#showed up and went No. Never. and i got Tired Of It All and started killint and woke up

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 2

Synopsis: An ending tour marks the beginnings of a change. Just when everything was going so right. A meeting sparks emotions that were buried deep within one and another. What does that mean for our hunters and their source of peace.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn (?), Yandere (?)

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Word Count: 2.5k A/N: I'll be honest here, the yandere part is quite slow. Apologies if you're reading this purely bc of the yandere part. Also probably OOC.

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A lift plunges further into the stages interior with the three hunters excitedly discussing the sight of gold along the honmoon. All their efforts are paying off with the near closeness of blocking the demons away from the surface.

"Did we just see gold?!"

"Yeah, I can't believe we're doing it."

"It's so exciting!"

"Okay. You know what this means. Its time to release the song."

"(Cough) Whoa. That was weird."

"Good thing we're taking a break."

"Yeah. Sounds like you need the rest."

"Yeah. Just need a little water."

"Did someone say water?"

Just as the doors opened the girls were met with an entourage of staff, just to take care of their well-beings after the show. Meeting the proud smiles of their managers Bobby and (Y/N).

Urging to give them water immediately as they walk and Bobby complimenting them on their performance. (Y/N) walks besides the girls and adjusts some of their robes and getting permission to take off some of their accessories.

As a reward for the success and topping the charts yet again, Bobby organised a staycation at fancy resort for them. But they promptly denied since mainly Mira and Zoey were more excited about relaxing on their couch.

Since the resort is now available, Rumi states that he should go to the resort instead. Which Bobby promptly got a robe and face mask on.

"Oh, wait. (Y/N), are you okay? You seem a bit... um, tired." Bobby questions, pausing her exit to follow the girls. Granted she didn't get much sleep due to the stress of organising the venue with Bobby, along with keeping up with the girls every time a demon showed up.

Not to mention the three girls asking for little pointers and ideas for the stage performance up until she firmly told them to stop.

Look. She likes her friends, really she does.

She just wishes they would leave her alone sometimes.

Zoey clung to her space so she can get pointers and ideas for lyrics, while also eagerly curious as to what she does outside of the tower.

Mira is much more chill about how they spend time together, typically asking her to watch something on the TV and eat together. But she started taking more of her personal time and commonly asking where she went by herself.

Rumi can be described as professional, initially. She tried to converse first, but (Y/N)'s shaking body was enough to stop trying for a while. But again, they grew acquainted and the hunter began joining in on her lyric writing and demo making sessions. Though once again, she never left the poor girl alone.

Though for all of them...

They refused to.

"Y-Yeah... I just need to rest for a while. But I got some things to take care of before that." Pulling a reassuring yet still tired smile his way, before following the girls in their shadows.

————————————————————

"You're telling me, that the girls released 'Golden'? Now?!" (Y/N) had been on the phone with Bobby as he made his way back for promotions.

(Y/N) was nervously fiddling with her good luck charm on her waist as she was taking in the news. But as much as she wanted to help with the promotions tonight, she couldn't hold off on what she had to do now.

Speeding through the streets with a guitar case on her back, a baggy hoodie and pants while donning a face mask to avoid people as much as possible.

She didn't wear a mask before, but fans started to recognise her as a manager for HUNTR/X. Her blood pressure by itself couldn't given her a heart attack right then and there when she heard that. Never again. She doesn't even know why they liked her so much.

The city nightlife has always been a somewhat suffocating, yet calming. Bustling crowded streets of people coming off work just to drink and let their worries leave for just a moment, families and friends going to dinner to spend time together and unwind. Such people made the night calming for her.

But the suffocating darkness that lingers underneath...

It always chokes at her.

However, her duties are of the most effective during those darkening nights.

Pushing away her inner anxieties and paranoia about herself, she pursues into the nightlife.

Coming down to a secluded park, long emptied for the streets and lights. Its playground seen better days and benches uncleaned with lingering brown leaves and twigs. By passing the structures, (Y/N) finds a suitable large old tree for herself. Its roots coming out of the ground and some leaving a space that make it appear like a throne among the tree.

Taking a seat in the centre and dismounting her case, showcasing to no one, a black electric guitar with gold and light blue accents along its body. A shiny exterior that makes look untouched, no lingering fingerprints or stains and signs of its use. A small notebook used and battered laid within the case. Stickers of the HUNTR/X girls and other musically themed ones about the cover.

(Y/N)'s touch detests the guitars unused appearance, but causes the accents to glow in the night. Picking up the notebook and flicking through the pages, she stopped at one page and put it to the ground, still visible for her eyes.

Tuning her guitar to its right sound, she began to pluck the strings.

————————————————————

As the honmoon glowed its usual blue, a deep pink purple teared through like paper. Clawing out the hole is a purple hand, followed by a black sleeve of a hanbok.

As soon as their feet touch the ground, a puff of pink smoke covers their body to reveal a young man who looked like he just came out of a drama series.

Middle parted black hair with dreamy brown eyes that can melt a girls heart. A dark teel green hoodie underneath a black jacket, paired with dark blue jeans and shoes.

An attire fit for a heartthrob, an ideal standard perfectly. Too perfectly.

Gwi-ma gave his blessings to humour Jinu's demon boy-band plan, in exchange he would erase Jinu's memories.

Earlier than planned, he decided to scout out the perfect place for the newly formed Saja Boys to debut. Surfacing through the night was a perfect cover for him, nobody would take full notice of him just yet. Using this time to casually scope the area.

Smirking at the large number of souls in the night. Numerous fans ready to be converted into loyal fans for him and the boys.

Though as he was admiring an empty park, he feels a sudden rush of his heart racing. Clenching his chest like he had heartburn, he freezes in his spot.

'What is this? Why does my chest hurt?'

As Jinu was questioning his sudden chest pains, his head flicks up as his ears picks up a haunting voice coming from the park.

"Watch the sunrise along the coast"

"As we're both getting old"

"I can't describe what I'm feeling"

"And all I know is we're going home"

"So, please don't let me go"

"Don't let me go~"

A gentle yet haunting voice echoes through the empty park. Ruptures of calm and contentment filling those along the outsides of the park.

Nobody bothering to humour their sudden feelings and search for the source of the voice.

All but one.

Stepping on the old green grass, Jinu follows the closing strums of a guitar and the warming vocals of the singer.

"And if it's right, I don't care how long it takes"

"As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face"

The echoes of laughter from a once young girl fills her mind. Followed by the joint giggles and chuckles of a mother and father. All just happy to be together.

No care for what setting they were in, whether it was the busy streets of a city or the quiet hums of animals in the countryside, nothing could wipe off their joy and love for one another.

Until it did.

"Save your tears, it'll be okay"

"All I know is you're here with me"

"Ooh ooh, oh, oh oh"

"Oh oh oh oh oh"

A pitiful smile plastered on her face. Pouring her heart and soul into her voice.

Rays of blue and lavender light ripple through the city. Areas closer to the park reveal small parts of the honmoon, glowing a lavender purple.

A memory in her mind becomes as clear as an old tape record. Or one could say a thought.

Her body growing older and older. Watching as those who care for her grow weaker and weaker. A bittersweet image.

"Watch the sunrise as we're getting old, oh oh"

"I can't describe, oh oh"

"I wish I could live through every memory again~"

"Just one more time before we float off in the wind"

"And all the time we spent waiting for the light to take us in"

"Have been the greatest moments of my life~"

Hiding behind a tree Jinu peaks to manage out the silhouette of a figure sitting at the foot of the largest and oldest tree in the park. Based on the voice he could distinguish the singer to be a girl, but her hair was shaggy and covered her eyes.

He did not think this haunting voice would come from here.

"I don't care how long it takes"

"As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face"

"Save your tears, it'll be okay"

"You're here with me"

Lifting her head, facing up to the old branches of the tree. That pitiful sad smile she held brought something unknown to his heart. He couldn't place why it felt so warming. Yet so haunting.

He felt reassured for some reason. Like his guilt and shame was washed away, clearing his head.

There was no sound of Gwi-ma.

For the first time in 400 years, he heard nothing but the haunting yet comforting voice of the singer.

"Ooh ooh, oh, oh oh"

"Oh oh oh oh oh"

"I can't describe, oh oh"

The plucking of her guitar came to an end. An overflowing amount of lavender light spreads along the honmoon, but it didn't push him down.

He felt at peace.

Unknowingly to himself, he took a step out from behind his hiding spot. Continuing to take more and more steps until he was right in front of her.

"Are you the one singing?" He was mentally cursing himself for the obvious question.

The singer in question froze. Slowly turning up her head, Jinu is met with a shiver of nerves. Piercing (f/c) and gold eyes stared back. Her pupils constricting as her hands began to shake.

"W-Who says it was m-me?" He sort of expected a quieter speaking voice. Just not this melodic. Her body was nervously shaking from his presence alone. As a demon, he should feel a certain thrill seeing her so fearful from him. Alluring humans to listen to their own shame and insecurities so they can be consumed by Gwi-ma.

But he hated seeing her shake.

"Uh, you are the only one here. I-I just wanted to say that, you have a beautiful voice." The compliment nearly rolled off his tongue flawlessly. He felt unnaturally shy with her (f/c) eyes on him.

While Jinu was weirdly nervous meeting the singer, (Y/N) felt like she was sweating bullets.

'There's only one explanation for this.'

No regular human pays attention to her singing. The only reason why her backing voice is discussed online, is because its among their favourite girl group.

'He's a demon.'

"U-Um... thank you...its nothing special..." Quieting her voice until it became a near whisper. Trying to ignore the demon as she packs up her notebook and guitar.

"What's your name?"

'He wants to keep talking? Should I tell him?'

Its not everyday that a demon wants to get to know her. It was strange. Unnatural. But what malice did she hold towards the male who has done nothing but try to talk to her.

She's not really a hunter anyway.

"(Y-Y/N)..."

"I-I'm Jinu, its nice to meet you." He holds out a hand for a shake. But he's just met with a blank stare.

(F/c) eyes barely blinking while simultaneously looking him up and down. He's never felt so self-conscious in centuries, he was beginning to sweat.

Thankfully for him, she peeled her gaze off and locked up her instrument once again. Slinging it on her back once she stood up at full height. While this was happening, Jinu put his hand away faster than a car. He could feel blood rushing to his ears out of pure embarrassment. He doesn't even know why he feels this way, they literally just met.

"A-Anyways! I wanted to ask if-"

"What's a demon like you doing here?"

Her question catching him off guard.

She knew what he was.

'Is she a hunter? How does she know?!'

"A regular human d-doesn't usually pay mind to my singing." Her statement coming out a bit louder than before. She didn't exactly look happy with being noticed.

Though in reality, she was feeling her heart race.

Of course she knew the effects her voice has on demons. Its what her ancestors have been doing for centuries. Things just changed when her mother met the Sunlight Sisters. Their duties were altered by the wishes of the hunters.

She can freeze a demons actions just by them hearing her voice. But it does not strengthen the honmoon as much as the hunters. Her weapon can barely kill a demon. Yet her voice and emotion poured into her singing is always enough for them to leave on their will.

Beyond what her mother has informed her of their ancestors, that is all she knows of her capabilities.

Jinu on the other hand didn't know how to respond. Humans don't pay attention to her melodic voice? He was beyond stumped.

'How could the humans not listen to this beauty!? I-I can't even describe how it feels to my body and mind!'

He had to stop himself mentally before he went on a tangent he didn't know was in him.

"I-If you're done staring. I'm gonna go." Walking past him in his frozen like state, trapped in his waring thoughts. Realising she passed him, he quickly snapped his neck over.

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. Lifting up an arm and doing a little wave, paired with the softest smile he's seen in years.

"I'll see you around, Jinu."

For the first time in 400 years, he met someone he wants to protect again.

Damn whoever stands in his way.

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Edit: Trying my absolute best here :') Its a bit insane. Also if anyone has ideas for duet ballad or even like r&b songs, pls tell me, its for the fic and an idea I have in mind. And tell me your favourite saja boy bc I badly want more content about them.

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024

[orellazalonia]

Ella,

I have a request and was wondering about a bucky x reader Wandavision au where the reader was lost to Bucky during WWII (as a nurse or something) and Wanda finds out and conjures a life for Bucky and the reader the same time she conjures the hex for her and vision?

Thank you so much and I love your writing so much!!!! It's so good it makes me feel all the feels ❤️

Greetings, dear! Thank you for the kind words and the request. This was such an interesting idea. Since I’ve never really watched the entirety of Wandavision, I took a lot of creative liberty for how Bucky’s life would be like. So, I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

In Another Life

Summary: Bucky Barnes lost you during WWII, and for decades, he buried the grief deep beneath war, silence, and survival. When Wanda creates her new life in Westview, her overwhelming sorrow unknowingly taps into his own, conjuring a second pocket reality where you’re alive and waiting for him untouched by pain or time. (Wandavision AU | Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist

The first time he saw you, there was blood on your hands and a scowl on your face.

Not your blood. Someone else’s, specifically one of the soldiers who’d been hit by some sharp metal near the ribs and kept insisting he was fine. You snapped at him to shut up and stay still or “you’ll be meeting God with your lungs in your lap.”

That got his attention.

Bucky lingered near the entrance of the makeshift field tent, helmet tucked under one arm, fingers still smeared with gunpowder. He should’ve been looking for Steve, or checking in with his unit, but something about your voice cut through the smoke and chaos. You were sharp, focused, and completely unimpressed.

You looked up, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. You gave him a once-over.

“Unless you’re dying, get out of my tent.”

He grinned. “That how you talk to all the boys trying to flirt with you?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Only the ones who bleed ego instead of plasma.”

He laughed. Actually laughed, right there, in the middle of a damn war zone. And you just went back to working, hands steady, and movements practiced. Efficient and fearless. You weren’t there to play nurse for medals or glory. You were there to keep people alive.

That stuck with him.

He found out your name later, after asking around and bribing one of the other medics with cigarettes. They had you’d been transferred a month prior, said you didn’t take nonsense from anyone, that you’d been patching up soldiers like it was your personal war to win.

Bucky wasn’t sure when it became routine though to visit you. Maybe the third or fourth time he brought in an injured man and lingered too long near your table. Maybe when he started showing up with a scraped knuckle just so he had a reason to sit while you cleaned it. Maybe when you stopped pretending he was annoying.

You had this way of looking at him, like you could see right through the swagger, the charm, the carefully built confidence. Like you knew it was all armor.

And for some reason, that didn’t scare him. It grounded him.

One night, after a rough mission, he sat beside you while you stitched up a person’s leg and asked if you’d let him take you dancing when the war was over.

You looked up, tired eyes soft for once. “If you survive this mess, Barnes, I’ll let you take me wherever you want.”

That was the night he promised himself he’d come back.

That was the night he realized you were the only good thing in a world falling apart.

War made time blurry.

Some days felt like they stretched for years, others vanished in seconds. But somehow, between smoke and silence, you became the thing Bucky looked forward to. A constant.

He’d come back from patrol caked in mud and pain, and there you’d be with your sleeves rolled up, always too busy to rest. But when he showed up, your eyes always flicked to him. Just for a second. Just long enough to anchor him.

There were no labels, no declarations. Just little moments sewn into the madness.

The way your fingers lingered a little too long when wrapping his wrist. The way he brought you extra rations–chocolate, mostly–because he noticed you never took enough for yourself. The way you’d talk to him when things went quiet late at night, when the hum of generators and distant gunfire felt like thunder in his chest.

One night, crouched beside a campfire with a thin blanket thrown around your shoulders, you admitted you were tired. Not physically. Not from stitching wounds or working eighteen-hour shifts.

“I’m tired of losing them,” You whispered, not looking at him.

He wanted to tell you he’d never leave, that he’d make it back. But he’d seen too much and lost too many.

So instead, he just reached for your hand and held it in silence. That was how love felt, back then. It was quiet, earned, and unspoken.

He never told you how much you meant to him, not with words. But you knew. He saw it in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. In the way your fingers moved slightly toward his when you passed. In the way you let yourself rest near him, like you finally felt safe.

It wasn’t a fairytale. It wasn’t even a promise.

It was something like peace. And that was all either of you could afford.

Around three weeks later of each other’s steady company, you scrawled a note on a piece of torn map paper and slipped it into his vest. “After dinner by the medical truck.”

There was a smug little smile drawn in the corner.

He kept the paper. Still had it in his hands when the world split open.

He was supposed to meet you that night.

But the blast came from nowhere, one of the younger soldiers stepped on a mine outside the perimeter. And from there on, it was a chain reaction. Ammunition depot went next.

Bucky hit the dirt, ears ringing. Fire bloomed in every direction. There were screams, metal flung, smoke rising, blood elsewhere. He didn’t think. He just ran toward the smoke, toward the med tent.

Toward you.

But the tent wasn’t there anymore.

It was wreckage of twisted poles, scorched linens fluttering like flags.

He found your ID tag in the mud, bent and blackened.

They told him later that you’d been running out to help. That you’d grabbed your kit before anyone else moved. That you were only a few feet from the blast.

But there wasn’t a body to bury. No goodbye.

Just fire and silence.

He didn’t speak for three days.

Steve sat beside him once, tried to get him to eat. Bucky didn’t even look up. Just kept his fingers curled around that half-crumpled map scrap with your handwriting still faint beneath the soot.

“After dinner by the medical truck.”

He would’ve gone. If it had been five minutes earlier. If he’d run faster. If–

He spent years trying to forget that night.

Decades more pretending he never loved you. Because remembering you meant remembering who he was before he became something else. Something sharp, hollow, and used.

And he couldn’t survive that. Not again.

The world kept spinning long after you were gone. After the Snap, after the Blip, anfter everything.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d come back whole.

He tried, though. Therapy, missions, staying grounded. Sam helped. Steve… well, Steve left, and that hurt in ways Bucky didn’t talk about. But mostly, he kept his head down and tried not to listen to the ghosts.

He still dreamed of you sometimes. Not every night, but enough.

Your laugh echoing in that tent. The careful way you used to tuck gauze and other things into your pocket in a specific way.

But other times, at night, he’d sit on the floor of his apartment and try to remember your face.

Not just the way you looked in a hospital tent, or the half-grin you gave when he made a stupid joke, but the way it felt to exist beside you. The ease. The warmth. The rare, steady rhythm of something real during a time when nothing made sense.

He hadn't spoken your name in years. Not even in therapy. It felt like betraying you to say it aloud, like naming a ghost would send it back to the grave.

But Wanda… Wanda knew.

Maybe not the details. But she felt it. She saw the hollowness in him mirrored in herself.

The two of them never talked about it. Not directly. But after Tony’s funeral, they’d stood together in silence. Both of them staring at the lake. Both of them holding on to names they couldn’t say anymore.

She'd lost Vision. He’d lost you.

And grief, real raw grief, is an unstable thing when paired with power.

So when Wanda broke, so did the world.

Her fantasy was immediate, cinematic, precise. Westview bloomed like a wound. A house, a husband, children; it was grief rewritten into control, loss repainted in pastels.

But it didn’t stop there.

Because even as she reshaped her own life, something inside her reached. It searched out pain like her own. Hearts cracked in the same place.

And it found Bucky.

Not the soldier. Not the killer. Not the man who was rebuilt piece by piece after seventy years of war.

But the boy who’d once promised a nurse a dance.

The boy who kept a charred old scrap of paper folded in his wallet, even after decades of memory-wiping, reprogramming, and silence.

Wanda’s abilities was powerful. But her grief didn’t want to be alone.

So while she created a world for herself in Westview… the magic spilled.

And a second pocket formed. Quieter, smaller. Not television, laugh tracks, or retro kitchens. Just a modest street, a white house with a creaky porch, wind chimes, and the scent of fresh coffee.

Bucky had been sitting alone in his apartment in Brooklyn when it happened.

One second he was staring at the floor, half-lost in memory. The next, he blinked and the world was different. Brighter, softer.

His fingers curled around a mug he didn’t remember making. His shoulders weren’t tense anymore. His mind was quiet.

Then he heard your voice from the kitchen.

“Did you remember to grab eggs this time, or am I walking to town again?”

He turned slowly, his heart pounding.

You stood there in a yellow dress, brushing your hair back with one hand and looking every bit like a dream he’d forced himself to forget.

And the part that broke him?

You didn’t look shocked to see him. You looked like you’d been waiting all morning.

At first, he didn’t question it.

How could he? You were alive and breathing. Soft and real. You curled into his side at night like you never left. You would kiss him in the kitchen and call him "James" when you were annoyed and "Buck" when you were tired.

You even laughed. God, he’d missed your laugh.

The world around you was perfect in the way only fiction could be. The mornings were always slow. The sun was always gentle. The neighbors always waved. The town smelled like fresh rain and honeysuckle. And you?

You wore those little dresses he’d only ever imagined you in, floral things with buttons and pockets. You danced barefoot while you cooked. You hummed songs that hadn’t been played on the radio since the forties.

And Bucky let it happen.

He let himself believe it was real. Because this time, you didn’t die in fire. This time, there was no minefield. No screaming. No ID tag in the mud.

Just the quiet thrum of safety and peace.

You poured coffee into his favorite mug every morning and kissed him like it was routine.

But then–

The first crack came. It was small, harmless really. You were cutting fruit when you asked, “How’s Steve doing these days?”

Bucky froze. You didn’t notice.

You kept slicing, humming that same soft melody. Like you hadn’t just mentioned someone who, in this fantasy world, shouldn’t exist.

“How’s–what did you say?”

You blinked at him, like confused by your own question. “Sorry?” You tilted your head. “I was asking if we needed sugar.”

He stared. The room suddenly felt colder.

Later that night, he found a crack in the wall behind the bookshelf. Just a tiny fracture, pulsing red. He didn’t touch it. He didn’t tell you.

But then came the next crack, lying beside you one day. He moved to trace his finger across the scar on your wrist. The one you got in the real world before everything. The one he remembered patching up himself.

But it wasn’t there.

Your skin was smooth, perfect. Like it had never been broken.

He stared at the spot for a long time.

“Something wrong?” You mumbled against his shoulder.

“No,” He whispered. “Just tired.”

But his fingers didn’t move away. He didn’t ask questions. He couldn’t.

Because this world had you in it and the real one didn’t.

More cracks followed. Radios that spoke in static. Time loops in the neighbors’ behavior. Days repeating with only minor differences. The smell of burning even when nothing was cooking.

And your eyes.

You always looked at him with so much love. But sometimes, just for a moment, your expression would go blank. Like a paused VHS. Like a string had snapped, and you were waiting to be rewound.

Then you’d blink, smile, and say something sweet like, “You look tired, honey. Want me to draw a bath?”

And he’d nod. Because of course he did.

He wanted to sit in hot water and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. That you’d never died. That this wasn’t a dream stitched together by something or someone else.

Because this was the kind of lie you could live in. Not because it fooled him, it never would, but because it asked nothing of him. No blood, no battles, no nightmares clawing at the edges of his mind.

Just you.

And eventually, the cracks softened and smoothed out. While they never went away, they stabilized enough to live in.

And Bucky… stopped fighting it.

He started marking time by your voice. Your laugh in the morning. Your quiet humming while folding laundry. The soft way you said “sweetheart” when he forgot what year it was.

You’d touch his cheek when he looked too far away.

“Come back,” You’d whisper, like a tether. “Stay with me.”

And he would.

Even when the mirror glitched. Even when his metal arm showed through the illusion and you didn’t react, you held it as it turned back into warm flesh with soft hands and a smile too calm to be real.

Even when he walked into the backyard once and saw red static pulsing like veins across the garden fence, just for a moment, before the roses bloomed and hid it again.

He stopped asking questions.

Because here, in this place:

He came home to the smell of stew on the stove. He kissed you goodbye before walking to the corner store. You sat in his lap at night and read from a book you’d read a hundred times, but it didn’t matter. You always fell asleep with your head tucked under his chin.

And sometimes, when the world shimmered wrong and your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, he let the silence stretch long enough to feel the ache in his chest.

Just long enough to remember this wasn’t yours. That this wasn’t real.

But neither was war, anymore. Neither was pain.

And he’d look at you, hands curled around his, and think: If this is a prison, it’s the kind with sunlight and soft smiles. I’ve lived in worse places.

So he stayed.

Even though he knew, even though he remembered, and even though it hurt.

He stayed.

Because even a false life with you… was better than surviving without you again.

[hcninn]

Yelena Belova x reader

Yelena was cursing herself for not closing the blinds. 

Technically she forgot. First it was the mission that went badly, which led to her fixing up her wounds and making sure everyone on the team did the same. No one needs to bleed out because of their pride. She got an angry look from John for saying that. 

Then she had to log every detail of the failed mission and rethink every single step she took. Bucky was pacing behind her the whole time and murmuring something about a leak. There was no mole in the watchtower, they were sure of that. But someone from their intel must have ratted them out and they needed to be more careful from now on if they don't wanna be ambushed in the middle of a mission again. 

And then it was you. You, who sneaked into her room not long after the watchtower turned off its main lights. Yelena wasn’t surprised about you showing up, all sly and pretending like you weren’t sneaking through the corridors until you reached her room. But she was surprised when you grabbed her face and kissed her so hard she started seeing stars. And when she asked what was that for, you simply answered that you were worried about her. 

Something inside her got warm, she won’t let you feel it though. Not yet.

‘It's just a few bruises’ she murmured ‘same as you’ she continued without looking you in the eyes. But you simply saw too much of her. 

‘You got hit so hard you thought you broke a rib, I only have a bruise on my hip’ you answered as you tried to catch her green eyes. 

Yelena just scoffed and that's how you knew not to push her anymore tonight. So instead you grabbed her hand and started dragging her to bed.

‘I’m tired’ you simply said ‘Can I sleep here?’ 

And you knew she would never say no to that. 

So now Yelena was stuck. The blinds opened and the morning sun shining right into her eyes. And on top of that she couldn’t move. Your head was tucked into the crock of her neck and Yelena couldn’t feel her right arm, because at some point of the night it became your pillow. Yelena wasn’t ticklish in her neck, but she liked the feeling of your breaths on her skin. 

Both of your bodies were glued together. And if she was being honest she didn’t mind the sun as long as she could feel your skin on hers. 

[h4untedgh0ul]

ᴡᴀᴠᴇꜱ

PAIRING: azzi fudd x fem reader x paige bueckers

ꜱʏᴘɴᴏꜱɪꜱ:

after a messy break up, the three of you fight to make it work again (or something like that because i got lazy at the end)

wc: idek

genre: angst-ish, fluff at the end

The love that y/n, azzi and paige shared was picture perfect. It was so perfect that it never showed what went on behind the scenes. After all a picture is only a sliver of a moment, the before and after of that picture are never truly known or captured only to the ones that experienced it. You should’ve known that. But tangled up with your own doubts you drove a wedge between the picture you guys created.

Here’s how it all started:

It was a dark friday night and you found yourself tangled up on the couch that was in your shared penthouse. The room was dim, with a candle lit on the table its sweet vanilla aroma filling the room. The tv silently hummed in the background, while you scrolled through instagram. Paige and Azzi were currently out at an after party for something basketball related. You weren’t mad not in the slightest, they had asked you to come with them pouring and begging but you were tired. “Thank God for the weekend,” is what you told them. So despite wanting you to come with they still went and you didn’t feel any way about it because you knew what you meant to them or so you thought. You were scrolling until you were tagged in a post. You glanced at your phone quizzically because not many people know your account, your relationship was a secret to the public. However, you reluctantly clicked on the post, your breath caught as you seen the post not knowing if you should be mad or not. But you couldn’t help the emotions that bubbled. The post was a picture of Paige and Azzi seeming to be dancing with a girl sandwiched between them. Paige’s hands on her waist and Azzi’s arms around the girl’s shoulders from behind.

You threw your phone out of frustration and sat in silence. You didn’t know if you should over react or not because after being a sports media manager you knew that a photo couldn’t tell everything. Yet, you believed that picture; you believed the chemistry, you believed that they replaced you just for the night because you didn’t go, you let too many thoughts wander. The thoughts that drove a wedge. You got up from the couch grabbing your phone and went to the bedroom. You flopped on the king sized bed and got under the covers not wanting to face anything else. The night seemed to past by slowly as you laid in bed wondering what truly could’ve happened. You started to think if the three years of being with them were worth it.

Around 3am the girls returned stumbling over each other while you pretended to be asleep for the sake of not wanting to start an argument while the girls were intoxicated. The pair stumbled in the room. Azzi shushed paige because she thought you were asleep. Paige just muttering about how much fun they had and that’s when something broke in you. You couldn’t pretend like you weren’t furious and hurt. So you slowly turned looking at the girls, who rushed over. “Baby” “Hi my pretty girl” said the two girls. You just silently hugged them and they pulled bag looking at you. Azzi was the first to speak, “what’s wrong my little baby?” You winced at the nickname knowing that they were the only ones allowed to call you that. You sighed and asked “how was the party?” Azzi said “good” while paige started rambling on how she murdered the dance floor with her rhythm. Which earned a quiet laugh out of you before you muttered “did the girl have that rhythm as well?” Azzi looked at you confused and paige said “what?”

From there all hell broke loose. You fussed at them about feeling like you guys kept your relationship a secret for the sake of them being able to do things in public with others. They tried to deny it profusely but you just talked over them saying how you known that they had more chemistry together and pretend that you meant nothing. They tried to tell you how much you loved them and how all three of you share a chemistry so strong. But as you mutter the words “I’m done” the room silenced. “What?” Paige said. So you said it slightly louder. “I’m done.” Azzi crouched in front of you “No, baby please. That girl meant nothing, we have something that can’t be found. Please don’t leave.” Paige started tearing up and apologizing “I’m sorry you felt like this. we can fix it I swear we can.” You just shook your head weak but firm. “I just can’t do this,” you said standing up. The girls profusely begging while you just grabbed a bag and packed. The girls begging and crying following you around while you packed, you didn’t budge just kept moving around the shared space. The last thing you heard before you shut the front door was “I love you please stay.” But you know you couldn’t not when you blew it this far and spoke words that would need time to heal. After you left you assumed everything was fine but what you didn’t see was Azzi crumpling behind the door, paige trashing the room and the girls sobbing and holding each other until they went to sleep.

A few weeks later:

You became a party animal. Any party that had alcohol you were there. Any words of good music you were there, you lost yourself in the process too, soi ng anything to be seen.

“I’m a go out with my friends

i’d rather let the liquor sink in.”

You knew better than to drink so much, but it gave you the courage to keep going. Your friend invited you tonight. So you wore a black mini skirt paired with a black tube top. Your hair was straightened different from your curls that cascaded down your back. You straightened your hair because you knew how much the pair loved it. You remember the late nights that followed; but you didn’t let yourself sulk too much because after all you caused it. You posted a picture on your instagram story, paige and azzi still following you. You tell yourself that you didn’t post for them but you know you did. You put the song “little bit” by drake and Lykke li over it knowing that it was yall song. You just craved their attention again but you couldn’t be weak to something that you started. Because after all you kept “having thoughts of them that you shouldn’t have been thinking.”

The night progressed as you took more shots, you pulled out your phone and seen instagram notifications. One from Azzi, Two from paige and others from randoms. Azzi had hearted the post, a soft reaction just like her love gentle, patient, soft but passionate. Paige on the other hand hearted it and slid up “you look good, my.” Hers seemed appreciative and cautious as if typing out “miss you” instead of abbreviating it would land differently. But it reminded you of her love too, she would always compliment you and tell you how thankful she was. You hearted paige’s message before closing your phone. You couldn’t take the pressure of what you caused so you order another drink and turned to your friend and asked her to dance. Even though you felt physically free, mentally you were fighting off the thoughts of reaching out. You knew you should but it felt wrong especially now. Because even though you were out with if friend you couldn’t help but think “when i’m with someone else, it’s feeling like i’m cheating.”

The two of you danced for a while before you sat down. Your friend came over shortly after and asked how you’re feeling. However, you took that wrong and thought she meant with the break up so you spent thirty minutes rambling about how much you missed them and you never wanted to break up but it was a spur of the moment due to your emotions. Your friend listened and gave you advice, she didn’t want to beat you up more than your thoughts had so she listened silently after a while. You chuckled after realizing how ridiculous you sound after you did this, over a picture that never told the true story.

“i just might go off the deep end.

With how much you’ve been thinking about them, you start to believe this.

When i’ve had too much,

can’t shut me up.

When then liquor becomes too much you talk about them like they’re the number one priorities in your life right now besides God.

That’s when you start to creep in.”

When the liquor settles you know that’s when the thoughts of them will consume you.

The two of you go out to dance again before heading home. You cleaned up the best way your intoxicated self could and wallows in your thoughts. Thinking that “everyone is sick of all your reasons.” That night you could barely sleep. It didn’t feel like home and it wasn’t comfortable without the two people you’ve been cuddle up with the past three years. Meanwhile, Paieg and Azzi felt the same. Paige told Azzi how you hearted her reply but said nothing back which caused an ache in both of their hearts. However, they took that as a sign, they believed that you didn’t shut them out completely.

A week later things changed not for the better but it wasn’t the worst either. It’s been a full month without each other and you couldn’t help the pain of the new picture Paige and Azzi posted together snuggled up. You were sitting in the couch of the small apartment you found just thinking. You knew that they loved each other but it made your mind wander to that night. The one where you mean ruined that had better chemistry than you with Azzi and you with Paige. You knew not to think about them as much because you probably weren’t thought about in the same way. However, the thoughts that crossed the three of your minds “came and go like seasons.” Slow, steady and emotional. You were starting to forget how their bodies felt against yours but you remembered their voices. Just like you remember the bitter cold of winter but the sounds of summer fun. You slowly got up and started your day. You didn’t know what to do with having the day off and you no longer wanted to party. So you walked around town just pondering if the break up was ever that serious. You passed this little flower botique, on the corner of the block. As much as you wanted to go passed it your heart wouldn’t let you so you went in and bought two bouquets. Both having a mixture of red roses and white lilies. Roses for the sake of romance and the sake of lilies being your favorite so they couldn’t mistake who they were from. You don’t even know why you bought flowers but you needed closure is what you tell yourself. Before dropping them off at the old place, you wrote in one of the note cards “First i blame you, then I want you” and in the other “Fucking hate you, then I love you.” You grabbed a sticking note from your purse (you’re a sports media manager you always have them) to place on their door marked “I can’t help myself.”

You arrive at their place the space sounding quiet so you leave them outside their door. You quickly scurry off back to your place in hopes of not being seen. You undressed into something more comfier and sit down on the couch turning on reality tv and eating a fruit snack. You were into the reruns of “keeping up with the kardashians” as your phone went off with a notification. The notification read “azzifudd35 posted a new story.” You knew it was wrong of you to still have their post notifs on but you couldn’t help yourself. So you clicked on it and the flowers you had bought were posted with the song “Little Bit.” Your song. You knew it was towards you but you couldn’t grin knowing that you guys are like this in the first place. A few moments later, Paige texts you a “thanks <3,” you reply “yw <3” as if it was the easiest thing to do. Because at one point it was. You sigh turning off your phone. Heading to your room ready to call it day even though it was 7:30pm. You go to bed softly humming one of your favorite songs that was keeping you afloat you right now. It said the things that you couldn’t.

“When I have you, wanna leave you.

If you go that’s when, I need you.

I can’t help myself no.”

The next morning you awake bright and early around 8:30am. You check your door to see if there’s mail but see a bouquet instead. It was mixed with purple lilies, blue daisies and some other flowers that you couldn’t identify. You bring them inside and were puzzled because no one knew this address, well besides Paige and Azzi. This is because before you guys moved in together you kept a place just incase you guys wanted spaced or quiet time. You grin a little knowing it could be from them. You go to place them in a vase on your counter and a note slips out. It reads “You come in waves, every hour, every day little baby.” You smile like the world couldn’t steal it away and take a quick pick and post it. This time you put “🫶🏽🫶🏽” but nothing else. Shortly after the post your phone dings quickly after and it’s in the shared group chat of you, Paige and azzi on imessage. You didn’t block them, you never had the heart to.

my nonchalant baby 💗:

hope you like them, azzi wrote the note

my princess 🤍:

don’t expose me, you picked the flowers.

you:

let’s not bicker, i loved them! thanks.

You didn’t mean to sound dry but with them calling each other out, it reminded you of the dumb pranks they would pull and try to point fingers at each other. like one time when paige put flour over the door not knowing that your friend was coming too. Both girls pointed fingers not wanting to be caught in your wrath even though you were the smallest you attitude made up for it. You ponder on what they meant by “you come in waves.” You feel dumb to be thinking like this because “you keep going through the motions, but yall needed long again you should be numb to these emotions.” Before you can think any further your phone dings again.

my nonchalant baby 💗:

you’re welcome <3!

my princess 🤍:

We’re not lying though, you flood our memory just like an ocean.

You:

I can say the same thing.

my nonchalant baby 💗 and my princess 🤍: hearted “I can say the same thing.”

You:

I know this isn’t fair of me to say but I miss you guys.

Your phone rang shortly after and you picked up the FaceTime. It was awkward at first but you guys talked for hours. The day passes by in a blur and that night you go to sleep with a warm smile on your face. The days continued on like this, little gifts sat outside doors with stories posted until one night you guys got back from a date, well it was a symbol for restarting but to you it was a date. They let you come back with them and as the three of you lay in bed, small talk emerged. Paige whispered “I’m glad to have you back in my arms.” And Azzi didn’t help “You were our missing puzzle piece.” You couldn’t reply just smiled and said “Sleep was never the same without you guys.” They smile and the three of you snuggle together. That night “I love you” were muttered as if the hurt never happened.

When you awoke the nature of your relationship returned you being squished between the taller girls, shared quiet kisses in the morning and getting ready together like it was second nature. The weeks went on the three of you hanging out more frequently, stories posted. One night when you went to bed at theirs again, (well all of yours because they wouldn’t let you call it theirs because it was the home you always had for the past three years). they posted a picture of you snuggled between them on both of their accounts. Knowing one thing that they wouldn’t let you feel like a secret ever again. And the only thing that you known was that their love came in WAVES, some soft, some heavy, but all of them being waves of love.

And just like that, when one picture tore you apart another one bought you guys closer together than before.

———————————————————————————

authors note: see what i did there :) all the lyrics are in red to the song “Waves.” This story is NOT proofread so please forgive me.

[plaidpajamallama]

You Reviver Me: Rhea Ripley X Jey Uso

Chapter 8 Whipped

_________________________________________________

Rhea closed her hotel room curtains, getting one last look at the New York City lights, before shutting them. 

She raised her arms above her head, still feeling the ache in her bones from having to sit in those uncomfortable airplane seats for so long. 

She grabbed the remote, turning off “Resident Alien” that just started playing once SmackDown went off air.

She walked back into the bathroom, fluffing her hair. She liked the new look; she needed one, you know, a new look a new you, and she was definitely a new her, or at least trying to be. 

As she started washing her face, she heard her phone ringing in the other room. 

She quickly finished up before hurrying back to the bedroom, diving onto the bed, grabbing her phone, answering it. 

“Hi, baby,” She pushed her hair back out of her face, breathing a little hard. 

“Hey, mama you okay?” His voice came through the speaker, his light laugh carrying through. 

“Yeah, yeah, just know you're busy and didn't want to miss your call, so.” 

“You know I’ll make time for you, mama, I just saw your text and decided to call, check in right quick.”

“Well, I’m not doing anything. I took a quick shower after the show went off and was just finishing up my skincare routine, so I’m not doing much.” “What are you doing?” 

“Having a little drink with Priest, Jim, and Sami at the airport bar before we got on the jet. Stepped out real quick to call.” 

“Oh, then don’t let me hold you, my room's 406 I’ll leave the deadbolt off for you and tell them I said hi.” 

“Alright, I will, mama.” He laughed, “I’ll call when we land.” 

“Ok, I’ll probably be asleep, but see you soon, love you.” 

“Love you too, see you soon.” 

He hung up, slipping his phone back in his pocket before walking back into the bar. He could already hear their loud mouths sitting at the corner table. 

“Oh, that was fast, she sleep?” Jimmy teased, taking the drink of the dark colored liquor in his glass. 

“No.” He scoffed, sitting back in his seat, “she was just tired; told her I’ll let her know when we land.” 

Sami laughed into his glass, getting the rest of the men’s attention. 

“I would never have thought I would see Jey Uso, a man who made kids and, I bet some grown men cry, get all domestic on us.” 

The others laughed while he took a sip of his drink. “And I’ll still beat all y’all’s asses.” 

“What’s our record again?” Damian reminded him, pointing towards him with his drink in hand already half empty. 

“I remember; I also remember how you won all them matches too, uce.” He countered smugly, making the man suck his teeth. 

“Beside y’all whipped too.” He sat up in his chair, pointing at his brother. 

“Wife turned crazy and just loves her more.” He started 

“You, uce,” he pointed at Damian, "I heard you made her cookies just because you loved her so much.” He mocked making his voice go higher. 

“And you, Sami, my dear friend, you're the only one here who’s married and has kids if anybody's whipped, it’s you.” 

The rest of the men were too stunned to speak. 

Jimmy sank down in his chair, his mouth halfway open, tongue between his molars. 

He had no shame in how much he loved his wife. He finally understood why Jey loved Rhea so much; there was something so hot about a woman who could just step on your neck. 

Damian had a look of betrayal and shock on his face, which he shouldn’t really be surprised about. He knew she had him on speakerphone. What was he supposed to do? Not listen? 

Sami just accepted his fate. He did have a wife and kids (two to be exact), and they were his everything, and he was in fact whipped for his wife. 

Their table fell into a stunned silence while he grinned over the rim of his glass, taking a nice swig of his drink that burned his throat. He sat it back down on the table with a thud that seemed to be Jimmy’s signal. 

“Man, you can’t say all that and act like Naomi didn’t catch your ass looking at rings the other day.” 

Jey rolled his eyes, his head moving with it as the other two men looked at him with confusion and curiosity. 

“Rings?” Damian inquired, leaning forward in his chair.

“He’s exaggerating; I was not looking, they popped up on my feed, and I just stopped.” 

The look on Damian’s face said he didn’t believe him they all had that same look, but that was the truth.

He wasn’t searching for anything, and he had no intention on doing anything, not this soon. 

Then Sami spoke up and just dug his hole deeper. 

“Is that why you want to go to Australia so badly?” 

“Oh, brother.” He mumbled under his breath, finishing off his drink. 

“Oh,” Jimmy laughed, “I ain’t know about that one, uce.” 

“Because it ain’t anything right now, not with how busy we always are.” 

“Why are you trying to take her out there so badly anyway?” His twin pried. He wouldn’t immediate but he was just as nosy as Naomi. 

He could feel Damian’s eyes, not in a bad way, just a curious one wanting to know just like the rest. His presence was naturally intimidating even when he wasn’t trying to be. 

“I mean, we all know how it is being on the road. We've been on it for years,” He gestured between Sami and Jimmy. "You get homesick really fast, and all her family lives halfway across the world.” “I just really want to get her out there before we have to be there, you know?” “I don’t want to worry about work and shit, and I don’t want her to either, but it’s lookin like it’s not gonna happen no time soon so.” 

He smacked his lips, going to take another sip of his drink but it was empty. 

“You tell anybody else about this?” Said Jimmy,

“Nope, why?” He hadn’t told anybody; he only told Sami because he thought he wouldn’t say anything. 

“Uce, you got access to a whole ass jet if you ask.” 

He gave his brother almost a disgusted look at what he was suggesting. 

Damian looked around the table, realizing he was out of the loop.

“Who has a private jet?”

“Roman.” Jimmy answered but was quickly cut off.

“And I’m not asking him for shit.” He snapped. 

His and Roman's relationship was complicated, as it always was; it didn’t get any better, but it also hasn’t gotten any worse since they haven’t talked since mania.

“Aye, I was just trying to help you out, uce. All you gonna do is ask him, and I’m sure he’ll let you borrow it. It’s the bloodlines, jet uce.” 

“Nah, cause then he’ll pop up on his bullshit talking about ‘I owe him’ something.” 

He picked back up his glass subconsciously only to put it right back down, letting the still empty glass clink against the wooden table. 

“I need a fucking drink.” His chair scraped across the floor as he stood up, walking towards the bar. 

———

Jey laid awake staring at the ceiling; the only thing making sound was the city itself. 

He didn’t get much sleep; maybe it was because he would have to fight Cody on Monday.

Maybe it was the excitement for today to meet all his fans. 

Maybe it was the fact that Jimmy brought up Roman last night, and that brought back all the feelings from when he lost the title. 

Or maybe he just couldn’t sleep, and it was none of the above.

He looked down and over at Rhea, who was lying across one of his arms, her face tucked in the crook of his neck; he could feel her calm breath on his skin.

His mind wandered back to the first half of their conversation last night at the bar. 

He didn’t intend on looking at rings, but that’s what his fyp gave him, and he couldn’t just not stop and not take a look, he knew, trust him, he knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. They barely got past the whole Laila situation; they weren’t ready for that step yet, and he wasn’t gonna do anything not until he was absolutely one hundred percent positive she was ready, and right now he was ready—for breakfast. His stomach was in his back he had been up for a good hour or two just lost in thought, and he was starving. 

After a big breakfast, they came back to the hotel to start getting ready for the kickoff, and Fanatics Fest. 

Rhea was standing in the bathroom, struggling to zip the zipper of her top. 

It was a leather bustier with spikes, chains, the works. 

“Jey! I need help, please!” 

“Alight, one sec!” 

She fiddled around with the zipper, wishing her arms were longer, just barely catching it on her fingertips. 

“Oh, bloody hell, come on.” She said to no one but herself, getting frustrated with the zipper. 

She had been trying to zip herself up for who knows how long - it’s been five minutes, she just got annoyed easily -

“Ugh, come on." She mumbled, catching it once again just to lose it a second after, “Ugh!” 

She felt a warm hand on her back, startling her.

“Your ass just can’t ever wait, huh?” He said, swatting her hands after she could hear him smiling as he said it. 

She held her top to herself. "You were taking too long.” 

“Girl, you just called me in here.” He moved her hair to the side over her shoulder before zipping her up. 

She turned around, thanking him. 

“No problem, mama you look good. I mean, shit.” He drawled out his words as he took a step back, leaning back a little, putting a hand on his chin. 

“Do a little- he gestured for her to do a little spin. 

She grinned, doing as she was told, hearing him go “damn, making her blush. 

She got so flustered so easily. 

“I wish I had something for you to pick up, mama, because them jeans, he whistled, shit!” 

She giggled at his compliment, her face getting warmer.

“You're ridiculous," she said with a fake annoyance, walking out of the bathroom, Jey following behind her. “And you're ridiculously fine.” 

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back into him. 

“Jey!” She let out a playful scream as he locked his arms around her waist, keeping her there. 

“Jey, we can’t be late.” Giggles filled her words as he began to kiss the top of her head. 

Her mind told her to move to fight against his grip, but her body just fell into him, not wanting to move. 

“I love your hair, mama.” he said, his gaze falling onto them in the mirror they were standing in front of. 

She got a new haircut a couple days ago. It wasn’t a big change; it was just a shag, which made her hair almost look spiky, and she loved it. 

Her eyes meet his in the mirror. 

His chin resting on top of her head, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. 

“I love your hair too; it’s curly again, just how I like it." She felt him laugh against her back.

“You and everyone else apparently ain’t no one like it short.” 

“Because it’s better when you let it grow out, baby.” 

“I guess I'm leaving it alone then.” 

She laughed lightly, grabbing her phone from her back pocket, snapping a picture of them in the mirror. 

She was starting to get a little more comfortable with posting pictures of them together; neither of them did it often because they liked their privacy, but whenever one of them—most of the time it was her—it broke the bloody internet. 

Jey’s phone rang, breaking up the moment as he pushed away from her with a groan, going towards it. 

She smiled at him mockingly, dragging his feet behind him. He hated being interrupted, especially when he was with her. 

“Hello? Yeah, uce, we'll be down in a sec.” He said before putting his phone in his pocket. 

“The car’s downstairs. Mama, you ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

———

Rhea was sitting at a white, roundtable, going through just the little bit of stuff she got from her fans. 

She didn’t have a meet and greet today; she was just there for the SummerSlam Kickoff, but that didn’t mean she didn’t stop to take pictures and thank people for the gifts she got. And she got gifts, a couple of bracelets, and some pieces of fanart. 

She finished doing whatever she had to do and now was just hanging out in the room for all the talent. 

Her feet swung under her chair as she sat there looking over her gifts before she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

She whipped her head around, wondering what it was; her chest immediately got tight as she watched Dominik walk in IC title hanging off his shoulder. 

She turned her attention back to all the stuff on the table, focusing on that. 

She’s been doing well in therapy, slowly getting better, slowly opening up more and more to her therapist, Liz. 

Her foot shook anxiously hearing him as he moved around the room, grabbing some snacks off of a table. It never got easier seeing Dom -Dominik, even though she had moved on it still hurt sometimes to see him happy with Liv. 

Not because she cared Liv could have his dog ass if she wanted, but because there was some double pain seeing him and Liv together. 

And that’s what she was working on in therapy. Being able to see them together, being able to see Dominik and not wanting to kill him every time she saw him. 

She didn’t know it but once he left, she let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. 

Maybe it was because of the kickoff today, and all the talk of it reminded her of last year. She went in so confident, so loved, so whole, and then she was so broken. 

She hoped this year would be better; she prayed it would be. 

Her phone rang on the table, Damian's name apparently at the top. She answered it, putting it to her ear. "Hey, mate.”

“Hey, are you still working?” His voice rang through the phone. 

“No, I'm just sitting around back. Why do I want to hang out? I still owe you for LA.” she chuckled. 

“No, you don’t but yes, I want to hang out. I'm 15 minutes away.” 

“Great, see you in a sec.” She hung up, throwing her stuff in a bag before throwing it over her shoulder, walking out the room. 

She screamed excitedly, hopping in the passenger seat. 

He laughed at her dramatic reaction as she buckled her seat belt. 

“I bought you something.” He said, pointing to the backseat. 

“Oooh, I got something.” She leaned over the middle console, reaching in the backseat, seeing a small plastic container with a red lid. 

She immediately knew what it was. 

She gasped excitedly, turning back around now with a container full of chocolate chip cookies. 

“Do you love me?” She asked sarcastically, tearing off the lid, the sweet, rich aroma seeping into the car as he started driving down the street. 

“Ha ha, very funny. I made them yesterday. Kayden didn’t want the rest, so she told me to give them to you two.” 

“Well, then ask Kayden if she loves me.” She said, taking a bite of one of the cookies, the rich chocolate flavors filled her mouth. She moaned at the taste. 

“You know, if this wrestling thing goes bad one day we should open a bakery or some shit because this, this is bloody heaven.” 

He laughed at her full-mouthed praise, “Jey still got work?” 

“Yeah, all his meet and greets are today, so after the kickoff he dipped, so thank you for picking me up. I was starting to get bored they wouldn’t let me walk around.” 

“Are you hungry? Know some good spots."

“Yeah, food sounds good.” She lifted her foot up into the seat, leaning her leg against the car door. 

It took a while due to the New York traffic, but eventually they found a place to eat. They sat at a two-top in front of a window. 

“So what have you been up to?” She asked, settling in her seat, crossing her leg over the other. 

“King of the Ring was a bust, so we'll see what’s next with that, but outside of all of that, life’s been good. Kayden and I are good. We got a dog. 

She was shocked; Damian wasn’t the biggest pet person, so hearing he got a dog was big for him. 

“What’s its name?” 

“Arrow. We named him Arrow. He’s a German shepherd a puppy—hang on." He watched her get more excited as he spoke, deciding to show her a picture. 

“Aww, he’s adorable.” She stuck her bottom lip out. “I need a dog so bad.”

He laughed, putting his phone back down. “You say that every time you see a dog.” 

“Because I keep needing one, and I don’t have one yet.” 

“You tell Jey you want one?” “Knowing him. You'll have one within the hour, maybe even less.” He joked, tearing off a piece of bread that was in the small basket in front of them. 

“The fact you’re not even exaggerating,” she chuckled, “I would have 5 puppies.” 

They continued to laugh until her eyes found the picture hanging on the back wall. 

They wouldn’t famous by any means, but here in New York people knew Damian, and so they knew the Judgement Day, and this place they were sitting in knew Damian very well, so they kept a picture of the Judgement Day on the wall. 

Damian notices her eyes drift past him, already knowing what it was. 

“I saw Dom today, and I only wanted to kick him in the nuts once, so progress.” She rolled her eyes, taking a drink of her lemon water. 

“Better than me, I would’ve done it.”

“Trust me I wanted to, but I’m trying to be better?” “Get better?” “I don’t know the right words for it, but I’m going to therapy, so I’m trying.”

It was now Damian's turn to be shocked; he stared blankly at her before shaking out of it. 

“That’s good Rhea, I probably need to go too.” He smiled nervously, not knowing what to do with that information. 

“It’s nice it’s helping. I mean, I think it’s helping at least a little bit.” 

She felt awkward, no one else knew about the new self-journey she was on other than Jey. 

She wasn’t ashamed of it, but she didn’t like being seen as weak, as she failed, and she failed in a lot of places. 

“Healing takes time. Rhea, I’m still healing too; it’s hard seeing all those SummerSlam signs everywhere.” He said mournfully, his eyes casting downward at the table.

“Yeah, imagine being on a stage in front of a hundred and they bring it up.” She gave a fake smile, feeling the same emotions he had. 

They both still mourned their family. Hate them or not, it still hurts to be reminded of their time together, good or bad. 

“Hey, we made it out the other side, and I would argue we earned an even better family out of it.” 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t miss them.” 

“No one says you can’t. I miss Finn. I saw him at Mania and a piece of me wanted him to win that title become the IC champ because I know he deserves it, but that doesn’t mean I forgive him for what he did to us Rhea.” 

She nodded slightly, listening to his words, not saying any of her own, just grabbing at some of the bread. 

———

Jey walked back into their hotel room. He caught dinner with Sami since Rhea spent the rest of the day with Damian and Kayden. 

He walked in, setting down the bag of all types of gifts on the desk.

“Hey, mama, how was your day?”

She was sitting up in the bed with the comforter over her, flipping through the channels.

He walked around to the other side, kissing her on the forehead. 

“Like my ice?” He laughed, putting his wrist out, showing off all his bracelets.

“Who needs watches when you have these.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet, Mama,” He moved over to the canvas bag, digging around in it for a minute before clutching something in his hand walking back over to her. 

She dropped the remote in her lap, sitting up curious. 

“We may not have matching titles, but we got some matching ice.” 

He handed her a couple of bracelets that were all different shapes of purple and blue, letting her know they were from them. 

“We got couple bracelets?”

“Mmhmm, and I’m sure we'll get some more tomorrow with you. Look at this one."

He grabbed one of them on his wrist, a purple one with golden lettering beads that had RR, her initials on it, and half a golden heart that connected to the other half on a blue bracelet that sat in the palm of her hand the same as the first, just with his initials making a full heart. 

“Oh, that's so cute!” 

“I told the girl you would love it. I got a couple of things for you, actually. Someone gave me one of those ugly little dolls you like so much.” He said, walking away from the bed over to the mini bar. 

“You got a fucking labubu!” She stood up on her hands and knees, the blanket falling off of her. 

He almost fell over with laughter, having to grab the desk to support himself. “That's what that’s shit's called.” 

“Let me see it.” 

“No! It’s mine!” He managed to get out through his laughter.

“Jey!” She whined.

He ruffled through the bag looking for it before pulling it out. 

It was a light blue, almost teal color; it was wearing a little black and gold yeet shirt and gold yeet glasses. 

“Aw, it’s so cute, it has your glasses and everything.” She grabbed it from him, getting a closer look at it. 

He kicked his shoes off, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. 

“You never asked my question of how your day was?” He put his hands behind his head.

“It was nice, I had fun– oh!” She said, abruptly stopping in the middle of her sentence, “I want a dog.”

“Huh?” He looked at her like she was crazy. 

“I want a dog, a cute little puppy. Don't you want a puppy?” She looked at him with ironically puppy dog eyes, pushing her bottom lip out a little. 

“Alright, hang on, how did this happen? Why do you all of a sudden want a dog?” 

“I have always wanted one.” 

“Mm-hmm, no other reason you didn’t pet one today or nothing?” He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Nope. I just want one.” She wasn’t totally lying; she has always wanted a dog. 

“Alright, then when we get back home we can go to a shelter and look,” he pointed a finger at her, “I'm not promising anything.” 

She nodded frantically. “Uh huh, totally.”

Jey knew she wasn’t listening to a word he said after yes. Rhea was sitting on her knees watching before she was knocked back onto the bed. 

She cackled his name, landing on her back as he took her down. 

“Jey!” 

He held himself up above her on his elbows. “What did I just tell you?” 

“That when we get home, we’re going to get a dog.” She said it confidently since that’s what she heard. 

“You just heard what you want too huh?” 

“Yup, because I know and you know we’re not walking out of there without a cute little puppy in my arms.” She said ,booping him on the nose when she was done talking, before she flipped them so she was straddling his waist.

A grin came across his face, his hands resting on the back of her thighs. 

“Are you ready for Monday?” 

His face shited his mouth falling into a frown. 

“Are you asking me if I’m ready to beat up one of my best friends? Because no, I'm not ready to fight Cody.” 

“Is there a reason, or just because he’s your friend?” 

She asked, thinking maybe that could be the reason that wall was slowly falling apart inside him. 

“I don’t know; Cody’s the reason I’m on Raw. He helped me distance myself from the bloodline, I helped him win the title at Mania. This is more than a match.”

“What are you gonna do if he wins?” 

“Take it on the chin. If he wins, he wins, all matches have to end. can’t be mad if he ends it.”

“Do you think he’ll be mad if you win?”

He shook his head. “No, Cody’s not like that, we respect the fuck out of each other. However that match ends, we wouldn’t lose that for each other.” 

“You're a good friend, Jey, but don’t let your friendship get in the way of what you want, understand me?” 

“I know, Mama, I’ll do what I gonna do.” 

The way he said it and the look she caught in his eyes said he wanted her to tell him to do whatever it took to win, to go as far as he could to win. 

He wanted her to give him the OK to tear that wall down, but all she did was kiss him and excuse herself to the bathroom. 

_________________________________________________

[madamechrissy]

ParrotKuna - a rare breed of demon bird!?!?

Pairings- Parrot Sukuna x F!reader (I can't with this shit LMAO)

Warnings- COMPLETE crack, mean backshots, Kuna has feathers, lots of cussing, degrading, Sukuna is a little shit starter, don't you dare call him a parakeet! Reader being a lil hoe tbh, fingering, creampie, and just shame all around <3

this is my turn for the Sukuna reincarnated into random animals <3 This is @yenayaps and @indiewritesxoxo fault so BLAME THEM!!!

You're kissing your date as you stumble into your apartment in the dark, he's gripping your ass and moaning as your purse falls, and you kick the door shut, only for your annoying ass parrot to start squawking and squawking. He's like some fucking demon with his red ass eyes, you swear!

Your date pulls back, blinking in confusion as your parrot 'Kuna' (it's what he always squawks, so that's his name) starts ramming into his big ass cage over and over. "Just ignore him, he doesn't like people," you drag his mouth back on yours, trying to tune out the squawks, louder and louder.

He always freaks out any time you have a guy over, fuck he's busted out of the cage and scared them before, it's so embarrassing, having been left with this damn bird when you got this place! At first you felt so bad the owners left him, but with the amount he eats and how annoying and mean he is, you get it.

He always bit the fuck out of you and anyone, and he requires the most fancy fucking treats, the pickiest damn bird. Sure, he was a big beautiful parrot, but you were about to get rid of him. He's gotta be worth more than your car!

You're focusing as he starts kissing down your neck, slipping his hands between your thighs, you see the glowing red eyes and turn away, like the damn thing was peeping, sqwaking even louder, that's when the annoying thing starts saying other men's names.

Satoru Satoru Satoru

"Who's Satoru?" you scoff, shaking your head now.

"Just a friend, mmm, more!" He's running his thumb over your clit, your panties dripping wet, it's been months since your break up with Gojo.

Suguru Suguru Suguru

"Who is that?" He's pulling off again, frustrating you as you now walk up to your parrot, scowling. He starts banging his head on the pretty cage, you've went through five with him, and you're about to be broke if he doesn't fucking stop.

"Shut it, now Kuna!" You earn a snarl from the pretty pink and red parrot, some rare fucking rainforest bird or something - he's waving he wings and chanting their names again.

"Are they like... boyfriends or..."

Friends with Benefits!

"Shut up!?"

Nanami Nanami Nanami!

"No, no, no!" You just maybe fucked them? A few times, but you don't need him to snitch on you! You take off your top then, earning your date moaning at the sight, your pretty breasts swaying just a bit, and that's when Kuna loses it.

He's tired of watching you fuck men, when he knows he can do it way better, so he's busted out of the cage again, using his beak to pick his own lock now, as you scream out. He flies at the guy now, flapping his wings and attacking him. You gasp then, you've never seen him so aggressive, pecking the poor guy over and over!

Out Out Out

"Your bird is possessed!" He snatches up his shirt and runs out the door now, you're so mad and embarrassed, glaring at the parrot, who's flying in a circle, while you hold your tits and shut the door.

"I'm selling you, fuck this! Ah!" Suddenly, you feel it, sharp nails digging into your breasts as you look down to see hands, big fucking hands, covered in little red feathers, sharp black ones cutting your skin. "huh!?"

"Tired of hearing you fake orgasms," comes the gruff voice behind you now, you look up to see the same red eyes that have been glaring at you, he drags you against a hard body. "Time I showed you how to really cum, brat."

"Brat!? Excuse me who the fuck... what the... are you licking me!?" He's chuckling now, as his tongue laps a stripe up your neck, before spinning you and pressing you against your door. He towers the fuck over you, huge and muscled, completely fucking naked then, his face half covered in long pretty feathers, and sharp teeth in a grin.

"Hear you playing with yourself all night, I'm tired of it," he huffs, you feel you have hit your fucking head- maybe the bird knocked you over!? He's lifted you, pressing you against his chiseled body, and you feel just how big he is.

"Where is Kuna at!" He's chuckling some more, as his feathered hands grip your chin.

"I'm Kuna, fuck you're soaked, that from me, or that fucking loser, huh?" He's aggressive then, demanding as he picks you up, you panic, while he's passing his birdcage, kicking it over with a loud clatter. You glare at him.

"You're so ungrateful, that was a thousand fucking dollars!"

"I'll fly around the house from now on," he throws you unceremoniously off the bed, you're scooching up it, when he yanks down your panties, he brings them to his face and moans.

"You're the one stealing them."

"They're comfy to sleep on, now bend over," you don't listen, so he flips you, groaning as he sees your pussy glistening for him, he's seen it plenty of times when you fuck your boy toys, but now he gets a good look at it. "Fuck, can't wait to finally show you what some good dick is, slutty fuckin' brat."

"Excuse me!? You're a parrot- ah!" Sukuna chokes you with one hand then, as the other whips out his huge cock, you gasp as you look back at him and see it, thick and veiny and leaking precum.

"Ya like it, huh brat? Want me to split your pussy in half, don't ya?" You hardly form a word, as he tugs at your hair, yanking it and slipping in two long fingers, moaning as he feels you pulse around him. "Say it, you want me to split you in half."

"N-no! I don't, you weird ass parakeet- oh fuck," he's yanked his fingers out now, sucking your juices off them and groaning, before smacking the fuck out of your ass. "Ow shit!"

"I'm a special rainforest parrot that's extinct, you should go to jail for having me, f-fuck your cunt... so tight..." he's sinking in now, stretching you out with his tip meanly bullying in your walls, you scream out at it, head falling back. "Can you even take me?"

"Y-you're a little... finch... hah!" You're grinning against the pillows as he smacks you harder, sinking his whole cock inside you now, you're stuffed so full you're gasping, gripping the sheets under you.

"Not a fucking finch, dumb little fucking slut," he's fucking harder now, as he grips your hips bruisingly, feeling just how good you are, no wonder those boys cum fast, but he's Sukuna. "Take it back, m'not a finch!"

"Mnh!" You're getting fucked harder now, mean thrusts bruising your cervix, gushing slick wetness down his cock and making a fucking mess as your- former parrot? - fucks you harder and harder, the sounds filthy as they fill your apartment.

"Take it back, hah - I'll let you cum, huh?" You whine at that, his feathered hands slipping up your ass, gripping it and spreading them to fuck you meaner. You're already crying out and gasping at how good he feels, balls slapping your clit, while his cock is burning your skin from the delicious stretch.

Are you really fucking some Parrot fucking hybrid!? Have you been reading too much smut on Tumblr???

"Kuna!"

He moans then, pausing, before yanking your hair, bringing you up to his knees and pressing a hand on your tummy, feeling his cock bulge it as he shoves you down harder. "Take it back, say it, I'm not a finch!"

"N-not a finch! Mnh, Kuunnaa please!" He's moaning now, fingers finding your clit and roughly rubbing. "There, there!"

"M'not a... f-fucking parakeet..." he's desperate now, almost whimpering before he gathers himself, biting your neck with sharp ass teeth and sinking them in.

"N-not a parakeet!"

"R-rare, fucking extinct..."

"Extinct... rare fucking... your cock ohmygod!" You're done then, uncaring of just how the fuck you got here, as Sukuna rails your cunt so good you're cumming all over his thighs, soaking all the random little feathers on them, and he's biting you again, pushing your orgasm further. "Kuna!"

"Only g-gonna fuck me, n-no more... Satoru, Suguru, Nanami-"

"S-sorry!"

"Slutty brat," he's huffing now, claiming you his as he pushes in so deep, you're squirting down his huge cock, gasping out then. "Gonna fill you up."

"N-no, can't cum in me!? What if I... have a fucking- ah!"

"Fuck that, gonna fill you up, beg for it." You're shaking your head, earning his fingers slapping the front of your cunt with a loud slap, stinging as you whine. "Only me, and no more cage, hah I'm gonna... take your bed."

"Wh-whatever, ngh!" You're done then, letting him fuck you until you scream out, shaking all around him, as your... pet? ... busts his hot load inside you, you'd panic about that later- praying you don't have baby fucking birds!

Sukuna is thorough after he cums inside your cunt, he makes sure to clean it up with his sharp tongue, and then he makes sure you two take a bath. It's honestly a little cute how he shakes out his feathers, but when you point it out, you get bent over the sink and fucked again.

Your date tries to come back over- commendable, but when Sukuna answers the door he runs away, so you suppose you're stuck with this fucking demon now. The back shots do help though! <3

YEP

Perm tags LMAO @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie

[mrspiastri]

✩ bundle of joy 🍼

pairing: lando norris x reader

cw: fluff, pregnancy, giving birth

wc: 3.7k words

an: i got carried away… can you guys tell… 😊

Ever since they found out they were expecting, Lando and Y/N were over the moon. Sure, getting pregnant during his last season in Formula 1 hadn’t been optimal, but he was glad he’d only be missing the first few weeks of her pregnancy.

He kept tabs on her at all times when he travelled, FaceTiming her at least twice a day, asking if she could show him the bump, even after she reminded him that she’d only start showing prominently after the first trimester.

“Are you sure she’s in there? I can’t even tell that you’re pregnant.” Lando commented as Y/N positioned the camera so he could analyse her tummy.

“I’m quite sure. Also, why are you calling the baby a ‘she’? He could be a boy too,” she said.

“Yeah, but I think it’s a girl,” he stated as he munched on an apple.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Father’s intuition, my love.”

He’d been the most supportive partner throughout the pregnancy and even initially refused to let Y/N come to his final race in Abu Dhabi but relented after their doctor assured him she and the baby would be alright.

As soon as he got out of the car, he went straight to her, giving her as bone-crushing a hug as possible without pressing down on her stomach. His fans immediately noticed how careful he was being around her, and on Christmas the couple announced they would be expecting their baby in August of the following year.

As expected, everyone was overjoyed, with fans and friends alike congratulating the couple, leading to an outpouring of love and support. Carlos sent them a care basket, and Max sent them a box of baby clothes with the MV33 motif on them.

Max F and Pietra came over immediately after they announced the news, with the two men almost in tears as they hugged, although they’d never admit it.

🪻🪻🪻

Post-retirement, Lando had found a new hobby: being Y/N’s butler. He made sure to wait on her hand and foot. She can’t remember the last time she walked to the fridge and got herself her own bottle of water or managed to microwave her own leftovers without him ushering her back to the couch.

One plus side was she never had to worry about any of the housework, but she was growing tired of constantly having him follow her around everywhere she went.

Lando’s overprotectiveness only got worse as the weeks went by.

It started with small things. He hovered every time she walked up or down the stairs, practically blocking her with both arms like human guard rails. Then he banned her from standing on any surface higher than a rug. One day, she tried to reach the top shelf for a cereal box, and he appeared out of nowhere like he’d been summoned.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, horrified, taking the box from her hands and setting it gently on the counter like it was fragile cargo.

“Reaching for breakfast?” She deadpanned.

“From a chair, Y/N. A chair.” He said it like she’d tried to climb onto the roof.

“I’m pregnant, not reckless.”

“You’re both,” he muttered under his breath, pressing a kiss to her temple before gently steering her back to the kitchen table. “You sit. I’ll get you a proper breakfast.”

“Proper” turned out to be scrambled eggs, toast, and a side of fruit he’d cut into perfect little cubes. She had to admit it was sweet. A little annoying. But mostly sweet.

By the time her second trimester rolled around, the bump was officially visible, which only made things worse.

He refused to let her carry groceries. Or laundry. Or even her own purse half the time.

“Lando, it’s a tote bag.”

“It has weight. You don’t need the strain.”

“It’s literally lip balm and a phone charger.”

“Strain”, he repeated, sliding the strap off her shoulder. “Reckless”, he added with a playful glare.

She’d started calling him “Coach Norris” because he’d also given himself a new job: personal fitness monitor. He had an app that tracked her water intake, a second app with yoga videos for pregnant women, and a third app he claimed he wasn’t using but definitely was, just to monitor what she was eating.

“Are those pickles?” he asked one night as she pulled a jar from the fridge.

“Yes.”

“Are they pregnancy-safe pickles?”

“Are you hearing yourself?”

He walked over and inspected the label anyway.

Still, despite the hovering, the doting, and the hovering while doting, she knew it all came from a place of love. He was excited. Nervous. And completely in awe of what was happening.

They’d decided early on not to find out the baby’s gender. Lando had gone along with it, even if he still stubbornly referred to the baby as “she” most days.

“I’m telling you, she’s going to come out with your eyes and my curls.”

“You’ll be surprised when he comes out looking exactly like me.”

“Either way, we’re winning,” he said, resting his head on her belly like it was his favourite pillow.

Choosing baby names had taken weeks. They’d written a long list on a whiteboard in the kitchen. Some were sweet, some ridiculous, and a few were just jokes left over from when Carlos came to visit and wrote “Carlos Jr. Jr.” in bold capital letters across the top.

They started keeping a shared note on their phones too, titled Baby Names We (Sort of) Agree On. It started off filled with jokey entries—Lando added “Turbo” and “Seb” just to annoy her—but over time, it became a genuine list of names that felt like theirs. Classic ones, sweet ones, and a few international names to reflect all the places they’d been together.

“I really like ‘Sophia’,” she said one evening, tracing her finger over her bump.

Lando nodded, thoughtful. “Sophia’s nice. Strong, but kind. We could call her Sophie for short.”

Eventually, they narrowed it down to four: two girl names and two boy names. Lando insisted they’d know the right one when they met their baby.

🪻🪻🪻

The baby shower came in June, hosted by Rebecca and Carlos in their sun-drenched backyard. Everything was soft and golden, with wildflowers in mason jars, neutral-coloured decorations, and string lights hung across the trees. The theme was Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and someone had even rented a vintage-style photo booth that Lando and Max monopolised for most of the afternoon.

Lando had insisted on contributing to the party planning—though that mostly meant him panicking about the balloon arch and triple-checking the dessert table.

“Are those cupcakes shaped like onesies?” He whispered, staring in awe.

Y/N nodded, amused. “Yes. Try not to eat them before the guests arrive.”

“Too late,” Oscar mumbled, his mouth already full.

Their loved ones showed up in droves— their parents, siblings, Daniel and Charles, Oscar and Max F, the McLaren crew, and even some of Lando’s old engineers. Everyone signed a guestbook with wishes for the baby, and by the end of the day it was filled with messy handwriting and inside jokes.

During the shower, their friends wrote notes of advice on little cards—some serious, most of them not. Carlos wrote, “Get sleep now. You won’t see it again.” Max wrote, “Teach them to drive early. Like, karting at 4.” Pietra wrote, “Let them be weird. Weird kids are cool adults.”

There were presents, of course—tiny socks and animal-shaped onesies and a miniature McLaren jacket from Andrea that made Y/N emotional for a solid ten minutes.

Y/N sat on a wicker chair surrounded by baby gifts while Lando perched next to her, one arm slung protectively over the back of her seat. Every time she opened something tiny—a onesie, a pair of booties, a soft knitted hat—his face lit up like it was Christmas.

He kept whispering, “Can you believe this is real?” and pressing kisses to her shoulder when no one was looking.

Even Oscar gave a particularly emotional toast halfway through the party, ending it with how their baby was about to be the most loved kid on the planet.

Lando blinked a few times and cleared his throat afterwards, which everyone pretended not to notice.

By the third trimester, Lando had become what Y/N lovingly called “her shadow”. He followed her from room to room, handed her water before she even realised she was thirsty, and insisted on doing literally everything.

“Put that down,” he said one afternoon as she reached for the laundry basket.
“It’s just towels, Lando.”
“Towels that weigh too much,” he argued. “I’ve got it. Sit down. Hydrate. Breathe.”

She rolled her eyes but gave in, secretly loving how he fussed over her.

At night, he talked to the baby. Sometimes just mumbling nonsense. Other times whispering things he hadn’t told anyone else.

“Hi, little one,” he murmured against her belly one evening. “We’re so ready for you. But maybe don’t come too early, yeah? We’re still figuring out how to swaddle.”

Y/N smiled sleepily, running a hand through his curls. “You’re going to be so annoying when they’re a teenager.”

“I know,” he said proudly.

He installed extra railings in the shower. He banned her from lifting grocery bags, laundry baskets, and at one point, even her own handbag. She’d caught him watching videos on how to swaddle a baby using a towel and then testing it out on one of the throw pillows.

“Lando,” she called from the living room one afternoon. “Why is the throw pillow wearing a diaper?”

“Practice.”

He took to sleeping with a hand on her belly every night, just in case the baby kicked or she needed anything. Sometimes she’d wake up to him whispering to the bump.

“What are you doing?” She mumbled one night around 3 a.m.

“Reading her a bedtime story. She likes The Little Prince.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she said sleepily, curling into him.

“Yeah, unbelievably good at this dad thing,” he whispered back.

🪻🪻🪻

By the time August rolled in, Y/N had fully accepted her role as the Queen of Cushions. Lando refused to let her sit anywhere unless he personally arranged three pillows behind her back, two under her knees, and a blanket on standby in case she got cold.

She was more than ready for the baby to arrive. Her ankles were swollen. Her back ached. She hadn’t seen her toes in weeks.

Lando, however, was still acting like she might fall apart at any second.

“Don’t forget to text me when you wake up,” he told her one morning as he laced up his sneakers.

“I’m already awake, Lando. I’ve been up since 5 a.m. because your kid likes to use my bladder as a trampoline.”

“Still. Just in case. Text me.”

She shook her head, but her heart swelled every time.

Then one night, exactly a day after her due date, it happened. A sharp cramp. Another. And then something that definitely wasn’t just Braxton Hicks.

Lando took a breath, grabbed the hospital bag that had been packed and repacked six times, and helped her into the car.

“You ready?” he asked as he buckled her in.

She met his eyes and squeezed his hand. “I don’t think anyone’s ever really ready for this.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Then let’s go be not ready together.”

The hospital room smelt like disinfectant and bad coffee, and the lights were criminally bright for someone about to push a small human out of her body. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the bed, side-eyeing the monitor that beeped with a little too much enthusiasm.

“This incessant beeping is going to kill me,” she muttered.

Lando stood beside her like he was about to assist in a rocket launch. His hoodie was half-zipped, hair a mess, and his socks were inside out—he hadn’t noticed yet. He’d been pacing, fluffing her pillows, re-checking the hospital bag he’d already checked seven times, and offering her water like a nervous flight attendant.

“Do you want ice chips? More pillows? A foot massage? I can find a doula—do we need a doula?”

“You are the doula,” she said, wincing through a contraction.

“Oh God. We’re doomed.”

By the time the nurse came in to check her dilation, Lando was vibrating with nervous energy. When she announced Y/N was only four centimetres, he slumped dramatically into the chair.

“Four? That’s it? She’s been in labour for years!”

The nurse patted him on the shoulder. “It’s called early labour for a reason, Dad.”

He nodded, like he totally understood, then whispered to Y/N, “I thought babies were faster than this.”

An hour or so later, the contractions were really getting to Y/N, and she tried distracting herself from the pain, at least till she could get an epidural.

“Babe, do you think the baby wants peanut M&Ms or the regular ones?”

“Lando, I’m 6 centimetres dilated over here!”

“Ah, you’re right! Regular it is.”

“Lando!”

Y/N had gone into labour approximately 7 hours ago and was already completely over it. The nurses quickly arrived and administered the drug, and she was now slumped against the hospital bed— slightly relieved, but still very much in labour.

The epidural's kicking in had helped massively, but she was still very uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to get their baby out of her as soon as possible.

By early morning, she was finally at ten centimetres. The room shifted. More nurses came in. The doctor returned, gloves on, voice calm but firm. Lando moved to her side, gripping her hand like a lifeline.

“Alright, Y/N,” the doctor said, “It’s time to push.”

The next hour blurred. Her body was in motion before her mind could keep up. Pushing, resting, breathing, pushing again. She couldn’t tell if it was minutes or days. Lando was right there the whole time, cheering her on, whispering, “You’ve got this, almost there, so close,” over and over like a prayer.

She nodded, too exhausted to speak. The pain was blinding now, pushing everything else to the edges. She was trembling with effort, tears leaking silently down the sides of her face.

Lando wiped them away. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen anyone be this strong.”

And then—

“There’s the head,” someone said.

Y/N gasped, tears stinging her eyes. Her fingers tightened around Lando’s. She pushed one last time, heart pounding, and suddenly—

The room erupted with the soft cries of an indignant newborn.

A baby. Their baby.

The sound sliced through the air, thin and perfect and real.

Y/N collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing. Lando was frozen, eyes wide, mouth open, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The nurse gently laid her on Y/N’s chest, and the room fell quiet apart from the baby’s cries and Lando’s completely overwhelmed, awe-struck, maybe-about-to-cry breathing.

“She’s here,” Y/N whispered, staring at the little face scrunched up in protest. “We made her.”

“She’s perfect,” Lando said, brushing his fingers over her tiny hand, tears pooling in his eyes. “And loud. She gets that from you.”

The nurse smiled. “Name?”

They exchanged a look. The same look they’d been sharing for weeks.

“Sophia Norris”, Y/N said softly.

Lando repeated it with reverence. “Sophia Cisca Norris”.

Shortly after, the grandparents burst in like a pit crew. Y/N’s mum brought sweets. Lando’s dad brought three types of sandwiches, and his mum cried immediately. Her cries increased in intensity when she heard her granddaughter’s middle name.

The room had quieted, save for the soft coos of baby Sophia tucked against Lando’s bare chest. He sat in the corner chair, cradling her tiny body in his arms, his thumb brushing over her soft head in quiet awe. His eyes were glassy, lost in the rhythm of her breathing, the weight of fatherhood sinking into his bones.

Y/N lay back on the hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, watching them with a kind of love that hurt to fathom.

Her dad stepped beside her, his voice low, familiar. “You did good, sweetheart.”

She blinked up at him, tired tears prickling again. He reached out, smoothing her hair like he had when she was little.

“You’re a mother now,” he said, his voice catching just slightly. “But you’ll always be my girl.”

She let out a soft laugh, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Across the room, Lando rocked gently, whispering to his daughter like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Two fathers. Two daughters. One just beginning, one watching the start of it all.

It was quiet, simple, sacred—a full circle drawn in warm arms and steady hands.

Soon after all the excitement, and with the grandparents going to their house to tidy up for baby Sophia, back in the quiet of the hospital room, the world finally stilled.

Lando wrapped his arms around both of them, resting his head gently against Y/N’s, as she held their daughter in her arms.

“You realise I’m never letting either of you out of my sight again,” he said.

Y/N sighed, her voice soft and tired. “That’s fine. Just don’t run during diaper changes.”

“No promises,” he grinned.

And just like that, their world had changed, and neither of them would have it any other way.

🪻🪻🪻

The sky was soft and grey as they stepped out of the hospital, the kind of cool, peaceful afternoon that made everything feel a little more surreal. Y/N moved slowly, bundled in a cosy cardigan, her steps small and cautious as she walked beside Lando—who, despite being equally exhausted, looked like he was on the verge of both panic and awe.

Cradled carefully in his arms, nestled in the softest cream blanket known to man, was their daughter. Sophia. Or Sophie, as they'd already started calling her every few minutes.

“Okay. We’ve got her. I’ve got her. I am holding my actual daughter. This is fine,” Lando whispered mostly to himself as he walked toward the car with the baby carrier in hand. He looked like a man carrying the crown jewels, walking at half speed, avoiding every pebble like it might trip him and shatter his world.

Y/N smiled as she trailed behind him, watching her husband move with exaggerated caution, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“You doing alright there?” she asked.

“I am. I think. I mean… do I look like I’m about to faint?”

“Yes”, she said sweetly, “but it’s very endearing.”

When they reached the car, Lando placed the carrier gently on the ground and crouched beside it, staring at the car seat like it had personally challenged him to a duel.

“We practised this,” he muttered, more to himself than to Y/N. “I’ve got this. Buckles, straps, clicks. No problem.”

He slowly unbuckled Sophie from the carrier and scooped her into his arms, holding her against his chest for a brief moment longer than necessary. She shifted slightly in her sleep, her tiny mouth forming the softest pout, her fingers twitching against his hoodie.

And just like that, his face started to crumble.

Y/N, hovering nearby, immediately noticed. “Lando… are you crying?”

He sniffled aggressively. “No.”

“You are. Oh my God. Are you actually crying again?”

“Don’t—don’t mock me!” He choked out, even as a tear slid straight down his cheek. “She just—look at her! She’s so small and soft and warm, and she made that little snuffle noise—Did you hear it?!"

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “I did. It was very cute.”

“She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said, his voice catching as he tucked her into the car seat with trembling hands. “And she made a little squeak, and it felt like my heart exploded.”

He pulled back and wiped his cheeks, visibly overwhelmed. “I’m not okay.”

Y/N knelt beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re very much not okay. But you’re also very cute. Keep going; I might cry too.”

“You’re not crying.”

“I’m trying not to laugh.”

Lando groaned, cheeks red, eyes still watery. “This is my most embarrassing moment, and we’re not even home yet.”

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s kind of hot, actually. The emotional dad thing? Very attractive.”

He glared at her half-heartedly. “Don’t weaponise my emotions against me.”

“I would never. But also… you cried over her sighing.”

“She sighed like a poet,” he whispered, placing a hand over his chest. “Like she’s already wiser than both of us.”

Y/N laughed, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Alright, Plato, let’s get this poet home.”

He finally managed to start the car, gripping the wheel like it was made of glass. Every bump in the road earned a panicked glance at the baby mirror, even though Sophie remained fast asleep, tucked up like a little loaf of heaven.

Halfway home, Lando reached over and grabbed Y/N’s hand without looking, still sniffling slightly.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We did it.”

“We did,” she smiled, gently squeezing his hand. “And you only cried four times.”

“Four and a half,” he corrected.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lando exhaled so dramatically it made Y/N laugh again. He rushed to the back seat, unbuckling Sophie with all the care in the world, then held her against him once more before they stepped inside.

In their bedroom, after the bags were dropped and the grandparents had been told (again) that they were home safe, Lando sat on the edge of the bed with Sophie curled up against his bare chest for skin-to-skin time.

Y/N stood nearby, watching the two of them like her heart might burst. Sophie was barely bigger than Lando’s forearm, her little head tucked beneath his chin, her hand twitching slightly in her sleep.

He didn’t say a word—just stared down at her with wide, teary eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, syncing with hers like she’d always belonged there.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger already,” Y/N murmured.

“I know,” Lando said, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m never getting out.”

Y/N crawled into bed beside them and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Good. I kind of like you both like this.”

He looked over at her, cheeks still damp, and smiled the kind of smile that only came once in a lifetime.

“We’re home,” he whispered.

And they were.

i was kicking my legs in the air as i wrote this. also im working on a few reqs sent to me, i have about three oscar ones. thanks for being so patient 🫶🏻

[bejeweledinterludes]

givin’ it all.

OR touch starved ! dean, part 2. you ask, i answer <3

my masterlist

read part 1 here!

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 5.9k

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons sad n soft!dean, vulnerability to da max (again), emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS, past trauma, confessions?

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

surprise! here is a lovely part 2 for the people that asked and in honor of my bday month starting! BUTTTT most importantly, this is a thank you for 600+ followers !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope all of you know that i appreciate every single one of you that enjoys and interacts with my writing! it means the world, truly. once again, thank you all so much for the continued and ongoing support + love! i hope you all enjoy this one! and special thanks to @emeraldcrs + @maddie0101 (even though i ended up not doing what i said i was going to LMFAO <3)

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

dean winchester’s touch problem was getting out of hand.

again.

ever since that night in your bedroom, he’s wished he could be there again, laying next to you every night— he’d even actually got the courage to get out of his bed one night when he couldn’t sleep to go to your room, but he never knocked on your door.

he did, however, sit down next to it in the hallway until he got tired enough that he had to fight to keep his eyes open, then went back to his own room. 

you hadn’t even treated him any differently, either. you had still smiled at him when he walked into the kitchen that morning when you were already sitting with sam, like you always did— and you hadn’t said a word about the night before, when you held him like he’d always wanted to be held.

and god, did he want more. 

dean wanted everything, actually. anything you had to offer. he’d take a squeeze on his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair— but hell, you did that pretty regularly already. and who was he to just ask for more?

dean winchester did not ask for things. he wasn’t allowed. he’s done just fine up until now without the touch of another human being, so why couldn’t the ache in his chest go away after your fingers left his skin? after that night?

it felt pathetic, wanting to need it. and to make matters worse, dean wanted all of you. it was selfish. you didn’t deserve someone like him, he knew it. but then again, you never flirted with anyone at the bars, ever. even when you all first started hunting together. and when he’d asked you about it (not so casually), you shrugged and told him the truth, because you always did— that as crazy and stupid as it sounded, you’d wanted something, someone real.

and dean?

he wanted to be the one to give that to you.

that’s when he knew he was in trouble. 

because of too many things, really— what if you died, again? what if he died, again? and what happens when you ultimately rejected him, because if dean winchester was anything, it was unloveable.

but charlie said she loved him. sam told him once in a while, too— and you’d said it the first time you ‘died’, then came back. he never brought that up. neither did you. but he just wanted to hear you say it again. 

so he could say it back this time. 

dean hated the way he felt when the people he loved actually showed him that they maybe cared about him, too— like the way a person feels when an entire room is singing ‘happy birthday’ to them and they don’t know what to do with themselves.

and yet, time and time again, dean found himself desperate for it. and he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was half the time. 

but being around you when he felt like that helped. a lot.

dean didn’t know what it was, or when it even started, but he always gravitated towards you. always had to be around you, be near you. and you never once pointed it out. you just let him into your space, your bubble, even your hobbies— and sometimes, doing literally nothing at all. 

it was one of the reasons dean loved you. yeah, yeah, he said it, whatever. leave him alone. it seemed like any time you were near, he was more relaxed. not fully, of course— but his shoulders felt less tight and his jaw wasn’t sore from clenching it so hard.

he breathed easier. without realizing it, you helped dean take his mind off things (but of course you damn well knew that. why else would you have invited him to go to the post office with you?). 

and he craved it. 

if dean got captured by a jinn right now, you’d be there. you’re all he’s wanted. you, maybe a house— screw anything else, honestly. if you were there, so was he. but he’d definitely prefer you sitting on the hood of baby— yeah, his two girls. that was a little strange analogy though, because he’s thought about fucking you right on top of baby. or inside, on the seats. maybe even under—?

this djinn-fantasy thing was starting to sound a lot like just a sex dream. 

wouldn’t be the first time dean had one about you, though. 

besides. you were all he dreamed about, anyway. 

but this night, he was wishing he had a dream like that. no. tonight, he was having yet another goddamn nightmare. 

the barely-lit light on dean’s desk (he says he ‘accidentally’ leaves it on once in a while, but he really uses it as a makeshift night light. don’t tell anyone i told you that) cast soft dim glow on the concrete walls of his bedroom. the room was quiet, except for the occasional hum of machinery coming from somewhere in the bunker.

yet dean's mind? anything but peaceful. images, smells, sounds, and memories were piercing his mind— hell, purgatory, failed hunts, you name it. and the faces of people he’d lost, people he’d tortured were clear as day— the pain, the hurt, it was all there, as usual; but ten times worse tonight, it seemed. screams, snarls, gunshots, and his father’s voice echoed off of the traumas he was reliving. 

he doesn’t know when his eyes had snapped open. but now dean was sitting up pin-straight in his bed, his breathing more like choppy gasps as he held and pointed his gun at— nothing. and his throat hurt, why did his throat hurt—?

oh. 

it wasn’t just screams of other people.

it was his own this time. dean had screamed out loud. 

a few rooms away, you were also jolted awake by dean's scream. it was so loud that it had even carried through the thick concrete walls of the bunker that were separating you both. you shot up from your bed, years of instincts kicking in and legs moving before your sleepy mind could catch up— or think twice. 

because the only thing that was going through your freshly-awoken mind?

the absolute worst.

you made it to dean’s door in record time, swinging it wide open with your own gun at the ready to fight something— but the sight you were met with was not the one you had been expecting.

at all.

dean was still sitting up straight, but now barely-relaxed, rapidly blinking his eyes with his trembling hand still holding his gun, adjusting to the still-dim but brighter light flooding his room, to feeling damp in his clothes instead of all bloody and broken, to the echoes of screams being replaced with the white noise of the bunker– 

and to… you. 

yeah, you. standing in his doorway, hand on the edge of his door (you’d caught it as it bounced back from you essentially tearing it open), your own gun now at your side instead of drawn. your hair was all messy, clothes a little bunched up in places, breathing a little unevenly, yet not as much as him— but you still looked breathtaking, nightmare aside. 

dean didn’t know what the hell kind of water you were drinking to make you look like that. even being freshy pulled from sleep like him, you looked beautiful. pretty, gorgeous, stunning? dean couldn’t find a word, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

and him.

oh, him.

dean always looked good— to the point where it bordered on you wanting to rip your hair out, most days. and despite what de’d just gone through, he still looked good. kidding aside, you craved the times you were able to see him like this more than you cared to admit to yourself. 

not because he was in pain, or suffering the traumas of his less-than-peaceful life— but because it reminded you that even dean, for as everything that he was: a hero, larger than life, better than any hunter, still had moments like… this. when the memories became real life again. when the thoughts and his past actions echoed in his mind like taunts.

when you saw him like this: sweat all over, hair sticking up, eyes like they didn’t know what was real, you saw a piece of dean that few— or none at all had seen. most times, it felt like you were intruding on something private, sacred. and every realistically-thinking cell in your body screamed that you shouldn’t be here, seeing this. seeing dean. 

but that little voice in your head just wouldn’t listen. 

it never did. not when it told you that maybe dean didn’t touch you like he did everyone else— because hell. 

he never touched anyone else. only you. 

he’d do it all the time, so frequently and without a word that you weren’t sure he was aware he was actually doing it. dean sat so close to you what seemed like 24/7, like a magnet. in a booth, at a bar, wherever. you’d gotten so used to it, it had been unusual not to have the solid warmth of dean next to you when you’d gone off on your own to interview witnesses on a case. 

and you would catch him playing with your hair on more than one occasion. and while dean got all embarrassed, you just smiled a little, then went back to reading the old-ass book you’d been poured over (but not without first nonchalantly adjusting yourself so he got more access to your hair). 

dean would never forget it. 

because that’s who you were, essentially. taking all the pieces of him in tow with you. all the dirty, messed up, strewn-about shards of him, scattered like a discarded shattered vase on the floor— and just accepting it. 

and you never tried to ‘fix’ him, but in some way, you still somehow were. without really ever talking about it, or maybe even knowing. but when those times that only occurred on a rare occasion that dean would talk, the words spilling out and overflowing— but you never judged him. only listened. spoke when it was needed from you. 

it meant everything.

and more. 

dean would hug you almost every five minutes when he was too drunk to stand straight, you had learned one night early on in your friendship. when his ‘hey, maybe we shouldn’t do that’ voice in his head was silenced, he was kinda (a lot) all over you. because yes, he was much touchier when he was drunk, especially around you. 

even now, after years since it happened, you still remembered the way his broad, loose frame had crumpled against you— and you caught him.

just like now.

you’d snapped over whatever the hell just came over you— and you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, but you hoped it wasn’t as long as you thought it to be, then slowly shut dean’s door behind you with a click, enveloping you both in the dim light this time. 

because no way in any world were you about to leave dean alone after seeing him like this.

you pad across his room like you’d done a million times before— but never in this way. this late in the night? sure, but not like now. 

you weren’t really thinking. because let’s be honest here: for every critical and rational thought you had, dean seemed to just… make them all disappear from your mind.

not in the survival sense, but in the ‘really, what’s stopping me from just kissing him’ viewpoint. so much so that you had to literally force yourself to not do anything. to not cross that line. you weren’t sure if he even knew that he was aware he was doing it to you, yet it still happened. a lot.

but back to now. back to dean’s room, to the light being returned to normal, and dean’s wondering why the hell is it so cold? he was still just a complete mess, his frayed and raw nerves only being held together by skin, blood and bones. he shut his eyes and kept them like that, trying to banish the memories from his mind, to just snap the hell out of it. he could hear this ringing in his ears, and it was so loud, he just wanted it to stop—

and suddenly, it did.

dean didn’t even realize you’d started holding him until the scent of you finally flooded his senses. until he felt how warm you were. until he felt your hair on the side of his face. until he felt and heard your breathing. 

during the aftermath, you’d somehow managed to gently pry dean’s gun out of his hand, setting yours and his on his desk before you’d gotten on his bed and sat with him, hugged him.

when his eyes finally opened, just for a split-second— the only sight he was met with wasn’t the pit, or purgatory, just the guns. the metal had glinted off of his desk light, his vision only slightly impaired by your hair.

your hair. why did it smell so good. and why was it so soft. the world may never know, dean thinks. well, he does know. you’d told him one night while putting something in your hair, and he had been walking past the doorway. he’d teased you about your ‘girly stuff’, but you didn’t even bat an eye. 

that was another thing he’d noticed about you. you didn’t change yourself based on other’s opinions. you were secure in who you were, and didn’t need approval from anyone else to feel your best. it was one of the things dean wished he could do for real and not just as a front, as a defense. 

you were confident, but you still asked him once in a while if you looked okay, more so in the most recent years.

and dean could never lie to you. he always said “‘course y’do”.

but that night, you’d shrugged, then just told him about whatever the hell you were putting on your head, explaining it in a way he’d understand if he’d been listening— but dean had been a little to focused on your lips moving and not enough on the words actually coming out of them. 

dean found himself burying his face into your hair now, half into your neck and chest, his breath coming out uneven and in short pants against your skin. he allowed his eyes to flutter shut again as he just let himself sink into you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms finding your waist. he felt the adrenaline wearing off, but his heart was still pounding in his chest, and he felt his shoulders trembling. his mind was starting to adjust, but he felt like he’d just gotten off a treadmill after running on it too fast. 

and dean felt so weak. even more so now than he ever had. a shell of himself, a whole grown-ass man crumpled into you like he was a little kid again, scared of the dark.

if his dad could see him now.

if sam saw him right now. oh, sam would finally see that his brother wasn’t the tower of light, safety he’d always viewed him as. he’d treat him differently, for sure. dean was no longer the protector, the one who watched over everyone and everything. too much had happened to sam, to the people he loved for that to be even a fraction of true anymore. 

what was true, though? 

dean was a failure.

in every sense of the word. he’d failed innocent people, family, friends— everyone more times than he could count.

but his mind remembered. 

and it reminded him every night. 

dean used to have the sense that he was at least doing something right, but as of late, everything he’d done so far was nothing short of one disappointment after the other. it was pitiful, really— he was a freakin’ hunter, for god’s sakes. you’d think he’d get a goddamn win once in a while. but not for a long time, it seemed. 

and this was just yet another failure, another thing he absolutely sucked at. dean couldn’t even get back to normal after a nightmare without someone being there to hold him. it was pathetic, humiliating— but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of you. 

somehow, that was his breaking point. the last straw. 

dean finally just… broke. 

you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard the smallest strangled, trapped noise came out from the man you were essentially holding together, muffled against you— but you still heard it.

all it took for dean winchester to cry these days? 

a hug, apparently.

the tears had been welling up in dean’s eyes faster than he could will them away— and he just couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t put up the front he’d always been able to. he tried, god he tried so hard, but he was still shaking, for christ’s sakes— and he’d just woken up. 

the more dean thought about it, the more your arms seemed like a good place to finally let it all out. you’d always treated him with kindness he didn’t deserve, so he just prayed that you wouldn’t push him away. that you would just let him have this. he doesn't think he could handle you rejecting him in this way right now.

and when you hear a slight sniff against you, you almost couldn’t believe it. dean didn’t cry. he got angry, upset, went non-verbal– but the one thing you hadn’t seen him do (at least in front of you) in all the years you’d known him, is cry.

but you weren’t leaving.

no, you just held him tighter, adjusting your grip and the way you were sitting so dean was more comfortable. you didn’t lay down, but you pulled him closer to you, running a hand up and down his back. 

it’s not like you could say anything. what the hell could you say?

well.

one thing did come to mind. 

so with your hand still gently rubbing dean’s back, you moved your head just a fraction so it could rest on his, whispering close to his ear.

“i got you.”

and that was it. 

dean’s eyes screwed further shut, lip wobbling as he gripped way harder onto you, like you were the only lifeboat left in a choppy sea. like you were going to keep him here, like he’d suddenly fall apart, die if he let go. 

and he let go—

figuratively.

you’d never heard a sob come out of dean before, but that night, you decided you never wanted to hear it after this. because it was physically hurting you to hear dean right now. 

but you didn’t dare let him go. you held dean in your arms, still running a hand on his back, and he cried into your chest like he was four years old again, his entire body trembling against yours with the force of how much his sobs were wracking through his form. 

this wasn’t just about dean’s nightmare. this was everything. the decades of holding things in, pushing them down, then moving on without ever unpacking it— it was all bursting through the floodgates, roaring in his ears, his senses.

broken sounds left his throat, almost choking on them. they were coming straight from the place dean dared not to ever touch in his heart. but he didn’t care how loud he was anymore, or how embarrassing this must be, how humiliating—

because you said that you had him.

and you wanted nothing more than to take every ounce, every inch of pain, heartbreak, suffering, and loss that made up the man you loved away from him so he didn’t have to deal with it.

dean didn’t deserve any of it. he deserved to be normal.

to have a life. 

and damn you wanted to give that to him, so badly.

but for now, you’d just hold him. give him a place to rest. to let everything go.

to be the solace he needed, he deserved.

neither you or dean knew how long he’d stayed like that, but you both didn’t say a word the entire time you held him— the only sounds that filled his room were his less-than-quiet sobs (god he hoped sam hadn’t made it home from elieen’s yet) and the faint rustle of his sheets. 

but at some point, with a final sniff, dean lifted his head from your shoulder, but didn’t meet your eyes. couldn’t.

he was so ashamed of himself, his actions. it didn’t matter that you guys had been friends however long, this was not supposed to be the side of him you saw. he’d seen you comfort dozens, maybe even hundreds of crying people on cases— because of lost loved ones, or because they had seen something too scary. 

dean just never thought he’d be one of them.

you didn’t say anything at first. dean, eyes and face still wet with tears, was looking down between you both, eyes fixed on your pyjama pants’ pattern. he was avoiding the obvious, the pill he had to swallow. he’d just cried like a baby into you.

he could see the wetness on your shirt from the corner of his eye, but he dared not look up all the way. god, this was humiliating. you’d probably move out of the bunker after this.

because no way does dean come back from a stunt like he just pulled. staying in your bed is one thing, but the fact that he just broke down in front of you? you’d never see him the same, never look at him the same– and even if there was any chance of it  before, no way in hell were you ever going to look at him in the way he wanted you to look at him.

he’d messed up big-time— again. the only thing he swore to never ruin, to never take away from himself, it all just unraveled because he was a goddamn crybaby. an idiot. why did he do that? just let himself? was he seriously that braindead that he couldn’t—

dean’s pulled out of the spiral of thoughts he’d conjured up for himself when he feels a hand under his jaw. 

your hand. 

dean’s breath was all out of whack, courtesy of crying— but his next inhale literally gets stuck somewhere when your free hand uses your fingers to wipe the tears off his face.

you hadn’t really registered the fact that you’d even started doing that until you see dean’s glassy and red-rimmed eyes meet yours in his barley-lit room. all you’d been thinking was that you wanted to see him. and when you saw all the wetness on his face, how ashamed he looked, you didn’t think. 

case in point: you never did.

not when it came to dean.

and dean just melts all over again. you could’ve teased him, poked fun, even just got up and left— but instead, your arms are still halfway around him. you’re leaning over by his nightstand, grabbing a tissue for the snot and larger tear tracks. 

he should feel embarrassed. at least a little gross. 

but he didn’t. 

he just felt you.

dean let his eyes flutter shut, because this had to be a dream now. he wasn’t expecting this from you, but damn if he didn’t need it. every gentle brush of your fingers on his face felt like pure gold. like you were putting him back together. 

dean’s still trembling under your gaze, under your touch. but seeing him react the way he did stirs at that feeling inside your tummy that always seemed to spike when dean was around. you toss that urge away, along with the tissue you’d used on his face.

but you don’t take your hand away. 

your hand was so warm, so soft was all dean could think, feel. you weren’t taking your hand away, so dean just melted like a pad of butter in a pan into your fingers that were cupping the side of his face, his eyes still shut. he could feel the slight burn of them from crying, along with the pressure in his face so high— but your thumb absentmindedly brushing on his cheek was starting to make him feel like he was floating instead.

and because he’s greedy, because he’s weak, dean’s own hand releases its hold from your shirt and finds your wrist, keeping your hand on his face. the one that used to be under his jaw had dropped when you knew that he wasn’t going to look down again.

no one’s shown dean care like this. your presence was like a blanket, like the warm, soft light of a candle. he couldn’t get enough. he never wanted it to end. 

dean doesn’t know how long he stays like that— could’ve been seconds or hours. but he finally breaks the silence with a quiet, raspy “thank you”. he doesn’t open his eyes yet.

because he’s afraid that you’ll be gone when he opens them. 

but you weren’t.

no, in fact? you did something much stupider.

you leaned forward and kissed dean on the cheek that your hand wasn’t currently holding.

dean’s eyes snap open in surprise at the contact if your soft lips on his skin, his trembling breaths getting stuck in his throat again— because holy hell. whatever he’d been guessing you’d do, it wasn’t even close to that.

like everyone knows now: you weren’t thinking.you just wanted him to feel better. you just didn’t know how to do that for him.

dean’s red-rimmed eyes were still wide as you leaned back, your hand on his face faltering when you see his expression, because that didn’t seem like he enjoyed it— but he didn’t drop his hand from your wrist. he wasn’t going to let you let go. you’d only kissed him on the cheek one other time, and that was when he was dying for the third, maybe fourth time? it was too long ago for him to remember, but honestly, he had been happy just dying like that, too. you’d kissed him, and that was what he needed. he didn’t want anything else from this world.

and you just did it again.

the only thing he said?

“do that again.”

now it was your turn for your breathing to stop working.

but you didn’t hesitate. 

you leaned forwards once more and pressed your lips on dean’s cheek again, lingering for a second too long before you reluctantly pulled away. because you wanted more. you wanted everything, honestly. but you’d never ask that of him. 

you don’t know how you’ve lasted this long, pretending not to want one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. you can recall a time when you didn’t feel like this— back when dean winchester was just some hunter with his brother. you helped them out once in a while, since they were your age and seemed nice enough, but somewhere along the way, after an apocalypse or two, sam and dean were always kind of just… there. it was like you were on parallel paths, going in the same direction— and both had intersected at some point. 

now here you were. 

it was times like these you wished that dean would just pick a side. he never truly hit on you, only for a case once in a while— and he couldn’t even look at you after he did that. he never made a move, and honestly, you were fine with that, for a really long time. you’d deemed dean much too out of your league anyway, since he didn’t really flirt with you like he did every other woman that came across his path— and that was odd to you, because dean flirted with everyone.

just not… you. 

and while it stung, you just pushed through it. i mean, it’s not like you haven’t been let down before— but you couldn’t place why your heart felt like it was being shredded up in your chest when you’d met lisa for the first time.

but you knew. 

deep down, you knew exactly why. 

you knew why your gut twisted whenever he chatted up a waitress, or a witness. you knew why your friends gave up on talking to you about him, because you were a lost cause. 

because you were so stupidly in love with dean, it was almost humiliating. 

every single person, even some monsters you were literally hunting had called you out on it.

and you didn’t know what the hell to do. 

there were too many variables, too many outliers, and certainly not enough confidence to even consider the fact of telling him. of manning up and just taking what you wanted. because what would you even say? do? what happens after he rejects you? and what if—

your thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand on your face.

dean’s hand.

your hand was still on his cheek, one of his own still holding your wrist— but the other was now brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

and then it just… stayed there. on the side of your face. 

just like you were doing to him. 

you’re gonna die, you think. 

once again, you found yourself wanting dean to just do something. he’d been blurring the invisible line you’d drawn for yourself, the one you swore to never cross—

unless dean wanted you to. 

it was getting much harder to tell if he wanted you to or not, especially in the most recent months.

and it was killing you. slowly but surely.

“what’re you thinkin’ about?”

the words leave your mouth before you even have time to think, because dean’s hand is so warm, so big against your face and it’s really hard to focus when his own thumb is brushing on your cheek— 

“you.” 

the answer leaves dean’s mouth without hesitation, without another thought. it wasn’t a lie— because you were all he thought about.

dean didn’t deserve this. you. any of this. and yet, he couldn’t refuse it right now. not when you were so close to him, and your skin was so soft—

“are you—” the words get caught in dean’s throat. “are y’thinkin’ about me?”

oh, why did dean just say that. why on chuck’s green earth did he ever say that. how did he even sound more pathetic than he’d just been when he was crying in your arms? and his voice was so small, so unlike him— plus it was still raspy from his stunt he’d pulled earlier. he was an idiot. a fool. he sounded like an insecure freakin’ teenager. it was pathetic. he was pathetic—

“yeah.” 

dean’s eyes flicked back up to yours— and that was a mistake, because your hand was still mirroring his own on his face, and you were looking at him like you meant what you’d just said. like he meant something. 

“yeah?” the breath left dean’s mouth before he could stop it, and he hated how hopeful he sounded. he’d moved a fraction closer to you, but it felt like he just traveled a mile. 

“yeah,” you nodded, a little dazed, voice barely above a whisper. because dean was so close to you now, you could feel his breath on your face. you could barely think straight, because all you wanted to do was just lean in a little further— “i don’t really, uh… stop. thinkin’ about you.”

and dean’s gonna die. 

he is going to die, because you said that and you were looking down at his lips and you smelled so good and your hand was still on his face—

dean was a simple man. that’s all he’ll ever be. he’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want.

but god, he wanted you. 

so the words fell out of his mouth in another exhale—

“me, either.”

oh. 

oh. 

the way you were looking at him right now? after he said that in response?

you wanted him, too.

you’re both not sure who moved first, but your lips were on dean’s after you leaned in and he used his hand on your face to tug you to him, closing the remaining space between you both on his bed. 

the first thing you noticed?

dean tasted like home. 

you didn’t kiss him too fast. neither he with you. because you wanted to map out every inch you could, and because you were half-sure that this was some fantasy your mind had cooked up out of a state of delusion. your hand on dean’s face snaked deeper back, burying into his hair, and he groaned into your mouth at the action. 

that did something to you. the same thing happened when dean’s hand went into your hair, too— you made this little noise on his lips.

that did something to him.

kissing dean was actually gentle at first. not hesitant, but like you already knew how. but then after you’d both made those noises, it’s like a switch flipped. suddenly, there was way too much space in between you both— and you gripped onto the front of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you let your back hit his sheets, taking him down with you. 

this wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. no, this was going on a decade of wishing, wanting, hoping for something, anything to come of you and dean besides friendship. 

and dean? dean pressed right into you, one of his hands and barely bothered to keep himself upright. he needed to touch you, feel you. another groan escapes you and him involuntarily at the friction between you both— because you’d spread your thighs, his torso fitting right between you.

and it felt good. 

you couldn’t take a full breath anymore, but you didn’t dare take your lips off of dean’s. you just tugged him closer, hand still in his hair, the other on the back of one of his shoulders.

both your lips broke with a pop, you and dean taking in the same breath of air, his nose brushing against yours and eyes fluttering, because wow.

dean didn’t know he’d said that aloud until a smile tugged on your lips, eyes looking up at him like he still wasn’t real. like this wasn’t real. 

“you know how long i’ve been waitin’ to do that?” dean breathes against your lips, eyes threatening to shut again. 

your smile gets wider as your own eyelashes flutter at the closeness, relishing in the contact of feeling dean on top of you before you respond:

“you know how long i’ve been waiting for you to do that?”

──────────────────────── 𖤐

tags: @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[differenteagletragedy]

Part three of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part one -- Part two

It rains the next day, and the day after, then Simon gets the orders — he’d be leaving on a mission for a week or two, maybe more.

While he’s away, he thinks of you more often than he’s comfortable with. He wonders if you had the baby yet, and if you did, if the delivery went smoothly. He thinks of how you’d told him that it was just you and Charlie, and how he hopes you’re managing everything on your own.

It’s too much and he knows it, but he thinks it all the same.

By the time he gets back home, it’s been a little over a month. A few days are spent holed up in his apartment, decompressing and trying to remember how to breathe, then he’s back to it.

To you.

More walks, by the park, around the perimeter then a lap through town and back again. Eyes scanning each time, ears perked in case the little boy comes calling.

No luck — at least, not for a while. But a week or so later, during one morning stroll, there you are.

Your big belly is gone, save for a tiny little swell, and in its place is a baby carrier, which seems to be securely strapped in place, but he sees you hold onto it anyway. Sticking out of the bottom of the carrier are two impossibly tiny socked feet.

If he thought you looked tired the first two times he saw you, it’s nothing compared to how you look now. You look exhausted, weary down to your bones, but you still smile as Charlie, energetic as ever, shows off on the monkey bars.

Simon slowly makes his way over, stopping a few feet away from you. The movement makes you notice him, and you give a small laugh.

“You sure like this place, huh?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets, and says, “Trees are nice.”

There were a few cherry trees that were blossoming now, growing along the sidewalk by the street, and he did always think they were nice-looking. You didn’t need to hear, at least not yet, that he’d found something much more beautiful to see in the park now that he’d noticed you.

At the sound of Simon's voice, Charlie jumps down from the monkey bars and runs over, putting a hand on one of the baby's feet.

"This is my baby sister, Emma," he tells him. "She looks like me but you have to be careful with her because her head is soft and her neck doesn't work right."

He chuckles, then uses Charlie's introduction as an excuse to take a glance at the baby resting against your chest. He can't see much with the way the carrier is situated, just a tuft of hair sticking out of the top, then Charlie pulls his attention back to him.

"You never said your name," the boy points out.

"It's Simon."

"I'm Charlie."

"I know."

"This is Mum," Charlie says, tugging on the hem of your shirt. "She has a different name too though."

You laugh softly, and hold your hand out to Simon, telling him your name: it's your third time meeting each other, and finally, a proper introduction.

The morning goes by much the same as your last park playdate went. Charlie bounds from the jungle gym to the slides to the swings, demanding attention and applause. Simon keeps a bit of a distance and tries to ignore just how much closer he wants to be. But with how tired you are now, or perhaps now that you know Simon just the tiniest little bit better, you speak more freely.

It does absolutely nothing to stop his yearning.

Finally, Charlie starts showing signs of slowing down. He gets a little less talkative, doesn't have quite so many tricks to show Simon, and then he stands, going to you and grabbing one of your hands away from where it rests on the baby carrier.

"Can we go home now?"

You nod, smiling at the boy, and he lifts his arms expectantly.

Simon notices you frown, just a little, before telling your son, "Baby, you know I can't carry you, I've got your sister."

"But I'm tired."

"Can you walk for me?" you ask.

He sees Charlie look from you to the baby and back again, tears welling up in his wide bright eyes, and it's enough for him to speak up.

"I could carry him, if you like."

It would be a big step in your friendship, if you could even call it that at this point, him carrying your son home, but he's ready to take it. Moreso, he's ready to offer it -- he'd take so much more, anything you offered.

"... You don't mind?"

Soon enough, the four of you are on the sidewalk, with you leading the way. Charlie is already asleep on Simon's shoulder as he holds him in his arms.

"The baby woke him up early," you explain as you walk. "I thought he'd last till his afternoon nap, but then you showed up and he had to show out."

He smiles, and when he feels the warmth spreading through his chest, he knows he's in even more trouble than he thought. It was one thing, being interested in you, but it was another to be interested in the whole package.

But of course, he had been all along, hadn't he? You drew him in, something about you seeped inside him right away, digging in its claws and holding on tight, but he couldn't deny, at least not anymore, that there was something more, too. Charlie had been, every moment he'd seen him, sweet and precocious and disarming, and now the baby ...

"Everything go all right?" he hears himself asking, speaking softly as Charlie lets out a gentle snore by his ear. "The delivery and all."

"Oh, yeah," you answer, turning down a little residential street. "Quick and easy, or I guess as easy as birthing a human can be."

"You got someone helping you?"

You shake your head, smiling up at him.

"Nope, just us. We do all right though."

You guide him through a rickety little gate towards a house, cute but rundown, and unlock the door, stepping inside and letting him come in before closing the door behind him. You show him to Charlie's room, and he lays the boy down gently in his little twin bed.

"Want some tea?" you offer, and he agrees. Anything to just stay a little longer.

While you're filling the kettle, the baby starts crying. She'd fussed a bit here and there at the park, but this sounds more insistent, Simon thinks, and you sigh, the exhaustion clear on your face.

"What can I do?" Simon asks.

And before he knows it, he's in your kitchen, taking over the tea while you sit on the couch, feeding little Emma. He can hear you as he hunts through the cabinets for cups, can hear your quiet little shushes and her little coos and gurgles as she feeds, and it's easily the most domestic scene he's ever taken part of.

By the time he meets you in the living room, two cups in hand, the baby is resting in your arms. He can see her little face fully now. Charlie was right, she does look like him. And they both look like you.

You excuse yourself for just a moment to lay her down, then come back, baby monitor in hand. You set it on the coffee table, trading it for your cup of tea, and sit beside him on the couch.

For the first time, it's just the two of you.

"Can I ask you something?"

It's not the most reassuring way to begin the conversation, but he nods, having an idea of what you might have on your mind.

"What's all ... this?"

"All what?"

You give him a look -- he knows what, but he can't very well say it, so he hesitates, trying to find the best way out of this. But you, in another show of how perfect you could be for him, give him an out.

"Look," you begin, "my thing has never not been being unable to see red flags. My thing is actually kind of zeroing in on the red flags and running straight for them. And that's not you."

"... No?"

"No," you reply. "You're yellow at best."

He smirks. "I'm a yellow flag?"

You nod, smirking back, and god, he just wants you more.

"And how's that?"

"You've got ... something. You've got sad eyes. Like you've seen a lot of stuff and like you maybe don't know how to deal with it. Something to keep an eye on, but not something that's going to destroy someone else."

"You sure about that?" he asks.

"I wouldn't let you carry my kid home if I wasn't."

He nods, taking a sip of his tea. Just when he thinks he's in the clear, you say, "But that still doesn't answer my question."

Simon considers for a moment. He barely even understands the pull he feels towards you himself, how can he explain it? But you watch him with patient eyes, close enough to touch, and he knows that if he's ever going to have a shot at actually having this, for keeps, he's going to have to try.

"I ... has there ever been something that you've never had, but you still knew you wanted it?"

You give him a small smile, and there’s understanding in your eyes — of course you have.

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

But it’s not really a question. You know, and he can see that. So he doesn’t answer, but keeps his eyes on you steady.

“Simon,” you begin, and he has to force himself not to focus on how sweet his name sounds on your lips so he can hear the rest of what you have to say. “I don’t … why?”

“Just hit me that day,” he explains, his voice low and quiet. “Don’t know why, but it hasn’t gone away.”

“And … Charlie? The baby?”

“Charlie’s a good kid. Can’t imagine the baby will be much different.”

You stay silent for a beat, then tell him that you need to go check on the kids. He’s alone again, and he’s on the cusp of something with you, he just knows it.

When you come back a few moments later, you sit a little closer, a look of resolve on your face, and he waits.

“I’m kind of a mess,” you tell him.

“That’s fine.”

“I have two kids, and their dad is … he’s not in the picture.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“… Simon, I have a newborn.”

“I know, I met her. Head’s all soft and neck doesn’t work right. I remember.”

You laugh, but it’s nervous laughter, your eyes darting around the living room like you’re trying to find more reasons for him to want to run, but with every passing moment with you, he’s more and more sure that he wants to stay.

Finally, you speak again, your hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Just … I don’t know, ok?”

“You don’t have to.”

You don’t have to know, he wants to say, because he does. He knows you fit, and that he could take care of you and your children. He could carry Charlie home when he gets tired from playing too hard, and he could make you tea while you feed Emma. He could paint the house, fix it up, replace the gate with something good and sturdy. He could fix that leak in your kitchen faucet and make your life easier and do the best thing he’d ever do, with you and your family.

But you’re not ready to hear that. And he’s a patient man. He can wait.

PART FOUR - PART FIVE - PART SIX - PART SEVEN - PART EIGHT - PART NINE

[stardustquills]

thinking about a little quickie with dr. zayne ;) 18+, mdni.

cw; smut, semi public sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), praise kink (good/pretty girl), pet names (sweetheart, baby), others idk

wc; 1.7k

-

“a-aah, zayne, mmf!” the doctor’s hand quickly covered your mouth, muffling your noises.

his thrusts came to a stop. he pulled you up, back against his chest, your pelvis still against his desk. he leaned down to whisper in your ear, voice all quiet and husky.

“you’re being too loud. what will the nurses think if they hear you, hmm?” he was right - he did have a reputation to uphold. “be quieter, or else i’ll stop. and i don’t think you what that to happen.”

“mmh-”

“i know, sweetheart, i know,”

he continued his pace, slowly at first and gradually gaining speed before he got to his tempo from before.

you didn’t know your little office visit would turn into this - your boyfriend’s hard cock pummelling into your gummy walls, right into that sweet spot that made made you see stars.

but how could he resist? not with you wearing that cute little summer dress, the one that hugged the curve of your tits and waist so nicely before the fabric flowed around your hips and legs. zayne thought he should show you how much he likes this dress by bunching it around your waist and pulling your panties to the side. after all, what type of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t compliment his girl? he just decided to show his affection physically, that’s all.

and you even brought him lunch, ordering him a meal after you finished your own when you went out with your friends. what a thoughtful girlfriend you were! all the more reason for him to shower you with his devotion.

“good job,” he praised you for quieting down, just like he asked. “doing so well for me.”

“mm-nngh, z-zayne,” you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, your eyes closing with the blissful pleasure he granted you.

“hmm, yes?”

“feels g-good…”

“of course it does,” he kissed your temple with a soft chuckle, his own soft noises of pleasure trailing past his lips. “doesn’t it always?”

you couldn’t help but nod, because he was right. he always made you feel good, like the good boyfriend he was.

zayne was extra cautious this time, though, making sure his hips didn’t come into contact with yours with each thrust. it made him a bit sad, he loved feeling his girlfriend’s plump ass against his hips, the sound of skin slapping together, but he just couldn’t risk the noise. he is the chief cardiac surgeon at asko hospital - he had a reputation to uphold. what would everyone think? the icy, distant doctor fucking his girlfriend in his office. imagine the gossip! it would spread like wildfire.

he couldn’t have that happening.

still, his cock made you feel so good. you were thankful it wasn’t ramming into your cervix like it did at home, always making you sore a day later. the tip kept brushing against that spongy spot in your walls, making your head spin. your legs started to quiver and your hands fell onto his desk, helping you support yourself.

zayne snickered quietly. “h-haah, tired already, sweetheart?” another breath left him as your cunt throbbed around his cock, a feeling he’d never tire from. his free hand snuck down your body, finding your clit. he drew stars with his finger, effectively making your eyes roll into the back of your head, making you see stars yourself. “you can do it.”

“you can’t just, mmmh, walk in here with that pretty dress, o-oh, and expect me not to fuck you.” he murmured gently into your ear. god, it was so hot, the way he spoke so eloquently, even when he was buried in you. he didn’t stutter, never tripping over his words, only a few whimpers breaking his sentence. “such a pretty girl you are. my pretty girl.”

your back arched as the pressure became too much, that coil in your tummy about to snap at any moment.

“zaynee,” your meek mewl muffled against the palm of his hand. he could feel your hot breath. “gon- mmph! gonna come…”

“stay quiet,” he reminded you as his hand slipped away from your mouth, sliding down to one of your breasts. his hand groped, squeezing through the fabric of your dress. it wrinkled under his hand, but that was the least of zayne’s worries. perfectly timed, the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder, and he took the opportunity to glide his hand underneath, squeezing the flesh without any barriers.

he rolled your nipple under his fingers, eliciting a moan from you. your own hand came up to conceal your sounds, slapping against your face as your eyes widened.

he let himself moan into your ear, “good girl,” he praised as you attempted to keep yourself quiet. “just like i asked. still wanna come, baby?”

you nodded frantically, like you’d turn to dust if he didn’t let you come. and you just might, he’s been doing an exceptional job at making you feel good, the last thing you needed was to come. “yes, yes,”

“what’s the magic word?”

“please, zayne, please,” you panted like a bitch in heat. “so- nngh, ‘m so close!”

“i know baby, i can tell,” his hand squeezed your tit again before flicking your hardened nipple. so hard it hurt. “come ‘round my cock, will you? can you come like a good girl for me?”

you’re so close, and you can’t get enough of him. his voice, his hands, his dick - fuck, you were so far gone. you’re too cock drunk to think of anything but your doting boyfriend.

and he’s close too, but of course he won’t come until you do, because that’s what a good boyfriend does. he’ll always make you finish first before even thinking about his own release. zayne is truly a gentleman, through and through, completely and utterly whipped for the girl that’s pressed against his desk, the girl his cock keeps on sinking into.

“mmmh, there you go, sweetheart,” you praises when he knows you’re coming. pussy walls sweetly clenching around his dick, trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

you had to bite down on a knuckle of yours in order to keep quiet, to stifle your moans as your body tremored. zayne’s fingers slowed, still rubbing delicate circles as you rode the waves of your orgasm. his thrusts gradually came to a stop, his own building orgasm slowly dissipating. he doesn’t mind, of course, it’s something he can take care of later. right now, he’s focused on making sure his girl feels good, making sure she knows just how much he loves and appreciates her.

his cock slips out and you clench around nothing, but you’re caught off guard at his neck words.

“turn around,”

“what? but zayne,”

“please, sweetheart.”

you obey - he’s never one to beg.

zayne helps you sit on the edge of his desk before he drops to his knees, his strong, surgeon hands holding your legs apart as he kisses the soft flesh of your thigh.

he’s so focused on your cunt, all other thoughts leave his mind when the smell and taste hit him. his tongue licks a long stripe on your slit, nectarous and luscious.

he thinks your cunt could satiate his sweet tooth better than any treat.

his eyes flick up to yours, hazel-green ones staring into yours, watching, studying your expression as he starts sucking on your clit.

your eyes are half lidded as you look down at him, one of your hands instinctively finding its way into his hair as the other stays covering your mouth, continuing to smother your sounds.

the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles, hearts floating in his pretty irises. zayne moves so he can stick his tongue into you, greedily lapping up your sweet sap. he moans and whines into your cunt, the vibrations only serving to make you feel even better. he’s muffled but you could still hear him. his eyes closed as he lost himself in you. occasionally, his eyes would open and glance at your face as his tongue worked tirelessly to please, and closing again when he sees that you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is.

“a-aahmmm,” your back arched as the hand in his hair drove him further into your pussy. “so- oh! there, yes! so good, zayne!”

how could he stop with praise like that? he kept going, tongue pumping as his nose brushes against your swollen clit. you thighs threaten to close around him, trembling as your toes curled in your shoes. he doesn’t let them, using more pressure to force them apart.

your hips bucked, “yes!” you panted, biting on two fingers now, “there, zayne, please! ‘m so, so close, please,” you babbled, an endless chorus of worship for your boyfriend and his skillful mouth.

zayne didn’t even bother to talk you through it, knowing you were close enough already. he let you push his face further into your cunt, your slick coating his chin and nose. he almost laughed against you, loving the way you used and took what you wanted from him, but he’d never admit it no matter how hard it got him.

your second orgasm rippled through you - you came with a whine as your chest rose with each deep breath. you looked down at the man between your thighs, seeing the shiny coat of your arousal on his lips like gloss. zayne had a happy smile on his face, and he placed a peck on your clit before standing up again.

he grabbed a tissue off his desk and promptly cleaned you up, careful and precise. you stayed seated on his desk as he stood between your legs, kissing your forehead after he tossed the tissue.

he leaned back, his hands coming up to cup your face fondly. the doctor opened his mouth to say something, but was rudely interrupted by a series of knocks on his door.

thank god it was locked.

“dr. zayne!” greyson’s familiar voice rang through the door, followed by a number of knocks once more. “there’s a patient here to see you, says they’re feeling some-“

“give me a minute!” zayne called, his head falling onto your shoulder with an annoyed sigh. he took a deep breath, kissing your neck before pulling back and placing a chaste kiss to you lips. you both wish that kiss lasted longer.

“duty calls,” he said apologetically, his hands slipping from your face to your arms.

you just giggled, nodding understandably. “i know.”

-

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[divadepreshawn]

𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂'𝒂𝒎

Summary: Aaron Hotchner is not a man of many words — he prefers silence, gesture, subtle care. You have learned to listen. Warning: I don't think this can even be considered a story in itself. It's more about my kink for tough men who obey their wives in silence. Delusions WC: 1 093

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You knew that Aaron Hotchner was not an easy man.

He was – for lack of a more delicate term – emotionally constipated. And the chronic stress of his job made it worse. He is a person who values ​​justice a lot, and yes, he manages to apply it at work. But sometimes willpower alone is not enough, luck is not always on your side – even if he doesn't say it out loud, you know it affects him.

Aaron carried all of this in silence – never showing how tired he was, never asking for help.

He is extremely protective, to an almost suffocating degree. Not only of you and Jack, but of the team as well – which means he takes on more responsibilities than any healthy human being should try to handle.

Even so – and perhaps precisely because of this – he is a great husband.

Aaron Hotchner is the most romantic person you know.

Of course, if you tried to verbalize this to him, Aaron would give a half-smile, mumbling in mockery.

“Tzz, you’re starting to get sleep deprived. Let’s go to sleep, honey.”

But you could see it. You knew.

He didn’t say “I love you” often, or make big public declarations—it wasn’t necessary. You learned to watch the way he loved.

He would show up with a bouquet of tulips every month on the twentieth (the date you got married)— a silent ritual he followed to the letter, whether you were traveling to a case or at home. If a case was particularly difficult for you, he would sit next to you on the jet in silence, intertwine your fingers with his, and with his free hand, place a cup of tea and your favorite candy in front of you.

You mentioned once — just once — that your lower back hurt during your period. It was a casual comment, something so small that you didn’t even remember why it was important to the conversation. But he kept it in mind. In the months that followed, he would pay attention to every phase of your cycle. Every tiny expression on your face—from a slight frown when you bent down to pick up something that had fallen on the floor — didn’t go unnoticed.

Aaron would come to you at the end of the day, placing a quick kiss on your lips and a folded note in your hand.

a voucher for a massage.

And when you were feeling especially needy — which happened more often than you’d like to admit out loud — he’d notice before you could even open your mouth. Aaron would drag you to sit on his lap while he finished his reports.

Even if it was hard to write. Even if his leg went numb. He let you, because it was important to you. And because he loved you.

But there was one thing, one specific gesture, so simple, that melted you like jelly.

He didn’t make any decisions without asking your opinion first.

– After the wedding, you agreed to stay in his apartment instead of buying a house. The apartment was well located, practical, and safe. Besides, with the routine at BAU, it would be difficult to look for a house, deal with the renovation, and move. It was a lot of unnecessary stress.

The only problem is that Aaron is a very practical person, and takes the meaning of the word functional very seriously – things just needed to fulfill their purpose. A couch was a couch. And a curtain was just a piece of cloth that needed to block the sun's rays from coming in.

Worrying about the colors of the walls, matching the furniture in the house? No, that wasn't important to him.

But it was important to you, and that was the first thing you noticed. The wooden furniture in different tones, the three wallpapers in different colors and patterns. Not to mention the biggest affront to good taste, that damn striped curtain.

The decoration of the apartment was, honestly, terrible. But in his defense, Aaron was willing to make the place comfortable for you. In other words, he was so committed to transforming the apartment that he even mentioned changing the tiles in the bathroom if you wanted.

“You can decorate it however you want,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest, an amused smile on his lips when he noticed your expression of disgust.

“You promise?” , you asked, still staring at the couch as if it were a personal enemy.

“Of course, honey” , he assured, “where do you want to start?”

“I need a metal can.”

Aaron frowned. “What? Why?”

“I’ll start by burning these curtains.”

– Aaron woke up thirty minutes earlier than you every day. It was a deal you made, you take care of breakfast and he gets Jack ready for school. It was the kind of simple but essential deal that made the routine lighter without weighing on either side.

You were still half asleep, sunk into the soft sheets, hugging Aaron's pillow to fill the void in the bed and smell him – a mix of soap and cologne.

“Love?”

“Hm..?” You murmured, your voice hoarse. Opening your eyes slightly, trying to make out the figure near the wardrobe.

Aaron had his back to you, only with the white towel wrapped around his waist, still with small drops of water sliding down his back. His hair was damp and disheveled. He was holding two hangers.

“Gray or navy blue?”

You blinked slowly, trying to understand why the koala from your dream was calling you and your love and asking you to choose between two colors. You snuggled deeper into the bed, burying your head in the pillow. “I think… Navy blue.”

Aaron smiled, seeing your drowsy state. He hung the hangers back in the wardrobe and walked over to the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, before his lips brushed against your shoulders, leaving small kisses.

“Coffee in ten minutes?”

“Depends, if you want pancakes it’s ten minutes. Now if you want coffee in bed…” Before you can finish your sentence, he lightly bites your shoulder, making you let out a muffled laugh against the pillow.

“I can’t believe you’re flirting with me in your sleep,” he says, his tone full of disbelief – although he was clearly enjoying himself.

“Baby, I would learn necromancy to flirt with you after death,” you retort, turning your face slightly to face him.

Aaron lets out a snort of laughter. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, slapping your ass before standing up. “Come on, Mrs. Hotchner.”

“Call me that later,” you whine dramatically as you sink deeper into the sheets and mattress, “Now give me five more minutes, Mr. Koala.”

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[goorgeousz]

hotchelle | aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader summary: you have a furry emergency, and it’s up to your knight in shining armor — a vest and a government gun — of a husband to save you. content/tw: this is so unserious, dog being abandoned, aaron being completely whipped for his wife, just fluff! word count: 1.8ka/n: don’t mind me, i’m just (once again) spreading the “yes ma’am” Aaron agenda. reqs are open! hope you like it 💗🪽

masterlist <3

drabbles masterlist <3

more of "yes ma’am” Aaron

Even though he spent most of his life dealing with tragedies and loss, Aaron was never ready for it. No amount of experience seemed to prepare him for the feeling of fear.

So, although he was most used to receiving bad news when his phone rang, his heart immediately gave out when he answered your call.

“Hey, hon…”

“Aaron,” your rasped voice cried, sobs cutting through you and interrupting whatever you wanted to say.

“Honey, where are you?” he urged, immediately pushing his chair back and sprinting out of his office, not even bothering to button up his suit.

You cried louder, sniffing hard and trying to get the words out.

“I– I was hi-hiking.” he tried not to rush you, instead just sprinting into Garcia’s office.

“Yeah? On your usual track?”

He opened her door without knocking, startling the blonde woman and Reid, who sat beside her probably analysing some case he had been consulting.

Sensing the urge on their boss’ face, they didn’t waste a second before turning to him and getting ready to help in any way possible.

“Y-yeah. Signal is really bad,” you managed, and the way you hiccuped trying to steady your breathing made his heart physically ache.

“I’m coming. Do we need an ambulance? Or…”

“No! No, it’s not me… Aaron, please hurry, I’m…” before you could get any word out the phone went mute, and a few seconds later trying to reconnect the call, it ended.

“Garcia, can you trace her phone?” he asked, trying to seem less desperate than he actually felt. It didn’t work.

“Of course, sir.” she answered, already midway into finding his wife’s location. In a matter of seconds, the map on the screen’s computer glowed with a red pin, and a banner with her exact coordinates popped up. “Here, just sent it to your phone.”

He thanked her before turning around, Reid barely catching up with his pace. “I’ll come with you, sir.” to which he just nodded. He didn’t actually agree to it, neither seemed particularly happy about it, but he didn’t say no and the look on his face showed there wasn’t much on his mind except for the urge to find you.

Luckily it wasn’t rush hour, so they didn’t end up getting any speed tickets – the fact that he turned on the sirens at points where the traffic was a little heavier had nothing to do with it, trust –, and as soon as they got near the point Garcia instructed, they spotted her.

Sat on the ground on the side of the road, slightly off the tracking path, his wife’s baby pink clothes stood out on the grass as if she was a waking highlight. Hotch didn’t waste any time on parallel parking, throwing the car on park as soon all four tires stepped off the highway, and stepping out of it in a second, reaching for his gun, with Spencer mimicking his moves.

“Honey, we’re here.” he said loudly, trying to ease her shaking figure before he even got to her. She wiped her head back, and even though her face was red, puffy and drenched in tears, her eyes sparkled with recognition and relief, like she felt that everything was going to be okay: Aaron was there! The feeling almost made him combust.

“Aaron,” your voice whined, and then you started crying again, louder this time, relieved to not be alone anymore. Quickly scanning the area and guaranteeing there weren't any threats nearby, the two – guns still in hand – agents stepped close to her, still sitting on the floor.

As soon as they reach her, standing on each of her sides, they stop for a second. Aaron physically had to restrain himself from sighing loudly because you were about to have a stroke due to how hard you were crying, while Spencer had to bite the inside of his cheeks until blood was drawn out to stop himself from laughing.

Just in front of you, laid on the dirty floor was a puppy, it’s furr so dirty you could barely see it’s color. The dog showed no signs of being awake, and Aaron felt a little sting with the realization. The dog was dead. He just wished you’d told him sooner.

“I don’t know if she’s dead.” you managed between sobs, catching your husband’s glance “I saw a box on the hike with a note saying the family’s dog birthed her, they were moving across the country and couldn’t bring the puppy with them. She’s the only puppy who made it alive. I think she escaped of the box, trying to find someone. That’s how she got here.”

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Reid, tell Garcia we’re fine.” he demanded, sending his agent a pointed look at his amused expression. Spencer nodded, stepping back for a second to text his friend, taking the opportunity to silently laugh.

Then, he put away the gun, kneeling down beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and looking at the animal. You took it as a sign, and buried your face into your husband’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. His heart nearly gave out at how heartbroken you were, and all annoyance disappeared on his body just like that.

“Oh, Aaron, I’m sorry. I know you were busy. But… I just needed you, and I…”

“Shh, it’s okay. There’s no problem, at all.” he coached you, fully sitting down beside you and taking you fully in his arms. He meant it: emergency or not, there’s nowhere he would rather be than by your side to stroke your hair and kiss your forehead until you stopped crying.

“Can I see her?” Reid asked politely, crouching down beside you and curiously staring at the puppy. He, surprisingly, touched the dog without any gloves on, not waiting for an answer to actually start checking. Only a couple minutes had passed when he stood up “She’s alive, but barely. We should get her to a vet now.”

You nodd, sniffing and quickly coming to a standing position, the urge to help temporarily occupying your mind enough for you to stop crying, taking off your defined jacket and turning into a makeshift blanket, and wrapping around the puppy carefully.

The ride for the vet was quick, with Reid sharing his thoughts – even though his knowledge concerning puppies was rather short – and Hotch, once again, barely missing speed tickets.

“Reid, take the car back.” he sighed, handing the agent his keys. Spencer, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last minutes, stifled a laugh “I’ll stay here with her”.

When Hotch caught up with you, you were already at the reception of the vet ER – yes, they had those –, bawling your eyes out. One of the vets took the dog off your arms, handing your jacket back. You strode beside the team, giving them all the information you had so far.

“I think she spent the night. Her box was still wet, and it rained last night. Is she going to be okay?” you urged, eyes widening at the vet’s expression.

“Miss, you’ll have to wait outside okay? Thank you for your help.” he said, and they closed themselves into a consulting room, leaving you stuck on your feet.

Hotch touched your back, the feeling of his finger on your skin waking you from your trance. You turned abruptly to face him, and a kick on his gut would’ve hurt less – which he knew for a fact – than the sigh of your lower lip trembling, your eyes widened and red, filled with tears “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” he managed, and he hated how powerless he felt. So he just tugged you closer, hugging you closely and letting you cry.

“How can someone do that?” you said, angrily. Your voice was muffled by the fabric of his suit.

“I know, right? But she’s strong. Did you see how she lasted the whole night out there and still made it? She will be just fine.”

That made you step back, your eyes a little more hopeful as you looked at him. He loved that you believed him so much, and even though he had no way of knowing how this would turn out, he knew there was only one thing he could do.

“You think so?” 

“Absolutely.” he said, and that made a little smile tug at your lips. “Come on, let’s sit while we wait, huh?”

A couple hours had passed, with you pressed close to Hotch’s side, occasionally moving to play with a dog and hear other people’s stories. When you finally stopped crying, he stood and left a kiss on your forehead, leaving to get some food. Because you expected to be home way sooner, you haven’t eaten, and he was sure that if you didn’t get anything on your system, his next stop would be the actual ER, since you’ve probably cried out all 70% of the water on your system.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When he came back, two bags of lunch from the diner across the street, water and orange juice enough for the whole vet crew, he was surprised to see you surrounded with people. The other dog owners sat around you in the waiting room, listening closely to the story about how you found the puppy. You could be telling a fairy tale, the way their eyes shone with interest, gasping and cooing as on command. 

But what caught Hotch’s attention the most was the way the guy next to you – who definitely wasn’t there before he left – touched your bare knee with sympathetic – and honestly hungry – eyes. “You’re so brave and kind,...” the bastard said.

“And married.” he stepped closely, eyeing the man down with his stare reserved solely to the unsubs and particularly unpleasant officers he used to deal with.

“Oh, Aaron, you’re back!” you turned to face him, face glowing with that adorable smile of yours, looking at him with so much love that his scowl instantly melted. He barely noticed the guy standing up awkwardly and finding another sit all the way across the waiting room.

You ate together, with your husband making sure you drank enough fluids for a week, his attentive gaze not leaving your figure until there was nothing left on the paper bags but crumbs. As you were negotiating a sweet treat, a woman with a clipboard and a paw-patterned scrub emerged from the back of the ER seccion “Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner?”

Any thoughts about cookies or brownies being indispensable to raise your sugar levels vanished immediately as you rose to your feet in a speed that left Aaron’s spine jealous, and the two of you followed her closely, your husband’s hand rested on your lower back, now covered with the fabric of his suit – since you decided that the jacket you used to wrap the dirty dog in was now your own personal blankie – tracing patterns as you walked to the room.

When you finally got there, the little puppy was finally awake. Still completely dirty and somehow smaller than she looked when you found her, but fully alert “Hey, you pretty little girl. Oh, look, Aaron. Her eyes are just like yours.” you cooed, and this time he couldn’t control the roll of his eyes. He knew what you were doing. Trying to cute-guilt him into taking the damn dog. So what if the color of the puppy’s eyes was the exact shade of brown of his own? If Reid was there – and he made a mental note to call him later to check the information – he would agree that probably over 70% of the people on earth have brown eyes. Following that logic, the dog has the same eyes as 70% of the world’s population. Somehow that thought didn’t sit right with him, though.

“Is the dog okay?” he asked the vet, just wanting to get this over with. The woman nodded, her knowing smile too suspicious for his liking.

“She’s perfectly fine. She was a bit dehydrated, but I guess her previous owners left her with a little bit of food. We just took a few tests, but everything is normal. Her blood test results will take a few days, though.”

“But do you think she will be fine? Like, on the tests?” you asked, stroking the back of the dog’s ears with your fingers.

“Absolutely. But that’s all thanks to you. If you hadn't found her, I don’t think she would’ve made it.” 

You turn to Hotch with a little pout and tears in your eyes – of happiness this time, thankfully – and just like that you won another piece of his heart. But he keept it to himself, just raising his eyebrows at you, unbothered.

“We’ll just examine her now. Routine things. When the blood test comes out we’ll see for sure what vaccines she already has, but she’s 10 weeks old, so probably a few.” the vet explains while reaching the puppies belly with a stethoscope to check her heartbeat. “All good. She’s strong as a rock.” the woman keeps explaining each step of the examination, and at every new information you turn to look at Hotch, your eyes glowing with affection. The puppy, as if it senses your little show and wants to back you up, just behaves, her tail wagging everytime you or the vet talk to her with that high pitch voice, her big brown eyes staring at both of you as if you are her whole world. And he so stubbornly pretends he’s not melting as much as you.

“Now, we’ll take her temperature. This is the worst part of the exam, but just because it’s a bit uncomfortable.”

“She’s shaking, do you think she has a fever?” you ask, the worry on your tone not going unnoticed.

“Probably just fear. I don’t think she has a fever, but we’ll only know for sure by taking the temperature. Do any of you want to hold her or do you want me to call someone?” she asks, eyeing the two of you expectantly. Obviously, you dismiss the later option, moving your hands closer to the puppy. As the vet leans forward with the thermometer in hand, the dog does the unthinkable.

Awkwardly and clumsy running away from your and the vet’s reach, she goes into Hotch’s direction, and he has to step forward and grab her to prevent her from falling out of the table “Are you crazy?” he asks, not even realizing he was talking to the dog, staring annoyed at her. When he tries to place her back on the table, she whines, pressing her little paws higher on his arms, and he has to juggle her back safely to keep her from falling again “Jesus Christ, okay. I’ve got you.”

Aaron misses the way you and the vet eye each other in conspiracy, too busy making sure she’s comfortably nested on his arms “Oh, look. She stopped shaking. Hold her tight so I can check her temperature, will you?” the vet says, stepping closer and – as he will later describe – shoving the thermometer up on the puppy’s ass – which was actually very gentle and professional, but scared him anyway. “Oh, look at that. Not a fever. Your baby is perfectly healthy. Oh, wait.” the vet stops on her tracks, glancing back and forth between you and Hotch and asks the oh, so feared question “You are going to keep her?”

In an oscar-worth performance, you wiped your head to face him, pressing your hands, half-covered by the sleeves of his suit, on his bicep – carefully not to disturb the baby resting on his arms –, batting your eyelashes at him and staring with your eyes slightly opened, in those lost puppy eyes you mastered so well.

“Can we keep her? Please!” he sighed, not even daring to avert his eyes down to the dog he held, knowing damn well it would be a lost battle for him.

“Listen, I…” you interrupted, pointing at the small figure on his arms, forcing him to look at it.

“She’s already attached, baby. We can even name her after you!” you offered, your face deep in thought as you stared at the puppy’s eyes, as if trying to read its mind “Hotchelle!”

Aaron scrunched his nose, averting his torso to the side, as if putting some distance between you and the puppy would protect her from the name you’ve chosen.

“We’re not naming her Hotchelle.”

You crossed your arms, arching your brows “What are we naming her, then?” he then looked at the dog, still too dirty for either of you to see her real color.

“Maybe after we get her cleaned we can…”

Realization washed over him.

You stood there, the image of innocence, your eyes mischievous and expectant. If it weren’t the slight twitch at the corner of your lips, one could think you didn’t already know you had him wrapped around your finger.

So, he just sighed, looking briefly at the – his – puppy, and he could swear she had the same smug expression as yours.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After a well deserved shower gifted by the clinic – and many dollars spent at the pet shop wing at the clinic while you waited – the two – three – of you walked out together. You, holding some of the purchase’s bag, still wearing his suit jacket. Aaron, holding a freshly showered Hotchelle, wrapped around her brand new fluffy pink blanket, wearing two matching bows like a doll – while shopping you asked him if he thought Hotchelle was ‘more of a bow or pompom kinda girl’, to which he huffed an annoyed ‘bow, obviously’ – and the scowl he usually had on was much less prominent.

As soon as you stepped out of the clinic, the sun having already set, a flashlight temporarily blinded you. Blinking in surprise, your sight started to clear. It was a picture. And you couldn’t stop your laughter when you saw all the members of the BAU standing in the parking lot, matching amused smiles watching Aaron.

“We came to drop your car off.” Emily explained, her own laughter barely stiffed. Hotch sighed loudly.

“Thanks.” he muttered between gritted teeth “You can all go now.”

“Hm, I don’t think so, Hotch.” Rossi managed “We all want to meet the new addition to the family. We were kept in suspense since Reid told us what happened” Spencer had the decency to seem embarrassed, scratching the back of his head and blushing under Aaron’s disapproval stare.

Having restrained herself for long enough for the sake of the joke, Penelope threw herself in front of her boss, asking for you the whole rescue story. While at it, you catched the way Hotch stiffened his arms whenever Garcia tried to pry the baby to her own arms. Mercesly, you kept it to yourself.

“She’s still very young. 10 weeks.” he stated, glancing at Reid.

“That’s what I thought,” Spencer started, stepping closer with the other members, all cooing at how cute she looked. Specially contrasted with Aaron's broad figure – that earned Morgan another pack of photos, which you eagerly asked, for…. scientific purposes. “I did some research, and it turned out this specific breed is extremely affectionate due to….”

“Wait. Before we start the lecture” JJ pried, looking at Spencer apologetically “What’s her name?”

The tip of Hotch’s ears turned bright red, and the team glanced at each other. Sensing that your husband wasn’t going to answer, you stepped in, a bright smile in response “We named her after Aaron. Since she’s a daddy’s girl. Just like her mommy.” you winked at him, making him cringe. If both of his arms weren’t already busy, you were sure he would’ve been pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Don’t… say this…” he pleaded weakly.

“It can’t be that bad.” Morgan tried, his grin suggesting he thought otherwise.

“Hotchelle.” your husband said under his breath, earning many loud reactions in return. He just turned on his heel, getting the car keys from Emily’s hand and looking back at you “We're leaving.”

You were almost skipping on your way to his car, nestling the dog in your arms and showing her to the team like a trophy, who stood back laughing. Before getting into the driver’s seat, Aaron glanced back at them.

“Reid.” he commanded, his voice strong and stern like a thunder. Even from the distance, you could see Spencer gulping, bracing himself for the scold he was about to get. In a much lighter tone and with a smirk — he always had fun scaring his teammates — he said “I want to hear about your research tomorrow.”

taglist: all hotch @winyourheartemma all cm @s0urw00lf @deeninadream

[enhani-ki]

マスターリストm.list

most of my fics are suggestive (jokes/mentions of sex & skinships) or nsfw/smut (+ these are not proof-read too) but they also include plenty of fluff, angst, and crack so let me know if there's a specific genre you'd like me to do! requests closed

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† touché part i †

[popular work, suggestive] 1.2k wc ; "just please give me a sign. waiting way too long, i think it's time." loose by ENHYPEN, where riki's been making eye contact with you a lot lately.

† touché part ii †

[fluff, popular work, suggestive] 1.1k wc ; relationships grows, so does his need for you. you realize that you're never really ready for how much the guy wants you.

† i've been waiting for you †

[popular work, smut] 1.1k wc ; your boyfriend woke up from his nap annoyed because you came home late. he's been waiting for you, tired, and hungry for your attention.

† jealousy, jealousy †

[crack, jealous ni-ki, popular work, smut] 1.9k wc ; your coworker seemed a little too comfortable with you in your boyfriend's eyes.

† ENHYPEN AS YOUR "HOMEBOY" †

[fluff, little suggestive, ot7, popular work] enhypen members as your homeboys and the platonic friendship you share with each of them.

† Nishimura Riki as your (pervert) classmate †

[down-bad!ni-ki, popular work, smut] 2.2k wc ; a good boy who's down-bad for his mean, rebellious, and delinquent classmate. ni-ki's attentiveness and persistence might just be the thing that will break through your tough exterior.

† exes †

[angst, fluff, suggestive] 2.6k wc ; they say exes can't be friends but can they even be strangers though?

† like i need u †

[angst] 1.6k wc ; your trip quickly turns cold as he's swept up in work and starts pushing you away... just boys being boys.

† pacify her †

[slight dacryphilia, smut] 1.4k wc ; anonymous asked: what about riki teasing reader till she's about to cry and he notices and feels bad so they make out and he gives her head while teasing her all the while?

† part-timers!ni-ki & reader †

[pervert!reader, suggestive] 1.1k wc ; you never showed it, but you like ni-ki—maybe too much. his cryptic texts feel like he's been trying to say something to you too all along.

† part-timers!ni-ki & reader part ii †

[smut] 2.3k wc ; you told him your dirty little secret. ni-ki didn't freak out, instead, he asked to watch and help.

† Bad MF part i †

[down-bad!reader, dry humping, smut] 2.1k wc ; you've been in love with ni-ki for a long time now, and recently, it finally felt like all your patience, all your hard work, was already starting to pay off.

† Bad MF part ii †

[down-bad!reader, smut] 2.5k wc ; ni-ki might just buy you more lingeries...

† overthink this, overthink that †

[angst, fluff, suggestive] 5.9k wc ; slow-burn, loving too much, not being taken seriously, letting go, and the soft ache of being seen for the first time.

† ni-ki's reaction to getting slapped †

[smut] 339 wc ; no words, just... why?

† he knows (featuring jake) †

[angst, cheating, light smut] 4.5k wc ; right and wrong was blurry until their friendships starts to crack.

† love at twenties ? †

[fluff, suggestive] 2k wc ; a continuation of snitch. just established relationship and full of yearning.

† random texts with fwb!ni-ki †

[fluff, light smut/very suggestive] 14 images ; sneaking and playing with ni-ki, your good friend (with benefits)

† not-so-big surprise †

[birthday special, fluff, texting] 520 wc ; long-distance relationship. ni-ki stays up just to be the first to greet you for your birthday.

† double take †

[fluff, male!reader, suggestive] 1.4k wc ; your childhood best friend, the one you used to dance with, just came back as an idol. he's now tall, hot, and way too touchy for your peace of mind.

† dating and talking stage with ni-ki †

[fluff, smau] 10 images ; just random texts with fake nonchalant riki.

† enhypen as your "stressed" boss †

[ot7, popular work, very suggestive] 1.7k wc ; when your job is to make your boss' life easier but he gets hard to you instead...

† round with my baby †

[fluff, most popular work, pregnancy scare, smut] 1.3k wc ; your boyfriend who just can't pull out for his life.

*to be continued

also read the < important notes > about this blog & content. message me or send an ask if you want to be mutuals ^_^

© ENHANI-KI : ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[ama3003]

The Cost of Sides

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! I didn't want to respond directly since it does contain some Thunderbolts Spoilers but I really hope you see this. If you do see this, please message me that you did so, I can have some peace of mind.

The request started with "Can I request a fic for Bucky please? I’m wanting lots of angst of reader and Bucky not seeing eye to eye after..."

Type: Angst

Summary: You and Bucky seem to be on opposite sides.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You met Bucky through Steve during the U.N. bombing fiasco—back when everything was falling apart and nothing felt safe.

From that moment on, you were in it with him. Every step, every fight, every quiet moment in the aftermath. He never had to ask; you were just there.

And when Steve died, when the weight of it all came crashing down, the two of you leaned on each other like you were the only solid thing left in the world. Somewhere in that grief, love happened. Slowly, then all at once.

After that, you were just… you and him. No big declarations. No drama. Just this steady, easy rhythm.

Sure, there were arguments—small ones, over stupid things like laundry or leaving dishes in the sink—but never real fights. Nothing that stuck. You could read each other so well it never got that far.

Until you played the video Sam sent you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers,”

And there was Bucky. In the center. Wearing his suit. Standing with them.

Your heart dropped so fast you couldn’t breathe for a second. Not because you thought he betrayed you or Sam though he definitely did—but because he let it happen. Because he stood there, quiet.

You didn’t want to pick sides. God, you really didn’t. But it felt like he already had.

He said he didn’t ask for it. Said he wasn’t even sure how it happened. But he kept showing up to their briefings, kept running missions with them, kept wearing that title like it didn’t burn.

And the worst part? The government—the government—was backing them. Funding them. Controlling them. You grew up watching them twist heroes into weapons. And now they had Bucky.

You tried to talk. At first, it was calm. Then it wasn’t.

Now it’s been fourteen months. And you barely recognize the way your fights stretch out, sharper, faster, more frequent. Less about the Avengers and more about everything that’s not being said.

You still love him. That’s not even a question. And he loves you. You know that. But sometimes love isn’t enough to close the space that’s growing between two people who don’t see the world the same way anymore.

You try. You both do. But it’s harder than it used to be. Way harder.

This morning, you show up at the compound with coffee in your hands, the paper tray trembling just slightly from lack of sleep—and everything else. It’s your way of saying sorry without saying the words. Not for what you fought about, but for the way it happened. For the silence after.

That’s how you find yourself stepping off the elevator and into the team’s living space chest still aching from the night before—just in time to hear it:

"Weren’t you going to talk to him?"

"I already did," Bucky says. His voice is low, tired. Like he’s already lived through the argument in his head too many times to want to say it again.

"And?"

"It went poorly."

You stop just past the doorway, your stomach twisting. You shouldn’t have heard that. But now that you have, you can't pretend you didn’t.

“You spoke to Sam?” you ask, stepping into the room fully.

Everyone looks up. The weight of too many eyes lands heavy on your skin. No one says anything. They don’t have to. Everyone knows what’s been going on—what’s been quietly breaking between you and Bucky for over a year now.

“I brought coffee for everyone,” you offer, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. It doesn’t hide the tension. It only highlights it.

Then, gently to Bob: “I got you decaffeinated tea.”

“Thank you,” Bob says, offering a soft smile, trying to smooth out the edges of the moment. But it doesn't do much.

You turn back to Bucky, heart in your throat. “You spoke to Sam?”

He exhales slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?” you ask. You already know the answer. You’re just hoping it’s not the one you’re thinking.

“To see if he would stop all of this,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face.

You stare at him, jaw clenched. “I told you he wouldn’t. Ross is breathing down his neck. He basically has his hands tied.”

Bucky shakes his head, frustrated. “That doesn’t give him the right to make this whole thing hell for us. It’s not our fault that Valentina decided to do all of this.”

You feel the words catch in your chest before they come out. “But you didn’t fight it.”

The room is still. Even the air feels heavy.

Yelena, sitting off to the side, casually adds, “You do know that he filed for copyright of the name.”

Bucky turns toward her, caught off guard. “Did he?” Then his eyes swing back to you. “See? We're not doing anything. He’s taking it too far.”

You feel heat rise in your chest. Not anger exactly—something messier. “Look, the Avengers stay with the one who has the shield. He has the right to start up the team again. And don’t forget—you’re the one who told him he should.”

“I never said that.”

You glare at him, the words hitting before you can stop them. “He vented to you, Bucky. You gave him advice. You told him Steve didn’t make a mistake handing him the shield. You told him to lead—to build something new. The Avengers. And now not only is there a new team, but you’re in it. With the same government that once tried to erase him. And you didn’t even try to understand his side."

He scoffs, voice rising. “Sam’s side? He’s the one who doesn’t want to speak to me! He’s the one who’s blaming me like I planned this!”

“What happened during that call?” you ask, arms crossed tightly in front of you like it’s the only thing holding you together.

“I told him—” Bucky starts, then shrugs, eyes flicking away. “I told him he was being ridiculous. That there’s already an Avengers team. That there’s no reason to start a second one.”

Your lips part, but it takes a second for the words to come. “So you basically told him to back off.”

“He’s making this really difficult,” Bucky mutters.

You feel something in you crack—quietly. You can't keep arguing. You lost all willpower. You grab your purse off the counter. “I’m not doing this right now,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

But behind you, his voice calls out, rough and wounded. “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

You stop. You turn. Slowly. “I’ve been hearing you out for fourteen months, Bucky,” you say. “Every time. I’ve listened. I’ve tried to understand. But you signed on with them. What more is there to hear?”

He steps forward, like being closer might help you hear him better. “It’s not like that—”

“No?” Your voice trembles, but the anger in it keeps it from breaking. “Because it feels like exactly that. And fine, let’s say you didn’t sign up for the politics, but you’re still here. Standing next to them. Like that shield and that name didn’t come with blood and pain and history.”

His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. That flash of guilt flickers in his eyes again—but he swallows it down too fast. Again.

“This isn’t about Sam.”

You almost laugh. “Everything is about Sam.”

“I didn’t want this,” he snaps. “But sometimes we don’t get to wait for the perfect cause to show up. The world’s on fire. Sam had time—he could’ve acted. But now he’s creating this new team out of spite.”

You look at him like you don’t recognize him for a second. “And sometimes you don’t even realize you’re helping the very system that tried to erase your best friend from history...That tried to bury you.”

He flinches. That one lands. You can see it in the way he goes still.

You take a shaky breath. “Sam bled for that shield. He earned it. But they made him prove himself again and again. Until he was almost broken. And now you’re smiling for the cameras next to the same people who happily tried to hand that legacy to John.” You glance at Walker. “No offense.”

“Some taken,” Walker mumbles. You ignore him.

Bucky’s face darkens. “I haven’t forgotten what they did. But I haven’t forgotten the threats out there, either. This team… it’s not perfect. But we show up. Sam’s team haven’t shown up at all.”

“And when they do?” you say, stepping closer. “Are you really going to go up against Sam? Against his team? Over a name?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

It feels like a punch to the ribs. You stare at him, voice soft and hollow. “And what about me?”

That shatters something in his expression. You see it—the flicker of fear he tries to bury but can’t. Because this time, it’s different. You’ve fought before—circling this dilemma for months, both of you carefully pretending it lived outside your relationship. Like you could keep love and ideology in separate rooms. But this? This is the first time the line disappears. The first time it feels personal.

And you can’t pretend anymore.

“We’re a family, Bucky. After Steve, it’s always been us three. And now you're ready to go against him? Over a group name that we both know belongs to him.”

“I want to be where I can help,” he says, quieter now. “Sure, the government backs us up, but we're not letting them control us. We're on the right side."

Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. “And what happens when the lines between right and wrong blur, Bucky? When the people you’re working with start justifying things again?"

He doesn’t answer right away.

You lower your voice, barely above a whisper now. “What happens when history repeats itself?”

He looks at you, offended. “You think I’d let that happen again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

The silence hung there like a bruise. No one said a word.

Silence settled between you again, broken only by the muffled sounds of the team whispering amongst themselves, trying not to be obvious, failing miserably.

You turned toward the window because it was easier than looking at him. Easier than seeing what was—or wasn’t—left in his eyes.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant, cracked at the edges.

“I can’t follow you into this, Buck.”

You heard him breathe in—sharp, like maybe he hadn’t expected that. Or maybe he had.

“I never asked you to,” he said. But there was something in his voice. A break. A catch. Something small but real.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You nodded, once. No drama. No grand speech. Just… done. Then you turned and walked toward the elevator.

No one stopped you.

You felt their eyes on your back. You felt his most of all.

The elevator dinged open, and you stepped in stiffly, trying to keep your hands from shaking and your heart from breaking right here in front of them.

The doors started to close.

He still didn’t move.

Still didn’t say your name.

And that? That was the part that broke you. He was letting you go.

Only when the doors shut and you were alone did your shoulders slump. Only then did the breath you'd been holding finally let go—and it came out shaky.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

You pulled out your phone, meaning to call Sam. Ask if you could crash for the night.

But your screen lit up before you could type.

Your lock screen.

That damn photo.

You and Bucky, wrapped up in each other, grinning like idiots. Some blurry picture someone else had snapped at some rooftop barbecue. He had his arm around you, his mouth near your ear. You were laughing like the world wasn’t ending.

Back when things still felt easy.

Before sides. Before names meant more than people.

Before all of this.

You stared at it, and your chest ached. Actually ached.

Different times. Different battles. Same man.

But maybe not the same love.

You’d followed him through hell and worse. You would’ve followed him anywhere.

But not this time.

Not into something that went against everything you believed. Not when it meant losing pieces of yourself just to stay close to him. Not when it meant standing against the memory of the only real family you've ever had.

Ahhh, I seriously love getting Bucky requests—they're always my favorite to write!

Also, I know this whole Sam vs. Bucky situation has stirred up a lot of emotions, but honestly, their friendship is so strong that I doubt it'll last long.

Anywhoooo I hope you enjoy this one! Love you all and thank you for all the support!!!!!

Pleaseeeee send me more requests (I'm on a Bucky roll right now lol)! And to those who have requested don't worry I'll get to yours soon!

[cameronsbabydoll]

Ex husband rafe where you are both at the park with your son and he falls. Maybe he needs stitches or something not too intense. Reader is freaking out in the moment and rafe calms her down. Later in the night the rolls kinda reverse and rafe admits to you he scared he was and its readers turn to calm him down. Maybe he even cry’s or is trembling…🙈I tried to send this before but I don’t think it went through ❤️

cw: medical talk and injuries and blood!!

you were at the park with your son, the afternoon sun still warm and soft over everything. rafe had met you there halfway through — unannounced, of course — just acting like it was normal to show up without warning, like he hadn't done it a hundred times before.

but your son was thrilled. and you were tired. so you didn’t argue.

everything was fine until it wasn’t.

one second he was running full speed toward the slide, and the next, he was tumbling. a bad fall — loud, fast, face-first onto the wood chips.

you completely froze, “o-oh oh my god — sweetheart—!”

you were already halfway across the park before he started wailing. you dropped to your knees, heart thundering, arms shaking as you tried to inspect the scrape across his brow, the blood trickling too close to his eye.

and then rafe was there. steady hands. calm voice.

“hey—hey. let me see him. breathe, mama.”

he was pulling his shirt off, folding it fast to press to the cut. “it’s not deep. i’ve got him. you hear me? i’ve got him.”

you were crying. embarrassed. he was the calm one — rafe. the same man who used to lose it over a dent in his car.

you rode together to urgent care, your son sniffly in raafe’s lap in the backseat while you drove like your life depended on it.

he only needed a few stitches. he was brave — brave in a way only little boys with both parents in the room can be. rafe cracked jokes. called him “tough guy.” never let him see him flinch.

but that night, after he was asleep and the adrenaline had finally worn off, you found rafe on your back porch with a beer in hand and a far-off look in his eyes.

you were the one who sat beside him now. quietly. no fight left in you.

“i didn’t like it,” he murmured, voice tight. “seeing him like that. bleeding.”

you glanced over at him, the moonlight catching on his sharp jaw and clenched teeth.

“i know,” you said softly.

he swallowed. didn’t look at you. “felt like... i don’t know. like i couldn’t do anything. and i always can, y'know? fix things. control shit. but that?” He exhaled, hard. “that wrecked me.”

you rested your hand gently over his.

“he’s okay,” you whispered. “you did everything right.”

a long pause.

“i didn’t think i’d lose it like that,” he admitted. “not after all the crap we’ve dealt with. but that scared me.”

you turned his hand over and laced your fingers through his, the way you hadn’t done in years.

and for a moment, there was no bitterness. no games. no broken marriage between you.

just the two of you — two scared parents, soft in the quiet, holding each other together.

[buckyalpine]

18+ Filth and pure smut. My mind is on a sexy dilf Bucky with those delicious greys in his beard. I want his sweet wife teasing him over his age, especially after he shakes his head over the way their teenage sons friends keep trying to subtly hit on her. He doesn't blame them because his wife is gorgeous; an absolute milf and he's the luckiest man on the planet to call her his.

You can't help but playfully pinch his side when Bucky ushers your son and his friends all out of the house, slipping him a few bills, insisting he stay out late as he wants. He even gives him permission to crash at a friends house for the night leaving the two of you alone. (of course your son already knows why his dad is so persistent and it leaves him both disgusted and happy his parents are still so in love).

"Breakin' young boys hearts, Mrs. Barnes" Bucky lets out a low chuckle, untying the apron that was tied around your waist, letting it drop to the floor.

"Careful there, old man" You tease, giggling at the way he cocks an eyebrow not that the house was empty, "Might get a heart attack if you try anything at your age" and with that you saunter off to the bathroom to run a shower, looking over your shoulder to see if your husband would follow. He watches the way your hips sway, the insatiable little minx in you trying to get a rise out of him, discarding your clothing in the middle of the bedroom and leaving the bathroom door unlocked on purpose.

He'd show you exactly what an old man could do.

****

You felt your muscles relax as steam filled the room, hot water spraying against your skin while you added your peach shower gel to the loofah. You wondered what Bucky was up to, usually he'd-

"James" You gasp, feeling your husbands hard cock brush against your ass as he presses up you from behind, his large hands moving up your soap slicked body to grope onto your lathered breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples, giving them a harsh tug.

"Shhh," He smirked, nipping your neck, his tongue running up your skin, licking up the water droplets, "Don't stop on my account gorgeous, go on" He let out a satisfied hum when you went back to gently scrubbing your skin, his hands moving to rub up your thighs, ghosting in between them before pulling away and standing in front of you. His cock stood tall and proud, his swollen tip so pink, begging to be touched.

"James, please-

"Uh-uh, thought m' just an old man baby, just doin' what old men do" He smirked, palming himself, his eyes raking up and down your body, wrapping his hand around his shaft, "Aren't you pretty"

You went along with exactly what Bucky wanted, letting your hands trail along your body, soapy bubbles flowing down your curves while your husband started to stroke himself while leaning against the cold shower wall. "You're a pretty sight, look at what you do me to darlin' got me acting like a perverted little boy, touching myself while watching you"

He groaned, jerking himself faster, not sure what he wanted to focus on first. He'd seen you naked plenty of times and he'd certainly showered with you more times that he could count but he'd never get tired of the sight of his wife covered in the cutest bubbles, dripping wet, putting on a shower all just for him.

While Bucky was admiring you, you admired him right back. He'd aged like fine wine, his chestnut hair still luscious, the ends of his hair curling from the steam of the water. His beard had a few flecks of grey which just added to how handsome he was along with the thick muscle that ran under his skin. Nothing turned you on more than a very naked Bucky under hot water, lost in self pleasure with you as his muse. Every groan and whimper was for you, shamelessly touching every intimate part of himself because of you. It was that very sight that had your fingers start to travel down your body, your pussy desperately craving attention.

"That's mine, sugar" Bucky grabbed your wrist before you could slip it between your thighs, pulling it away and positioning himself behind you again. "This pussy here-" His palm cupped every bit of your cunt in the most debauched way, his cock slotted between your ass while his chest was pressed against your back, "Is all mine. I get to play with her baby, s'mine to touch"

"Then touch me Jamie, please" Your voice was nothing more than a whine now and the pet name that slipped out was more than enough for Bucky to know you needed him bad.

"M'Jamie now, huh? Thought I was just an old man before" He chuckled, rubbing his cockhead against your slicked entrance, teasing and letting the tip catch on your hole and pulling away before stuffing his way in.

"F-FUCK JAMES!" You cried out as he set a brutal pace without warning, his thighs slamming against your ass, his hands holding your hips with a bruising grip. "P-PLEASE-Don't-don't stop!"

"That's it, scream for me baby, let everyone know how your husband fucks you" Bucky's hands held onto you for dear life, fucking you like a ragdoll, his fingers skimming across your belly and down to your clit. He could feel your stretch marks as he felt your body up, one of his favorite things about you, his mind starting to wander.

He remembered the way they felt when you were pregnant with your son, the way he'd hold onto your belly, tracing over those gorgeous lines as they made room for his growing baby boy. He'd feel those same curves when making love to you, loving the way you were extra sensitive, constantly craving for him to fill you up. You were the most gorgeous thing when you had a piece of him inside you, fuck he missed it, his balls felt so fuckin' heavy and full and maybe it was just the heat and steam from the shower but-

"Think you could handle another baby?" Bucky purred, his cock already getting harder at the thought of you with a rounded belly again, looking fucking gorgeous, barefoot and pregnant. He was perfectly happy with the way things were but another wouldn't hurt....

Fuck it.

"M'gonna knock you up pretty girl, you'll have my baby again won't ya, gonna let me get you pregnant again? Show everyone I still know how to fuck, show em how well you take my cum in that tight little cunt"

"Oh God, Jamess" Your eyes practically crossed as his fingers began to strum your clit, your head thrown back, barring your neck letting him bite and suck bruises onto your skin, groaning into your ear, "Gonna-gonna cum"

"C'mon mommy, make me a daddy again" Bucky's pace grew faster, the obscene sound of skin slapping filling the bathroom. "Milk my cock, take my cream, want it, want another baby"

Bucky angled his hips to hit depths you didn't know were possible, his fingers rubbing tight circles onto your clit along with those words alone sent you crashing head first into your orgasm. A sob slipped past your lips as your vision went white, your cunt greedily pulsing and gripping onto Bucky's cock, coaxing for him to empty his balls in you.

"That's-fuck that's it, just like that, milk it, shit mommy, milk daddy's cock, fuck'm'gonna-oh God I'm cumming!" Bucky bit down onto your shoulder letting out a slutty moan as cum burst from his cock, his endless orgasm leading to drops of his pearly white seed splashing onto the shower tile below. "Fuck, you make me cum so hard for you baby"

His hips stutterd at the aftershocks of his orgasm, his cock still throbbing the last few spurts while his arms held your limp body, rinsing you both off. He wrapped you up with a fluffy towel, carrying you bed with ease and snuggling up in the sheets.

"Meant what I said, angel" Bucky gave you a soft smile, a hint of shyness now replacing his previous dominant demeanor. "How about another"

"I'd give you as many babies as you want, Mr. Barnes" You giggled, squealing when he rolled on top of you, instantly hard-

My bad, I got distracted while already distracted and then this happened. Look at him though, can you blame me.