#curlings ASSEMBLE

[ask-postcrash-curly]

Ok you little uncooked meatball since you think you’re so smart saying you’d rather kill yourself then answer my question. You know what sorry for calling you a meatball that’s offensive to the meatball community you remind of those skinned pigs they have in slaughterhouses. Also I heard that caps give you a headache sooo FUIHGUJTYIJHGTUOKHGYUOKKJJJHJHFUNGIKBUOBTOJFUOHRIVdUKVTKGUKGUIKIU does that give you a headache? If it does good if it doesn’t I will try again.

When did I— Don’t call me that!

That’s not better! Leave me alone!

No, that didn’t give—uh, yeah, it did. Ow. No need to repeat.

Why the hell would you hurt me on purpose? Just stop it. Just leave me alone.

[black-and-yellow]

The Video Game Boy

He's the portrait boy. He is the one who is a drawing

[onenightbreak]

huh

[purple-fangirl]

#although all joking aside I can absolutely see Bruce setting this up for Jason in the backyard after adopting him#partially passive aggressively#partially because he feels like maybe Jason actually does just ??? enjoy tires??? and wants to make him happy#‘of course kids like tires my son tried to steal mine the first time we met’#and of course it’s not like jason would say NO#it’s still sitting out there#Jason likes to read on it sometimes still#jason todd#robin!jason#bby ♥️#robin#batfam#dc#fanart

original post tags

What Jason Todd REALLY planned on doing with those tires

[lovinggreeniehours]

so they announced that it's just general assembly day tomorrow at school and i was just about to celebrate. until. i remembered

[sunni-stuff]

fwb!Simon, who grunts out, I love you mid thrust, leaving you rightfully lost for words and unable to question him, not while he was hitting a spot that had your toes curling and stars dancing in your eyes.

It's only afterward that you confront him, sheets pulled up to your chest, trying to assemble some semblance of decency while he gets dressed with deliberate purpose, his back to you as if eager to escape your presence. Scars crisscross his back like a road map of past battles, mingling with the fresh evidence of your fruitless moment of passion—angry red streaks left by your nails, which had clung to him in desperation and abandon.

"Did you mean it?" The meek whisper escapes you as you watch him tug on his shirt, concealing the marks of your shared tryst as though they were nothing more than another wound to bear.

He doesn’t face you, his head slightly turned but unreadable, the balaclava masking any trace of vulnerability or regret. Simon sits on the edge of the bed to put on his boots, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. The weight of your question hangs heavy in the air, rendering him unable—or perhaps unwilling—to answer, though his stoic demeanor betrays nothing.

"Simon, I'm talking to you." Your voice trembles, frustration spilling into your tone.

"I heard you," He mutters, his voice low and clipped, refusing to meet your gaze as he tightens the laces of his boots.

Simon always does this. He always does this—offering you fragments of affection, fleeting and fragile, leaving you grasping at it like sand slipping through your fingers. No matter how tightly you hold on, it escapes, grainy and rough, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. How much more could you take? How much longer could he toy with your heart before it finally broke?

"Then say something!" You finally scream, the words sharp and raw, slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade, desperate to shatter the wall he always hides behind.

He stills, shoulders stiffening, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you. But then, he snaps—his voice booming in the small room, rougher than you’ve ever heard it.

"What am I supposed to say?" The words come out like a growl, his frustration spilling over in a way that’s uncharacteristic of his usual control. His head whips around, and though his face is hidden by the balaclava, the intensity in his eyes burns through you.

You flinch, never having seen him angry before, let alone enough to yell at you. The sharpness of his outburst leaves you unnerved—just for a moment. But then your own anger surges forward, overwhelming the tremor of fear. He’s been toying with your heart, leading you along like a puppet, pulling the strings, the conductor of a train you never asked to board.

"Did you mean it?" You ask again, your voice steady now, even as your chest tightens. You meet his brown eyes head-on, the fire in them slowly dimming your own, leaving you to wonder if there’s anything real beneath the cold facade he so carefully constructs.

Again, he doesn’t answer. Typical Simon. Instead, he reaches out, roughened hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb gently rubbing your soft skin. There it was again, that flicker of affection, brief and fleeting, poured into your palms like a delicate offering, expecting you to cherish it, to hold onto the scraps he gives.

But much to his surprise, you pull away, your gaze hardening. For once, you let the sand slip through your fingers, choosing not to cling to something so unreliable, something that always fades just when you think you’ve grasped it.

Simon stares at you in utter shock, his gaze frozen as you move away, laying back down, refusing to face him. He watches in silence as you refuse to look at him anymore with those eyes—those eyes that always regarded him as your guiding sun, the one constant in a world full of uncertainty.

Now, your back is turned to him, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders, leaving him in the dark, unable to see your eyes, the eyes that once held all the softness, the trust, the devotion he’d never truly earned.

There was nothing else that needed or could be said. No oasis in this desert, no water to quench the sand he's suffocated you with. Simon rises, grabbing his jacket and keys from your dresser, his movements mechanical. He wants to look back, wants to see if you're watching him leave, wondering if you’ll be crying like all the times before. The sullen look in your eyes, the one that always made his heart strain, that soft ache whenever he walked away.

But this time, he doesn't look. Not this time. Because he knows there will be no hopeful eyes waiting for him, no quiet plea left in your gaze. Instead, he sees only the remnants of what he’s broken, the red thread that once held you together now frayed beyond repair. He’s a coward, unable to face what he’s done, unwilling to see the damage he’s caused.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

home.

summary: after *yn* loses those closest to her in the battle against thanos, she decides to escape from any reminder of her past life as an Avenger, including Bucky. it was all going to plan, until an unfortunate encounter with a group of outcasts brings her back to him

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS!!!

notes: um this is weird. hi. I'm back. please enjoy <3 p.s thank you bucky for making me come out of retirement

A few years ago if *yn* was on a mission, she would have had an extraction team waiting for her, or a state of the art covert getaway vehicle or - if push really came to shove - a hammer wielding god who could pick her up like she weighed nothing and fly her to safety.

Now here she was in the middle of the desert, crouched down in the back of an offensively red limo being driven by a crazy Russian Santa, with a bunch of people she probably would have apprehended during her time as an Avenger all while being shot at by employees of her old boss.

Yeah, this was a new all time low.

"For the love of god please make this hunk of junk go fucking faster!" She shouted as she took a brief respite from firing at the vehicles behind them.

"How dare you. My beauty is no hunk of junk!" Alexei retorted back, his Russian accent heavy as he swerved to avoid a pothole.

*yn* rolled her eyes before poking her head up over Walker's shield and fruitlessly shooting at the windshields behind them.

"Someone better do something or we're fucked." Walker yelled as he curled himself over *yn* and Ava as the front vehicle opened fire again.

"Yelena hand me my vodka!" Alexei demanded as Valentina's men inched closer.

"You cannot be-"

"Vodka! Now!" Alexei roared. Yelena shut her mouth and grabbed the bottle of vodka from the dash.

*yn* watched as Alexei ripped the cap off and took a large swig. She opened her mouth to protest but left it open in shock as she watched him assemble a molotov cocktail and toss it through the sunroof before she could blink.

The limo fell silent for a brief moment as time slowed and the group watched the flaming bottle flip through the air. It landed cleanly on the windshield, flames licking up the sides of the glass.

Just like the flame, she felt a brief ember of hope flicker inside her. But just as quickly as it had emerged, it was immediately snuffed out as she watched the flames begin to sputter out.

"We need another- shit!" Walker exclaimed as the closest vehicle suddenly exploded. It flipped over and crashed in a fiery wreck to the side of the road.

"How is that possible?" Ava asked as everyone peered over the backseat through the shot out back window.

A rev of a different engine answered back.

*yn* felt her stomach lurch at the sight of an all too familiar motorcycle appearing from behind the envoy.

A glint of a metal hand wrapped around the front of the motorcycle caught her eye. The metal led a trail up to a pair of black sunglasses, framed by dark tresses of hair. A chiseled jaw set in a grimace was next to greet her.

Bucky.

"Oh my god it is Winter Soldier! My Russian brother!"

Cheers chorused through the limo as *yn* turned around and sunk back into the fraying seat.

It seemed that things could indeed get worse.

"Bucky come on, can't you see we're the good guys now."

"Yeah come on Bucky let us out of here."

*yn* tuned out the loud voices of the others as they spoke over the top of one another and struggled against their restraints.

Her whole body was throbbing from the impact of the limo flipping over thanks to Bucky's decision to plant a bomb underneath it.

Speaking of Bucky, she could feel his eyes on her as she blinked slowly, staring up at the rusting beams of the abandoned warehouse.

"Why is *yn* tied up anyway, she was an Avenger after all." *yn* couldn't control the visible flinch that contorted her body at Ava's question.

"Yeah, aren't you two pals? You wouldn't shut up about her in Munich."

John's words were all it took to shatter her resolve. Her eyes involuntarily flitting to where Bucky was standing. Those steel blue eyes found hers instantly. It felt like he was staring right through her and rummaging around through her soul.

She swallowed and cooled her features as she quickly averted her gaze from his. Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.

"I'm taking you all to D.C to testify against Val."

Protests erupted from the rest of the group.

"What, like now?" Yelena queried incredulously.

"Yes, like now."

"You can't. You don't know what Val has done, Bucky." She fired back. "There's this guy Bob who Val is using for something she’s calling Project Sentry and she's turned him into this unstoppable, unstable machine and it's only a matter of time until-"

"I'm sorry, did you say Bob?" Bucky raised a brow.

"Yes, Bob."

"Bob?"

"Bob!" They all confirmed in unison.

*yn* stole a glance at Bucky again to see the disbelief written across his face.

"Listen to them Bucky." Her voice was hoarse as her vocal chords finally stretched out.

His attention was fixed on her immediately and for some reason, when those eyes locked with hers, an unexplainable rush of rage coursed through her.

"Sorry, or is it Congressman Barnes now?" Her tone could not be described as anything but a sneer. Even she was surprised at the vitriol laced through it.

She didn't have a reason to be angry at him, not really. She supposed that she was just angry at the world. At herself.

His face hardened the second the words left her lips. Not too dissimilar to the way his face used to glaze over when he was fighting his Winter Soldier urges, or when a particular memory would come back to him and he tried not to show that he was effected by it. She could always tell when it was happening. And it happened alot.

"I need to talk to you." His tone was firm and authoritative as he marched over to her.

The rest of the group had seemed to somehow make the correct judgment that this was not the time to make a stupid remark. They all watched in silence as he cut through the rope wrapped around her abdomen.

"Alone."

She tucked her chin as she brought her arms in front of her, flexing her stiff wrists and fingers now that they were finally free of the binds. She glanced up at him to see him towering above her. He was studying her, like he was almost expecting her to tackle him.

She knew better than to engage in a fight with him right now, especially in her current condition.

"Fine."

She pushed herself off the floor and didn't spare the rest of the group a glance as she followed him towards another room.

A storage room, she realised as she stepped through the door. Bucky shut the door behind them, encasing the room in silence. It was surprisingly soundproof.

The rest of the group watched them mutely as they disappeared into the room.

"So did they date or what?" John remarked the second the door shut behind them.

"Yes there is much tension there." Alexei chimed in.

Yelena stared at the door as conversations she'd had with Nat climbed back into the forefront of her mind. She had heard about the stolen glances, the pining and the self sacrificing they'd each try and do every time the other was hurt on a mission.

"God those two, they make you want to bash their heads together. But they're kind of cute. You'll see what I mean if you meet them." Nat chuckled as she took a sip of her beer.

"I don't understand." Yelena's brow furrowed. "Why don't they just tell each other how they feel?"

Nat laughed at her sister and shook her head. "If only it were that simple. Not everyone is as straightforward as you, y'know. People are... complicated." Nat sighed as she gazed out the window.

"But *yn* and Bucky-" She cut herself off and shook her head. "I don't know. I'm a cynic, but... it'll happen. It might just take something big for them to see it."

Yelena pressed her mouth together firmly at the memory of her older sister.

"Worse." Yelena finally answered the group.

What was probably only a few moments of silence, stretched out for what felt like an eternity once the door closed behind them. *yn* turned her back to him to look out the grimy window at the sprawling desert that encased them.

"You look like shit."

*yn* snorted at his remark. She turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. His gaze was still steely, his expression unreadable as he studied her.

"Well being in a vehicle when it gets blown up certainly doesn't help appearances."

Their brief interaction had given her a little bit more confidence. Like her body was starting to remember how comfortable she used to feel around him. She was most definitely rusty at this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper conversation with someone since this whole saga started.

Bucky watched her as she took a step towards him.

All it took was for their eyes to lock and he was back at the Avengers Compound, watching her chat animately with Steve on the other side of the living room. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes twinkling as she threw her head back in laughter. He didn't forget the way Natasha nudged him and gave him a knowing look either.

She did look worse for wear, that was true. She was gaunter in her face, her eyes rimmed with dark circles. But it was her eyes that had changed the most. They looked flat, defeated, almost lifeless. But despite all that, she was still just as beautiful as she had been when he last saw her four years ago. It still only took one look from her for his heart to start beating just that little bit faster.

"I didn't know you were in the car."

*yn* was caught off guard by his soft admission.

"I know."

He frowned as he moved towards her. Like he’d just snapped out of daze and remembered where they were. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

She averted her gaze at his question, her arms crossing back over her chest as if to form a barrier around herself.

"Don't tell me you were working for Val."

Just as Bucky got close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted, she took a step back and angled her body towards the window once more.

"Quite the fall from grace, huh?" She remarked dryly.

"*yn*." This time there was a hint of desperation in his tone.

She turned her head slightly. The sun shining through the window behind her cast an almost ethereal glow around her side profile.

"Where the hell have you been?"

*yn* had no idea how to answer that question. What was she supposed to say? That she'd spent the last four years in a downward spiral, wandering around aimlessly in an attempt to avoid the reality that half of her friends were either dead or had up and left after Thanos. And that when that stopped working, she finally succumbed to Valentina's offer to work for her in a last desperate effort to drive the last few years of her life out of her memory by shooting people and blowing shit up (which she had failed at, miserably).

Because that's exactly what she'd done.

She'd been a super soldier for her own country, raised in a lab and injected with some replica of Erskine's serum. Until she went rogue and Nick Fury recruited her for some secret project he'd dubbed 'The Avengers.'

Earth's mightiest heroes apparently, although they were more like Earth’s mightiest disasters. All of them were damaged in some shape or form, but they'd somehow managed to become a family. A very dysfunctional one, but still a family. The only family she’d ever known. Steve and Nat in particular had taken her under their wing, she'd been the youngest in the team. And that was how she'd met Bucky.

She'd been through Steve's side through all of it, realising Bucky was alive, the battle at the Triskelion, the civil war that his existence started, helping him heal his mind.

She'd been in love with Bucky for as long as she could remember. And there was a small part of her that thought he might just feel the same way.

And then she got blipped.

When she came back, her best friend Natasha was dead and she was thrown back into chaos with no time to grieve or process the realisation that she'd missed out on five years of life. And then Tony died. And then Steve left them, without even saying goodbye.

The family she'd known and loved crumbled right before her very eyes. Everyone else took off, dealing with their own traumas in one way or another, and she was left to try and pick up her own pieces.

And she couldn't.

Someone who was supposed to be an Avenger, who helped save the entire universe, couldn't get her shit together.

She had wanted to go to Bucky. Had thought that maybe in the dusk of all of the chaos, they could build something. Help heal each other.

Sam had told her that he'd been ignoring his messages. She'd elected not to tell Sam that she in fact, had been ignoring Bucky's.

So a few months after Tony's funeral, she'd plucked up the courage to go see him at his apartment. That was when she happened to glance through the window of a nearby restaurant to see him with a woman she did not recognise seated a table and laughing.

A date, there was no doubt about it.

She had felt like such an idiot for thinking that there might have been possibly something between them. That she'd read into all the times she'd caught him staring at her, or the way he would someone manage to appear beside her anytime she was in danger on a mission.

She went home, packed up what she could in a backpack, and didn't look back.

"*yn*." Bucky's gruff voice sliced through her haze of thoughts.

"We should get going. Bob's in trouble." She muttered, moving to step past him towards the door.

A breath caught in her throat as the cool metal of his left hand gently wrapped around her bicep, keeping her in place.

"*yn*." This time his voice was barely more than a whisper. "Please."

She properly looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. He was more tan since she'd last seen him. It was the same face she had fallen in love with all those years ago, with just a few extra lines that she'd not had a chance to memorise yet.

She pressed her lips into a line, feeling her chin wobble as she tried to keep her composure.

"What do you want me to say?" Her voice was hoarse as she tried to blink back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"You could have stayed. Could have carried on the Avenger's work."

She scoffed at that and pulled herself out of his grasp and put some distance between them once more.

"And done what exactly?" Her words were bitter as she glared at him. "Got into politics like you?"

"You think this has been easy for me?" His voice inched higher as he spoke. "That I don’t think about what I’ve done and how many lives I’ve taken every single moment of my life, even when I’m asleep?” He marched towards her once more so the pair were nearly chest to chest.

"Because I do.”

His words splashed water over the rage that was building up inside her.

"It wasn't you who did those things." Her tone softened as she spoke.

"Maybe. But it's my face who people remember."

Silence enveloped the pair as they studied eachother. Their minds racing through all of the trauma they've endured on their own and together.

"I'm weak. *yn* admitted after a few moments. It felt almost freeing to say those words out loud. Like she had taken the padlock off a chest that hoarded all of her deepest and darkest thoughts.

"That's why I ran. I couldn't handle it. The memorials, the biographies, the questions about who was going to replace them I-" She shook her head as the first few months after the battle against Thanos flashed before her eyes like a movie reel.

"Fuck I still can't handle it. I can barely even look at Yelena because-" Her eyes welled. Yelena and Nat didn't physically resemble eachother that much, but every so often Yelena would say something or look at her a certain way, and all she could think about was her best friend who never came home.

"Hey." Bucky's voice was gentle. A gloved finger crooked under her jaw and tilted her face up to lock eyes wit his. "You're not weak. You're human."

"They're all gone Buck." She quivered, tears running freely down her dusty cheeks. "And Steve left us without even saying goodbye." Metal fingers brushed her cheeks gently.

"And then you left me." Bucky was so quiet she almost thought she'd imagined it.

She felt her bottom lip tremble as she watched tears begin to pool in the corners of his eyes. Guilt wreaked havoc on her heart. She'd walked away from a man who had only known loneliness and pain for longer than she'd been alive.

"I'm sorry." She took a breath. "I guess I just thought no one would miss me all that much."

Her raw admission made Bucky blanch. He looked down at her in disbelief. How could anyone so radiant ever think something like that about themselves.

"I looked for you." A tear slid down his cheek as his voice cracked.

"For months. I looked for you."

There was a pause.

"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"You know why."

Her heart hammered in her chest at the way he looked at her. This felt like a fever dream. After years of anguish and pain, she couldn't possibly be about to have something good happen to her.

"No. I don't."

Bucky swallowed nervously as he brought a hand over to cradle her jaw.

"Are you really going to make me say it doll?" A breathless laugh passed his lips. For the first time in years, she felt herself lighten at the sound of his laugh. Even more at the sound of that nickname he’d always reserved just for her.

"Yes."

Bucky paused as he ran a thumb along her jawline, his eyes studied every single inch of her face.

"Because it's always been you." His admission made her weak in the knees. His gaze was unbreakable as he stared down at her.

Another dry chuckle emitted from the back of his throat, "and I'm too old to pine after you in the corner for another six years this time around."

"Bucky." She breathed out.

She was scared. So fucking scared. Because this was real. This meant that she had to open herself up to the possibility of even more pain.

But it was also the most alive she'd felt in years.

"If you don't feel the same way I-"

She leant up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. She felt like her insides were melting as he brought his other hand up to cradle the other side of her face. All those of years of anguish and heartache faded into the background as their lips moved against eachother. She felt warm and safe and protected.

He was her home.

The two pulled away after a few moments, their chests slightly more ragged as they studied each other.

"It's always been you." She whispered against his lips.

Bucky couldn't control the grin that spread across his face as he brushed a thumb along her lower lip.

"If Nat was here, she would be freaking out right now."

"So would Steve." Bucky answered. God knows he had never heard the end of it when he was still here.

"Although, he'd probably be disappointed in me that I didn't take you dancing first." The two of them giggled, their salty tears mixing together as they pressed their foreheads together.

"Guess you'll have to take me dancing after we sort this new mess out." *yn* murmured to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Speaking of...do you trust them?" Bucky's eyes looked over her shoulder, landing on the closed door that separated them from the others. She turned in his arms to follow his gaze.

"Well, they're all unpredictable, loud, have dodgy pasts and are incredibly damaged." She remarked. "But..." She trailed off as she turned to look up at him.

"So are we." He finished off her sentence.

She nodded. "So yeah, I guess I do. And Bob's a good person. He's unstable but he's.... he needs help."

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched up as he studied her.

"You're already attached to them, aren't you?"

"A little bit." She admitted.

God she couldn't believe that in such a short span that bunch had managed to get under her skin. But they had.

She really needed to get some friends.

"Which scares me. I can’t lose more people I care about again."

Bucky eyes softened at her confession.

"I'm with you on this. I'm with you on life. And I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled softly and buried her face into his neck, inhaling that familiar scent of pine and smoke. The pair stood wrapped in eachother's arms, enjoying the feeling of being together before they had to go back out there and face reality.

The pain would always be there, they were never going to forget the friends they'd lost. But this was their chance at a fresh start. To help heal each other and to choose themselves this time.

To build a home.

I apologise if I’m rusty, but I’m happy with how this turned out :) if you had told me a year ago I’d be writing again, I wouldn’t have believed you - but here we are!!! This has really made me realise how much I missed you guys. As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here x

[moondustbaby]

In His Element

Blue Collar!Rafe x Wife!Reader

cw: smut, piv, oral (f rec), unprotected sex

mdni 18+

summary: It’s a lazy weekend, and Rafe’s been working out in the garage all morning—sweaty, focused, shirt clinging to him in the heat. You try to stay patient, but after a while, the sight of him all rugged and messy is too much to resist.

⸻

It’s just past noon, and the house is quiet—windows cracked open, breeze moving gently through the curtains. You’ve been inside all morning, pretending not to notice how long Rafe’s been in the garage, though every now and then, a soft grunt or the hum of a power drill slips in from outside.

You peek out the front window and catch sight of him—sleeves rolled up, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, and his jeans hanging just low enough on his hips to remind you exactly what’s under them. He’s hunched over a half-assembled workbench, tool belt slung low and heavy across his waist, arms flexing with every movement.

The view alone makes you warm.

You step outside barefoot, the concrete warm under your toes, and walk toward the open garage. The smell of sawdust and grease hits you instantly—sharp, familiar, comforting.

Rafe doesn’t notice you at first. He’s focused, brows furrowed, hand steady as he drills into the edge of the frame. There’s a smudge of dirt across his cheek and sweat on his neck. You lean in the doorway and let your voice cut through the thick, muggy air.

“You building a second house out here or what?”

His head lifts, and when he sees you—your bare legs, his shirt hanging off your body, hair messy from lounging all morning—his mouth curls into a slow, easy grin.

“Didn’t know I was on a deadline.”

You shrug. “You’ve been out here for hours.”

He sets the drill down and wipes his palms on his jeans, eyes trailing up your body with a lazy kind of hunger. “You could’ve come out sooner.”

“I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re never a bother.” He closes the gap between you with a few slow steps, stopping just short of touching. “Especially when you look like that.”

His fingers brush along your hip, where his shirt drapes loosely over your skin. His hand slips around to the small of your back, drawing you closer until you’re pressed to his chest. He smells like sweat and cedar, and your whole body responds instantly.

“You gonna just stare at me, baby?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “Or you gonna kiss me?”

You rise up onto your toes and meet his mouth, soft and warm, the kiss deepening fast as his hand tightens on your waist. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting like black coffee and heat.

The garage fades away.

When he breaks the kiss, his lips trail down to your jaw, your throat, his voice rumbling against your skin. “You came out here to distract me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you breathe. “Is it working?”

His hands are already sliding lower, over the curve of your ass. “Yeah. It’s working.”

He lifts you easily onto the workbench, the wood cool under your thighs. Your legs part instinctively as he steps between them, lips crashing into yours again. His kiss is messier this time—open-mouthed, desperate, a little filthy.

When his fingers push up the hem of your shirt, he groans at the sight of nothing underneath. “Fuck, baby…”

You grin. “Got hot waiting for you.”

He leans back just enough to drag his calloused fingers down your bare thigh. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You pull his belt open slowly, letting your fingers brush against the bulge in his jeans. He hisses under his breath.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, voice tight. “Right here on the bench? Against the door? Floor?”

“Here,” you whisper. “Can’t wait anymore.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you hard, then drops to his knees between your legs. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide, and he presses his mouth to your inner thigh—hot and open and wet.

Your head tips back, hands gripping the edge of the bench as he kisses his way up to where you’re already soaked.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t hesitate.

Rafe buries his mouth in you with a low groan, tongue stroking deep and slow, lips wrapped around your clit with just enough suction to make your whole body jerk.

You gasp, thighs clenching around his head, and he only pulls you closer, fingers digging into your hips. He moans against your core like he’s high on it, like he could eat you forever.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against you, the vibration making your stomach twist. “You miss my mouth, baby?”

“Yes,” you cry, fingers yanking at his hair. “God, yes.”

He sucks harder, tongue flattening and flicking just right, and it coils tight in your belly—heat building, hips grinding into his face shamelessly.

“You gonna come for me?” he groans, breath hot on your soaked skin. “Wanna feel you shake, baby.”

It doesn’t take long. You come with a strangled moan, thighs trembling around his head as he licks you through it, not stopping until you’re whimpering and trying to pull away.

He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, panting, eyes blown wide.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Get your pants off.”

That makes him laugh—low and dark and desperate. He fumbles with his fly, dragging his jeans and boxers down in one swift move. He’s already rock hard, flushed and leaking.

He steps between your legs again, lining himself up and running the tip through your slick folds. You shudder, the tease almost unbearable.

“Rafe…”

“You want it?”

“I need it.”

That’s all it takes.

He pushes in with a deep, slow thrust, both of you moaning as he stretches you open. One hand grips your waist, the other sliding up your ribs to squeeze your breast through his shirt.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans. “So fuckin’ wet. All this for me?”

“All for you,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He fucks you slow at first—deep, heavy strokes that make your toes curl. His hips roll, dragging his cock over every sensitive spot inside you.

The bench creaks under you, and the garage air is filled with the sound of slick skin and your moans.

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing as he fucks you. “You like being fucked in the garage? Like being spread out for me where anyone could see?”

“Rafe—”

“Could have the whole damn neighborhood walk by. Still wouldn’t stop. Not when you’re moaning like that.”

He pulls out suddenly and flips you around, bending you over the bench before you can catch your breath. His hand spreads you open, and he slides back in with one hard thrust.

Your cry echoes off the walls.

One of his hands curls around your hip, the other sliding under your shirt to hold your chest flush to the bench. He pounds into you now—rough, fast, hungry.

The angle hits deeper, and the way he fills you makes your head spin.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” he pants. “You take me so damn good.”

Your only answer is a whimper.

His fingers reach around to rub your clit, fast and relentless, and you’re coming again—body shaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Rafe curses behind you, hips jerking as he spills inside you, buried deep.

He stays there, bent over you, panting, his sweaty chest pressed to your back.

“You okay?” he whispers against your shoulder.

You nod, barely able to breathe. “That was… really productive garage work.”

He huffs a laugh and kisses the back of your neck.

After a few moments, he pulls out slowly, helping you stand, his hands gentle now. You’re wobbly on your feet, but he steadies you, pulling his shirt down over your thighs.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Need a shower. And lunch.”

You grin, still breathless. “I thought this was your break.”

He kisses your temple. “Best damn break I’ve ever had.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this is for my fellow blue collar!Rafe degenerates who see a man organizing wrenches in a sweat-drenched tee and immediately start ovulating. he was just trying to clean the garage like a responsible adult and I said, “what if you rawed your wife on the workbench instead?” this fic is 90% worship, 10% sawdust, and 100% me blacking out from thirst. thank you for enabling this. 🙃

♥️ lani

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@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216

[societyfolklore]

Not Ready Yet

Title: Not Ready Yet Pairing: Steve Roger x Female Reader

Summary: Steve Rogers has been nothing but the perfect gentleman- sweet, attentive, patient. He’s made you feel special from the moment you met, like something rare and cherished. So when he finally invites you over for dinner after two months of slow-burning romance, you think you know what’s coming. You don’t…

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Dom!Steve, Vaginal Fisting, Gentleman-to-Deviant Vibe (Soft Dom-to-Darker Shift), Size Kink & Super Soldier Strength, Manipulation (Soft-Edged, Coaxing Control), Dubious Consent, Pleasure-Drunk, Praise Kink, Your Naive but Steve is Calculated, Internal Conflict (Bliss-to-Dread Arc), Overstimulation, Pain & Stretching (Mixed with Pleasure), Aftercare Used to Maintain Power, alcohol Mention (Wine During Dinner)

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo... this one was something else.. Square: A2- Fisting Card Number: KB003

You had never felt so cherished in your life.

Steve Rogers was everything they said he was, and more. Gallant. Polite. A little shy, even. The kind of man who bought fresh flowers from the Saturday market just because he thought of you when he passed them. Who walked you home every time you went out together. Who kissed you on the cheek that first night, even when you'd leaned in hopeful, wanting, to meet his lips.

It had taken three dates for him to finally kiss you properly. But when he had? You'd felt it in your bones. Like your body had been waiting for it, your skin leaning in before your mind could even catch up. That first real kiss had been soft, reverent, almost hesitant and yet it lingered in your memory like something carved into marble.

You’d been seeing him for a little over two months now. Slow and steady. Holding hands, forehead kisses, flirty looks. And then tonight- tonight, he invited you to his place for dinner.

The idea that something might happen tonight left a flutter of nerves dancing in your belly. You weren’t sure what to expect, but everything about Steve made you feel safe. Respected. Treasured. If anyone was going to be your first in this new relationship, you were glad it would be him.

When you arrived, he greeted you at the door with a soft smile and a warm kiss. The table was already set. The apartment smelled amazing- garlic, herbs, something comforting and homey wafting in from the kitchen. The lighting was low, the music quiet and jazzy in the background. You felt wrapped in a cocoon of calm.

He’d made grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and some kind of lemony couscous that was surprisingly addictive. Not too heavy. Just right. He poured you wine, told stories that made you laugh, reached across the table to touch your hand or tuck your hair behind your ear. Every move was effortless. Intimate.

By the time the plates were cleared and you were curled up beside him on the couch, your chest was warm with wine and quiet wanting. Every part of the evening had been like something out of a dream- his arm curled around your shoulders, your cheek resting on his chest, the subtle way his fingers traced lazy circles on your arm. The soft jazz playing from his record player gave the moment a haze of golden nostalgia. You felt drunk- but not from the wine. From him. From the weight of his presence and the way it wrapped around you like something you could sink into and never climb back out of.

The kisses started sweet- just lips brushing lips. Then longer, deeper. The kind of kisses that made your heart race and your thighs clench. His hand slid to your hip, your thigh, the small of your back, always steady, always sure. His body was so much bigger than yours, all heat and strength and solidity, and yet he touched you like he thought you might break. Like he was holding something rare and delicate.

You expected him to guide you gently to the bedroom, maybe with a soft smile and an outstretched hand. Maybe he’d whisper something tender, lace your fingers together, and lead you into the next chapter of this perfect, storybook evening.

But when he picked you up? When he rose from the couch with you in his arms like you weighed nothing, like he’d been waiting for the moment to show you just how strong he really was?

Your heart all but stopped.

You clutched at his shoulders, eyes wide, breath caught in your throat. His body was everything you imagined and more- solid, warm, impossibly strong. Your fingers curled instinctively over the thick muscle of his shoulders, feeling the effortless strength in the way he held you. His chest was broad and firm beneath your cheek, rising and falling in a steady rhythm, like nothing in the world could shake him.

But he didn’t falter. Didn’t tease. His movements were purposeful, sure- like your body was meant to be in his arms, like it belonged there. He held you with the same reverence he gave you when he looked at you across candlelit tables and brought you fresh flowers- only now there was heat threaded through it. A quiet intensity.

You could feel the flex of his biceps with every shift of his arms, the stability in his grasp as his large hands supported you with perfect ease. The sheer size of him around you made you feel small, delicate- utterly encompassed. His warmth bled into you, wrapping around your spine, your ribs, your heart.

As he carried you through the apartment, you found yourself clutching tighter, unsure if you were afraid of falling or simply overwhelmed by the feeling of being so completely handled. The hallway lights cast a golden glow over his profile, and the sound of your own heartbeat filled your ears.

He carried you like you were something fragile. Like something he owned. Like something he was finally claiming.

"You okay?" he murmured, glancing down at you as he pushed open the bedroom door, voice low and warm against your skin, and something in his tone made your spine tingle.

You nodded, heart fluttering like a bird in a cage. "Yeah."

His smile was small but warm, but there was a flicker in his eyes- like a spark catching light. "Good. Been wanting this for a long time."

The bed was already turned down. Soft lighting spilled in from the hallway as he set you gently atop the sheets and knelt between your legs. His big hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent. Then he leaned over you, covering your mouth with his again, coaxing another kiss that deepened into something hot and breath-stealing. You sighed into it, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt.

He didn’t rush. Every kiss was deliberate. His mouth moved over yours, then to your jaw, then your neck, trailing heat and want everywhere it touched. You arched into him without thinking, thighs parting as his body hovered above you.

His hands explored slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Over your shoulders, your arms, your breasts- pausing there, cupping them with reverence and a barely-there squeeze that made your nipples tighten under your bra. You gasped into his mouth, and he smiled against your lips like he’d been waiting for that sound.

With slow, practiced ease, he began to undress you. You let him. Let him peel your clothes away like unwrapping something precious. And when your shaking fingers reached up to unbutton his shirt, he didn’t stop you. He watched, eyes dark and fixed on your face, as you tugged each button loose one by one, revealing more golden skin and hard muscle than your starry mind could handle.

You ran your palms over his chest, tracing every ridge and curve. He let you explore, let you marvel, even leaned into your touch like it thrilled him just as much.

By the time he had you down to nothing, he didn’t go straight for where you ached. Instead, he kissed along your ribs, your belly, your hips. He inhaled softly at your inner thigh, fingers trailing just shy of where you needed them.

"You’re already getting there," he murmured, voice like velvet and heat. "Want you soaked for me before I even touch you there. Wanna feel you melt around my fingers."

Then he kissed you again, and when he pulled back, there was something new in his eyes.

Intent.

His voice stayed low, almost reverent, like this moment meant as much to him as it did to you. He slicked his fingers slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving your face. You could feel the weight of his attention, how focused he was. Not just on your body, but on your reactions. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your thighs parted, the flush creeping across your skin.

"Been thinking about this," he admitted softly. "About how you'd feel... how warm you'd be."

He smiled, just the barest hint of it, like he was already savoring the moment before it began. "Finally get to feel you, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched.

Oh.

You swallowed. Nodded. Your thighs shifted, welcoming.

Steve slicked his fingers slowly, watching you the whole time.

"We’ll take this nice and slow…" he said, settling between your knees. "We’ve got all night."

Then his fingers found you- slow at first, not pushing in, just toying with your entrance. The pad of his finger circled there, teasing, tracing the slick heat of you while he watched your face for every flicker of response. Your body fluttered around him, clenching reflexively at the mere suggestion of penetration. He murmured something low and pleased under his breath as your hole twitched, pulsing at the gentle pressure. He could feel how badly your body wanted to be filled, even if he was taking his time giving it to you.

The first one slid in easy, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. Warm. Thick. He moved it gently, curling just enough to make your hips twitch. His thumb rested against your mound, still and grounding, until it started to move.

A slow, deliberate brush over your clit. Featherlight at first. A single circle that made your breath hitch. Another, firmer, that drew a moan from your throat before you could stop it.

"There she is," Steve looked at you smiling, like he’d just discovered a secret. "You’re already so soft for me."

He didn’t rush.

His finger stroked in and out while his thumb teased gentle circles, the rhythm enough to make your legs tremble. Then he started to curve that finger upward on every slow stroke, dragging it along the top wall until it hit something inside you that made your whole body jolt.

Your moan spilled out loud and helpless, your hands flying to your own skin- gripping your thighs, sliding up your belly, unsure where to hold onto the heat that bloomed between your legs. Every time he curled his finger into that soft, spongy cluster of nerves, your walls fluttered around him, tighter, wetter, like your body was trying to pull him in deeper.

He did it again. And again. Unhurried. Precise.

"That's it," Steve murmured, voice like silk and sin. "Feel that, sweetheart? Right there."

You nodded, eyes glassy, already halfway gone.

The second finger came after a minute of slow strokes, coaxing your body open. You felt it- every new inch. Wider. Fuller. The stretch just enough to make your toes curl.

His thumb never left your clit.

With two fingers buried inside you, he started to move them- not in and out, but apart. A slow, gentle scissoring motion that made your breath stutter and your hips lift instinctively. The stretch deepened, and you could feel every subtle shift of pressure, every widening sweep as he worked you open from the inside out.

"Still doing okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah. Just… big."

It was more than just the stretch- it was him. His fingers felt impossibly full inside you, so much more than your own ever had. The way they moved, the way they filled and stroked, finding every sensitive inch like they were made for your body- it was overwhelming. Your fingers could never curl quite like that, never press up against that perfect spot with such patience, such purpose.

He dragged them back over your sweet spot again, slow and unrelenting, and your thighs twitched helplessly.

He smiled. Kissed the inside of your thigh.

"That’s just two, honey. You’re doing so good. Opening up so pretty for me."

You barely heard him over the sound of your own moan.

Steve shifted slightly, and you felt the gentle nudge of a third finger teasing at your entrance, slick and warm and heavy with promise. Your breath caught. He hadn’t pushed in yet- just let it sit there, letting you feel the potential of it.

"Steve," you gasped, one hand grabbing at the sheets, the other curling at your side. "I- I’m good. Two is… so good."

And it was. It felt incredible. Like he was everywhere already, like your body could barely keep up with the stretch of just his two thick fingers dragging over your sweet spot again and again, stroking deep in ways you’d never reached on your own. You didn’t need more- your brain was already fogging, your thighs trembling. You felt full. So close to ruined.

Steve didn’t argue. Not right away. He just hummed, like he understood.

When you looked up at him, your breath caught for a whole new reason. His brows were slightly pinched, lips parted like he might say something but wasn’t sure how. There was something in his face- not heat, not hunger, but concern. A flicker of worry. The sharp, clear blue of his eyes had darkened "I know, sweetheart. I know it’s a lot. But I need to make sure you’re ready for me. Really ready. Gotta stretch you to fit me." he murmured, reaching for a bottle of lube on the nightstand. "Can’t have you breaking when I finally have you."

His fingers didn’t push all at once. First, he went back to stroking over that spot inside you, slow and deliberate, keeping your head spinning and your legs loose. Every drag of his fingers over that aching bundle of nerves sent another wave through you, your breath catching, your thoughts scattering. You tried to focus- on his voice, on his eyes- but it was impossible when every nerve ending was lighting up with sensation.

As he began to work the third finger in, the pressure built fast. Your mouth dropped open, a broken moan escaping as the stretch deepened- more than you thought you could take, more than you thought you wanted, but so achingly full it made your toes curl. His fingers were slow, steady, coaxing you open inch by inch, and the third felt like so much. It wasn't just the width- it was the way he pushed up, dragging over that tender, swollen cluster of nerves inside you like he knew exactly where it was. And he did. Again. And again.

"You're taking me so well," Steve murmured, his voice rasping low as he leaned over you. "Feels good, doesn’t it? I know it does. Can feel you clenching, baby... greedy little thing."

You barely registered the soft crack of a lid opening. You were too far gone to notice the subtle shift as he poured a little more slick over you, letting it drip down over his fingers, your entrance, mixing with the wetness already flooding you. It made everything easier. Smoother. Filthier.

He hummed, thumb circling again as he worked those three thick fingers in deeper. "So slick for me now. You needed this, didn’t you? Been so patient."

He leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. "You're so tight around me, baby. So small. Look at you- trying to take all this. You're doing so good."

His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was a weight behind it, a possessive edge that made your core flutter even harder. "I know it’s a stretch. I know it’s a lot. But I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m just looking after you."

He twisted his fingers again, rubbing up into that spot that had you arching, crying out. "Gotta open you up right. Make sure you’re ready. You trust me, don’t you? Let me take care of you."

You felt yourself build- your breath catching, hips twitching, thighs quivering like another orgasm was already crawling its way toward you. Not a full one, not yet- but something small and devastating, the kind that made you want to cry.

"Don’t hold back," he whispered, voice thick with pride and hunger. "I want to feel every part of it. Every flutter. Every little break."

And just as you started to fall into it, Steve spread his fingers apart in a slow, deliberate fan. The stretch lit your nerves like a firework, and your voice cracked into a sob.

"There you go." he breathed. "God, just look at you..."

Then he brought them back together, pressing deeper, making you take it. All of it.

It was slow. Careful. But when the knuckle passed, your breath caught in your throat. Your hips shifted, thighs trembling. The stretch was so intense, so deep, and yet the pleasure lingered like a haze across your skin. You felt dazed- drunk on it. Drunk on him. Each drag of his fingers inside you made your body sing, your breath come shallow, your thoughts slip further from your grasp.

His free hand moved then, sliding down your thigh with the same maddening patience. Gentle. Soothing. But it wasn’t just comfort- it was control. His palm gripped your leg, grounding and commanding, keeping you spread just the way he wanted.

"C’mon, just one more," Steve said softly, almost coaxing. "Make sure you’re gonna be safe. Want you to enjoy it when I take you, yeah?"

You whimpered. Nodded. What else could you do? He had you unraveling with just his hands- and you trusted him to ruin you completely.

"Yeah, one more," Steve whispered. "Just my pinky. It's my smallest finger. You'll feel so good."

You didn’t even get a chance to think. His hand shifted smoothly, his fingers forming into a cone. The moment he pressed forward, your back arched off the bed, a soft gasp breaking free from your lips. It was instinctive- offering him a better angle as your body yielded.

The pressure flared white-hot as he pushed, all four fingers breaching you past the second knuckle. You panted hard, the stretch intense and dizzying, like you could feel every ridge of every finger working you open from the inside.

His fingers twisted gently, stretching you wider than you’d ever been. But your body wasn’t quite ready to take the final push- not yet. You felt the resistance, the way your muscles fluttered and clung around his knuckles, not letting him all the way in. It was too much. Too deep.

Steve didn’t force it. He didn’t even pause. His hand moved from your thigh to your clit again, rubbing in slow, purposeful circles- soft at first, then firmer, matching your panting breaths. You whimpered, hips twitching under the renewed stimulation. Your arousal was building again, thick and hot, the ache inside you sharpened by the way he was working you open.

Then he moved. Bent low, fingers still buried in you, and took your nipple into his mouth. He suckled gently at first, letting his tongue flick over the tight peak, then deeper, wetter, his mouth hot and hungry as his fingers never stopped moving. You cried out, arching into him, overwhelmed by sensation.

The wine buzzed low in your blood, making everything feel hazy and soft around the edges- but your body was humming. On fire. Your skin tingled under his lips, your core clenched around his hand, and still he coaxed you further.

"There we go," he murmured around your breast. "That’s it, baby. Let me in. Let me feel all of you."

And slowly, as he kissed and played and rubbed every tender part of you, your body gave. The tension melted just enough to let him press that final set of knuckles in, your walls stretching wide to accommodate him.

"Let me in, honey," he whispered.  The sensation was blinding. You moaned, raw and high, as your body finally let him sink in all the way- his knuckles pressing flush at your entrance. Your eyes rolled back at the overwhelming stretch, your mouth falling open as a wrecked sound tore from your throat. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the fullness deep and dizzying, stretching your limits and then some.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he rotated the hand buried inside you- turning so his palm was facing up. You felt everything shift, the pressure rearranging into something unbearable and glorious. He sat back slightly on his heels to watch, eyes dark, jaw tight, chest rising and falling in controlled, hungry breaths.

"God, baby," he muttered, dragging his thumb gently over your skin, just below your navel. "You're so wet. Can feel you dripping all around me."

He pushed in further, and you could feel it- the weight of him, the slow slide of his hand breaching you deeper, his fingers curling slightly as he explored every inch. Your body clenched around him, a helpless, reflexive squeeze that made his breath catch. His other hand pressed to your belly, firm and possessive. Then he pressed down, just enough for you to feel the pressure echo through your core- and then, with a slow, wicked smile, he wiggled his fingers inside you.

The sensation made your whole body jerk. Your breath hitched sharply as you felt the movement from both directions- inside and out.

"Can feel you now from both sides," he murmured, eyes locked on your face as your body trembled. The idea of it- of being so thoroughly filled that his hand was something you could feel through your own skin- was almost too much. It nearly made you come right there.

His fourth finger shifted, spreading wider. You gasped as your skin and muscles moved with him, stretched for him, obeyed the rhythm of his hand without resistance. Every flutter, every tiny ripple of sensation, rolled through you like waves you couldn't stop riding. He just smiled, calm and hungry, soaking in the sight of you coming undone under the weight of his touch.

You couldn’t answer. You were dumb with it. Flushed, panting, wine-fogged and pleasure-drunk. You stared up at the ceiling, glassy-eyed, mind floating somewhere between surrender and bliss as he watched you come undone around him, completely open and filled. His hand pulled back slightly, easing out just enough that you could breathe- but it only made the absence sharper, made your body clench harder in protest. He shifted his hand just so, tucking his thumb in tight beside the rest.

Then you heard it- the soft click of the lube bottle again. He didn’t rush, didn’t ask. He just poured more slick over your pussy, letting it drip down over his hand, easing everything. The sensation of the cool gel against your overheated skin made you shiver, and when his hand slid back in- slow, sure, claiming- it went easier. Smoother. Wetter.

Then his other hand was sliding down between your legs.

You barely had time to react before his fingers were back on your clit, rubbing in slow, steady circles designed to undo you all over again. You whimpered, breath stuttering, thighs twitching. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And somewhere through the haze, a thought tried to rise to the surface- Wasn’t this just supposed to be about getting you ready to take him? It wasn’t a protest, not really. Just a wobbly breath and a slurred, "Steve… do you really… need to go this far?"

You felt his body still, just for a beat. Then you felt it- the subtle pressure of his thumb beginning to press inward, joining the rest.

"Shh, baby," he cooed, the sweetness of his voice wrapping around you like silk and chains. "You’re doing so good for me. Just a little more. This is all for you, remember? So I don’t hurt you later. You trust me, don’t you?"

His thumb kept pushing, slow but firm, as his fingers curled again and rubbed your clit in soft, hypnotic circles. "Almost there. That’s it, sweetheart. Let me take care of everything.. Just need to relax, breathe for me.." he voice soothing but firm, like he was easing you through something important. "Just need you a little wetter. A little softer.

"You’re almost there anyway," he murmured. "Just a little further. You’re my best girl, right? You can give me this…"

His hand slid up to your chest again, thumb flicking your nipple before he bent low to mouth at it- suckling slow and deep while his hand remained buried inside you, the stretch lingering. You felt yourself melting beneath him, your blood hot from the wine, your brain cotton-soft and floaty.

Then he started to press deeper. You felt it- every inch, every widening push- as he slowly worked his hand further inside you. His fingers brushed your cervix, just a whisper of contact that made your hips buck and your breath stall. He dragged against your walls, firm and careful, stretching and spreading you with the thickest part of his hand, inch by inch. The pressure bloomed everywhere.

Your breathing turned ragged. Stilled. Each inhale caught at the back of your throat, a desperate little gasp as your body tried to reconcile the impossible fullness with the endless heat. It was too much.

Steve could hear it- your pulse pounding, your heartbeat racing beneath his hand. He paused, just enough to press his palm flat against your belly again, soothing and steady. "Shh, baby," he murmured, rubbing your clit with slow, coaxing circles. "You're doing so good for me. I’ve got you."

He twisted his hand slowly, working the angle, easing in more- his thumb still tucked tight. The shift made you cry out, thighs trembling, back arching. Your body writhed beneath him, sweat beginning to gather at your temples and between your breasts.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Steve murmured, voice warm and firm, grounded in command. "You’re doing so good. Just breathe through it for me, okay? In… and out. With me now."

He slowed the movement of his hand, letting the pressure at your entrance stay constant, steady. You felt every twitch of muscle, every strained stretch as his hand shifted inside you. It stung- but the pleasure was right there underneath it, riding the edge of each breath.

“Deep breath in,” he said again, his other hand sliding along your thigh, keeping you grounded. “Exhale. That’s it. Keep going. I can feel you trying to take me.”

You whimpered, voice breaking on the inhale, but you obeyed- moaning on the exhale as he gently pulled his fingers apart again, spreading you around the bulk of his hand. It burned. It thrilled.

Your muscles fluttered, tight and frantic around the stretch, and Steve’s thumb pressed soft circles to your clit as his hand slowly rotated again inside you.

"You're so close, baby. I can feel it. Just let go. Let me in."

He watched you- every shift in your expression, every tremble in your breath- with rapt attention, like the sight of your body trying to take him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And Steve just watched- entranced and hungry. His gaze swept over you like he couldn’t decide where to focus. Your face, flushed and lost. Your chest, heaving. Your pussy, stretched impossibly wide around his hand. "Steve?" 

He looked like a man utterly ruined by the sight of you taking him.

"Just a little more- yeah, like that. Deep breath in… and exhale."

Then came the push.

Thicker. Deeper.

Your body relented to his invasion.

Your feet kicked and slid over the bed, legs tensing and heels dragging against the sheets as your body scrambled for somewhere to put the sensation. It was involuntary- your muscles seizing, shifting, trying to escape and welcome the stretch all at once.

A whine bubbled up from your throat, high and thin, and Steve shushed you gently.

"I know, sweetheart. It’s intense, isn’t it?" he murmured, eyes locked on yours, steady as stone. "But you’re doing so good. Almost there. Just keep breathing."

The resistance gave way, your walls opening around him- wide and slick- as Steve pressed his whole hand inside you, slow and reverent, like he was slipping into something sacred. It felt like you swallowed him, your body stretching to take every inch. The thickest part of his hand pushed past your entrance, and you felt it all- knuckles, knotted pressure, heat blooming through your spine.

A guttural noise ripped from your throat, unbidden, broken. You were panting now, sweat clinging to your skin, your vision swimming.

And Steve? He stilled. Just held there, buried to the wrist, drinking it in like a man watching sunrise break over battlefield ruins.

He looked down at you with a quiet intensity, breath shallow, lips parted, like he was drinking in the sight of you stretched around him. Not just awe- something deeper. Hungrier. His eyes flicked over your face, your trembling body, like he was trying to memorize the moment before it slipped away. There was no need for words- his expression said everything. You were his. Entirely.

The way you clenched around him said it all.

"So full you can’t even breathe, huh?" Steve murmured, the hunger in his voice barely restrained. "Thought it hurt? But then I touched you and you just- " he chuckled darkly, "clenched down like you need it."

Your body twitched again, whimpering as his fingers rolled over your clit in tight, maddening circles. You were so stretched, so overwhelmed- and he loved it.

"Wish I had a mirror," he whispered, dragging his lips across your temple. "Wish you could see what you look like taking me like this."

Slowly, he began to curl his fingers, forming a fist inside you inch by inch. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your mouth falling open in a soundless gasp. Your head slammed back against the bed, back bowing high from the mattress. You’d never- never- been this full.

Steve twisted his wrist, gently at first, then deeper. You could feel every ridge of every knuckle moving inside you.

"Look at you. My perfect girl. So fucking deep… and still stretching for more."

He guided your hand down, easing it toward his wrist where you could feel the impossible stretch for yourself- your imagination catching up with reality, picturing just how deep he truly was. The thought alone made your walls flutter. You couldn’t even close your fingers around it his wrist..

"Oh, you like it, don’t you?" he murmured, voice dark and pleased.

It did something to you, knowing where he ended and you began- feeling exactly where your body had engulfed him, where he filled you to the brim. That connection, raw and surreal, made your head spin. The way you touched him let you feel the impossible, and it only made you clench harder. His fist seated deep inside you. Your fingers barely curled around it, trembling with the effort, the contact making the moment even more surreal.

"That’s all of me inside you. You’re mine now. Captain America’s little hand puppet, huh?"

Then, in a cruel little twist of sweetness, he took the hand you'd just had on his wrist and gently moved it down, guiding it up to your clit. His own hand covered yours for a moment, pressing your trembling fingers into motion. "Rub for me now, honey. Just like that. Let me see how needy you are."

Your fingers shook as they obeyed, drawing shaky little circles as he reached for the lube again- cool slick dripping over your skin as he coated his wrist. You could feel the tension build, feel his hand shift again inside you, pushing deeper- then easing back, the catch of his knuckles tugging against your entrance before he slid back in slow.

"Now, put your other hand on your tummy, baby," Steve instructed, your shaking hand going to where he'd pressed before.. "Feel that? That bulge right there- that’s me. That’s my fist, moving under your skin."

Your moan broke into pieces as the sensation took over everything. Your mind was unraveling, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. You were too full to think, too stretched to breathe. Every time you clenched down- every flutter, every squeeze- his hand was forced deeper, and it made the pressure sharper, more unbearable.

"Who knew you'd be such a good girl," Steve rasped, voice thick with pride and hunger. "So greedy for your Captain..."

He leaned closer, voice low and rough at your ear. "You have no idea how good you are, sweetheart. No one’s ever done this for me. They all cry and beg- but not you. You want this. Want me to ruin you. Stretch you out so all you fit is me."

You couldn’t even form words anymore. Just soft, broken sounds that spilled from your lips as your body writhed under him, nerves singing, muscles fluttering.

He started moving his hand- slowly pulling his fist out, then pressing it back in again, inch by inch. Deeper this time. His wrist following with every push until the blunt base of it met your slick entrance, stretching you wider, reshaping you around the sheer size of him.

You felt him press into your cervix, nudging it upward with every inward roll of his fist. It should’ve hurt- but it didn’t. It was all pressure. Endless, rolling pressure that sent your vision spinning.

"Going to stretch you out like this," Steve growled softly, voice thick and reverent. "Then you’re gonna take my cock, yeah? That’s a good girl… you’re so close, aren’t you? You just wanna cum all over my fucking fist, don’t you?"

You moaned, broken and desperate, your whole body arching into him. Every time you clenched down on his hand, it drove him deeper- your body trying to keep him, to take him, to never let him go.

Then he started to move faster- just a little. Using the strength in his arm to pump his fist in slow, firm strokes. The drag was heavy, relentless, the catch of his knuckles tugging at your entrance only to be followed by the obscene stretch of him sinking in again.

“That's it, baby,” Steve growled, watching you like you were the most precious, filthy thing he’d ever seen. “Just come for me. Just come and I’ll take it out…”

Your fingers obeyed on instinct, moving in tighter, desperate circles over your clit- just the way he’d shown you. Each pass sent a shock of pleasure through your body, your thighs twitching, your vision hazing at the edges. It was too much. It was everything. The pressure built like a storm in your gut- hot, unbearable, perfect.

And Steve kept moving. Pushing deeper. Pulling out. Letting the weight of his hand crash into your core until your hips jerked with every thrust. The squelch of lube, the slap of his palm against your overstretched entrance- it was obscene. Messy. Perfect.

You couldn’t even make sounds anymore. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out- just choked gasps and strangled breaths. The only sound in the room was Steve’s panting, his breath growing ragged with every tight clench of your body around his fist. He growled softly, low in his throat, watching you unravel beneath him.

Your body was shaking. It was too much. Too deep. Too intense. You tried to speak, to cry, but your voice was gone. You couldn’t do it-

And then you did.

You broke.

Your body snapped taut, back arching off the bed as you bucked and thrashed, thighs locking around his arm, cunt fluttering in desperate, helpless spasms around his fist.

Steve’s free hand came down hard across your belly, pinning you in place as you rode it out. "That’s it, baby," he whispered, eyes wide and reverent, watching every second of your collapse. "Take it. Take all of it. Fuck, look at you… squeezing me so tight. You were made for this."

You came in silence, eyes rolled back, mouth open on a wordless scream, your muscles seizing around him like your body never wanted to let go. Your body shook with aftershocks, thighs quivering, breath hitched in your throat as your arms flopped helplessly to the bed. You were light-headed, dizzy, your vision pulsing with black at the edges. Your muscles gave out.

You went limp.

Your limbs fell heavy against the sheets, chest rising in short, shallow bursts. The room spun softly around you, dim and warm, your body floating in the aftermath of something that had pulled you apart and left you scattered. Every inch of you pulsed with aftershocks, too spent to flinch, too full to even think.

Only then did Steve start to move again. Slowly, carefully, he began to ease his hand from your body- inch by inch, his fist sliding free from your ruined, fluttering walls. The sensation made you whimper, twitch, overstimulated and boneless. Your eyes fluttered half-shut, dazed and cloudy, as you watched him lift his hand.

It glistened with your slick. Wet. Shining. Marked by everything he'd just pulled from you.

He brought it to his mouth.

And licked.

One long, slow drag of his tongue over the curve of his knuckles. He didn’t look away from you. He watched you while he did it- watched your broken expression and blissed-out face as he tasted your release from his skin like he was savoring the finest dessert.

"So good for me," he purred, voice low, soothing as his clean hand gently moved yours away from your core. You flinched from the touch, but he only pressed his palm there- warm, grounding, firm.

"You’re gaping now, honey," he murmured, almost like he was cooing it. "Your abused little hole’s all twitchy, trying to remember how to close. That’s okay. You did so good."

He reached for the nightstand, offered you a glass of water, his voice still tender. "Sip, baby. Just sip for me."

You blinked slowly, dazed. You didn’t even realize when he moved again- just felt the shift in air as he settled between your legs, gaze dropping low.

"Oh god," he breathed. "You’re so open..."

He ran a single finger around your entrance, the slick noise obscene and wet as your hole fluttered around nothing. You whimpered.

"Want you to try and squeeze closed," he whispered.

You didn’t know why. But you did.

Your body tried. Weakly. Muscles trembling as you worked to draw yourself back together. He pushed his finger back in and you winced trying to hold it. 

"There you go," he praised softly. "Nothing permanent."

You barely had time to process the relief before he stood up from the bed.

Your dazed eyes followed him in slow, horror-tinged disbelief- watching as his hands moved to the button of his pants. This was supposed to be over. Your body was still twitching, your insides aching, stretched to their limit. But the way he looked at you- so calm, so sure- made something sharp twist in your chest. He hadn't lied.

As he stared down at the stretch of your slowly closing cunt, something dark flickered behind his eyes- satisfaction, maybe. Anticipation.

Then his gaze met yours.

"Told you," he murmured, unzipping slowly. "This was just to get you ready. We’re not done."

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could I request where pierre and Kika forget their daughters school performance so while every other kid is going to their parents the daughter is just stood their waiting to the where the teacher had to call them and the daughter ignores them until they get home. I know it’s long sorry but if you could do it that would be great ❤️

Forgotten in the rain

The rain had started in a soft drizzle but quickly became a steady pour that drummed against the school’s windows. Inside the assembly hall, the walls echoed with the excited chatter of children and the proud applause of parents. Flashbulbs popped every few seconds as moms and dads documented every smile, every wave, every bow.

Except for one little girl who stood near the back of the room.

Yn clutched her damp paper certificate, its corners curling slightly. She had performed a poem about the seasons—her voice clear, her hands animated. Her teacher, Miss Carter, had told her she’d done wonderfully. The kind of performance that deserved a bouquet, a warm hug, a proud parent grinning from ear to ear. But instead, she stood alone, eyes scanning every adult that walked in, every couple that greeted their child with open arms.

Her dress was a soft pastel pink, chosen by her mother, Kika, two days ago. Her curly brown hair was pulled into two neat braids, and her small boots were now soaked at the soles from pacing near the entrance.

She looked at the clock again.

7:12 PM.

Miss Carter finally noticed the way Yn’s smile had faded. The teacher walked over with a kind smile, kneeling beside her.

"Sweetheart, are you still waiting for someone?"

Yn nodded silently. Her eyes were bright, but her jaw was set.

Miss Carter’s heart ached. "Do you want to come wait in my classroom while I call your parents?"

"Okay," Yn whispered.

---

Pierre glanced at his phone as he sank deeper into the couch, his legs stretched over the coffee table. "Did we ever finish that bottle of wine from last week?"

"The red one? Yeah, I think I did on Tuesday," Kika replied from the kitchen, reaching for a handful of olives.

Pierre sighed dramatically. "We’re such adults. Drinking wine on a Tuesday night."

Kika chuckled, walking into the living room. "What time is it?"

"Just past seven. Why?"

She froze.

Pierre noticed it immediately. "What?"

"Pierre."

"What?"

"Oh my god, Yn’s school performance."

He shot up. "Shit."

She grabbed her phone, nearly fumbling it in her panic. Two missed calls. One voicemail.

"It’s Miss Carter," she said, already pressing play.

Pierre ran a hand through his hair, groaning. "We’re the worst parents."

The message played:

"Hi, this is Miss Carter from Willowbrook Primary. I just wanted to check in—it’s a little past seven, and Yn is still here. She had such a wonderful performance tonight, but it seems no one came to pick her up. I’ll keep her in my classroom until you arrive. Please give me a call back."

Kika was already pulling on her coat. "Let’s go."

---

The ride to the school was painfully silent. Pierre kept glancing at the clock, tapping the steering wheel. Kika sat with her arms crossed, her foot bouncing with guilt.

They found Miss Carter standing by the school doors, holding an umbrella over Yn.

Yn wasn’t crying. She wasn’t pouting. She wasn’t doing anything. She simply stood there, looking small and still, like a little statue in a rainstorm.

When she saw them, her face didn’t light up.

Pierre jumped out first. "Baby, I’m so sorry—"

She didn’t move toward him.

Kika tried. "Yn, we—"

But the child just turned back to Miss Carter. "Thank you for waiting with me."

Miss Carter smiled gently. "You were very brave, sweetheart. I’m proud of you."

Pierre stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can we take you home now, bébé?"

Yn gave a tiny nod and walked toward the car without saying another word.

---

The drive home was colder than the rain outside. Kika turned to speak a few times but couldn’t find the right words. Pierre tried to hold Yn’s hand, but she pulled it away slowly, not harshly, but pointedly.

Once they arrived home, Yn unbuckled her seatbelt herself, climbed out, and walked straight into the house.

Pierre and Kika followed.

"Yn, baby, please, talk to us," Kika pleaded, dropping her keys on the counter.

Yn headed straight for her room.

"Sweetheart," Pierre tried, his voice cracking.

No response. She closed her door behind her with a quiet finality.

Kika sat on the couch, hands covering her face. "I feel like I just broke her heart."

Pierre sat beside her, shoulders slumped. "We really messed up."

"It wasn’t just a show, Pierre. She told us every day this week. She made invitations. She left them on the fridge."

He closed his eyes. "And we just... forgot."

They didn’t sleep much that night.

---

The next morning, Pierre was already in the kitchen by 6:30, trying to make pancakes the way Yn liked them—thin, buttery, with a swirl of strawberry syrup in a heart shape. Kika was chopping fruit, glancing at the hallway every few minutes.

At 7:10, the door creaked open.

Yn walked in, dressed in her school uniform, backpack already on. She looked fresh and neat, as if nothing had happened.

"Good morning," Kika tried, voice careful.

"Hi," Yn replied without looking at them. She opened the fridge, grabbed her lunchbox, and set it in her bag.

"We made you pancakes," Pierre offered.

"I’m not hungry."

The rejection hit harder than expected.

"Yn," Kika tried again, kneeling down, "we are so, so sorry. There’s no excuse. We forgot something really important, and you didn’t deserve that."

Yn met her eyes. "You didn’t come. Everyone else had someone. Even Noah’s dad came, and he works at the hospital."

Pierre approached slowly. "We know. And we feel awful."

"You always say I’m the most important thing," she whispered. "But you forgot me."

Kika’s eyes filled with tears. "You are the most important thing, baby girl. We just—our brains were stupid. We got busy, and we didn’t write it down, and that’s not your fault. It’s ours."

Pierre knelt beside her. "We hurt your feelings. And we’re not asking you to forgive us today. But we want you to know we’re sorry. And we’re going to do better."

Yn looked at both of them, her lips trembling.

"I stood in the rain by myself," she murmured.

"I know, mon coeur. I know," Pierre said, hugging her gently. "And it breaks me."

Finally, Yn leaned into him.

Kika joined the embrace, holding them both tightly. "We love you more than anything."

"Even more than the red wine?" Yn asked, voice muffled in Pierre’s chest.

Pierre laughed through a sniffle. "A thousand times more."

"Even more than your phone, Mama?"

Kika smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "So much more. You’re my whole heart."

Yn finally smiled.

"Can I still have pancakes?"

Pierre stood. "Absolutely. Even if we’re late to school, pancakes are happening."

As they sat together at the table, the storm from the night before seemed to pass, replaced by the simple warmth of shared forgiveness, strawberry syrup, and a heart-shaped apology made of batter.

And from that day on, every calendar in their house—paper, digital, and even the whiteboard on the fridge—had one line written across the top:

"Yn comes first. Always."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[ashthesalamipiece]

"Explosions of the Heart"

This one is rlly long😭

☆☆☆

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and tension. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Bakugo Katsuki paced the floor like a caged animal. His hands—usually steady in battle—trembled slightly. Outside the delivery room, his world was unraveling.

"Mr. Bakugo," the nurse called gently. "She’s in distress. We’re doing everything we can."

He didn’t answer. His crimson eyes were locked on the swinging double doors that had swallowed you hours ago.

You—his wife, his partner, the only person who could call him a dumbass and still get a smile out of him—were behind those doors. And you were fighting a battle even he couldn't charge into fists-first.

Twelve Hours Earlier

Your water had broken in the dead of night. You’d barely gotten a full sentence out before Bakugo was already tossing clothes into a bag and barking at the cab company over the phone. By the time you reached the hospital, contractions were tearing through you like lightning, each one worse than the last.

Something wasn’t right.

The baby was breach. Your blood pressure spiked. You were losing too much blood. They rushed you into an emergency delivery, voices sharp and fast. Bakugo hadn’t been allowed in.

Present

Time blurred. Katsuki hated feeling useless more than anything. He should be in there. He should be beside you, holding your hand, telling you it was going to be okay even if his chest felt like it was going to explode.

A sudden scream tore through the hall. Your scream.

His knees buckled. He hadn’t even heard himself move before he was slamming into the door, fists glowing faintly, ready to break it down—

"Sir!" a nurse barked, shoving him back. "You can't go in there!"

"That’s my damn wife!" he snarled. "Let me—"

The screaming stopped.

Too abruptly.

Bakugo froze. The world stopped moving.

Seconds felt like eternities until finally, the doors opened and a doctor stepped out, blood on her scrubs and exhaustion in her eyes.

"She’s alive," she said softly. "And so is your son. But it was close. Too close."

His legs gave out and he collapsed into the nearest chair. His hands covered his face as air finally returned to his lungs. Alive. You were both alive.

"You can see her now."

He stood shakily, pushing into the room. You looked like hell—pale, exhausted, barely able to lift your eyelids—but when you saw him, a weak smile curved your lips.

"You look like shit," you whispered.

A choked laugh escaped him. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, dumbass.”

Then he saw the tiny bundle in your arms. Wide red eyes—his eyes—blinked up at him.

"Hey, little guy," he said, voice thick. "You’re already causing trouble, huh?"

You laughed faintly, and Bakugo leaned in, touching his forehead to yours.

"Next time," he murmured, "we're adopting."

---

Two Weeks Later

You were finally home.

The scent of sterilized hospital air had been replaced by the warmth of your shared apartment, still littered with unopened baby gifts and half-assembled furniture. It felt surreal, like you had died and somehow gotten a second chance.

Katsuki hadn’t left your side since the hospital.

He’d been quieter than usual—not cold, but... different. Protective. Watchful. The explosions were fewer, the yelling almost nonexistent. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, you caught him just staring—at you, at the baby, at the scar the IV left on your hand.

Like he couldn’t believe either of you were still here.

You shifted slightly on the couch, wincing. Your body still ached like hell. The stitches, the swelling, the pressure—no one talked about how brutal recovery would be. You felt raw. Fragile.

"Katsuki," you called weakly.

He appeared instantly from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand and your pain meds in the other. "Need something?"

"Come sit with me."

He hesitated. "You’re still hurting. I don’t wanna crowd you."

You reached out, fingers curling in the air.

He sighed, set everything down, and slid onto the couch beside you. Carefully. Gently. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your newborn cradled against your chest, tiny breaths warm against your skin.

"He looks like you," you murmured.

"Poor brat," he said, but his voice was soft.

Your fingers laced with his.

"You’ve been quiet."

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then:

"You almost died." His voice cracked. “And I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You turned to look at him, eyes brimming. "But I didn’t. We didn’t. Katsuki, you didn’t leave me. Not for a second. That means everything."

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve fought villains who tried to kill me. I’ve been stabbed, exploded, buried under rubble. I can deal with that. But you, bleeding out and screaming and I couldn’t even touch you—” He broke off. “I’ve never been that fucking scared in my life.”

Tears slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “You’re here. I’m here. Our son’s here. That’s all that matters.”

He looked down at the sleeping baby, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. “He’s tiny.”

You smirked. “So were you. Until puberty hit like a damn truck.”

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from him. “If he has even half your stubbornness, we’re screwed.”

“Half yours, you mean,” you teased.

The room went quiet again. You nestled closer, letting yourself breathe in his warmth, his scent. Safe.

“I thought I was ready to be a dad,” he said suddenly. “I trained for it. Got the nursery set up, read every damn book. But the second they handed him to me, I realized I didn’t know shit.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I haven’t blown up a diaper yet.”

You both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little broken, but real.

He looked at you, really looked, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You blinked. Bakugo never whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice catching.

And for the first time in weeks, you both finally exhaled.

---

Three Months Later

“You sure you’re okay without me for a few hours?” you asked again, already halfway out the door.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, baby monitor clipped to his sweatpants, your son strapped into a carrier on his chest like a slightly confused koala.

“D’you think I can’t handle him or something?” he grumbled.

“I think he shat through three outfits before noon yesterday, and you nearly declared war on baby wipes.”

Katsuki scowled. “One time.”

“One time per diaper.”

You kissed his cheek before he could argue, smirking. “You’ll be fine, Dad of the Year.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that… it was quiet.

Bakugo glanced down at the wide-eyed little boy strapped to his chest. “Alright, kid. Just me and you.”

The baby blinked, then made a soft gurgling noise.

“You better not be loading your diaper already.”

**

The first twenty minutes went smooth. Katsuki heated a bottle with military precision, burped the baby like a pro, and even played peekaboo without blowing anything up.

Then the baby started crying.

Loud.

Katsuki checked the diaper. Clean. Tried feeding him. Refused. Burping? Nothing. Pacifier? Launched like a missile.

“Are you broken?” he hissed, bouncing him awkwardly.

The baby wailed louder.

Bakugo, future Number One Hero, demolisher of villains, destroyer of fear itself… was being absolutely obliterated by a 12-pound infant.

“Alright!” he shouted over the crying. “You win, gremlin!”

He tried the ultimate move: laying on the couch with the baby on his chest, just like you did.

It worked. Instant silence.

“…Seriously?”

Tiny fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, and the baby let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling deeper against him.

“Tch. You just wanted to lay on me, huh?” Katsuki mumbled. “Clingy little nerd.”

He didn’t move. Not even when his phone buzzed. You’d texted: Everything okay?

He snapped a photo of his son sleeping peacefully on his chest and sent it back.

We’re good. Don’t rush.

He stared at the photo for a long time, warmth blooming in his chest. The kid looked so much like you when he was relaxed. And Katsuki realized something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

He loved this.

Being a dad.

The mess, the noise, the confusion—it was all chaos he could handle if it meant protecting you and this little bean.

“You’re not that bad, y’know,” he muttered. “Might even grow up to be cooler than me.”

The baby snorted in his sleep.

“Yeah, alright, don’t push it.”

**

When you walked in an hour later, you found them both fast asleep—Katsuki snoring, the baby drooling on his chest, one tiny fist tangled in his dad’s ash-blond hair.

You smiled and quietly snapped a photo.

The caption would read: My boys. Chaos level: manageable.

For now.

---

Ten Months Later

Your son had started babbling a while ago, but it was mostly incoherent nonsense—"ba-ba," "da-da," the occasional squeal that sounded like a baby pterodactyl mid-meltdown.

Katsuki had been watching him like a hawk, waiting for the first real word. It had practically become a competition between you two—who would he say first? "Mama" or "Dada"?

Katsuki refused to lose.

“You know I carried him for nine months, right?” you said, folding laundry one afternoon.

“Yeah, and I carried your ass through every post-labor breakdown, so I’d say we’re even,” he grunted, ruffling your son’s spiky blond hair as he sat chewing on a toy grenade (definitely plastic).

Your son looked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes and suddenly let out a loud, clear—

“Boom.”

Silence.

You blinked. “Did he just—?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Say it again, brat.”

The baby giggled. “Boom!”

“Oh my god.”

Katsuki stood there frozen for a moment, and then his mouth curled into the smuggest grin you’d ever seen.

“That’s my boy.”

You threw a sock at his face. “Katsuki, his first word was ‘boom.’”

“I’m proud as hell.”

“He’s not a grenade!”

“He’s mine, so yes, he is.”

Your son squealed again. “Boom!”

Now he was bouncing.

“Stop encouraging him!” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh.

Bakugo squatted beside him and bumped their foreheads together gently. “Boom, huh? You’re gonna be a damn legend.”

You shook your head in disbelief, watching your two pyro-twins grin at each other like chaos incarnate.

Katsuki looked up at you, full of fire and affection. “Guess we know what kind of quirk he’s leanin’ toward.”

You groaned. “We are so not baby-proofed for explosions.”

Katsuki smirked. “Guess I better teach him control before he blows up the crib.”

Your baby babbled happily between them again. “Boom!”

Yeah. You were definitely raising a little dynamite.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Age: 2 Years, 3 Months

Your son’s first day of daycare was supposed to be normal.

You’d packed his snacks, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, and left strict instructions that he was “sweet, a little stubborn, and very attached to his Bakugou-brand plushie.”

You also wrote in bold: “If he gets upset, avoid loud noises. They tend to... backfire.”

The teacher smiled politely. “We’ve handled all kinds of quirks. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t.

Until the phone call.

Three hours later.

Bakugo answered it on speaker.

“Hello, this is—uh—Miss Hikari from Little Hero Steps Daycare. We have a small situation.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Is he hurt?”

“No! No, he’s fine. Perfectly fine. A little excited, actually…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…but the plastic slide may have, um... detonated.”

Katsuki let out a low snort. “He blew up the slide?”

“It was only the top half,” she added quickly. “And technically, it was more of a pop than a boom.”

You could feel Katsuki’s pride from across the kitchen.

“Are the other kids okay?” you asked, horrified.

“Yes! No injuries. He wasn’t upset, just… showing off. He said ‘Boom!’ and then—”

“That’s my son,” Bakugo said, folding his arms with a smug little smirk.

You elbowed him. “That is not a good thing.”

“Didn’t say it was bad either.”

**

When you arrived at the daycare, your son was sitting on a beanbag with three teachers around him—like he was some kind of dangerous celebrity.

His hair was wild, his cheeks were smudged with soot, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled, running over and nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Hey, you little menace,” Katsuki muttered, picking him up.

“Boom!” he chirped proudly, like it was his name.

One of the teachers came over, cautiously.

“We think his quirk is starting to develop. It’s... early, but very similar to yours, Mr. Bakugo.”

Katsuki beamed. “Damn right it is.”

You groaned. “Please tell me we’re not banned.”

The teacher laughed nervously. “No—though we’re investing in more fireproof playground equipment starting immediately.”

**

That night, after your son was passed out in his crib, soot still faintly dusting his forehead, you collapsed on the couch.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” you murmured, resting your head on Katsuki’s chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stroking your hair. “He’s gonna be a hell of a hero too.”

You smiled, eyes drifting closed as you listened to your husband’s heartbeat under your cheek—steady, strong, and forever explosive.

Just like the little boy down the hall.

---

You were pregnant. Again.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen quite so soon—not when your firstborn was still blowing up laundry baskets for fun and calling it “training.”

But the second those two pink lines appeared, your stomach flipped. Part nerves. Part excitement. And a lot of “oh god, how is Bakugo going to react?”

**

You told him on a quiet evening. Your son was asleep (finally) and the living room still smelled faintly of scorched Play-Doh.

You sat beside him, heart racing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Bakugo blinked. He looked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you.

“…Are you sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He leaned forward slowly, resting a hand on your thigh like he thought the couch might explode.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time before finally saying, softly, “You okay with this?”

“I’m scared. But yeah. I want this.”

He nodded, jaw tightening. “You nearly died last time.”

“I know.”

“You think I can do this again?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you this time?”

You reached for his hand. “Then you hold me tighter and fight harder.”

Bakugo clenched his fists, then gently rested one palm on your belly.

“…You better be a chill baby,” he muttered. “I can’t handle two demolition experts at once.”

**

Your son found out a week later when he walked into the kitchen, pointed to your tiny bump, and said:

“BOOM 2?”

You choked on your orange juice. Katsuki burst out laughing.

From that point on, the baby was Boom 2 to him.

**

As the months passed, your second pregnancy felt... different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. Your son was older now, talking more, asking endless questions.

“Did I live in your belly too?”

“You did, baby.”

“Was I loud?”

“You screamed the whole time.”

He nodded proudly. “Boom!”

Katsuki didn’t stop worrying. Not for a second. Every time you winced, he was at your side. Every time you had a check-up, he came. He argued with nurses over your chart. Practically threatened the OB into promising you a safer delivery plan.

“I lost my shit once,” he told the doctor. “I’m not doing that again.”

**

One quiet night, a few weeks before your due date, he crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you gently against his chest.

“Still scared,” he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“But I want this. I want all of this. You, him”—he nodded toward your sleeping toddler down the hall—“and this tiny bomb too.”

Your heart melted.

“I want them to know they’re loved,” he added, voice thick. “No matter how loud, or messy, or crazy it gets.”

“They’ll know,” you promised, turning to kiss him softly. “Because they have you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, his hand on your belly.

And somewhere inside, Boom 2 kicked like they were already ready to make an entrance.

Just like their brother.

Just like their dad.

---

It started with a kick.

Not just any kick—one that rocked your whole body at 3:12 a.m.

You groaned, gripping the edge of the bed.

Katsuki shot up like a soldier under fire.

“Contraction?” he barked.

“Yep,” you hissed, breathing through it.

He was already moving—bag in hand, grabbing your shoes, shouting toward the baby monitor: “Stay asleep, Boom #1!”

**

This time around, the doctors were ready. And so was Katsuki.

Still, even as they guided you into the labor room, he was white-knuckling the edge of your bed, eyes locked on you like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

You reached for him.

“I’m okay,” you said between waves of pain. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not letting go of you this time,” he muttered, voice low, jaw clenched.

And he didn’t.

Not when your screams broke through the walls.

Not when the monitors started beeping faster.

Not when the doctor said, “We need to move quickly—cord’s wrapped.”

He held your hand through it all. Pressed his forehead to yours. Whispered every curse word in the book, followed by: “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And when the final cry rang out—

A high, sharp wail that cut through the air like lightning—

Bakugo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for nine months straight.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse whispered.

“She?” you breathed, dazed.

Katsuki blinked. “A girl?”

They placed her on your chest—tiny, red, angry as hell. She immediately latched onto your hospital gown like she was ready to fight the world.

You laughed through tears. “She’s already like you.”

Katsuki stared at her.

Just stared.

His eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—were wide and full of wonder.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a daughter.”

You reached for his hand. “You’ve got us.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your daughter’s.

“I swear on my damn life,” he whispered, “no one’s ever gonna mess with you.”

She let out a fierce little squeak.

And he smiled, completely undone.

**

An hour later, you were resting, and he was sitting by the bed with your baby girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Name?” you asked, eyes heavy but heart full.

He looked down at her, then at you.

“What about Kaori?” he said. “Strong. Bright. Means fragrance or light.”

You smiled. “Kaori Bakugo. It’s perfect.”

And for the first time that night, the hospital room felt still. Safe.

Because no matter how explosive your little family was becoming—

It was built on something unshakable.

Love. Fire. And a whole lot of Boom.

---

Two days after Kaori’s birth, you came home—sore, exhausted, but glowing. Kaori was tiny, sleepy, and wrapped like a burrito in her fuzzy explosion-patterned blanket that Katsuki insisted she wear home.

Your front door creaked open slowly.

Bakugo carried Kaori in with terrifying precision, like she was made of nitroglycerin.

Inside, your two-year-old son was standing barefoot in the hallway—holding a plastic grenade in one hand and a drawing in the other.

“Mommy!” he shouted, running at you.

You caught him one-armed, lifting him up, groaning slightly. “Easy, baby.”

Katsuki stood back, rocking gently with Kaori in his arms. “Hey, Boom #1,” he said softly. “Wanna meet your sister?”

Your son blinked, looking at the tiny pink bundle.

“That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“She looks squishy.”

“She is,” you said, chuckling. “Gentle, okay?”

He padded over on tiptoes, peering up at her like she was some sort of sacred relic.

“…She doesn’t go boom?”

“Let’s hope not,” Katsuki muttered.

“She’s your baby sister,” you explained. “Her name is Kaori.”

He tilted his head. “Can I keep her?”

Katsuki smirked. “She’s not a pet.”

“But I love her already,” your son said proudly. Then leaned close and whispered (as if it were a spell): “Boom.”

Kaori stirred slightly… and farted.

A loud one.

Your son lost it.

“SHE DOES BOOM TOO!” he screamed.

Katsuki nearly dropped her from laughing so hard. “Oh god. She’s already like you.”

**

You all settled in the living room. Kaori slept peacefully on Katsuki’s chest while your son built a pillow fort and declared it the "Boom Base."

“She can live in the base with me,” he announced.

“She’s not old enough for base life yet,” you said.

“I’ll protect her,” he added matter-of-factly. “From monsters. And spiders. And broccoli.”

You looked over at Katsuki, who was watching the two of them with a look you’d only ever seen twice before: once on your wedding day, and once when your son took his first steps.

“Didn’t think I could love more than I already did,” he murmured. “But damn.”

You scooted closer and leaned into him, Kaori safe between you.

“Looks like we’re officially a team of four.”

“Correction,” Katsuki said. “We’re a squad.”

A very loud, occasionally explosive, wildly chaotic squad.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[witchywithwhiskey]

assembling legos in avengers tower

pairing: captain america!steve rogers x shield agent!female reader

summary: you want to spend a night assembling legos with steve rogers, but when he proves to be too good at it, you have to get creative.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established relationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, teasing, begging, dirty talk, praise kink, captain kink, pet names (buttercup, daisy, sunflower, honeysuckle), lots of kissing, lots of fluff and silliness, avengers tower shenanigans

word count: 4.9k

a/n: this fic is entirely inspired by a conversation i had with my therapist last week where she was helping me think of things to do to disconnect from social media and give myself a break from the world. i mentioned i had a box of lego daffodils i hadn't put together and she encouraged me to do that. however, i finished those in like a couple hours and now i need more... anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this bit of fluff/smut and i hope it's a nice distraction from the world!! ♡

“A daisy for my pretty girl.”

You were focused on assembling a plastic version of a queen anne’s lace when a pretty pink Lego gerbera daisy appeared in your eye line. Steve Rogers’ comfortingly deep voice and the flower he offered dragged your attention from what you’d been doing and you looked up for the first time in half an hour. 

You were curled up on the couch in Steve’s suite, assembling Legos in Avengers Tower on the rare night off he had from his duties as Captain America. He’d been sitting beside you, working away at his own flowers on the coffee table, but had clearly decided to get your attention with the pink daisy he’d finished. 

For a moment after you looked up from your own Lego flower, you were distracted by just how good Steve looked in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He always looked good, of course, but there was something especially delightful and attractive about seeing him in casual, cozy clothes. 

It almost made you want to abandon the Lego wildflower bouquet you were assembling together and slide into his lap. Suddenly, all you could think about was burying your fingers in his soft blond hair and having his sparkling blue eyes focused entirely on you for the rest of the night. But instead, you blinked and refocused on the moment. 

“Aw, thank you, captain,” you murmured, a smile curving your lips as you took the plastic flower from Steve and gave it a pretend sniff while batting your lashes at him. “My favorite.” Your words were little more than a purr, and you couldn’t help the way your smile widened when a pink flush dotted Steve’s cheeks.

It was on the tip of your tongue to suggest that you and Steve leave the rest of the Lego bouquet to be assembled another time, but then your gaze fell on the nine already-finished flowers that were neatly lined up on the table in front of the couch. Your smile fell.

Steve had already put together more than half of the flowers that had come in the box, and you still hadn’t finished a single one. Briefly, you were confused about how he’d put them together so fast—until you remembered something that often slipped peoples’ minds when it came to Captain America.

Everyone knew that Steve Rogers’ strength and stamina were enhanced when he’d been given the super-soldier serum in the 1940s, but most folks forgot that his intellect had been heightened as well. It was why he was the trusted leader of the Avengers—Steve had a knack for strategizing in the midst of battle. 

It also made him a wiz at puzzles. 

You should’ve known that Steve would easily zip through his half of the Lego bouquet while you toiled over a single flower. You knew he was smarter than the world—and even some of the other Avengers—gave him credit for, and you were disappointed in yourself for not thinking through the idea of assembling Legos together.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Steve was also much more perceptive than most gave him credit for, and he noticed your change in mood immediately.

“What’s wrong, daisy?” Steve asked, cupping your cheek in his large palm and turning your face gently to look at him. 

His brows were drawn together, and you knew instantly that he’d caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. Before you could muster a smile and assure him everything was fine, Steve went on, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in a gesture so achingly soft, a lump of emotion formed in your throat. 

“Did I do something?”

“No, no, no, it’s nothing—really,” you said in a rush, trying to shake your head and show him that you were being silly. But your reaction only had Steve frowning even more.

Gently, he scooped you up off the couch and deposited you on his lap, arranging your body so you sat across his thighs, your legs curled up while he wrapped one arm around your back. Once you were settled, he cupped your chin in his other hand and tilted your face up so he could look into your eyes.

“Tell me, sunflower, please,” Steve rumbled, his final word a rasping plea that tugged so effectively at your heart, you couldn’t help but do as he so sweetly asked. 

“I just thought we’d spend a little more time working on these together, that’s all,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze to the corner of Steve’s mouth, which was turned down in a slight frown. You wanted to reach up and smooth away that unhappy curve with your fingers, but you knew it wouldn’t work. Steve could be stubborn when he wanted. 

“I’m sorry, buttercup,” Steve said in a hushed, regretful voice, ducking his head and pressing an apologetic kiss to your forehead.

You let out a soft, happy sigh as your eyes fluttered closed and you sank into the warmth of Steve’s body, snuggling deeper into his chest. You were wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts and a pair of leggings, so you weren’t necessarily cold, but you enjoyed the heat that emanated from him all the same.

“It’s ok, Steve, really,” you whispered, meaning the reassuring words more than you had a moment ago. Your thoughts were already straying to what you and Steve could do with the rest of the night alone in his suite…

You tipped your face up toward his, pouting your lips in a wordless plea for a kiss.

A chuckle rumbled deep in Steve’s chest moments before his lips brushed against yours. You could feel the smile in the gentle press of his lips, and your mouth curved in an answering smile, a giggle building in your chest at how silly the two of you must’ve looked—smiling at each other with your lips pressed together. 

But then Steve’s mouth pressed more firmly to yours, kissing you a little harder and a little longer, and the smile slipped off your face, your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You tugged him closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips sliding slowly against yours like he had all the time in the world and didn’t want to do anything other than kiss you.

The two of you sank deeper into the kiss together, your bodies growing heated and your hands beginning to wander. A hard bulge nudged against your thigh and Steve groaned into your mouth, and you suddenly had an idea.

Pulling away from Steve, you ended the kiss abruptly, a grin spreading across your face as you watched the big, blond man blink his way back into the present. He looked so cute all dazed out from kissing you that you took a moment to appreciate it before voicing your idea.

“I know how to make it more difficult for you to put Legos together so fast,” you said, your voice slightly wheezing as you worked to catch your breath. “We just need some more Lego flowers.”

Steve’s kiss-swollen lips curved into a smile of his own. “I think we can manage that, honeysuckle,” he murmured, his expression filled with affection as he took in the excitement on your face. “Just one more kiss first.” 

He reeled you in for another slow, drugging kiss, his mouth stealing the smile from your lips, though you were happy to give it to him if he kept kissing you like it was all he wanted to do.

A little later in the evening, Steve’s suite in Avengers Tower was piled high with dozens and dozens of boxes filled with Lego botanicals of all sorts. There were boxes for sunflowers and daffodils, two types of flower bouquets, and even a whole heaping pile of cacti and succulents. 

It was more than you’d ever know what to do with, but Steve looked so pleased with himself, all you could do was smile. If he wanted to spend the rest of his nights off with you, assembling Lego flowers, who were you to complain? It sounded like a dream come true.

“Bought out everything from the Botanical Collection at the Lego store over on fifth,” Steve was saying proudly as he opened a couple daffodil sets, pouring out the plastic packages onto the coffee table while you watched him with amusement. Steve cut his eyes to you and smirked as he said, “I put it all on Tony’s card—d’you think he’ll notice, buttercup?”

You couldn’t help yourself, you tossed your head back and cackled at that. You knew, as a member of the Avengers’ SHIELD support team, that Tony Stark had given all the members of the team access to his credit cards “for emergencies only,” and you were frankly surprised no one else had thought to use it to prank him before. 

When you finally got yourself under control and looked back at the mischievous Captain America, you shook your head at him. Your heart gave a little extra thump of delight when you saw the way Steve was looking at you, with so much happiness and affection, it made emotion clog your throat. It took you a full minute to gather your thoughts enough to answer his question. 

“Nah, there’s no way,” you scoffed, but then you tilted your head to the side and really thought about it. Your eyes trailed over the boxes. There were just so many. 

You figured Tony would leave something boring like financial statements to Pepper Potts, but there might be another way for Steve’s late-night Lego shopping spree to be used as a way to prank the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…

“Y’know, he might notice something when Lego flowers start popping up all around the tower,” you said slowly, cutting your eyes to Steve and offering him your own impish smirk. “Do you wanna see how many we can put in his lab before he says something?”

Steve’s head tipped back and he gave a great, booming laugh that filled all the corners of his suite. When he looked back at you, his blue eyes were sparkling with playfulness and his mouth was spread in a wide grin. 

“You’re diabolical, daisy,” he rumbled, pulling you closer on the couch so he could catch your lips in a kiss. 

It didn’t last long, both of you were too busy laughing to deepen it, but you did throw a leg over Steve’s thighs so you could sit in his lap. When you finally pulled away, you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You up for the top secret mission, Cap?” you asked in a deceptively serious tone, the corners of your mouth flickering as you tried to hold back your grin. “You gonna help me prank Tony Stark?”

“Gladly,” Steve declared, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. 

All the evil plans that had been brewing in your mind disappeared when your heated core settled against the thick bulge in Steve’s sweatpants, a delighted gasp tumbling from your lips. Your gaze found Steve’s and a thrum of desire pulsed between your thighs when you saw how much his eyes had darkened.

“But first,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back beneath the sweatshirt you wore, making you tremble deliciously in his lap. “I’d like to hear more about how you’re planning to make it more difficult for me to assemble all these Lego flowers.”

Steve’s mouth captured yours in a searing kiss and it would be another long few minutes before you were able to actually tell him what you had planned for him.

“Hah! Another daisy done,” you crowed, bouncing a little on Steve’s lap and dragging a deep groan from the man beneath you.

The movement of your body had shifted his cock inside you, his thick, sensitive length dragging against your warm, inner walls, which were hugging him tightly while you exulted in your accomplishment. You’d managed to finish seven flowers since you’d put your plan into action, and you had no idea what kind of progress he’d made.

You did, however, know he was enjoying himself, if his deep moans and muffled groans were anything to go by. There was also the way his cock throbbed inside you every so often, like his body was encouraging yours to move, even though the point of your plan had been to sit still on his lap.

It had come to you earlier in the evening when you’d felt his hard bulge against your thigh—the only way to slow down Captain America’s super-soldier-enhanced intellect was to distract him. And you’d come up with the perfect way of distracting him.

Once you’d explained your plan to Steve, he’d been all too eager to enact it, sitting on the floor in front of the couch and pushing down the hem of his sweatpants so his cock had bobbed free. You’d discarded your leggings and panties before lowering yourself down on his lap, taking his thick, hard length deep into your pussy while you straddled his legs.

For the next half hour or so, you’d been assembling Lego wildflowers on the couch cushions behind Steve’s shoulders and he’d been working away at his own box of daffodils on the coffee table—all while trying not to get distracted by the way your pussy was dripping all over his thick cock.

Leaning back so you could catch Steve’s eye, you grinned at the pinkness in his cheeks and the slightly hazy look in his blue eyes. 

“You doing alright, captain?” you asked teasingly, your fingers trailing along Steve’s sharply cut jaw to turn his head so he’d look at you. His blue eyes were dark with lust as he blinked them into focus, a snarl of barely held restraint in the twist of his soft mouth. “It’s been a little while since you gave me any sort of update on how your flowers are coming along.”

You clenched your inner walls around Steve’s cock on the word ‘coming’ as a way to taunt the large blond man, and were satisfied by the way he grunted in pleasure, his eyes sliding closed. Plastic clattered on the coffee table when his hands abandoned the daffodil he’d been assembling to grab your hips, like he couldn’t stop himself from touching you any longer.

Steve huffed a laugh as he opened his eyes again, catching your gaze and groping your soft flesh a little roughly. He smirked when your mouth fell open and your eyes went heavy-lidded, his strong fingers working their way down to your ass as he kneaded your curves the way you liked—possessively.

“When you said you had an idea to make things more difficult for me, I thought you meant a blindfold, or hiding the directions,” Steve rumbled, his smirk turning playful and mischievous. 

His expression was your only warning, but you didn’t have a chance to prepare yourself. 

“Not this.” He thrust up from beneath you, slamming deep into your dripping pussy.

A moan wrenched free from your lips, pleasure bursting through your body at the friction of his cock dragging against your inner walls, the tip bullying against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You collapsed against Steve’s broad chest, gasping for air as you recovered from the single, brutal thrust.

It had been difficult to ignore the constant, throbbing perfection of Steve being inside you while you were cockwarming Captain America, but you’d done your best so that you could make headway in assembling your Lego wildflowers.

And, of course, it had become a stubborn stand-off between the two of you, where you both were holding out on giving in to your bodies’ desires. 

That hadn’t stopped you from taunting Steve, though, and you’d told him there was only one thing he could do that would make you forget about the Lego flowers entirely. He just hadn’t been willing to do it—but you smirked into his neck as you caught your breath, thinking he was finally ready to be done with the stand-off.

“If you want to fuck me, captain, you know what you have to do,” you purred in his ear, pulling away and nipping at his jaw, wringing another tortured groan from the super-soldier. “You just have to admit I’m the best Lego flower assembler in the tower.”

Steve had initially chuckled at your silly demand, playfully telling you he’d only admit such a thing when you assembled as many flowers as him. 

But the way his cock throbbed inside you when you called him ‘captain’ and the way his hands were desperately groping your hips, ass and thighs—any soft part of you he could reach beneath your sweatshirt—told you he had reached his limit. So, his next words didn’t come as much of a surprise.

“You are, honeysuckle, you’re the best Lego flower assembler in the whole fucking tower,” Steve rasped, his hips rocking slightly, like he simply couldn’t stop himself from fucking you even a little bit. His fingers were digging deep into the soft flesh of your body, moving you back and forth to grind on his cock. “You’re the best in the whole city—please, just let me fuck you, sunflower.”

Your breaths were catching in your throat as helpless whimpers and moans tumbled from your lips. The way Steve was jerking your body on his cock, like you were little more than a fuck toy for him to play with, was making your mind melt as heat cascaded through your body, settling heavily between your thighs.

It felt so good—Steve’s cock grinding deep in your cunt, your wetness dripping down his hard length to soak his balls, your clit rubbing against the base of him—that it took your mouth a moment to remember how to form more than unintelligible sounds of pleasure. 

“Yes,” you gasped finally, dragging the word from the depths of your desire-drenched mind. And once you started, you couldn’t seem to stop, your hips rocking into Steve’s, meeting his grinding thrusts as you clung to his shoulders, your fingers buried in his soft hair. “Please, captain—please fuck me.”

“Thank fuck,” Steve growled, wrapping you up tightly in his arms and pounding into you from below. He held you pinned to his broad chest and buried his face against you, his lips mouthing at the soft mounds of your tits through your sweatshirt. “You feel so fucking good, buttercup, so warm and soft and fucking perfect wrapped around my cock.”

“Oh god, oh fuck, Steve,” you babbled, spreading your thighs wider and splaying them further open so that Steve could slam deeper and deeper into your pussy, making your head spin with how good it felt, how wildly perfect it felt to be fucked by him. “You fuck me so good, captain—please, ‘m already so close, Steve—please.” 

Your last word was a desperate, begging cry as your body trembled so violently in Steve’s arms that he had to hold you tighter to keep you right where he wanted you. Pleasure was coiled tightly in your core, and you knew you were seconds away from cumming. It was all you could do to gasp for air as you prepared to tip over the edge.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, lifting his head from your tits to drag his mouth along the line of your jaw until he found your lips. His kiss was so all-consuming, you almost missed the way he tilted your hips so your clit was grinding ruthlessly against his pelvic bone while he rocked up into you. “Cum on your captain’s cock like the good girl I know you are.”

His command was rumbled against your lips before his mouth pressed back against you, his tongue plunging into you and swallowing your sounds of ecstasy as you shattered apart. You were undone by his words and the deliciously perfect way he worked your body.

The sheer force of your orgasm stole the breath from your lungs and you screamed, the sound muffled by Steve’s lips as he eagerly drank down the sound like it was his favorite thing in the world. Wave after wave of heated pleasure washed over your body and you moaned helplessly as your pussy clenched hard around Steve’s cock.

A groan ripped free from the depths of his chest and poured between your parted lips as he followed you over the edge, his hips rutting into you with hard thrusts that had you bouncing wildly on his cock. 

If it wasn’t for Steve’s arms still holding you firmly against his chest, you were sure you would’ve lost your balance, but he kept you right where you were meant to be—on his cock while he emptied his balls into your cunt.

As Steve spilled himself inside you, your hands slid from his hair to hold his jaw in your palms. You kissed him through his release, licking his sounds of pleasure off his tongue and groaning at the delicious warmth that filled your body from head to toe. 

Once Steve’s cock had been milked dry of all his cum, he rumbled a satisfied sound and finally loosened his hold on you. His big hands stroked up your spine and back down again, soothing your body as you relaxed against his chest, your mouths still moving together in an endless kiss. 

Eventually, you pulled away from his mouth and let your head fall to his shoulder as your eyes slipped closed. A happy, contented sigh puffed from your lips and gusted against Steve’s neck, making him tremble slightly.

“So,” you started when you’d finally caught your breath, your heart rate back to normal and matching the steady pounding in Steve’s chest where you were pressed together. “How many flowers did you put together after I started cockwarming you, captain?”

Steve was quiet for so long, you half thought he’d fallen asleep against the couch, but then his hand squeezed your hip and he huffed an exasperated laugh. 

“Three.”

Your cackling laugh was so loud, it filled every corner of Steve’s suite, and a moment later, Captain America’s booming chuckle joined the din to make a wonderful cacophony of joy in your little corner of Avengers Tower. 

It seemed you had, in fact, figured out a way to make assembling legos with Captain America much more fair—and much more fun. 

A week later, Tony Stark stormed into the Avengers Tower conference room where he’d gathered all the superheroes and their SHIELD support team for what he’d deemed an “urgent” meeting. 

You sat next to Steve, his hand on your thigh and his fingers twisted with yours as you tried not to look at each other. Both of you suspected you knew what the meeting was about, and you knew you’d both break if you made eye contact.

It didn’t help matters when Tony slammed a small, potted Lego succulent on the glass table of the conference room, hard enough for the whole thing to tremble. A hush fell over the room as everyone stared at the irate Iron Man.

“Where the hell are all these Legos coming from?!” he demanded, his seething gaze roving the room, making eye contact with every single person who sat around the table. When no one spoke, he went on. “They keep popping up in my lab—and they’re starting to crowd my workstation. So who is it?”

You couldn’t help yourself, you cut a sideways glance at Captain America, and had to press your lips even more tightly together to hold back a laugh. 

Steve’s gaze was filled with so much mischievous amusement, you could feel a laugh clawing up your throat. As you looked at him, Steve let the corner of his mouth flicker in a smirk, and it was nearly your undoing. You looked away before you could snort and give yourself away.

Thankfully, Clint Barton piped up, telling the room he’d assumed Tony had been the one assembling the Lego flowers that had been showing up all over the tower. He noted he’d found them in the kitchen, the gym, both locker rooms, and plenty of other places.

Bruce Banner agreed with Clint, asking Tony if he hadn’t picked up the hobby during one of his latest bouts of insomnia. It would make sense, Bruce reasoned, since most of the Legos seemed to be cropping up in Tony’s lab.

Meanwhile, Thor had plucked the Lego succulent from Tony and was playing with the pieces, pulling them apart and putting them back together. He lifted his head with a goofy grin and nudged Phil Coulson, murmuring something about the tiny building toy being quite fun actually.

At the opposite end of the table, Nick Fury and Maria Hill shared an exasperated look, then began having a hushed conversation among themselves. You caught snippets of intel about the next mission the Avengers were set to go on, but that was less interesting to you than the reason for Tony’s “urgent” meeting so your gaze slide away to see how everyone else was reacting.

Across from you, Natasha Romanoff caught your eye. She flicked something tiny and pink across the glass surface of the conference table, so discretely, no one else noticed except Steve. He caught the pink thing in his hand as it tumbled over the edge toward your lap.

When the two of you glanced down at his open palm, you discovered the tiny pink thing was a Lego cherry blossom from one of the sets you’d assembled and left in the kitchen. 

Looking back at Natasha, she was smirking, and there was an unmistakeable knowing glint in her eyes.

As you watched, though, she pinched two fingers together and twisted them near the corner of her mouth, like she was turning a key in a lock. Her message was clear: Nat knew the Legos were coming from you and Steve, but she wasn’t going to say anything.  

Both you and Steve let out silent sighs of relief. 

The meeting went on for a little longer after that, though it didn’t go anywhere. No one admitted to planting the Lego flowers around the tower, and Tony was still furious that he didn’t know who was behind it. 

Fury finally had to call an end to things when it looked like Tony and Thor were about to come to blows, the former convinced Thor was playing dumb about not knowing anything about Legos while the latter was grinning and egging him on.

Another week passed of Lego flowers and succulents appearing around the tower. Nat had taken to helping you and Steve, sneaking into Tony’s lab while the two of you kept him distracted with speculation about who it could be. Clint caught you leaving a Lego cactus on Bruce’s desk, but he promised to keep your secret and even joined in on the fun just like Nat had.

It wasn’t until the end of the month when Tony called another “urgent” meeting that your prank was finally unmasked. 

Tony had a sheaf of papers in one hand and a video disc in the other, claiming that Pepper had discovered the charges made to one of his cards at the Lego store over on fifth. Apparently, he’d talked the manager into giving him a copy of the security tapes from the night when they’d been purchased, so he was about to uncover the culprit.

Once he’d announced all of this, Tony paused for dramatic effect, giving everyone in the room one last chance to come clean.

That time, when Steve cut his eyes to you, his mouth flickering with a smile, you couldn’t keep it together. Steve and you both lost it, laughing so hard, tears began streaming down your faces while Nat and Clint shared a private, knowing chuckle.

Steve came clean about the prank and admitted it had been you and him the whole time. He even explained how you’d roped Clint and Nat into helping once they’d discovered you—and both of them nodded to confirm Steve was telling the truth, grinning unrepentantly.

Tony took it all in stride, seemingly relieved to finally know the source of all the Legos. He did ask how Steve managed to spend so much money at the Lego store though. By his calculations, not even half of the Lego flowers Steve had purchased had popped up around the tower.

At that question, Steve’s cheeks pinkened a little and he admitted there was still a hefty pile of Lego boxes in his suite. You and him had spent plenty of nights assembling Legos—even when you weren’t getting distracted by cockwarming Captain America—but there were still a lot left. 

Squeezing his hand in your lap, you spoke up with a suggestion for a Lego night, where everyone could get together and assemble some Legos. It could be a fun opportunity of team bonding, you said.

Fury liked the idea so much, he approved it immediately, then wasted no time in calling an end to the “urgent” meeting.

And that was how you ended up spending a night assembling Legos in Avengers Tower with Steve Rogers and the rest of team, laughing and talking and taking a much-needed break from the stresses of the world. It was the first of many wonderful nights.

[cyberlillies]

how caleb gets you used to his huge cock!

wc: 1.3k

you have always whined about how caleb's too big, and that you are afraid that you won't be able to take him. caleb's solution? make you cockwarm him any and every opportunity he gets. maybe he's reading a new physics book, or assembling a new plane model, or maybe playing the latest console game, he will always have you split on his huge length.

he'll have you wear short skirts and thongs around the house, making sure he has easy access to you. all he needs to do is flip over your skirt, push aside the thin material of your panties and you're ready, almost always dripping wet for him.

"we'll make your pretty little pussy mold to the size of my cock. you want it to fit, right, pipsqueak?”

you nod fervently as he settles you on his lap, facing him. barely pulling his boxers down, he pumps his cock, getting it hard and ready to penetrate you. his other hand works furiously on your clit, fingers rubbing random shapes to get you nice and wet for him. you let out small moans as you grind on his hand, nudging his fingers towards your slit. he knows what you want, you know that he knows what you want, yet he'll delay giving it to you till you have orgasmed atleast once from your clit.

his fingers find your hole, two of them thrusting into you and wasting no time in making you cum. you moan uncontrollably as you shake on his lap, his fingers curling inside you, stretching out your walls and pressing against the bumpy surfaces. you can hear the squelching sounds and feel the cold air hit your stretched hole as caleb sets an unimaginable pace on your poor pussy.

you soon squirt all over his lap, wetting his pants with your juices. red tinting your cheeks, you gingerly look down at the wet patch on his jeans, and then back up at him. he doesn't care in the slightest. instead he's bringing up his fingers to lick away at the nectar you released, groaning at your taste. maybe it was from all the apples he fed you, but he could swear you taste just like them.

his cock remains neglected, standing proud and tall, veins climbing up and rushing blood into every part of his thickness. his tip is gleaming with the precum it released and you're tempted to taste him, just like he tasted you. before he could register it, you swipe the precum building on his slit, a glob of it now sitting on your index finger as you wrap your lips around it. you feel him, he's salty and thick, with an earthiness that had you moaning.

"you naughty girl." caleb can't help but groan, his cock quivering from the slightest touch to his slit.

"you did it first." you stick out your tongue at him.

he laughed, a hand squeezing your face. "you really like it huh? how about we train your mouth next? you can taste me all you want.” he playfully slaps your cheeks a couple times.

your eyes widen, betraying your excitement at his suggestion. he can't help but chuckle, "fuck... you're so desperate, pipsqueak. i'll give you everything you need, all in due time.”

he's rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, preparing to push in. you whine as he enters you, pushing past your tight walls. you feel like you're getting torn apart from how thick he is, despite this being like the millionth time you've taken him. tears line your eyes as you hold the hand guiding his cock into you.

"it hurts? do you want to stop?" caleb sounds concerned, his thumb swiping at the tear building in your eye.

"n-no... let me... let me do it at my own pace…”

your arms are wrapped around his neck as his hands find your waist, guiding you slowly down his length. you can't help but roll your hips as he breaches into you once again. your walls clench around him, making it harder for him.

"relax." he winces, your tight walls suffocating him.

"i-i'm trying…" your chest heaves up and down, trying to steady your breathing and relax your muscles.

“shh.. i’ve got you.” caleb runs soothing hands down your back.

you continue sinking down his cock, his head soon hitting your g-spot. you throw your head back, stilling in his hold. your legs are trembling as you feel the burn in your lower area. you feel so completely full, yet when you look down you can see a considerable amount of caleb’s cock still left unsheathed.

you whine in frustration, “you're too big!”

“should i take that as a compliment?” caleb smirked.

you roll your eyes, a pout on your lips.

“you don't like it?” he’s like a kicked puppy.

“i never said that.” you reply a little too quickly. “just… i want to take all of you… but i can't!”

caleb caresses your face. “we don't need to hurry, pipsqueak. we have all the time in the world. i assure you i’ll make it fit.”

you look at him, forehead scrunched, still doubtful at his words.

“do you trust me?” caleb asks.

“yes.” there's no question about it.

“let me take care of you then.”

caleb lifts up your hips a little, letting his cock rub against your walls, stimulating and loosening them. he presses you down, his tip now hitting the spongy mouth of your womb. your walls clench around him as your juices leak down his shaft. he grunts in your ear, still trying to push upwards, trying to get whatever inches remain inside you.

your voice rings across the entire room. eyes rolled back into your skull, nails scratching caleb’s arm, you have never been touched so deep. you roll your hips, trying to get comfortable, causing caleb's cock to twitch inside you. he holds you still, his self-control millimetres away from fraying away.

you like how he's trying to hold back, it makes you want to tease him. rolling your hips again, this time a slow, deliberate grind, tightening your walls around his cock, you glance at him, lips curling in a smug smile. sweat coats caleb's forehead, his darkening gaze locked onto you.

“don't get cheeky with me.” caleb warns in a low voice, his deep tone igniting a new fire in your gut.

“what, can't control your—ahhn!” you yelp as caleb punishes you with a mean thrust of his hips.

you can feel his balls hit your folds, he was now completely inside you. a warmth bloomed inside you, his thickness at the core of it. his head is squishing your womb and his cock literally reshaping your insides. his shape is imprinted on you, the bulge on your lower belly a reminder of how tight of a fit it was.

your whole body is constricted by a foreign force. unable to move even an inch, you helplessly whimper. you're completely at caleb's mercy. his hips stutter, thrusting into you shallowly, still reeling from your mischief earlier. your walls constrict his cock, sucking him in and holding him snug inside. he runs a comforting palm over your womb, tracing his form on you.

“f-fuck, you love acting like a brat, don't you, pipsqueak?” he breathes out the nickname that once held an innocent connotation. you moan his name in response, neither a denial or affirmation of his question.

minutes pass and caleb feels your walls relax. he releases his evol and you immediately hit his chest with your fist, grumbling as you wrap your arms around him, nestling into his chest as he remains sheathed deep in you.

“i’ll get back at you for this, just you wait.” you fake annoyance.

caleb’s chest rumbles against your flushed skin as he lets out a laugh at your sinful, yet adorable visage.

“sure, sure. now stay still and be a good girl for me, okay?”

[nicoscheer]

i literally couldn’t love them more if i tried

[dearlenore]

hiiiii

Tim Bradford x reader where she's pregnant. and nesting. Tim would be all over that I feel.

This has gotta be my favorite thing ever I’m obsesseddd🥹💋 this one might be the fluffiest I’ve written too❤️

HELLO BABY • T.BRADFORD

SUMMARY: Tim comes home to an unexpectedly motivated reader, cleaning, building and painting the nursery for their little girl

PAIRING: SAHM!reader x Tim Bradford

tags: PURE FLUFF, reader wears ‘feminine’ clothes, mentions of pregnancy , nesting mentions, Tim is very confused

a/n: first time writing Tim so be nice to me please…

w/c: 1.1K

Tim Bradford was exhausted. Thirteen hours on shift, three foot pursuits, and one particularly annoying rookie later, all he wanted was to come home, take a shower, and collapse into bed with you. He’d been looking forward to it all day—the feeling of your body curled against his, the scent of your shampoo, the sound of your voice reminding him he was more than just a cop with a badge.

But the second he stepped into the house, he knew something was off.

The scent of fresh paint hit him first, sharp and unmistakable. Then came the sound—faint music Sabrina Carpenter from your phone, the occasional shuffle of movement, and the distinct thunk of something being assembled. Tim frowned, toeing off his boots as he followed the noise down the hall.

And there you were.

Eight months pregnant in overalls, standing on your tiptoes, rolling paint onto the nursery wall. A half-assembled crib lay in pieces beside you along with your nightgown, instructions crumpled but ignored. A screwdriver sat on top of a pile of screws that definitely should have been in the furniture instead of scattered across the floor.

Tim stared. Blinked. Rubbed a hand down his face before speaking.

“What. The hell. Are you doing?”

You startled at his voice, turning to look at him over your shoulder. A streak of light pink paint ran across your cheek, your hair was a mess, and yet you had the nerve to smile at him like you hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Preparations.”

Tim exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can see that. But you’re supposed to be resting, not turning the nursery into a DIY disaster zone.”

You huffed, placing the paint roller down. “I was waiting for you to get home, but you were working late, and I had all this energy, so I figured I might as well—”

“No.” Tim stepped forward, hands settling on your waist as he guided you away from the paint tray. “Babe, you’re carrying our kid, not a whole-ass toolbox. You should be lying down, not climbing on step stools and putting together cribs.”

“I wasn’t climbing,” you defended, avoiding his knowing stare.

Tim arched a brow. “You sure about that?”

You pursed your lips. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You need to slow down or you’ll be the death of us both.”

You grinned. “But you love me.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice soft. “Which is exactly why you need to let me handle this stuff, okay?”

Your hands came up to rest on his chest, fingers tracing absent patterns over his vest. “I just wanted everything to be perfect before she gets here.”

Tim’s expression softened. He knew how much this meant to you. He’d seen the baby books on your nightstand, the way you planned every little detail down to the crib sheets and wall decals. But you didn’t have to do this alone—not when he was here.

“She’s already got the most perfect mom in the world,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours. “So how about you let me take over, and you sit down before I have to arrest you for reckless endangerment of my pregnant wife?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but relenting. “Fine. But I’m supervising.”

Tim chuckled. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As he helped you settle onto the nursery rocking chair, he grabbed the screwdriver and eyed the crib parts with determination. He might’ve spent the last thirteen hours chasing bad guys, but apparently, his real challenge was about to be assembling baby furniture with no instructions.

Tim had faced shootouts, car chases, and criminals twice his size without breaking a sweat. But as he sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, staring down at the disassembled crib like it was an active crime scene, he was starting to think this might be his toughest challenge yet.

You, comfortably perched in the nursery’s new rocking chair with a glass of water in hand, were thoroughly enjoying the show.

“You know,” you mused, watching as he flipped the instruction manual upside down, “I did start putting it together already.”

Tim shot you a look, then gestured to the mess of screws and wooden panels scattered around him. “Yeah, and I’m trying to undo whatever chaos you unleashed before I got home.”

You smirked, shifting to get more comfortable. “I was making progress.”

“You put two of the legs on backward.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair before glancing back at you. “You really should be in bed.”

“I was in bed. Then I got bored.” You sipped your water, giving him your most innocent look. “Besides, if I went to sleep, I would’ve missed this.”

“This?”

“The rare sight of Tim Bradford struggling.”

He pointed a screwdriver at you. “Careful. I could make you finish this yourself.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and despite the exhaustion still clinging to him from his shift, Tim felt the tension in his body ease. It didn’t matter how tired he was—being here with you, working on something for her, made everything else fade into the background.

A comfortable silence settled between you as he focused on assembling the crib. Every so often, you’d make an observation (“Are you sure that piece goes there?”), and he’d remind you, gently, that he knew what he was doing. (He didn’t.)

Eventually, after some cursing under his breath, an unnecessary amount of re-reading the instructions, and one incident where the crib almost collapsed on itself, he finally tightened the last screw and sat back with a victorious sigh.

“There,” he declared, brushing his hands off. “One fully operational crib, courtesy of your incredibly capable husband.”

You grinned. “I don’t know, I think she’ll have to test it herself before I give you full credit.”

Tim rolled his eyes, pushing himself up to his feet before walking over to where you sat. He rested a hand on your belly, feeling the soft movement of your breath beneath his palm.

“She’s gonna love it,” he murmured, voice softer now. “And she’s gonna love you even more.”

Your eyes glistened, and you covered his hand with yours. “We built a crib today, Tim.”

He smirked. “Correction. I built a crib today. You provided comedic relief at best.”

You swatted his arm, but your smile stayed. “First of all, my comedic relief is amazing and helpful. Second of all I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

Tim leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before dropping another one to your belly. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice full of something so deep and unshakable it made your heart squeeze. “Me neither.”

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

No doubt jakeyn has my heart ☹️☹️ could i req a scenario about them having to babysit a niece/nephew and they get baby fever from it..... and possibly discuss about starting a family one day?

& this request! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡ oh my gosh this is so freaking sweet stfu rn...this is ADORABLE. oh im crying jakeyn as parents one day??? the most chaotic, but yet, cutest parent duo ever.

──── ONE DAY 🍼☁️🧸 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

"She's too fast," Jake's skidding to a full stop in front of you, hands braced on his knees as he pants, breath heaving, but still—he's smiling. Like his heart has never been so full.

Down the hall—your two-year-old-niece shrieks with laughter, her tiny feet pounding against the floor as she disappears into the bedroom, giggling like the maniac she is.

"She's impossible to catch," Jake chuckles, shaking his head as he watches her turn the corner and into the room, eyes wide with defeat.

You giggle, your hands occupied with assembling three slightly lopsided PB&Js, "You need to get her here for lunch."

"And I will," he promises between wheezes.

You reach across the kitchen counter and hand him a juice box—which he opens and takes a sip from, "Thanks, baby."

"I gave that to you to give to her, but okay. Sure."

An hour later, the three of you are tucked into the couch—your niece curled up fast asleep on Jake's chest, tiny fingers still clutching the fabric of his hoodie.

Her empty juice box abandoned on the floor.

Untouched crusts of her sandwich on the coffee table.

Bluey humming quietly from the TV across from you three.

Jake's stroking her hair gently. Your head rests on his shoulder, your breathes matching his own.

Everything smells of faint peanut butter and baby shampoo.

You glance up at your boyfriend—all soft, quiet, warm, his eyes looking down, watching your niece sleep like she's made of glass and gold.

You smile.

"You're a natural," you whisper.

Jake's eyes flick to yours. His voice drops, soft and quiet—

"Yeah?"

You nod. "She loves you. She hasn't let go of your hand all afternoon."

He glances down again—at the toddler tucked into him like he's the safest place in her world. Then, he looks back at you.

"I kind of...like this," he murmurs. "Like, I knew I'd love her—she's just like you—but this? This feeling? With you here too?"

You nod softly, your cheek brushing against his shoulder, "Yeah. Me too, Jakey."

There's a beat of quietness. Quietness, softness, everything that feels like home.

The sound of the TV. The soft hum of the air conditioner. And the three of you breathing in sync.

Jake's voice lowers again, like it's meant just for you.

"We'd be really good at this," he says. "One day."

And your heart stutters. With hope. Excitement. Wonder.

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes softening at the view.

His cheeks slightly pink. His lashes brushing the top of his cheeks as he blinks at you—pure and tender, like he's never looked at anything longer.

"Not saying we're anywhere near that," he adds, voice a little shy now. "But...I don't know. Watching you with her today—I just kept thinking. You'd be such a good mom, Y/N."

You grin, "I do already make sure you and the boys take your vitamins."

Jake chuckles, matching your smile, "And you always remind me to drink water."

"And I do your laundry and color-code your side of the closet and help you pick out your outfits."

He laughs again—a breathy, shoulder-shaking sound—and leans in you, nudging your temple with his nose. Your fingers absentmindedly go to twirl the soft ends of your niece's hair, Jake's fingers brushing slightly against your own as he continues brushing through her knots.

"Okay, so maybe I'm already the child," he mutters jokingly. "You'll have plenty of practice already."

You snort, nudging him with your knee, the both of you falling quiet again. Jake's hand reaches for yours, guiding it gently so your fingers overlap across her tiny back—closely holding her together, and—

You're smiling. Like your heart has never been so full.

"I think about it sometimes too," you admit softly. "One day."

Jake looks at you—and his eyes go soft again. Round. Deep.

Like he's falling in love with you all over again.

"Yeah?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you whisper back. "As long as it's with you."

Later that night, after your niece is picked up and the apartment is clean again—PB&J crusts tossed, stray crayons gathered, juice boxes in the recycling—

Jake wraps you up in his arms and mumbles sleepily against your forehead—

"Five kids. Minimum."

You lift your head, giving him a look that says he's absolutely lost his mind.

"Five?"

"Okay, fine," his eyes still closed, a small grin forming on his lips. "Three. And two dogs. Not including Layla. So...three dogs."

"Mmhm," you drop your head back onto his chest. "You're ambitious."

"I'm in love," he says simply, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Same thing."

no doubt m. list

tag list pt 1!: @bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo