.  

And then, after a long moment of quiet, he broke the silence with a laugh — low and almost disbelieving. Eventually, he lifted his head, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked at you, his cheeks still red, his lips still smiling.  

“I definitely just got you pregnant.” he said, his voice tinged with something between amusement and awe. And then he laughed again. 

You laughed too, breathless and a little giddy, the sound mingling with his as you looked at him, your hand covering his on your stomach.  

“Oh, you think so?” you teased, though the way he was looking at you made it impossible to deny the idea.  

“I know so. Absolutely.” he said, his voice firm but warm, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate circles. “And you know what?”  

“What?” you asked, looking up at him.  

“I can’t fucking wait.” 

You stared at him, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name. “Alex.” you breathed, your body arching beneath him as his words sent shivers down your spine.  

“I’ll take care of you.” he promised. “Every single day. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. Even-” He kissed you again, grinning against your lips. “-if it’s 3am and you want pickles and ice cream.”  

“Pickles and ice cream?” you repeated, laughing softly.  

“You never know.” he said, his grin widening. “You might get new cravings.”  

Later, much later, as the two of you lay tangled together beneath the sheets, Alex pressed another kiss to your temple. He stayed there for a moment, his arms wrapped around you as though he never wanted to let go.  

“I meant it.” he whispered, his voice soft now, almost hesitant.  

“Meant what?” you asked, your fingers brushing through his hair.  

“Everything.” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “The marriage. The baby. All of it.” 

“Okay.” You smiled sleepily, curling into his chest. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”  

“Merry Christmas.” 

And as the two of you lay there, tangled together, he thought again about how lucky he was. How, somehow, he’d ended up here, with you. How this had become his life.  

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but he knew one thing for certain.  

He wouldn’t trade it for anything.  

Okay, maybe two things, because he also wasn’t letting go of it. Ever. 

a/n: Is it weird to post something Christmas-themed in February? If so, forgive me. I did start it in December but I kinda wanted to end it for a bit there so I wasn’t really in the mood to finish something so happy but it’s finished now, roughly. It was mostly finished anyway but I didn’t really like it that much and then I forgot about it but he looked kinda dad-like in the pics from today (may lolll) so I thought I might as well…It’s not really proof-read I just skimmed the unfinished bits so sorry if there are mistakes. Okay gn.

[i-think-you-should-leave]

I don't know. Some people hate this, James. I don't know what it is, but they fuckin' hate it. There's people that wanna kill me, James.

- The Driving Crooner

[awkward-walking-potato]

Toupée Time with Wade

You had no idea how you’d gotten roped into this, but here you were, standing in the middle of a wig shop with Wade, as he examined a display of toupées with a seriousness that would make anyone think you were choosing an engagement ring.

“So, what do you think?” Wade asked, holding up a particularly ridiculous blond toupée that looked like it belonged on a Ken doll from the 80s.

You couldn’t help but snicker. “Wade, I don’t think this one is you.”

“Not me?” Wade gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Sweetheart, I’ve always thought of myself as a blonde bombshell just waiting to be unleashed on the world.”

You shook your head, trying to hold back your laughter. “It’s not really the color, Wade. It’s more… everything else.”

Wade squinted at the toupée as if it had personally offended him. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s too ‘Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall,’ and not enough ‘Brad Pitt in Fury.’”

“You know, you don’t have to get a toupée,” you offered gently, knowing that beneath all the jokes and bravado, Wade was more self-conscious about his appearance than he let on. “You look great just the way you are.”

“Aw, shucks, you’re gonna make me blush,” Wade replied, but you could see a glimmer of something real in his eyes. “But a guy’s gotta keep his options open, right? Maybe I want to channel my inner Fabio someday.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Then we’ll find the perfect one. But it’s gotta be something that screams ‘Wade Wilson,’ not ‘Bad Movie Villain.’”

He snorted. “You really know how to flatter a guy, don’t you?”

Wade turned back to the display, this time picking up a sleek, black toupée that looked like it had been stolen from a ’50s crooner. He placed it on his head, adjusting it with precision before spinning around to face you.

“Well?” he asked, striking a pose that was a mixture of Elvis and pure Deadpool absurdity. “What do you think, doll? Am I ready to serenade you under the moonlight, or should I just stick to killing bad guys?”

You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face. “I think you look like you’re about to sell me a used car.”

“Ouch, tough crowd!” Wade chuckled, taking off the toupée and tossing it back onto the display. “Alright, alright, I see where you’re going with this. Let’s try something a little less… sleazy.”

He moved further down the aisle, his eyes scanning the rows of wigs and toupées until he found one that seemed to catch his interest. It was a simple, short style—brown, a little tousled, nothing too flashy. Wade picked it up carefully, almost reverently, and looked at you with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Hey, what about this one?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if he wasn’t quite sure how you’d react.

You walked over to him, studying the toupée and imagining it on him. It wasn’t flashy or over-the-top; it was just… normal. It reminded you of what Wade might have looked like before everything—the experiments, the scars, the trauma.

“I think it’s perfect,” you said sincerely, meeting his eyes. “You’d look really good with it, Wade.”

Wade blinked, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes before he quickly covered it up with a smirk. “Well, let’s see if the ol’ moneymaker agrees with you.”

He slipped the toupée on, adjusting it in front of the mirror. For a moment, he just stared at himself, tilting his head this way and that, as if he wasn’t quite sure who was looking back at him.

“You know,” Wade said after a long pause, his voice unusually thoughtful, “I kinda like it. Makes me look almost… normal. Whatever that means.”

You smiled, stepping closer to him. “You don’t need to be ‘normal,’ Wade. You’re amazing just the way you are. But if this makes you happy, then I’m all for it.”

Wade turned to look at you, the mask of bravado slipping just enough for you to see the gratitude in his eyes. “You know, you’re not half bad at this emotional support stuff. Almost makes me want to buy you something shiny.”

You laughed, lightly punching his arm. “Just having you around is enough for me, Wade. But if you’re offering, I’ve always wanted one of those giant lollipops they sell at the candy store.”

Wade grinned, the playful spark returning to his eyes. “Done. But only if you agree to help me pick out a name for this bad boy,” he said, gesturing to the toupée.

“A name?”

“Absolutely. Every great hairpiece needs a name. I’m thinking something classic, like… Tony. Or maybe Leonard.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “How about something a little more… unique? Like… Sir Fluffington the First.”

Wade’s eyes lit up. “You, my dear, are a genius. Sir Fluffington it is!”

As you both walked toward the counter to pay, Wade wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You know, if I’m being honest, this was actually kinda fun. Who knew shopping for toupées could be so therapeutic?”

You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence, and smiled. “Anytime, Wade. Anytime.”

[juicy-beetle]

A theory/idea i came up with way too late last night- they made bj a crooner-ish singer (WHICH I EAT UP) so what if in the netherworld he hosted the morning radio (he used to call himself dj-bj in his youth and he threatens anyone if they bring it up again) and they got so sick of his shit so they kicked him out and instead played nothing but Cher *if you know you know

Also I'm digging the grey paper

[mazzy-rockstar]