#above his bed like a baby cradles mobile

[bowiebond]

When I tell you my first thought when I saw this shark was “Jason Carver would love this” I— ☠️

#sigh #he owns this #and has it hanging in his room #above his bed like a baby cradles mobile #he adores it #probably got it from an uncle or aunt #when he was ten #and never let it go #it’s name is Selachi #short for selachimorpha #because he’s a fuckin nerd #he named it after the scientific name for SHARKS #cause he was ten and autistic #autistic jason carver #jason carver

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future in You | 2.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, fluff, vague mentions of a blowjob, enemies to lovers kinda thing, babies and fluff and more babies, domestic fluff, character sickness at the end, we: 3.8k

…

“Bradley, your son wants you.” You mumble into his bare chest, eyes practically glued shut, the steady chorus of his breathing already trying to lull you back to sleep mid-sentence.

If you had told him a year ago that he would be spending his prime-time Saturday 2am slot just barely awake, cradling a girl and getting ready to go and change a diaper — he would have turned and run for the hills. Now that he’s in it, it’s not so bad.

As he turns his face into the curve of your neck and inhales the familiar scent of you, the idea of getting out of bed, now that seems bad.

“He’s not even crying yet.” Bradley mumbles into your hair, his eyelids heavy, the mattress soft and pillowy under him, inviting him back to sleep. Your palm smacks into his stomach and he groans. “Fine, I’m up. I’m up.”

The baby is just starting to grumble really, kicking his feet and waving up at the mobile above his bassinet. He’s really starting to look at things now. The light fixture in the living room seems to fascinate the kid.

Bradley leans into you and he kisses your hair, before pushing the covers back and rolling out of bed with a groan. He pads around to the other side of the bed and squints tiredly at the bassinet. Thomas kicks his legs and flaps his hands, apparently excited to be awake at this time of night.

“Come here, little guy,” He whispers, his thumbs stretching far across the infant’s tiny chest, his fingers hooking under his back. He lifts him and sets him against his chest, rubbing his back softly. “I’ve got ya.”

He’s getting real wriggly now. He turns his face into Bradley’s bare chest and coos, arms and legs stretching out as Bradley holds him close.

You hum softly and roll onto your back, blinking through the darkness to look at the two of them. Thomas fits against his shoulder like a puzzle piece. Bradley’s hand still covers the entire length of his back. He always looks so doll-like in his dad’s arms.

“Go back to sleep, babe.” Bradley urges you, patting Thomas’ back and turning to head for the living room. He’s hungry. Bradley has learned that’s what this kind of grizzling sound means — he’s a lot louder when he needs a diaper change.

He almost has it down to a routine now. Could maybe do it with his eyes closed if he was trying. He blinks tiredly, swaying side to side as he lets a few droplets fall from the tip of the bottle onto the inside of his wrist.

“A little longer, little man.” Bradley whispers, setting the bottle down again, shifting Thomas in his arms. He’s getting bigger. A whole two and a half pounds in the last five weeks. Longer too. His feet now extend beyond the length of Bradley’s forearm and onto his palm.

His nose wrinkles in the air and his mitten covered hands rub haphazardly at his face. He takes short, warbling breaths. Bradley has learned by now that means a big cry is coming.

“Shh, shh, shh— I know, I know — Daddy should make it cool down faster, I’m working on it.” He whispers, rocking side to side and gently bouncing the infant against his arm.

You talk to him all the time and he seems to just quieten up and listen.

“Your mom’s got it all figured out, huh?” Bradley will never get over how soft Thomas’ cheeks are. Round and plush, so delicate. He trails his thumb in soft circles over the apples of his cheeks, watching the way his infant son matches him with a seemingly pleased wriggle.

“I’m getting there.” It’s like Bradley’s telling both of them, really. He nods his head and picks up the bottle again. That’ll do.

They settle onto the couch and Bradley nestles him into the crook of his elbow, holding the bottle up high so the air doesn’t get in, blinking tiredly at ESPN’s coverage of a baseball game from a week ago. Glancing down, he finds that Thomas’ eyes aren’t on the light fixture above them. It’s not switched on. He’s looking right, staring at the blue and white glow of the television.

The book on the coffee table says he can only see a couple of inches from his own face still, more than last week but not as much as he’ll be able to see next week. He just likes the lights, Bradley guesses.

Still, he kicks his feet up onto the table and smiles a bit.

“We’ll watch tonnes of these together,” Bradley tells him, over the sounds of Thomas gulping hungrily at the bottle. “I’m sorry that the first game you’re seeing is an Astros game. They suck. But, don’t tell your Uncle that I said that.”

He stares at the screen. “You don’t have to be into baseball. It’d be cool if you’d watch a game with me every now and again, but I won’t hold you to it. We could be into… swimming, or something — I don’t know, it’s 3am, I can’t think of other sports right now.”

When he looks down this time, Thomas is looking up at his face. His eyes are heavy and kind of crossed, apparently that’s normal when they’re drinking.

“Yeah,” Bradley whispers, stroking at the baby’s forearm with his thumb as his other hand holds the bottle steady. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll have something in common, right? — We’ll figure it out.”

His face softens, breathing out a soft and amused noise as Thomas’ eyes roll back and his hands stretch up towards his head.

“That’s good, huh?” He smiles.

He drinks about four ounces each time now. Then, Bradley sits him up — he has grown awfully familiar with the importance of a muslin during this step — and pats his back softly for a couple of minutes. This part is especially hard because Thomas almost always tries to fall asleep immediately after eating.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he’s wide awake and still kicking away on his play mat at 4:30am. Bradley’s sitting at his side, propped up against the couch and now somehow watching a documentary on the mesozoic era.

He yawns, combing a hair through his wild curls and stretching his legs out in front of him. As the narrator stops to take a breath, Bradley hears your bedroom door click open.

You pad along the hallway and round the corner into the living room. He looks barely awake, blinking at you.

“What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” You answer him, crossing the living room and stepping over his legs. He loops his arms around your middle as you straddle his waist and rest your head against his shoulder. “The bed was cold. You didn’t come back.”

“Yeah, sorry, babe, we were just having too much fun out here without you.” Bradley mumbles into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes for a moment. His eyes sting behind his eyelids and your warmth against him is threatening to send him back to sleep.

You hum amusedly, kissing softly at his shoulder. You reach just past him and hold Thomas’ onesie covered foot, your mouth stretching upward into a grin. “Did Daddy get you too excited to go back to sleep, huh? — You two have no respect for bedtime, you know that?”

Bradley chuckles, pulling back and turning his head to watch the two of you.

“I have respect for bedtime, I was in bed on time. Our kid is a bad influence on me.”

“Yeah? Did daddy let you stay up and watch dinosaurs?” You grin, tickling your fingers lightly across the embroidered teddy bear that covers his stomach. Bradley turns his face into your neck, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment. Quickly, they shoot back open as you let out a gasp.

“He’s smiling!” You push out of Bradley’s lap and kneel closer to the little activity mat. “Was that funny? Are you smiling at me?”

Bradley pushes up onto his knees and leans closer to get a look, and sure enough, his lips are twitched just a bit at the corners and as Bradley leans in, his mouth opens real wide. It looks like a real grin.

Not just the kind of smile he usually does before he pukes either. This one looks more real. Like he really did find you funny. Bradley’s lips twitch. He kisses your shoulder softly, his hand resting against your waist as you kiss Thomas’ cheek.

His cheeks dimple, his grin stretching as he makes a gargling coo sound, kicking his legs eagerly.

“That’s so a real smile! He’s happy!” You gasp, beaming as your head whips around to look at Bradley.

His thumb dips under your sleep shirt, stroking over the inch wide space above your shorts. He inhales deeply, then exhales, smiling back at you.

“Of course he’s happy.” Bradley says quietly. He watches you lean over and kiss Thomas’s stomach, then his face, then all over his mitten-covered hands. Then, you turn back and set yourself in Bradley’s lap again, your hands resting against his shoulders.

“We’re doing a good job, right?” You ask him.

“Feels like it.” He tells you quietly. You nod your head back at him. For a moment, the two of you just stare back at each other.

Just your eyes locked on his, the glow of the television behind you and the faint consistency of the dinosaur spiel and Thomas’ cooing. He’s really looking at you. His thumbs circle your hips and it feels like he’s just reading you like a book — like he has learned how to understand the position of your lips and the shape of your eyes and the depth of your breaths.

His big brown eyes, always looking at you with such a softness these days. Such a recognition.

It’s a really strange feeling, because when you look down at this little thing that you love so much — you see parts of him all over, and you know it’s the same for Bradley. To look back at him now and find those things, it’s like seeing them for the first time all over again.

You lean in close and kiss the bridge of his nose, then rest your forehead against his.

“You’re happy too?” Bradley asks, his thumbs stroking softly at your hips. You nod your head against his and hum a sound of agreement.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Bradley lifts his head a bit and lets his mouth cover yours. Warm and firm. An answer of sorts. Still, he nods anyway.

“Yeah.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, softer this time but faster. His kiss pushes a breath out of your nose, your hands linking behind his shoulders as you pull yourself closer.

Those dinosaurs and that droning voice fade into a blur and it’s just Bradley. He melts into you, groaning at the feeling of your fingers in his curls. Kissing, pulling, panting, lost in the sensation of your lips coming together. His hand comes up to cup the side of your jaw, guiding your mouth against his as his tongue caresses yours.

The hand that isn’t on your cheek skims briefly along your back, then grabs firmly at your hip. He drags you closer, the proximity making you shiver.

His eagerness thrums between you like energy, pulling you closer together, deepening your kisses until your head is spinning and you’re half sure that you’re soaking through the thin fabric of underwear that separates you.

For a second, you remember how you wound up here. Falling just as easily into Bradley Bradshaw’s bed, letting yourself get so captivated by his kisses. He feels you smile against his lips, and is the first to pull back.

His fingers dig softly into your hips.

“Are you thinking about the baseball?” He whispers, kissing you again. You grin against him, breaking into a soft giggle as you nod. The signed baseball bet, where you had offered to blow him. That thing is in a box now. He hums, “That was a really good blowjob.”

You frown and shove at his shoulders, “Don’t say that in front of—“

At once, you turn to check and find your son to be asleep on his back. All of that wriggling and kicking tired him out, one of his mitten covered hands resting against his cheek.

“Huh. He put himself to sleep.” Bradley comments, he looks back to you and finds your lips quirked. His brows start to knit together, wondering what you’re finding to smirk about at four-thirty in the morning.

Then, you lean in close and kiss his cheek softly, your lips grazing his ear. “Go put him in his bassinet.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Setting you on the ground beside him, he scoops up the baby and cradles him to his chest. You watch him kiss the top of Thomas’ head before they disappear down the hall together. He returns with a grin on his face.

”Yeah, yeah, take your pants off.” You tease him, pushing up onto your knees as he struts across the room with that cocky little smile on his face. He drops down onto the couch and sighs wistfully.

”Whoa — I’m not that kind of guy, you’ve gotta buy me dinner first.” He jokes back to you, leaning down and kissing your mouth softly. Your palm dips into the leg of his shorts, fingers wrapping loosely around his hardening cock. He chuckles breathily against your lips. “You’re right, I am that kind of guy.”

This makes you giggle, quietly of course, you’re mastering the art of not waking up Thomas by this point. Bradley sits back as your mouth presses softly to his chest. He watches silently as you kiss your way down his body, lifting his hips for you to tug his shorts down.

Then, finally, your lips are wrapped around him. His hand flinches, halfway between curling itself into your hair and staying put against the fabric of the couch. Your gaze flickers up to him, heavy with more than just the weight of the late night, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock.

You lace your fingers through his, squeeze his hand and guide it to the back of your own head. Bradley breathes out shakily. “Fuck, I love you.”

He does love you. He shows you every single day.

After sex, Bradley used to be the first to walk away. If he was in his own bed, he would be up at the crack of dawn to indicate that there was no intention of this being a long term thing. If he was in someone else’s he would be gone even sooner.

Tonight, when you’re grinning up at him as he tries to catch his breath, the first thing that crosses his mind is your bed. His and yours. Where he has held you every night for the past few months, where your son sleeps a few feet away.

Pulling his shorts up around his hips, Bradley leans forwards and pulls you to your feet, then hooks his hands under your thighs. You bury your gasp into the curve of his neck as he lifts you against him, guiding your legs around his waist.

”C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

He offered to reciprocate the favour. It’s getting difficult to say no, watching him stroll around the house in a pair of shorts, holding your baby in his arms. Even worse since he went back to work and the flight suit made its reappearance.

You’re only a week from getting the all-clear, and really, you’re half sure that six days wouldn’t make that much of a difference in your recovery journey. But that’s the old you thinking. Now that you’ve got a kid, you should be doing things more by the book.

So, six more days until you can let Maverick take the baby for a nice long walk, and have wild, protected sex, with Bradley. His arms wrap securely around your middle. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and kisses lazily at your skin, and promptly falls asleep.

It takes you a little longer, you weren’t up for as long as he was, but you know that you have to work fast while the two boys are asleep. Eyes closed, Bradley’s heartbeat is steady against your back and his snoring is muffled by your shoulder. If you listen out, you can hear Thomas’ deep little breaths from within his bassinet.

Slow, deep breaths in. Bradley’s weight pressing into your back. Long, calm breaths out. The dinosaurs on the television and the smile on Thomas’ face. The freckles on Bradley’s chest, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your middle.

You’re up before him the next morning. Tommy has little respect for the Saturday morning lazies, it would seem. You let Bradley sleep in for a bit, giving the baby his bottle and getting in a solid twenty minute tummy-time session before it dawns on you that the two of you had invited Maverick over.

“Come on in, Mav — Bradley’s sleeping.” You call to the door. Bradley still gets a little antsy when his uncle comes around, but he doesn’t mind so much as long as the conversation stays on Tommy.

Maverick has been over a couple of times since he was born and it’s like the two of them have some kind of unspoken connection. Pete’s old and childless, and kind of a bachelor, but something about him calms Tommy down every single time.

His spare key clicks in the lock and the door opens compliantly. After the last emergency, you figured it would be good for him to have one. At least for as long as he will be in Pensacola with you.

Dressed in his uniform of a white t-shirt and vintage jeans, Maverick walks towards you shaking his head. He isn’t fazed by the fact that you’re in your pyjamas. Carole stayed in hers until Bradley was almost eight months.

He exhales as he sits beside you. “I can’t believe how big he’s getting.”

“I know, right? — It’s going by so quickly.” You hum, grinning at the baby in an attempt to replicate last night’s moment of pure bliss. Maverick’s blue eyes flicker between the two of you, and he finds himself smiling too. “Here, make yourself useful, Gramps. I’ll get Bradley.”

He complies as easily as the door had, taking the baby as you pass him over, but his face falls. Gramps. That’s not his title, he hasn’t earned it. Looking down at the squirming little boy in his arms — god, he hopes he earns it.

You push up onto the edge of your bed, take two steps, and drop down on top of Bradley, waking him with a groan.

“Morning.” You grin at him as he frowns grumpily at you, blinking through the morning light. He reaches out blindly and cups the back of your neck, pulling you into him. You giggle as he kisses at your forehead, then puckers his lips expectantly for you to kiss his mouth.

You peck his lips softly.

He sighs softly. ”What time is it?”

You smooth your hands along his bare chest and tap at his navel. ”Eleven. Mav’s here, put some clothes on and entertain so that I can shower?”

“Uh-huh. Five more minutes.” He mumbles, turning his face into the pillow, almost knocking you off of him as he tries to roll onto his side. You shove at his shoulders and he groans again, more dramatically this time. “Fine, I’m up.”

You seem to have struck a decent balance. Maverick has stopped by every weekend since you got back from the hospital, more now that Bradley is back at work. He seems to have a little more freedom in the Navy than Bradley does, but Bradley says that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

Doesn’t matter to you either way, it gives you time on a Saturday morning to have a twenty minute shower, get dressed and still find time to put some makeup on afterwards. Even if Bradley does appear in the reflection behind you after exactly thirty-two minutes of independence.

“What’s that look on your face?” You wonder aloud, coating mascara through your lashes in the mirror. He presses his chest into you, snaking a hand around to your front and resting it against your stomach.

“Just… getting used to him not being in there anymore.”

“Tell me about it, I keep getting surprised when I see my toes.” You scoff in response, setting the applicator into the tube and twisting it shut, dropping it back into your makeup bag. Bradley leans forwards and kisses the side of your neck softly.

Then again. Then, he turns his head and looks at you through the mirror with a smile on his face.

“I can fix that, if it’s an issue for you.” You already know that he’s joking but the sentiment of being pregnant again so soon makes you screw your face up and push him off of you anyway.

“Five weeks postpartum and you’re already begging to knock me up again,” You hum, playing him right back at his own game as you pull a blush from the bag. “And to think, last time you just took it for granted.”

His palm smoothes over your stomach, using the leverage to drag you backwards into his chest. He turns his face and kisses your cheek tenderly.

“I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“Bradley, I love you,” You tell him carefully, squinting at him through the mirror, “but if you keep threatening to get me pregnant, I might have to take a vow of celibacy.”

He snorts. Threatening. His mouth stretches into a grin as his thumb trails across your navel, ending the conversation with a sweet shrug of his broad shoulders. Maybe there’s more to say on the topic, but you won’t know.

The sound of your phone ringing cuts between the two of you. Simultaneously, your eyes go wide. It’s going to make Thomas scream. That kid hates high-pitched noises, the two of you have been living with your phones on silent for weeks. You must have accidentally turned it off, either way, it’s loud and it’s shrill now — and Mav panics when Tommy starts screaming. Bradley leaves you with a quick squeeze of your hip, darting from the bathroom before you have even opened your mouth.

You hear him answer the phone with a quiet ‘hello?’ from the other room.

You slot the blush back into your makeup bag and dig around between plastic tubes and packages. Stupidly looking for whatever comes next in your routine, preparing yourself to do something minuscule like take a trip to the grocery store.

All too soon, Bradley appears in the mirror once again. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, his face suddenly sullen, his eyes on you.

“Yeah. No, I get it. Call us back when you know.” He says quietly. The line clicks dead against his ear and he swallows thickly. Your smile falls as you turn to face him.

”What is it?”

Bradley lets his hand fall down to his side, pausing in thought for just a moment. He presses his lips together and gives a small, weak shake of his head.

”It’s your dad.”

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #top gun smut #Bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley Bradshaw x you

[httpiastri]

sleeping patterns – cn34

nights filled with endless crying and screaming take a toll on clement's confidence.

genre: fluff, slight comfort/angst ig

pairing: young dad!clem x young mom!reader

warnings: none

author’s note: aaaaaaaaaaa im so soft for clem and ive had such an insane baby fever recently. i miss him sm :(( he would be such a good dad, i just know it

f2/f3 masterlist

‎‎ ‎‎

the big, red numbers of your electric clock on the bedside table tell you it's only 3am, a frustrated huff passing through your lips when your eyes slowly open. it takes a while for you to realize what's waking you up – but then it makes so much sense.

the soft cries on the other side of the baby monitor sting like a knife in your heart, and you're fully awake in a matter of seconds. you're just about to push yourself up to a sitting position when the bed dips next to you. after turning around, you find your boyfriend already jumping out of bed. "i'll get her."

"are you sure?" you ask, voice creaky after several hours of not speaking.

clement nods, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "go back to sleep," he hums, and just like that, he has waddled through the door to your nursery.

the sad truth is that your little one hasn't been progressing with her sleep as much as she should. she had a period of almost sleeping through the nights about a month ago, but then you were hit with the four-month regression. she's almost five months old now, and still, you have issues with sudden wakeups in the middle of the night. as much as you adore every second you get to spend with her, you just wish you could get one full night of sleep sometime.

you know you won't be able to fall asleep until clement is back, you never can. but it's not because you're worried; in fact, there's not a single piece of concern on your mind over it. you know that he has mastered the cradling-cooing-bouncing sequence by now. and sure enough, your daughter's cries grow lighter and lighter, until the only sound that can be heard from the monitor is the ones of soft steps and hushed whispers.

but something feels off. even when the apartment is completely silent, clement doesn't come back to bed.

it's very strange. he fell asleep once in the rocking chair in the nursery, but complained about his back aching for a week afterwards and promised that he would never put himself through that again.

the moonlight peeking through the poorly shut blinds in the nursery casts a shadow across clement's profile when you step inside. despite how dark it is, you can see every little toy on the floor and every detail of the little race car-themed mobile that dangles above the crib clearly. you're way too used to being in here at night.

clement has put your daughter back down into her crib by now, and his hands are wrapped around the railing as he leans over it, looking down at her. he doesn't react when you come closer, and he doesn't move a muscle even when you place your hand on his shoulder. it's easy to understand that something is bothering him.

"what's on your mind?"

he turns to you and lets out a tiny exhale, as if it was a struggle for him to snap himself out of his thoughts. he shakes his head. "it's nothing."

"tell me," you press, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze.

"well, i…" he squeezes his eyes shut. "i'm kind of freaking out. it's been over four months, and… i still haven't adjusted."

"honey," you start, your hand moving to the back of his neck. "where is this coming from? so suddenly?"

"i don't know," he says with a sigh. "you've seen me lately, i've barely been able to fall asleep at all."

he opens his eyes again and gazes down into the crib, eyes softening once they land on the little bundle of love resting so peacefully. he follows the way her chest rises with her breaths, her slightly pouting lips, her tiny fists that are wrapped around her blankie.

"it feels like i'm the only one who's struggling. you're such a natural, you're doing so much better with her, while i just feel… hopeless."

you don't want to interrupt him – clement doesn't often speak about his deeper feelings, so now that he's finally going, you don't wish to stop his flow – but you have to say something. "i think you're doing really well."

"you actually think so?" he asks. though his gaze doesn't move an inch, he can still see you nodding in the corner of his eye. he takes a deep breath. "i've heard people say that new fathers go through things… that it takes time, that it takes patience- and i've tried to be patient, i really have. but…"

he finally looks at you, and his heart breaks slightly at the sight of your uneasy expression, the tension in your eyebrows and your worried eyes. he hates being the one to make you feel like this.

"i just can't get rid of this constant anxiety. it feels like i'm always stressing over something. over you, over her, over everything."

you relate to every word he says. being this young, you feel like you're stumbling through darkness most of the time, not knowing what to do. it's frankly a guessing game, with mostly correct guesses mixed with some bad ones, since neither of you have any prior parenting experiences. even though he may not see it or know it, you're going through the same things as him.

no one had expected for you to get pregnant at this age, and no one – not even the two of you – had expected for you and clement to actually keep the baby. and sometimes, way more often than you'd thought before, your youth and inexperience has been catching up with you.

it's hard, but at least you have each other.

you step closer, draping your arms around his shoulders in an instant. "it's alright," you whisper into the skin of his neck, your nose filling with that scent that's just so him, and you finally relax a bit. his hands find your waist, fingers caressing your sides through the flimsy material of your nightgown. "it's okay to feel like this. i do, too. i think… all new parents must feel it." you give his neck a soft kiss. "but they all get through it, don't they? and so will we."

he stays silent for a while before he nods slowly. "it's all just so… intimidating. i don't want to mess anything up."

"and you won't." you pull away slightly to look into his eyes. "i trust you fully, and-"

you're interrupted mid-sentence, the sound of your daughter stirring in her crib taking clement's attention away from you as he glances towards her. you see his adam's apple bob as she begins to whine, her fists clenching and face scrunching up. "should- can i take her?" he asks tentatively, hands trembling slightly on your sides.

you nod not even a second later, stepping out of his embrace to give him no excuse to hold back. "go for it."

clement had bought every parenting guidebook he could find, and read every website with tips for new parents on the entire internet – and yet, nothing had prepared him for this nervousness that he's experiencing so often. he knew it wouldn't be smooth sailing all the way, but he hadn't expected to feel this uncertain in everything he does. even in the way that he picks his daughter out of her crib, he feels anxious that he's doing something wrong.

however, the second she feels her father's presence, it's far from the story that his anxiety has been making up for him. she lets out one last soft cry before, as if out of habit, nuzzling her face into his skin.

while clement has been struggling this whole time, you can't help but notice that she settles easily into his arms. like she belongs there; like she knows that he'll take care of her.

because he always does.

"see?" you say, letting a finger run along the curve of her cheek as you smile down at her. "that's not so bad, is it? you're doing so well."

considering all the difficulties he's faced, hearing these kind words of appreciation from you gives him comfort in a way that few other feelings can compare to. his gaze is still glued to your daughter, the precious little baby that is his entire world. well, half of his world – the other half is standing right next to him. "i love her, you know," he says softly. "even if she doesn't know it yet, i do. so much."

"i think she knows," you answer, watching as your boyfriend cradles her against his bare chest. he has loved the skin-on-skin contact since day one, and you're sure she does, too; her gentle babbling is always a sure sign that she's completely content. you can't hold back from smiling. "and she loves you just as much."

"sometimes i just can't believe that she's ours. that we made her." his eyes meet yours, nothing but pure love in them. "isn't it strange?"

"strange that we've done something good for once?"

he answers your tease by sticking out his tongue, nudging your shoulder with his, though gently enough to not bother the little one in his arms.

"come on, let's go back to bed," you say, leaning in to press your lips gently to the back of her head. "one night of co-sleeping can't be the entire world, can it?"

#f1 #f2 #formula 1 #formula one #formula two #formula 2 #elms #european le mans series #clement novalak #fluff #angst #x reader #x you #x yn #x y/n #imagine #scenario #fanfic #fic #romance

[akaashislover1]

Imagine:

Imagine you are in your baby girls bedroom and you’re cradling her tiny sleeping body in your arms. The soothing warmth of her fuzzy onesie heated up your skin. You walk around the room smiling down at your gorgeous girl. As you turn towards the door, your eyes avert from your baby to your husband. Ushijima smiled as he entered the room. He stood beside you and placed one arm on the small of your back and the other went to rest under your arm and your baby’s head for additional support.

“As soon as I put her pyjamas on.” You whispered back. A yawn followed soon after even though you didn’t feel like going to bed. Ushijima let out a small chuckle and he began to wriggle his hands past your arms to grab your baby. His ginormous palms nearly engulfed her body as they wrapped around her sleeping figure.

If you didn’t have a sleep wave suddenly wash over you, you’d want to pounce your husband and ride him like there’s no tomorrow show him how much you love him. It’s a damn dirty shame though that Ushijima has to work early in the morning. No amount of fatigue could drag you away from this moment. The vision of watching your gorgeous husband holding your beautiful sleeping baby. Ushijima tenses his hands as he shifted your daughter in his arms enough to slowly and gently place her down in her crib. You both wait a few minutes to make sure that she doesn’t wake up.

As you exit the room you make sure to sun off the lights completely. The only light left was the slight hue of blue and pink coming from your daughters mobile above her crib. The two of you left hand in hand, making your way to your shared bedroom. Ushijima slipped his hand away and slithered it around your waist, pulling you flushed against him.

“I love you.” Ushijima mumbled with a low, tired grumble. You leant your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes as you made it to your bedroom. The bed was ready for you two to jump in, the beside tables had lamps that were ready to get shut off for the night. The window was slightly cracked open, a night summer breeze flowed in. Your husband jumped into bed first, you following soon after. You wrapped your arms around his body immediately after getting the blankets and pillows situated.

“I’m so lucky.” You snored against his chest.

“Not as lucky as me.”

Sorry if the ending sucked. I have been working all day everyday for the past 3 weeks and I am getting through the day on 2 hrs of sleep.

#imagine #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #is mine #imagination #reading #just read #fypage #writers on tumblr #writing #anyways slayyy #judge me idc #ushijima fluff #family

[the-light-finds-its-way]

"Hey," said Magnus. "...You ever thought about having a kid again?"

Cayde paused for a moment, mulling the question over. "Y'know, I don't remember what having a kid was like. Just that it gave me motivation to fight. But you gave that to me all the same. I guess... if I were to have a kid again, we'd both have a reason to keep going."

Magnus smiled now. "Yeah. I think so, too."

"Why do you ask? Are you... thinking... of adopting?"

Magnus nodded. "Honestly, yeah. I am. But we're both going to be fathers if that's the case, and so, we have to agree on it together."

Cayde cupped Magnus's face with one hand, and kissed his cheek. "With you? I'd do it."

Magnus's smile widened even more now. "Alright. You wanna go to the adoption center?"

"I got on it! Bed and everything for the kid! We're gonna spoil them rotten!"

Chuckling, the Titan grinned now. "Ok. Let's go, then."

----------------------------------------

"Well," began Mithrax, "There are plenty of orphaned children here in need of good and loving homes. You, Magnus, have volunteered lots of time to caring for them all, and I know I can trust you to be a father to one. To raise them with love and care. But are you two certain this is what you want?"

Cayde nodded, swiping on his datapad as he looked through cribs and baby accessories. "Ooh! Honey!! Look at this Guardian-themed mobile to hang above the crib!!"

Magnus grinned, placing an arm around his husband. "It's perfect. The baby will love it!" He looked at Mithrax, and nodded. "More than anything, this is what we both want," he replied.

"Then I think I have just the child for you two," Mithrax said. "He has no name. He was found orphaned, away from any brood, or parents, on Europa in the cold. He was at death's doorstep, and needed much care to be brought back to health. But with good doctors, he was alright again after a few weeks. Chances are, he was the runt, and his family didn't believe he'd survive, so they abandoned him there."

Cayde's eyes widened, and grew sorrowful. "Oh. Come on! That's not ok to do!"

Mithrax nodded. "I agree. But he's with House Light now, and if you two desire, then with you."

Magnus looked at Cayde, and smiled softly. "I think I know just what to name him," he said.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Cayde asked.

"Definitely."

----------------------------------------

Back at the house, Magnus and Cayde knelt on the floor. Holding up wooden pieces, and screws, Cayde swore as he tried fastening everything into place.

Magnus chuckled. In Eliksni, he spoke softly, then screwed the planks together, glancing over his shoulder toward the front door. Back to what he and his husband were working on, the two finally stood up and stepped back.

There, a crib with a mobile hosting the symbols for Titans, Hunters, and Warlocks, dangled over the crib with a mattress, with a fluffy blue blanket inside, and a Cabal war dog plushie in its corner.

The two men smiled, and put their arms around one another, as they marveled at their creation.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"Ooh!! I got it!!" Cayde called. He rushed over, and pulled the door open. "Velask!"

Mithrax smiled, nodding. "Velask, friend!" he said enthusiastically. "I see Magnus has been teaching you our language."

"I'm actually enjoying it!" Cayde replied.

Magnus quickly rushed over to his husband's side, and put one arm around him again, grinning giddily.

Mithrax then pulled back his cloak, revealing a bundled up Eliksni hatchling, very small, very gentle and fragile, his eyes wide as they fell upon the Titan and Hunter. Four tiny arms reached out, their fingers like twigs, as they reached for Magnus and Cayde.

"It would seem he likes you already," Mithrax said.

Magnus and Cayde quickly knelt down, and swarmed the hatchling, gently petting his head and holding his tiny fingers.

"Oh my goodness!!!" Cayde cried out. "Ohh, isn't he just the cutest??!!"

"Yes he is!!" Magnus said, smiling warmly.

Mithrax unhooked the wrap from his shoulders, and cradled the baby in his arms. Watching Magnus and Cayde stand up, he handed the baby over to Magnus, and smiled. "I see the crib is already made."

"Yep!" said Magnus, holding the hatchling gently. He bounced him softly in his arms.

The hatchling giggled, and smiled brightly, reaching his hands up for Magnus's face. He cooed.

"Awww!!" Cayde tickled his tummy with one finger. "You're such a good dad, Magnus!!"

Magnus chuckled. "I promise you, Misraakskel, we will both raise this baby with all the love in the galaxy. Everything we can give him, we will."

"Your love will be enough for him, guaranteed," Mithrax said.

Together, Magnus and Cayde leaned in, and kissed the hatchling's forehead and stomach, and then looked at each other.

"Welcome home, Ace," said Cayde.

#d2 #magnus thorbjorn #cayde 6 #mithrax #eliksni #smallen #ace

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

Hello, I’ve finally thought of a prompt!

Baby Carrie and baby Julie meeting for the first time ☺️

thanks for the prompt friend! i took... some liberties with this one lol. It's just barely about Carrie and Julie since my go-to pre-canon headcanons (aka Parenting Verse) have Carrie and Julie literally being raised together, so this is more about Rose and Bobby dealing with both having kids with Julie and Carrie meeting at the very end lol. But I still hope you like it!

Bobby’s still in the rocking chair when Rose returns to the bedroom, his head ducked low but the soft lilt of his singing voice proving he’s still awake.

“Hey, rockstar,” Rose whispers, rapping her knuckles on the doorframe to get his attention. “Time for bed?”

Bobby looks down at the baby in his arms— he hasn’t put her down since he got home from the hospital, having paid off her mother not to give her up for adoption (after having paid her off six months ago to have her at all). “In a minute,” he promises, despite the exhaustion clear in his voice. “I want her to fall asleep first so she doesn’t think I abandoned her.”

Rose bites back a smile, sad though she is at the idea. “What was that song you were singing?”

Bobby goes red around the cheeks. “Oh, it’s just… one of L— my songs. I haven’t… recorded it yet.”

“Well, you should, it’s pretty.”

“Thanks.” Bobby holds his daughter— as of yet unnamed— a little closer, presses the gentlest of kisses to her forehead. “I guess I should put her down, huh?”

“I can do it,” Rose offers, stepping forward, but freezes when Bobby goes tense and territorial, hunching over the baby in his arms like he’s afraid she’s going to kidnap her. “Bobby, baby.”

He looks hunted, haunted, and so very tired. But when she says his name like that, he lets his defenses go down and carefully hands over his baby girl. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“I know,” Rose assures him, and kisses his cheek. “You need some good sleep.”

Bobby chuckles dryly. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

“Good boy,” Rose murmurs, and tucks the baby closer in the crook of her arm as she turns to go. “Come on, sweet girl, let’s get you to bed. Good night, Bobby.”

“Rose,” Bobby stops her just as she’s reaching the doorway. She turns. He’s got his head ducked low, like he’s embarrassed, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. “You should call me Trevor.”

She can’t help it; she makes a face. She’s never understood Bobby’s insistence on using a stage name, but at least he’s never brought it home from the record label. “What?”

At least he has the decency to look bashful. “My name is Trevor,” he repeats. “That’s how the media knows me, that’s what my money’s under. Now that I have a daughter, I… I need to be just one person, for her. I need to be the successful celebrity, not… the boy who lost everything.”

Rose’s heart breaks. Her instinct is to protest, to tell him he can be both, that he shouldn't be ashamed of the pain he grew out of, that he should want to share each and every part of himself with his beautiful baby girl.

But as Rose looks down at her, tiny and pink-faced and starting to fuss, she understands why Trevor Wilson needs to bury Bobby Shaw once and for all. It’s been hard enough between the three of them keeping Bobby’s history with Sunset Curve out of the press. A little girl growing up hearing stories of her uncles Luke, Alex, and Reggie will only make that harder.

But Rose mourns Bobby’s chance to bring that part of himself back to life.

“Good night, Trevor,” she amends, watches him relax at her deference to his wishes, and takes his daughter upstairs to the nursery where Ray set up a second cradle this morning.

Julie’s not crying, but she’s clearly awake, waving a chubby fist at the butterfly mobile spinning above her crib and making soft babbling noises. Rose leans over her to kiss her forehead and tilts Trevor’s baby over the side of the crib into Julie’s view.

“Mi mariposa,” she says, smiling, “Meet your new sister.”

--

Taglist:  @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles  @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #rose molina #bobby shaw #trevor wilson #carrie wilson #julie molina

[allthewritem0ves]

Father’s Day

Being a dad has its perks, far too many to count. The Am-I men knew this very well. The McWinkle men knew this too.

Sam-I-Am and his stepfather Grinch were new to this.

Sam had his daughter Molly for half a year now and he loved her more than every fiber of his being. Had you asked him a year ago if he ever imagined himself as a father, he probably would’ve laughed at the idea. Mostly even saying “I could barely raise myself, let alone my own kid!” But now that he actually is a dad, he laughs at his own naïveté.

In near-identical circumstances was Grinch. He pretty much became a dad around the same time as Sam, becoming one as soon as he started dating Pam. Melanie entered the picture once again and promoted him to father of two. After adopting Jenny, she made three. In addition, Molly, Terry and, the latest member of the family, Mikaela also became his grandchildren.

——

On this day, Sam was feeling especially excited. It meant he could show all the love to his baby girl.

He awoke to Gluntz lying on his chest, her eyes locked on his. “Happy Father’s Day, babe”, she greets him and kisses him.

“Thanks!”, he responds with an ear to ear grin. He reaches up, runs his fingers through her hair and down to her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They touch their foreheads together, enraptured by each other’s gaze, and they kiss again.

They were interrupted when Molly tugged Sam’s cheek tuft. She babbled happily and giggled.

“I see you, Molly! Daddy loves you too!” He picks her up and cuddles his cheek against hers before peppering it with kisses. “You ready to spend the day with Daddy?”

“And Mommy?”, Gluntz adds in. “And Grandma? And Grandpa? And everyone else?”

Molly giggles.

——

After a good breakfast, the family of three played on the carpet in the living room. Molly was lying on her back, messing with the various stuffed animals hanging from a mobile. Sam and Gluntz couldn’t help but mess with it too.

“We need one of these above our bed”, Sam suggested.

“I know! Babies get all the cool stuff!”

A knock came from the door.

“I’ll get it!”

Sam opened the door and found Gluntz’s parents on the doorstep.

“Gerry! Lee!”

“Hi, Sam!” Lianna hugs her future son-in-law. “Happy Father’s Day!”

“Thank you!” Then he gets a high five from Gerald.

“Enjoying your first dad day, Sam?”, Gerald asked endearingly.

“So far, yep! Gluntz and I are just spending time with Molly in the living room.” He sighs and says, “My sweet wittle peach.”

Lianna puts her hands on her heart and smiles at her husband.

“Come in! Almost slipped my mind!” Sam led them inside.

Lianna put her hands on her heart again watching her daughter and granddaughter playing in the living room.

“Mom! Dad!” Gluntz shot up and ran toward them.

“Boobaloo!” The two women hugged.

“Hi, honey-bunny”, Gerald greeted when his daughter hugged him.

In the meantime, Molly realized that both of her parents weren’t nearby. Then she began to cry.

“Oh no! Molly!” Sam hurried over to her, picked her up and held her close. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that, little peach. Daddy loves you.” He kissed her cheek and wiped her eyes with his thumb.

“Mommy loves you too, baby”, Gluntz added in, kissing her daughter’s other cheek. “Ready to have fun with Grandpa and Grandma?”

Speaking of whom, the older couple grinned softly at what’d transpired.

“You handled that very well”, Gerald complimented the two.

“Thanks, Dad”, Gluntz replied.

Then, in the foyer, someone said “Hey, everyone!”

It was Pam, and Grinch was just behind her, cradling Jenny in his arms.

“Mom!”

“Wanted to see you on your first Father’s Day, Sam. Plus Jenny wanted to see her big brother today.”

“I wanna see my brother too.”

In came Melanie with Mikaela in her carrier.

“Hi, Mel!”

She smiles.

——

Not long after, the Am-I’s popped in as well. The adults conversed in the living room while the children shared Molly’s toys. Mikaela, still too little to be able to play, was kept under the watchful eye of E.B. Junior didn’t have time to show envy to his sister showing love to someone other than himself; he was too preoccupied by Molly sharing her stuffed animals.

At the dinner table, Sam and Grinch were seated right next to each other with Guy, Gerald, Jack and his dad flanking them on each side. The women sat opposite to them on the other side of the table.

“Sam, Grinch? Enjoying your first Father’s Day?”, Michellee asked.

“Yep!”, the former replied giddily.

Grinch nodded softly.

“You seem pretty…unsure, Grinch”, Michellee noted, “Is something bothering you?”

He shrugged. “It does seem a bit silly, especially since I suggested adopting Jenny. But, the thing is…I’m…scared sometimes.”

“Scared?”, Guy parroted. The green man nodded. “What for?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m just scared something could go wrong in Jenny’s life and it’ll be all my fault.”

“But you can’t think that way, honey!”, Pam exclaimed. “Jenny loves you! I know she does!”

“Would she ever forgive me if I failed her at all?”

“Grinch”, Guy began, “it’s not smart to worry about that. Making mistakes and learning from them is all a part of living. If you tried patching up something that was never broken, it’d take all the fun, for lack of a better term, out of simpler pleasures. Believe me. I used to be afraid of taking chances.”

“As was I”, Michellee added. “It’s not really something I like to revisit, but things will always look up at some point.”

——

After their Father’s Day meal, Melanie had her own little chat with Grinch.

“How is it, Mellie?”

“Good. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

The young woman shifted on her feet and then asked, “I always…wondered…maybe you and I could spend some time together? I’m grateful to have you as a dad.”

“Of course, dear. What do you say to Jenny joining us, make it a little father-daughter time with both of you?”

Melanie smiled. “That’s even better.” And then she hugged him.

#green eggs and ham #fanfic #guy am i #michellee #eb #sam i am #pam i am #gluntz #the grinch #oc

[animaexitosus]

Silence falls in the house when Dagon came in. Clean laundry rests on the sofa. Most of the articles are sorted and folded into piles but there are some still in a pile in the basket on the floor. Harmony and Dhaila are nowhere to be seen in the living room and kitchen, but the aroma of dinner remains in the air, showing that Harmony cooked some time ago and stored some in the refrigerator for Dagon to help himself.

The nursery is dark with only thee warm glow coming from the globe sitting on top of the dresser. Stars and crescent moons shine around the room from the globe. Dahila lays on her back in her cradle, freshly bathed and wearing clean, lilac footed pajamas decorated with darker purple hearts. The pajamas look brand new like many of her clothing. The baby continues to sleep with the sweet melody of a lullaby playing from the mobile hanging above her. Tiny, adorable bunnies, teddy bears, and birds idly spin as they hang from the mobile's arms. The baby is perfectly fine, fast asleep after an active day.

The mother is not far, but she is in the master bedroom. Soft snores come from the bed where Dagon would find Harmony. Long hair in a sloppy ponytail and wearing soft shorts and a black tank top covering her nursing bra. Harmony lays diagonally on the bed and on top of the covers. It's almost as though she just fell onto the bed from where she stood and gave in to exhaustion.

From the looks of it, Harmony hasn't slept for some time. It's apparent that she spent much of her time with Dahila and now that the little one finally fell asleep, Harmony took the opportunity to catch up on some sleep too. The nightstand has a baby monitor that's on, just in case she needs to get up and check on Dahila.

Thankfully, Harmony is fine too. Just very tired and a bit disheveled from her work.

@chronicparagon

The simple tediums of normality were something Dagon was still having considerable trouble adjusting to. For someone with so hectic and violent a life as he, this was a significantly more arduous undertaking. It was apparently frowned upon to show up to parent-teacher meetings in a leather jacket and no shirt. Apparently threats and cracking a desk were not acceptable either.

Fucking bitch had it coming. No one insulted his kid.

Still, all of it was a difficult adjustment. Dagon had tried finding cleaner work, and it just hadn’t been for him. He guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised he was fired for beating one of his bosses to death with a keyboard. Well fired was putting it nicely. It was more like he was asked to leave so he didn’t jam more sharp things into faces. Damn pervert also had it coming. Wouldn’t stop preying on the girls in the workplace.

So he went back to his seedier work. He kept Har and Dhalia out of it, just calling it another long day at the office. He figured Har knew but maybe she just decided to pretend she didn’t. It wasn’t a secret between them that he was a violent person. Or that he had killed people. Perhaps it worked out better with his more clandestine work. It payed better for certain.

And that brings us to now, with the killer himself returning home after a job. Another hit, nothing major. The job was done, Dagon cleaned himself off, and then came home. It was later than he had hoped though. He wasn’t surprised to see things so quiet.

The unfinished laundry was tended to, his folding job nowhere near as skilled as Harmony’s own but he managed. Enough to set everything into the basket to be divided up later. He did stop at the kitchen, still smelling dinner in the air. A quick check of the fridge confirmed that Har had made him some as always. He’d have to thank her in the morning. For now it was leftovers for tomorrow, he didn’t have much of an appetite after murder. Not anymore anyway.

Passing by Dhalia’s room, Dagon paused to peer inside at their slumbering daughter. He didn’t step inside the room, their kid had some sharp hearing. More than once he’d accidentally woken her up just by tip-toeing into her room. She’ll make a helluva spy with ears like that. For now, she was sound asleep and he was more than happy to keep her that way. Kid had pipes like an organ.

Finally making his way to the bedroom, Dagon chuckled at the sight that awaited him. He was no stranger to Har’s tendency to overwork herself. On the one hand, it’s why she was such a good nurse. On the other hand, he’d found her asleep at her desk more than once. This time may not have been from studying or reading medical records, but it was still the same condition.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have just a little fun.

Nimbly he stripped her of her clothing, adjusting her sleeping form to better lie on her side of the bed. He had no malicious intent, he just liked sleeping in the nude. And he was dragging Harmony into that preference as well. Dagon made quick work of is own clothing, letting it fall to the ground in a pile that would be dealt with in the morning. Then pulling back the covers of their bed, he slid in behind her and spooned her close before covering them back up. 

Before he joined her in sleep, Dagon moved the baby monitor over to his nightstand. Might not do much good with the pipes on Dahlia, but he was a light sleeper. He could get up easier to take care of their kid so Har could sleep more.

Moments like this though? Nah these were ones he couldn’t get enough of.

#chronicparagon #I'll make you scream and you'll make me better (Harmony)

[xletmebeamonster-archived]

The ferret-faced baby--no, Tess hasn't shared his given name, but it wouldn't be hard to find out--stares up at Loki from his crib, unperturbed at his sudden arrival and quickly distracted by the mobile spinning and tinkling over his head. ("Mom" sleeps on in blissful ignorance.) A small dreamcatcher is hooked to the wall--a real one, a Sacred object woven by skillful fingers instead of some cheap, appropriated thing. For an infant, he appears... vaguely unimpressed by the whole situation..

With absolutely NO ONE around, just Loki and his new offspring, he tenderly picks up his newest child, cradling him gently as he paces the room. Mainly he's here to really inspect the infant but just for a brief spell, Loki looks like a regular doting father.

Good thing nobody is around to see it!

Holding up the infant, Loki scrutinizes the baby declaring, "Well, you may not be much now child, but I can see potential in you. With I as your father, and your mother with her hidden monstrous form, in time you will be mightier than most mortals and take your rightful place above them."

Because there was no one around, he kisses the baby, and tucks them back into bed. Leaving quietly as he appeared.

#fiddlingonthetympanic

[tommyspeakycap]

Painted Roses

jordan henderson x reader

word count - 2k I think

jordan takes you back to the place it all began as you expand your life together.

second part to Rose Garden

4 years to the date.

The country house with the long gravel road that lead up to the huge red brick cottage. The owner passed away over a year ago and their family, to Jordan’s utter shock, weren’t interested in maintaining the beautiful home as the wedding venue it had existed as in the past. The second he heard it was up for sale, he placed an offer and had the keys in the space of two weeks.

“Jordan where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He promises, giving your hand a gentle squeeze where it sat on top of your knee. The blindfold is making you sweat more than you already were. “I can’t see anything.” You note pointedly with a roll of your eyes behind the blindfold. Jordan chuckles heartily with what you can imagine in your mind is his signature smile, all white teeth and crinkled eyes. “You’ll love it,” he says through that smile, “I promise.” His hand pats your knee again as a silence falls between you.

Gravel crunches beneath the wheels of his fancy black Mercedes as the smell of cut grass and fresh flowers enters your nose and makes you grin subconsciously in a way you barely even notice. Jordan catches sight of that out the corner of his eye and his heart grows with joy in his chest. The slow, careful turn of his car, paired with the sound of his hands sliding along the leather of the wheel alert you to his parking. He does so with ease and you hear the keys jangling as he shuts off the engine.

“Wait here,” he instructs, climbing out his side with the door thrown shut behind him. He’s round at your side of the car before you have a chance to think up a cheeky retort. He’s gentle as he always is when he helps you out of the car carefully, wrapping one arm around your waist so you don’t fall. Admittedly, it doesn’t work very well because the ground beneath is so incredibly uneven, so when he gets to that first smooth grey cement step, he opts to simply scoop you up into his arms with ease.

“Okay,” he begins, placing you down as you feel the smooth material covering your eyes loosening and slipping from your face. His hands replace it for only a moment as he presses a kiss to the side of your head from behind you. “Open.”

You do as told and tears spring in place of his hands to blur your vision.

It’s beautiful.

It was that Victorian style country home that once acted as a wedding venue, redecorated to a minimum. “Wanted it to look nice for you, but so that you can give it your touch. You know better than me.” He admits sheepishly with a pink tint to his cheeks. You beam at him tearily, hands clasped together in sheer joy. “God Jordan, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaim, tears bleeding over your lash line. You knew how expensive these types of homes were, never mind ones so big with such history to them. It hadn’t even made much of a dent for Jordan really. He had more money than either of you could ever have spent and he likes to remind you of that to ensure you know full and well his gentle spoiling of you is not a hardship for him. He actively loves to do it.

“Take it as an anniversary present.” He shrugs, trying to fight at the smile that was tugging his lips. The warmth of your hug and the tears seeping through his white shirt was all a welcome to him no matter how hot it was outside. He could not wait to come home to this house, be welcomed home by you and hopefully some littler mixtures of you and him with your eyes and smile. “Makes my present look a little rubbish now,” you jest, making him chuckle heartily.

The house needed a fair bit of work. New flooring, new carpets, your furniture from home would do just fine but you reckon Jordan will be all for new stuff for a new home. A few new coats of paint and nice clear out, but all in it was still absolutely gorgeous.

“There is one room I really wanted to show you though, if that’s okay?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained down on the floor. You furrow your brows, but nod your head. “I gotta grab something from the car first though?” You hum, detangling your hand from his, “And pee.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy. “Again? You went right before we left?” He queries. You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Since when do you question a woman’s toilet habits at that point in the month, Henderson?” You poke with a blush and a light giggle. He chuckles with you and holds up his hands in defeat, but the second your out of eye and earshot his shoulders fall and a sigh bursts out his lips. He wouldn’t let it show to you right now his disappointment. You hadn’t been trying long, but it was enough for him to be in the longing stage. Longing to see your swollen belly, longing to feel those tiny kicks against his hands and then hold his brand new baby for the first time, spend all those nights wide awake wishing for nothing but sleep while he cradled them through to the morning. You said it would happen when it happened, but it still ached with every negative test. Hearing you say you were on your period hurt a little more than he had anticipated, but he’s still heart set on showing what he had done with the short time he was able to keep this new home a secret.

You return with your handbag and take his hand. He is instinctive in those soft movements of his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s something he always does to sooth both you and him.

“So this is the master bedroom and I know it’s not quite good yet but I thought-“

“Jordan it’s beautiful,” you cut him off, your hand drifting out of his as you step in slowly. Being cautious of dust sheets and some tools, you walk into the massive room. You’d never been in a bedroom that big and it had blown you away. The huge bed, still with plastic attacked and tags on the mattress. The en-suite bathroom is marble worktops, one of those huge bathtubs and a walk in shower updated to a beautiful mixture of modernity and it’s antique homage. Tears are found again. The window gives a perfect view out the back of the house, rolling fields worth of garden space, loosely fenced in for acres into the distance. There’s a pond on the land a little to the left, not far at all that leads off towards the beginning of the hidden Rose Garden where you met Jordan 4 years ago today. All of that owned and shared by just you and the man you love. “Bloody hell, it’s so magnificent Jordan. I literally have no words.”

He beams shyly almost, “That’s how I feel about you.” He mumbles softly, almost too quiet for you to hear, like he didn’t want you to. “What’s through here?” You call behind you as he trails after you on anxious legs. You carry on through the very short pathway attached to the master bedroom that had some extra storage space. “Well uh..I haven’t finished that so maybe we should just an-“

“Oh my god.”

Jordan rubs nervously at the back of his throat as he enters into the connecting room behind you. His eyes take you in immediately, studying your features carefully. Your hands are clasped over your mouth with slow tears sliding down over your rosy cheeks. Your eyes are afire with love and happiness. “I know it’s weird but-“

“It’s perfect, Jordan.” You throw your arms around his neck, his arms finding you immediately as he buries his head into your shoulder.

It’s the only room with a new carpet yet. It’s soft beneath your shoes, a plush cream colour to match a white wall. The window on the back wall gives the same fantastic view you have in the master room. There’s a white crib pushed against the wall furthest from you with a mobile of twinkling toys dangling above and a baby changing table a little away from the top end of the crib stocked full of pampers and baby cream. In the right corner of the room just by the window is a white wooden rocking chair next to a little book shelf with baby books that had a couple plush teddies and a photo of you and Jordan 4 years ago sitting atop it. The other side corner is decked out with two beanbag seats, a soft baby mat and a bundle of all sorts of soft toys.

“Left that wall blank ‘cause I remember that day you told me you’d always wanted to paint it like the sky.” He recounts, pointing his finger at the wall that the crib was situated next to, making your head whip towards him. He had such a fantastic memory even for the little things you said, just like that. You barely even remember it, spoken under the stars as you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. It gives you no doubt about having kids with him, the thought of him remembering your babies favourite little treats or ineffective toddler secrets makes your heart soar with pride and joy. “Look closer at that.” He turns you round so your facing that wall again, the one with the little cosy corner.

Painted on the wall intricately above it is that rose arbor your stood underneath when he first laid his eyes on you. Where he first had that dance with you, where he told you he wanted to see you again. Where you snuck into when it was late, dark and only lit by those same fairly lights so he could tell you he loved you for the first time all those years ago. The roses are painted in perfect colour, careful and precise in the way they hung around you for that first ever dance you shared together. It’s so beautiful and so lifelike you that get lost in it, reliving the moment your world came together. Every time you sit there, it’ll be like sitting under real thing when you can’t take the baby out there.

“Well this makes my present a little more fitting, then.” You sniffle, letting Jordan swipe the tears gently off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a slow, loving motion. “What do you mean?” He asks, “I told you not to get me anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest as you rifle through your bag. “Okay okay, here. Open this.”

You hand over a small gift bag, one stuffed with tissue paper he has to tear through as you sit your bag down and wait, watching him with wide and watery eyes. He pulls out first the tiny little wad of fabric and places the gift bag on top of the white wooden dresser, carefully unravelling the rolled up clothes. “That’s bloody adorable.” He breathes out, trying to keep the tears he has inside his eyes to no avail. You wrap your arm around his back, rubbing his tight shoulders softly. “Look at the back.” You encourage, his eyes meet yours then look back to the tiny clothes.

HENDERSON

8

With a little picture taped carefully to the bottom that he peels off with shaky, tentative fingers. “No way!” He booms, jumping back from you in shock. He looks down at the picture, up at you, back down at the picture, then up at you again with tears slipping over his cheeks. “But you said-“

“It was a surprise!” You squeal back as he swoops forward and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around in glee. “So no food poising? And no period?” He giggled out like a schoolgirl in shock. You shake your head. “Morning sickness and just a diversion. We’re having a baby!”

“We’re having a baby!” He repeats, louder. His words bounce of the walls that can barely contain the happiness inside of them. Threatening to burst at the seams as it fills beyond belief. This room, though incomplete, is perfect. Because you are in it together. Here, together in each other’s arms sharing in joy just like you’ve both shared in pain, hurt, love, happiness, nerves and everything else along the way. Head on, together.

“And this,” Jordan holds up the little football strip with his name printed across the back, his england appointed number proudly underneath, “This is perfect. You,” he pauses, leaning forward to capture your lips in his, “Are perfect.” His hands wander down to your stomach, placed gently over where his pea sized baby currently exists, growing and feeding on the love he intends to drown them in just like he does to you, “Both of you…perfect.”

It is perfect, really. Your love is. Even when it isn’t, it is. When he’s gone too long and you can’t see him because of a pandemic; the effort is made, emotions are shared. He tells you he misses you and his ego is never too big for its space in your relationship. When the world is against him or when fate turns against you both, it’s in each other’s arms that you find solace even if space is needed first. There’s an understanding of the love you have. It’s special. The kind that only a lucky few seem to find these days, a one people can look at and spot from a mile away. It’s beautiful, it’s own space taking entity that makes you both target to significant teasing from friends and family alike. It’s perfect.

Even when you fight over what blue is better to represent the sky just because your pregnant and too hormonal to admit he’d found the right colour before you did. Even when he coats you in paint that ends in an all out paint war, thankful you both removed all the furniture before painting. Even when you sob as your body changes, with pregnant emotions skewing your mind and making you question whether he’ll ever be attracted to you again, he’ll remind you that he’s never been more attracted to you than now. Housing his child, taking the aches, the pains and the changes like a true champ while he can do nothing but rub your feet and buy you ridiculous quantities of Solero ice creams. He’ll remind you in more ways that one just how perfect you are to him. Love by it’s very nature is as messy as that paint fight. It’s up and down and all over the place all the time. But the kind of love that you and Jordan have is a special that doesn’t waver, doesn’t dull or dim or change through time.

If anything, each day he loves you more. Even if he was convinced it wasn’t possible. But then it just was. Seeing you red in the face with sweat dripping over your forehead and tears leaking from your squeezed shut eyes as your screams echo through the room. All he could do was coax and coach, trying to tell you how proud of you he was. Even when you screamed that you despised him, he laughed and told you to squeeze his hand a little harder. It hurt, but that was nothing compared to the pain that you were enduring from multiple areas of your body as that baby ripped through you to make her grand entrance to the world, kicking and screaming just like the fighter her mother was. He thought his heart might burst with the amount of love he has, surely that’s as good as it gets?

No. No, it gets better still.

Everyday it’s better. Better when he gets to watch that woman that he loves so much sing to his tiny baby daughter, rocking in that chair under the painted rose arbor as she feeds from you. The most beautiful, natural thing in the world and he is enthralled by it. Watching you giggle at her she coos up at you. Placing her down in the crib beneath the gentle jingling of the cloud themed mobile next to the pale, sky blue coloured wall, blossoms falling, trickling down through clouds from a painted blossom tree on the wall and rose petals in variations of pink and red along the bottom of the crib. Roses and rose petals just like the ones that surrounded you on the day you danced with each other in under the trees of the garden that summer night. Roses like the ones you stood under to profess your love for one another. Roses, like the ones he took a knee beside, beneath and with one in his hand to give to you as he asked for your hand. Roses like you would stand beneath with one pinned to the breast of his suit to say the vows that would tie you in law to one another and to give you his name. Roses like the ones painted on the far wall, still fresh when you shared the news of that baby girl’s existence. Roses that were such an important symbol of the love you shared, pure and beautiful, sometimes painful but always worth the fight. Those roses painted on that crib with space for just one word carved into the wood.

Rose.

Your own beautiful little Rose.

#jordan henderson #jordan henderson imagines #jordan henderson imagine #jordan henderson x reader #england national team imagine #england national team #footie fics #footballer fics #football fics

[spooderboyandtincan]

I wish you would write a fic... about the Superfamily 💖

“I want a baby.”

Steve looks up at his husband. “Tony, what the fuck?”

“A-a baby. A kid. A child.” Tony sits next to him on the couch. His eyes are shining with excitement.

“We can’t get pregnant,” Steve points out, turning back to the book in his hands. Tony grabs it and throws it on the coffee table. “Hey!”

“There are other- other options,” Tony says, grasping Steve’s hand tightly and staring into his baby blue eyes nervously. “Adoption. We could adopt.”

The supersoldier sighs, shaking his head. “Tones, we can’t take care of a baby. How about a dog? Or a cat, cats are always-”

“Steve, please,” Tony whispers, eyes suddenly filled with tears. Steve frowns and cups his husband’s cheeks. “I want a baby. Can you just- just please, think about it. Please.”

Steve is so shocked, by Tony’s tears, by the desperate tone in his voice, by the eagerness on every inch of his face, that he nods. “I will,” he promises.

The love, the relief, and the excitement in Tony’s eyes make it all worth it.

~~~~~

At first, Steve thinks Tony has forgotten about the whole baby thing.

He should have known better.

Two weeks later, Tony barges into the training room, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

“Tony, what the hell? What happened?” He hurries towards his husband. In lieu of greeting, Tony shoves a Starkpad into his hands.

“I found him,” he says breathlessly.

“Who?” Steve asks, still eyeing the other man worriedly. He still hasn’t looked at the Starkpad. Tony gestures to it in frustration.

“Our baby.”

Steve freezes. He looks at the pad.

It’s a series of emails from one Mary Parker. Apparently, she and her husband recently split up and she is no longer able to provide for her newborn son.

“Tony, honey…” he says slowly, apologetically. “I don’t know if we can take care of a baby.”

Something in Tony’s face breaks. “Right,” he whispers, more to himself than Steve. “Right, what-what was I thinking? We- I can’t be a father.” Steve opens his mouth, to apologize, to take it back, to do anything, but Tony turns before he can and walks back to the elevator.

Steve blinks back the tears in his eyes. He’s broken something inside of Tony, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know if he can, really.

He looks back at the Starkpad, re-reading the emails, filled with so much enthusiasm. We would love to adopt Peter! Can we meet him soon? and He’s perfect. He’s perfect for us. My husband and I can’t wait to meet him!

What have I done? Steve thinks.

He scrolls down, and finds a picture of a tiny- literally tiny, the kid could easily fit in his palm- baby, swaddled in a pink blanket with a soft hat on his head. He’s covered in wires and tubes, but even Steve has to admit it- he looks perfect.

~~~~~

Tony won’t talk to him. It’s fair, but it hurts all the same. When they get ready for bed, Tony opens his mouth for the first time in hours and informs him that he’s sleeping on the couch.

Steve knows he deserves it.

The next morning, JARVIS tells him that Tony is in the lab and should not be disturbed. Is it Steve’s imagination, or does the AI sound colder than usual?

They can’t take care of a baby, though. Raising a tiny human for 18+ years? They just can’t do that.

Right?

He pulls up the picture of the baby- no, Peter.

What harm is there in meeting him? he thinks.

Tony ignores the knocking (pounding) on the lab's reflective glass walls until Steve finally shouts “I wanna meet Peter!”

The door slides open. “Really?” Tony says, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, I really do.”

Tony stares at him, then bursts into tears, sinking into his chest weakly. Steve does his best to soothe him before realizing that these are happy tears, relieved ones, and that Tony couldn’t stop crying even if he tried.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks his husband gently. Tony laughs, shakes his head. “Tony.”

“I know, I know. I just couldn’t.”

Steve frowns sadly. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

The billionaire just shrugs. “Maybe you were right.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says firmly, waiting until their eyes meet. “You’re gonna be a great father. We can do it.”

Tony stares back at him, and Steve realizes suddenly how terrified his spouse is. “We can do it,” he says again.

“We can do it,” Tony echoes, and maybe, just for a second, he believes him.

~~~~~

From the instant they lay eyes on Peter, they’re both hooked. He’s even tinier in person, with rosy cheeks, thin brown curls, beautiful big doe eyes, with ten tiny little fingers and ten tiny little toes.

He has a breathing tube, which nearly sends Tony into a panic attack until Mary explains that it’s only there for a few more days, just in case. Now Tony is terrified that Peter will get sick and won’t be able to breathe, but Mary assures him that he’s been stable for a few days now and should be fine.

Tony marvels at the fact that this tiny human is only five days old. Only five days in the world, and already so much has happened. “He’s beautiful,” he whispers, gazing down into the incubator. Steve squeezes his shoulder.

Mary smiles. “You can hold him, if you want,” she says.

“Really?!” Tony gasps, suddenly filled with excitement and terror. “Is-is it safe?”

“Wouldn't lie to you, would I?” the woman laughs, and plucks Peter out of the incubator. “Here ya go.”

Tony’s hands are shaking as he accepts the baby, cradling the tiny body to his chest gingerly, horrified he might somehow hurt this precious child. “You got it,” Mary says.

Tony looks at Peer- really looks at him, taking in the pale freckles on the bridge on his nose, his cupid’s bow lips, his dainty little eyelashes and his adorable chocolate eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “Hi, Peter. Hiya, Pete. I-I’m your dad, baby. I’m Dad.” Tears are streaming down his face, and he sniffs loudly. Peter blinks a little and makes a curious cooing noise. “Sorry, honey. So sorry.” He’s starting to sob now, but he doesn’t want to let his baby go. Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders and grasps Peter’s hand between the pad of his thumb and his pointer finger.

“Hey Peter,” he says. He’s not great with emotions, especially with a stranger around, even though Mary seems like a wonderful woman. “Nice to meetcha, kiddo. I’m, um- I’m your other dad. I’m your Papa.” He’s crying now too. They’re both wondering how they ever could have lived before this sweet child came into their lives, and it’s barely been five minutes.

Tony laughs, sobs, and laughs again. “He’s perfect,” he says to Mary, who has been staring at a painting across the hall politely.

She grins. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate for this little guy to go into foster care. You two seem like you’re gonna be great dads.”

The rest of the hour feels like a blur for the two new parents, the only thing solid each other and their baby boy. They sign adoption papers numbly, Tony still cradling the baby in his arms. They get a quick instruction on how to change diapers, prepare bottles, deal with fevers, earaches, and teething, and then they’re in the car with Happy, Peter strapped into a carseat, finally going home.

They haven’t had time to set up a nursery, really, they haven’t had time for anything. Happy buys them a bassinet, a mobile, and a shit ton of baby food and baby formula.

They sit on the couch together, Peter once again in Tony’s arms, fast asleep. There are going to be a lot of hurdles ahead, a lot of crying, a lot of worrying, but above all, a lot of love.

“I love you so much, Peter,” Tony whispers.

“I love you too, Peter,” Steve whispers.

~~~~~

ST*RKERS DNI

~~~~~

Taglist: @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12  @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny @tinystark-blog @bittersweetbeneath

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know! (also, i think i missed a few people, and a few usernames have been changed, pop me a quick message so i can add you again!)

#peter parker #steve rogers #tony stark #superfamily #steve x tony #superhusbands #stony #adoption #mary parker #prompt #milla-romy #st*rkers dni #sorry this is so late! #also been forgetting to add the taglist so #:/

[dinthehottotty]

Drunk on You - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Warnings: Just some smutty drabble inspired by a new toy....

A/N: I wrote this on mobile so sorry I don't have the drop down bit. Also go gentle on me, this is my first Whiskey piece....

No. No, no. No, no, no, no. Nonononononono! This... could not be happening. Mortification was creeping in. Shame was shuffling from the corner of the hotel room.

It had taken ten minutes for you to begin to realize the weight of the situation. Still you couldn't bare looking to your right. If your legs could just stop shaking, that would be great.

You were a grown woman. An adult. Always prided yourself on your own efficiency. You got the job done, and done right no matter the energy and time. You did it independently for the most part, that's why you'd been hired by Statesmen to begin with. You were an amazing spy with a nerve of steel.

There was only one thing that ever got to you. Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels. What an asshole. You'd never met such a surecocked, womanizing, smug bastard man. He pissed you off so much. You never used to let his advances bother you, but somehow over the years he wiggled his way under your skin. Now a single look from him made you seeth and bristle like a wild animal.

Your pride was now wiped away like a dry erase board. Your mind slowly is beginning to gain its bearings while you tremble in a puddle of your own fluids on your hotel bed. The light of the lamp next to you is a reminder of your vulnerability.

Sparing a glance to your right, everything about you is slow and hesitant. Jack is lounging beside you comfortably, a satisfied smirk coating his face. He's got his eyes closed, his fingertips tapping the air with a song you've got no idea about. He looks almost peaceful in the warm light of the dimmed lamp. And it would be if his stupid porn 'stache wasn't tilted up in a cocky smirk.

Your stomach chooses this inopertune moment to gurgle loudly. Weird, you swore the nausea was due to the naked rodeo clown beside you. Weirder yet, he almost looked good without his yellow sunglasses and cowboy hat. Less like a want to be country music star and more like a Latin lover.

His head lolls your way and his eyes bulldoze you with his thrilled smirk. Even in the low, unflattering light his brown eyes are warm and remind you of the warm gooeyness that is sliding from between your legs. You want it to not feel good, but your so boneless from the last... fuck, you don't even know how long it's been.

"Worked yerself up an appetite, did ya, darlin'?" Your only response is to gulp and you have to look away from him. A shiver rolls through you and he chuckles.

That's the worst part of this. Not the fact that you actually caved and slept with the sleeze of man, not the fact that he was the only person you genuinely hated in regards to company. No, the worst part of this, was how wrecked he had you. Jack Daniels is singlehandedly the best lay you've had in your life and it wasn't even hate sex.

Granted you should be screaming at him to get the fuck out of your hotel room and raging that he barged in on you in the first place.

Ginger had been so polite in regards to leaving you in the room by yourself for a bit. Laughing as you called after her 'if there is an emergency, don't call me, get the boys!' And then you forgot to turn on airplane mode.

It wasn't that Statesmen couldn't afford two rooms for you both. Instead, she was your near and dear friend and missions served as your sleepovers. You'd both spend free moments giggling and gossiping about the other agents. And also your sex lives and preferences. Also, your newest toy that you hadn't gotten to try.

A tiny egg with a little tongue and suction on it. The catalyst. You'd been prepared when your eyes and ears left to give a good review only to very quickly discover just how delightful and overwhelming the little tool was.

Too aware of how Whiskey was leaning over you with a grin, you suddenly feel nervous. "Don't tell me I fucked the sass out of you, sweetheart. I do love that wicked tongue you've got." He thumbs your lower lip and you find your self holding in panting. For fucks sake it took you nearly ten minutes to stop after he'd finally rolled off you.

It's pitiful that you just let out a tiny whine, pushing weakly at his chest. It makes his grin deepen, his dimples practically shining. "Don't go soft on me now, girl."

"Need minute," you finally rasp, voice hoarse. He leans down, shocking you with a hungry pass of his mouth over yours.

You should want to fight him, but your mind feels as boneless as your body.

There is a noise. A beep of the door unlocking with the card swiped.

Ginger is back.

She still knocks, bless her heart. It's like Whiskey doesn't even notice, instead just drawing his mouth over your jaw and tasting your neck lazily. He must know. Either he thinks it's housekeeping or he just doesn't give a fuck.

"Rosé?" She calls out from the hallway by the door. "I hope I gave you enough lead time to try-" she gasps as she rounds the corner and finds you wrapped up with a man you despise. "Oh, lord! What even happened?" She averts her wide eyes and Whiskey chuckles warmly over you.

"Decommissioned," you rasp out, complete mush under the mouthing at your neck. "Sorry." Teeth appear and your vaguely aware that Whiskey is laughing with delight against you.

He lifts enough to flash a grin at Ginger.

"You hate him! What do you mean 'decommissioned'?" She throws her hands up.

"What's the racket?" Eggsy calls, strutting in with Gallahad. Both of them freeze at the sight of you practically preening under the warm body over you. "No fuckin' way," the kid demands when Whiskey jerks the blankets up around your naked form.

"Now, I don't mind the company, but if you boys want a show, I suggest you go find the HBO channel back in your respective rooms. The lady is going to need a hot meal and a nice nap before she goes anywhere." You don't even register that you're nodding along with his statement.

"No way you bagged Rosé," Eggsy demands. "She looks drugged!" The heat of a big calloused hand rolls up over your side under the sheet and you let your eyes fall shut. Ginger just shakes her head like a disappointed mother.

"Not drugged," you manage to offer. It earns you a happy purr from the smug agent above you and he rolls a hand between your legs unabashedly. Your still too sensitive and jerkily shove his hand, gasping. "Out, please," you murmur, no bite to your words as a warm mouth finds the hollow behind your ear.

Ginger quickly agrees, shuffling quickly out of the room. Eggsy, even with Gallahad's prompting tries to stick around, giving you shit until the mouth leaves your neck.

"The lady politely requested you leave. Find the door, boy." He snarls like a caged animal and it sends warmth down belly. You find yourself uncaring and unfurling beneath him as Eggsy is lead out of the room.

"Hungry," you moan, trying to glower when he goes to reposition and settle between your thighs. It earns you a cocky grin.

"Atta girl!" You don't know what you expect, but it's hardly him pulling your legs up and proping them over his shoulders while he reaches for the phone.

You both moan when he sinks into you, wettly and just as easily as before. "Fuck, feel so good, baby." And he leans over, picking up the phone and dialing. There is ringing as he cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear, rolling his hips forward. He's rewarded with the obnoxiously loud squelch that accompanies his thrusts. "What sounds good to eat?" Whiskey asks as you pant and writhe beneath him like his cock isn't stretching you beyond capacity.

"Everything," you gasp out.

"Could you send us the works? Whatever you've got on special." You can't pay attention to anything else he says, in the back of your mind your mind you know your a mess.

It's when you hear the tiny motor start that your hand is jerking down and your snatching his wrist. "Jack, no, I can't-" you rasp as you stop his hand from bringing the little egg down on your clit.

"Why not?" But it doesn't actually sound like a question and his eyes are glinting down on you.

"Is too much, hurts."

"You weren't complaining earlier."

"Overstimulated." He gives a growl, shutting the vibrator off before hauling your knees into the crook of his arms. It has you moaning unabashedly as he changes angles, stirring the pace up.

"Feels so good, oh fuck, feels good. Don't stop, please don't stop, always wanna be full, fill me up please." What kind of effect was this? You never babbled.

"What a good girl," he rumbles, "finally giving into how desperate she's been for me. Do you want to cum around me again?" He watches you falling apart beneath him, a complete wreck.

"Can't, can't cum. Felt like I was cumming the whole time that toy was on my clit. Hurts." A hand rubs down your belly, a direct path to the heaven between your legs that he's still fucking. You scramble for his wrist again but he's stronger and you let out a cry as he brushes a knuckle over your swollen and abused clit. It just makes him chuckle when you arch off the pillow below your hips.

Your so wet that it's coating your thighs and making him glide against you like your coated in oil. Everything was wet and warm.

"C'mon girl, don't tell me yet that I've won?" He rasps. There is a need that builds up at those words. An anger as you manage some kind of weak glare up at him. You fumble for him.

You intend fully on crushing his mouth against yours and devouring him in response to his quip. It seems to surprise you both when your lips move more tenderly than either of you anticipate.

Whiskey goes stiff in your arms, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. There's a moment you think you've killed the mood but then he's sink down against you and tenderly kissing you back.

It's not unexpectedly fun and wild like the rest of this desperate affair has been. Instead, his hips roll slow and smooth, no rush or reason beyond just feeling you. The heat of him consumes you as you breathe into each other's mouths, drinking the other in and soaking in hot hands.

"Shoulda done this sooner," you manage against his mouth and feel his chuckle rumble you both.

"Offers been there," he groans. "Spend the night in my room," he pleads gently. It has you shivering.

"Okay," you sigh, mush beneath the fulfilling stretch he was giving. He could ask you to kill Eggsy here and now and you'd probably say yes. Just as long as this never ended. You were drunk on Whiskey.

#jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #agent whiskey #kingsman #statesmen #kingsman the golden circle #smut #unedited #jack daniels x reader #whiskey #whiskey x you #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x reader

[kitchenscene]

four chambers buck/eddie (minor), eddie centric, an analysis of the diaz house, (home is about the people, not the space), 1.6k ______________

Eddie holds his heart in physical spaces. Frames, photo albums, ticket stubs. It’s less about the sentiment and more about the proof, evidence of the better moments, and a tangible reminder that they won’t be the last. He carries an old photo of Chris in his wallet and a yellow sticky note from Buck in the back of his phone case, scratchy, all caps writing — “Had to leave early, didn’t want to wake you up. There’s coffee on the counter for you. See you tonight.” — with a heart scribbled at the bottom. He carries his love outside his chest, but hides it in his pockets, under his shirt, and around his neck.

It’s scattered throughout the living room, his heart is in a comfortable place. The warm brown coffee table and throw pillows on the couch. Soft lights, lamps in every corner. An ash filled fireplace and charred brick, as if to say, “yes, there is life here, believe me when I say there’s life.”

[ao3 link]

Out in the living room, his love is most evident on the bookshelf. Loved ones held not by the hand, but by mahogany frames and canvas wrapped photo albums. Two albums, to be exact. The first is from Texas, from his childhood. Family photos year by year, some members disappearing, new ones flooding in, staying whether they want to or not. Some people who only continue to exist in these four-by-six slots, neatly encased in plastic, notes and dates scribbled over the back.

There’s photos of young Eddie cradling a baby Sophia, photos of Sophia and Eddie with Adriana spread across their laps, and a particularly memorable one of Eddie spoon feeding baby Adri ice cream when a baby her age definitely should not have been eating ice cream. First days of school, weekend trips, and middle school phases he’d rather forget. Newspaper cutouts of his baseball stats, team photos with trophies in hand, and senior pictures of him in his jersey. Team captain. He never really wanted it, but he accepted the offer all the same.

Shannon starts to appear around this time, prom photos together, though she wasn’t his date, just a friend of a friend with some sort of connection. Selfies taken on an old film camera from her mother, candid shots of Eddie, smiling, laughing, free, a side of him kept hidden from everyone but her. A few more photos strangers were kind enough to take for them, some strangers proving to be better photographers than others.

Another family photo, this time with Shannon in frame. Off to the side, attached only by Eddie’s arm around her waist, but in frame all the same.

A sonogram of Christopher before they had a name, engagement photos because that’s what they were supposed to do, and a single wedding picture taken from a courthouse bench.

Shannon still makes herself known in the last few pages, though her and Eddie no longer exist in the same frame. Her and Chris. Him and Chris. Chris alone. He’s off to Afghanistan.

Blank pages, accidentally skipped. A photo of him accepting the Silver Star he never wanted, added to the album despite his better wishes, alongside a handful of army memories he’d rather not look back on.

It’s in his heart, all the same.

The last few pages are filled with the only pictures Eddie took himself. Every one, every single one is of Chris. The time lost in those skipped pages finding its way back into the album, one day at a time. First days of school, weekend trips, and all his childhood interests coming and going in phases.

The second photo album carries his second chances. It’s not a memento from Texas or a gift he’d rather not receive, no. This one he chose all on his own. He chose Los Angeles, he chose Chris, he chose the 118, and with them, he chose a fresh start, a blank page. Family photos of a different kind.

Second page, third slot down, Buck makes himself known. He first exists in Eddie’s heart somewhere along the bottom shelf. Three, four, five pages in, Buck never disappears. In the firehouse, after work, trips to the zoo, he never disappears. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, he never disappears. The couch, dining room, and kitchen, Buck never disappears.

It always comes back to the kitchen. Before there was a home, there was a kitchen and dirty dishes. Eddie washes the dishes by hand, one by one. Buck sits on the countertop, stacking dried plates, sorting cutlery in the drawers. He leaves every cabinet open — “it’s way more efficient, Eddie,” — and carries three mugs in each hand.

His heart skips in the kitchen. Flinging soap bubbles while rinsing plates, stealing from simmering saucepans on the stove, his breath hitches when Buck swipes a thumb across Eddie’s cheek, brushing away the suds. His breathing stops altogether when his hand lingers a moment too long.

New beginnings are also found in the kitchen, heavy palpitations bleeding from the sink onto the dining table. Anticipation exists between the tiles, melting the glue he’s used to desperately hold himself together. Buck plays music while he cooks, varying from swing to classic rock. On the good days he sings, out of key, but he sings. He whistles along with the guitar or the saxophone or velvety voices he doesn’t dare to replicate. Buck dances too, waiting for songs to end and timers to ring.

Anticipation flooded the room when he asked Eddie to dance along, a soft blues tune playing over the speaker. Hand to the waist, to the shoulder, hand draped in gentle hand. It was an easy choice; Buck leaned in and he leaned back, holding Eddie like he would never have the chance to do it again, kissing him like there was no sweeter air in the world. The first, “I love you,” was breathed against the counter, just above a whisper. “I always have,” followed shortly behind.

The brightest piece of his heart is held in Christopher’s hands. Rainbow carpets and terrariums, posters plastered on every wall, solar systems and galaxies hanging above. Buck pinned the mobile to the ceiling, Earth, Venus, and Mars dancing around each other, glowing as the room fades to black. The planets spin and spin just above his bed. It makes sense, really, that Buck would hang the stars for Chris.

Eddie didn’t decorate his room, unlike the rest of the house. No, the color, the light, the books lining every shelf, all chosen by Chris, constantly shifting as his interest wean and wane. He’s more than willing to provide, because who is he to deny an action figure on the dresser or plant on the windowsill?

His heart is full with Chris. His heart is empty in his bedroom. Everything Eddie has he gives to Chris. (Where else would it go?)

Barren walls and flat sheets. Empty walls, empty frames. Clock on the nightstand, a lamp on either side, nothing more. A dresser, a closet, it’s a bedroom, nothing more. Most days the curtains are drawn. Most days the door is kept shut. It’s best to keep this hidden, best to leave it bare. He had a rug once. Never managed to unroll it.

It functions as a space, that’s all he needs. Eddie sleeps, and sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he wakes in a sweat, sometimes his hands shake until he’s too exhausted to shake anymore. He resorts to self soothing then; counting ceiling tiles that don’t exist and pacing about the room until holes bleed through his socks.

Buck moved from the apartment to the couch, and eventually made his way to the bedroom. They started out two feet apart but always woke together, somehow making contact and swearing it meant nothing. Even in his sleep, he finds his way to Buck. (Of course it means something).

He first kisses Buck in the kitchen. He kisses him again in the bed. His bed, their bed. He sleeps with his head against Buck’s chest, this time with intent, counting beats instead of ceiling tiles as he sleeps, no sweeter lullaby to be heard. He sleeps through the night, no dreams at all. Buck opens the curtain when he wakes up. Eddie leaves it that way.

The changes are subtle at first, and Buck plays it off like it’s all accidental. “Your room has the best sunlight,” he says, moving plants from the kitchen to the dresser. The ivy cascades down the sides and the cactuses bloom in the new light. In the silence, his heart begins to beat again.

Buck covers his own nightstand with receipts and chargers and photos and reminders. “Printed this for myself,” he claims, filling a picture frame with him and Eddie and Chris, “but I made an extra copy.” He leaves it on Eddie’s side of the bed. It’s less and less barren each day.

The rug under the bed is a welcomed addition. Soft and full, Eddie doesn’t question where it came from. A mirror makes its way to the wall. He can count his scars in the reflection; two in the shoulders, one on the hip. Wrist and thigh, hand and head. With each day the sight is more bearable.

Buck ripped off the sheets, the dark navy sheets, and swapped them out for something brighter. He claims they’re softer, claims they’re more breathable, though Eddie knows the truth, the truth being that they’re lighter on his chest and make his heart beat even. One, two, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

“Good morning,” Buck whispers, and Eddie, half awake, half dreaming, feels his lips brush against his temple before moving to the kitchen. One beat, two beats, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

#nonsense plotless words but hey they're words !! #911 fox #911 #911 fics #911 fic #eddie diaz #the diaz house #evan buckley #christopher diaz #mine:911 #texas.fic

[chatonne-rousse]

Turtle-y Awesome

@sketchy-panda sent me the following ask last week:

...and this is the story that sprang from that ask. You never know what you're going to get when you share a headcanon with me! 😉

Read it on Ao3 here.

"...et puit, quand il fut bien certain que personne ne pouvait le voir, Benjamin alluma sa veilleuse."

Adrien turns the last worn page and sets the book beside his knee on Hugo's bed.

"What do you think, kitten? Benjamin was turtle-y being a scaredy-cat, wasn't he?"

Hugo giggles, eyes bright. "He's not a cat, Papa, he's a turtle!"

Adrien nods sagely at his son. "Right you are," he says, patting the book's cover. "If this book tortoise anything, it's that Benjamin is definitely a turtle."

The number of turtle puns in the world is finite, and Hugo has heard his dad tell them all repeatedly, but he still laughs every time. The sound is music to Adrien's ears. He grins as he leans down to tuck the duvet around Hugo's shoulders and lifts his son's dark fringe to place a kiss on his forehead.

"Can we read another story, Papa? I'm not even tired."

Hugo's big green eyes scrunch shut as he yawns widely.

"Mmhmm. I can tell. You know what?" Adrien grabs another stuffed turtle from the bookcase and tucks it in beside the Carapace plushie already cradled in Hugo's arms. "Monsieur Vert looks very tired. He was almost sleeping over there! Maybe if you hold him really, really gently, that will help him fall asleep. I'm sure Carapace is tuckered out after a long day of superheroing, too."

"He is," Hugo says, nodding. He strokes his little hand up and over Monsieur Vert's soft shell. "I'll help them, Papa."

Adrien smiles even as his chest squeezes with emotion. "I know you will, my kind-hearted kitten." He can't resist pressing another kiss to Hugo's forehead and delights in receiving a loud, smacking kiss to his own cheek in return.

The turtle lamp on the nightstand is switched off and the Carapace nightlight beside the bookshelf activates, dim light glowing green through the plastic.

"Bonne nuit, ma petite tortue."

He watches his son cuddle his turtle and Carapace close as the closing door slowly eclipses the bed in shadow from the hallway light. Leaving the door open a crack, Adrien listens for a moment as Hugo gets comfortable in his bed.

He smiles as he pads down the hall toward Emma's room to join his wife for another round of goodnight kisses for their precious kittens.

*****

"Kitty, this is getting ridiculous. How is that the only thing he wants for his birthday?" Marinette shakes her head, but her grin betrays her lack of any real annoyance.

Adrien rubs his face and groans. "I know. Believe me, I know. Can you imagine if Nino knew?"

That surprises her. "You haven't told him? I told Alya ages ago when he said Carapace was his favorite." She thinks for a moment. "I don't think I've shared the, um...depth of the obsession, though."

He stares at her, deadpan, before they both laugh.

"Turtles I could handle, Mari. They're cute. They're green." He bats his eyes at her and she swats his arm playfully. "But Carapace? Carapace? When Chat Noir is right there? I don't get it."

"Awww, Chaton. Is my kitty jealous?"

"Of course not," he says, pouting, though he can't keep up the ruse and his smile breaks through. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Nino made a wonderful hero, and is the perfect holder for Wayzz, and you know it."

She scooches closer to him on the sofa and rubs his back gently. His eyes close for just a moment before opening them to find his wife gazing at him with what might just be his favorite look in her eyes - a teasing glint, a touch of heat, and an endless well of love. Everything goes fuzzy momentarily, but he catches her next words clearly.

"Besides, my favorite hero will always be Chat Noir. Always."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

She nods.

Her eyes go wide when he hauls her petite frame from the sofa beside him and settles her across his lap. She laughs as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his lips.

"What a coincidence, My Lady," he murmurs into the whisper of space between them, "because my favorite hero--" He pauses, kissing her again, "is also Chat Noir."

There's a beat of silence and then she's laughing, pressing her face into the crook of his neck to muffle her giggles. His arms tighten around her shaking shoulders as he laughs along with her, swept away by the sweet sound he will always love. There's no joy in the world quite like making his wife laugh.

"You know I'm kidding, Bug," he finally whispers into her hair when their laughter subsides. "Emma and I share a favorite hero. The greatest of all. Prettiest, too. Oh, wow, is she ever beautiful. And strong. And smart."

"Rena Rouge?" Marinette asks cheekily, her nose still pressed to his neck.

"Nooooo," he croons, tickling her sides until she laughs again. "It's Ladybug, jumping above, Lady magique et lady chance!"

"Kitty, no!" she begs through her giggles, "Don't get that in my head!"

"Too late!"

He silences the last of her laughter when he captures her lips with his, twin sighs mingling in the late-night quiet of the living room.

With forever in his arms and their shared future asleep down the hall, Adrien simply loses himself in this blissful moment, forgetting that their baby will turn five next weekend, that the passage of time is as inevitable as the dichotomy of creation and destruction. Wrapped up in his wife, time seems to stop altogether. Marinette - her love, her care, their unshakeable bond - is eternal.

But of course, the clock still ticks. And when they part a few minutes later, after one last kiss and a nuzzle of her nose against his, he still has to ask.

"So we're really throwing Hugo a Carapace-themed birthday party?"

She nods. "Yep."

"And we're buying him the new Shell-ter Secret Hideout Super Bunker, complete with Carapace action figure, power-ups, costume changes, a Turtle-mobile sports car that Nino never had, and four different colored shields that he also never had?"

"There's a jet, too, for some reason. But...yep."

Adrien nods slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "He's going to love it."

"Oh, he is," she affirms, her grin matching her husband's. "And so is Uncle Nino."

He snorts a laugh and pulls her close once more, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"This'll be hilarious."

Marinette smiles against his shoulder.

"Yep."

*****

Everything is green.

Their normally colorful apartment seems to have transformed into an emerald dreamscape that doubles as a turtle sanctuary.

Everything is green, and there are turtles everywhere.

Sea turtles, tortoises, turtles of all kinds - including a certain turtle-themed superhero - adorn every surface. Adrien had been surprised by the amount of Carapace party merchandise he was able to find online. He's used to the numerous Carapace items in Hugo's bedroom, pieces he's added to his collection one by one over the past year or so. But this, his best friend's face dangling from streamers, emblazoned on little party hats, is just a little weird.

He's proud, though. A little jealous, a lot amused, and very, very proud. No desperately sad, pitifully lonely teenage boy has ever found a better friend than Nino Lahiffe. He's the brother of his heart, the mellow to his anxious, the staunch protector of their little group of best friends and hero teammates. Adrien has to admit that Hugo has great taste in favorite superheroes.

Someday he'll discover that his idol is also his Uncle Nino, but today is not that day. Today, the magic and wonder still shines in his son's eyes, and it's a beautiful thing.

Adrien putters around the kitchen making last-minute preparations to the food and drink selection, making sure there are plenty of cups and plates (all printed with a Carapace action scene, of course) stacked on the island. Oddly, he couldn't find Carapace napkins to go along with the other paper goods, but Marinette had saved the day by snagging a pack of sea turtle patterned napkins that coordinated perfectly in a pinch.

He smiles at the thought of his resourceful bug, his grin widening as he hears her welcome guests at the door. This is followed by a squeal of glee when Hugo and two of his classmates run off to his bedroom to play. Adrien shakes his head, still smiling. He'll have to lure them out in a bit with snacks and the promise of gifts and cake.

It's not like he doesn't already know from several years of experience that children's birthday parties are mostly adults mingling and intermittently making sure the kids don't get into too much mischief as they play together.

He takes the spinach quiche from the oven where it was warming up and sets it on the table with the other food, rebelliously placing a black potholder with a neon green pawprint pattern under the hot ceramic dish.

A towering, tiered tray of green macarons has pride of place on the dining room table, the top half of each cookie painted to look like a turtle's shell in edible glittering gold. They look almost too pretty to eat, and the same goes for the expertly-decorated turtle cake nearby, made by Hugo's grandparents and brought straight from the bakery for his big day.

The vegetable plate is an array of green, from broccoli to peppers to celery. The party has barely begun, but the celery is already running low, thanks to Emma's clandestine snacking in the hours beforehand.

Everything is green, and Hugo loves it. And that's what it's all about, really.

*****

Adrien is on his way back from checking in on the now half dozen kids playing in Hugo's room when he hears Alya's laughter from the entryway. Clearly she's spotted the party decor. He rounds the corner to find Marinette hugging her best friend, Alya's pregnant belly only getting in the way a bit and not stopping her from throwing her arms around Marinette's shoulders.

"Sorry we're late, Mari," she says, then pitches her voice to a stage whisper. "I had to pee. Twice." She leans back from the hug and cradles her bump. "Actually, I'm just going to..." She points down the hall, and Marinette laughs.

"Go for it, Als. We've all been there."

Nino is still crouched by the door, helping his daughter out of her jacket and shoes. He just shakes his head and laughs. She races off to find her "cousins" and Nino stands, kissing Marinette on each cheek and wrapping Adrien in a hug.

Surveying the apartment over Adrien's shoulder, he claps him on the back and says, "I love what you've done with the place. Very inspired design choice."

Adrien rolls his eyes and all three of them laugh.

"Hugo is obsessed with turtles. You have no idea."

"Oh, I think he has some idea, Minou." Marinette smiles at her husband over her shoulder, linking arms with Alya when she joins them again and ushering her into the green-bedecked living room.

He glances sidelong at Nino with a sheepish grin. "This isn't too weird for you, is it? It was all Hugo's idea. He hasn't stopped talking about his 'Carapace Turtle Party' for weeks," Adrien says, air quotes included.

"Nah, mec, it's cool. Kind of flattering." Nino raises an eyebrow and laughs. "What do you think he'll say when you tell him someday?"

Adrien just shakes his head. "Probably ask if you can adopt him and be his dad instead." His smile is teasing but just a touch rueful.

Nino laughs again. "No way, man. Number one, I've already got enough kids. Number two, you're the best dad. They love you like crazy, bro. Seriously."

His chest fills with warmth. Nino is such an incredible friend. And he's right (about the last bit, at least).

"They're incredible, Nino. Being a dad is..." He trails off, unable to find the words.

"I know, dude." He claps Adrien on the shoulder. "They're a pain in the ass, but they make up for it by being totally awesome."

Nino glances around, finally spotting the table full of green food and turtle-themed treats.

"Wait. Bro. Is that a turtle cake?"

*****

"You know," Nino says a few minutes later, washing down a matcha macaron with a swig of turtle punch, "I could get used to this. It would mess with my head, but after a while--" he looks at the cup with his face on it and shrugs, "it's not so strange. Better than having my face plastered on a billboard outside the Galeries Lafayette."

Adrien groans. "Et tu, Brute? Why would you remind me of that?"

"Because I can." Nino takes another bite of macaron and nudges his best friend's shoulder, laughing.

*****

As the kids snack and carry on, Adrien finally decides it's time to let his best friend see the Carapace shrine that is his son's bedroom.

Nino takes in Hugo's completely green, turtle-filled bedroom as Adrien waits with bated breath beside him for his reaction.

It is, as usual, relatively chill.

"Little dude has good taste!"

"Indeed." Wayzz peeks from Nino's collar with a pleased smile on his face. "The turtle has always symbolized wisdom, strength, and longevity." His tiny smile widens. "I'm also partial to the color green."

Nino steps farther into Hugo's room to examine the bookcase. "I...did not know they made this much Carapace merch."

"Believe me, there's more. We have to draw the line somewhere." Adrien closes his eyes and sighs. "Although he does brush his teeth with a Carapace toothbrush."

Nino's laugh starts as a snort and builds when he spots the Carapace wastebasket beside Hugo's bed and the Carapace plushie propped against his pillow. It turns positively raucous when he sees his best friend's face.

"Holy crap, dude," he wheezes. "This is hilarious. You must be so jealous."

"I am not!"

"You totally are."

"Well--" Adrien sputters, "Marinette is, too!"

"Not as much as you are, Kitty!" she calls from the living room.

Adrien throws his hands in the air. Nino doubles over.

"Chat Noir is cool, too," he mutters, petulant.

A still-laughing Nino pats his arm consolingly. "If it makes you feel any better, Chat Noir is my favorite hero...after Rena Rouge."

That actually does make him feel better, but he's not telling Nino that. Instead, he just grins a sly half-smile at his best friend. "Good save, man."

"Hey, I know which side my bread is buttered on, mec. Don't act like you don't."

Adrien is helpless to the smile that spreads across his face.

Nino groans. "You've been married for seven years, dude. Are you ever not going to go all gooey just thinking about Marinette?"

Adrien quirks an eyebrow and glances sidelong at him. Nino nods once and pats Adrien's shoulder.

"That was a dumb question, wasn't it?"

"Yep," Marinette says from the hallway behind them.

Adrien's heart beats faster at the twinkle in her eye. He wonders how much she heard. Probably all of it - she always did have sonic hearing, but motherhood seemed to ramp it up to eleven. Not much escapes his wife.

"Time for cake and presents," she announces. "Nino, you can revel in Hugo's Carapace shrine later."

"And I will, don't you worry," Nino says with a laugh as he turns to head back to the party.

Adrien throws an arm over his best friend's shoulder and smiles brightly at Marinette.

Hugo has merch, but Adrien has a real, live Ladybug who promised eternity to her Chat Noir. He holds his own favorite superhero in his arms every night, and nothing, nothing compares to that.

*****

Surrounded by wrapping paper and bows, the birthday boy sits on the floor with one last gift in front of him. The box is taller than he is when seated, and he has to stand up on his knees to tear the paper off the top. As soon as he can see what's inside, he shouts with glee and jumps to his feet. Overjoyed, he scampers around the coffee table to his parents, first thanking Marinette with a hug and kiss, then getting swept up in Adrien's arms for a bear hug.

The fact that Hugo doesn't push away from him to return to his barely-unwrapped gift is not lost on him, nor is the fact that he abandoned it and thought to thank them first in his excitement.

Sometimes Adrien feels like he's been given so much more than he deserves. Marinette alone is a blessing beyond his imagination, but Emma and Hugo, too? It's too much and he knows it, so he holds them close and relishes every single moment like this one with his little boy hugging him tight and murmuring thanks into his neck.

A few minutes later finds Hugo examining every detail of his new treasure (after Adrien wrangled all the parts out of their plastic-encased prison).

He claps his hands when he sees that this set comes with a bonus Chat Noir action figure in addition to Carapace and his shields of many colors.

"Maman!" he cries, jubilant, holding Chat Noir above his head so she can see. "Look! It has Chat Noir! You love Chat Noir!"

Blushing, Marinette pointedly avoids looking in the direction of the two moms of Hugo's school friends who've stayed for the party but smiles widely at her son. "I do. He's my favorite superhero of all time."

Hugo nods, turning to his dad where he sits beside him on the floor, struggling to snip the tiny plastic anchors holding each piece to the cardboard backing.

"See, Papa? He's Carapace's sidekick."

"Hey!" Adrien says indignantly. He looks up from the mess of cardboard and plastic in his lap as Marinette, Alya, and Nino laugh.

Nino, best bro that he is, chimes in. "Nah, little man, Chat Noir is no one's sidekick. He's way too brave and cool for that." He grins at Hugo and points first to the Carapace action figure on the coffee table and then to Chat Noir in his hand. "They're a team. Best friends and superheroes at the same time. That's why they're so awesome."

Hugo looks at the Chat Noir figure for a long moment. "Wow," he breathes. "Chat Noir is as cool as Carapace." He says it like a revelation that's rocked his entire worldview.

Alya sniffles and Marinette hands her a tissue.

"Okay, but Ladybug is still the coolest," Emma pipes up from Hugo's other side.

All the adults besides Marinette nod. Adrien reaches around Hugo to pat Emma's back.

"You're absolutely correct, kitten."

Marinette blushes again and Alya blows her nose.

Hugo tucks Carapace into the driver's seat of the Turtle-mobile with Chat Noir beside him as his passenger, racing the sports car across the rug toward his friends so they can play with his new toys, too.

Adrien looks from his son to his own best friend, and Nino gives him a thumbs up and a grin.

*****

Later, when the dishes are washed and their living room looks slightly less like a turtle habitat, Adrien sits on the sofa with a cup of tea and watches Hugo play with his new, treasured birthday gifts. The Shell-ter Secret Hideout Super Bunker is open, its many accessories strewn around Hugo where he sits cross-legged, Carapace in his left hand and Chat Noir in his right.

"I'll protect you!" "Carapace" cries, Hugo's voice pitched to sound brave and true but still carrying his sweet child's tone.

"Thank you for keeping My Lady safe, Carapace!"

Adrien snorts a surprised laugh into his tea. "Chat Noir" speaks in a husky growl, though Hugo gives him a note of cheery confidence, as though he truly appreciates Carapace's brave deeds, as though Chat Noir can take the decisive cataclysmic swing knowing his beloved partner is safe from harm.

And honestly, Hugo has the right of it. Adrien wonders how his son could possibly know that this exact scene - with slightly different dialogue, of course - played out many times over, years before he was born.

Hugo mimics the sound of an explosion, then an "oof!" as Chat Noir falls to his back but springs up again quickly. Just as Carapace returns to Chat's side with a confident, "What can I do to help save the day, Chat Noir?", Marinette's hands snake around Adrien's shoulders from behind, surprising him.

He sets his mug on a coaster on the end table and wraps his hands around her forearms, pulling her in closer. Leaned over the back of the sofa, she nuzzles his cheek with hers before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I think we pulled off the dream turtle party pretty well, don't you, Chaton?"

"Oh, we turtle-y did."

Adrien delights in the huff of laughter she exhales against his cheek. That might be the most overused pun in the house, but sometimes it still lands just right. They watch Hugo play, matching grins making their cheeks press closer together.

"Looks like that was one shell of a gift, eh?"

He swoons dramatically, his head falling to the back cushion of the sofa so he looks at Marinette upside-down. "My Lady, you know what it does to me when you pun."

"Oh, I do," she says, completely unapologetic, and boops his nose.

He just has to lean up to kiss her because, well, she's so beautiful and he loves her so much and she's right there.

They break apart a moment later when they hear Emma call for Marinette from her bedroom. She plants one last upside-down kiss on his forehead and lets her hands drift slowly across his chest and shoulders as she stands.

She gives him a wry smile. "Duty calls."

"Hmmm," he hums thoughtfully, picking up his tea and taking another sip. "And here I thought her name was Emma."

Marinette groans at him as she walks away, and the sound catches Hugo's attention.

"Papa? Will you play superheroes with me?"

Of course. Always. I will never, ever be too busy for my kittens, he thinks.

"Sure, buddy," he says instead.

Finishing his tea in one big gulp, he slides from the sofa and scampers on hands and knees like a giant cat to where his son is playing. Hugo giggles at his dad's ridiculousness.

Adrien takes stock of the many accessories scattered around the play set and asks, "What are Chat Noir and Carapace up to today?"

Hugo explains the situation, the bad guy's motives, and what the heroes need to do to save Paris from disaster. Adrien listens carefully. Looking up at him with green eyes that match his own, big and wide and crinkled at the corners with his happy smile, Hugo offers the Chat Noir action figure to his dad.

"Will you be Chat Noir, Papa? He's Carapace's best friend in the world and they need to work together to save the day."

Adrien cradles the action figure in one hand and gently pats the pocket where Plagg hides with the other. His kwami presses a paw against his chest in return. Overwhelmed, all he can do is grin at Hugo and try not to cry.

"It would be my greatest honor," he vows grandly, holding up a hand in oath. "I purr-omise to be the best hero I can be. Cat's honor."

Hugo laughs. "You said honor twice."

"So I did. That's because it's very important."

His son nods solemnly, then reaches for Carapace's super jet. He places the hero in the cockpit and flies the jet around his head, making zooming noises.

"Are you ready, Chat Noir? I'm coming to pick you up!"

The jet has only one seat, but that doesn't seem to bother Hugo. Adrien readies the tiny plastic baton in Chat Noir's hand and uses it to vault from his own knee into the imaginary sky over Paris.

"Meow-velous!" he crows, delighted. "This cat is ready to be whiskered away in your very realistic jet! Allons-y, my turtle friend!"

Hugo giggles, Adrien's heart melts, and they set off on a grand adventure together.

#domestic fluff #dadrien #mominette #hugo loves turtles #and carapace #and uncle nino loves it #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #future fic #family fluff #thanks for the idea sketchy! #gift fic #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml #miraculous ladybug #my writing

[jjungkooksthighs]

Omg please do a drabble about dad jungkook with a baby girl ... my heart 🥺

This was my only request, so this one is for you, anon! Usually I don’t dabble in mom!reader or dad!jungkook, but I like to be open and challenge myself to trying new things with my writing whenever I can. Thank you for the request, hon!

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff and implied smut 

Word count: 1,539

Rating: Explicit (kind of) / 18+ 

Tags: dad!jungkook, mom!reader, mentions of sex/implied sex and some late night fluff, impreg kink

___________________

“Jungkook, have you-”

 Your words falter at the sight that takes your breath away when you walk into the nursery within your home to find the love of your life seated in the same aged chaise lounge that your parents used to coddle you on.

  In the moonlight that streams through the soft lavender colored curtains that gently sway with the languid breeze from the open window behind him, your husband is draped across the piece of furniture with his head resting along the arm of it, his mouth parted as deep breaths are drawn from between his lips while his eyes are closed to give a relaxed expression absent of anything but peacefulness that is outlined by the silvery light with the boyish look you fell in love with years and years ago. 

 Your heart pangs against your chest at the sight of domesticity and when your irises move down to the bundle of joy he has protectively cradled in his arms that you’d both created together in the throes of love that will never burn out, fondness washes over you as you smile tenderly at the family that you are so lucky to be a part of. You pad softly across the carpet, not wanting to wake the small baby girl that slumbers deeply from within your husband’s careful hold. 

 You’d left the two for only a few minutes to go take a bath that Jungkook had drawn for you after seeing how grueling the day had been for you between the groans of your locked muscles for sitting in front of the computer at the office for too long and, satisfied with the way the special oils and soaps he’d poured in had amalgamated into a concoction of a soothing balm within the hot, steaming water, your body was quick to loosen and untense itself under his ceaseless care. You were grateful for his antics and had wanted to find your attentive husband to thank him, but you just can’t bring yourself to rouse him now when he looks so peaceful. 

 Jungkook had always had a profound proclivity to look after you and tend to you even in your childhood years. It was one of the reasons why you’d caved to him so easily after he’d all but begged you to bear his child during many of your couplings after getting married, the endless praises and adulations he would shower you with your utter undoing when he’d utter how beautiful you’d look with your belly swollen with his child amidst your own doubts that he’d been steadfast in assuaging through reassuring kisses and promises.

 It’s been six months since you both had brought your daughter into the world and you find that your love for them both grows every day that passes. Jungkook has turned out to be every bit of the doting, loving father you had known he would be and you are filled with happiness at the knowledge of gifting him that which he wanted for so long.

 When you get to the other end of the room, you slowly sink down onto your knees in the want to be nearer to your whole world that takes its form amidst Jeon Jungkook and the life that you two had created together that he has tucked securely against him, the small and pudgy faced little girl an irresistible magnet of her father’s devoted attention that you know already has him wrapped around her small little finger.

 One hand finds its place under your chin as you prop your elbow along the edge of the lounge to better ingrain this image into your head forever while the other mindlessly folds the blanket around your child so that she’s cocooned by the fuzzy white material, your maternal instinct satisfied with the way your baby girl rubs her face into the soft cloth before burrowing into it like a rabbit.

Your husband, ever the receptive one, must feel the shift in the baby’s movement, for you’ve hardly had time to brush a stray strand of dark chocolate colored hair behind his ear before his eyes flutter open to first gaze affectionately at you and then to flit down to check on your daughter.

 Warmth floods your being at that and you quietly coo, not wanting to awaken your sleeping child, “Sorry to have woken you, love. You both looked so peaceful and I wanted to be a part of it, too.”

 Your husband smiles at that, one hand uncurling from around your child only for his palm to gently cup your cheek as he runs one finger over your cheekbone, “There’s nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I wanted you to have some time to relax after today,” He inclines his head down to the sleeping bundle in his arm, his eyes still peering lovingly at you, “She was a little restless at first without her mommy, but I read her that story that you like to narrate for her and then sang for her so that she would sleep.”

 His voice is like honey to your ears. It lathers itself warmly over your skin and you know how easy it must have been for your child to fall asleep to his mellifluous tone bearing in mind that he has sung for you often whether it was to serenade your weak and devoted heart to fall more in love with him or to lull you to the throes of slumber whenever you faced a particularly difficult night where sleep wanted to elude you.

 You gently drag your fingers through his dark locks as you whisper, “I’m glad. The bath was very nice, by the way. Thank you for doing that for me.”

 Your husband continues to fondly stroke your cheek as he says, “Anytime, love. Now, what do you say we put the little one in her crib? I think it’s time we head to bed, yeah?”

 You nod, moving to stand and collect your precious baby girl from his arms. He’s careful in letting go, his hand only relinquishing the child you’d both made when he’s sure you’ve got both hands wrapped around her. The moonlight guides you along the carpeted path to the white cradle, the mobile above it dangling sparkly, darkly colored stars along the top of the crib to cast glowing dots around the room in the soft light of the moon that hits them. You gently lay one half of your world down in the cradle while your other half stares tenderly at you from behind.

 When you dutifully tuck your baby in and pull up the linens to loosely settle around her so that she has room to move around if she wants to, you don’t catch the way your husband’s irises dip from your back to the curve of your hips that are so perfectly shaped to bear children. You do not see the way that his gaze darkens when his sight trails lower, his mouth salivating at the temptingly low cut satin nightgown that barely covers your ass and when you bend over to kiss your baby, he groans at the sight of your unclothed cunt that you knowingly present to him like a forbidden gift.

 It had been such a long day and though the bath had relaxed you, you know that there’s nothing quite like the blissful, euphoric paradise of your husband late into the night as he drives his cock home into you where it belongs.

 You smirk at the reaction and when you turn around, he’s on you like a moth to the flame in an instant. His tone shifts with familiar desire, his hands closing around the bars of the crib to trap you in place as he rasps, “You’re such a naughty girl, Y/N. You couldn’t even wait until we put the baby to sleep, huh? Are you so desperate that you have to have me again even after last night?”

 You hum, “Mmm, I always want you, my love. I thought about you all day at work, you know. God, I just need you so much. You treat me so well.” Your hands slide tellingly down his bare chest, his defined muscle flexing under your touch as you suck in a breath.

 With a cocky grin, your husband’s hands find their place on your hips before sliding down to your ass and you need no further prodding before you’re wrapping your legs around him as he lifts you up and carries you with ease out of the nursery and across the hall to your master bedroom as he says, “You better watch it, baby,” he lifts a dark brow as his tongue pokes hotly against his cheek when he finally lays you down on your bed to stare heatedly down at you, “Keep on going like that and I’ll have no choice but to fuck you until you’re round with more of my children.”

 You moan at the thought as you spread your legs in invitation, “Please, my love, give me more children. I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

 When your husband descends between your legs with the promise of sin flashing in his hooded gaze, he darkly chuckles, “As you wish, wife.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook #bts

[bearseokie]

masturbate (M)

— Longing for the eyes that have been watching him, Chan guides you out of the darkness to fulfill his own needs despite your purpose.

pairing: human! chan x demon! incubus/succubus! gender-neutral! reader   genre: supernatural! au, smut word count: 1k [warnings]: masturbation, horny chan, biting/marking, dom! chan, thigh riding, sleep paralysis, consensual but slight somnophilia do not interact with this if you are under 18.

Glassy eyes watching every corner of his room, he couldn’t quite catch your form cradled in between two walls. He was aware of your presence throughout the latest weeks: the light touches at his thigh, your nails gently scraping against his skin to pull a sigh from between his lips as he slept. But it wasn’t until now that he gained the confidence to give in to what appeased you most, himself.

Comfortably sitting within his covers, the blankets over his lap were moved down to his knees. Tongue poking between his lips, his fingers gradually kneaded over his length below his pants, his eyes blinking shut from the heat of his palm. 

Eradicated, his hips lifted to meet his hold, a loud groan echoing in his empty room as he fought to draw you out. Chan was determined, his hair fluffed from his deep sleep all night. He had drifted awake from the light pants of you over him, pads of your fingers running across his bare chest and threatening to lace the skin with your marks and bites.

He looked innocent in the way he looked up towards his ceiling - hoping, begging that you would finally show yourself to him. But the moment his eyes matched your silhouette within the dim lights of his room, you scurried away. It was a game of cat and mouse, Chan’s craving for a new touch leading to him tying the bell around his own neck. Neither of you could configure the proper positions, but it didn’t matter.

“You need to be needed, not wanted.” You dared in a whisper from where you stood. The rush of goosebumps cascading over his skin was enough to make you take in a sharp breath, his eyes shifting to your dark form lingering in the same corner as before.

“Then want me.” His tone demanding and teeth gritted, you chuckled at his insistent words.

“Doesn’t work like that.” you grinned.

His hand only stopped and hovered over his cock when you stood, foot before foot as you walked towards his bed. You were finally showing yourself to him, and by the way his tongue lapped over the chapped skin of his lips, he was about to do more than beg. Your hands pressed into his thigh closest to your body, squeezing at the taunt muscle as it clenched under your hold.

Nodding, a breath escaped from his chest like he had been holding it, relieved as if he passed your test. He watched you attentively skim a finger between his abdomen and pants, lifting the band up to hear it smack against his skin as you moaned. His eyes were glued to you - vigilant of your toying, but he was enjoying every second of it.

His thumbs pressed into the fabric, pushing them down enough for you to follow his happy trail. Your hand pushed firmly at his fingers when the bottoms met his length, tolling what he wished for longer as he let out a grown. With the fabric of the article just above himself, your hand cupped around similar to how he had done moments earlier. His eyes bulged out with a moan, closing shut at your touch after so long. You could feel him throbbing under your hand, leaking small dots into his pants as he rutted his hips up against your palm.

“Come on, you can fight harder than this.” you laughed, his hand engulfing your wrist with a harsh tug. His pull was strong enough to make you topple onto his chest, eyes aligned as his own turned darker with lust.

“Oh, I am.” His voice lowering an octave made a wave of excitement run through you. Passed over human to human, the sudden change of dominance Chan gained made your knees weak, finally able to let someone else take the wheel.

In the blink of an eye, he lifted your form above him, your hips straddling his waist with faint moans singing in your throats. His sight shifted again, a light growl emitting from his chest when his hand pushed at your abdomen, moving you back to sit on his thighs. Your arousal pooled from your gut, heated by his thigh rocking up between your legs. Another moan exposed yourself to him, your head thrown back from the friction making a smirk pull at the corner of his lips.

His hand scoped out the last of his pants until they were bunched where you sat on his leg, taking his length in his own grasp. Running the pad of his thumb over his tip, his eyes kept sight on you attempting to push against him again, his free hand holding a stern grip on your hip.

“Do not,-” he began. “-move without my permission. Since you think you’re so high up, I'll let you watch me get off this time. And maybe I will give you my thigh.”

You shivered at his dark voice, sight set on his hand running up and down his length to gain some momentum. Your fingers ran along his abs, nails scraping light red marks into his pretty skin as he groaned. Feeling your thighs clench around his own, his bottom lip sunk between his teeth, rutting his thigh up against you to make your mouth fall open. He was enchanted by your horns, your head hung low to watch him pleasure himself as the bones matched with his sight.

His grasp on his cock became almost feral, rounding circles over the length that had him panting. His forehead lightly rocked against your horns, moaning from the pain as you made eye contact with him. Thighs clenched around his own, your orgasm pushed through, soaking over his thin pants. His cock released his own orgasm onto your thighs with a small whimper, falling back into the comfort of his bed.

Eyes shooting open, he moved to reach out for you, your form still straddling and hovering above him. His brows barely knitted to give you a reaction, curiosity bright in his irises as he slowly lost mobility of his limbs.

“Chan.” you whispered, lowering your head to press a kiss against his cheek as he hardly shuddered from the sound of his name on your tongue. “You’re never really in control, baby. Get used to it.”

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