#like. come on man... you were so close...

[buckysleftbicep]

soft hands, heavy heart 𐙚 b.b

pairing: inexperienced!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, soft smut, praise kink (sorta), slow first time, unprotected sex, creampie, a tinge of angst if you squint, the fluff makes up for it

summary: bucky wants you, but he just doesn’t know how to let himself have you. but you’ll spend every second showing him how it feels to be wanted.

word count: 4.5k

author's note: hi my sweethearts! i'd like to think that after bucky returns, he would need a lot of reassurance and tlc, especially after all he has went through. i feel that he would love to be guided and to know he is loved. so i hope this fic encapsulates that 💌 love ya guys and stay safe out there! requests are open!

so in love with soft!bucky

It starts with his hands. Or rather, what they don’t do.

They hold yours when you’re walking down quiet halls in the compound, fingers interlocked, the brush of calloused skin a comfort more than anything else. 

They linger at the small of your back when no one’s looking—firm, steady, grounding you when the world gets too loud.

They cradle your face when you’re scared, trembling, coming down from the edge of something violent. Missions gone wrong, intel turned sour, blood on your skin. In those moments, his hands are everything you ever needed. Steady and safe.

But when your lips are on his?

When your body presses into his in the quiet dark of your shared bedroom, heat blooming between the both of you like something long-restrained finally breaking free?

That’s when they stop.

Always. Just… stop.

Bucky, your boyfriend, your partner, the man who has grown to be your person. He kisses you like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world, but somehow, he never touches you when it matters most.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried. You have, god you tried.

More than once, lying against his chest at night, your fingers ghosting beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. Kissing along the sharp cut of his jaw, whispering how much you want him. How much you need him.

Each time, his breath hitches, his body goes rigid. Then, slowly, carefully, almost apologetically, he pulls away from your touch. 

Not with disgust, not with rejection. There’s no coldness in the way he moves. No sharp recoil.

But there is something worse that you have come to realise. Fear.

The first time it happened, you brushed it off.

He’d had a long day. The mission briefing with Val had been rough, all sharp orders, bad intel, and barely contained frustration within the team, Walker had quite literally stormed out of the meeting room.

Bucky had come back tense, shoulders tight, jaw set, that look in his eyes that meant he was still somewhere else. Still halfway in a fight.

So when you leaned in that night, pressing soft kisses under his jaw, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, and he stilled beneath you, gently shifting away with a quiet murmur of your name, you let it go.

You curled into his side instead. Told yourself he was tired. Told yourself you were tired too. You ran your fingers lightly along his arm until his breathing evened out, steady and slow.

And when sleep finally took him, you whispered a kiss to his shoulder and closed your eyes, thinking, hoping, maybe next time.

The second time, you wondered.

It was a few nights later. He wasn’t tense then, he wasn’t distracted or moody or freshly back from some dark place.. He was relaxed, even, the kind of rare, quiet ease you didn’t always get from him.

You both had laughed over dinner, some home cooked lasagna you had whipped up after finding the recipe online. You had teased him until he smiled into his fork and shook his head, muttering about how much trouble you were.

He’d watched you like he always did, like you hung the moon and the stars, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, to deserve you.

And when you kissed him that night, slow and lingering, your hands soft on his jaw, you felt that same warmth in him. The way he kissed you back, like he meant it.

So you tried again. Slid your hand beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the firm lines of his stomach.

He flinched. Not much. But enough.

And then, just like the first time, he shifted away. Pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

You froze. Pulled your hand back like you had touched something sharp.

And then you nodded, smiling just a little too quickly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You turned onto your side, curled up with your back to him.

Tried your hardest to not let the sting behind your eyes show.

His arm came around you a few moments later, his chest pressed to your back like nothing had changed. Like everything was still okay.

You didn’t say a word.

But that night, long after you were sure he was asleep, your eyes stayed open. Staring at the shadowed wall. Wondering what it was about you that made him pull away.

The third time, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

It had been an easy day, all things considered. No missions. No debriefs. No emergencies. Just the two of you, and the rare kind of quiet that settled into the compound like a blanket.

You ate dinner in bed, greasy takeout balanced precariously on Bucky’s lap while some forgettable movie played low in the background.

You stole bites from his container; he rolled his eyes but let you. Laughed when you misquoted a line. Kissed your cheek. Brushed rice off your shirt with the softest smile.

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because everything had felt right. Comfortable. Easy. The kind of night that warmed you from the inside out.

It was late when the movie finally dwindled into credits. You stacked the empty containers on the nightstand, slid back under the covers, and curled against his chest with a sigh. His arm came around you like it always did, instinctive, easy. Protective.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The glow of the screen lit the room in soft, flickering blue. Your legs were tangled with his. Your cheek rested against the cotton of his t-shirt. He felt steady beneath you. Safe.

So when you tilted your head up and kissed him, it wasn’t with expectation. It wasn’t about sex, or hunger, or even want.

It was soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss you gave someone when you were in love.

He kissed you back, of course he did. That part was never the problem. He always kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that could anchor him.

But the moment your hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, everything changed.

Just the pad of your fingers brushing lightly over his stomach. Just a touch.

And still, he tensed.

You felt it the way someone feels a tide turning, quiet, sure, inevitable.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil. He just went still. Careful. Measured. One hand lifted to catch your wrist and gently moved it away from his skin, like it wasn’t a rejection. Like it didn’t mean something.

But it did.

He turned slightly, as if he meant to settle back into bed like nothing had happened. Like you could pretend this wasn’t the third time in a row.

But you didn’t follow.

Instead, you sat up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest, the sheet falling across your thighs. You stared at the far wall, lips pressed into a thin line, throat tight.

You heard the shift in his voice before he even finished asking.

“Hey,” he said softly, already sensing the change. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away.

The silence that followed wasn’t loud. It was thick. Still. The kind of quiet that feels like the moment before something breaks.

When you finally spoke, your voice came out low, shaky.

“Do you want me?”

He didn’t move.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes on your hands, twisting your fingers in the blanket like it might keep the rest of you from unraveling.

“Because I want you,” you continued, quieter now. “And every time I try, you pull away. I know you care about me, I know you do, but I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m wrong about all of it.”

He went very, very still.

Then, “Stop.”

His voice was sharp, and the suddenness of it made you blink.

You turned, startled.

He was sitting up now, scrubbing a hand over his face. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense. Like your words had opened something he hadn’t meant to expose.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t mean to—just. I’m sorry. Don’t say that. Ever.”

You stared at him.

“Then talk to me,” you said softly. “Because it’s getting harder not to take it personally.”

He didn’t look at you.

His gaze dropped to the sheets. His fists were clenched in his lap. The vibranium hand trembled slightly. The other, human and scarred, looked like it was holding on to something invisible.

You sat beside him again. Close, but not touching.

Your voice was quiet. Measured, ounded, but not accusatory.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” you asked. “Like you’re in love with me?”

You swallowed hard.

“Because you do. Every day.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“And then I touch you, and you freeze. Like I’ve crossed a line I didn’t know was there. Like I’ve done something wrong.”

There was something in your chest pulling tighter with every second of silence. Something raw and anxious and aching.

His hands stayed clenched.

You reached for him, carefully, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. The human one. His skin was warm. His pulse jumped beneath your touch.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “What is it? You can tell me.”

He exhaled. Rough. Uneven.

For a second, you thought he might deflect. That he might dodge this like he had before — with a soft kiss or a change of subject. But then he swallowed hard, eyes flicking to yours for just a moment before dropping again.

“I haven’t…” he started, then paused. Cleared his throat. “I haven’t done anything since before the war.”

The breath caught in your chest.

He laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow. Embarrassed.

“Not just sex,” he said. “Anything. After HYDRA… after everything. I didn’t—I couldn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly ashamed. Smaller, somehow. Like admitting it out loud took more from him than he’d expected.

“It’s been over eighty years.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched him.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “You’re here, and you’re kind, and you’ve never pushed. But I get so far and then it’s like—like my body just shuts down. Like some part of me still thinks I’m not allowed to want things.”

Your heart twisted.

Not from pity. But from the weight of it. The quiet devastation he carried like a second skin.

Then, more quietly:

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice dropped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I want you so bad it hurts. Every night I lie here hard as a fucking rock just thinking about you.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes squeezed shut.

“But I’m—” He shook his head. “I’m scared.”

You moved then.

Not away. But forward.

You reach for his wrist again, let your fingers slide gently down to his hand. His pulse was racing. His breath shallow.

“Scared of what?” you asked, softer now.

He looked at you. Finally. Really looked. And what you saw in his eyes made your chest ache, something wide and raw and terrified.

“That I’ll disappoint you,” he said. “That I won’t know what I’m doing. That you’ll want someone who’s not stuck in the goddamn 40s when it comes to this stuff.”

Your face softened. A small, aching smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, even through the tightness in your chest.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

You climbed into his lap carefully, like you were afraid you’d spook him. You framed his face with your hands, your thumbs brushing along the curve of his cheekbones.

“You’re already everything I want and more,” you said, steady and sure. “But I need you to believe that.”

His breath hitched.

“And if you let me,” you continued, voice barely above a whisper now, “I’ll show you everything. I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

He didn’t answer right away.

His eyes searched yours. Guarded, hopeful. Terrified. Like part of him still thought this might not be real.

But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

And when he did, something in you finally, quietly exhaled.

You don’t rush him.

After everything he’s said,  every word laced with fear and heartbreak and hope, the last thing he needs is haste. Or pressure. Or you moving too fast for him to feel safe.

So you just breathe for a moment.

You stay in his lap, arms curled gently around his neck, your forehead resting against his. And you breathe.

His chest rises beneath yours, shaky and tight. His hands are still in his lap, fists curled like he doesn’t know what to do with them,  like he doesn’t quite believe this is real, like one wrong move will send the whole thing crumbling to pieces.

So you start small.

You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth. Once. Then again, slower this time, letting your lips linger against his skin.

His breath stutters. His lips part.

You kiss him properly next, slow, deep, but gentle, your mouth moving against his with no urgency, no push, just quiet devotion. Like he’s something sacred.

His hands twitch in his lap. He doesn’t lift them yet, but he doesn’t pull away either.

You murmur against his mouth, “Can I touch you?”

He swallows thickly. Nods.

You kiss him one more time, a promise, before you shift in his lap, your thighs bracketing his, and reach for the hem of his shirt.

The moment your fingers graze the fabric, he tenses.

You pause. You meet his eyes.

“I’ll stop any time you need me to,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure.

He holds your gaze. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. Then he nods again, slower this time. “I want you to.”

You offer a gentle smile. “Okay.”

You lift his shirt carefully, baring him inch by inch. You don’t rush. You kiss every strip of skin you uncover, the ridges of his ribs, the warm slope of his sternum, the sharp cut of his collarbone.

You take your time with it, as if mapping him out with your mouth, like you’re memorising every inch with intention.

When the shirt is high enough, he lifts his arms, stiffly, hesitantly and lets you pull it over his head. You toss it aside and look at him.

He’s bare from the waist up. All muscle and scar tissue, strength and survival. The room’s low light catches on the vibranium, glints over old wounds, highlights the long-healed lines across his chest and side.

You let your gaze roam.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. He looks away, jaw tight, breathing shallow.

You reach out, slow, deliberate, and place your palm against his chest. Right over his heart.

He flinches. Just a little. A twitch in his shoulder. A held breath.

But he doesn’t pull away. You lean in and kiss the skin just beside your hand.

“Is this okay?”

His voice is low and rough. “Yeah. Feels nice.”

You smile against his skin, then keep going.

Your mouth trails lower, painting a path down the plane of his chest. You kiss over his heart again, then rest your cheek there for a moment.

“Still beating,” you whisper, a soft marvel. 

You feel it stutter beneath your lips.

Your hands slide lower, down his abdomen, his skin warm, twitching under your fingers. You follow the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband, fingertips brushing gently, not demanding. Just exploring.

He exhales shakily, stomach tensing, hips shifting just slightly.

“There’s not a single part of you I don’t want to touch,” you murmur, kissing along his ribs.

He turns his face, like he’s trying to hide, like the intimacy of your words is too much.

“Hey,” you say softly. You reach up, cupping his jaw, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. “Let me say it. Let me mean it.”

His lips part like he might argue, but he doesn’t.

You rest your forehead against his.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So strong, You’ve been through hell and still came of it.”

His eyes flutter shut. His breath catches.

Your lips brush his softly, like reassurance. Then again.

And this time, when your hands slide down to the waistband of his sweats, he doesn’t flinch.

You look up at him. “Can I take these off?”

His voice is strained. “Yeah.”

You move slowly, tugging them down inch by inch, watching his face the entire time. He lifts his hips to help, barely, and you kiss the inside of his knee as you go. Then the other.

By the time you’ve got them off, he’s flushed all over, from his chest to his ears to the very tips of his fingers. And trembling.

His cock is hard and leaking, resting against his stomach. Big. Heavy. Throbbing.

He tries to close his legs out of instinct. Reflex.

But you shift forward between them and place your hands gently on the outside of his thighs.

“You’re doing so good,” you say softly. “Are you okay?”

His nod is jerky. “Just—don’t look too long.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He swallows hard. “’Cause you’ll know I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing.”

You smile, warm, never mocking.

“Baby,” you say gently, “I already know.”

You lean in, kissing the inside of his thigh, slowly, gently..

“But it’s not a problem,” you murmur, lips brushing his skin again. “It’s a privilege.”

His head drops back, his fists clench the blanket. You trail your mouth up his thigh, closer and closer, and then wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.

He jerks under your touch, breath catching sharp in his throat.

“Fuck—” His hips twitch. His mouth opens, like he’s trying to say something and can’t find the words.

You stroke him once, slow, deliberate, and his entire body shudders.

He’s flushed dark at the tip, leaking already.

“Nobody’s ever…” he starts, but doesn’t finish.

You look up. “Ever?”

He nods, barely. “Not like this.”

You smile. “Good.”

You stroke again, firmer now, and his jaw clenches, breath ragged.

Your thumb brushes over the tip, collecting the slick, and he whines, high, desperate, like he’s trying to hold everything in and failing miserably.

You kiss just below the head and he moans, low and broken.

“Holy shit—sweetheart, I’m not gonna—fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

You press a kiss to his hip. “That’s okay. That’s why we’ll take our time.”

You climb back into his lap, hand still wrapped around him, your other resting at his cheek to keep him grounded. He looks dazed, overwhelmed, like he doesn’t know whether to hold you or fall apart in your arms.

“Can I ride you?” you whisper.

His hands shoot to your hips like a lifeline. “Please,” he breathes. “I want you to. So bad.”

You guide him to your entrance, your slick soaking him already, and ease down, slow, careful, inch by inch — until he’s fully seated inside you.

Bucky’s head drops back, a strangled moan caught in his throat.

“F-fuck, baby—” he gasps. “Too much. Feels too—”

You don’t move.

You stay still in his lap, your hands on his chest, letting him feel you. Letting his body adjust. Letting the moment settle between you like something holy.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods, frantic. “Yeah. I—just give me a second.”

You wait. When his eyes open again, they’re soaked with emotion. Glassy and bare.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I think you’re killing me,” he says hoarsely. “But I don’t wanna stop.”

You smile.

Then you start to move.

Slow, gentle, rocking your hips, letting him feel everything, every squeeze, every inch, every slow drag of your walls around him.

His mouth falls open. He moans your name like a prayer.

“Feels too good,” he pants. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not gonna—”

You lean in, your forehead pressed to his.

“Then don’t,” you whisper. And he does.

With a choked cry, he spills inside you, body tensing, arms wrapping tight around you, hips bucking helplessly. His hands shake against your back as his breath catches in your hair.

He clings to you like he would fall apart without you.

And even after it’s over,  even after he’s finished, breathless and wrecked, he doesn’t let go.

He just holds you. And for the first time in years, he lets himself be held, too.

He’s still trembling.

You don’t move. You don’t shift or speak right away. You just stay where you are, wrapped around him, your body cradling his, the last aftershocks of his orgasm still echoing in the taut lines of his body.

His cock is still inside you, softening slowly. The stretch of him, the heat of him, the slick, overwhelming closeness of it all—it makes your heart ache in the gentlest way.

Your fingers stroke through his hair, trailing through the sweat-damp strands at the nape of his neck. Then down his spine. Slow, comforting passes, like you’re coaxing his body back into itself.

He clutches you tighter.

His arms are around your waist, strong and firm—not bruising, not panicked. But desperate. Like he’s afraid that if he lets go, this will all vanish. Like maybe none of this was real, and holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded.

You don’t pull away.

You let him hold you. Let him shake. Let his breath shudder against your neck while your hand keeps moving slowly down his back.

His face is buried against your throat, and when he finally speaks, it’s muffled—barely audible. Raw.

“I didn’t mean to finish so fast.”

Your heart breaks for him a little, even as your lips tilt into a soft smile.

You press a kiss to his temple—tender, grounding.

“I know.”

His voice is barely there. “I just—fuck, I couldn’t stop it. You felt so good. I couldn’t think."

You hum softly, stroking his hair again. “That’s kind of the point, baby.”

He lifts his head, just a little, pulling back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide, glassy, dazed, those perfect cerulean eyes soft and unguarded, boyish, almost.

His cheeks are flushed. His hair’s a mess. His lips are kiss-swollen.

He looks completely ruined. Completely beautiful. Yours.

“But you didn’t—” he starts, then hesitates. His gaze drops. “You didn’t finish.”

You don’t stop smiling. There’s no hurt in it, no impatience, just quiet warmth.

“I wasn’t trying to,” you whisper, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “Tonight was about you.”

His brows pull together, like he doesn’t quite know how to process that.

“That’s not fair,” he mumbles. “I want to make you feel good too.”

“You already do,” you murmur, your nose brushing his. “But if you really want to keep going…”

You pause deliberately, shifting your hips slightly.

Just enough for him to feel the movement, just enough to tease.

He gasps, high and sharp, his body jolting.

“…we can.”

His hands flex at your waist. His eyes flutter. His lips part like he’s trying to speak but can’t form a single thought.

“I’m still—,” he whispers, like it’s a warning. But there’s no hesitation in his tone. Only want.

“But I want it,” he adds. “I want you.”

You kiss him again, slow and deep, and begin to move. Barely. Just a gentle roll of your hips, enough to stir friction between your bodies again.

He moans into your mouth, soft and aching.

You rock slowly, dragging your walls against his still-sensitive cock. He twitches inside you, starting to thicken again already. It’s slow, but unmistakable.

“Okay?” you whisper.

He nods frantically, hands gripping your waist like he’s drowning in sensation. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just—shit. I’ve never… I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

You smile against his jaw. “You wanna come again for me?”

His moan is barely a sound. His eyes flutter shut.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Fuck, yes. Please—”

You tighten your thighs and roll your hips again, drawing a sharp gasp from him.

“Such good manners,” you whisper, kissing his throat. “So sweet for me.”

Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. You start to circle, slow, wet, just enough pressure to build your own heat.

He watches you.

Like you’re made of stars, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“Touch me,” you murmur. “Please, Bucky. I want your hands on me.”

It’s the only encouragement he needs.

His hands move slowly, softly, trembling,  sliding up your sides, grazing your ribs, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you moan, arching into his touch.

The sound makes him groan, deep and wrecked.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ perfect, baby—can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

His voice breaks on the last word.

You’re slick around him now, your arousal mixing with the mess from earlier. Every slow rock of your hips has him thickening more, twitching inside you, inch by inch.

His thighs are shaking. His jaw clenches.

“Feels so good,” he whines. “I don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna come yet. Wanna feel you forever.”

You ride him harder now, the heat in your belly rising faster.

“You feel that?” you gasp. “How close I am?”

His hands tighten on your hips. His breath turns ragged.

“Please—please come around me, sweetheart—need to feel it—need to feel you—”

You bury your face in his neck. And let go.

Your whole body seizes around him, a white-hot wave crashing through you, stealing your breath, your balance, your thoughts. Your moan is broken, helpless, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Your walls clamp down hard around him.

And that’s all it takes.

He thrusts up once. Then again. Deep, desperate. A cry tearing from his throat as he comes again, shaking, gasping, flooding you with warmth.

His arms wrap tight around you.

He holds you close. Close enough to feel your heartbeat thunder against his. Close enough that the tremors in your bodies blur together, indistinguishable.

This time, his grip is softer. Still strong, but different.

Not desperate. Tender.

His hand strokes up your spine. His lips press to your temple, then your hair, then your jaw. Like he can’t get close enough.

You stay there, wrapped around each other, skin to skin, breath mingled and unsteady and you don’t rush to move.

Not yet.

“Jesus,” he whispers eventually, voice raw. “What the fuck just happened?”

You laugh softly, breathless, dazed. “That was called good sex,.”

He groans into your neck. “That was more than good. That was—fuck. That was divine.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his hair.

You collapse gently against his chest, boneless and warm, and he doesn’t let go. His arms stay around you, wrapped like a shield, like a promise.

Neither of you move for a long time. There’s nothing left to prove. Nothing to say.

Just the slow hum of your heartbeats and the safe, sacred space you’ve made between the two of you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Bucky feels wanted.

And safe. And home.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! if you did, drop a comment or a reblog! thank you my loves, your support means the world to me! <3333333

[sebsxphia]

Do you know that audio on TikTok that’s like I made love to my wife 4 times and this morning she made pancakes and whatnot? Could you do a story where it’s the daggers and this is how they find out about bobs wife?

don’t stop.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader.

￫ summary: jake attempts to catch bob out, but bob has something to reveal.

￫ word count: 1K.

￫ warnings: mentions of sex, smut and food.

￫ authors notes: i hope i based this off the right sound, my dear anon! 🥹 i’m sorry this took so long too 🥺 my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Bob stood beside Natasha in comfortable silence as they dressed in the appropriate gear, ready for a test flight.

They instinctively turned to face one another when the other needed help attaching a certain piece to their suit or tightening their straps. They had grown un-deniably close over the past two years, and they knew each other’s movements step by step.

Natasha’s eyebrows raised, and she let out a small groan. “Here they come.”

Bob’s breath hitched as he heard the booming voices coming through the door.

Javy sauntered in, with Jake on his heels, both snickering about something like schoolboys.

“Oh, Jake, you wouldn’t believe it.” They both swung open their lockers in sync. At a glance, you wouldn’t think that they flew separately. They were so similar as they mirrored the movements of getting their gear on.

“I made love to her four times last night. This morning, I got pancakes. She woke up at six to make them for me before I left. God, I fuckin’ love my wife.”Javy boasted with prideful laughter.

Jake only spurred him on, with a proud slap on his back and matched Javy’s amusement.

However, at Javy’s confession, Natasha snorted quietly to herself.

Jake’s head cocked to the right of him and his eyebrows raised with a questioning glance her way. He leaned back against the lockers containing their gear and attached some to himself.

“What’s so funny, Nat? You tellin’ me you could beat Javy’s record?” Jake questioned her with a smug grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

By this time, Mickey, Rueben, and Bradley had all filtered into the room as well. They didn’t want to interrupt the ego-boosting feud that was currently unfolding in front of them. They geared up in silence but still listened with eager ears, their eyes flicking back and forth between Jake and Natasha.

She took a sharp breath between her teeth and broke Jake’s questioning gaze. She purposefully didn’t look back at the guys but calmly stated, “Well, I made love to my wife six times, and yeah, I also got breakfast.”

The silence from them both was telling. She continued fixing her gear and calmly played off her triumphant feat. It was as though it was the most normal thing in the world for her (which wasn’t far off).

She heard Bradley’s hushed whistle of “Oof,” and she smiled proudly to herself as she looked down to see where she was fiddling with a buckle on her suit.

Bob, on the other hand, had watched the entire exchange before him, with bated breath. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and the corner of his lips twitched into a grin as he saw Jake and Javy’s bewildered faces.

If only they knew how good you were for him last night. If only they knew how pretty you looked on your knees and spread out on the soft linen, all for himself. If only they knew how pretty you sounded, as you whimpered and whined his name all—

“Bob!” Jake’s biting tone snapped his attention straight towards the blonde-haired man. “You’re lookin’ smug for a guy, who, as far as we know, hasn’t been laid in… two years?” He questioned with faux interest.

Natasha immediately belted out an amused, “Ha!”

She knew Bob better than anyone here. She had met you, Bob’s long-time wife. Natasha and her wife had been to dinner with Bob and you. She had been to BBQs in your backyard and tried your delicious home-cooked macaroni and cheese. You were even invited to her bachelorette party when she got married.

Natasha also knew that no one else knew.

Bob was private about his life away from the naval base. He had his reasons, but more than anything, he appreciated the peace he shared with his one love. You.

Jake’s jeering and deeply imposing question made his eye twitch a little from behind his glasses. He pushed his frames up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, before looping his hands into the gear on his chest. He puffed out his chest slightly and stood confidently across from Jake.

“Well? You got a wife?” Jake asked the question carelessly and casually, making Bob squirm. He severely despised people thinking about his wife like that, as if you weren’t the moon to his sun.

A beat, and Bob responded. “Yeah.”

Javy’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Mickey and Ruben had turned around to watch the whole thing by then. They nudged one another in the ribs and whispered, “I told you so!”

Bradley didn’t flinch. He knew. He saw Bob and you on the beach one evening. Bob gave him a curt nod, and when he arrived at the Navy base the next morning, Bradley swore he wouldn’t tell anyone. He understood, more than anyone, why people kept their private lives away from here.

Jake snorted, although he blinked furiously as Bob’s statement took him aback. “Okay then, Baby, how many times did you make love to them last night?”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest in an attempt to shield himself from perhaps being scolded by Bob Floyd.

“Once.”

“Once?! Oh, Bob.” Jake mocked with faux sympathy. “And did they make you anything this morning?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Bob’s gaze narrowed fiercely towards Jake. “My wife was asking me not to stop.”

There was a deafening silence, and then a chorus of bellowing laughter and jeers echoed throughout the room.

Even Javy let out a loud chuckle, gripping Jake’s shoulders and playfully shaking him. “He got you there!”

Bob cocked his head at Jake, with an assured smile now etched fully onto his lips. He asked if Natasha was ready, and then they both headed out onto the tarmac, leaving Jake behind, practically frozen in shock.

Once the rest of the guys had had enough playful jabs towards him, they all made their way out to join the others. But Jake felt a firm hand on his shoulder as the tall brunette towered over him.

“Don’t assume stuff like that, Hangman. Wait until you find out that he has a kid.”

taglist: @floydsmuse @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown @birdy-bat-writes @thedroneranger @kmc1989

tagging those who may be interested: @becks-things @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @lewmagoo @peachystenbrough @thecowboyfiles @auroralightsthesky @beautifulandvoid

[itzpookiepooh]

Hey girly! So I had this silly idea of the LaDs guys reacting to the MC having a really close bsf and he sees them acting reeeeeeal fruity with each other (coming from a someone that goes leans to my bsf and makes a kissing sound) <3 lots of love

Ah yes the traditional fruity tootie behavior with the bestie now this I can ace! 🤫

Piece of That

Caleb was in the living room since he came to visit from sky haven however little did he know your childhood best friend, Akasha, was going to be there. They both often fought about who was your favorite. Once you guys were together you were inseparable. You got up to go to the bathroom and a few moments later she followed.

All Caleb heard was, “Peeing all by yourself beautiful?” Before he got up and dragged her away from the bathroom. You barked out laughter before the door shut.

“Whaaaat? I was just joking!” Akasha whines as she’s being dragged away by her shirt.

“I’m going out with Alana today.” You informed him as he got ready for work. He nodded to let you know he was listening and you both walked to the door.

“My love. I have once again caught you with your secret lover.” Alana dramatically says as the door swings open. You gasp as if you were caught making Zayne’s head snap to you.

“My love please it’s not what you think!” Your knees buckle as you clutch your shirt. Alana turns away from you, hurt evident in her features.

“You have cheated on me countless times how will I survive?!” Alana wails clinging to you. Zayne was so confused as to what was happening right now and he would be late finding out.

“You’ll always be my number one.” You say dramatically as Alana sniffs. “Promise me with a kiss.” She puckers her lips.

Zayne nips Alana with his evol making her squeal, “Zayne! You’re no fun!”

“Refrain from kissing my girlfriend please.” He says before kissing you goodbye.

Sylus enjoyed how dramatic you and Enid were together. It was like endless entertainment for him. Now when she invited you out and they both watched you come out in an amazing outfit. Sylus and Enid clapped and Sylus complimented you as usual.

“I wish I was a man so I could treat you right.” Enid groans making Sylus swing his head in her direction.

“What are you implying?” He sounds offended as his hands fall to his knees.

“Oh nothing you’re great Sylus.” She shrugs before cooing over you once more. Sylus just stares at her as if she grew two heads.

Rafayel was a jealous lover, duh. He hated when your best friend Aurora came over. She was always touching on you and flirting with you. He was starting to think he was the third wheel. So you guys were dancing while he was in the other room working on an art piece.

“Have you seen my—“ He looked up to see you guys dancing, sure. However, she was smacking your butt.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” He genuinely asks making you both slowly stop laughing and stand up.

“Rafayel.” Aurora says out of breath as you wave. “You’re cheating on me. AGAIN!” He shouts making Aurora chuckle.

“Rafayel I’d never!” You try to explain making him cross his arms and turn around. You tried to convince him while Aurora teased him the whole time.

Poor Xavier never really knows how to react to you and your best friend flirting with each other. He’s always left confused or stunned. So when Blair came over to hang out he knew he was in for a long day.

“Your boobs look great in that shirt.” Blair commented as she sashays over to you.

“Do they? I just bought this.” You looked down at your shirt. “Mhm…” She looked at you mischievously before ‘hugging’ you. It was all to lay on your chest.

“So soft.” She whines making you burst out laughing. Xavier snatches you away and pulls you into his chest while he glares at Blair.

“Come on Xavier! You have her everyday!” Blair pouts making Xavier roll his eyes.

“I don’t have to share her with you.” He tells her hugging you tighter as they argued over who has you more

I liked doing this ngl 🙂‍↕️

[tojisteddy]

John Price with reader! who isn’t good at asking for what they want so he shows them how to by edging the shit out of them.

cw: 18+ mdni, smut, edging, full nelson (but it’s only fingering), daddy kink (icky), dad bf! Price.

Price is always reminding you, how even if you are his “big strong girl” to always let him know if you need help.

He’s a call or text away, even at the dead of night.

Well it’s hard for you to ask for help. You’ve been like this since you were young, you’re used to doing things on your own, whatever you wanted you’d get it your own way. You moved yourself out of your parents place and into an apartment yourself (with paid movers but alone nonetheless), got a new job yourself, when your car wasn’t working, you took 3 buses to make it on time, drive yourself on a two hour drive just to see the sunset, and solo trips—

in other words, hyper independent.

John didn’t catch it when he first started dating you, but it’s the way you simply did things and didn’t ask. Didn’t ask him to help you bring in groceries or when you needed help getting your old mattress out your flat, you’d magically did it yourself. Or when you were so drained from work, you told John you were fine and then spent a week holed in your apartment until you pulled yourself together, alone. When John questioned you about it you simply gave him a shrug. The straw that broke the camels back was when you got stuck in the rain for 3 hours and you forgot to call him that dire time of need.

You could’ve easily asked for help. You chose not to.

So here you were, sat in John’s lap, a hiccuping and withering mess, legs spread open and your feet on his knees, your back meeting his chest, while John plays with your soaking pussy.

But he’s not letting you cum.

No, no, noooo, this wouldn’t be a punishment if you came so soon, would it?

“ ‘M sorry Price, hnngh- mmm- hicc- ‘m sorry, was wrong.” You babble, stupidly grinding your hips against his fingers that have been putting you through hell for the last two hours.

He pulls his fingers out, making an exhausted whine fall from your lips, “I knooow lovie,” he coos, letting his drenched fingers brush through your wet folds, then to your pearl. “But you have to use your words for me, yeah? Tell me when you need Daddy’s help.”

A broken sob comes out of your mouth, legs shaking as the older man gives your throbbing clit a little flick, before circling it slowly with his thumb. you shake your head, head falling back against him. “ ‘S too much! I don’t- I can’t-“ you interrupt yourself with your own moans.

John holds you tight in his hairy muscular arms, pulling your legs over his forearms, he adds more pressure down to your clit until he knows your about to fall apart, eyes fluttering shut and making that beautiful face, deep in pleasure. The older man, holds you close when you whine about him stopping, fondling the pink of your cunt, his lips kissing your shoulder, “I told you baby, you have to use your words. What do you need help with? Hm?”

His tongue swipes from your neck to your ear, sucking and nibbling at your earlobe. He tsks at your quietness towards the question, giving your pussy a little slap that makes you keen, eyes opening to look back at the blue set looking down at you. “I asked you a question [+].”

In a low eyed haze, you purse your lips, chest falling up and down rapidly, youre humping the air like a desperate slut for any contact you can get but to no avail. Your face gets damp with tears, you slur, “Help- anngh- please help me Daddy. W-wanna cum, hicc hmm- please help me cum.”

“Gooood girl dove, doin so good for your Dad.” He slips two fingers in your aching hole, curling and thrusting them ever so perfectly in your sopping pink walls. You grip at his arms, as your walls quickly tighten and spasm around his thick digits.

“See? Wasn’t that hard to ask for help, was it?”

a/n: this is my audition tape to anon who sent me a request for dad bf John. I’m scoping the scenery out. Trying to prove how this is fun and camp !

most recent masterlist

[eufezco]

DINNER WITH FRIENDS𓂃 𓈒 ❀

thunderbolts*!bucky x fem!pregnant!reader

synopsis – when bucky returns home he's not alone and a quiet evening turns into a full house. seven months pregnant and unprepared, you're caught off guard but family is family.

a/n – this is just a little scenario that crossed my mind when i got out of the cinema after watching thunderbolt* for the fourth time. pleasee send me bucky requests i want to write for him but i have like 0 ideas. writing this i realized that i've oficially fallen for the john walker propaganda 😞

fluff

it was later than usual and bucky stil hadn't come home.

rebecca was in her room, playing quietly as she waited for her dad. you were in the kitchen. dinner was already done so with nothing else to do, you found yourself rearranging things on the counter, trying to distract your mind from the worry. you rubbed your seven-month pregnant belly as if it were a magic lamp and you were wishing for him to return. and then you heard the front door creak open.

—bucky? —you moved quickly out of the kitchen but you stopped on your track when you saw he wasn't alone.

—yeah, it's me.

—oh my god, —you breathed before he could finish talking, your hand flying to your chest. you weren't expecting five people with him. their faces familiar yet you'd never met them in person.

bucky stood in the middle of the group, his lips pressed together in a guilt line. he knew full well you weren't expecting this and that he should've warned you beforehand, but he hadn't known they'd all need a place to drop by on the same night after the same mission.

he'd hesitated, worried about adding more stress when you were already seven months pregnant. but then he thought of home and you and rebecca and how it might be the one thing that could soften the edges of everything they'd been through that day. and god help bucky, you'd told him a million times you'd love to meet them.

so here they were. on your doorstep. in your hallway.

—hi, —you said to them. you blinked, caught between surprise and disbelief.

bob waved his hand. yelena, ava and john pressed their lips together.

—oh, hi john —you knew john. he and bucky had caused each other a lot of headaches in the past, but you were glad that at least now they tolerated each other. john showed you a little smile.

alexei made his way through the group and approached you with open arms. you raised your eyebrows and just let the big man cover you in a hug. he smelled like vodka and leather but surprisingly, he was really careful with your belly as he hugged you.

—mrs. barnes, the wife of the soldier, oh, it's so nice finally meeting you, —he said with a rough russian accent. —behind every great man is a great woman, they say. a greater woman, may i add.

as he held you, you caught all the other faces around the room, all rolling their eyes. you giggled when he finally released you, alexei was just as dramatic as bucky described him. —thank you, alexei.

—you know my name, she knows my name! —he turned to tell the others. they gave him plain nods and lazy smiles.

—of course, everyone knows your names now. plus, bucky talks about you five all the time.

bucky closed his eyes and ava grinned and nudged him with her elbow.

—yelena, right?

you approached the blonde girl standing next to bucky. she had the same stormy look in her eyes as him, she could definitely be his little sister. she looked at bucky a little unsure when you called her name, almost as if for reassurance. she hadn't wanted to come at first, she didn't want to cross that line, didn't want to step into something as private and sacred as his home.

yelena nodded to your question. you softened your expression and offered a warm smile. bucky caught her hesitation and he gently pressed his hand to her back, giving her an encouraging push. you opened your arms and puller her into a hug before she could think too hard about it. she tensed for a moment but then her arms came high around you, as if she was afraid of even brushing your belly.

you hugged ava, careful not to press against her delicate suit. you'd heard enough from bucky to know how sensitive the tech could be and how guarded ava was underneath it.

bob was so ready when you hugged him and welcomed him to your house. he'd seen bucky's photos of you, the lock screen on his phone. he knew how after every operation, buck's first texts were always to you, checking in, making sure you were safe and letting you know that he made it out alive. if bob had the power of one million exploding suns, he was certain it still wouldn't match how fiercely bucky loved you. and that gave him hope.

you smiled before you hugged john. he wasn't sure if you'd want him in your house, after all, he'd been a pain in bucky's ass but hey, in his defense, bucky had been just as much of a pain in his. still, you welcomed him.

and the best for last. as the rest inspected your living room, looking at the photos and tripping over rebecca's toys, bucky stood with the most exhausted expression on his face. he stepped closer and let his head fall against your shoulder. one of your hands went to the back of his head, fingers slipping into his hair.

—long day?

bucky just hummed.

—how was yours?

—good. the baby barely kicked after last night, —in that moment you felt bucky's hands come to rest on both sides of your belly, his thumbs rubbed slow circles, up and down, protective, telling the baby he was finally home, taking care of his mom. —and rebecca drew alpine. with eight legs and no ears. she's very proud.

he breathed a laugh, —sounds about right.

bucky's friends were busy, the five of them around a photo frame on the wall. the only photo you had of bucky from 1940s, stiff and young in his uniform soldier, eyes still full of something bright that hydra hadn't yet extinguished.

he lifted his head from your shoulder and you cupped his cheek, your thumbs brushing over his rough beard. you pressed your lips softly against his, as if you were trying to transfer all the calm and love he'd missed during the day. as you pulled back, you noticed his shoulders dropped, releasing the tension, but the worried expression remained.

you reached up again, brushing your thumb over the line of his cheek as bucky's arms wrapped around your body, resting on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him, carefully, until he could feel your belly pressed against him, a connection between the three of you.

—talk to me, —you whispered.

he sighed, —didn't want to bring the day home, but they needed a place... and i couldn't leave them on the street. i didn't want to add more into it, not in your state.

you smiled. so it was that.

—you did the right thing, buck. they're family. if they needed somewhere to go, then they're welcome here. they'll always be.

bucky pressed his lips together. his two families. the one he fought beside and the one he came home to.

he'd never called them that before, not even in his head. they cared about each other in the quiet, protected one another during missions and watched each other's back in battle. they stood between each other and the line of fire and carried each other when the mission left someone too hurt to stand.

it doesn't matter if bucky never said the word, they were his family.

he slowly nodded at your words, —it was supposed to be just bob... didn't expect all of them to show up at once.

—well, neither did the couch, —you teased, getting a soft laugh from him.

ava caught both your eyes as she turned from the wall where she'd been quietly observing young bucky's photo.

—you were so clean-shaven, it's almost like seeing you naked.

you burst out laughing just as bucky groaned beside you, head dropping on your shoulder again like the comment physically wounded him.

—look at that jawline, it could cut glass, —bob said, squinting his eyes at the photo, hands on his hips.

—sharp enough to be a war crime, —you kissed the top of bucky's head. he lifted it slightly, oh so you were joining them now?

—were there toothpaste ads back then? because you sure look like one. fight fascism and fight plaque.

—that's the image of a man! of the soldier! a hero! —alexei boomed, gesturing toward the photo like it belonged in a museum.

—yeah, a man that gave speeches on liberty bonds or punch hitler.

—i did punch hitler, —bucky said flatly, barely looking up.

—how many times are you gonna bring that up?

—as many as it takes, john.

—you should put that on a t-shirt, —john continued, —i punched hitler and all i got was this brooding personality.

you noticed yelena's attention was on the rest of the photos. the teasing in the room faded to a hum behind her.

her eyes moved from frame to frame, pausing on each one. a photo from your summer in wakanda, bucky with his hair tied back, sunlight turning the metal of his arm into gold as rebecca sat on his shoulders, his hands steady at her ankles. next to that was a shot of the hospital room, bucky still in scrubs, circles under his eyes, holding his daughter for the first time. all memories you'd been building through the years. not all of them were easy, not all of them looked like picture frames. it was what yelena had been looking for all her life.

—bucky, —yelena called him, getting everyone's attention. the teasing died down completely when everyone looked to the stairs.

rebecca stood halfway down, clutching her uncle sam captain america's plushie, her socked feet fidgeted against the step like she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back up or keep coming down. her thumb hovered near her mouth the way it only did when she was unsure of something.

—damn, she definitely is your daughter, —yelena said to bucky.

the little girl was a small version of bucky. blue deep eyes, brown hair that curled at the ends in soft waves, the way she looked at everyone without saying a word, just like bucky always did. she had that look on her face just like his, the one where even though she wasn't talking, it showed that her mind was moving fast, watching everything and everyone.

mostly, she looked overwhelmed. strangers filled her living room, standing loud, tall, unfamiliar in the space she knew as home. until she saw bucky. her bucky. she didn't hesitate. she ran down the stairs, her little feet pounding against the steps. without hesitation, she threw herself into her dad's arms, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck. bucky lifted her effortlessly, smiling big as he held her close.

—oh, you definitely ate all of your veggies today, bug, you got stronger, almost knocked me off my feet.

rebecca's giggles filled the room. the others stood nearby, watching the scene, unsure how to react to seeing bucky all soft. even alexei, who rarely blinked at anything, went unusually still. you rubbed your daughter's back as she tucked her face in bucky's neck, her little fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, when she realized all eyes were on her.

—she's a little shy at first, but when she gains a little confidence, you'll be begging her to stop talking, —you explained to the group, half apologetic, half proud. they all nodded and smiled, understanding. —'becca, these are dad's friends. they're here just for tonight. you okay if they stay a little while?

she gave the smallest nod, still hiding her face in bucky's neck. he turned, holding her against his body, toward the rest of the group.

—boss says you can stay, —bucky announced.

yelena let out a yay, bob mumbled a sweet thank you.

rebecca peeked a little from the crook of bucky's neck, her eyes finding john first. he offered her a small, friendly wave. she hesitated but she ended up lifting her hand a mimicking the motion.

—out of all of them, —bucky murmured, more for john to hear than to her, —you had to wave to walker first?

john of course heard it and rolled his eyes.

in that moment your feet started to hurt more than you realized. too much standing for a seven months pregnant. you shifted your wight, trying to ease it, but even the small movement sent a bolt of discomfort up your spine. one of your hands instinctively moved to the curve of your belly and the baby fluttered under your palm, not a kick, just a little roll.

bucky noticed, but not just him, everyone in the room did.

—you okay? —ava asked.

—you should sit, —yelena added.

alexei immediately grabbed the nearest chair to him as bucky carefully lowered rebecca. —okay, bug, let's help mama, —he approached you, wrapping his metal arm around your body and helping you sit carefully.

rebecca stood, clutching with her captain america plushie tightly as her eyes flicked between john, bob, yelena and ava. none of them knew how to respond to her watchful presence, except for john, who caught her gaze again and with the little experience he had with kids, knelt down to her level, making himself less intimidating.

—why don't you guide me to the kitchen and we'll get your mom a glass of water?

she blinked, thinking about it for a second, then slowly nodded. john stood, not expecting her to wrapped her small fingers into his hand as she lead the way. to say that bucky was freaking out would be an understatement.

in the kitchen, rebecca pointed at the cupboard where the glass where kept. john took one of them and filled it with water from the tap. then, she gave him her captain america plushie so she could grab the glass, was this kind of bad joke? john followed her, still holding the plushie like he wasn't sure if it was meant to curse him or recruit him.

yelena and ava huffed a laugh when they saw him carrying the plushie.

rebecca carefully approached you, then gently handed over the glass. bucky gave john a grateful nod. you smiled warmly, taking a sip, —thank you, sweetie.

—my sister makes mama sick sometimes, —rebecca explained to everyone. the room was still, hearing her voice for the first time like it was something sacred.

—but you take good care of her, —bob said, his voice gentle.

—yeah, you sure are doing a great job, kid. i couldn't have brought that glass of water better myself, —john added.

rebecca showed a little smile, proud. with extreme care, she placed her tiny hand on your belly, her fingers splaying and she waited, hoping for the smallest kick from her baby sister. bucky kissed the top of your head.

—i made dinner, but i only expected bucky...

a chorus of don't worry, not hungry, i'm okay, i ate earlier, happened before you could finish talking. you looked around them all, tired, boots dusty from whatever roads they'd taken today, and hungry. no matter what they said.

—so we could order something, —you finally suggested.

bucky thought it was a great idea because there was no way he was going to let them go to bed with empty stomachs. while he made the call to the pizzeria, rebecca marched to the kitchen, ava and walker behind her like shadows as she pointed out the drawer with the cutlery.

back in the living room, you stood up from the chair. yelena, alexei and bob didn't let you out of their sight for a second. bucky, still on the phone, caught your movement and gave yelena a sharp nod, a silent command to keep you from doing anything else and to get you to the couch. you assured that you were fine, but it was no use.

at least alexei was no bore, he talked nonstop, about everything that came to his mind, most of the times embarrassing memories of little yelena. and rebecca had abandoned ava and walker to their luck in the kitchen and sat down next to bob with her notebook. you heard her mumble a wanna see my drawings? and the boy, as the sweetheart he was, couldn't deny. she explained every detail to him, not even letting bob get a word or ask a question.

ava helped bucky spread the tablecloth and john placed carefully the plates and glasses on the table.

—so, —ava said, looking at bucky with a teasing smirk, —another girl? you're the ultimate girl dad.

—yeah, three girls plus you and yelena. keeping me on my toes.

ava didn't say anything but she felt a little warmer at the way he'd included her and yelena in that count, like they were a bigger part of his life. he hadn't said it with any special emphasis, hadn't even looked at her when he said it but still, it stuck with her.

and the dinner was nice. so nice. bucky sat close by your side, his fingers gently holding your free hand over the table. rebecca was between yelena and ava but she was laughing at something walker had said to her, something funny enough to light up her whole face. bob had a soft blush on his cheeks. people laughing, sharing stories, the clink of plates and glasses, it almost felt unreal to him.

bucky leaned to kiss your cheek. you absolutely had no idea where all these people were going to sleep. the couch, the floor, a few air mattresses if the closet still held them, but definitely not enough beds. but looking at all together, sitting around the same table, full and happy, it didn't seem to matter at all.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Rafayel's non-mc significant other. part3

Imagine, you told yourself you would never step inside an art gallery again. Not after him. Not after the way canvas started to feel more like reminder than expressions, each one holding a piece of something you used to be. The way paintings had once meant joy, color and quiet wonder. And when Rafayel came into your life, they started to mean something else as time went by. Intimacy, absence, and grief.

but Imagine here you are. Alone, walking under dim lights and smooth white walls, your footsteps soft against polished floors. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was pain disguised as bravery. Maybe it was something else entirely, the ache of unfinished stories calling you back. Sometimes, grief takes your hand and guides you right back to the places you swore you'd never return to. So you walked through the gallery’s wide glass doors, your fingers clutching the strap of your bag a little too tightly.

Imagine the gallery was quieter than expected. No music, no murmurs. Just the soft echo of shoes against smooth floors and the steady hum of air conditioning cutting through stillness. You didn't look for his name. You didn't have to. You felt it. And just as you turned a corner, there it was, the first painting. And it stopped you where you stood. It was a portrait. It wasn't just a portrait, it was you.

Imagine the way you blink. It was you. It was you caught in brushstrokes only someone who had watched you closely, lovingly, could create. You figure was slightly turned, half-shadowed, wrapped in warm tones and soft light, like a memory suspended in time. The palette was warm, but lonely. It was your face, but your eyes were looking at something that was no longer there. At the bottom, engraved on a small silver plate.

'To the One Who Waited While I Learned How to Love'

Imagine the way you stared at it for a very long time. Not because you didn't know how to feel, but because you felt everything at once. The heartache, gratitude, sadness. The subtle, slow burning ache of recognition. It was beautiful. And painful. And yours. You genuinely didn't know whether you're going to laugh or cry. He remembered. He remembered you. As you are. As you tried to be.

Imagine you did not know how long you stood there. But eventually, you took a step away before emotion could spill over. And just around the corner. You found another. And this one felt like a punch to the chest.

Imagine this one was unfamiliar. Two figures on a quiet shore, bathed in golden dusk. The man was kneeling, a ring held delicately in his hand. And the other has their hand covered their mouth, eyes blurred with unshed tears. You could almost feel the moment in their chest, heavy and soft like warm sea air. The scene was surreal and tender. It looked like a fairytale. Except it never happened. The label read.

'The Moment That Never Came'

Imagine your knees didn't buckle but you heart did. Now you knew what you aren't supposed to know back then. That the plan existed. That he was going to choose you. Not out of duty but from something real. That maybe love was coming. That maybe he had been reaching for you all along, just too quietly, too late.

Imagine that's when you realize why he had been so distant. Why he was planning things behind your back. It wasn't lies. It wasn't betrayal. It was love. Just unspoken, delayed and misdirected. The timing had been off. You had been looking for signs of rejection when he was laying down things for forever. And then you had left.

Imagine the way you close your eyes. The way you took a deep, shaky breath. The way your fingers trembled as you walked slower, your heart beating loud in your chest. Just then came the last piece. And it wasn't a portrait of you. Not exactly. It was the one something you had left behind, finished when you last saw it. Now, it was still whole but something was different.

Imagine the man in the painting was unmistakably Rafayel. Sharp features softened by light, eyes darker than the ocean behind him. His gaze wasn't directed outward but angled toward the second figure. A person who wasn't clearly defined. It's features were blurred, barely there. Fading. It was you at the same time it wasn't you. It was idea of you. The absence of you. A memory painted too late. Below, the card was blank.

but Imagine as you stepped closer, your lips parted as you noticed something carved gently into the frame, nearly hidden. 'They thought I loved someone else' Those words stole your breath and just then. A voice can be heard behind you. "I didn't think you'd come." It was Rafayel. You didn’t turn around immediately. "Neither did I." There was a moment of silence. "I wasn't ready to see you." You added. "And now?" He asked, his voice almost like a whispered.

Imagine the way you turned your head slowly. Meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like lifetimes. And he looked tired but softer. Older, not in years but in weight. The kind that settles behind the eyes when you have loved and lost and learned to live with both. And for a while neither of you have spoke. The gallery blurred around the two of you. All you could hear was the echo of your own breath, and the sound of him trying to find the right words.

"Now" Your voice was steady but low. "I think I needed to." He stepped right beside you. Just close enough to share the silence. "I never got to explain." He started. "About the ring. About what I was planning." "You did." You replied quietly, eyes on the paintings. "You just didn't use words." "I should have." He said. "I was trying so hard to get it right. To time it perfectly. And I missed it. I missed you." A silence fell. Not cold. Not cruel. Just tired and familiar.

"You weren't wrong for how you felt." You said, finally looking at him. "But you waited too long. And I started to feel like I was holding on to someone who wasn't really reaching back." "I was reaching." He said. "I just didn't know how to show it without ruining the moment." There was a pause. "I wanted it to be perfect." "I didn’t need perfect." You replied almost immediately. "I needed presence." He did not say anything, but he looked away like he was ashamed. Like was mad, mad at himself.

Imagine he then looked at the painting once again. "I didn't know if I had the right to finish it." "You finished it beautifully." You left because it was done, that there was nothing more you could add, do to it. But you were wrong, he had made it more beautiful or maybe that was just his nature. Just then you took a breath. "You didn’t ruin me, Rafayel." You felt him flinch, and then he looked at you. "I just had to leave before I forgot how to love myself."

Imagine the way he swallowed hard, almost hesitant. "I still love you." You closed your eyes. "I know." He turned towards you, hands in his pockets like he didn't trust himself not to reach for you. "Is it too late?" "It's not too late to heal." Your voice was quiet. "It's not too late to forgive. It's not too late to remember." "But?" "But I don't know if it's time to start over."

Imagine you look at him like really looked at him and saw it in his eyes. The same ache that had lived inside you for a few months. The same love is still there. But weighed down by all the time it had been left unspoken. And he nodded slow. Accepting it. Respecting it. "But maybe someday." You added. And that was the difference. The possibility was still there. Fragile and small but real.

Imagine the way you took one last look at the painting. Your painting with his strokes layered over it. Two people who had tried. Two people who had loved, even if they had failed to say it at the right time. "I should go." You said. And he stepped aside, giving you space. Taking a deep breath. "I don’t regret us." "Neither do I." He replied quickly. As you started walking towards the exit, you pause. "You were the right story." You said softly, not daring to look back. "Just told in the wrong order." And then you were gone.

Imagine you did not say goodbye when you left the gallery and neither did he. Some things didn't need to be spoken. As you stepped into the late afternoon light, the city buzzing just beyond and you felt it. The pain was still there but it no longer ruled you. And somewhere quietly, the idea of a new beginning stirred. Not with him. Not yet. But with yourself. And that too, was love.

Imagine the way he stood there alone, surrounded by the gallery of almost. Paintings lined the walls like open wounds and open hearts. And somewhere in the silence, he let himself smile. Not out of joy but because you had come. Because you looked. Because maybe love, the kind that matters, doesn't always end in rings or promises. Sometimes it ends in recognition, in forgiveness, in a quiet goodbye that feels like a beginning. That somewhere in the spaces between canvas and silence, hope began again.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[superhoeva]

could you imagine the faces of tf 141 if you were to turn the tables on them during sex? (w/c: 0.6k | +18/mdni)

kyle garrick would absolutely lose his mind when you start to throw it back on him. oh, the poor, pretty man–all he can do is watch, mesmerized with his eyes rolling back a little at the stroke you establish. you're fucking relentless, you. gaz's stomach is clenching and he's doing all he can to hold back the load threatening to explode from his tip. the guy can't even ask you to slow down, each word across his lips morphing into a swear or praise of how fucking unreal you are by the time they leave him. grabbing handfuls of your ass, kyle watches with a huff in disbelief, and his orgasm smacks him across the face. there's no time to pull out–not that you would let him–so he spills inside you... shaking and panting and sobbing out when you show no signs of letting up.

john price is, to put it kindly, beside himself. god, he should've known when he'd seen the glint in your stare when you'd finished the knot that you we're gonna be trouble. now, you're sitting front to his back, hands behind the man and squirming–him, captain jonathan price of the s.a.s.–and groaning with a thrown back head into the hand you have clamped over his mouth. you're stroking him with a squeezing fist, stopping every time a stream of grunts give away how close he is. fuck, he's losing it, and it's killing him, price thinks. this is how he's going to go. hands tied, rock hard, and a pretty bird jerking him to his grave... not the worst way to go, but still. his cock is red and throbbing and red, leaking out slick that you pauses to taste every so often with a swipe of your tongue across your palm. he's growing desperate. hips rocking and chest rattling. part of him is surprised you've lasted this long–tormenting him like this. stunned, even, that he hasn't ripped these thing ropes and yanked you onto your stomach already.

johnny mactavish comes. immediately–and without one ounce of shame about it. not with how you're looking down at him when–just a mere ten seconds ago–he was the one on top. in the blink of an eye, you'd flipped the man and pressed a hand into his hairy pecs to keep him down. the new angle plush the rush of pride that fills him is an instant push over the edge. coming, johnny wails from deep in his chest, and he think's he's kicked the bucket and drifted off to whatever heaven awaits him as you milk his cock with solid grinds. when his hands try and grab your siren hips, you drag them away and pin them to the bed. any other time, and johnny would have broken from the hold easily. however, today–right now as he's nothing but a milked-out mess–he just comes again. flooding you with cum he thought was all gone and going fucking blind at the way you grunt out how it's not his cock anymore–it's yours.

and simon riley never forgets. it's burned into the very depths of him, how you repositioned his legs with a surprising heave, draping them over your hips before sinking down onto him with a bit lip. gripping him at the knees you buck however you feel like as he lies there. taking it, and even egging you on with low words here and there. 'pretty likes bein' on top, hm?' 'likes bein' in charge of a cock that could split you open 'f it wanted to.' them hips 're somethin' else. didn't think ya had it 'n you...' ghost stares at you the entire time, fist nearing ripping the sheets as his body bucks with yours. he'll never forget you like this. not stopping when he warns that he's close and cooing at him when he comes with a frustrated grunt and lost words. bouncing and taking him for all his worth.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[peaktora]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ˚◞♡ ⃗ bluelock!boys

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ where they let the media believe the rumors about their so-called girlfriend

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊ ft. rin itoshi, seishiro nagi, and micheal kaiser. not proofread bc im too tired to do so. in rin’s part, you’re not actually dating (yet). beware of the tooth rotting fluff (gosh i need to write some angst).

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 ���𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊man i got so carried away .. this was supposed to be a couple of quick headcannons for a character analysis. yet, individually these headcannons are all so long that they might as well be a one shot 😭 but enjoy !

𝜗𝜚₊˚ 𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you didn’t know much about his sport—only knew for certain that rin was good at it. he was passionate about his goals and made sure to reflect that in the games he played. whenever he won a game, it was practically an instinct for you to lavish him in compliments. you’d bathe him in things like “good job!” or tease him by saying, “look at you, all pro.” but for rin, winning wasn’t just about the final score on the scoreboard. it wasn’t simple. to him, a victory meant nothing if it wasn’t clean.

two goals. no errors. as he walked off of the pitch, rin replayed each shot in his head. his jaw was set tight, and his hair was irritably damp from sweat—the wind only helped it stick to his face. by now, the crowd should’ve died down, atleast a tone or two. yet, as he took a look at the crowd, he could still see people holding up their signs high for him to see. they were loud—obnoxious, even. he hated that he could still hear the crowd’s roars.

he didn’t look for you. not right away. not while the cameras were still following his every move, not while the spotlight was hot on his back and the (quite frankly: annoyingly persistent) reporters were shouting loads of questions at him from each of every direction. he wouldn’t risk putting you in that kind of attention—not when you both knew how quickly the media could twist up something as simple as a glance.

but that didn’t mean he didn’t know where you were.

he always knew.

you stood in the same spot after every game—half-hidden behind the media barricade. it was just far enough back to stay out of view, but always close enough for him to find you. hell, he was the one who recommended you this spot. and true to the routine, you were tucked into the sleeves of a hoodie far too big to be yours.

his hoodie.

it was always one of his, but never the same. at some point you made a game out of it.

somewhere down the line of you two’s friendship, it became a tradition that before his games, you’d come over to his apartment. just to hangout of course. yet somewhere in between the time you were together, when he wasn’t looking—you’d sneak into his closet, pick a hoodie of your choosing, and not tell him which one you’d taken. you liked keeping it a surprise. he never knew which hoodie had gone missing until he saw you wearing it the next day.

like now.

you stood just where he expected, pretending as if you hadn’t been waiting for him this whole time. you were wearing one of his favorite hoodies—it was gray, soft—and it’s sleeves swallowed your hands.

he would never tell you, but because of this gesture? but he loves game day. he can’t help but notice you.

and apparently the media noticed you just as much.

he didn’t care if they did. but he didn’t want them asking.

“mr. itoshi! just a quick one—” a reporter cut in, jogging alongside him with a mic already raised—talk about desperate. “two goals again. i mean, you’ve been unstoppable lately! what’s changed?”

rin didn’t slow his pace. “nothing.”

which isn’t necessarily true, but while his performance may be their business, his personal life is not.

you’d think the reporter would back off by now, yet he didn’t budge. he increased his pace. “right, right—but you can’t deny the fact there’s been a shift, no? all your fans are talking about it. you seem… calmer? more collected. more grounded, maybe?”

rin chose not to respond, hoping his silence would be enough to make the reporter give up. thankfully, it worked. the man slowed to a stop in favor of standing still, awkwardly watching as rin continued to walk away.

then it happened.

one of his teammates—loud and face holding a (god awful) smirk, slapped him on the back mid-walk.

“probably because of that girlfriend of his,” the guy pointed and laughed in your direction. “she’s been at every match. guess that makes a difference, huh?”

rin stopped walking.

before he could even say his side of the story, the camera had aimed itself towards you. you who were in his hoodie. you who looked at him for any idea on how to handle this situation. you who still stood in the spot he asked you to all those weeks ago—a spot that was supposed to be secure and safe. fuck, it feels like he failed you.

the reporter instantly lit up. he directed the cameraman towards rin, and they both made a jog to his side. “so, rin… a girlfriend? can you confirm?”

the only thing rin could do was blink. because, he could say no. he could shut it down. easy.

but memories of you flashed in his mind. you sitting on the couch waiting for him after late practices, folding his laundry without being asked, brushing the hair out of his eyes when he got too tired to care. never demanding. never asking for more than he could give.

you were the only person in the world who didn’t take his silence personally.

and now everyone wanted a label. a headline?

at the thought, he looked straight into the camera as he flatly said “no.”

the reporter hesitated to ask. “so… you’re not dating?”

“i mean i’m not commenting,” rin replied. “that’s different.” rin likes to think he never really needed a media team.

because with this answer, he didn’t have to explain. he didn’t have to clarify. and most importantly? he didn’t say no.

the interview wrapped quickly after that. the mic lowered when the reporter realized Rin wouldn’t give more. one by one, the crew dispersed.

and now, finally—finally—rin could openly walk towards you.

as soon as he was close enough, you smirked and said, “you didn’t deny it.”

he leaned against the barricade, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “nope.”

“you could’ve just said i wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“i could’ve.”

for a while, silence filled the space before you now softly asked, “then why didn’t you?”

he exhaled through his nose, irritated—not with you, but with himself.

“i don’t like interviews,” he muttered.

“i know.”

“i don’t like assumptions either.”

“i know.”

“but i didn’t deny it,” he said, looking up at you, “because they weren’t wrong.”

you blinked, “huh? you do know we’re not even togeth—“

“i didn’t say anything,” he added, voice quiet now, “because i’ve never had to explain what you are.”

he heard your breath hitch.

“you’re something that i guess i hold…close to me. something that’s mine,” he said, more certain now. “if people assume that, i’m not going to correct them.”

you hummed, “so… you’re one hundred percent okay with them knowing?”

he nodded once. “i’m okay with them assuming.”

you smiled. it didn’t reach your eyes—it was that small, soft one that never failed to break him, and gently nudged his arm.

“y’know, you’re terrible at this.”

he groaned, “i’m trying here.”

“i know,” you giggled, slipping your fingers into his. “and that’s why it counts.”

𝜗𝜚₊˚ 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

nagi yawned and lazily scratched the back of his head. with the help of his sweat, his jersey clung to his back and his legs still burned from the run he didn’t even want to make for that last goal.

he let out a deep breath at the sight of a reporter pointing over to him. the match was barely over, and there was already duo—a cameraman and a reporter—hustling over to him.

within two seconds, he noted that this was a bother. the reporter was talking so fast, he could barely decipher what she was saying. the bright lights of the camera following him made his eyes sting. the game took so much energy out of him, he couldn’t even muster up a sentence if he’d wanted to. safe to say, this interview was not worth his time nor energy.

“nagi, you were just incredible tonight! that assist? it was just—just was insane—i mean no one saw it coming. what were you thinking in that moment.”

he rubbed his eye, muttering, “i wasn’t.”

following his words was a pause. the reporter nervously laughed, and like most—he’s sure that she assumes he was trying to land a joke. he wasn’t.

he spotted you standing on the sidelines, tucked off to the side. you gave him a wave, and he wiggled his fingers back as a response.

you looked so cute. so comfortable. all he wanted to do now was stand next to you and lean his weight against your shoulder. the only thing stopping him was a mic still being pointed at his face.

hm.

“right, well,” the reporter continued, “there’s a lot of talk about your change in attitude this season. you seem more focused motivated. the people are wondering: is there someone on the inside keeping you in check?”

nagi tilted his head. “huh?”

“like a girlfriend,” the girl clarified, a smile among her lips. “rumor has it that there’s someone important in the crowd tonight.“

the camera panned out to the stands and the surrounding area before nagi could say anything. straight to you. your smile wavered into a nervous chuckle, and a slight furrow creased your brows.

nagi followed the camera’s direction, gaze landing on you.

you’re so obvious.

for a second, he didn’t move. but then he shrugged—and he walked off.

the reporter fumbled. “w-wait—”

it was a lost cause. nagi’s mind was made up, he ignored the calls behind him and made his way towards you. reaching you, he lazily settled an arm around your shoulders.

he sighed dramatically, allowing his entire body weight to lean into yours. “you’re warm,” he mumbled.

you looked down at him “… you just walked out of an interview.”

“yeah,” he mumbled. “boring. but they asked about you.”

your heart did that weird little stutter. “they what?”

“kept saying girlfriend this, girlfriend that…” he shrugged. “i dunno…didn’t feel like lying.”

you stared. “you didn’t deny it?”

he turned his head slightly, chin resting against your hair. “why would i?”

“because we haven’t… told anyone?”

his fingers toyed with the hem of the sleeve.“feels like a lot of effort,” he replied. “lying about you. avoiding questions. hiding. ugh.”

you swallowed. “so you just… left?”

“figured it was easier to show ‘em.”

he leaned in, pressing his forehead against your temple.

“plus i wanted to see you,” he muttered.

you lips parted. “nagi…”

his thumb lightly brushed over your hand. “if you don’t want people to know i I won’t say anything,” he continued, voice quieter. “but ‘m not gonna act like you’re not mine when you’re standing right there.”

you locked your fingers with his.

“you’re mine too, right?” he asked.

you nodded.

“good.” he exhaled, eyes closing. “then i don’t get what the big deal is.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “you’re so lazy.”

“mm,” he agreed, “but i’d carry you off this field if it meant we didn’t have to talk to anyone else.”

he straightened up just enough to glance back at the crew still filming in the distance. that same lady from earlier was still talking. how much did she have to say? “think they’ll chase us if i just walk off with you?”

you snorted, “they definitely will.”

“how annoying,” he sighed. “let’s go anyway.”

𝜗𝜚₊˚ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the crowd outside of the stadium could only be described as loud—obnoxious—and chaotic. but then again, when wasn’t it?

you signed at the sight, and slouched even further in the backseat of kaiser’s private car. you opened your phone to instagram—a mistake you knew not to make—but did it anyways.

instantly, a knot formed in your stomach. there it was again—those damn rumors. your feed was full of it. what caught your attention this time was a recent photo of you two. granted it was blurry, but you two were obviously close. it was taken the day he took you out shopping. he’d insisted on carrying all your bags, leaving your hands free. you were thankful for that—especially when you suddenly heard saw a flash of a camera, allowing you to quickly raise your hands to shield your face.

the headlines were relentless:

“michael kaiser’s mystery girl—exactly who is she?”

“has the emperor found his queen?!”

when kaiser asked you about revealing your relationship to the public, you told him to be careful. to keep things quiet. private. in response, he only grinned at you like he always did when he planned on doing the opposite. and you hoped, you really hoped he would listen.

sighing, you opened up the sports app and began to watch the live post-match feed of what was going on outside.

on screen, the cameras zoomed in on kaiser walking out from the locker room tunnel. surrounding him were his security members. his hair was messy, his jersey was slung over his shoulder, and he had that arrogant smile on his face.

you made a mental note to tell him how he should seriously consider getting that patented.

reporters called out his name left and right—to which, he paid no mind to. it’s only when one says, “you’ve been seen with the same girl three times in the past two weeks—the mall, hotel lobby, even at the training grounds. does she happen to be your girlfriend?” that he gives them a reaction.

still walking, he flashed a slow smirk as he adjusted his sunglasses. “you people really don’t get tired, huh?”

“is it true?” another voice pushed through. “are the dating rumors real?”

kaiser stopped just for a second—it was just long enough for every mic to shove forward.

you leaned closer to your phone. he wouldn’t. he can’t be serious. he wouldn’t, right? he wouldn’t—

his grin widened. “if i had a girlfriend, i’d show her off every chance i got.”

almost as if the entire thing was staged, a chorus of gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd.

“but is that a yes?!”

he shrugged. “i try to not make a habit of denying good taste.”

then, he waved his way through the crowd. so casually too, as if he didn’t just obliterate the entire internet.

seconds later, the door to the car opened and you watched as he slipped in.

“you didn’t deny it,” you say. although it’s more of a question than anything.

he reached up to pull off his shades. “hm, should i have lied?”

“i thought we agreed to keep it…y’know…lowkey?”

kaiser laughed, then leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “you think i’d let them call you a ‘mystery girl’? that’s boring. pretty girl is better.”

you pushed him away, “kaiser—”

“i would say liebling is even better but that’s reserved for me.” he pulled you closer, one arm slung around your waist with ease.

“kaiser—“

“shhh. i didn’t even say your name. ‘jus gave ‘em enough to sweat.”

you squinted at him. “so what am i, then?”

he smirked, pushing a kiss to your cheek. “the emperor’s girl.”

your phone buzzed like crazy, notifications from every app you owned. kaiser didn’t just not deny it—he made sure the whole world hoped it was true.

[danysdaughter]

Red Is The Color Of Want

pairing | civil!war!bucky x widow!reader & winter!soldier x widow!reader

word count | 4.8k words

summary | in a crumbling safehouse far from the fights you both escaped, you—a former black widow—unravel the man beneath the metal as the winter soldier comes undone in your arms. but when a page of trigger words drags bucky back into the shadows of who he used to be, the only thing more dangerous than his programming… is how much he needs you.

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f!receiving), fingering, rough sex, desperate sex, emotional hurt/comfort, dubious consent (due to Winter Soldier programming), ptsd and trauma responses, emotional angst, mutual longing, slow burn that explodes, comfort after breakdown

a/n | YALLL, this is not the a sequel to Сетка, this is a complete different widow!reader, Сетка Pt 2 is still on its way, anyway this is based on this request

taglist | ALSOOO I've created a tag list for this, so if you wanna be tagged whenever I release a new bucky fic, just fill your username to this taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Romania, Bucharest — 2016

The café was falling apart in the charming way only Eastern European buildings could get away with. A crooked sign hung above the door like it was waiting to fall. Inside, it smelled like cheap coffee and something burnt a few days ago.

You were sitting by the window, hunched over a chipped porcelain cup, one foot tucked under you. The table rocked slightly every time you leaned on it. You’d already emptied two packets of sugar into the bitter brew, and now you were on your fourth.

Across from you, he watched with that quiet intensity of his—chin in hand, blue eyes barely blinking, like every movement you made held the key to unlocking some part of him. He said nothing until the fifth sugar packet disappeared into your cup.

“Going for diabetes or just hoping to dissolve the pain?”

You didn't even look up as you stirred. “Why stop at diabetes? If I keep going, maybe I’ll reach enlightenment.”

His lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. The most you ever got from him on a good day.

“Doesn’t matter how much you sweeten it,” he said finally, nodding toward your cup. “Still tastes like shit.”

You leaned back, cradling the mug in both hands like it was precious. “Good. So it matches you.”

He blinked, and you almost regretted the jab—until you saw the way the corner of his mouth lifted, barely, like a secret between you.

“Dark and bitter,” he murmured. “Just like me.”

You took a sip. It was terrible. Burnt and sour with an aftertaste like regret. You looked him straight in the eyes.

“Speak for yourself. I’m fucking delightful.”

You were slouched back now, one leg kicked over the other, sipping your sugar-soaked coffee like it was actually palatable. Outside, the gray streets of Bucharest moved on—slow, indifferent, same as always.

Bucky’s eyes drifted down from your face to the red leather jacket slung over your shoulders. It was too bright, too clean for a place like this. Too loud for someone like you.

“That’s a lot of jacket for someone trying to stay low,” he muttered, eyeing it like it offended him.

You scoffed, as you smoothed your hand over the sleeve. “I love this jacket. You have no taste.”

He huffed a breath. “I’ve got taste. That just ain’t it.”

You gasped, setting your cup down with a clink. “Excuse me. This jacket is iconic.”

His brow lifted. “It’s loud. You look like a traffic light.”

“I look fabulous,” you corrected, smoothing a hand down the sleeve. “And this is the first thing I ever bought for myself, okay?”

He blinked at that. “That?”

“Да,” you said, chin up. “You don’t like it?” [Yes]

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, but the twitch in his lips gave him away.

You narrowed your eyes. “You did not not say it.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. “You still look ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your mouth. “That is rich, coming from man who wears the same three Henleys on rotation.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “They’re comfortable.”

“And this is freedom,” you said simply. “The point is… I’ve never had control over my own life before. I want to do things now. Stupid things. Selfish things. Bright red jacket things. And I think you should want that too.”

That shut him up for a beat.

You didn’t push it. Just looked down at your drink, tracing the rim of the cup with your finger. When you glanced up again, his expression had softened—those sad eyes of his lit with something quieter. Warmer.

“I think your jacket’s cool,” he said, voice low.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You grinned again, slower this time. “I get you matching one.”

His face immediately scrunched. “I’m good, thanks.”

You leaned back smugly. “I get you one anyway.”

He shook his head, but there was no bite to it. Just the faintest quirk of a smile he didn’t bother hiding this time.

────────────────────────

His Apartment

The apartment was barely a place. The walls were cracked in some places and water-stained in others. The furniture was sparse—just a torn couch, a table that wobbled if you leaned on it wrong, and a mattress on the floor in the next room. But it was safe. Or safe enough.

The stereo in the corner played something modern and vaguely electronic. It fuzzed in and out, like even it didn’t want to be here. You lay sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over your eyes, foot tapping out of rhythm to the beat.

Bucky sat nearby in a folding chair, arms resting on his knees, watching you like he didn’t quite understand how someone like you ended up in his space.

How you, with your loud voice, bright jacket, and endless sarcasm, had carved yourself into the quiet corners of his life.

He hadn’t gotten used to the music you liked—shrill, repetitive, too fast. He’d told you as much. “It’s noise,” he’d said.

“I am noise,” you’d replied with a grin. “Get used to it.”

And somehow, he had.

Around you, the silence didn’t ache the way it used to. You filled it, even when you weren’t speaking. It was your presence—commanding and unbothered, like you were meant to be anywhere you sat.

He didn’t know how it happened. One day he’d just found you, or maybe you'd found him. In an alley in Warsaw, bleeding from a gunshot wound, muttering in Russian as you crouched beside him and said, “I’m not saving you because I care, I’m saving you because you owe me now.”

You’d been by his side ever since.

He reached into the drawer of the flimsy side table, pulled out the small, black notebook, and held it out to you wordlessly.

You shifted, eyeing it with some suspicion before sitting up just enough to take it from him.

“What’s this?” you asked, flipping it open.

“Things I remember,” he said, voice rough. “Bits. Fragments. I write them down before I forget again.”

You flipped through it slowly, eyes scanning a list of names, dates, odd phrases.

“‘Red sock in a white wash’? This a code?”

“Laundry accident. Brooklyn, 1936.”

You snorted, and he swore you smiled just a little softer than usual.

“‘Train smell. Winter. Steve’s mittens.’ That one sounds like the setup to a bad poem.”

“Smelled like coal and metal. He used to take his gloves off to share with me.” His voice drifted a bit, like the memory was speaking through him more than he was choosing to share.

You leaned your head back against the couch again, notebook open on your stomach. “You are sentimental old man,” you muttered.

He looked at you like you were sunlight through a window—something warm he never quite thought he deserved.

“And you're loud,” he said quietly. “Even when you’re not talking. I can’t hear the silence when you’re around.”

You cracked one eye open and smirked. “Good. It’s an annoying silence. Brooding and sad. Very you.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes still on you.

You flipped to another page, still lounging back on his couch, one leg dangling off the side. The paper was creased and worn, filled with a list in neat Cyrillic script. Your eyes narrowed.

“What’s this?” you asked, tapping the page lightly with your finger.

Bucky glanced over absently from the table where he’d been cleaning a disassembled pistol. “What?”

You didn’t wait. The words slid easily off your tongue, your Russian fluent and unthinking.

“Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет—”

[Desire, Rusty, Seventeen, Dawn]

His head snapped up, the rag in his hand falling to the floor with a soft thud.

“Stop.”

You didn’t hear him—too caught up in your mockery, still thinking this was another relic from his past you could tease him about. Your voice took on a theatrical lilt as you continued.

“Печь, Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение, Один—”

[Oven, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One]

“Stop.”

But you were already at the last word.

“Товарный вагон.” [Freight Car.]

The silence after was suffocating.

You looked up, still grinning—ready to make another snarky remark.

But he was staring at you.

Not in that usual, quietly fascinated way. Not the soft, storm-swept gaze that always felt like it saw more than you were willing to show.

No, this stare was hollow. Still. Too still.

The warmth was gone.

“Bucky?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, posture rigid, jaw locked, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to calculate something. Or waiting for something.

Your pulse quickened.

You sat up fully, the notebook slipping from your hands and falling to the floor with a soft flutter.

“Bucky, what—” Your voice faltered.

You stood slowly, movements careful, like approaching a wild animal. His breathing was steady, mechanical. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but there was something wrong in the way they hung—too precise. Like they belonged to someone else.

You took a hesitant step toward him.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked quietly, tilting your head.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even twitch.

His silence pressed in on you, heavier than the broken ceiling above, thicker than the smoke that sometimes drifted through the window from the street.

Then it hit you.

The page.

The words.

Your stomach dropped.

“Bucky…” You whispered his name like a lifeline, like saying it softer might bring him back.

Still nothing.

Just those empty, soldat's eyes staring through you.

You swallowed hard. “Come on. Say something.”

But he didn’t.

Your mouth became dry.

You took a step back, eyes locked on his. They didn’t follow your movement—not in the human way, not in his way. They tracked you like a target. The realization settled cold in your gut.

You licked your lips, heart hammering in your chest.

“Солдат…” you said softly, reluctantly. A test. A plea. [Soldat]

His posture shifted instantly, his chin lifting just slightly, shoulders drawn tight.

“Готов подчиняться,” he replied without hesitation, voice flat. Hollow. Obedient.

[Ready to comply.]

The breath left your lungs.

Shit.

No no no.

This couldn’t be happening.

You felt your stomach twist violently, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Блядь…” you muttered, horrified, under your breath. “Чёрт, трахни меня—” [Oh, Fuck me]

“Понял.” [Understood.]

Your eyes snapped up, wide, just as he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Before you could take another breath, his hand was at the back of your neck, the other on your waist, and then his mouth was on yours—rough, forceful, devouring. There was no hesitation, no question. Just action.

His lips crushed into yours like a command being executed.

And the worst part? Your body didn’t pull away.

It froze.

Caught in shock, in the wrongness, in the heat of it.

You barely registered the wall against your back before you felt his hands—strong, unrelenting—gripping your thighs. The torn leather of the couch creaked beneath you as he lifted you like you weighed nothing, pressing your body flush against his without pause, without question.

Your breath hitched.

“Bucky—no—” you gasped, palms against his chest. It was solid, unmoving. “Wait—this isn’t—”

But he wasn’t listening.

His lips moved from yours to your jaw, to your throat. Rough, possessive. He kissed like he was claiming you, like he’d waited too long and now he was making up for lost time. His mouth found the soft skin beneath your ear, sucked hard enough to bruise.

A broken sound slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

You hated that part of yourself—the one that’d thought about this. That had looked at him too long, too often, wondered what his hands would feel like wrapped around your hips. What his mouth would taste like.

But this wasn’t him.

Not really.

“Soldat,” you tried again, voice cracking, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt. “Stop—”

But even as you spoke, his grip didn’t falter. His hands roamed with precision, with purpose. Like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.

And somewhere inside those glacier-blue eyes was something burning.

Not cold. Not mechanical.

Hunger.

Longing.

Bucky had wanted this. Wanted you. Maybe not like this. Maybe not so brutally, so suddenly. But it had been there—in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the weight of his silences, in how he never pulled away when your shoulders brushed.

And now all that want had been uncaged.

The Soldat was moving like he’d been given orders.

But the man you knew—he was still in there.

You could feel it in the way his fingers trembled for just a second at your waist.

His breath was harsh against your skin, uneven—like he hadn’t drawn a real one in years until now. Like you were the first breath of air after a long, dark silence.

His hands moved fast. Too fast.

Fabric tore.

The sound of your top splitting down the middle echoed like a gunshot in the small room, the cotton giving way in his fists like it was paper. You gasped, chest exposed to the cool air, to his burning stare.

“Wait—Bucky—” you started, but your voice was swallowed beneath the weight of his body pushing you back onto the couch.

He didn’t say a word. Just hovered over you, braced on his elbows, eyes devouring every inch of bare skin like it was the only thing that existed. His pupils were blown wide, mouth parted like he was starving.

And maybe he was.

Maybe the Soldat was hunger without outlet. Maybe Bucky had been starving too—silently, patiently.

And now?

Now that leash had snapped.

His mouth was on your collarbone, open and hot, teeth dragging roughly. He kissed you like he didn’t care if it left marks—like he wanted it to.

One hand slid beneath your thigh, lifting it over his hip. The movement ground his body closer to yours, and you choked on a breath, caught off guard by how right it felt—how wrong it should’ve felt.

“Soldat—” you tried again, but this time your voice was barely a whisper, barely a protest.

His body was shaking, barely controlled. Like if he let go of even one thread, he’d tear through everything between you. Like he wasn’t following an order now—he was answering a need.

Your need.

His need.

He lowered himself further, breath hot against your breast as he dragged his mouth across your skin, reverent and brutal all at once.

And all you could do was clutch at his shoulders, your mind screaming that this wasn’t him—

But your body? Your body didn’t care.

And so you didn’t resist.

Not really.

Maybe it was the way his hands gripped your hips—tight, trembling like restraint was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Maybe it was the way his breath caught when your nails dug into his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline even as he pushed you deeper into the cushions.

Maybe it was that part of you that wanted to be taken.

By him. The man. The weapon. Both.

His weight settled over you, all muscle and heat and presence, like he needed to feel every inch of you against him to believe you were real. His hips rutted against yours, rough, desperate, like he was trying to bury himself in your very existence.

“Скажи мне нет,” he rasped against your throat, voice fraying at the edges. [Tell me no]

But you didn’t.

Your legs wrapped around him tighter, drawing him in, anchoring him.

He groaned—a real sound, a human sound—and it rattled through his chest as he ground down harder, clutching at your body like it was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

You let him. You let him take you.

Because you’d seen the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. You’d heard the longing buried beneath his silence. This wasn’t just the programming.

It was him.

It was all of him.

And when his mouth crashed down onto yours again—rougher this time, teeth catching your lip—you moaned into it, fingers twisting in his shirt, holding on as he moved with a desperate rhythm, like he didn’t just want you—

Like he needed you to keep from disappearing.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands were on his own shirt, fists bunching in the fabric. One violent pull, and it was gone—ripped at the seams, flung aside without a second thought.

And then it was skin.

Hot, scarred, solid.

His chest pressed against yours, the rough drag of his skin over yours sending a shiver down your spine. You arched into him instinctively, needing the contact just as much as he did.

He growled—low and broken, more animal than man—as his hand found your bra and shredded it in one sharp tug. The snap of elastic was lost in the haze as his mouth dropped immediately to your chest, lips latching around one nipple, tongue circling with fervent, uncoordinated hunger.

“Ебать—” you gasped, head tilting back as your nails raked down his back, leaving angry trails in their wake. [Fuck]

He groaned against your breast, the sound vibrating through you. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other palming your other breast, thumb swiping over the peak with desperate precision.

There was no rhythm to him. No practiced seduction. Just need.

Raw and overwhelming and real.

Every kiss, every scrape of teeth, every press of his body screamed a single truth: he didn't want to just fuck you—he wanted to feel you. Carving the memory of you into his skin, into his blood, like he didn’t trust the world not to take you away too.

You clung to him harder.

Not because you were afraid he’d hurt you.

But because, in that moment, you were terrified he’d stop.

You didn’t notice the shift at first—just the sudden absence of weight, the cold hit of air against your skin.

Then your eyes opened.

He was between your legs.

Kneeling, eyes burning, chest heaving. His fingers worked fast at the waistband of your pants, yanking them down along with your underwear in one swift, impatient motion. Your legs twitched involuntarily as the fabric slid past your ankles, discarded without care.

He stared at you like he was starving.

“Боже, посмотри на тебя,” he muttered under his breath, reverent and ragged. [God, look at you.]

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open, dragging you to the edge of the couch like he owned the space between your legs.

You opened your mouth to say something—his name, a protest, a prayer—but the words died as his head dipped low.

“Моя...моя вдова,” he breathed, just before his mouth touched you. [My widow.]

And then—

Heat. Tongue. Pressure.

You gasped, hand flying to the back of the couch for balance as his mouth found you, tongue moving like he’d been trained for this too—like even in this, he wanted to master it.

He groaned against you, low and helpless, like your taste ruined him.

“Так хорошо...” he mumbled, voice muffled, worshipful. [So good…]

Your fingers buried in his hair instinctively, hips jerking against his mouth.

There was no finesse. No teasing. Just hunger.

And he was drowning in you.

His tongue was relentless—broad strokes, then sharp flicks, lips sealing around you with a precision that shouldn’t have been possible from someone this desperate. But he was intent, focused like a man on a mission, like your body was the only thing grounding him in reality.

Your thighs clenched around his head, back arching off the couch, and still he didn’t stop—if anything, he held you tighter, dragging you impossibly closer to his mouth, like he needed more of you, like you were slipping away and he couldn’t bear it.

You gasped his name—not Soldat, not a command—just Bucky, soft and raw.

And maybe he heard it.

Or maybe he just needed more.

He pulled back just enough to murmur something, the words lost under his breath, hoarse and reverent—“Я хочу внутри, я хочу чувствовать тебя, мне нужно чувствовать тебя...” [I want inside, I want to feel you, I need to feel you…]

Then you felt the cool press of metal.

Your breath caught.

His metal hand, fingers thick and gleaming in the low light, slid slowly between your thighs. He spread you with one, then pushed a finger in—slow at first, but with no hesitation. The contrast was electric: heat and steel, your body slick and pulsing around him.

Then another finger.

You whimpered, nails scraping across his bare shoulders as he curled them just right, just so, his mouth returning to your clit like he couldn’t stand being away from it.

The stretch, the weight of him inside you, was almost too much—but your body sang with it. Welcomed it.

“Ты сделана для меня…” he whispered against you. [You were made for me.]

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

All you could do was hold on as he devoured you—mouth and metal working in brutal rhythm, dragging you higher, deeper, closer to a place you couldn’t come back from.

Your moan cracked in your throat—raw, strangled—as he thrust his fingers deeper, curling them just right, just perfect, while his mouth locked onto you with maddening precision. The heat in your belly coiled tight, then tighter, your body trembling beneath him, straining toward the edge with every wet, ruthless stroke of his tongue.

And then—

You shattered.

Everything broke.

You cried out, head thrown back against the cushions, legs shaking violently as you came hard against his mouth, his hand, his name barely a whisper in your lips—“Bucky—”

He didn’t stop.

Not until you were gasping, twitching, until your hands gripped his hair and pushed gently, weakly, needing space, needing air.

He pulled back—just barely—and looked up at you.

Hair a mess, face slick with your release, eyes blown wide with hunger.

“Я не могу больше ждать,” he whispered, voice ruined. [I can’t wait anymore.]

Then he was moving.

Fast.

Rising up, his fingers leaving you with a wet sound that made your hips buck involuntarily. He fumbled with his jeans—his hands weren’t shaking, but you were. He shoved them down, not even bothering to take them off completely—just far enough to free himself, and then he was on you again.

Hard thighs between yours.

Heavy, hot, bare against your soaked skin.

You felt the press of him—thick and already pulsing—at your entrance.

He hovered for a breathless second.

“Я должен быть в тебе,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. [I need to be inside you.]

And then he pushed in—deep, with a groan so guttural it punched through your chest and made you moan again, your nails clawing into his shoulders, into the scars and the skin that was all his, all real.

He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust.

And he didn’t move.

Not right away.

Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, shaking with the effort to hold back, to not come from the sheer feel of you wrapped around him.

You breathed his name again, softer this time. And he looked down at you like he’d been lost for years and just now found his way home.

His hips snapped forward again, dragging a rough moan from your throat as he filled you to the hilt, then pulled back only to slam into you harder, deeper. Over and over—no rhythm, no finesse—just a brutal grind of body on body, like he needed to feel every inch, every pulse, every contraction of your body around him.

Your thighs locked around his waist instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back, holding him there, in you, as if you could stop the world from spinning with just that grip.

His mouth was at your shoulder, his breath ragged and hot as he snarled half-broken curses against your skin—words you didn’t need to understand to feel. They bled need. They bled ownership.

“Твоя... моя... так туго... так тепло...”

[Yours. Mine. So tight. So warm…]

He rutted into you like an animal, like something had come loose inside him and now there was no going back. The couch creaked beneath you, the frame groaning under the force of his thrusts. The slap of skin echoed off the walls—loud, wet, constant.

You clawed at his back, nails digging in deep, dragging over muscle and scar tissue. He hissed but didn’t stop—only fucked you harder, faster, sweat dripping from his brow, jaw clenched like he was trying not to fall apart right there inside you.

You were moaning—raw, helpless, your head thrown back as he pounded into you, each thrust sending fire up your spine. Your hands gripped him like he’d vanish if you let go.

And beneath all of it—his breath, your cries, the obscene sounds of your bodies crashing together—was that undeniable truth:

You didn’t want him to stop.

His thrusts grew more erratic—less controlled, more desperate.

He was fucking you like a man coming undone, like if he stopped, even for a breath, he’d fall apart completely. Every snap of his hips was rougher than the last, the slap of skin on skin filling the air, raw and unrelenting. Your body rocked beneath him, pinned under the full weight of him, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he drove deeper, harder.

“Чёрт, не могу—” he gasped into your neck. [Fuck, I can't—]

You could feel it—the way he was trembling now, not just from the force, but from everything else. From what he was feeling. From what he didn’t know how to process.

And still, he thrust.

Over and over, burying himself so deep it felt like you’d never be empty of him again. Like he needed to put something inside you just to prove he was still real, still alive, still human.

“Ты… ты заставляешь меня чувствовать,” he choked out, voice breaking.

[You… you make me feel.]

You held him tighter, nails raking across his back, hips rolling up to meet him every time, matching him, grounding him, even as you felt his rhythm falling apart.

His breath hitched—once, twice—then turned into a sob.

A real, broken sound torn from somewhere deep inside.

He pressed his forehead to yours, still thrusting, still moving, but now he was shaking. Eyes clenched shut, jaw tight with everything he couldn't say.

“I can’t—” he whispered, in English this time. “I can’t—you—”

But he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Not until he’d buried himself in you one more time—so deep, so hard—and everything inside him shattered.

He came with a strangled, guttural cry, hips jerking violently, arms locking around you like if he let go you’d disappear.

And even as his body trembled and spilled into you, his face was buried in your shoulder, hot tears slipping silently onto your skin.

Because he was feeling. And it hurt.

But he was with you.

His breathing was still ragged. His body still trembling.

But slowly—slowly—the rhythm of the moment faded. The rush of adrenaline, of heat and friction and need, drained from his limbs like a dying storm.

And the silence that followed?

It was deafening.

He froze.

Still buried deep inside you, still wrapped in your warmth, your scent, your body—but everything about him changed in an instant.

His arms, once tight around you, loosened.

His breath caught. Not from exertion.

From realization.

“No,” he rasped. The word cracked, sharp and breathless, like he didn’t believe he’d said it aloud. “No, no—fuck—”

He started to pull back. Away from you. Out of you. Like his body had committed some crime his mind was only just registering.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” His voice shattered as he tried to extract himself from your grip, shaking his head like it would rewind the clock. “I hurt you—I—I used you—I didn’t want—”

You grabbed his face before he could escape.

“Нет,” you whispered, firm. [No.]

He froze again, caught in your hands, his eyes wild and wet and full of something you’d never seen in him before.

Fear.

Disgust.

Shame.

“Look at me,” you said, voice low. “Посмотри на меня, Джеймс.” [Look at me, James]

He did. Barely.

“I let you in,” you whispered. “I wanted you.”

“But I—I wasn’t—me,” he stammered, throat thick. “I was him.”

“You were you, too,” you murmured. “And I knew it was you. Even if you didn’t.”

His face crumpled, the last of his defenses giving way as he collapsed against you, burying his head in your neck, his body still shaking—not from pleasure now, but from the weight of the world crashing down on him all at once.

Your fingers slid into his hair as he clung to you.

You murmured soft in his ear—like prayer, like song.

“Тише… всё хорошо… я с тобой… ты безопасный…”

[Easy… it’s alright… I’m with you… you’re safe.]

He didn’t answer.

Just held on tighter. And you let him.

Because you weren’t going anywhere.

[t44ovely]

A Friend For You, Love - Lando norris x f!reader

Summary: After years of wanting a dog, your dream finally comes true…

Word count: 875

Trope: fluff<3

—

Ever since you and Lando started dating, even before that you knew that the time he would be away is big part of the year. Since you were working too the time you had to together, was very limited until now.

You moved together after 2 years of dating and finally it started to feel like you saw each others more than three times a month.

Your sitting in the couch in your house in Monaco, the dream house of yours has finally started to feel like home. Lando is away in a race in China, the second race of the season and your at home because of work.

It is friday night, the practices are over and your get up to go get ready for the bed, when the doorbell rings. You freeze for a moment, cause no one should be coming over or anything, you haven’t ordered anything.

You take your phone and walk to the door, you look thuru the peephole to see who it is and it is a delivery guy. You open the door very slowly and carefully, ”hey good evening miss, i have a packagefor you,” the blond haired guy says to you.

”Ohh i haven’t ordered anything if i remember right,” you say to him looking at the package, ”it is a cift or at least that what was called, theres also two more and im pretty sure you should open this soon, this little guy is probably getting hot in here,” he says carefully handing the package to you.

Little guy? You think, what the hell is happening. You take the package from him and he helps you to get the two others in, you thank the delivery man and close the door. Walking to the livingroom and setting the package into your couch.

You hesitate for a moment, but you still start to open the package and when you open it…theres the most cutest thing you’ve ever seen. A brown Dachshund puppy, looks up at you. You let out little gasp and your about to cry, you see a little note in the box.

”Hey love, i got a friend for you. I miss you, but i think she will be somewhere near me so yeah, i love you baby.”

Love: LN

Your about to cry when you take the puppy into your hands, she looks so tiny and cute at the same time. ”Hi little one, im y/n. What do you think we should call you?” You say kissing her nose. She licks your nose too and you giggle.

You walk to the other packages you got and start opening them. One box has lot of food and another note.

”Hi you, i assume you found the little one? Heres enough food for about a week and then we can go get her more when i get home.”

Love: LN

You smile reading the note, ”your father is a very nice man, don’t you think?” You say looking at the little puppy in your arms. You set her to the ground to go thuru the other package, and you start smiling finding another note from no other than Lando.

”Hi again, heres toys for this little one.”

Love: LN

Well that was short, you thought. You go thuru the toys and set few of them into the ground for the little one to play and get used to.

You start thinking the names for her, your mind goes thuru every film and show characters you love. You even google cute dog names, but nothing looks like her. ”What do you think peanut? What should we call you?” You asks from her, and by accident you came up with the perfect name. Peanut.

You take her back to your arms, ”is your name Peanut?? Wooow thats so nice name isn’t it my girl?” You say to her. You rise from the floor and walk to the bedroom with her in your arms.

You lay her into your bed and lay with her, setting your phone against the pillows. You go to the facetime and choose Lando, the phone rings and you wait for a moment, ”lets see if your dad is going to answer,” tapping peanuts nose.

A face pops into your screen, ”well hello ladies,” Lando says also laying in his bed. You giggle and move the camera to face more to peanut, ”heyy love” you say. Lando smiles to you, ”i guess you found your friend?” He asks.

You giggle even more, ”yes i did. Lan this amazing i love you, thank you really.” You feel tears in your eyes, not because of being sad, but your so happy to finally always have a friend around. The dream you’ve always had, has finally come true.

Lando smiles, ”i knew you would love her. You came up it a name already?” He asks. You nod, ”love let me introdution you, Peanut,” you say waving her paw to Lando.

Lando laughs, ”you named her after a food y/n? Oh how i love you,” he says now giggling. You giggle with him, ”Lando,” you start. He strait himself and smiles at you. ”What my love?” He asks. You continue, ”thank you.”

”Anything, love.” He answers.

[itzpookiepooh]

Dunno if you've written about the LADs men with a possessive MC already, or if you take requests for specific characters but I was thinking of this trope with Sylus, Caleb and Zayne (separately)

With them being on a date in public where he's getting a lot of attention because of how attractive he looks and MC is just...glaring at everyone who stares at him for too long like a territorial cat lol

Ppl will oggle at him, then notice the smaller looming presence to his side, staring at them like they should be six feet under 👁️👁️

Their reactions to that, basically haha

btw late happy birthday!

Ouu I love possessiveness so ima do it 🤭 Thank you sm! 🤍

Mine All Mine

Rafayel was far from unattractive and everyone knew it. Especially the girl who was his biggest fan. She always knew where he was and hung around. So when you guys were walking along the beach you weren’t surprised she popped up.

“Rafayel the famous artist!” She squealed running up to him and hugged him. Your glare was deadly, it could kill an army.

She was calling him all types of talented and handsome. It was pissing you off. She had the nerve to gaze at you and smirk like she was stealing him from you or something. Now it was your turn.

You pull him in by his arm, hugging it. He goes to look at you and you pull him down to you and kiss him. Out of character for you but Rafayel didn’t mind as he melted into the kiss.

“Come on we’ll be late.” You mumbles wiping his lips with your thumb. He nods mindlessly as he drags you along. You turn around to wink at the stunned girl.

Sylus is a handsome man and you know that well. Many men and women know it well too. Tonight was no different, the auction was lively and Sylus’ appearance livened it up more. He looked down with a smirk at every item that came across the floor. Your arms were intertwined as his fingers tapped the chair.

A man in a bunny mask walks by with champagne asking if you both would like to indulge in any. Sylus declines making the man focus on him more. He tries to get Sylus to try their best wine and whisky. He even sat on the arm of Sylus’ chair. When he tried to touch Sylus’ chest you grabbed his wrist.

“If you haven’t noticed my husband isn’t thirsty so it would be best to move along.” You snap with a sarcastic smile. He scoffs before stomping away to which you rolled your eyes.

“So feisty.” Sylus teased. “Shut it.” You snapped back.

Why was Zayne so calm and collected whenever anything was happening to him? A mystery really. Zayne was breathtaking you nor anyone else could lie about that. He also had the personality to match which attracted the wrong kind of attention in your eyes. So when you came to join him for lunch only to see one of his colleagues trying to bring him lunch in her containers from home you nearly blew up.

You’ve caught her countless times trying to make him warm up to her. It was driving you nuts. Zayne secretly loved watching you be possessive over him. He thrilled him but he would never tell you that.

“Sorry. Only I bring him lunch…” You look down at the container containing his least favorite dish. “And he doesn’t like this stuff.” You smile sarcastically before closing it for her.

“Then what does he like?” She questioned a bit of sass in her tone.

“Me and anything to do with…well me.” You smile before staring at her blankly. You guide Zayne to his office to which he chuckled on the way.

Xavier lived for days you were possessive. You were like a mini him and he loved the reaction you’d get whenever someone flirted with him. Today was no different when you guys beat wanderers that attacked town square, a certain fan wanted to give Xavier a bit more praise.

“I’m free this weekend. It’s only right since you came just in the nick of time to save me.” She gushed getting closer to Xavier who looked at her obliviously.

“That’s polite but—“ You were quick to swoop in. “I’m sorry but he’s not allowed to fraternize with citizens.” You tell her with your arms folded. She cocks her head sideways in confusion.

“I don’t understand? Then who—“ You wrapped an arm around his and smiled. “Me. That’s it.” You dragged him away as he just stared at you lovingly.

“Fix your face, Xavier.” You tell him sternly but he keeps staring at you like a puppy.

You and Caleb are neck and neck in the possessive category by the way. He tries to scare everyone away. You try to keep him to yourself. It’s a constant back and forth with you two. A tennis match if you will.

Tonight was no different either. Some of Caleb’s colleagues invited you both out for drinks and one of them got too handsy. She was drunk touching on Caleb who was being polite trying to keep her hands at bay. The final time was enough for you as you grabbed her wrist giving her a deadly stare. Almost immediately she sobered up and didn’t bother him for the rest of the night.

“You’re cute when you act like my guard dog.” He teases in your ear. You stare at him the same way before he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright I’ll stop.” He surrendered before holding you close.

You guys sure love to challenge my writing skills 😭

[bullet-prooflove]

Courting: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis @gabsgabsvaz @fadeinsol

Summary: You don't realise that Jack's courting you.

Companion piece to:

Tummy Tingles - Jack feels his first flush of desire since Maria's death.

Go Your Own Way - Jack struggles with his feelings for you.

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

You don’t realise that Jack is courting you.

If he’s honest Jack doesn’t realise it either. He just knows that he enjoys spending his Saturdays trawling late night vintage record shops with you, flicking through the vinyls trying to find the missing ones for your collections, listening to a track through the same set of headphones. It takes a while for him to realise that maybe he’s not actually looking for that rare Bob Dylan pressing, that maybe he just likes spending time with you.

Those evenings, they usually bleed into nights, to dinner at diners and late night double features at the movie theatre just a couple of blocks from your house.

“If we keep this up and I’m gonna start thinking we’re dating.” You tease as his palm comes to rest on your lower back guiding you towards your row of seats. He laughs but that’s exactly what he thought the two of you were doing. Taking it slow, working towards something.

I’m an idiot, he thinks as he sits next to you, his gaze focused on the screen. A woman like you, so smart and fucking pretty, she wouldn’t date an asshole like him.

He feigns disinterest the next time you ask him about record shopping, there’s a few new places you want to try, you think you’ve got a lead on that missing Fleetwood Mac album you’ve chasing. It’s all too much for Jack, he’s too wounded, too heartbroken to pretend it doesn’t eviscerate him to be around you.

“I don’t think I can go.” He tells you, keeping his focus on the patient chart in front of him.

“It doesn’t have to be record shopping if you’re getting bored of that.” You say, leaning over the desk so your face is close to his. He can smell the delicate scent of your perfume, it reminds him of daffodils swaying gently in a meadow during the first throes of spring. He wants to press his face into your neck, to inhale it as his mouth ghosts over the slender column of your throat. “We can see another movie, Unforgiven is playing…”

“I said I’m busy.” He says with a ferocity that makes you flinch. He hates himself for that, for snapping at you, for making you pull away as suddenly as you do. “I don’t want to be your friend Faye. I don’t want anything from you.”

You stare at him like you’ve never seen him before, like you don’t know the man that’s standing in front of you. Your jaw clenches as you look away, nodding your head in understanding.  

“Yeah.” You say as you turn your back on him and walk away. “I’m starting to get that.”

It’s five seconds later he feels a kick to his prosthetic leg, the damn thing nearly goes out from underneath him with the force of it. He twists his head to see Myrna sitting there in her wheelchair, her expression one of extreme dismay as she stares at him.

“What the hell was that?”

“None of your damn business.” Jack snaps, placing his good foot on the front of her wheelchair and pushing her away from him.

“Sweetcheeks…” She begins but Jack shakes his head as he picks up the tablet once more to review his patient’s chart.

No.” He says firmly, scrolling through the details on the screen, blocking her out. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mooningningg]

can I request toji, sukuna and nanami's reaction with a reader who disappears when they have a really bad fight? not because something bad happened to reader but because reader it's scared of them after that fight and runs away

ahh sorry if this is too specific :,³

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇꜰᴛ

...In which you disappear after a really bad fight without them knowing.

Toji, Sukuna, and Nanami.

Genre, angst. Notes, MORE REQUESTS!!!

TOJI FUSHIGURO

The fight started with something stupid — maybe about Megumi, maybe something deeper. You snapped. He snapped harder. His voice had thunder in it. And even if his anger wasn't at you directly… it still felt like a storm breaking open.

“If you didn’t like how I handled shit, you should’ve said something earlier,” he growled, pacing like a caged dog. “You're not the only one with pressure, y'know. The world doesn’t revolve around your feelings.”

You flinched when he slammed a drawer. That was the last thing he saw before going to bed.

When he woke, the blanket on your side was cold. The keys were gone.

“Y/N?” he called out, sitting up. “Babe?”

Nothing.

He stood in the center of the room, suddenly hollow.

Then he was moving.

Pacing. Rummaging for his phone. Calling — once, twice, three times.

“Pick up. Baby, just fucking pick up.” “You left? Just like that?” “...Shit.”

Toji didn’t even throw a shirt on. He grabbed his keys, slammed the door, and tore through the streets like a man chasing his own shadow.

Your favorite café. The bridge you liked. The park bench where he first kissed you. All empty.

He calls again. This time his voice cracks.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t fucking mean it. Just… come back. I swear I’ll be better.”

“Please.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

The fight wasn’t loud — it was violent in tone. Cold. Sharp. He didn’t yell. He bit.

“If you’re so fucking tired of me, maybe you should’ve left earlier.”

“I’m not your goddamn emotional support dog, Y/N. Grow the fuck up.”

You had never heard him say something like that.

You hadn’t realized how small he could make you feel with a few well-placed words.

So you left while he was in the shower, hands shaking as you packed.

When Sukuna stepped out and called your name — no answer.

His voice echoed through the apartment. Empty.

He grabbed his phone off the table and checked the hallway. Your shoes were gone.

“Tch. You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He dialed. No answer.

“Don’t play games with me, Y/N.” Click.

“You really left over that?” Click.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

He called again. This time, his voice was… low. Rough. Real.

“Look… I know I’m shit with words, alright?”

“But you got no idea what it’s like… waking up and not feeling you next to me.”

"...Please, baby. Come home.”

The next voicemail was only breathing. Then a whisper.

“I’ll wait right here. Just... come back.”

KENTO NANAMI

It wasn’t even supposed to be a fight.

He was exhausted. Quiet. You wanted closeness. His wall was up.

“I just need time to breathe, Y/N.” “You don’t always have to fix things. Let me be.”

And you said: “Do you even want me here?”

He didn’t answer. Just closed the door to his study behind him.

When he emerged later to apologize — you weren’t there.

No note. No jacket. Just your mug sitting in the sink and your absence like a sharp edge in the air.

He checked the bedroom. The kitchen. The street.

He stood in the living room, blazer still half-on, staring at the place you used to sit.

His first instinct wasn’t anger. It was dread. Deep and creeping.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispered aloud. That thought shattered something inside him.

He didn’t call. He didn’t text.

Instead, he wrote a message. Simple. Honest. No punctuation — a rare thing for him.

i’m sorry for the way i spoke i didn’t mean to push you away i understand if you need space but please tell me you’re safe i love you

Then he sat on the couch, suit still on, untouched tea cooling beside him — and waited.

[starlitkitten]

Hi hi!!

If your requests are open could you maybe do a Haikyuu boys most to least with a Breeding Kink -> seeing the reader covered in their cum 🤭 ty ty!

Hell yess we love a good breeding kink. I tried my best pookie, i hope this is what you wanted <3

(Strictly AGED UP characters. MDNI and its only my opinion!!!)

Warnings: unprotected sex, breeding kink, pet names, mention of pregnancy and babies, mention of jerking off, etc. All of these acts are of course consented.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Most

1. Iwaizumi - i think he is a family man. He would 100% want kids, and the thought of you bearing his children??? Gets him going. He holds you tightly, hands everywhere; your hips, your thighs, holding your own hands as his hips relentlessly roll into yours, thrusting deep into you, grunting and kissing your neck.

"I'm so close darling. Gotta pump you full with me, until you're dripping with me. Wanna make you bearing my children." He groans and grunts as he thrusts his dick deep into you for the fourth round that night, filling you again and again until you're really dripping. Absolutely feral.

"Be good and take it all hm, sweets? Do you feel it? Yeeah? Good. Another please baby." And he already pushes into you again, forehead against your chest. (He doesn't care if you're on the pill, a man can dream)

2. Akaashi - he may he polite in public, but in private? That man is a freak. He is desperate, pussy drunk on how good you feel as he pushes your legs up, dirty-talking into your ear.

"You want another sweetheart? Shhh. I'll give it to you. Maybe even more. You'd look so gorgeous, swollen with my baby." He actually whimpers when he comes inside you again, and again and again.

"One more." He grunts as he rolls his hips deep inside you, hitting all the delicious spots. After he finishes, he keeps gently rubbing your dripping pussy and pushing back his cum into your needy hole.

3. Hinata - before you, he didn't really have any breeding kink. One time while you were ovulating, it actually slipped how you want him to fill you up, and it's like a new door opened in his brain. Since then, he became a demon. Every time he makes love to you, he goes deep, holding your thighs or ass as he thrusts all the way in, or when he really is in the mood, his hips move quick and feral, needy.

"Yesss gotta fill you up ughhh baby. You're clenching around me so hard. You like it?" He let's out the most delicious grunts and whimpers. Sometimes he likes to land a slap on your ass or a gentle tug on your hair. Nothing mean tho. He's just too needy for you.

4. Daichi - responsible king™️ he is a naturally caring person, all domestic and nurturing. He needs to take care of. Aside of being always so gentle with you, he always dreamed of a family. So maybe this kink is sided with his "domestic dream" of having a family.

"Oh, my love. So good yeah?" One kiss on your shoulder. "Im gonna make you pregnant. Take care of you and the baby. Fuck. Im so close again love. Can I come inside you again? Make you a mommy?"

So polite about his nasty breeding kink. Doesn't matter how much he ruined you, he always cleans you up.

Honorable Mention:

Kenma - I think he pretty much loves to come deep inside you. Making you ride him and then only putting effort into pushing and holding you down on his dick when he comes, whining softly.

"So pretty." He looks up with hooded eyes. "Filled with me so much. Look at that...."

🔁

4. Kuroo - I mean, he is experimental and loves fun sex. The idea and the fantasy might entertain him enough. It's like a role play for him. He knows you're on the pill etc, but he still likes to pretend. Not necessarily a core kink for him.

"You will look so good with my cum dripping out of you, kitten. So hot and sexy. Gotta push it back too." With a nasty smirk while he has you face down ass up, holding your hips, filling you up again and again.

3. Bokuto - he'd be only into it if you're into it. He needs lots of praising and emotional bonding before gets into the idea of it. He would need praises like "you'd be such a good dad" "you're so strong and capable" "I want you to fill me up" It would really get him going. Besides, emotional closeness and intimacy would help him bring out the more primal or deeper kinks like breeding kink. And he also thrives on being needed, and it all implicates creating a family or being relied on. Why he is closer to the least? I think his mood swings would make him anxious or overwhelmed from the seriousness of it.

"You would be such a good dad." It was only one time, slipping through your lips followed by a "I want you to come inside me." And hes like....

"OH? That's kind of hot..!" And gives it his all.

2. Tsukishima - it's not that he doesn't like to come inside you. Its rather that he likes you covered in his cum. Likes coming on your pretty tits, your belly, your perfect body. Sorry not sorry but he's even into the idea of jerking off to your body, covering you all. And maybe he also is sweet and wants to keep you safe and your eggs unfertilised. Yet. But once you and him decide that it's time for babies, he not only will come on your body but inside too.

"You look so perfect like this, covered with me." With a menacing smirk, parting your legs more and pulling out with a squelching sound, stroking himself once and twice, covering your lower belly in him.

1. Sakusa - it may be obvious, but Sakusa is all about control and hygiene, and breeding kink is way too messy, all about bodily fluids, and would make him too vulnerable. Sakusa mostly avoids physical contact and anything that doesn't seem hygienic enough. Like breeding kink.

"You want me to what...? Without a condom? Do you have test results?" He may sound rude and mean, but he doesn't want to be exposed to anything. He loves you dearly, but breeding kink is just not for him. But maybe he will make an exception once in the future.

Least

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Thats it :) i hope y'all liked it hehe

[x-prettyboy-x]

Fanfic request

I’m obsessed with the idea of Erik having a “mini me”. Like you and Erik have a son (like 5 ish) and he wants to be just like his dad. He is begging Erik to have his ears pierced, and asking for “tattoos” (Erik uses the tattoo stencil and replaces the needle tip with a pen in his gun). And during family cookouts your son is standing next to Erik holding a root beer to match Erik’s real beer. Erik would be such and softly, but also cocky because of course his son would want to be like him he is so cool!

Little Man

Im so sorry its taking me so long to get to requests loves, I've been editing and binge watching shows😭im still here i swear. Anyway, I adore this request. This is so damn cute, I kinda based this on my 3 year old brother who's obsessed with getting "tattoos"

Pairing: Erik Campbell x Fem! Reader

Contents: Eriks son wanting nothing more than to be just like him✨️

Warnings: none

Wc; 1k

Masterlist

You were terrified when the pregnancy test came up positive. Not that you weren't excited, or that you didnt want a baby. You and Erik have been together for nearly 3 years now, you just didnt know how Erik would react.

But now, as you stood in your kitchen watching Erik with your now 5 year old son in the living room, you knew you had no reason to be. He was born looking just like you, but he wanted nothing more than to be just like Erik. And who could blame him? He has the coolest dad in the world.

You smiled to yourself and walked over to the two of them, sitting by Erik and watching your son play with his many toys he had thrown across the floor.

"Our son wants his ears pierced" Erik smiled, looking over at you with that cocky look he always had. He knew he was the cool dad, and it had his ego through the roof.

"Mm. So it begins" you rolled your eyes playfully, holding your arms out as the little boy looked away from his toys and walked over to you. You scooped him up into your arms carefully.

"Mama, please? Daddy could do it." He gave you those puppy dog eyes you could almost never say no to. Almost.

"Absolutely not, when you're a little older, we'll talk about it again, yeah? Don't let daddy get you in trouble"

-

After you had the baby, the Campbell family cookouts became alot more regular, everyone wanting to see the new family member as often as they could.

"Cmon handsome boy, you need to get your shoes on so we can go see grandma and grandpa!" You called up the stairs, holding the small pair of black converse sneakers in your hand.

You waited for a few seconds, sighing to yourself when a response never came, nor the tell-tale sound of those little footsteps on the wood floor. You walked upstairs and checked his room, empty.

"Erik?" You called out, panic starting to make its way through your body, but it quickly subsided as you heard Eriks voice call back, "In here baby!"

You walked off towards you and Eriks room, your son running out before you reached the door, the little boy smiling from ear to ear, "Daddy gave me a tattoo!"

"Daddy what?" You laughed, looking up as Erik leaned in the doorway.

Your son rolled up his sleeves, several small "tattoos" all over his arms, some of them copies of Eriks own. You could tell from the look of them that Erik had just drawn them up and put the stencil onto the boys skin, nothing permanent.

"Thats so cool bub! You look just like daddy, huh?" You smiled, watching Erik come up behind him and scoop him up into his arms.

"Its only fair. He's practically your twin, he should at least have my style." He wrapped his arm that wasn't holding your son around your waist, pulling you close to place a quick kiss to your lips. "Also I may or may not have broke and promised to pierce his ears"

"Erik Campbell!" You groaned, slapping his shoulder. He laughed and moved away, "Oh cmon! It's the easiest piercing ever, and I'll be the one doing it! Im the best person for the job."

"Erik hes too young for.." you trailed off as you saw the look on your son's face, like his little heart would break if you said no again. You sighed and nodded your head quickly "Fine, fine."

"One point for the boys, up top little man!" Erik smiled, holding up his hand and you watched your son high five him with a laugh.

Eriks smile faltered slightly when he looked at you and saw the look on your face, the way your arms were crossed "Hey, baby.. cmon"

You hummed "You can enjoy the couch tonight." You weren't serious, and he knew that. "Now let's go before your parents start calling me asking where their grandson is."

-

You watched your two boys from across the yard, Julia to your left looking at them with just as much amusement as you.

"Its like you made an exact copy of my brother.." she spoke up first, scoffing quietly under her breath.

"But they're so cute though. And Erik loves it. He was nervous about being a dad at first but he's a natural."

Across the yard, Erik was standing talking to his dad, a beer in his hand, his other handing waving around way too much as he spoke with his hands, completely oblivious to the cuteness happening by his side.

Your son was studying his dad, watching his every move. He stood just like him, taking a sip from his "beer"- A root beer in a glass bottle -every time Erik did, mocking the movement of his hands.

"Yeah, its cute now. Until he hits 16 and he shows up with 3 new piercings and a tattoo because Erik cant tell him no." Julia laughed, shaking her head

"Well. As long as he got them from Erik, I'd be fine with it. Erik wouldnt let him do anything too stupid. I hope so anyway."

-

It was late, your son long tucked away in bed. He'd been exhausted when you got back from the Campbell family house, he'd practically fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

You were laying on Eriks chest, showing him videos you'd gotten of them at the cookout without either of them noticing

"He's practically studying you, Erik. That boy adores you." You spoke softly, smiling lightly as you watched the videos back

"Hes perfect, isn't he? Hes the best thing I've ever done.. and here I was scared to screw him up."

You hummed and put your phone down, turning over to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him "You're the perfect dad, baby. Just like I knew you'd be."

"Yeah? That means we can have another one now? I still owe you a little girl, dont I? You said we'd talk about it again when he was at least 4. We're beyond that point sooo.." He tilted his head at you with that telling look. That look you could never say no to.

"I guess it wouldnt hurt to try, hm?"

[heartyluv]

—Click Here— for Camboy!Caleb Masterlist!

Note: Alright, this may be my favorite thing on the planet. As you read, each month is a really short story that highlights different moments during the progression of the pregnancy. This took me some timeeee. I just kept trying to make sure it was cohesive, sweet, sexy—ALL THAT. That’s how well I wanted it to be done for you, luvlys. But forgive me for any mistakes….please. I hope you like!!!

Warning: This is mainly fluffy and has occasional suggestiveness BUT, there will be a smut scene inspired by my bae @asiatic-apple! It takes place in month 7 & 8. I just merged them together because this was getting superrr long LOLLL!! But I guess the sex they had can be a highlight in the span of those two months for them 😉.

Word Count: 5.2K (don’t be intimidated LOLLL)

Summary: YOU’RE PREGNANT! And this is the reason

Camboy!Caleb/Pregnant!Reader

Month One

You were impatient with unbridled nerves and your leg refused to stop shaking. Sitting in the bathroom, you were staring at the four pregnancy tests you’ve just taken as your propped up phone remained focus on your nerve-wracked features.

Your husband went to hang out with a few friends and you utilized this perfect opportunity to see if your suspicions for the past two weeks were correct.

From the nausea to the morning sickness, you were the classic example of someone who more than likely has a baby growing inside their stomach.

And you knew exactly how it happened.

That day you came back from that trip, your man had you in the shower and several ways in the bedroom before your bodies physically couldn’t go another round. Between you ovulating and him coming inside of you so many times, it made absolute sense that his seed embedded itself in your womb and successfully took root.

Being so busy with preparations and the actual trip itself, you never noticed how you hadn’t been taking your birth control. When you finally did realize, that same day, you ran out to the store while Caleb was busy streaming and bought several tests without him knowing.

You’ve kept them hidden since and now that you had the house to yourself to panic in peace, you truly didn’t know what you were hoping for.

When the timer on your phone finally went off, you shot up off the toilet seat. As you inched closer to the white and pale pink capped tests sitting on your sink, it felt like the soundtrack of dread was thrumming in your mind. Your breath shuddered when you closed your eyes, giving yourself a moment before your fate was determined.

“Fuck…” you breathed, covering your mouth once your lids lifted to see every single stick had clear double lines, indicating that you in fact were pregnant with Caleb’s baby. You lifted two at a time with shaky hands to show the camera, trying to gauge your own emotions.

You wanted to feel excited, but you couldn’t be until you told your husband. You’ve talked about having children all the time, how you always wanted them, but you were still on birth control for a reason. You weren’t sure if now was the time, if he was ready, if you were ready, if he even wanted—

“Baby!” Caleb’s voice called to you and your heart fell to your ass. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He just left almost thirty-five minutes ago. How—

“I realized halfway on the drive that I forgot my wallet,” he chuckled. But when you didn’t come out to greet him, his tone shifted to slight panic. “Babe?”

You couldn’t move, you didn’t want to. His feet padded against the floor in his search until he stopped right in front of the bathroom. He didn’t even knock, opening the door to get some answers. His entire body relaxed after seeing you okay and unharmed.

“Why didn’t you answer me, pretty?” he asked with pure concern. But when you didn’t answer or look at him, keeping your gaze on what your future was, his followed to see what had you so unresponsive.

He looked between you, your recording phone, and the tests before he got close enough to see if his eyes were deceiving him. You were filled with so much anxiety and fear the longer he went without a reaction.

“We’re fucking pregnant!?” he exclaimed, making you jump. The way he acknowledges your situation in unity eases your thoughts for a moment. He turned to look at you with the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on this man.

“My baby is having my baby.” His tone softened as he grinned even wider before kissing your face all over. Immediately, tears flowed down your cheeks like a running faucet the second he held you and your arms wrapped around him tightly.

“I’m pregnant…” you mumble through your sobs, accepting that you are and can comfortably be as happy as he is, despite your tears.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” he kisses your temple. “I’m staying right here and we’re celebrating. Our family is growing and my wife is giving me that gift. What more could a man want?”

Month Two

Caleb has been so excited about you being pregnant that ever since you found out, you’ve spent almost every night together in bed on different websites. It’s been a mission trying to determine where to get the best toys for enrichment as well as baby clothes for comfort and cuteness.

Since you didn’t have the gender of the baby yet, he’s been weirdly obsessed with trying to find onesies and bibs with the loudest patterns. He’s added so many things to different online carts that you were sure it was a collective of over at least two grand.

And he was still adding as he laid his head on your lap, occasionally showing you his screen for input.

“Caleb, I am not putting our baby in a neon yellow geometric t-shirt,” you laugh.

He laughs with you, making the image larger so you could clearly see what had him so hooked on the ridiculous top.

“Pretty, look at it closely! It’s a whole bunch of little flowers. That’s stylish as hell.”

“You want our kid to look like walking wallpaper!” He can’t stop chortling, his face turning slightly red as he rolls over to face your stomach and presses a kiss to it. You grab your phone to film him, both of you still giggling when he rests his forehead against your warm skin.

“I’m warning you right now little babe, your dad is sick in the head.” A moment passes before Caleb looks up at the camera with faux offense. Your fingers in his scalp nearly distracted him from your comment.

“When it comes to my babies, I’ll be anything.”

“Except rational,” you roll your eyes, putting his phone screen into frame so it can see the ridiculousness he’s been entertaining. “I’d never put you in this. He’s trying to embarrass you before you’re even here.”

“First of all,” he gently takes his phone from you, going to the cart that has a mix of more preposterous apparel and regular ones. “I don’t think anyone should be like everybody else. That’s boringggg. So yes, our baby will be styling and profiling. I’ll even get us stuff to match.”

You smack his bare pec, making him cover his chest. “Your mother is a hater and aggressive! I’m telling you that right now, little babe!”

“I’ll really show you aggressive if you keep playing.”

Caleb looks up at you, his whole demeanor changing as he bites his lip. “Promise? Because I got a whole lot of things I can play about, then.”

“Caleb!” you scold, your cheeks getting hot. “Now we have to cut this part out because of your freaky ass!”

“We didn’t get here because we’re not not freaky,” he raises is hands in defense.

Quickly, he’s getting up to smother you in his love before you can retort and he ends the video mid kiss so that he can make sweet love to you properly.

Month Three

You’ve been up for the last hour, craving the combination that you dreamed about not too long ago. To anyone else, it may seem like something that would be absolutely horrid, but for you? It was a necessity to try.

You did your best to ignore it and attempted to fall asleep again, pulling the blankets up to your chin in an effort to get comfortable, but to no avail. The thought of and need for it became the reason why your eyes fluttered back open at one in the morning.

It wasn’t in you to wait anymore, so with Caleb sleeping like a log behind you, carefully you slipped out from under his arm and off the bed. In the dark and quiet space, you aimlessly grabbed some sneakers, a sweater, and your car keys. You then took those things and your wallet out of the bedroom to get ready somewhere you wouldn’t disturb your husband.

“Do I want ice cream or cream cheese?” you question yourself and slip on your shoes. “Maybe both? What do you think, little babe?”

You breathe out a laugh through your nose as you slip on your sweater. Your small bean is the reason you’re up like this and ready to go in the first place, so it made sense to ask.

Just as you get ready to stand, Caleb is stumbling down the hallway and into the living room where you sit on the couch.

“You scared the shit out of me. ‘Didn’t feel you in bed,” he mumbles through his sleepiness. His eyes blinked as he took in your attire.

“What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” His questions were coming out like lightning rounds.

You press your lips together, feeling absolutely horrible because his chest and cheeks are tinged red with worry. “We’re fine, love. I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you,” you sigh as you get up. “I wanted…I was just craving something and I figured that I could go get it. I didn’t want to bother you.”

He shakes his head, walking up to you and cupping your face in his hands before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and our baby are my priority, alright? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. You need something—anything—you come to me.”

You nod as he continues. “Don’t go anywhere this late without me, please, pretty baby. Whatever you need, I got you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling your eyes burn with grateful tears.

“What did you want?”

He sees you trying to hide a smirk. “It’s weird isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t even think about laughing at me,” you pout.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Fine,” you huff. “I had a dream about pomegranate seeds with ice cream…topped with lemon juice. And chocolate. And tortilla strips.”

“You dreamt that?”

“I did.”

“Babe…” Caleb looks into your eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek. “That sounds like a sensory nightmare.”

“You promised!”

“I’m not judging!” he laughs. “Just…that’s interesting. But anything you want, we’re doing it. Let me get dressed and we’ll go wherever. I’ll even try it with you.”

Your eyes beam. “Really?”

“Really.” He kisses your lips briefly. “Give me five.”

From that point on, every single craving you have, Caleb indulges in your creations and tries them with you. Whenever he remembers, he records both your reactions for safe keeping and even during the times where he doesn’t like it, he’ll never show or tell you that.

Making sure you stay happy, healthy, and confident in any and all things is all that matters to him.

Month Four

Caleb has been doing sufficient research in everything pertaining to his health as well as yours and the baby’s. It’s why he’s up early every morning preparing vitamins, supplements, and freshly juiced vegetable drinks for you and him to consume on a daily basis.

When he learned how a man’s health can negatively or positively impact his woman’s pregnancy, he has ensured that he takes every single proper precaution to stay in tip-top shape. He has always been a very active and decently healthy person, but ever since little babe has been growing into fruition, the efforts have increased tenfold.

You wake up one morning, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes before you use the bathroom. Your bump is slowly starting to protrude out now and it’s made you so warm inside to visibly see what you were creating.

After that, the first thing you do is go and look for your husband. You’re happy to see him in the kitchen, sorting your pills in their respective compartments for the week as he softly mumbles to himself.

“Morning,” you say sweetly as you approach him.

“Good morning, mama,” he smiles, kissing you when you get close enough. He rubs his hand down your stomach. “How are we feeling?”

“We’re okay. I’m a little nauseous, though.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Prenatals and your supplements. Take ‘em.”

He dumps today’s bunch into your hand and grabs some water for you. “Drink the whole thing, okay? Then we’ll drink the smoothie I made before I cook you breakfast.

“You mean the cup of grass?”

“Don’t fight me on this, pretty. I know you hate the taste and smell, but the doctor and all the things I’ve read told me how good this is for you. For us.”

You take the cup he hands you after you follow his first set of instructions. “And I’m going to look into the best things that’ll help with energy and milk production, too.”

Your frown as you look down into the cup, but it’s not because of the contents that puts that look on your face. Knowing you so well, Caleb catches it.

“Uh oh,” he takes hold of your chin to have you look up at him. Your lip begins to quiver as he rubs his thumb over it. “What’s wrong?”

Reassuring you with his patience, he adds, “C’mon. What do we do?”

“We talk…” you whimper through a sniffle. Your hormones have made you infinitely more emotional and while it’s been getting on your nerves, Caleb’s taken that reality and has learned how to approach those feelings with care.

“I just feel like I haven’t been doing enough. You’ve been learning and doing so much for me and around the house. And I’m just…not. I just feel useless, sometimes.”

“Mama, I need you to understand…You are doing the most work, no matter what you see me do. Even when your pretty eyes are closed, your body is working to keep you and our baby safe, cared for, and healthy. All I’m doing is making that process as easy as I can, because it’s my job.”

He takes the cups and places them on the counter before bringing you in for a hug, resting his chin on your head. “Don’t ever insult or undermine yourself like that again, you hear me? I’ve told you before, I don’t like when people talk badly about my wife.”

“You’re such a cornball,” you chuckle, the tears on your cheek wetting his white gym tank top.

With a kiss to your hair, he pulls back. “I always will be. Now, drink up and after you eat, you’re sitting in the garage with me while I work out. I want to channel that energy to you.”

You snort, watching how he downs the deep green liquid. “Babe, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Even if it doesn’t, you’re gonna be there anyways. Besides, I got you a comfy chair and some snacks.”

You wink with a finger gun. “Consider me convinced.”

Month Five

“What do you think the baby will be?” You look over at Caleb as he sets the cake down on the extra large beach towel after helping you sit.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, pretty girl,” he smiles before plopping down next to you.

Today was the day you and your husband were going to find out if your little babe was going to be Sloane or Milo. After the doctor folded up the reveal and handed it to you last week, you and Caleb immediately went to your favorite bakery and handed it to the owner that you’ve gotten to know pretty well. You’ve frequented the family owned business a lot—even more so with the pregnancy—so it only felt right for them to assist you in this process.

Since you’re—ironically—pretty private people, you two decided to keep this little event to yourselves for now. Once decided on the perfect day that the weather permitted, you made your way to the beach soon after the owner called to tell you that your surprise was ready.

After you finished eating your messy but undeniably delicious dinner of burgers and fries in the car as you watched the sun begin its descent, you knew you had to be quick before you missed your chance to record the reveal beneath the golden glow.

You press record on your phone and prop it up against the box the cake was originally in, taking a deep breath as the warm and salty air fans against your skin and through your flowery dress.

“Excited?” Caleb asks, the wind blowing his hair back.

“Mhm. And nervous.”

He brushes a lock behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “No need to be. Let’s do this.”

You both grab the two wine cups you brought, looking into each other eyes with love. The video catches your other hands that are holding yourselves up, resting on top of each other comfortably in between you two.

Turning away so that you can’t see the heart shaped cake with boy or girl? written on top, you two dig your cups into the soft dessert. You make sure to go deep enough to gather as much as you can inside the glass.

Caleb raises his eyebrows and bites his lip in anticipation. “Alright, ready?”

“I am.”

“Okay. One…two…three…”

You turn to look swiftly once you pull the cups out of the treat and immediate warmth fills your heart to see the light pink frosting in between your favorite flavor of red velvet cake.

Caleb stands and starts running laps around you, cheering and screaming, “I KNEW IT!! MY BABYGIRL SLOANE!!” with sand flying behind his feet after each step.

You can’t help but to giggle and cry a little at the same time, using your knuckles to brush away the joyful tears. Out of breath, he returns back to you and gets on his stomach to start kissing your now larger belly.

“Daddy can’t wait to meet you, pretty little babe. You’re gonna look just like mama, I know it.”

“And she might act just like you,” you retort playfully as he rubs you over your dress.

“We’re in for it, aren’t we?”

“A mini me with your behavior? Yeah, we’re definitely in for it.”

“In for one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, for sure.” He lifts his head to kiss you tender and slow.

You look at your phone, smiling as Caleb starts mumbling cute little things to Sloane like; “Be kind to mama, yeah?” and “You’re gonna like your geometric shirts. I’ll get you some pink dresses to match, too.”

The video ends up lasting for nearly an hour the longer you two sit talking and planning. There’s so many dreams and even more excitement surrounding the things you’re looking forward to doing.

And it all begins with baby Sloane Xia.

Month Six

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it chat?” Caleb greeted the fans as they started pouring into the stream by the thousands. Ever since you got pregnant, you two made the decision to keep it a secret from them until you were comfortable enough to share. Now that you’re showing so much and have ceased most sexual content until you’re ready again, you felt that it wouldn’t hurt to give them the truth as to why.

You and Caleb were able to get away with making videos and fulfilling requests freely up until you were nearly five months. After that, he had given the excuse that you’ve been super busy with something that you’d reveal when you were ready, but at the time, said you were also stepping away.

It’s been awhile since you’ve been on any livestream as of late, whereas Caleb still remained consistent. He would always assure them that that you were okay whenever they spoke of missing you a little more than usual.

Now that you sat beside him, watching the comments fly, everyone was not only eager to see you, but equally as excited to know what you’ve been up to.

g0oner4ever: SHE’S BACK OMGGG

calebst0pspenda: pls tell me we’re getting new content. i can only rewatch so many videos

iluv2cum: GIRL I’VE MISSED YOU WTF

pu$$yfairy: you can’t leave again. it’s not the same when you’re not hereee

this1smyw0rld: i wonder what she’s been working on 👀

“Hey, guys,” you smiled as you leaned in closer to Caleb. “I’ve missed you all, too!”

You looked up at your husband and he gave you his classic reassuring wink and grin, nodding before you continued.

“I’ve been MIA for a minute.” You blow out a breath. “There’s no reason to be all suspenseful and make you wait or guess, so let’s just show you what’s been…cooking.”

You roll back in your pink gaming chair and stand up. When you turn to the side, Caleb helps to lift your sweater to reveal your beautiful baby bump. He leans in to kiss your belly button as you brush his hair from his forehead.

“We’re pregnant!” you beam at the camera, resting the hand with your wedding ring on top of your husband’s who has his placed on your stomach protectively.

iluv2cum: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHITTT

iwantaburrito: SHE REALLY HAS BEEN COOKING

g00n3rcr3w: you see caleb? he wishes yall would say something rude LMFAOOO

havinagudtim3: SHE’S GLOWINGGGG OMG

daydreaminggalldatime: BOY OR GIRL??!!?!

cumminroundthamountain: we’re officially aunts and uncles guys

pu$$yfairy: EXCUSE ME?!? WE NEED FAMILY VLOGS, HELLO!!!!

“We’ve been thinking about posting some baby preparation content,” Caleb adds. “There’s already so much we’ve filmed, too. Plus, a lot of stuff is supposed to be delivered soon. Maybe I can go live when we start fixing up the nursery?”

Everyone is ecstatic, excitedly telling you both that they’d love to be a part of the rest of your journey. You’re filled with so much gratitude when you sit back down and start having a mini Q&A, spending nearly two hours with your husband and your fan base as the excitement for your pregnancy makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we tell them how it happened?” Caleb whispers playfully.

“If you want to be up here getting yelled at because we didn’t record it, go ahead,” you chuckle.

“I’m a pretty good story teller,” he kisses your lips and turns back to the camera. “They can use their imagination.”

Month Seven & Month Eight

“Okay, what do you think about this one?” You twirl around to face Caleb, smoothing down the sheer ruby red nightgown you were trying on. It’s a beautiful piece, stopping mid thigh with a deeper red lace trim and it cups your breasts perfectly.

Shopping for clothes as a bigger woman already had its moments of being a hassle, but add being pregnant and you were lucky if you found something you considered even remotely sexy.

That’s why when your husband found this rare gem of a maternity lingerie boutique, you just had to see it in person. Its atmosphere was perfect—with dim lighting and private rooms so people could look at clothes together in peace for as long as they needed to. With the way you’ve noticed your husband’s growing erection and how he can’t keep his hands off of you, not only is this trip a success, but this just might be the most confident you’ve personally felt in a long time.

Caleb clenches his jaw and shifts his hips as he sits on the small comfortable cushioned chair, his eyes scanning down your heavy tits and round stomach. Him knowing that he was the one who got you like this, that he’s the one who fucked you so good that he put a baby in you, has had him on cloud nine the moment he read those positive tests.

Watching you grow more and more satisfied with every article of clothing you put on has only made him grow hungry for you.

He licks his bottom lip as he pulls you in gently by the back of your thighs and he presses a kiss to your stomach.

“You’re perfect, mama,” he says truthfully, his hands rubbing up and down your smooth skin before going up to hold your ass firmly in his grasp.

“Yeah?” you smirk, running your thumb along his lip to cause his eyes to flutter from your touch.

“Don’t do that.” Caleb looks up at you and the lust that decorates his eyes makes your pussy tingle.

“Do what?”

“Talk to me with that tone like you want me to fuck you in this dressing room. It’s either that or I walk out of here and everyone sees how desperate you make me.”

You tilt your head the way he does, making your lips pout. “And what if I did?”

“You gonna let me take care of us?” His fingers are already in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your plush thighs.

“I’d let you do anything…”

The moment they become a pool at your feet, he stands and is kissing you like he’ll never get the chance again. He’s careful of your bump, not pressing against you too hard when your fingers dig pull on his soft hair.

“Bend over the chair for me, pretty,” he says through each wet kiss against your lips, biting on it gently to make you whimper. He watches how you cutely waddle behind the seat.

You go to pull off the gown, but he stops you. “Keep it on for me. We’ll buy it when we’re done.”

“You’re so dirty,” you smile, obeying and bending over like he asked you. The cool air against your sensitive cunt only makes you increasingly eager.

The sound of him undoing his belt causes your pussy to clench the longer it waits for him to fill her. Your sensitive nipples graze against the soft material of the gown as well, only adding to your stimulation.

“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” he coos when he stands behind you, lifting the dress to get a perfect view of your pretty pussy.

“I’ve been wet since the first outfit.”

“Fuck…” he breathes, pulling his cock that’s been just as hard as you’ve been soaked. “I’ll fuck you properly when we get home.”

He takes hold of your waist. “‘Gonna make this quick, but you tell me the moment you feel any pain or discomfort, okay?”

“I will,” you promise. “Just…please, put it in.” You’re looking at him through the mirror in front of you, silently begging him to give you what you need.

He keeps his heady eyes on you as he begins to slide every thick inch into your soaked heat. You nearly cry out, but immediately cover your mouth because you’re not supposed to be doing this and you don’t want to be banned or worse—locked up. But you can’t help but to revel in the naughtiness of what you’re doing.

And Caleb couldn’t give a damn, not when he aims to make you come on his cock.

“We always find ourselves in front of one of these, don’t we?” he teases through a groan when you squeeze him. You ring gleams beneath the gentle fluorescents when your fingers flex to grip the couch with every thrust you take, and it makes him throb even more inside you.

“Caleb…baby, that’s so f-fucking good…” you mewl. Your skin makes quiet contact with him over and over as he tries to keep the noise down, but if he had it his way, his name would’ve been known around the entire block.

“You’re doing so well for me, mama.” He looks down to see how you cream around his length. “Letting me fuck you like this.”

His hand slides up your back to find purchase in your hair to make your skin prickle with goosebumps. Each time he glides within your tightness, it makes your head spin the closer your orgasm gets.

“I’m—gonna…Caleb, ‘m c-coming,” you blubber, nearly incoherent.

“Me too, pretty baby.” The pace picks up a little more to help both of you reach that pinnacle. “I’m gonna get you pregnant again one day, you know that? Keep you full of my cum until you tell me no more.”

“Yes…yes, I want it…” You feel like you could cry with how well he’s working your body. His hips push into you a few more times before you shut your eyes tight and bury your face in the cushion when you start to jolt from the pleasure ripping through you.

At the same time that you try to milk his cock, he pulls out to shoot his heavy load all over your curls and onto your trembling pussy lips.

“So pretty…” he praises through bated breath, holding the dress up over your hips to watch his seed drip like he always does. He uses his flushed tip to spread it around before kissing your back.

“I think we need to buy this in every color,” he half-jokes, helping you sit up after tucking himself back in his jeans.

“Maybe two of each,” you entertain, humming as he kisses down the side of throat. “You’re surely bound to ruin it the first time around.”

He nips at your neck. “My wife knows me so well.”

Month Nine - Baby’s Coming!

The game Caleb plays and his commentary while you two sit on stream starts to become background noise. That sharp pain you felt at first twenty minutes ago? You’ve been feeling it consistently every three minutes now.

Successfully, you reassured your husband that you were okay the first time—because of course he noticed—and have been trying to see if what you think is about to happen, is happening. You didn’t want to ring the alarm when it didn’t need to be. Not until you were sure.

He’s been so engrossed in the game and you’ve been doing your best to stay silent, so he doesn’t even know you’ve been having what is in fact, consistent contractions. You breathe in and out quietly, your eyebrows furrowing as the pain hits you hard again.

iluv2cum: caleb, for the love of god, pls look at your wife

pillowhumpingenthusiast: is she okay????

cUml0rd: IS SHE GOING INTO LABOR?!?!

Soon after the concerns started rolling in, a donation came on screen for $20 with an automated voice message attached that said, “Your wife is having contractions.”

He doesn’t even pause the game, doesn’t look at the chat or waste a moment more when he drops everything to put his eyes on you.

“Fuck…Fuck, babe, why didn’t you say anything!?” he exclaims with concern. He sees how your cheeks have gotten slightly pink from all the heavy breathing and pain.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t sure…” you press your lips together as you feel another contraction come and make your body tense. “I thinks it’s happening, Caleb…”

“We’re a go?” his eyes dance across your features, pressing a hand on your stomach.

“We’re a go,” you confirm, nodding when he kisses your lips.

“The hospital bag is already in the car. Do you need me to help you get dressed? You want to get cleaned up? Tell me what you need, mama. I’m here,” he urges.

gaminandcummin: MAMA?!?! OH MY HEART

itselectricboogiewoogie: don’t forget about ussss omg!!! and stay safe!!

“You,” you nearly weep. “I just need you…”

“You have me.” He helps you stand, shutting everything off and guides you so you can make your way to the hospital.

“She’s coming, Caleb,” you chuckle through another contraction.

“She is.” He’s nearly on the verge of tears himself. “Let’s bring her home.”

A/N: This was A LOT!!! But I had so much fun. I felt like I could see it all, like they were flashbacks or something. Know that this is NOT the end of them!!! I can definitely create more stories (if you guys want) but yes, Camboy!Caleb and his wife are officially PARENTSSSS!!! SLOANE XIA!!?? AHHHHH!!! Let me know if you liked this! Honestly, I got to month four and felt like I was way in over my head, but I refused to let up.

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline