#i just. get a little emotional. like i know i've always 'been this way' but i find comfort in every little thing like this i can point to

[bakugoushotwife]

𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 // 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖘

a/n: here is the finale to part one!! thanks to everyone being patient with me to get this part out, i've been going thru it lately but we got her done. i haven't proofread everything but will as it goes live, just kinda wanted to put it up. this shit gets dark so proceed at your own risk. cw: gore, blood, murder, major character death, infanticide, smut, cowgirl, pregnancy journey, serious graphic descriptions, etc. dead dove do not eat. series masterlist jjk masterlist part two

he grips your forearms, pink lips parted in disbelief. his touch is gentle, eyes gleaming with emotions yet unnamed. “again. say it once more.” he whispers, seemingly searching for the physical signs already as his eyes dance around your stomach. 

“i’m pregnant, the healer confirmed it–our heir. he or she is coming!” you laugh in astonishment, a gentle warmth blushing across your cheeks. he pulls you against his broad chest within the next second, a myriad of thoughts occurring in his brain all at once. his wife–his queen, was with child. he was no longer the man he was cursed to be. he was loved by you, and would soon become a father to a loving baby of his own creation. a monster he may be, but solitude had lost its grasp on him, and he would never feel guilt for his monstrous ways now. not with a family to protect. a family. ryomen sukuna—head of a family. 

you nuzzle your face against his neck, and his heart physically aches with the emotion he stores in it for you. surely this is something much stronger than love. no one could ever feel as strongly as he does. he sighs softly. comfortably, and sets you back on your feet with a soft chuckle that rumbles inside both of your chests. 

“what wonderful news—outstanding news, my love…you have made me the happiest man...what a gift..” he says in a voice nearly foreign to you with its overwhelming gentleness. it conflicts with the look in his eyes. it’s hard to describe—the love and adoration he’s always held is there, with something else lying beneath. a certain icy cruelty that you know he’s capable of—a primal protectiveness. yes, gone were the days of leaving you in the throne room or bed chambers by yourself to be waited on by uraume and the rest of the staff. no, no. he would be attached to you like a second soul, as if you weren’t growing one already. 

he just couldn’t bear to risk it. especially as the building plans commenced and more strangers would be around his wife than ever before. his nerves were…heightened so to speak. you didn’t want to call it paranoia, as you can understand exactly where his concerns come from. he’s never cared for anyone. not even a fucking little bit, and now he has an entire universe of feelings stored inside of one person—seperate from himself. it’s terrifying. it’s vulnerable in ways he hates to admit, for any one of his enemies that knows of your existence knows exactly how to break him apart. all the sorcerers he’s wronged, all of the families of those he has personally extinguished—they all have a way to enact revenge. they all have a clear path to ripping his heart out of his chest, and it’s a fate worse than death. even the thought of you falling into enemy hands is enough for sukuna to erect gates with enchantments and veils, laying traps of his own mind’s invention all around the palace grounds to ensure your home remains a free territory for you and his baby. 

his baby. his son or daughter growing fruitfully within you. only three people know of the baby’s existence—you, him, and uraume. and this is how the list would stay until it is simply unavoidable. he will cater to your every need himself; and no one else should enter within ten feet of you unless they want to lose their heads. he makes this much clear, announcing the decree to his castle staff. of course they’re curious as to why they can no longer serve their queen–but any questions they have die on their tongues with the feral tone of commands from their king. 

you think it’s all a bit much, but you wouldn’t say anything against his wishes. this is what helps him rest peacefully at night, what makes him believe you are totally and wholly safe. besides it’s more relaxing this way. the only hustle and bustle is about the additions to your home, no servants nagging you about the certain tinctures and powders you should be taking to support your baby through the pregnancy; nor them cooing about how dominant and healthy king sukuna’s offspring would be. no. it’s just the two of you and the moment. the first few months were rocky—much more negative than positive with your symptoms and struggles. your husband was a rock amidst the nausea-inducing waters. he may not be inspirational or motivational in his words, and he may not know simply from instinct alone how to comfort you; but do not mistake that for neglect. he is ever curious, and attentive. he can tell when you need something…he just needs you to help him along as to what for the first few weeks into this beautiful journey. 

he’s quick to provide you a trash receptacle or to rush after you as you run into the bathroom to puke. he’s the one holding a cool rag to the back of your neck and keeping your hair out of the way, the sound of your seemingly endless retching tugging at his heart. he learns that the term “morning sickness” is really a lie—you’re sick at all hours of the day. he nearly feels guilty over your suffering, keeping you hydrated on water and coconut milk for extra nutrients. you aren’t keeping much food down, but he tries to make sure you’re offered plenty of it. going into the second month of your weak exhaustion and pathetic puking, he’s growing more than concerned. 

“i’m calling the doctors, my queen is suffering far too much.” he announces, using a rag to dab the sweat off your forehead as the toilet receives yet another round of your stomach’s contents. another hand fashions your hair into some sort of ponytail, and the other two stabilize your hips. you shake your head, leaning back to sit on your haunches as you wipe your mouth. 

“it’s perfectly normal. i’ll enter the second trimester soon, hopefully it will stop then.” you say, chipper. he finds it confusing how you can clearly feel so bad but pretend otherwise. your child isn’t even showing in you yet, you only look as if you’ve had a large dinner. and while you’re ridiculously adorable in this slightly swollen state, he’s left mystified by how such a small babe can disrupt everything about your body. your appetite increases and wanes depending on the day, you cry over a fallen bird's nest and then threaten to light him aflame. it’s a lot for him to wrap his head around, as someone who’s never really been well versed in emotions to begin with. but he is patient above all else—and that’s just fine with you. he’s there for every mood swing, he lets you beat on his chest and yell at him–he lets you crawl into his lap and hold yourself close, to giggle and kiss all over his face only to whisper how horny you are. 

at least that much is the same. if anything, it’s increased. and while sukuna has never been a delicate man, nor a submissive one—he is a somewhat changed man. his wife–only for his wife. he can tame the desire to absolutely fuck you apart for the sake of your growing child—he doesn’t know what exactly your body can handle at this time, despite what he may crave. but…you know what you can handle, don’t you? he…can allow you to use his body in this way too. it’s the least he can do, really. he knows he’s not the most caring man in the universe. frankly, he’s spent many a time thinking you deserve someone much more loving and doting than he. but you bask in the love that does flow from him, and your body is being used to grow his offspring. so yes, he clears the throne room of contractors and servants and architects making last minute adjustments, adding rooms fit for children to thrive in and his family to gather in; all because his precious wife made an appearance demanding his attention. yes, he lets you position yourself against his lap and rut against him at your own pace, grinding on his thigh while you beg for his hands to toy with your tits. 

“please–i need more, my king~” you pout, pawing at his wrists, dragging them up to your chest.he finds you enchantingly adorable, and this neediness is such a good look on you. not being able to throttle you nearly makes his bones ache, but he uses his lower set of hands to guide your hips over his defined thigh–his top set of hands giving into his sweet wife’s desires. 

and he always knows exactly how to touch you. he kneads at your breasts, the sore fat of your tits melting into his hands so perfectly you hiss and let your head fall back, rolling across your shoulders at just the simple enjoyment of his fingers tweak at your swollen nipples. he loves how sensitive you’ve become, how your brows pinch together and your cheeks darken the closer you get to soaking your panties. he knows you’ll plunge yourself on his cock over and over again–letting him coat your insides with the seed that’s already taken root in your gorgeous little womb. 

“of course. my naughty little queen can’t sleep without her husband’s cock pressing into her?” he coos, the words so taunting but so loving at the same time. you howl with excitement, ripping his pants down after several seconds of effort, your animalistic growls of need so pleasing to his ears and ego. you take as much of his cock inside as you can, thighs tightening at the effort. 

“mm–nuh uh, can’t help it–just need you all the time!! ‘s your fault–you did this to me!” you pout, bottom lip swollen from the amount of times your teeth have dug into it. your belly, just barely bloated with the sign of pregnancy, just glistens in the candlelight of his throne room, everything about you was calling out to him—as always. he doesn’t know why the sensation still surprises him every now and again. so he helps you, hands on your waist to help lift you up and down along the shaft of him, watching your face contort and ease with bone-deep pleasure. “oh, yessss~” 

your hands scramble to hold something, his wrists, his chest–anything with purchase as your orgasm shakes through your entire body. he only uses your tight walls for a few more lengthy strokes, erupting thick white ropes that paint your insides in the best way–the way that makes your legs tremble and buckle, so spent from your attempts at riding him that you’re leaning into his chest and closing your eyes to sleep. this has been your routine for about three weeks now, not that he minds. 

but the second trimester…oh how golden. this was the first time that sukuna really understood the beauty of pregnancy. with all of the nights of puking and bad sleep and weird cravings and mood swings and the list goes on—he was wondering what exactly was the big glow with babymaking aside from your sex drive and the overall concept that you get a baby out of it. but now, as your bump develops and grows everyday, as your energy evens out somewhat and all you want to do is nest and decorate for the baby—he gets it. uraume brings bigger robes so you may dress comfortably, and sukuna passes along your every demand to the builders. the baby’s nursery is being painted by hand, the crib by the finest carpenters that japan has to offer. sukuna wouldn’t be sukuna of course unless he threatened to kill every worker on the project if they spilled the news of what they were working on to a single soul. 

the fields outside the palace have become your favorite place to be. you enjoy laying in the sun, plucking the wildflowers that grow on the hillside and weaving them into a flower crown, and watching the animals sprint around in the treeline below. sukuna would watch from the castle some days, letting you bask in nature under his careful oversight. some days he joins you, listening to you prattle about the birds that like the sugar water you lay out. the peace that you bring to his life is something astounding. he never would have imagined himself enjoying listening to someone so bubbly and optimistic. you have always been a light he had never known existed, and he sees you as a literal angel. the way the summer skies cast a glow down on you—glowing up your hair and skin and highlighting that beautifully round bump. 

this day, he sits outside with you–watching you lean back, robes unbound to drink in some more sun. he’s proud that he’s able to make it such a safe place for you–your happy place. you can hear him approach, a joyful grin spreading across your face as you look over at him. 

“the baby knows you’re here~” you coo, supporting the underside of your rounded bump. the king lays beside you, a smirk on his face at the greeting. “say hello to your spawn.” you add, snickering. and dutifully so, he leans in and places his hand on your stomach. the broad paw spans most of the stretched skin, life and wonder sparkling in his ruby red eyes as he feels it, the repeated soft flutters against his palm make his heart skip a beat. his son or daughter is so active, and very strong. and they seemingly feel him, like you claimed. they like his voice and his touch, his gentle brush of his hand inspiring another tirade of kicks that send you giggling. 

it just makes things that much more real for him. his child is on the way, halfway grown already. he can’t wait to meet them, to see if they resemble you or himself more closely, to have a mini-him to take under his wing and entrust his philosophy to. he can’t wait to watch you be a mother either. just what his limited imagination can conjure up warms the coldness in his chest. the idea of you swirling around a sweet nursery with the baby smiling with gums and lips, cheeks rosy from being so loved. 

“hello, little baby of mine.” sukuna hums, leaning down to kiss below your navel. 

you smile sweetly, eyes crinkled in the corners. “we need to think of names!” you hum, running your fingers through his hair. it soothes you to have him so near, your protector and greatest advocate. he hums at the feeling, resting his chin on your breastplate, right before the swell of your stomach. those eyes melt you every time, especially when they look at you with such fondness. 

“their name will come to us when we look upon their face. no need to rush.” he hums softly, rubbing your stomach absentmindedly. he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. 

“i suppose so, but i would like to call them something aside from the baby.” you hum, twisting the pale pink strands around your fingers, wondering if your child would get this uniquely colored hair. 

“then let’s call them ayame, for now.” he decides, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in a smile. the word has so much significance in love and beauty, and he knows it’s the right one to bestow upon his unborn. 

“you’re so sweet, i love it. ayame–for now.” you hum once more–nodding your agreement, resting your hand atop his own. before long, the sun begins to set and the king ushers you inside for dinner—relieved your appetite returned. 

everyday after that was just as beautiful. you worked tirelessly daily to craft ayame’s clothes, knitting in neutrals to ensure the pieces would suit either gender of child. your excitement grows with your stomach, and so does sukuna’s protectiveness. you hardly use the bathroom by yourself. your pregnancy is now common knowledge amongst the castle staff–widespread across your kingdom. so naturally, sukuna is even more scrutinous of anyone coming in and out. the construction is nearly complete, but enemies could be lurking anywhere. and no one is more aware of that than your husband. 

he’s more than relieved whenever the construction reaches its final days as you’re about to pop. he still hovers, don’t misunderstand, but he can take a breath. any day now, you’d go into labor and the heian era’s new prince or princess would make their grand entrance. the nursery was fully prepared and the doctors and midwives had arrived as the construction workers were leaving, everything was in place. 

imagine his surprise when he’s thrown out of sleep in the middle of the night—one of his veils have been breached. moments later, uraume rushes into the room. 

“my king–the perimeter guards caught someone…they had weapons. ordered to kill the queen.” they pant, out of breath from hustling here so quickly. and with that one sentence, his every worst fear is confirmed. people are after you—they want to kill you. kill his baby and his wife in one fell swoop. 

he sees red. 

he looks over at you–sleeping deeply beside him. he can’t disrupt your rest, not when the baby will be coming so soon..so he leans over to kiss your lips softly before following uraume to the throne room to torture the infiltrator that thought they could get away with such a thing. 

he doesn’t think he’s ever been this bloodthirsty before, either. love like this makes you do crazy things–feel crazy things. the perpetrator is being held on his knees, head forced forward to look at the floor. 

“my servants tell me that we’ve caught a roach. let’s hear it.” he spits, intent on torturing this cretin slowly—send a message to everyone else that tries to come after his family. that if you attack—you will be dismembered and scattered across the continents with the breeze. 

“or maybe you just caught the fall guy, and you didn’t stop anything at all.” the man smirks boldly at the king, a shuffle upstairs catching his attention. 

you wake up when the last traces of your husband’s warmth has dissipated. you blink awake, feeling around in his spot to confirm his absence. huffing, you roll to your back, seeing his shadow shuffle around the room. “my love? are you having trouble sleeping tonight?” he’s been known to periodically wake up and patrol the place to make sure that nothing’s slipped past his other defenses. 

“notcha love—you can’t bring that demon to life, whore.” 

and those are the last words you ever hear. 

there’s a slash across your gut, deep. you can hear your blood splatter on the ground—similar to what you had always imagined your water breaking to sound like. you don’t even feel the pain, really. just the fear. just the realization—that you’re too late, that all sukuna had done was for nothing. you’re dying. you’re going to die today–here. alone, and scared, the slash that comes next nearly decapitates you, and you can’t use your technique. you never even got out of bed, only your legs had touched the floor. you hadn’t even been able to stand before they slaughtered you. 

the baby…the baby is gone just as grotesquely as you are–pulled from the gash in your midsection to fight these grown men on their own. ayame was a girl. and she was suffocated before her eyes ever opened, blood strewn about the room. 

the two murderers flee before sukuna makes it to the top floor, able to cascade a rope out of the window and sneak right out, now that all of the security is distracted.  

seconds later, he throws the door open. he nearly sprints forward to check on you–your form visible on the bed. but as he gets closer, he slips. his feet slide on something wet, warm—and he knows. he knows he’s lost the only person that ever mattered. his heart pounds faster as the staff rush in with the candles–revealing the gruesome scene. 

he sobs. it’s a foreign feeling, crying. he had only felt this once before—when he knew he was going to be a father. that was certainly more pleasant than…this. you’re gone. his light–his eternal sunshine…slaughtered like cattle on his bed. you’re gutted, the scent of iron finally hitting his senses. had he been in shock before? is that why he didn’t immediately notice? your head is barely attached to your neck—eyes wide open with horror, mouth hung open to scream. there’s so much blood. dripping out of your mouth, gushing over your chest and out of your abdomen–soaking your pretty lavender nightgown. he reaches for you, emotions heightened to levels left undocumented. that’s when he sees—his eyes focusing on the lifeless lump that was his baby daughter. he reaches for her too–little ayame. he cradles his girls to his body, absolutely wailing. his body spikes in temperature—cursed technique going haywire. he’s inconsolable. his cursed energy is spiking to heights unknown, body shifting—growing larger–rage flowing like a new source of energy all on it’s own. his soul is shattering, twisting and knotting up in his body–heart aching like never before. it was one mistake—he left for two seconds, to let you sleep and now you are gone forever. his baby is dead—his wife…he’ll never speak to you again. never feel your hands on his skin or the warmth of your kiss. he can’t go on like this—no. he has no desire to live. 

the love of his life, his first born child—ripped away from him in an instant. all the peace and happiness and joy you showed him existed has turned into the deepest and darkest personal hell he has ever known. he looks around him—even more blood than ever before. his technique—it killed everyone. he can’t find it in himself to consider it again, too focused on the mangled mess they made of his queen. he will avenge you—he will murder everyone in his path until someone can put him out of this misery. until then–he will take every other soul out of this world. if he can’t be happy–if he doesn’t get to live this life in peace–then no one else will either. 

the entire castle is consumed with the raw force of his cursed energy, shattered in an instant. as if he was a natural disaster in and of himself. perhaps maybe know he is…for he is no longer a man. ryomen sukuna never was quite just a man–the king of the heian era. but now, he is the king of something else. of all things bad and evil—of all the things that can help him enact revenge. the king of curses.

tags: @neon-crow @skypperlegacy @gis4greenandgreenisgre4t  @alastors-radio  @alltimenogoaway-blog  @tragedyofabrokensoul @gojosukuna2268  @hannas16  @alwaysfreakingout @thepurpleempath @pelicanpizza  @aenishas @satsuk-jjk @catobsessedlady @gucci-basura @eiaaasamantha @asukahiriko @t4naiis @thejujvtsupost @mymelx @maskedpacific @berranurates @enchantingartisanwitch @celena-alanze

[bekkachaos]

BRIDGERTON THOUGHTS PRT 2 !

Send help it's literally more Polin I can't help it!

Once again, spoilers ahead for S3 part 2 so keep scrolling if you don't want em! This is my part 1.

It might be an unpopular opinion, but there was too much angst for me. Colin was too angsty for too long, and I know it was only really an episode and a half, But I felt like we got too much of book Colin's bad side and not enough understanding. Like I very much get it and he had a very valid reason for being hurt, but it was dragged almost to the very end of the last episode and I just wish there would have been a little less.

The constant asking if she was going to give up Whistledown kind of annoyed me and how cold he was every time they had that conversation just broke my heart a little bit for Penelope.

I know so much has been changed from books to show, but it's strange that in the book he knows about Whistledown before anything really happens, I mean they have that first kiss where she asks him to but everything else happens after he already knows. So for him to be so cold. Just made me feel sad. I understand it in the context of the show but still.

And something I really disliked was when they're in the room where they're going to have their wedding breakfast and Penelope asks something along the lines of "if you still want to marry me" and he says "I'm a man of honour and we were intimate", I really hate that it came to suggesting he would marry her out of obligation, It just really rubbed me the wrong way. And I wish it had been something along the lines of. "I love you Penelope and I want to marry you. I just don't know if I can forgive you for this", which he'd already said, but I would way rather that have been put out there than to ever even imply that he could marry her out of obligation. I know he was mad and betrayed and jealous, But that one line really bothers me. I've made a whole post basically saying this word for word but that's how strongly I feel about it! Like I get it from Colin's perspective and how he's grappling with it, I do, I just didn't like it.

Also, Colin never actually said sorry? For treating her like shit after he found out. Like I do think his feelings were valid and that he deserved to be upset, but he never said sorry for some of the stuff he said and for being cold even though Penelope apologised so many times.

Luke's emotion though when Colin found out and in the conversations after was incredible, when the tear fell at the end of ep 6 my heart stopped and then broke into tiny pieces!

Something about their pairing that I really like though is that they both feel inherently unlovable for one reason or another (Penelope has always felt completely unloved and overlooked, and Colin has always felt people showed him affections for shallow reasons and not actually for who he is), but both of them prove to each other over and over again how much they love the other and know the other and see them in a way no-one else does.

HOWEVER, I'm not sure they did a good enough job portraying Colin's side of this (I'll update on my rewatch send help). Not sure his coldness and hesitation was addressed enough as jealousy as it could have been. The scene where Penelope says "just love me and hold me and kiss me, what holds you back" and he says "I don't know" like was that just a little abrupt or was that just me? Because from the book I could follow that it's the jealousy of how accomplished she is but not sure the general audience picks up on that.

AND ANOTHER THING, there was absolutely not enough making up after everything was resolved with Whistledown, I needed more love and kisses and softness after the ball!

I know there were things being added to set up for the next season, but damn it was already 70 minutes long, what's 5 more of sweet and in love Polin??

Gotta say though, all of them with their babies in the end was adorable, and you can't deny the last shot kissing in the sunlight of the drawing room (where Penelope spent so much time staring out the window pining after Colin) was so fucking romantic! And the shot with their little baby boy, love!

One last thing, did they spend an exorbitant amount of time dancing or is that just me? Almost as much time as they all spent drinking lemonade in eps 1-4

Overall I loved their story, it's been my favourite pairing so far. Not sure any of the others will top it for me, but time will tell! Episodes 4-5 were definitely my favourites by a long shot!

Okay okay imma do part 3 with my thoughts on everything else 😂

[butmakeitgayblog]

I really admire the amount of thought you’ve put into understanding the core of both of these characters in canon. Even in your asks it really shines through how deeply you understand them and it makes your writing of them really next level. All of your clexas are so different but all somehow really ring true in a way. How do you decide how to develop/craft each of your clexas in a way that you feel stays true to the base of the original character in a way? Like, are there core characteristics or motivations you try to keep for either of them across any au? Or an element of their arc/development? I know all of your AUs vary wildly but I wanted to ask because it really comes through that you have thought deeply about what Clarke and lexa either would or wouldn’t do etc.

Ok well first of all, thank you 🥺 that's just an incredibly lovely thing to hear. Really, I've had a righ couple days and this was just such a nice thing to read, that you feel that way about these weird little stories 💕

As for your questions, stuff like this is always jard to answer because while I'd love to give some intelligent, big brained answer, the truth is I'm not entirely sure 😅

I tend to mostly just get an idea for a story and then it kind of... idk, it develops in my head in stages? And it's different every time with every story. I don't go into each story looking to purposefully focus on core elements or characteristics, but rather as the story comes together each character kinda - as absolutely pretentious as this sounds - tells me what parts of them fit best in the story?

For example, MBFW Lexa. Since I've been talking about her a lot lately. Once I knew that she'd be the Jules character, she kind of built herself around the attributes of being devoted and dependable, but jarringly unpredictable at times when she feels it is for greater good. She does things that she thinks are best even when they may hurt herself and other people, because in her mind she is ultimately making the right and rational choice (even if from an outside perspective that may not be true.) With MBFW Clarke, her loyalty and devotion are her driving forces, but also her stubbornness and ultimately her rash decision making when her emotions run high (you'll see 😏). Clarke will go through hell for the people she loves and she is a ride or die bitch, even in the face of her own heartache. That's what she does when she loves someone. So you get these two personalities together that have this intense and unshakable love, but it's one that's also a revolving door of missed opportunities, and staying silent even when they shouldn't for their own percieved thoughts of the greater good, and unwittingly hurting each other in the process. But the love is still there, always.

I guess overall in each fic I just try and go at it with the thought of, "What traits and quirks of themselves would these life experiences have developed most (i.e. moodiness, playfulness, stubbornness, standoffish, nurturing etc.) over the others that they had canon? And ultimately, what about those characteristics would make them love each other in this universe? Because they are still always themselves, even in different universes. And Clarke and Lexa, they love each other. They'll always love each other. But why this time? What about them would draw them together here? What pieces of themselves would connect in this situation? How do they compliment each other in this world?" And then it just builds itself from there.

If that makes sense?

[account-name]

Five headcannons you have about Phone Guy ?

yayyyyy thank you so much for the ask this is the first time i've been asked about him !!! this ended up a bit long because i wanted to fit in all my important phone guy lore because i've never gotten the opportunity to talk about him

i apologize if this is a bit all over the place and hard to read i'm not good at putting my thoughts into words

also i might reblog with more if i think of anything big i missed

he drinks way too much coffee. he needs to stay awake and alert all the time so he can continue to be productive despite his inconsistent sleep schedule (he gets nightmares which get more and more frequent over time) (and he is also being overworked which is not a good combo) (he doesn't remember the last time he's had a day off) so he uses the caffeine as a way to make up for that. plus he also just genuinely likes how coffee tastes. he also used to smoke but he stopped when his ex wife (marilyn) was pregnant with fritz, so he at least got over that one (if i didn't mention it yet he is fritz's dad btw). caffeine is the only addiction that he still actively struggles with by the time he dies.

he has a confusing relationship with his gender. i think in the normal fnaf timeline he unfortunately dies an egg and never gets the chance to think about it fully but in any au where he lives past that and learns that being trans is a thing he would proceed to have a gender crisis. (fun fact in the au i made specifically for selfshipping daydream lore he is working that out in real time) (i am supporting him every step of the way :) ) he is questioning and he has no idea how he identifies at the moment but that guy is not a man. he does still have a trans pin in the normal fnaf timeline but he doesn't actually know what it means. he found it while cleaning the ballpit one day and decided to keep it because it was kinda neat. he IS trans but he doesn't know it yet. i generally still refer to him with he/him since those are the only pronouns he ever used but depending on the au i think eventually he might experiment with other pronouns in the future. change is scary though so it would definitely take him awhile to get to that point. especially since he's been repressing his emotions for so long.

i've touched on this one before but he was working the day his son was murdered. he brought fritz to work with him thinking he could multitask but phone got caught up with work and wasn't paying enough attention to notice fritz getting lured to the back room. he didn't notice his son was missing until it was too late. he absolutely blames himself for it and it eats him up inside. he goes through a messy divorce shortly after since marilyn blames him too. poor phone guy has no one left except his bosses. at least they always cared about him right? they saw his potential when no one else did and he was their best employee. except no they didn't. william was actively manipulating him to do his bidding and henry just didn't care about him at all. poor phone guy. but he still puts on a happy face and pretends everything is fine until he can't anymore. he also blames himself for the other missing children because he was too far in denial and desperately wanted to believe that it wasn't what it looked like so he didn't do anything to stop it when other kids started disappearing. he knew what was happening he just couldn't bring himself to accept it. and then it was too late. he hates himself for that.

he's helped william hide bodies. not the missing children obviously, but whenever other employees happen to know a little too much and they turn up dead in the morning, someone's gotta clean it up. he's had to sweep so much under the rug. it's horrible but phone guy can't say anything or else it will all get pinned on him. phone guy getting framed for murder wouldn't help the situation much either. maybe it was the cowards way out to give in to the blackmail but he was put in a horrible situation and made the choice he had to to get out of it. he helped dispose bodies of his coworkers. it doesn't help that he trusted william and looked up to him for so long. he was one of the only people to ever say he was proud of him. and look where he ended up.

i can't decide on another singular hc to write an entire paragraph on so here's a bunch of small ones instead:

he dabbled in theatre in highschool. he wasn't a dedicated theatre kid or anything and definitely didn't continue after graduating but he did good

he has a beautiful singing voice. he'll get embarrassed if you overhear him though

he witnessed both bites, and sees 87 as his own fault since jeremy was following the instructions phone gave him

he's a breakfast enjoyer :)

he was born in 1957 and died at the age of 36 . fritz was conceived when he was 21

similar to his gender, his sexuality is also a mystery. he's probably ace but as for romantic orientation who knows

he likes to read. it's one of the only hobbies he has time for

he likes sci-fi and is a fan of star trek

he idly hums while he works

when he was a kid his parents had very high expectations for him and expected him to do something big with his life. they weren't bad parents but they weren't the best either. they were very strict with him especially when it came to school. (gifted kid burnout weeeoo)

he has a little sister (phone dude's mom) however he doesn't really have any contact with her or anyone else in his family at the time of fnaf as they moved away from utah and he did not follow them.

i love all the phone biology hcs mentioned in @ask-the-phone (sorry if you didn't want to be tagged lmk i can remove it) so those apply to my phone guy as well. (he molts periodically, his mouth is on the receiver, esophagus cord, ect.)

gives the best hugs

touch starved and very easily flattered

//⚠️cw attempted suicide for the next couple //

this is a dark one but he went into fnaf one knowing full well he was going die, and to an extent hoping for it. this is when he was at his absolute lowest. he was never going to get through that week. i think if for whatever reason the animatronics didn't kill him he would've finished the job himself. he's scared of death but he couldn't imagine a future for himself and didn't think he even deserved one. fnaf 1 was an act of suicide. despite this he still tries to leave helpful reassuring messages for mike to help him survive the week, even up until his last moments.

he tried to take his own life after the bite of 87. maybe also after the divorce too. it didn't work and he just had to go back to work afterward and pretend he was okay. he was not.

[ok back to the other hcs]

fritz always used to put stickers on phone's face. he continues to wear the stickers to remember him

while his head is phone shaped it's entirely biological. it's essentially like a bug exoskeleton. he was born like that and it's not questioned because that's a completely normal way for people to look. sometimes people are just phones

his head is also functional as a phone though. don't ask me how

he purrs when he's comfy. the sound is like a combination of purring and soft ringing.

in the movie universe he is alive and well and living a life outside of freddy's. he worked there briefly and recorded some tapes and then left before it all went wrong. i guess in this au his bosses never really saw him as anything special this time. his son still dies and he probably still gets divorced but phone is able to move on and heal and live his own life. good for him.

i think if phone guy didn't work at freddy's he would've made a good teacher

he is so full of autism

very much a perfectionist unfortunately

not easily angered, but he can get frustrated at times. he bottles it up though so he seems fine until he finally snaps

and that's the list i came up with so far :) i might add more if i think of anything important i forgot but thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to finally talk about my phone guy !!! :)

[the-nysh]

what do you think the future of bakugo and dekus rivalry will look like now that he’s on the last embers of afo. even if it’s cliche and would ruin the story ive been praying they give deku a quirk back 😭 it crushes me that it feels like his journey was cut so short even if he’s pretending he’s fine

Hmm...at this point I'm mainly chilling patiently waiting to see where Hori goes with it. I've seen people speculate we may get another emotional confrontation, where Deku gets his long overdue catharsis to unload what he's been bottling up this entire time. Cause there's no way that Kacchan 'who knows Deku best' hasn't noticed that Deku 'I'm fine' is totally Not Fine. :')) From the way he's almost listless and aimless, mentally adrift like he's fading away apart from his peers...it does hurt when it feels he's only gotten a brief taste of being in their world, especially if he feels the doubt, guilt and uncertainty that he never fully succeeded (at saving Tenko/doing his 'best'/being a hero) too, questioning himself on whether he'll no longer be able to belong... His future being in such numb limbo...man;;

I think...well, what would be really nice to see finally addressed (especially if Kacchan's the one to tell him this for the most meaningful impact) is how a person's worth and heroism does not solely rely or depend on their quirk...but rather on the core quality of their character. :') A quality which Kacchan already knew and noticed Deku had back when they were 4 (the river scene) and demonstrated he already had the heart of a hero despite being quirkless. (A 'strength' of his that made Kacchan feel insecure, lacking, and inferior to for most of their lives.) And even now, if Deku's to become quirkless all over again, that part of him cannot change or be erased; Deku's not that (useless) 'empty shell' he may think he is. And as part of Kacchan's character development and maturing awareness, it'd be significant if he came clean to Deku about this - cause who better than him to be that pillar of strength (not his weakness) for him, who can assure Deku of his own self-worth and truthfully tell him how much he matters. (Because oh, does Deku matter to him.)

Cause ideally, it shouldn't matter whether he has a quirk or not, and likewise, their friendship/rivalry/partnership shouldn't need to hinge on the context of having a quirk and/or heroics either - they can just simply ~exist~ as they naturally are, who see each other as they are, accepting of their best and worst selves. :') (Will Deku ever come clean to Kacchan about how he's always been his inspiration and image of victory too? About how much he's meant to him ever since they were little? As his-their personal hero?? That's where it's up to Hori!) So there's much Kacchan can console/confess to him so that the oblivious 'damned nerd' Deku finally Gets It, but there's so much else Deku can finally confess to him too. :')) That at this point it's just a matter of waiting to see how Hori handles it!

[gaylightisminetocommand]

you don't understand i was obsessed with Night at the Museum as a kid and i loved Jed and subconsciously shipped him with Octavius before i even knew you were allowed to ship two boys together, heck, before i even knew what shipping was, and now Owen Wilson is Mobius and it's the same fucking thing again where he's playing a heavily queer-coded character but the media they're in forces him to call his soulmate his 'friend' but there's no fucking way they're straight but this time around i know what shipping is and i know what homosexuality is and maybe d*sney will never let them kiss but hell if that's gonna stop me from losing my mind over them-

[icewindandboringhorror]

There's always a slight yearning in the back of my mind wishing I had been born in the right place, time, family situation, income level, etc. to have just lived in one single house for my entire life. Imagine being born in a place that still suits you, even through all of your personal evolutions and etc. The idea of deep familiarity with an area because you've lived and explored it for 40+ years, being encased in a web of memories and connections. Being able to clean out your old childhood bedroom and find personal artifacts, to dig in the yard and remember. I know those lives can still be plenty imperfect, but there's just something so seemingly solid and stable and Grounding about it that I sometimes wish I could have.. (At least from my outside perspective as someone who's moved around a bit geographically and even within the same area, never lives in the same house/ apartment /etc. for more than a few years usually.) Like... having a place that is printed upon, fully your own, rather than chronically a visitor, every thought of a space always tempered with the notion that one day soon you'll have to pack it all up again, etc. There's something peaceful about the permanence.

[seithr]

Randomly remembered the half-reason i call my oc-verse by the name it has while laying in bed. One-half of the reason i still knew, but I had forgotten what had truly, really cemented it jointly until now

(it was a song from my favourite band I haven't listened to in a while.)

(the song fit so well at the time, still does, that i needed to hold onto it for the main protagonists forever, by partially naming their story in reference.)

Does this explanation make any sense? Does anyone know why I'm tearing up remembering this. Aahh

[galacticlamps]

Me noticing that Nicholas Briggs is one of the executive producers & script editors for the entire new Second Doctor series Big Finish just started, as well as a director and co-writer on its first boxset: Yeah I mean that’s kinda a lot but I guess it’s to be expected, he’s like the head of the company and apparently Two’s his favorite Doctor?

Me noticing that the other script editor & co-writer, and lead producer is the same guy who wrote That Which Went Away: Oh okay now you have my attention

[marrow-bone]

I know it's only my problem and it's not fair to others but it sucks to like;; care about people instantly and without reason. To be like 'Ah yes, I actively care about this person just because they're a person who I know, and I will go out of my way for their health and happiness' but it seems like most people aren't keen on doing even mildly inconvenient things for your peace of mind or health back.

It feels nice to be useful, but hurts so bad to be just convenient or tolerated.

[kaijutegu]

Today I was talking with my mom about why seeing an alligator is fundamental to my mental health. At first she laughed but I got her to listen and she gets it now. My psychiatrist and I call this the alligator litmus test, and it works really well for making decisions about my treatment. I bring this up because perhaps there is something in your life that you can use in a similar fashion.

I have severe major depressive disorder, and I treat this depression with medication. I've been on meds for about... seven years now, and sometimes we have to mess with them. But sometimes the emotional part of the depression is just super bad and there's something underneath that needs to be addressed. When we are figuring this out, my psychiatrist says to take one alligator and call her in the morning.

See, no matter how bad I'm feeling, seeing an alligator almost always cheers me up in the moment. (This works with other large crocodilians, too- they gotta be big, it doesn't work with caimans. I don't know why.) I can't look at their goofy toofers and beautiful eyes and bumpy hides and not be a little wowed by them. Millions of years of evolution have led to this amazing creature and they are completely unbothered by me. Almost all of the time, they make me feel happy. Or maybe I'll feel sad for some unspecified reason. Maybe I'll get worried about the ecosystem or something- but invariably, I will FEEL.

Unless, of course, it's my brain chemistry. If I can experience an alligator and not feel anything- not happy, not sad, just numb- there's something wrong and we should talk about adjusting my meds. Usually with a little tweaking I'm back to my very functional medicated baseline in quick order- instead of wasting time with coping skills and such alone when what I really need is brain chemicals, it's a much quicker way to communicate what's going on with me. At the same time, it also helps me know when the coping skills ARE likely to work without changing up my meds, or when there's something I need to work through with some help.

It's a pretty solid test. Might not work for anyone else on the planet, but it works great for me!

[4ngel-inc]

DEMON SLAYER + S/O WITH A HIGH SEX DRIVE ಇ

tags / notes — [ 18+ ], my first demon slayer post eeeek you guys i think i'm in my demon slayer girlie phase !! :'>

word count — 300 words each. only two characters cus i'm still working on my characterization sob :')

RENGOKU wasn't experienced at all before he met you, so making love to you was like being submerged into a completely unfamiliar, ethereal world—every second of his first time with you was so beautiful, so comfortable. the first time you two made love, he cried a little afterward. he was worried you'd be turned off, but you simply cradled him in your arms and cried with him. you're the only person kyojuro has ever had sex with, and he honestly doesn't think he'll ever need anyone else if this is what it feels like to fall in love. anything you want, whenever you want it—his goal in life is to make you happy. the pleasure you give him is so fucking euphoric, kyojuro absolutely loves fucking you—sometimes, he even surprises himself with how much he wants it. he's still a little shy about coming onto you first, so he'd never say it aloud, but he suspects his own sex drive may be even higher than yours, though you're under the impression you've always wanted it more than him. every once in a while, he does get a little antsy—those are the days he makes the first move, returning home from a mission, all of his dirty fantasies about you over the past months spilling over once his eyes are on you, his cock aching the moment he pulls you in to kiss you. he wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you up to carry you to the bedroom—"it's been too long, my love. i need to fuck you now, i can't wait another moment. . . i've nearly gone crazy dreaming of your touch." overall, your high sex drive is completely matched by his—though it takes him a while to grow comfortable expressing it.

SHINAZUGAWA is no stranger to sex—he definitely enjoys it. however, it isn't until he falls in love with you that he comes to realize how intertwined emotion and pleasure actually are for him. every time you're together, he fucks you so deeply, so passionately, he thinks he might actually go insane from how good it feels, from how much of himself he's giving to you—the way you whine and beg for him every second he isn't touching you just lights his soul on fire. there's just something inside him that awakens when he's with you, as though his only purpose behind closed doors is to make you feel wanted, seen, adored."f-fuck, you want it again already, love?" he climbs back on top of you when he feels your delicate hand tugging on his shoulder, a needy little whine escaping your lips as you do. your eyes are glossy as you instinctively grind your wet pussy against his still rock-solid cock. he shudders at the sensation—"your clit isn't too sensitive for that? god, baby, i can't fuck you enough to make up for the time i was gone." he kisses you like he'll never see you again, because he doesn't know if, or rather, when, his duty to the corps will tear him away from you again—he only knows he wants to make this moment last a little longer. the little world of bliss he hides in with you is utterly perfect—he never wants to leave your side, never wants to stop touching you and satisfying your carnal desires. "gonna make you cum as many times as you want, baby—never gonna stop fucking you, not until you're satisfied, that's my job, yeah?" protecting you, loving you, and fucking you—that's all sanemi needs in this life, really.

[gayhoediaz]

"I - I'm sorry for showing up at your station in the middle of the night, I - I should have called, but I knew you had a shift, and I-"

"Didn't want to do this over the phone," Tommy guesses gently, watching as Evan nods, face flickering with recognition.

"...or in a text or something, yeah," he confirms - then he clears his throat, frowning at the ground for a moment. "Look, I - I know that - that maybe I should just... walk away, and - and take no for an answer, and I - I will," he says, and when their eyes meet again, Evan's are glossy with emotion - even from ten feet away. "I promise."

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling gently as he waits for Evan to gather his thoughts.

"I know I fucked up by going all... bro-dude on you on our first date," he says, trailing off with a self-deprecating, sad chuckle. Tommy swallows, forcing his feet to stay glued to the concrete flooring. "And you don't wanna deal with that, I get it, I know that you probably didn't sign up for... all of this," he continues - and somehow Tommy has a sinking feeling that he's not only referring to his newly discovered bisexuality. "Didn't sign up for someone who is just... so new at this-"

"-that's not it," Tommy can't help but interrupt - the same way he can't help but take one step closer - and then one more. "Evan, I don't have a problem with being the first man you're with, it just seemed as if you weren't sure that you wanted a man at all, and that's the thing that I'm not sure that I-"

"I - I know that," Evan interrupts him right back, his voice growing thicker, tears seemingly dangerously close to passing his waterline as he takes half a step closer to Tommy, his hands in front of him, frustratingly grasping the air as if the words he wants to say will be somewhere in there. "That's what I came here to say - look, my entire life, I've just been... searching for something, you know? Something that felt right, someplace where I could... belong," he says, forehead decorated with a deep line of frustration. "And then I found it."

"Firefighting," Tommy guesses - and the crease evens out - just a little bit - as the corner of Evan's mouth twitches up.

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah - and I thought that was it. And - and then I realized that I still felt... wrong? And I - I felt stupid, you know?" he says, tapping the pads of his index and middle finger to his own temple. "'Cause I have a job that I love, people that I love - and I spent so long trying to find the thing that was missing, and I just - I - I had no idea what it was..." he says - and then he straightens up a little bit, swallowing. "...and then you kissed me," he concludes.

Tommy feels himself melt.

This goddamn kid is going to be the death of him, isn't he?

"...and it was like..." Evan brings his hands up in front of himself again, mimicking something like an explosion - but the sound effect he chooses isn't an explosion. It's a sharp, unmistakable, loud exhale.

"That was it," Tommy hums, allowing himself a few steps closer. Evan's eyes remain on his own as he moves, trailing him every single step of the way.

"That was it," Evan confirms. "So if you think that I - that I'm somehow gonna - gonna change my mind, or - or run away, or freak out, or decide that I don't like men, that's never gonna happen," he shakes his head. "I'm - I'm a lot, I know that, I've always been a lot, I don't think I totally know how to be anything different, but Tommy, I am... I'm very, very bi. I like men. And I like y-"

Tommy finds a gentle grasp on his chin, guiding him into a kiss.

Shut up, is what the kiss says. You have me. I'm yours. I got you.

[ridleymocki]

(seeing so many bad faith interpretations of the argument, y'all are really going to make me do this, okay HERE WE GO)

.................................

What Ed says: "I think last night was a mistake. I'm not ready for... Whatever this is."

What Ed means: "I didn't want last night to happen so soon or under those circumstances. Things are changing rapidly, which makes me feel out of control and scared."

What Stede hears: "I regret sleeping with you. I don't want the sort of relationship that you're after."

.................................

What Stede says: "It was a fine fish. It was... whatever. I was just trying to make you feel good!"

What Stede means: "I only cared about the fish because you cared about it, and I care about you. I liked the fish because it made you happy. Ordinarily, I'm ambivalent about fish."

What Ed hears: "I lied to you. I didn't care about your achievement I was just placating you to get what I wanted."

.................................

What Ed says: "Here's the news: I'm leaving. I got a job on a little fishing boat and I'm leaving. I'm a fisherman now."

What Ed means: "I think I need to be away from you to figure out who I am, because I haven't been able to do that while we're together, and your lifestyle now is the life I'm trying to leave behind."

What Stede hears: "I've made a decision to leave you and have a life without you. I don't value what we have enough to work with you to find a solution, I'd prefer to end it."

.................................

What Stede says: "Oh, Ed. Seriously? You're not a fisherman."

What Stede means: "I think you're using this plan to escape and avoid your problems. It sounds like you're pretending to be someone else. It seems to me like an impulsive decision and I am concerned."

What Ed hears: "I don't support this ambition. I think you're incapable. I don't think you can be different from what you have always been."

.................................

This is the kind of analysis done in therapeutic environments. When I put what they mean, it's not just a rephrasing but a boiling down to the core issue. I could go on to the rest of the dialogue but do you see the continuing ship-in-the-night miscommunication?? It's tripartite:

failing to express one's current emotional reality with the most accurate and clear language, often because that reality is not fully understood to oneself,

misinterpreting the other's language, due to preexisting sensitivities and defensiveness about one's own understanding of the situation,

increasing frustration and sense of personal attack that results from those misinterpretations, which perpetuates and worsens the poor communication.

Importantly, this kind of pattern means you miss the best and most important kernels of communication in an exchange because you're reacting to the more inflammatory parts.

Stede: "This can be whatever we want it to be." (I am willing to make changes to our arrangement so that you're happy). Ed: "I don't even know who I am! Alright? I know I don't want to be a pirate. And you, you're blowing up, you're the toast of the town." (I think we want different things. You're just starting a journey that I've already finished).

With those two bits alone they could've sorted this out. The first is the answer to the second. But they didn't -- couldn't -- latch onto it because all their other baggage was getting in the way.

And I'm being proven correct that this is what is happening, because I have seen next to nothing on here about the above two lines, only reactionary takes of fans also focusing on the inflammatory parts because of their predispositions. You're doing an encore performance of what they're doing.

Point being, there are no bad guys in this scene, just repeated system failure!

[buckymorelikefuckme]

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[reiderwriter]

More Than Words

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female BAU!Reader

Requested: yes

Summary: After telling a white lie to your family about your relationship status, your forced to beg your coworker Spencer to pretend to be your boyfriend for a weekend wedding.

Warnings: Light smut at the end, penetrative sex, creampie, mentions of Spencer's childhood.

A/N: Thank you for the request on this one! Ever since I rewatched Season 7 and saw Spencer dancing with everyone at JJ's wedding I've been thinking non-stop about him just holding you close like that and I'm going to shut up now because 8k words of that is more than enough lmao.

You can find my masterlist here, and I just started posting all my stuff on AO3 as well, so if you prefer to read there, check it out!

Despite knowing about your brother’s impending nuptials for the last 18 months, it was in the final two-week stretch that you actually started panicking about getting the date that you’d promised them. It was one sweet little white lie that you had made that had just spiraled out of control, but you’d yet to actually manifest the secretive boyfriend who was “very real actually, mom, he’s coming to the wedding actually.”

It was that statement that had sealed your fate, and always one to wear your emotions on your face when you weren’t on a case, it wasn’t long before someone noticed your building anxiety and guilt.

“Okay, spill Y/N. You look like you just witnessed your favorite author kick a puppy or a kitten or something,” Penelope said when you dropped some files off in her room that morning, spinning around on her chair to face you as soon as she caught your reflection in her monitor.

“It’s this wedding I have to go to,” you sighed dramatically, falling into one of the other chairs in the room kept for visitors.

“Want me to help you get out of it?” Penelope offered, patting your hand comfortingly.

“I’m not sure my brother would be too pleased about that, since it’s his wedding and all. My mother would drag me down all the way from here herself if she had to.”

“Okay, so a no-show is a no-go. Then what gives, my sweet avenging angel? There has to be something serious to get you looking all glum.”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair before straightening up and leaning into Penelope more, creating an air of secrecy.

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Oh sweetie, if only you knew the secrets these four walls held,” she replied dramatically, pulling a laugh from you.

“Last year, I was so, I don’t know, jealous I guess, of all the attention my brother and his fiancee were getting because of the wedding, and it just felt like every time my mom called me, she would only want to talk about them because of the wedding. I felt left out, and I already live so far away anyway, so it’s hard to have that connection with people back home, so I might have told a small, tiny, inconsequential lie that now actually has consequences?” Your face flushes at the confession, and you can see Penelope trying her best not to blurt out her thoughts, intent on letting you continue.

“I told her I was seeing this guy. He’s amazing, he works in the FBI just like me, and he’s smart, and he takes me on dates to these amazing places, like museums and interesting restaurants and to book fairs. I told her he was handsome and that he looked at me like I put the stars in the night sky, and he just doesn't exist, Penelope. And now I have to disappoint my mother again by turning up to my brother's wedding without a date.”

“Oh sweetheart,” was all she said for a minute, and the sympathetic look on her face made you want to run out of there immediately.

“I know, I know, I need to tell her the truth, but I don’t want to do it at the wedding and spoil her happiness. She loves weddings.”

“And this fake boyfriend is supposed to be your plus-one?” she asked.

“My invitation read ‘To our darling sister and her mystery man,’” you groaned, wondering how you could have been so childish in the first place. You’d acted like any child on a playground would, inventing lies to make yourself seem more important and cooler.

“I think I have the perfect solution for you, angel, but you might not like it,” Penelope grinned from her chair, leaning back and playing with the pen in her hands nefariously as if she’d been waiting for this chance her whole life. You didn’t trust that look, but you had no other option, so you took a deep breath and listened to her plan.

–X–

Three days later, and you were suddenly pacing the hallways with a coffee and a croissant, poised and ready to kidnap an FBI Agent the second he passed you.

At first, you’d laughed at the suggestion she’d made, outlandish as it was. But 72 hours of reflection, and a timely phone call from your mother, and suddenly you were on board and ready to lock on to your target. You stopped pacing when you heard the elevator ding, signaling the arrival of Spencer Reid. You were thankful that his schedule was so regular and timed down to the minute that you had just enough time to ambush him in the hallway before any other member of your team noticed.

“Spencer! Here I bought you coffee and a croissant from that cafe I mentioned a while back,” you panicked, unloading the gifts into his arms quickly, taking him off guard, before checking left and right before pushing him into the nearest empty room and shutting it behind you.

“Good morning to you, too, Y/N. Is there a reason we’re in a closet right now?” he asked, looking down at you with knitted eyebrows.

“Yes,” you gumped, afraid to say anymore.

“Are you going to tell me what the reason is?”

“I need you to be my boyfriend for a weekend,” you finally blurted out.

“You need me to… Just for a weekend?” He looked confused, and you felt your cheeks flame up, as you tried your best to explain the situation for him.

“My brother is getting married in LA this weekend, and I need a date. I told my mom last year that I was in a relationship with a really great guy who also works for the FBI.”

“Oh. So, you broke up with him and don’t want to tell your mom?”

“No, he never existed. Long story, I can explain on the plane, but I really need you to come with me! I’ll pay for everything, and I’ll even get you this coffee and any pastry of your choice every day for a month, please, please, please!” You begged him, so desperate that you were moments away from dropping to your knees and grabbing his leg, refusing to move until he acquiesced. You didn’t have to in the end.

“Oh, sure, I’ll go. When did you say it was?” Your jaw fell open in shock, and it took a few seconds to pull yourself back together as you reacted to his words.

“This weekend? The flight is tomorrow at 6 a.m.” You smiled sheepishly as his eyes bugged out of his head.

“This weekend? What were you going to do if I said no?” He laughed at you a little, taking a sip of the coffee you bought him.

“Honestly? Plan B was to cry, and plan C was to kill off my mystery man in a freak accident.”

“Wow, we just started fake dating and you’re already trying to bump me off.” His smile made you burn hotter than before, as you playfully hit his arm in response.

“Stop saying we’re dating. I pulled you in here to ask you privately because I didn’t want weird rumors circulating in the office,” you pouted.

“Then you better let me out of the closet, Y/N, before people think we’re doing something we shouldn’t be. At least three people saw you drag me in here, you know.”

With that, you rush to open the door and run out, shouting a reminder back at him.

“Just be ready, okay. I’ll see you at the airport at 6 a.m.”

–X–

The flight, despite being ridiculously long, was altogether quite pleasant, and you made it back to California in one piece, Spencer trailing behind you like a lost puppy for a while, letting you take up the role of “airport dad” as you guided him through the airport and to the hotel where the wedding was being held.

“So what’s our cover story?” He asked in the taxi on the way there, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What cover story?” you asked, looking up at him from your phone, still focused on just getting to the destination.

“Where did we meet, how long have we been dating, how much do they know about me?” He listed off the possible questions that his parents were absolutely going to interrogate him with soon. “I need to prepare so we don’t get caught out, right?”

“Oh, right. Based on what I told them, we met at work and we’ve been seeing each other casually for about a year now. I didn’t give them a name yet, which annoys my mom to no end, but I was always pretty private as a child so she didn’t find it all that suspicious. Other than that, they don’t know that much about my mystery boyfriend apart from the things we’ve done together.” He listened attentively as you spoke, taking each of your words in and committing them to memory.

“What was our first date?” He asked.

“Coffee shop. That place I got you the coffee from earlier, it’s called Flondon. I’m a regular there, so it made sense to use it in my story.”

“What else have we done together?”

“There was a book fair in New York a few months back that we, uh, spent the weekend at. You surprised me for my birthday with the tickets.”

“Wow, so I’m a really great boyfriend then.” He joked a little, and you let out another groan of annoyance at his teasing. You didn’t get the chance to finish your conversation though, as the taxi finally pulled up to the hotel.

You climbed out of the taxi after paying the driver, Spencer having already left to grab your bags, before walking into the foyer of the hotel.

“Y/N, just one last thing before we go in,” he stopped you at the door, grabbing you by the arm gently. “Are we… the, um. Hotels tend to get booked up pretty early for weddings, and I’m sure your family will be suspicious if we don’t share a room so…”

He didn’t have to finish voicing his thoughts before you were cursing, not having made the connection before.

“Shit, you’re right. My brother made the booking for me months ago. We just have to go in and get the room key but I totally forgot… It’s fine, right? We’ve roomed together on cases, haven’t we?” You asked, looking up at him.

“No, we haven’t. 67% of our motel bookings allow for single occupation rooms for Agents, I end up sharing a room with Morgan for 15% of overnight stays where double occupation is necessary, Hotch for another 17%, and the remaining 1% is made up of outliers where I had to share with Rossi or Prentiss, but we…we haven’t shared before.” He gestured between the two of you for a moment there, letting the facts sit with you.

“Spencer, it’s okay with me, is it okay with you? I understand if you’re not comfortable with it. We can just turn around now if you want.”

“No, no it’s totally fine. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable with it. Morgan says I snore, so I guess I’m not the best roommate in the world.” He smiled at you then, reassuringly, and moved his hand down your arm until it reached your hand.

You looked down at where his hand had entwined with yours and your heart gave a little jolt. Spencer didn’t like physical touch, and you knew that. You tried not to initiate any contact with him, despite being a touchy person, but there had been times after particularly tough cases and with close calls where you’d thrown yourself into the nearest person's arms, and he always happened to be near.

But those hugs had been thoughtless, natural reactions to stressful situations and this was intentional, and more importantly, he’d started it.

“Sorry, I just assumed we should get used to, uh, touching each other, I guess? We’re going to be doing it all weekend, you know, might as well start now.” He gave you an awkward closed-lip smile, and you giggled at his awkward explanatory tone. Squeezing his hand a bit, you grabbed your suitcase again in your free hand, and pushed open the door with your shoulder, pulling Spencer in behind you.

The lobby was filled with people arriving for the wedding, and you instantly spotted three cousins and two aunts from across the room, giving them a little smile as you made your way to the reception desk, Spencer right at your side.

“Hi, reservation for Y/N L/N, please.”

“Sister of the groom, right? Your mother asked me to give her a call when you arrived. Please wait one minute.” She handed you your key, and you felt yourself go pale, turning around to Spencer for reassurance.

“Oh god, she’s coming now, what do we do?”

“Y/N, calm down, it’s okay, we knew we were going to have to see your mom tonight at the reception anyways.”

“You’re right. Okay, right. Okay.” You breathed out, as Spencer wrapped his other arm around you, holding you in a closer embrace while keeping your hands locked together.

“One of my aunts is looking at us. She looks like she wants to say something. Oh god, she’s coming over, Spencer act natural,”

“Saying act naturally is actually counter-active-” but he didn’t have time to finish before you had turned to greet the older woman, disentangling yourself from Spencer’s arms as you hugged the woman warmly.

“It’s so good to see you, Y/N, you know how we all worry about you doing that job of yours. The other week we saw you on the news about that tragedy with the young girl…” she trailed off, giving you a worrying look before quickly shifting her gaze to her actual target, Spencer.

“I think I saw you too, young man. You must be Y/N’s boyfriend,” she smiled at him, waiting to hear a response so she could return to the other matrons with the gossip.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, I’m Spencer.” You could tell he was thankful that the woman hadn’t stuck her hand out to shake his, as he positioned himself mostly behind you, keeping his hands occupied by letting one settle on your hip and the other keeping a hold of your suitcase.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?” You heard your mother before you saw her, turning around in your place to finally see her, as Spencer whipped his head around as well. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”

Your mother had none of the restraint of your aunt, and unfortunately, you’d inherited your clingy side from her, which is why she immediately swooped in to give Spencer a hug. To his credit, he greeted her warmly as well and didn’t avoid the touch, but he kept it short and polite nonetheless.

“Mom, how did you know…”

“You tell me about your coworkers all the time, I’m just surprised I didn’t work it out sooner. I always said that you talked about that Spencer with a fond tone, you should ask your father, he’ll tell you that I did.” You rolled your eyes at your mother’s words, doing your best to avoid Spencer’s gaze. He’d fallen back into place by your side as you greeted your mother.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, You know, Y/N has been keeping you as this big secret for the last year, and it’s so nice to see that you’re actually real. You’re here!” She sounded so excited for you that your heart almost broke under the weight of your guilt, knowing that you’d have to come clean at some point after the wedding. As it was, you were already going to have to try really hard to avoid the photographer and videographer throughout the night so you didn’t have to be constantly reminded of your idiocy whenever your mother got the photo albums out,

“Sorry, the two of you are probably exhausted after that flight, right? Go and get yourself unpacked. The rehearsal dinner is at 8 p.m. so we’ll catch up then, sweetheart.” She left in a whirlwind, having deposited you next to the elevators, and left you with no other option but to do exactly as she said, making your way to your space for the weekend.

–X–

The following few hours had been a little awkward, to say the least. You’d awkwardly pulled away from one another in the elevator up to the room, apologizing for invading each other's personal space. The room was a decent size, but still small enough that you’d be constantly tripping up over one another the entire weekend if you weren’t careful.

Reid carefully unpacked his tuxedo when you got into the room, and then quietly informed you that he’d need a shower. You’d unpacked your own things while he did, trying not to listen to the water flowing over his body in the next room. His earlier touch had ignited something in you, and your heart was beating at his every gesture now, something that you were sure it hadn’t done before.

What was it about weddings that made you so open to even the possibility of romance that even someone so off-limits could become the object of your affection?

So you tried not to listen, not to wonder why it was taking the man so long to just take a shower, not to let your mind wander to a place where it was perfectly acceptable to wonder what he looked like in that shower, and you unpacked and organized your things.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m really sorry but I forgot to bring my clothes with me,” he called awkwardly through the door a few minutes after you heard the water turn off, and you turned to the bathroom, not expecting the sight before you.

You’d assumed from the quiet volume of his voice that he was calling from within the bathroom itself, but instead, he stood awkwardly in front of you, a towel wrapped around his waist and torso, held together desperately in one hand.

“Oh shit, sorry, I’ll just turn around, I guess,” you stumbled over the words, dragging your eyes back up to his face as you did so, whipping yourself around to stare ahead of you.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I was so hasty I forgot my outfit for tonight. It’s okay.” You heard him fumble for his clothes and return to the bathroom quickly with another mumbled apology, finally allowing you to let out a deep, almost dreamy sigh, startling yourself. Mentally chastising yourself once again, you finished your organizing and let yourself fall onto the bed in the middle of the room sleepily while you waited for him to come out again.

You must have dozed off a little because you woke with a jolt when you felt a soft touch on your arm. There he was above you, a soft and concerned look on his face as he woke you up as kindly as he could.

“Y/N, it’s 7 p.m. We need to get ready for the rehearsal.” He whispered as if he weren’t too bothered if you didn’t want to go down at all, content to let you sleep. But you forced yourself upright anyways, and nodded at his words, swiftly moving yourself towards the bathroom he had since departed.

“Thanks for waking me, Spence,” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, gathering your towels and change of clothes before turning back to him. In the four hours you’d apparently been dead to the world, he’d managed to dry his hair, change his clothes, and, from the looks of the book on the bedside table, read through an entire book twice.

He noticed you looking and cleared his throat. “Sorry, you looked so tired I didn’t want to wake you, so I just sat here and read while you got some sleep.”

“It’s okay, Spence. I guess I was pretty tired. I’m gonna go…” you gestured towards the shower and stepped towards it with an awkward smile, not letting him answer before you had closed the door between you and taken a deep breath, setting thoughts of him aside for the night before you focused on getting yourself ready to face your lies.

An hour later, you were making your way back down to the lobby, having received a text from your brother that that was where everyone was gathering before making their way to the dining room. Spencer offered you his arm in the elevator on the way down.

“Here, grab my arm.” He said softly down to you, a sweet smile playing on his lips.

“Oh yeah that makes sense,” you said distractedly, looping your own through his and leaning into him.

“It’ll also stop you from picking your nails,” he joked.

“I don’t pick my nails!”

“You so do. You do it when you’re nervous and when you lie about something. Last month on that case in Chicago when that officer asked for your number, you told him you had a boyfriend and started picking your nails,” he laughed down at you, enjoying your pouting face a bit too much as he profiled you.

“You’re one to talk. The last time a woman asked you out, you started rambling about the linguistic history of the phrase “go out,” in the romantic sense. She stood there for five minutes before she gave up.”

“Wait, when did that happen? I don’t remember any woman trying to ask me out.”

“Then you’re even denser than I realized, Doctor Reid, because they do it constantly.” Your back and forth ended there, though, as the elevator doors finally opened into the lobby. You smoothed out your dress and tried your best to act natural as the two of you made your entrance.

“Y/N! Over here,” you heard your brother and saw him wave at you from the other side of the room, his fiancee next to him receiving guests.

“It’s been so long since I saw my kid sister. Get over here,” he smiled at you, beckoning you over, and you released your hold on Reid to give your brother a warm hug.

“Now who is this kid sister you’re talking about because last I checked you’re only 18 months older than me.”

“18 months, 18 years, all that matters is that I am, in fact, the older one,” he released you from the bear hug and glanced up to Reid, standing awkwardly watching the scene waiting for an invitation to the conversation. “Holy shit, you’re real.”

“Hey! Be nice. This is Spencer, he’s my… he’s my boyfriend, we work together.” You felt your cheeks flame as you introduced the two of them, your brother looking at Spencer through knitted eyebrows, taking on a faux protective stance.

“Spencer, hey. Mom mentioned you were here earlier, but I didn’t think you’d be so gangly… It’s my wedding, and I’ve been told I have to keep all threats to a minimum, but if I see you getting all handsy with my sister, just know that I have a blackbelt in jiu-jitsu.”

“No, you don’t. You have a yellow belt in karate at most, and you got that at age 10.” You laughed at the man.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oh my god, it’s been almost 20 years, I already apologized!”

“Apologised for what?” Spencer finally managed to butt in, watching your sibling bickering as if it were a tennis match.

“This little rodent,” your brother said, scruffing up your hair as he spoke, “broke my wrist when she was 8 and I was 10.”

“It was self-defense! You were trying to use your karate moves on me and I panicked!”

“And now, you’re a hot-shot FBI Agent and you get to break bad guys wrists all the time.” He finished for you and you laughed, suddenly glad to be back around family.

“So, Spencer, you’re an FBI Agent, too? I thought my mom mentioned something about you being a Doctor earlier.”

“I am. A Doctor. And an FBI Agent, uh, they’re PhD’s not medical degrees, though. Three of them, Math, Chemistry and Engineering. I also have Bachelor's Degrees in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology.” He answered, and you looked up at him proudly, taking his hand as you noticed him growing slightly uncomfortable with the attention from your brother.

“Wow,” was all your brother said, until he finished the statement with “All those degrees and my sister was the best you could do, huh?” You punched him in the arm after that, and you felt Spencer physically relax a bit, twinning your fingers with his as you chastised your brother.

“Anyway, thanks for taking the time to come to our, hopefully, lovely wedding, the reception will be starting soon. The dining hall is just through there.” You hugged your brother again, and, with a breath of relief, led Spencer down the hall to the dining hall.

“That went well, I think?” you whispered to him, conspiratorially.

“Your family is nice,” he replied. “Does he always act like that, or is it the wedding spirit possessing him somehow?”

“If you’re referring to my brother, I think he’s probably partaken in a few flutes of champagne already this evening. But yes, he’s always like that. They all like to treat me like a baby when they see me.”

“I think it’s nice. They care about you a lot,” his words were warm, but his eyes were sad, and you remembered what you’d been told of Spencer’s own childhood and felt your heart ache for him. His mom loved him a lot, but Spencer had needed to grow up much too fast. You squeezed his hand, still clasped in yours and before you knew it you were pushing onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Spencer. For being here,” you said as his now flushed face met yours. You didn’t let him respond though, simply pushing forward into the dining hall, ready to live in the fantasy of your own making for the evening.

–X–

“Spencer, you were amazing!” You giggled, walking down the hall to your room, stumbling slightly in your excitement and haste.

“Those magic tricks? The little babies couldn’t get enough of you,” you spun around, wrapping your arms around the man’s neck and pulling him in close to you, letting him hold you against the door to your room. He laughed a little at your antics as he pulled out the key card.

“Y/N, are you drunk?” he asked, one hand firmly planted on your waist to steady you now.

“No! I’m just happy. And if that happiness was caused by an array of cocktails forced into my hands by distant aunts and cousins who all wanted to know about my absolute catch of a boyfriend, then that is simply secondary to the feeling itself. And furthermore-” He pushed the door behind you in on itself, and your words were cut off by your legs giving out beneath you.

You were so sure you were about to take a tumble to the floor that you shut your eyes tight and braced for an impact that didn’t come. Opening them again slowly, you saw Spencer closer than before, his face mere inches from your own as he held you in an improvised dip, having caught you just before you’d hit the ground.

“Sorry. I… Shit, maybe I am drunk,” you breathed out, not letting your eyes drift from his own, knowing that if you ever considered a glance down at his lips at that moment, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from closing the measly distance separating you.

“You should use the bathroom first,” he told you, but without making any move of his own, stuck in that pose with you as if he was content to stay there for as long as he could hold you. “You should take your make-up off. We have a long day tomorrow, right?”

You were the first one to move, letting your feet find a more solid footing beneath you and twisting up from his grip. His hands didn’t leave your body as you became more upright though, still keeping you in that close embrace.

“Yeah, I should… I should go wash up.” You said, and he nodded, still looking at you with the same intensity as before.

“Spencer, that means you need to move,” you whispered quietly, and he jumped back as soon as the words were out of your mouth.

“Sorry. I’ll just… I’ll just be over there,” he held his hands up in surrender before moving further into the room, leaving you next to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom and were ready to sleep once again. Thankfully, you of earlier that day had managed to store your pajamas in the bathroom ready for their use. Upon exiting the bathroom, you saw that Spencer was getting ready to sleep too, slacks and a shirt having been replaced by a pair of flannel pants and a very old and beaten-up CalTech sweater, looking perplexedly down at the bed.

“Spence, what’s wrong?”

“We didn’t speak any further about the sleeping arrangements…” he mumbled and you looked at the bed in front of you, still confused at his meaning. “Y/N, we have to share the bed.”

“Oh.” You knew you probably sounded dumb, but after the amount of alcohol thrust upon you that night, that was all you could muster at this point.

“I can sleep on the floor if that makes you feel more comfortable. It’s probably no worse than some of the motel beds we’ve stayed on before,” he offered, but you instantly shook your head.

“No, I dragged you out here, I’m not making you sleep on the floor as well,” you sighed and made your way to the side of the bed you’d slept on earlier, beginning to pull the covers down so you could get in.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, perplexed by your somehow contrasting words and actions.

“I’m getting ready for bed. It’s late.” You replied, not looking up at him again, for fear that he’d spot the blush on your face. “You should too,” you continued, patting the other side of the bed, gesturing for him to get in, too.

“Oh.” It was his turn to stand there shell-shocked in the moment, and you almost let out a giggle but held back thinking that would be too much for him to take in at that moment.

“Come on, Spence, I’m tired, I’m sure you’re tired. We’re just sharing a bed, it’s not like you have to marry me after this.” You climbed fully into the bed, making sure that your nightgown covered you decently before pulling the covers up around you. Spencer mumbled something that you didn’t catch, but he acquiesced and climbed in after you. You turned your head over on the pillow to face him, turning onto your side as you watched him turn his head to you as well.

“What?” he smiled, noticing your stare.

“Nothing. Good night, Spence,” you smiled, finally letting your eyes drop closed.

“Good night, Y/N.” He whispered, and the sound of his voice carried you off to sleep.

–X–

You weren’t sure if it was the light streaming in through the window or the rise and fall of a chest that wasn’t your own was the first thing to wake you in the morning, but nonetheless, you woke from the comfortable warmth of sleep and found yourself wrapped around your fake boyfriend.

To be fair to yourself, he was also wrapped around you. Your head had gravitated from your pillow to his chest, his left arm wrapped up and around your back. Your leg had also risen in the night, pulled up over his waist, held in place by his other arm, which was, almost embarrassingly, cradling your ass, pulling you in closer to his core. Unsure about how to go about disentangling yourself, you resigned yourself to just waking the man up.

“Spencer… Spencer,” you whispered, letting the hand that had fallen onto his chest tap him slightly. He stirred a little and then cracked an eye open, looking confused with the situation.

“Y/N, is it time for the wedding?” He asked through half-lidded eyes, evidently wanting nothing more than to fall back into whatever dreams he was having. You shifted uncomfortably in his arms then, suddenly growing stiff in the position you’d probably held for hours, and found your nightgown had risen dangerously high on your body, his hand on your near bare ass.

“No, no, it’s just…” You rolled your hips against his in discomfort, and the movement had his eyes breaking open as he finally took in your positions.

“Shit, I’m….Sorry, I don’t know what happened, I must’ve grabbed you when we were sleeping,” he said, reluctantly slipping his hands away from your body, trailing his hand around your leg, and letting it fall onto his stomach. The movement sent a shiver up your spine, as you finally had enough room to lift your torso up, not quite ready to relinquish the proximity of your entire body yet.

“It’s okay, I think it was probably me who started it in the first place. Those pillows weren’t that comfortable…” you tried to explain, the hand on his chest rubbing slow circles into his skin before you could realize what you were doing.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position then as well, clumsily. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, you had no choice but to move with him, suddenly finding yourself straddling him, the bedsheets suddenly pressed away from your body. If he looked down, he’d see a lot more than you planned for him to see, your panties on clear display as your nightgown twisted itself up into the sheets.

“Shit sorry,” he moaned out again, as you steadied yourself with hands on his shoulders.

“No, it’s okay, I didn’t move quick enough.” You quickly pulled your dress down again, and extracted yourself from the bed, lifting your leg up and off of him and finally pushing off the bed, leaving him sat there.

His hands fell into his lap and you started gathering things around the room, readying yourself for the busy day ahead.

“I have to be in the bridal suite at 11, so we have about… two hours to kill before then. Do you want to grab a shower first, or should I?”

“You first,” he mumbled quickly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “You should go first. You probably have more to do today, right?” You nodded at his words and made your way to the bathroom again. Out of the corner of your eye though, as you let the door close behind you, you watched his hands come up to cradle his flushed face, as he let his head fall back again into the pillow.

–X–

The morning was so busy after that, you barely had any chance to talk to Spencer again. You spent the early afternoon in the bridal suite with the wedding party, welcoming your new sister to the family, then made your way to the aisle space set up outside, checking up on last-minute details and helping to flower girls into position. You weren’t walking down the aisle yourself, but you could see that the extra help was letting the very stressed-out Maid of Honour get some well-needed respite. And more importantly, it stopped your wandering thoughts from letting you fantasize about Spencer.

You’d woken up in bed next to people before, of course, but it had never felt so comfortable. In fact, other people you’d slept with said you were pretty distant in your sleep, choosing to move as far away from physical touch as you could get, but you knew with no doubt that you had been the one to move in first, to touch him first. That he’d pulled you even closer had your heart singing, and you wanted to be wrapped up in him all over again, suddenly desperate to seek him out. So you distracted yourself, not wanting to make any mistakes you would regret when you were no longer wrapped up in your own fantasy.

So you kept your distance as the ceremony started. Then the wedding march was playing, and you were holding back tears as his hand slipped into yours, your head falling onto his shoulder as you watched your brother marry the love of his life.

You kept your distance as you reached the reception hall, watching all the old ladies on both sides fawn over him, asking him questions, and watching from his side as he blushed at the attention. You swept the hair out of his eyes as the couple was announced, and you took your seat for the wedding meal and the speeches, his hand falling to your back to guide you to your chair, pulling it out for you like a true gentleman.

You kept your distance as your new sister tossed the bouquet, and despite your low effort and the ravenous looks of the bridesmaids, it fell neatly into your hands as if it belonged there. You ran excitedly over to him to show him and he lifted you into a hug, caught up in your own excitement.

You kept your distance until you realized you’d not kept your distance at all, physically unable to keep yourself away from the man who had somehow stolen your heart in the middle of the night.

“I know that look,” your brother said, somehow sneaking up on you later into the night as you watched Spencer perform even more of his magic tricks for the smaller guests.

“What look?” you asked, not for one second letting your eyes drift from Spencer.

“You’re in love with him,” he said, taking a swig of the drink in his hand.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you said reflexively, turning to the drinks table behind you and picking up one for yourself.

“No, he isn’t. Or at least he wasn’t before this weekend,” your brother said, as your eyes finally snapped up to him.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised, Miss FBI Profiler. You may be good, but I’ll always be your older brother, and contrary to popular opinion, I do in fact pay attention to things.” You sighed and leaned back against the table.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“You were picking your nails the entire way through the reception dinner when the aunties were asking you about your relationship. You did that when we were younger too, when you tried lying to Mom and Dad about how I broke my wrist. Doesn’t take two PhD’s to figure that out.”

“Three.”

“Three what?”

“Three PhDs. He has three of them.” You sighed dreamily and ran a stressed hand through your head.

“He’s just my coworker. I didn’t want to disappoint Mom by coming alone after telling her all those stories, but now…” You tried to explain yourself but words were escaping you in that moment.

“You should tell him, trust me. He definitely feels the same.”

“How are you so confident about that? How did you manage to end up with all of the confidence between the two of us, when I can barely work up the courage to tell my own mother I’m still single?”

“Y/N, look at me. You got the brains, I had to have something. And no man flies to the opposite side of the country on a few day's notice for a girl who is just a friend, okay? That’s more logic than confidence, and that’s supposed to be your strong suit.”

You considered his words for a second, turning back to look at Spencer. Evidently, he’d finished his magic show and was beginning to say goodbye to the children, but he felt your eyes on him somehow and met your gaze. He brought his hand up into a shy wave before a little girl grabbed his attention again, and he looked at her seriously, nodding along to each word she was saying.

“Fuck, what do I do, I’m not good with… any of this.” You turned back to your brother, but he’d left you there, stranded in your own thoughts as you let yourself hope, let your brain dream that one day this would be your wedding and the man by your side would be Spencer Reid.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom request the presence of all the couples on the dancefloor for this next song.” You saw your brother again, next to his wife, whispering his explanations in his ear as she turned to look at you and winked as well. God, they were going to be a force to be reckoned with together now, you thought, as people started pushing past you to make their way to the dancefloor.

You recognized the song of course, and it was almost so on the nose you almost rolled your eyes. More Than Words by Extreme. Perfect.

“Y/N, may I have this dance?” He had somehow snuck up on you from behind as you watched your brother, and held his hand out to you. You put your drink down and took it, letting him lead you to the dance floor.

“I didn’t think you danced, Dr. Reid,” you teased him as he pulled you in, letting his hands rest on your waist, as yours came up around his neck, gently letting him sway you side to side in time with the music.

“I don’t really, but it seemed wrong not to,” he smiled. “I’m at a wedding, with the most beautiful girl on my arm, and the couple made it very clear that we should be dancing, so here I am.” You blushed at his words as he spoke. He removed his hands from your waist, instead grasping one of yours in his own as he pulled you closer.

You stared up at him with a soft smile for a few more seconds before letting your head fall back to his chest.

“I know I’ve said it a lot this weekend, but thank you, Spencer.” You said into his shirt, letting him hold you close as the song went on.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” He insisted, and you looked up at him again. “Actually… I didn’t exactly agree to this with the best of intentions.”

Your heart lept to your throat as you stared up at him, hoping that he would take your silence as a means to continue.

“I’ve been… I thought that maybe…” he struggled to get the words out, his face aflame with the effort.

“You promised me those coffees right?” He finally stuttered out, and you were left confused and a little disappointed.

“Yeah, Spence, it’s okay, I’ll get you those coffees for the month, just like we promised.” You couldn’t help the sad smile that played on your lips as you answered him, so sure that he was about to say something else.

“No, I mean… Y/N I don’t want the coffee. I want this. I want us to go home, and make everything that you made up come true. I want to take you on a date to that coffee shop. I want to be a boyfriend you can call and tell your mom about because it’s serious and it’s going to work out between us. I even… God, I even spent the morning looking up book fairs in New York City so I could make that come true as well,” he rambled the words out and you could feel the tears forming in your eyes.

“Spencer,” you said softly, trying to get him to focus on you, but he’d started speaking and he wasn’t going to be stopped so easily.

“And if any of that creeps you out, just say the word and I’ll never mention it again. Because I know I’m not good with this, and when I feel something, I tend to feel it overwhelmingly, and Derek tells me I can be really oblivious sometimes, which I don’t really get, but-”

“Spencer,” you put a bit more force into your words this time, punctuating them with a hand on his face.

“Spencer, kiss me.” And he does. He takes your head in both of his hands, and he draws you up to him perfectly, letting your hands fall to the lapels of his suit jacket as he steals your breath away one more time. The kiss is lingering, but short, and he hesitantly backs away, looking around to spot witnesses. But you don’t care and you pull him back down for another, and another, until you’re just two lovers on the dance floor that cannot get enough of each other, gasping for breath between chaste kisses as you let him hold you there, gently swaying.

“Spencer,” you whisper finally, forehead resting on his, as the song finally draws to a close.

“Yes?”

“Spencer, take me to bed.” You tell him, and he nods. He leads you over to the bride and groom where you offer each of them a hug and a happy future before making your excuses and running away with Spencer back into the hotel like two love-drunk teenagers, a mess of giggles and stolen kisses as you stumble up to your room for the second time that weekend.

But this time, you don’t hesitate, don’t pull away. He backs you into the door and you let him hold you there, his mouth on yours, your tongues entwined as he fumbles for his key card. You fall together into the room, laughing and smiling the entire way, not letting him escape your touch.

“May I?” He asks, playing with the zipper of your dress as you kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck, anywhere you can reach, nodding and moaning your consent. The moment the zip is pulled down, he lets you go for a second, and the dress falls straight to the floor. You're practically bare in front of him, chest exposed, neck littered with the beginning of love bites that he’s about to absolutely build upon.

“You’re beautiful.” He says, softly, wrapping his arms around you again, lifting you up so your legs can wrap around him as he delivers one more soul-crushing kiss to your lips. Your brain is a mess of emotions, your only solid thought is that you will never let him go again. You both eagerly worked on unbuttoning his shirt together, a desperate mess of breaths as he finally laid you on the bed. His hand fell to your core, tracing a finger over your sensitive nub as you begged him for more, needing to feel all of him, to devour his very existence.

He pulled himself out of his remaining clothes, lips still attached to yours, climbing over you and holding you tenderly, his arms wrapping around your body as his legs came to settle between your own. Dropping his forehead to yours, he finally spoke again, his hand dropping between the two of you to line himself up.

“Is this… are you sure?” You heard the restraint in his voice, the desperation, the love, the overwhelming lust as he held himself back, needing to hear your consent.

“Spencer, I love you,” you whispered, and he finally pushed himself into you, joining the two of you together in a moment of bliss. You shared another sweet kiss, letting him swallow each and every one of your moans as he began thrusting into you, your hips rising to meet him in your delirious pleasure.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ears, brushing the hair off your face every now and again to tell you how beautiful you looked, and how well you were doing.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N, you’re doing so good for me,” he pressed kisses against your neck with each word, keeping his pace steady as you chased your inevitable high, already clenching around his thick cock.

“Spencer, I love you,” you let the words drop from your tongue like a prayer, repeating them over and over with each thrust as small tears welled up out of your eyes. He kissed them away from your cheeks, listening to each confession as your stomach tightened and your climax spilled over you. He grabbed your waist then, leaving one hand cupping and stroking your cheek as his own thrusts grew sloppy, finally spending himself fully inside you.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into you then, unwilling to let you go for even one second. You spent the rest of the night whispering the words back and forth to one another, waiting with bated breath for the fantasy to break, for the magic of the wedding to wear off.

It never did.