reader is pregnant — it’s still early and the bumps just started to show — and Bucky comes to watching reader in a silk robe. She shows off some new sweet lingerie but paired with the baby bump, he’s swept off his feet , the man is down BAD. he can’t get over how stunning she looks
The soft glow of the bedside lamp spills across the room, warm and quiet, the kind of light that makes everything feel softer, safer. You stand in front of the mirror, fingers tracing the gentle swell of your belly. It’s still early—barely past the first trimester—but it’s there now. A subtle curve. Something new. Something yours.
Your hands smooth over the silk robe Bucky bought you last month, deep emerald catching the light as it slips against your skin. It feels different. Everything does. Your body isn’t what it was a few months ago—but it’s not worse. Just changed. Fuller. Softer. Real.
You heard the front door click open, then the familiar heavy tread of his boots. Bucky was home. A flutter of excitement mixed with the pregnancy hormones already making everything feel heightened. You adjusted the robe, letting it hang loosely open just enough to tease, and waited.
"Baby?" His voice carried down the hall, low and rough from the long day. "You still up?"
"In here," you called softly, turning toward the doorway.
He appeared moments later, still in his dark tactical gear, the straps and holsters making him look every bit the Winter Soldier—except for the way his storm-blue eyes softened the instant they landed on you.
His hand braces against the doorframe, gaze dragging over you slow. Messy bun. Bare feet. The robe, barely hanging on your shoulders. The lace underneath. The curve of your stomach.
You shift a little, suddenly shy under the weight of it. “Hi.”
You turn slightly, letting the robe fall open just a bit more. “What do you think? I, uh… wanted to surprise you.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
You can see it in his face—how it hits him. The way his throat works, the way his chest rises a little too fast. Like he’s trying to catch up with something.
“Doll…” it comes out rough. Quiet.
He steps inside, kicks the door shut behind him without looking, shrugging off his jacket and letting it hit the floor. His eyes never leave you.
“Look at you.”
You turn back toward the mirror, giving him the full view. The lace hugs your hips, sheer and soft, the robe framing everything like it was meant to. Your bump sits right there between it all—small, but impossible to ignore now.
“It’s probably silly,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over it. “It’s still early, but… I saw it and thought maybe you’d like how it looks. With the bump and everything.”
“Like it?” his voice breaks a little.
He’s behind you before you even realize, hands settling on your hips, pulling you back against his chest. His heart is racing—you can feel it through his shirt.
“Sweetheart, I’m… fuck. I'm speechless.”
You laugh softly, leaning into him.
His metal hand hovers for a second before resting gently over your stomach, like he’s still in awe that he’s allowed to touch you like this. His other hand brushes the edge of the robe, fingertips barely there.
His head dips, lips grazing your ear while he stares at your reflection.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs. “Seeing you like this… carrying our baby. Wearing something like this just for me?” His thumb moves slow over the curve of your belly. “That little bump… Jesus. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Good ruined?” you tease, tilting your head back against his shoulder.
He hums, pressing a slow kiss to your neck. “The best kind.”
His hands slide, pushing the robe off your shoulders. It slips down your arms and pools at your feet in a quiet shimmer of green.
“Turn around for me,” he says, gentler than his words usually are. “Let me see you.”
You do, slow.
The lace feels more revealing now, your skin more sensitive under his stare. Your chest rises unevenly, your stomach on full display, no hiding it anymore.
He drops to his knees.
Right there.
Hands framing your hips like it’s instinct.
His face presses against your belly, soft, careful, like he’s afraid to be anything else. His stubble brushes your skin, lips following after in slow, reverent kisses.
“Can’t get over it,” he murmurs against you. “My girl… our baby…”
Your fingers slip into his hair, holding him there.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, kissing the curve again. “Hurts a little, how much.”
His hand slides up, cupping your breast through the lace, thumb brushing your nipple until your breath stutters.
“Everything about you right now…” another kiss to your stomach. “I’m obsessed.”
You barely get a second to recover before he’s standing again, arms wrapping around you, lifting you like it’s nothing. You let out a soft laugh, clinging to him as he carries you to the bed.
He lays you down carefully. Always careful.
His shirt is gone a second later, scars and muscle and warmth as he climbs over you, settling between your thighs without putting any weight on your middle.
His dog tags fall cool against your skin as he kisses you, slow at first, then deeper, like he’s been holding it in since the second he saw you.
“Every day I think you can’t get more beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, trailing down your jaw, your throat. “Then you go and do something like this.”
His lips brush the top of your belly again, softer now.
“Show up in silk and lace with my baby growing inside you…”
His hand stays there, protective, grounding.
“I’m never recovering from this, sweetheart.”
You arch into him, overwhelmed by what he's doing. The way he looks at you. Like you’re everything.
Like this version of you is his favorite.
“I love you,” he breathes, pressing one more kiss to your stomach before moving lower. “Both of you. So damn much.”
And he means it.
You can feel it in every touch after that—every kiss, every whispered praise, every careful, reverent moment. Like he’s memorizing you this way. Like he’s never going to get enough.
summary: you’re 4 months pregnant, tired, and cold, aaanndddd the baby is heavy. Sweet husband Dazai suggests a warm bath together!
tags/warnings: fluff, pregnancy, married couple, teasing, sweeeet
wc: 450
a/n: my very first fic!!! YAYYYYYYYY i finally have something i deem worth sharing hehe. enjoy! Thanks for reading in advance!
“I’m emotional and pregnant, leave me alone” you stomp your way over to the stove, aggressively stirring the liquid in the small pot.
“And cold” you add, tone defeated, sighing quietly to yourself.
Dazai chuckles, the amused lilt to his melodic tone carrying from behind you. Heat from his chest radiates against your back, his hands snaking loosely around you. “And that’s why I won’t be leaving you alone, sweet thing”
His large, warm, and gentle hands rest gently over your growing belly from behind, the motion pressing his chest flush against your smaller frame. You feel all of his warmth seeping into your skin through your thin top.
But it’s not enough, still not enough. Theres frost in your bones waiting to be melted down, especially your feet.
“I’m cold. And tired. And this baby is still small yet so heavy and my feet are freezing and I don’t feel like eating anything and--” You stop your little ramble, sighing as your stirring in the pot turns more frantic, milk droplets splashing over the stove.
“And now there’s a stove to clean as well. Great”
Dazai hums lightly, pressing his face into your hair, the smell of your hair products like pollen to a needy bee. It makes the sight of spilled milk 3% less annoying.
“My poor, sweet wife” he coos, hand over your belly rubbing small circles over the slight bump. “My cold, tired, pretty, poor wife” pressing a kiss to the back of your head – his nose in your hair – he pulls away just enough to carefully spin you around.
Hes always gentle with you; patient and oh so sweet. But you've noticed how much more cautious and gentler hes been acting after you broke the news of your pregnancy to your husband.
His warm, slender fingers glide up over your arms, slow and deliberate, eyes glued to yours like sticky honey.
“Sounds like my wife is in need of a long, hot shower with her husband, mhm?” Your face squishes with his palms gently pressing into the hollows of your cheeks, puckering your lips for you before he presses a quick kiss. Soft, very soft. So soft it makes you want to nod along to anything he says.
Not that you weren’t desperate for some warm water down your body, to melt the frost multiplying in your bones.
The husband part is just the sweetest bonus. The perfect cherry on top.
And with that, Dazai guides you to the shower, a hand on your sore lower back. “I’ll make my adorable, cold wife a hot cocoa after” he beams, happy to be of any help.
“You better take responsibility. It’s your fault the baby is big at just 4 months” with one foot into the bathroom, you look over your shoulder, sensing a small glare his way. He only chuckles at that, not disagreeing. Not when his towering height is your evidence.
“You’re right. This entire baby is my fault actually” he nods, smiling to himself as he ushers you inside, peeling your clothes off for you.
Can you make Gordon Ramsay x Wife!Reader, but in Hells Kitchen and she's pregnant and someone sends her a raw food and Gordon is mad as hell😂
THAT'S MY WIFE!
Gordon Ramsay x Pregnant!Wife!Reader
Hell's Kitchen
Masterlist
The dining room of Hell’s Kitchen was packed to capacity, buzzing with noise, laughter, conversation, and that electric, high-energy atmosphere that always filled the room on dinner service nights. The lights were dimmed low, warm and inviting, the tables set with crisp white linen, polished cutlery, and shining glassware, while from behind the double swinging doors at the far end, you could hear the constant, rhythmic clatter of pans, the hiss of grills, the shouts of orders, and the unmistakable, booming voice of Gordon Ramsay cutting through everything like a knife.
You were sitting right in the center of the room, at a prime table near the kitchen pass, the best seat in the house — exactly where you always sat when you came to visit. You looked beautiful, glowing, radiant, your hair styled softly, wearing a pretty dress that flowed comfortably over your growing bump. You were six months pregnant now, round and happy, every movement a gentle reminder of the little life growing safely inside you, the baby you and Gordon had been waiting for, dreaming about, talking about every single night. Your hand rested naturally over your stomach, your fingers stroking lightly over the fabric, a soft, permanent smile on your face as you looked around the room.
Everyone knew exactly who you were. Everyone knew you were Gordon’s wife. Everyone knew you were the most important person in the whole building, the only person who could make that terrifying, shouting, strict chef soften instantly just by walking into the room. The guests around you kept glancing over, smiling, nodding, saying hello, excited to see you there, excited to see the famous Gordon Ramsay’s partner, the woman who had his heart completely and utterly.
And behind the pass, Gordon was working harder, sharper, and more focused than he had worked all season.
He stood tall, broad-shouldered, his chef’s whites pristine, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his blue eyes scanning every single plate that came up, missing absolutely nothing, his expression intense and serious. But every few seconds, his gaze would flick away from the food, from the chefs, from the tickets, and land straight on you. And every single time he looked at you, that hard, sharp face of his would soften completely. His eyes would warm, his lips would twitch up into a small, proud smile, and he would stand a little taller, a little prouder, just knowing you were there, just knowing you were watching him.
You were his world. You were everything to him. And now, carrying his child, you were more precious, more sacred, more important to him than air itself. He would burn the whole building to the ground before he let anything happen to you.
“Let’s go! Come on, move it, move it, we have tables waiting, get the food out, hot, fresh, perfect, or don’t send it at all!” Gordon shouted, his voice booming loud and clear across the kitchen, sharp and commanding, exactly like everyone knew him. “Standards! We have standards here! I don’t care how busy it is, I don’t care how tired you are — perfection or nothing! Now let’s GO!”
The chefs ran back and forth, sweating, stressed, rushing, shouting back “Yes, Chef!” at the top of their lungs, plates flying up to the pass, orders stacking up, the heat rising, the pressure cranked up to the absolute maximum. It was chaos, beautiful, controlled chaos, exactly how Gordon liked it, exactly how he ran his kitchen.
You watched him work, your heart swelling with love and pride. You knew exactly how hard he worked, exactly how much he cared, exactly how much he wanted every single person here to succeed, to learn, to be better. You knew that behind every scream, every curse, every harsh word, was a man who cared more about food, about quality, and about people than almost anyone else in the world.
A waiter approached your table, smiling politely, carrying a large, heavy plate covered with a silver cloche. “For you, Madam. From the kitchen.”
You smiled back, sitting up a little straighter, your hand still resting protectively over your bump. “Thank you.”
He set the plate down gently in front of you, then lifted the cloche with a flourish, revealing the dish underneath: a beautiful presentation of herb-crusted rack of lamb, roasted vegetables, rich red wine jus, everything arranged perfectly, colorful, appetizing, looking absolutely stunning.
It looked incredible. It looked exactly like the kind of food Gordon would be proud of. It looked exactly like something you would love.
You didn’t hesitate. You were hungry — pregnancy made you hungry all the time — and you trusted the kitchen. You trusted Gordon. You knew he would never let anything bad reach your table, or anyone’s table. You picked up your knife and fork, cut straight through the thickest part of the meat, lifted the piece to your mouth, took a big bite, chewed once, twice, swallowed it down happily, and smiled, ready to take another bite.
And then… you froze.
Your smile faded instantly. Your hand stopped halfway to your mouth. Your eyes went wide, confused, then shocked, then horrified.
The texture. The taste. The coldness.
It wasn’t cooked.
It was completely, totally, utterly raw.
The meat was cold, bloody, soft, slimy, pink all the way through, no sear, no heat, no cooking whatsoever. You had just eaten raw lamb. You had just swallowed it down. You could still feel it in your throat, in your stomach, heavy, wrong, dangerous. You pressed a hand hard over your mouth, your eyes filling instantly with tears, your heart starting to race fast and hard against your ribs.
Raw food. Raw meat. You were pregnant. You couldn’t eat raw meat. It was dangerous. It could make you sick. It could hurt the baby. It could cause infections, bacteria, illness, things that could harm you and the little one growing inside you.
Panic shot through you like ice. You sat there, frozen, terrified, your face draining of every drop of color, your hand shaking as you lowered your fork back onto the plate with a loud, sharp clatter.
From behind the pass, Gordon saw everything.
He saw you smile. He saw you take the bite. He saw you swallow. He saw you stop. He saw the color drain from your face. He saw the way you grabbed your stomach, the way your eyes filled with fear, the way you looked down at the plate in absolute horror.
And then his eyes dropped to the plate in front of you.
From where he stood, he could see it perfectly. He could see the meat. He could see the way it glistened wet and cold. He could see the blood running onto the vegetables. He could see exactly what it was.
“No.”
The word came out quiet at first, breathless, disbelieving. Then it exploded.
“NO! FUCK NO! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”
Gordon roared so loud the windows rattled. He slammed both hands down onto the pass so hard every plate jumped, every knife clattered, every single person in the kitchen and the dining room jumped out of their skin. His face turned bright red, then purple, his eyes blazing like blue fire, his whole body shaking with absolute, uncontrollable rage. He vaulted over the pass — vaulted over it, like it was nothing, like a man possessed — and stormed straight across the dining room floor, boots thundering hard against the wood, making the whole room shake, every step faster, heavier, more terrifying than the last.
He stopped right at your table, leaned over, stared down at the plate, stared at the raw meat, stared at the bite mark you had taken, stared at your pale, frightened face, and then he turned, slowly, deadly, terrifyingly, toward the kitchen doors, and screamed so loud, so raw, so full of fury that it echoed off every wall, every ceiling, every surface in the whole building.
“WHO THE FUCK SENT THIS OUT?! WHOEVER COOKED THIS, GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! RIGHT FUCKING NOW! BEFORE I TEAR THIS WHOLE PLACE APART!”
The double doors swung open fast, and a young chef came running out, white as a sheet, shaking, terrified, eyes wide with fear, knowing already exactly what he had done wrong, knowing already that his life was over. He stopped in front of Gordon, head bowed, shoulders hunched, trembling from head to toe.
Gordon didn’t even give him a second to breathe. He stepped right into his face, close enough that their noses almost touched, pointing a shaking, furious finger straight at the plate in front of you, his voice roaring, screaming, every word loud, sharp, and full of pure rage.
“LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT THIS FUCKING ABOMINATION YOU CALL FOOD! YOU CALL THIS COOKED?! YOU CALL THIS DONE?! IT’S RAW! IT’S FUCKING RAW! IT’S COLD! IT’S BLOODY! IT’S DISGUSTING! IT’S UNFIT FOR ANIMALS LET ALONE HUMAN BEINGS! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! ARE YOU BLIND?! ARE YOU STUPID?! DO YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING?!”
He grabbed the plate, lifted it high, pointed the raw meat right in the chef’s face, shaking it so hard the juices ran down his arm.
“YOU SENT THIS OUT! YOU SENT THIS OUT TO A TABLE! YOU SENT THIS OUT TO HER! LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT WHO YOU JUST SERVED THIS FUCKING RUBBISH TO!”
He slammed the plate back down onto the table so hard sauce splattered everywhere, then leaned even closer, his voice rising to a deafening, ear-splitting scream that everyone would remember forever.
“THATS MY WIFE! YOU GIVE HER RAW FOOD YOU FUCKING ARSE, AND WHAT’S WORSE SHE’S PREGNANT!”
The whole room went dead silent. Not a breath, not a sound, not a single movement. Everyone froze. Everyone stared. The guests, the cameras, the other chefs, the waiters — all of them stood still, terrified, shocked, watching Gordon absolutely lose his mind, watching the most protective, furious, terrifying display of anger they had ever seen.
Gordon was shaking, his chest heaving, his face bright red, sweat pouring down his face, tears of rage pricking at his eyes, every muscle in his body tight and hard with fury. He pointed at you again, at your bump, at your pale, frightened face, his voice cracking with how loud and angry he was.
“SHE IS CARRYING MY CHILD! MY BABY! OUR FUTURE! AND YOU SEND HER RAW MEAT?! YOU SEND HER SOMETHING THAT IS FULL OF BACTERIA, FULL OF GERMS, FULL OF EVERYTHING THAT COULD MAKE HER SICK, HURT HER, HURT MY CHILD?! ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE JUST DONE?!”
He stepped forward, shoving the chef back hard, making him stumble, his voice roaring even louder, wild and unhinged.
“SHE ATE IT! SHE TOOK A BITE! SHE SWALLOWED IT! BECAUSE SHE TRUSTED YOU! BECAUSE SHE TRUSTED THIS KITCHEN! BECAUSE SHE TRUSTED ME TO MAKE SURE NOTHING LIKE THIS EVER HAPPENS! AND YOU FAILED! YOU FAILED COMPLETELY! YOU ARE USELESS! YOU ARE PATHETIC! YOU ARE A FUCKING DISGRACE TO THIS PROFESSION!”
He turned around, screaming at the rest of the kitchen staff who were now all lined up in the doorway, terrified to even look at him, his voice booming across the whole room.
“AND THE REST OF YOU! WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?! HOW DID THIS GET PAST ANYONE?! HOW DID NONE OF YOU NOTICE IT WAS FUCKING RAW?! ARE YOU ALL AS USELESS AS THIS IDIOT?! DO YOU ALL HAVE YOUR HEADS STUCK SO FAR UP YOUR OWN ARSES YOU CAN’T SEE WHAT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACES?! DO YOU NOT CARE?! DO YOU NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT QUALITY?! ABOUT SAFETY?! ABOUT THE PEOPLE EATING YOUR FOOD?!”
He spun back to the terrified chef, leaning right down into his face, eyes blazing, spitting with anger, every word sharp and cutting like a knife.
“YOU THINK COOKING IS JUST THROWING THINGS IN A PAN AND SENDING IT OUT?! YOU THINK IT DOESN’T MATTER IF IT’S COOKED OR NOT?! YOU THINK YOU CAN HALF-ARSE IT, LAZING ABOUT, DOING NOTHING, AND GET AWAY WITH IT?! YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE?! YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?! IT’S NOT! IT’S A RESPONSIBILITY! IT’S A DUTY! IT’S SOMETHING YOU TAKE PRIDE IN! AND YOU HAVE SHOWN ME TODAY YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!”
He slammed his fist onto the table, making the cutlery jump, making you flinch, his voice raw and desperate, full of fear as well as anger.
“MY WIFE! MY UNBORN CHILD! YOU PUT THEM IN DANGER! YOU PUT THEIR HEALTH, THEIR LIVES, EVERYTHING I LOVE AND CARE ABOUT AT RISK BECAUSE YOU ARE TOO FUCKING STUPID AND LAZY TO CHECK IF MEAT IS COOKED! HOW DARE YOU! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU! I COULD THROW YOU OUT ON THE STREET RIGHT NOW! I COULD BAN YOU FROM EVERY KITCHEN IN THE COUNTRY! I COULD RUIN YOU! AND YOU WOULD DESERVE EVERY SECOND OF IT!”
He stopped for just one second, breathing hard, running a shaking hand through his hair, sweat dripping down his neck, his eyes wild and terrified as he looked back at you. The anger was still there, hot and burning, but underneath it was pure, blinding fear. Fear for you. Fear for the baby. Fear that something bad might happen, fear that you were hurt, fear that he hadn’t protected you enough.
He turned away from the chef instantly, rushed around the table, dropped to his knees right beside your chair, grabbed your hands in his, holding them tight, his face softening completely, all the rage vanishing in a heartbeat, replaced by pure love, pure worry, pure tenderness.
“Love… baby… look at me, look at me, please,” he whispered, his voice shaking, thick with emotion, his thumbs brushing frantically over your knuckles, his eyes searching yours, terrified. “Are you okay? Are you feeling alright? Tell me you’re okay, please God tell me you’re okay… did you swallow it all? Do you feel sick? Do you have any pain? Tell me everything, tell me right now, please…”
You were still pale, still shaken, your heart still racing, but you squeezed his hands back tight, tears spilling over and rolling fast down your cheeks, nodding quickly.
“I’m okay, Gordon… I think I’m okay… just scared… just shocked… it was so raw… I didn’t know…”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead hard against your bump, closing his eyes, breathing shakily, whispering quiet prayers, his hands moving gently, carefully, over your stomach, checking, feeling, waiting, desperate to feel any movement, desperate to know the baby was safe.
“I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry, my love… I can’t believe this happened… I should have been faster… I should have checked… I should have known… I never, ever wanted you to go through this… never wanted you or our baby to be put at risk… I’m so sorry…”
He kissed your bump over and over, soft, desperate kisses, then stood up, wrapped his arms tight around you, pulling you right against his chest, holding you so close, so safe, like he was trying to shield you from everything bad in the whole world, his hand stroking the back of your head, his voice low and fierce in your ear.
“I promise you… I swear to you… nothing like this will ever happen again. Not to you. Not to our child. Not while I’m alive. I will tear this place apart before I let anyone ever hurt you again. You are safe. You are my whole world. And I will protect you with everything I have.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing tears away from your cheeks with gentle fingers, his blue eyes full of love and absolute devotion.
“I’m calling the doctor right now. We’re going straight to the hospital. We’re getting you checked over, everything checked, making sure you and the baby are 100% perfect. I don’t care about the service, I don’t care about the show, I don’t care about anything except you two. You come first. Always.”
He turned back to the kitchen, and the anger was back, cold, sharp, deadly, even worse than before. He pointed straight at the chef, his voice low, dangerous, terrifyingly calm.
“You. You are gone. You are fired. You are out of this kitchen, out of this building, and you will never work in this industry again as long as I am alive. You have no place here. You have no talent. You have no respect. And you almost hurt the only two things that matter to me in this whole world. Get out. Before I do something I regret. GET OUT!”
The chef didn’t argue. He didn’t say a word. He just turned and ran, fleeing through the doors, gone forever.
Gordon turned to the rest of the team, his voice ringing loud and clear, every word a warning, every word a promise.
“LISTEN TO ME! AND LISTEN GOOD! FROM THIS SECOND ON, EVERY SINGLE PLATE THAT LEAVES THIS KITCHEN IS CHECKED BY ME! EVERY PIECE OF MEAT, EVERY VEGETABLE, EVERY SAUCE — I SEE IT, I TOUCH IT, I TASTE IT, BEFORE IT GOES ANYWHERE NEAR A CUSTOMER! IF IT IS NOT PERFECT, IT GOES IN THE BIN! IF YOU ARE NOT SURE, YOU ASK ME! IF YOU CAN’T DO THE JOB RIGHT, YOU LEAVE! I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE, I DON’T CARE HOW LONG YOU’VE BEEN HERE! SAFETY COMES FIRST! QUALITY COMES FIRST! AND MY FAMILY COMES BEFORE EVERYTHING ELSE! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”
“YES, CHEF!” everyone shouted back in unison, terrified, determined, never wanting to see him like this again.
Gordon didn’t wait another second. He turned back to you, wrapped his arm firmly around your waist, supporting you, guiding you gently up out of your chair, holding your hand tight in his, never letting go, never looking away.
“Come on, love. Let’s get you out of here. Let’s get you safe. Let’s get you home.”
He led you slowly, carefully, all the way out of the dining room, past all the staring guests, past the cameras, past the chaos, his body positioned always between you and everyone else, shielding you, protecting you, his hand never leaving yours, his eyes never leaving your face.
Outside, the fresh night air hit you, cool and clean, and you breathed it in deeply, leaning back against his chest, feeling safe again, feeling calm again. Gordon wrapped his arms all the way around you, holding you close, resting his chin on top of your head, his hands resting protectively over your bump, swaying you gently back and forth in the quiet dark.
“I meant every word,” he whispered, soft and serious, his voice vibrating through his chest into yours. “Every single word. You are my life. That baby is my life. I would burn down every kitchen in the world, shout until I lost my voice, fight anyone, do anything, if it means keeping you safe. You are mine to protect. Always.”
You turned in his arms, wrapped yours around his neck, looked up into those bright blue eyes that held every bit of love and fury and passion in the world, and smiled softly, finally truly relaxed, finally truly okay.
“I know,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I know. And I love you. Even when you’re screaming at the whole restaurant.”
Gordon laughed, a rough, breathless, relieved laugh, leaning down to kiss you deeply, properly, pouring every bit of love and fear and devotion into it, his hands holding you tight, like he never wanted to let go.
“I’d scream louder,” he murmured against your lips, grinning that famous, wicked, loving grin. “I’d scream until the whole world heard me. If anyone ever even thinks about hurting you or our child… I’ll make sure they regret it. You and this baby are the best things that ever happened to me. And nothing, absolutely nothing, will ever change that.”
He pulled back just enough to press his hand gently over your bump, his expression softening completely, full of wonder and love.
“Now come on. Hospital first. Make sure everything is perfect. Then I’m cooking you dinner myself. Nothing but the best. Nothing but perfectly cooked, delicious, safe food. And I’ll stand right there the whole time, watching every single second, just to be sure.”
You laughed, leaning into him as he guided you toward the car, opening the door, helping you in, buckling your seatbelt carefully, checking everything three times over before closing the door and rushing around to the driver’s side.
As he started the engine, he reached over immediately, took your hand in his, brought it up to his lips, and kissed your knuckles gently, his eyes soft and full of love.
“Never again,” he promised quietly. “I swear. Never again.”
And inside Hell’s Kitchen, the team worked harder, faster, and more carefully than they had ever worked in their lives. Every plate was checked twice, three times, four times. Every temperature was checked. Every piece of meat was cut open to see inside. No one made a mistake. No one dared. Because everyone knew one thing, clear as day, written into the walls, written into the rules, written into Gordon Ramsay’s very soul:
You mess up the food, you mess up the standards, or you even think about hurting his wife or his child… and you will face the wrath of Gordon Ramsay. And nobody survives that.
Warning/s: Mentions of pregnancy, cursing, angst, and bit of a cliffhanger
Part 1
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You and Jason have been together since the end of his Arkham Knight phase. Once he got back into semi-good terms with Bruce you got married. The wedding was nothing big, just you two, Roy, and one of your close friends. Jason never told his family about you or that he was married. Lately, things have been very domestic within your home. You’ve been babysitting on the side since Jason wanted you to stay home at all times. He promised you that he’d take care of you ever since he put a ring on your finger. The children grew on Jason, but never once have you two mentioned having kids together. Knowing the risk because of Jason’s secret night job. Jason was terrified if it got out that he had a wife or let alone a child. He had a small feeling you two would have a baby, but he thought you’d adopt. Things can change very quickly, like they did tonight. Jason always promises you he’ll be home one later than 2 am. For a good to 3 weeks you’ve been feeling sick. At first you thought it was period cramps since you were nearing your cycle. It never came so you assumed it was late since you have irregular period. Although you had a feeling that you were pregnant so did Jason but he kept quiet, pushing the feeling to the back of his mind. He didn’t want any kids right now. Though luck was never on his side to begin with. Now you’re in your shared bathroom surrounded by 4 pregnancy tests. Jason had left for patrol about 30 minutes ago so you decided now was the perfect time to take them. You felt the tears welling in your eyes but you didn’t let them fall. You knew Jason didn’t want kids right now nor did you want to tell him. So you did one thing you knew how to. Ask Dick for help.
Dick was one of the reasons you and Jason even gotten together. But he did also have a loud mouth so you decided not too. You got up and gathered the tests. You put them in a box and shoved them away in the closet. You felt dizzy, everything felt like a fever dream. Laying down was the best option so you made your way to the bed not even bothering to get under the covers. You don’t remember when you fell asleep, but you knew Jason was home since the living room light was on and the closet was open. You felt your stomach drop when you saw the door wide open and worse, the box was gone. You jumped up instantly, so fast you almost fell. You practically ran to the living room. Only to find Jason is sitting on the couch still in his Red Hood Gear. He’s man spreading with the box in front of him. He’s holding one of the positive pregnancy test.
“Jason..” That’s the only thing you can even get out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Jason-“
“How long have you known, who else knows?!” Jason started raising his voice, you could hear the irritation in it.
“A few hours, I took a test then went to bed..”
“You should’ve called me or at least told me you were taking a test.”
After Jason spoke you both went silent. It felt like you two were having a staring contest. You looked down in shame, knowing hiding this from him would make it worse than telling him. But you had your reasons to, even though you thought they were selfish.
After a awkward 3 minutes of silence Jason spoke up
“Do you want to keep it?”
“What..?”
“Do you want to have a baby.”
You’re to stunned to speak, staring at him in shock, “Look, we have the room and space but it’s up to you.”
With that he got up from the couch and walked past you into the bedroom, closing the door behind.
He’s right though, it is up to you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do you keep the baby?
Yes
Hell no
Voting ended onMay 30
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Edit: hello my elite employees!! i’ve been reading and exploring new fandoms. this is my first series so I hope you enjoy! i will start writing for yanderes, invincible, michael jackson and his family, and greek gods/goddesses.
Bucky being weirded out by his pregnant wife’s (reader) pregnancy cravings and tries it and he ends up kinda liking it
Bucky had seen a lot of horrifying things in his lifetime.
Hydra experiments. Alien invasions. Gas station sushi at three in the morning.
Even with all those, there is not a thing in the world that could have prepared him for walking into the kitchen at midnight to find his pregnant wife dipping dill pickles into a bowl of melted chocolate ice cream.
He stopped dead in the doorway.
“You’re joking.”
You looked up from your spot perched on the counter, oversized sweatshirt stretched over your rounded stomach. “I’m not.”
Bucky stared at the combination in your hands like it had personally offended him. “Baby, that is a crime.”
“It’s delicious.”
“It’s disgusting.”
You took a loud, deliberate crunch before dragging the pickle through another swirl of chocolate. “You’re just closed-minded.”
“I’m not closed-minded,” he argued. “I’m sane.”
The look you gave him was deeply unimpressed.
Pregnancy cravings had become a regular occurrence over the last few months, but this one might’ve been the worst yet. Earlier that week, you’d cried because the diner down the street stopped serving curly fries after ten. Two nights ago, you’d demanded peanut butter toast with hot sauce at one in the morning. Bucky had made it without complaint because he adored you, but even then he’d looked mildly traumatized.
This though?
This was villain behavior.
“You want some?” you asked sweetly.
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did think about it,” he said. “I thought absolutely not.”
You shrugged, entirely unbothered, and continued eating while Bucky made himself tea. He kept glancing over his shoulder at you with increasing suspicion.
The worst part was the sound.
Crunch.
Then the soft scrape of pickle against ice cream.
Crunch.
It shouldn’t have smelled good together, but somehow the salty tang mixed with the sweetness in a way that kept making his nose twitch.
Bucky narrowed his eyes.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“I literally offered you some.”
“You’re trying to trick me.”
“James Buchanan Barnes,” you gasped dramatically. “I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
You grinned around another bite.
God, you looked cute.
That was the problem. You could be sitting there eating drywall and he’d still think you were adorable.
Pregnancy looked painfully good on you too, which Bucky tried not to think about too hard unless he wanted to combust on the spot. The softness in your cheeks, the glow in your skin, the way your stomach curved beneath his shirts—it made him emotional in ways he couldn’t explain.
He crossed the kitchen and settled between your spread knees automatically, large hands resting on your hips.
“How’s our girl tonight?” he asked, rubbing your belly gently.
Right on cue, the baby kicked.
Bucky’s entire face softened instantly.
“There she is,” he murmured.
You smiled down at him, carding your fingers through his hair. “She’s been moving all night.”
“Probably trying to escape because of what you’re feeding her.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m serious,” he said solemnly. “She’s fighting for her life in there.”
You laughed so hard you nearly snorted, and Bucky felt his chest tighten with affection. He loved making you laugh lately. Loved seeing you happy when pregnancy had been exhausting on your body.
Then you held the pickle toward him again.
“One bite.”
“No.”
“One.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You made me try sardines.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“You weren’t pregnant and emotionally unstable.”
Your mouth dropped open in betrayal.
Bucky grinned.
“You’re evil,” you informed him.
“Maybe.”
But you kept staring at him with those big hopeful eyes, and unfortunately for him, Bucky Barnes had never been capable of denying you much of anything.
Especially now.
Especially when you were carrying his child.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward.
“One bite,” he warned.
Your face lit up triumphantly.
“Oh my god, yes.”
“This better not ruin my life.”
“It’ll change your life.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
You guided the pickle toward his mouth like you were feeding a wild animal. Bucky took the smallest possible bite, already grimacing before he’d even tasted it.
Sweet chocolate.
Cold vanilla.
Sharp vinegar.
Salty pickle.
His eyebrows furrowed immediately.
You watched him expectantly. “Well?”
Bucky chewed slowly.
Then paused.
Then frowned harder.
Because the horrifying part was—
“…it’s not terrible.”
You gasped like he’d just confessed his love all over again.
“I knew it!”
“No, hold on—”
“I knew it,” you repeated louder.
“It’s weird.”
“But good.”
He hesitated.
“…a little.”
Your victory screech echoed through the apartment.
Before Bucky could defend himself, you shoved another bite toward him and he actually accepted it this time, which was probably his first mistake.
His second mistake was taking a bigger bite.
Because somehow it worked.
The crunch with the creaminess. The salty and sweet together.
Bucky looked deeply disturbed by his own reaction.
“I hate this.”
“You love it.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He pointed accusingly at you. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone about this.”
“Too late. I’m telling Sam immediately.”
“Baby.”
“I’m putting it in the baby book.”
Bucky groaned, resting his forehead against your stomach while you laughed. He could feel the vibrations of it beneath his cheek, warm and alive and so overwhelmingly you.
After a moment, your laughter softened.
“You really don’t think I’m gross?” you asked quietly.
Bucky looked up immediately.
“What?”
“The cravings. The crying. Me waking you up at weird hours.” You gave a tiny shrug. “I know pregnancy’s kinda… weird.”
His expression melted so fast it made your chest ache.
“Doll,” he said gently, sliding his hands over your thighs. “You’re growing our baby. You could ask me to grill a watermelon at four in the morning and I’d do it.”
You snorted.
“Actually,” he added thoughtfully, “that might be better than the pickle thing.”
You laughed again, and Bucky leaned forward to kiss you softly.
Sweet chocolate still lingered on your lips.
“…Okay,” he muttered against your mouth. “Maybe give me another pickle.”
Your eyes widened in delight.
“Oh, you are SO obsessed with this now.”
“I’m literally not.”
“Sure, honey.”
Bucky sighed dramatically as you handed him another chocolate-covered pickle.
The Samael headcannons were awesome!!! Do you think you could share what it would be like to have a baby with him? Like you did with the horseman?
I’m so glad you liked them! I’ll stick the same format I used as before. Hope you like this :D
𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑨 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔
✦•················•✦•··················•✦
Finding out:
★ Knows your pregnant before you do. He can smell it and sense the new life within you. He’s instantly more affectionate than he’s ever been, purring and nuzzling you like he can’t get enough.
★ “How much longer until you finally tell me?” He’d ask one evening, a big arm encircling your body, his gaze moving from your abdomen to your eyes. “Or have you still not figured it out for yourself?"
★ The curious look on your face tells him that you have in fact not figured it out yet, so he gives you a clue by laying his paw over your belly, waiting expectantly for you to realise and grinning at your look of realisation.
★ He would ensure that no other almost no other creature, demon, angel or other comes to know of your pregnancy. Few among his own legion are informed of the news, primarily the ones who he has guarding you when he can’t.
★ Does not care who he has to kill to keep his soon-to-be family safe. It would be a suicide mission to even mutter a threat to you. No matter who they are or where they are, Samael will hear them and find them.
Pregnancy:
★ Nests like CRAZY. You already sleep in a ridiculously oversized bed every night and now the base is padded all the way around with the most pillows you’ve ever seen in one room. Every time you move to get up, even if just to use the bathroom, he’ll give an unhappy huff and coax you to lay back down.
★ When you’re tired and sore and don’t want to leave bed he’ll drop everything to take care of you — you and the growing baby being the most important thing in the universe to him now. Cuddles are his first port of call but if you that’s not helping, he’ll draw you a warm bath in the adjacent, massively oversized pool bath tub, resting at the curved edge to keep a watchful eye on you.
★ Of course, if you’re feeling up for it he has other ways to help you relax. All you have to do is lay back.
★ Addicted to the way you smell. Of course you’re oblivious to it, completely unaware of the intoxicating scent of fertility you posses that’s driving Samael wild with desire.
Birth:
★ He’s been preparing for your labour long before you even wanted to think about it. Everything is ready for you; fresh towels, a pitcher of ice water, pillows and anything else you may need. He would much rather have it be just the two of you for such a special event but he does have the best demon experienced with healing magic that he could find on standby.
★ Hearing the first cry of his newborn, a low, soothing rumble would emit from his chest to comfort them.
★ Following instinct, Samael would lean in, tongue extended to begin licking the baby clean. You have to press and a palm to his forehead, trying not to laugh at the flummoxed look of rejection on his face.
★ Presses the softest kiss to your temple, murmuring sweet words of praise and gratitude for bringing his child into the world.
★ All you have to do now is focus on healing and giving the baby what they need, he has everything else taken care of.
Everything after:
★ From the moment they opened up their eyes, the baby has had a fascination with their fathers horns, always reaching their tiny hands out to grab one of them. Once they’re old enough to crawl they frequently attempt to make their way up his body to reach them. Ever amused by their determination (much akin to your own), he’ll take them into his hand, lifting them carefully upwards so that they can touch.
★Cradles you both in his arms, watching as you sleep with a look of utter paternal love and adoration for you in that familiar, now softened yet ever burning gaze.
★ If you are a demon or you somehow have a human/demon hybrid baby, imagine him comforting them when their tiny horns begin to emerge or teaching them to fly.
★ Seemingly, The Blood Prince has finally got a happy ending of his own.
just a few drabbles to make up for my excuse of a oneshot.
Lucifer 🐥🍎🐍
When he first found out you were pregnant he was the most ecstatic being on hell. "We're pregnant! You're pregnant! You're with child?!" he said with an ecstatic voice, poor Luci was just bouncing all over the place.
Lucifer was set on making sure he wouldn't fuck this up, just how he did Charlie. Speaking of Charlie, she was the very first person to tell.
First Trimester
He would not leave you alone, if you had to get a drink of water, he would instantly materialize. Want your favorite pregnancy craving sandwich, will make it right in bed.
Gotta use the bathroom? Waiting right outside the bathroom until your done.
Alone time? Who's she?
Anytime you have to puke in the mornings, no matter how bad the puking is, he'll have some cold water with saltine crackers on the side, while holding your hair as you hurl your guts out.
He might pretend to be mad at your belly while whispering things such as, "Why do you like causing your mama so much pain while she's microwaving you, little one?" he says with mock chiding, 3 minutes later he's just kissing your belly.
Second Trimester
He's helping you decorate the nursery, and by helping more like making you snacks while he does the majority of painting, and building the baby stuff. "Luci, I can do it, you don't have to baby me."
"But you technically have a baby in you, so I have to baby you!" he said with a whiny high pitched voice. Fight logic with logic, makes since to Lucifer Morningstar.
"You are so impossible.", "Yeah but this impossible knocked you up~."
Despite being the Devil, he still has the urge to do angelic things, hover like he's a guardian angel, he even went as far to bless your kids, even though he doesn't know it yet.
"Lucifer, what are you doing?" you say in a sleepy voice, after you felt divine power radiating from your stomach, causing you to wake up.
"I have to bless our child. It's basic parenting."
"Yeah, but can't this wait until morning?" you said in an irritated voice
"Nope."
You woke up with a throbbing pain to your belly, Lucifer must've felt it too because he immediately jolted up too fast and fell off the bed with a hard thud.
"I'm up! I'm up, is it time?" He would say that every time you woke up in the middle of the night from harsh kicks. "No, no, Luci something feels off." you say in a non committal tone.
You have never seen Lucifer this serious in your entire afterlife. "Let me see," he shifts back on the bed closer to you and rests his claw on your belly, emitting a soft warm glow from his palms. "Oh, shit."
"What is it? Is the baby okay?" you started to panic.
"We're having twins!" he said with ecstatic, contrasting to your nervous state.
Oh shit.
Third Trimester
He is an entire nervous wreck, along with your due date approaching, and him trying to figure out if they should do a home birth or a hospital birth everything is a frazzled mess.
"Lucifer! Calm down!"
"I can't calm down, you're nearly gonna have our twins! he argued back in a shaky voice.
You weren't even due for another month. And here he was panicking like the exterminations were coming straight for you. "Look if it makes you feel any better do you want to practice when I am in labor"
That was definitely a weak excuse to calm him, if not cause him to panic even more. After you finally calmed him down from his frazzled state, he agreed to your suggestion of letting him take a walk in the park and calm his nerves.
"Honey I'm back!" he said in a excited voice, a little too excited for his own good.
"Luci, you wouldn't mind showing me the inside of your coat for me would you?" he knew you had him cornered. He pulled out a baby duck with shame, from his coat pocket.
"Lucifer! Why would you take a duck!?"
"It was lonely, and it can be a little birthing present for our kids." he argued back weakly.
Labor
To say you were in pain was an understatement, each contraction felt like, God himself was punching you.
"Son of a cocksucking bitch!" you cried out in pain as you gripped the hospital railing, causing it to leave an indent of your finger marks.
Lucifer felt so ashamed. You were in pain like this because of him!
"Darling I am so, so so, sorry!" he said, but his words fell to deaf ears. You pulled him by his bowtie, looks like pain was taking over you.
"Lucifer, when I am done giving birth to the both of our kids, you are going to be wishing that-ugh!" you couldn't finish your threat when another contraction hit you.
You screamed in pain tears prickling at your eyes as you writhed in pain.
"Duckling, you can hurt me all you want when this is over but please for the love of Father you need to focus on giving birth." he said firmly but lovingly.
All you could do was pant, the wave of childbirth was really taking a toll on you. "Last time I checked, you were the one who gave Eve the apple and if you didn't, this wouldn't be so painful!" you shot back with disdain in your voice.
Alright, he had to admit you got him there. "Okay, yes I did some wrong on my part, but it'll all be over when we hear the cries of our-"
Right on time. Before he could even finish his sentence, you both heard to symphonies of wailing, healthy wailing. After the nurses, cleaned both of your little girls. Lucifer was bawling his eyes out.
"Lucifer, are you crying?"
"No, I'm just cosplaying a waterfall." he said through his cries. You both named your twin daughters, 'Clara and Clover.'
Abel 🐑 😇 🎸
Oh, Abel. He was such a nervous wreck when he found out you were pregnant. "Wait, pregnant? Us, You, we're having a kid?" he said in a nervous, shaky voice.
You nod, in reassurance as he starts to sweat. "Wow! This is a lot to take in, what are we-" he stopped himself before he grabbed the both of your hands in his own.
"I am so glad you decided to tell me this. I'm a little nervous but excited to start my own family with you. You could see and hear the adoration in his voice as he gently reassured you with the same voice that would sing you to sleep each night.
First Trimester
The way this man acted like you were having his babies right now, was absolutely adorable. He was fretting over every single detail about you, birthing plan, cravings, health, etc.
"Lamb, I have to make sure everything is perfect for the both of you, otherwise what type of husband and father would I be?"
Your poor husband was so worried about becoming like his late father, even though you've reminded him countless times that he is nothing like his father. "But what if-" he started before you interrupted him.
"But nothing. You are the best husband in all of Heaven, so you need to act like it." you chided him gently
His heart shatters into a million pieces whenever you get morning sickness. Immediately at your side, no questions asked. Rubbing your shoulders up and down with a comforting aura.
"I know lamb, I know." is what he would tell you everytime. After your done with your daily puking, he always keeps a washcloth in the freezer so he can put it on your forehead after.
During your pregnancy he decides to work from home, letting Lute do the physical exertion so he can stay home with you and make a living at the same time.
You like to just randomly crawl up into his lap so you can take a pregnancy nap on him.
As much as he tries to resist, he just lets you lay there for a good majority of time when he works.
"Hon, I can't cuddle with you right now, I'm doing some- nevermind." and he just looks down with a smile and carries you back to bed.
Second Trimester
Abel was more excited than you to build the nursery he could not stay still. "Oh and a shade of dandelion over here, the bookshelf, rocking chair over there!"
"Abel, calm down! You're gonna get paint everywhere." you said with mock chastisement. You were holding the paint cans, while he was holding the paint brushes.
"I'm sorry, Lamb. It's just so exciting. I get to give my girl or boy the nursery, of their dreams!" he said with the twinkle in his nervous eyes that could calm the coldest of hearts.
Abel will make you anything you want, homemade taffy, churros, whatever you want? He can make.
"Abel darling can you make me a mutton pie?" you look up at him with hopefulness in your eyes.
His eyes shifted between you and the stove. "(Y/N) I'll make you whatever you want, but I draw the line at sheep."
In the middle of your naps, you can head Abel beside you, tuning his guitar and strumming simple cords to your belly as an attempt to bond with them, before they're even born.
He smiled at you, and began to start one of his instrumentals again. You shot up in pain during one of your naps, holding your stomach, while Abel was sleeping beside you. "Abel can you wake up? Something's wrong.."
"What is it..?" he mumbled sleepily
"My stomach is hurting.. really bad". "Oh, shit!" and he leaped out of bed getting your sweater and flats, so you could both could see Sera.
"Huh, looks like you two are having twins, nothing serious." and she just turned back to her desk.
"TWINS!?" he exclaimed, "Oh, twins that sounds nice, Abel.". All he could do was look at you in shock. The only reason why he exclaimed like that, was because all he could think of would be the pain you would endure.
Third Trimester
Sure, your stomach was bigger than ever, but Abel's love was even larger. But there's a little insecurity bugging you, stretch marks.
Abel catches you staring at yourself in the mirror, in your undergarments. "Lamb, what's got you all out of sorts?" he rested his head on your shoulder staring at you through the mirror.
"All these damn, stretch marks I look like an elephant.". Abel looks like he was more offended than you, "Darling, how could you ever say that about yourself, you're the mother of my children!". he exclaimed while tracing your stretch marks.
You felt your tears streaming down your face before you could even register it, sniffling you looked at Abel who was also crying with you. "Why are you crying?", "Because you're crying!"
Labor
Having two angelic twins, is hard. No shit Sherlock, but atleast Abel, was able to make it better (pun included). This man was bursting into tears, snot running down his nose.
"Hon it looks you're going through this labor instead of me-!" you telped out in pain as you felt one of the twins kick at your stomach.
"But Lamb, it is my fault, I got you pregnant in the first plahace!-" his muffled cries were silent when he put his head into your shoulder.
"Honey, instead of you crying your ass off, can you atleast hold my hand?
He looked up from his tear blurry vision, and just stared at you with love before following your command.
On second thought maybe you should've just left him in the waiting room. After an excruciating labor, you both hear the synchronized cries of your twin boys. 'Caleb and Malachai.'
Adam 🎸⚡️
He notices it before you do. Probably with a slick comment, "Are you on your period?" he says with a smug voice.
"No, I've been late, why?'
"I think you might be pregnant." he says nonchalantly. "And how do you know?" you say with a hint of irritation in your voice.
Sure enough you both go to see one of the Heavenly doctors, and the news hits you like a truck, "Yes miss, congratulations, twins too."
You couldn't believe this shit, you pregnant with Heaven's golden boy too, this is gonna be a fun nine months.
First Trimester
He will spend the entire first three months picking on you (lovingly) and your bump. One time while you were washing the dishes, and Adam walked in, he just had to make a joke about your bump. "There's a perfectly baked bun that you have there."
"Adam, do you value your life?" you say without looking away from the dishes that you were washing. Safe to say that he didn't bother you for the entire day
Morning sickness, goodness you hated it- who wouldn't? Every time you would puke he would be there with a cold cloth while holding your hair, "Wow every time I hold your hair like this usually I-" you interrupted him before he could finish his sex joke." after you finished your puking he started his spiel about how he hates Lucifer for doing this to you. "That slippery bastard is so infuriating! I mean because of him you have to suffer giving birth to my kids!"
Looks like he was more upset about this pregnancy than you were.
"Adam calm down.." you said tiredly, as much as you wanted to argue you couldn't and wouldn't.
"Tits, how can I calm down when I know that you feel like crap from the one person I hate?"
You never got to hear the end of it.
He always makes comments about your boobs, wether it's 'My girls are getting bigger each week', he once asked if he could suck on them, but proceeds to act confused when you say no..
Second Trimester
You and Adam were fast asleep in the shared bed, when a pang of hunger awoke you. "Adam,-" but before you could get your sentence out he jumped out of bed. "I'm up! Is it time?"
"No, babe I was just gonna say I'm hungry, can you make me ribs with peanut butter on them?" you looked at him hopefully. Adam looked at you like you just asked him to stop exterminations.
"Babe, that's gross-" he got cut off by your tear-filled eyes looking at him.
"All right, fine, I guess I can make that disgusting concoction for you." he said begrudgingly, but the both of you knew he was wrapped around your finger.
While you two were working on the nursery, you couldn't pick out a single shade of white, "Babe, this is 'Eggshell' not 'Creame'!" you cried out as your eyes prickled with tears.
"Tits, why are you crying, they all look the same won't they?" he tried to gently reassure you while holding the paint cans. "I don't want my kids look at eggs for when they're born, I don't wanna be a boring mom!"
You started to wail in the middle of un put baby equipment, paint brushes, measuring tape, and wood-slabs.
Adam pulled you into his burly arms and begins to kiss your nose, mouth, cheek, forehead. Any part of your face that would calm you down quickly enough. "Baby, it doesn't matter what color the nursery is, you wanna know why?"
He pulled away to look at your tear streaked face, before continuing, "because these babies are gonna have the best mom ever." he said, reassuringly. "You mean it?" you said tear-filled.
"I mean it.".
Third Trimester
Being the only responsible one in the relationship, you were the only one who packed your overnight bag, but it couldn't help to have a little fun with him. You decided to do a practice drill on Adam, while he was half asleep.
You loved that stupid, but domestic look he had when he was asleep, a chubby bicep over his eyes, just in his lightning bolt boxer briefs, and un-matching socks.
Inhaling a sharp breath you try to hone your best acting skills and put on some light water on your face to show either sweat or tears. "Adam!" you said in that fake broken voice.
He slowly shot up rubbing sleep from his eyes, "What, what? I'm up.." he said before putting his cheek back on the pillow, eyes fluttering back closed.
Not a good start, you said to yourself, "Babe!", this time he finally woke up, with a disgruntled sound, sure he took paternity leave off but he was still tired from training the exorcists, "What..", he said in a sleepy but hot voice.
"The baby's coming!"
"Five more minutes..."
"Now!", he finally got up but you could see from the sluggish movements in his body that he was far from prepared, got the camping bag instead of the hospital bag. Oh boy, this was not going well so far.
Sure you felt some discomfort in your uterus while testing him it shuld brush off, right?
Right?
Labor
You spent the full thirty hours cursing him out, and screaming, "Look sugar-tits, can you please for the love of GOD, focus on giving birth to our kids, then you can threaten to cut my dick off."
Adam, knew that in this moment, he had fell in love all over again. He reached over with a softness that was reserved for you, and your kids only. He bent down to kiss your temple wiping your tears away, "Look sweets, I know I'm not the most chivalrous person in Heaven but-"
"Wow, Adam really not-fucking time for big words!", you basically shot the words out, letting out a gut wrenching scream.
"I know sweets, but I've seen you kill fucking overlords, during extermiantion. Where's the woman the stole my heart. You can fucking do this.", it was as if his words had cast a spell on you, and you leaned back against the pillows, and pushed with all your might, giving birth to your baby boy, and girl.
"Look babe you did it.."
"No, we did.", he leaned down and kiss your lips.
You decided to name the girl, Adeline.
And Adam named the boy Artemis.
a/n: I've actually had this in my drafts since, march and couldn't post lately because I had to take finals early, than usually.
