#and the delivery is so soft and hopeful and full of need

[camficdiner]

Hi Cam! Can I please order, [1.3] [2.1] [3.3] [4.2]? Thank you so much! 🥰

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 033

🍒 Thank you so much to the lovely soul who requested this! Your prompt was pure 🔥 and your vision was so fun to bring to life. I hope this spicy hallway detour with our favorite Hughes baby gave you everything you craved — from the jealousy to the soft post-game cuddles. First class delivery, babe.

Enjoy your meal love, its piping hot

-your favorite server

💬 “No One Else Gets to Touch You.”

✨ Description & Prompts:

 Character: Luke Hughes

 Prompt: “Caught kissing in a hallway — and it’s not just kissing anymore”

Tropes: jealousy, possessive!Luke, rough smut

 Word count: ~1.3k

 Type: smut with hurt/comfort softness

🧾 Tips keep the diner open: ko-fi.com/camsficdiner

🛼🍒✨🧁

You didn’t expect him today.

The last thing Luke texted you was something along the lines of “back-to-back travel sucks, I’m dying” — so when you exit your lecture and spot him in the hallway, hoodie up and hands in his pockets, your heart full-on stutters.

You almost miss him at first — he’s leaning against the far wall like he belongs there, head down, pretending to scroll his phone.

You’re about to call out when someone next to you says your name.

“Need the notes?” It’s Ryan.

Cute, confident, too-smooth-for-his-own-good Ryan, the guy who always saves you a seat and keeps offering to “grab coffee sometime.”

You never said yes. But you’ve never said no either.

You laugh, thanking him as you accept the printed copy. He says something dumb about how “girls like you shouldn’t strain their wrists handwriting notes,” and you roll your eyes.

But you don’t notice Luke watching.

Don’t see the way his jaw ticks the second Ryan brushes your arm.

You don’t hear the silent exhale he lets out when your laugh slips through the air like it belongs to someone else.

He stays hidden.

Burning.

—

You round the corner toward your dorm, steps light, smile still playing on your lips.

He grabs your wrist.

“Luke—?” But he’s already got you pushed against the wall.

His mouth crashes into yours like it’s the only way he can breathe. His hands are on your hips — then sliding lower. You gasp into the kiss, but he doesn’t give you time to speak.

“You’re mine,” he mutters into your neck. “Don’t let him touch you again.”

“What are you—”

His thigh presses between yours, mouth still dragging hot along your jaw.

“Don’t play dumb. You know he’s into you.”

You blink. “Ryan? He’s just—”

Luke groans. “Don’t care.”

He kisses you again — rough, possessive — until your backpack drops to the floor and your hands are in his hair and—

“Oh.”

You both freeze.

Ryan stands at the hallway entrance.

Sees everything.

Stares for just a second too long.

Luke doesn’t stop touching you.

Ryan’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something, then he doesn’t. He turns around. Walks away.

Your heart’s in your throat.

Luke smirks. “Good.”

—

You barely get the door to your dorm shut before his mouth is back on you.

Your hoodie is halfway off. His fingers hook in your waistband. His teeth graze your collarbone. You moan his name — part frustration, part full-body want.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the bed like it’s muscle memory.

“You let him flirt with you?” he growls.

“I didn’t even—” You gasp when he presses against you. “—notice.”

“Well I noticed,” he snaps, hands rough on your thighs. “And I haven’t seen you in weeks. And that’s the first thing I walk into?”

Your hand wraps around his jaw. “Then shut up and do something about it.”

He does.

The rest is hands in hair, hips grinding, heavy panting and hot, messy kisses.

You don’t even care that the blinds are only half drawn. That your bed is squeaking. That your RA is two doors down.

You just want him.

And he wants to remind you exactly who you belong to.

—

"Luke,” you gasp, breath hitching as your back hits the mattress. “Lock the door.”

He kicks it shut with one foot.

“No interruptions,” he mutters, pulling his hoodie over his head, revealing the tight white t-shirt underneath that clings to his chest like sin.

He drops to his knees between your legs. “Take these off.” His fingers tug at your leggings. His voice is low, but shaky — not from nerves, from the way he’s barely holding it together.

You obey, and that’s his undoing.

He kisses down your thighs — not gently. It’s hungry, fast, lips and teeth and tongue dragging across skin like he wants to mark you, prove something.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, hot against your skin, “what seeing him touch you did to me.”

You tilt your head, breathless. “Wasn’t even flirting.”

“He was.” His voice is firm now. “And he’s a fucking idiot if he thought you’d ever—” His hand pushes your panties aside and two fingers slide in, deep, curling just right.

You arch. “Fuck—Luke—”

“You’re mine,” he whispers, eyes dark and heavy. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m—fuck—yours, Luke.”

His mouth meets yours as he pushes in — not soft, not slow. You claw at his back, nails dragging red across his skin as he buries himself to the hilt with a broken groan.

You gasp his name.

“Missed you,” he growls into your neck, thrusts hard enough to rock the frame. “Missed this. Missed you.”

Your head falls back. “Then show me.”

He does.

It’s all tangled limbs and heavy moans, his hand gripping your throat just enough to make you whimper, just enough to feel him everywhere. You’re both panting, dripping, frenzied and frustrated, like the space between NHL games and campus halls just wasn’t fair.

He finishes with your name on his lips — breathless, worshipped, like it’s the only prayer he knows.

And then it’s over. Sort of.

Because then he’s holding you.

—

His forehead rests against yours.

You’re both sweaty. Out of breath. Twined in each other.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For not texting more. For showing up like this. For… losing my shit.”

You trace lazy shapes into his arm. “You didn’t lose it. You just got a little territorial.”

He snorts. “Understatement.”

There’s a pause.

“I just don’t get to have you much,” he says, more vulnerable now, voice raw. “And seeing someone else… I know it’s not fair, but I couldn’t take it.”

Your hand finds his cheek.

“Then don’t waste time being mad,” you whisper. “Just be here. Now.”

He leans into your palm. “I missed you. So much more than I thought I would.”

You kiss him. Gentle, slow. The kind of kiss that feels like home.

He kisses you back like a promise.

[novelconcepts]

God, the little-kid panic-excitement of Van going “I’m gonna call my mom!” This woman we KNOW isn’t a present or really functional parent, but Van’s impulse is still to reach for her. Van, who has nearly died so many times, who is faced with a piece of tech that is designed to save her life. Who finds it broken. Who finds it just out of reach. You can keep going, but we’re gonna keep pulling that football before you can kick it. You must keep going, but the flames will just keep licking your heels. Of course she grows up fixing old tech. Of course she does. Of course she still dreams of flames. Of course she does.

[littlepeach-world]

Baby on Board

Paring: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Summary: You and In-ho welcome your beautiful baby into the world.

Warnings: Emotional Intensity, Pregnancy and Childbirth, Past Trauma, Labor and Delivery, little angst idk, fluff, soft!inho, protective!inho, dad!inho, husband!inho

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: Just a short fic while I’m working on everyone’s request. Enjoy! 

Your life has been a tapestry of warmth, compassion, and an unwavering belief in the goodness of people. As you stand at the threshold of a new chapter, about to bring a new life into the world, you reflect on the journey that has brought you and your husband to this moment. His rigid exterior and commanding presence often mask a heart full of pain and love—a heart that you know intimately.

Before In-ho became the Front Man of the Squid Game, his life was scarred by a profound personal tragedy. You never knew his late wife, but you've seen the imprints of his loss in the silent sorrow that occasionally flickers in his eyes. His unborn child, too, was a loss that cut deeply into his soul. These memories, though rarely spoken about, have shaped the man he is today—authoritative, relentless, and emotionally guarded.

Despite this, you've come to understand that his ruthless pragmatism is a shield, a way to cope with the responsibilities that weigh heavily upon him. In-ho’s meticulous nature, his need for control and precision, all stem from his desire to prevent any further chaos or pain. Yet, beneath this exterior lies a man conflicted and complex, grappling with the shadows of his past and the duties of his present.

In-ho may rule the games with an iron fist, but your presence in his life brings a warmth that melts the ice around his heart. From the moment he fell in love with you, it was as if a light had pierced through the shrouded corners of his soul—a feeling he had never experienced before. Your own personality—a blend of empathy, nurturing, and optimism—complements his in ways that only destiny could orchestrate. Where he is methodical, you are spontaneous; where he is guarded, you are emotionally open.

Your relationship with him is a delicate balance of yin and yang. Your love is the sanctuary where In-ho can shed his armor, finding solace in the tenderness you offer. Through your creative pursuits and gentle spirit, you bring joy and beauty into his otherwise dark world, creating a space where both of you can breathe freely.

When you revealed to In-ho that you were pregnant, he was initially shocked, the news surfacing deep-seated fears and emotions. But that shock quickly turned into an all-encompassing happiness, deepening the love he felt for you. The idea of bringing a new life into the world—and into his life—was a prospect that filled his heart with newfound hope.

From that moment forward, In-ho became even more overprotective. His attention to your needs and desire to be near you at all times intensified. Never wanting to be away from you, he shadowed your every move, ensuring safety and comfort surrounded you, almost as if it were his new mission. This vigilant presence revealed the depths of his transformation—a man once cloaked in detachment, now a devoted protector with love as his guiding force.

Inho did everything for you. Whether it was cooking your meals, washing your hair, or changing your clothes, he took on each task with unwavering dedication, determined that you should never have to lift a finger. He found immense pleasure in caring for you, meticulously attending to even the smallest details of your life to ensure your absolute comfort and well-being. Through his actions, Inho demonstrated the profound love and commitment that drove his every movement and decision, showcasing a depth of affection that transformed not only his life but yours as well.

The day you go into labor is a whirlwind of emotions. In-ho, usually so composed and in control, becomes your pillar of support despite his visible nerves. As the contractions grow stronger, you see the cracks in his confident façade. He hates seeing you in pain, and each twinge of discomfort you experience reflects in the worry etched on his face.

He holds your hand tightly as you make your way to the hospital, his words of comfort doing as much to soothe his own fears as they do to ease your anxiety. “You’ve got this,” he whispers, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. “I’m here with you every step of the way.”

In the delivery room, the world narrows to just you, In-ho, and the impending arrival of your baby. The pain is intense, and as you push with all your strength, In-ho’s supportive voice fills the room.

“You can do it, my love. You're so strong,” he says, kissing your forehead.

Through gritted teeth, you sometimes snap at him, the pain overwhelming your usual patience. “You did this to me, In-ho! I hate you right now!” you yell, tears streaming down your face.

In-ho only holds you tighter, a gentle smile on his lips. “I know, sweetheart. I know. You're doing amazing, and I love you so much,” he assures, his voice unwavering as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Finally, with one last push, the room fills with the sound of your baby’s first cry. Relief washes over both of you. In-ho kisses you deeply, tears of pride in his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs against your lips. He then looks toward the doctor, who is offering him scissors to cut the umbilical cord.

His hands tremble slightly as he takes the scissors, but his resolve is clear. With a determined and loving expression, he cuts the cord, solidifying his role as a father. The doctor then takes the baby to perform the standard tests and clean them up.

In-ho refuses to leave the baby’s side, his eyes never straying from the tiny, precious form. He watches intently, his heart racing with every movement and sound, ensuring that everything is perfect. He holds his breath as the doctors perform their tests, only releasing it when told that everything is fine.

When the doctor hands you the baby first, In-ho’s heart swells with pride and love as he watches you hold your newborn for the first time. He’s overcome with emotion, tears stinging his eyes as he sees you cradling the tiny life you both created.

You gaze at him, a silent understanding passing between you, knowing that this moment is as monumental for him as it is for you. After a few precious moments, you gently pass the baby to him.

His breath catches in his throat as he gazes into the eyes of his newborn for the first time. A soft gasp escapes his lips as his eyes fill with tears.

"Hello, little one," he whispers, his voice filled with awe and tenderness. He brushes a gentle finger across the baby's cheek, marveling at the soft, delicate skin. "I love you more than words can say." The look on his face is one of pure adoration and vulnerability, a side of In-ho rarely seen by the outside world.

As you both sit on the hospital bed, you, still exhausted, lay your head on In-ho’s shoulder while he cradles your newborn for the first time. Tears stream down his face, unable to contain the flood of emotions.

“Thank you for letting me be a dad,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I vow to always love and protect you both, no matter what.”

Together, you gaze at the tiny, fragile life you've brought into the world, with a sense of completion and wholeness. The strong and determined man you fell in love with remains, but now he has also become a loving husband and devoted father. Inho reflects deeply on how empty and mundane his life was before you came into it, realizing with gratitude how you, have illuminated every shadowed corner of his existence.

Even with his steely resolve, he often feels unworthy of someone as extraordinary as you. He questions what you see in him and marvels at his fortune of ending up with someone so perfect. Inho silently vows to cherish and adore you like a queen for all the days of his life, promising to honor and protect you and your newborn with every fiber of his being.

Your journey together, sculpted by balance, unwavering support, and profound understanding, stands as a testament to the enduring power of love. Inho has never experienced a love as deep and transformative as the one he shares with you and your child. The connection and devotion he feels are unparalleled, a symphony he wishes to nurture forever.

In a world often enveloped in darkness, your love is the light that guides him—a beacon of hope and warmth he desperately clings to. As you both embark on this new chapter, you face the future hand-in-hand, with a bond so strong that no tragedy can sever it.

[listening505]

Dating Pau Cubarsí [headcanon]

a/n: yeah, I was gone for months, but I wrote this while watching the Barca game last week so felt an urge to post this so here we go. I also have no idea what happened to my master-list, but you can request anything if you want:) I think I need to post a new master list and everything… anyways here you go

Pau slips little handwritten notes into your books and jacket pockets—each one a tiny “just because” reminding you how much he adores you, whether it’s a doodle of your favorite flower or a sweet nickname he’s been practicing.

During quiet moments, his fingertips softly brush stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear with a smile that says you’re perfect just the way you are.

After evening training sessions, he always makes you hot chocolate, stirring in extra marshmallows and proudly bringing it to you while you cozy up in his jacket. When you say to him, you feel like you should be the one making him the hot chocolate, he refuses and say you always need to be treated like the princess you are. Making you blush

Midnight cravings never stand a chance; he knows your comfort foods by heart and surprises you with little deliveries, lighting up when he sees your sleepy, happy face.

Getting ready for bed feels extra special when he hums your favorite lullabies, his voice low and soothing, turning even the most restless nights into peaceful dreams.

Watching TV together usually ends with soft butterfly kisses along your collarbone, his playful affection pulling giggles from you that make his heart feel so full.

Holding your hand becomes second nature—his thumb tracing tiny circles against your skin, quietly reminding you that he’s always there.

Late at night, when the world feels extra soft, he whispers “I love you” in your native language, after practicing it over and over until he gets it just right.

After a long day, spontaneous foot massages become his specialty, his strong hands easing away any tension while you melt into the moment.

On chilly evening walks, he gently drapes his scarf around your shoulders, pulling you close as he tells little stories from his childhood in Girona, his voice mixing with the crisp air.

Baking sessions turn into mini adventures, with flour flying everywhere and laughter filling the kitchen—his favorite part is always sneaking little tastes of cookie dough with a shy grin.

Sometimes he leaves his favorite hoodie on your chair before leaving for training, knowing you’ll smile when you find it and feel just a little closer to him.

Before every match, he shyly asks you to be his “lucky charm”, cupping your cheeks and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Reading the same book you’re reading quickly becomes one of his sweetest habits; he loves highlighting quotes just so he can say, “this part made me think of you.”

He picks out matching keychains one day, grinning when he finds two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

Lazy afternoons mean soft touches—tracing invisible little hearts on your back as you lie together, his hand moving slowly and absentmindedly.

Braiding your hair, even when he’s absolutely terrible at it, becomes something of a tradition; every messy braid makes him beam like he’s created a masterpiece.

Meeting your family for the first time makes him adorably nervous, but his warm smile and kindness win them over faster than he could have ever hoped.

Flowers find their way to you all the time—sometimes from a shop, sometimes plucked from a garden or park—always with a bashful "this one looked like you."

His phone hides a little secret: an album filled with photos of you, candid and beautiful, each one capturing the way you make his world feel brighter.

No matter how small your bag is, he insists on carrying it, teasing that since you already carry his heart, it’s only fair he carries something of yours too.

Falling asleep on the couch leads to waking up cocooned in a warm blanket, your forehead kissed so gently it feels like a dream.

Tiny hearts and your initials decorate the corners of his notes and notebooks—little secret declarations he doesn’t even realize he’s making anymore.

After important matches, he loves wrapping his jersey around your shoulders, even if you are proudly wearing it to the matches, pride shining in his eyes because you’re always his biggest victory.

When he talks about the future, it’s all soft smiles and quiet promises—a cozy house, a small garden, endless sunsets, and a life filled with shared dreams.

If your name isn’t Spanish or has a tricky pronunciation, he makes sure to learn it perfectly—repeating it to himself until he gets every sound just right. Whenever someone else mispronounces it, he gently corrects them with a smile, proud to say your name exactly the way it deserves to be said.

[elleaitch22]

Love on Fire

Chapter 7: Peanut, Forever Carried in Love

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: This was so hard to write omg. I think it is a mix of sleep deprivation, the gravity of the content, and the hope that I can honor those who have experienced miscarriage. I hope you love it! xx Elle

Warnings: Pregnancy loss, grief, medical discussion, therapy,

Word Count: 4.1k words

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

When Paige and Azzi finally left the hospital the next morning, Paige didn’t take them home. Her parents were kind enough to rent them an AirBnB for the next week. They didn’t want Azzi to have to come back to the place she’d lost her baby so soon.

“Where are we going?” Azzi questioned quietly after thirty minutes.

“Dad and Katie set up a house in Phili so you can relax.” Paige said, squeezing her thigh. “I already let Carol and Sarah know. They said you can’t come back until the 17th.”

Paige was expecting her to say something about not being able to stay away from her bakery for two weeks, and when she didn’t say anything, she got a little more concerned.

She was going to do everything she could to help Azzi get back to her normal, happy self.

Azzi didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive, just sat back and watched the trees blur until she fell asleep.

The reservation was a small cottage on the outskirts of the city. The sleepy little neighborhood looked like something out of a Hallmark movie; orange leaves dusted the sidewalks and fall décor graced porches. It was the kind of place she could see Azzi raising a baby.

Paige turned the car off and looked next to her. Azzi was deep in sleep, tension wasn’t present on her face for the first time in days, and the blonde said a silent prayer, thanking God that she could get a reprieve in her slumber.

God, she is so beautiful, Paige thought. Blue eyes traced the gentle roundness of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, and the perfect pout on her lips. Azzi Jazlyn Fudd was proof that God existed.

She let herself look for a few more seconds before sliding her phone into her pocket and getting out of her truck. She went to unlock the front door and wasted no time looking around the rental. She just left the door cracked a little before heading back to her car.

She opened the passenger door, slowly to make sure Azzi wasn’t distrubed. With a soft click, she was able to free the woman from the seatbelt. One arm went around her back. She pulled gently until Azzi’s face met the space between her neck and shoulder. Her free arm went under her knees, and she slowly pulled her out. She took slow, gentle steps, making sure she didn’t jostle Azzi’s body too much. After she laid her best friend on the couch, she released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Paige walked around the house until she found a small reading nook that looked comfortable enough for her to curl up on and catch back up with life.

She pulled her phone out and went to her messages. Her notifications were flooded.

Support Staff (Unpaid)

Paige 💜: made it. thanks again!

Katie 🌻🥧: Of course, baby!

Katie 🌻🥧: There’s a delivery with clothes, toiletries, and groceries. It should be there in an hour.

Pops 🛠️🏡: Katie and Tim came over today. Do you want us to tell them?

Paige 💜: would have to talk to her first

Paige 💜: she’s sleep. not gonna bother her. will lyk tmrw

Pops 🛠️🏡: Drew and Mari?

Paige 💜: they’re fine. just tell them not to tell jose or jon til i talk w her

Katie 🌻🥧: Will do! We’re thinking of you always. Call if you need anything!

She closed out of her the group chat with her parents and switched to the one with Caroline.

Carol ✨: just checking in. miss our girl

Paigey 🤪: made it to res. will keep you posted

Then, it was on to the chat with the most unread messages. She sighed deeply, not even wanting to talk to them right now.

Station 22

She skimmed through some of the tread, but she didn’t catch most of the messages.

Flau 🎧🎤: Ayo P! U missed my best mix so far! U better bring ur ass tm!

SGA 👟: I’m winning the pushup contest. Who want second place 👀

Cam 📸🧁: Paige, can you ask Azzi if she will make some strawberry cupcakes for the next shift?

Her hands shook as she typed out her message, still not wanting to believe what happened to Peanut.

PB 🧑🏼‍🚒: azzi was ten weeks pregnant and had a miscarriage. i’m out for a week. no treats until she feels better.

DT 🧯🍷: Take as much time as you need, Paige.

Curry 👨🏽‍🍳🙏🏼: Let Azzi know we are praying for. Do what you gotta do.

Stewie 🧠👀: so sorry, p. we’ll be here when u get back

Cam 📸🧁: Tell Azzi Ray I love her! Call me if you need anything, P!

Ant 🐜💥: Damn

Phee 📝💪🏽: That’s so rough, Paige. Hoping for healing and peace.

Kea 💅🏽👑: sending healing and baby dust her way!

J 💯🧸🏁: fuck bro. so sorry

Finally, there was no one else who needed to know. Well, outside of the Fudd’s, but she wasn’t sure when Azzi would feel comfortable telling them.

She switched over to enter the tracking number for Azzi’s birthday present. Yesterday when Azzi was curled into Paige, she was able to find something she hoped would be a good birthday present for Azzi, and it was set to get here the day before her big day.

Even though it was something small, Paige wanted to bring her a little comfort, a little extra love until she felt okay again.

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

Azzi woke slowly. She looked at the wood beams stretched over her head.

She was not at home.

For a second – just a second – Azzi forgot.

She forgot Peanut wasn’t growing anymore.

She forgot Peanut wasn’t in her anymore.

She forgot that she felt empty.

But then she sat up.

She sat up and liquid rushed out of her.

Her breath hitched as all the memories replayed in her brain.

The cramps. The blood. Paige. The shower. The hospital. Olivia. Paige. Bob and Katie. Paige again. Socks. Paige again. A mask. Paige again. Sleeping. Leaving the hospital. Paige again. Sleeping.

Paige was always there. Where was she now?

“Paige?” She called, voice raspy from lack of use.

The blonde came in quickly, body trying not to show how panicked she really felt. But Azzi knew her body language, her facial expressions. Azzi knew Paige better than she knew anybody.

“Hey Az. You have a good nap?” She asked gently.

Dark brows furrowed and brown eyes traced the wood grain on the floor. “When I woke up, I forgot. Everything was normal. Peanut was fine. But then I remembered.” Her breath hitched. “I feel like something’s missing, Paige.”

Paige moved towards the sofa at the crack in her voice. Her hands came up to gently cup her face, “Someone is missing, Azzi. You’re allowed to miss Peanut because they are supposed to be here.”

“I just don’t know what to do now.” She muttered, eyes glossy.

Paige’s tone was soft, but firm. “You feel whatever you’re feeling. You don’t owe anyone anything, and there’s not a handbook to teach you what to do when you lose a child, Azzi. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me, and you can let yourself break if you want.”

Azzi’s chin wobbled as she nodded. Silent tears flowed from her eyes, and Paige pulled her into her chest. And then the sobs started.

And just like she said, Azzi was safe to break down.

Paige held her through it all, pressing kisses and words into her skin.

“Let it out, Azzi.”

“I’m right here.”

“You’re the strongest person I know, Azzi Fudd.”

“You are not alone.”

“I love you, Princess.”

When the tears had subsided, Azzi laid sprawled out on top of Paige.

“I feel dirty almost.” She whispered. “Or like my body’s broken.” She paused.

Paige didn’t rush her to speak, just ran her hand up and down her spine.

“I don’t know what I’m saying or what I mean. It’s just…it’s just this feeling.” She finished.

The living room was silent for a while.

“Do you wanna take a warm shower?” Paige offered. “I can wash your hair if you want. Detangle it and everything.”

It got a small smile from the brunette, so Paige counted it as a win.

They stepped into the shower together, tension melting from their shoulders as the hot water ran over their shoulders.

Paige got to work quickly, tilting the curly hairs into the stream of warm water.

She was gentle as she worked shampoo into the strands. She was intentional about scrubbing Azzi’s scalp, but she was the opposite of rough. She sectioned the curls into four sections, working conditioner into each strand.

While the conditioner sat, Paige grabbed a cloth and got to work. She washed every inch of skin like she was cleaning the most important person in the world – well, Azzi was the most important person in Paige’s world.

She rinsed her hair and body before the water cooled. She wrapped her hair in a t-shirt, wiped the water from her body, and helped her get dressed. Azzi sat on the bed, leaning against Paige’s legs as she gently detangled her hair.

“You’re the best person I know, Paige Madison.”

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

The rest of the week followed a pattern.

They woke up and went on a walk before eating breakfast at a little café down the street. Paige pressed a heating pad into Azzi’s belly while she read on the couch. They cooked lunch together because Azzi didn’t trust Paige not to set the house on fire. The blonde was on clean up duty while Azzi slept. They lounged around until dinner before going to bed and doing the same thing the next day.

Paige didn’t say anything when tears fell on Azzi’s waffles.

Azzi didn’t ask why Paige had been crying when her blue eyes were rimmed with red.

Paige didn’t hesitate to throw the peanut butter out when Azzi’s eyes got wet after she saw it.

They talked about Peanut a lot.

About if Peanut was a boy or a girl. What sport they would have played. If they were going to be a teacher’s pet or the class clown. What Peanut’s future should have been.

Azzi talked about Peanut, and Paige was thankful for that. “I feel like I may have done something. And I know Liv said that I probably didn’t, but nobody knows that for sure.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Az. We’ll get the results when we go back to the doctor next week.” Paige would reply.

“Do you really think I’ll have my own baby some day?” Azzi would whisper at night, right before they went to sleep.

“Even if I have to carry the baby myself,” Paige was always half-asleep when she answered, but they both knew she was telling the truth.

The blonde was always gentle. In the showers they took together. In the gentle way she brushed her hair. In the way she wedged a heating pad in between their torsos when Azzi’s cramps returned. In the way she told Azzi that she was enough. In the space she left for Azzi to break whenever she needed.

Azzi was so in love with her.

They spoke with Bob, Katie, or both of Paige’s parents once every day they were away. Katie helped Azzi process loss and was a listening ear when Paige needed to voice her complicated feelings without making Azzi feel guilty.

Azzi sent Caroline, KK, Ice, and Sarah a check-in text every day.

But both avoided calls from Azzi’s family until her birthday.

Azzi was standing behind Paige in the kitchen, observing as the blonde added lemon zest into the mixture for shrimp scampi. “Love Language” by SZA was cut off by Siri’s voice.

“Call from Katie Fudd.”

Azzi sighed deeply, looking at the ceiling. Before Paige could decline the call, the brunette pressed the green button.

“Hello?” She answered.

There was a brief pause. “Azzi?” Her mom’s voice came through the device.

“Azzi, where are you? You turned your location off.” Tim called.

“I’m in Phili with P.” She replied casually.

Paige’s head cocked to the side, almost like she was asking her why she was doing this.

“We were just calling to see if you were okay.” Her mom hesitated. “When do you want to do your birthday celebration?”

Azzi chuckled dryly. “I’m not celebrating with you.” She swallowed, getting frustrated. “And no, I’m not okay. My baby is dead.” She gritted out.

The line went silent. Even Paige was frozen in place.

“Azzi…” Her dad started, shock evident in his voice. “You were pregnant?”

She dropped the phone to the counter, not even caring anymore. “I was. And my baby died a week ago. I’m sure that makes you real happy. At least my baby won’t grow up without a father!”

Azzi was furious. She didn’t let her parents get a word out before she ranted.

“My baby died before I could ever hold it. And you weren’t there, but you know who was? Paige. Paige rushed home. She bathed me and took me to the hospital. She held my hand the entire time, even when they put me out, she was right there. She held me while a sobbed in the bed.” She breathed.

“I needed you there. I needed my parents, but you guys were nowhere to be found. Just angry that I was thinking about having a baby without having a husband!” She didn’t care how her words landed, but she needed someone to feel the same pain she did. Someone else needed to know the pain of losing a child. Someone who wasn’t her – wasn’t Paige.

“But you know who did show up? Bob and Katie.” She heard her parents gasp into the phone, but she didn’t give a fuck. “Yeah, Bob and Katie were at the hospital as soon as P told them. They brought Paige food. They came in and talked with me. They rented us a house in Phili so I could heal in a different space.”

Paige felt a small sense of pride knowing her family was taking such good care of her girl Azzi.

“They cared for me when you didn’t. So no. I don’t want to spend time with you for my birthday.”

She hung up the phone and leaned over the countertop, breath rapid and uneven.

“I’m proud of you, Azzi.” Paige said, wrapping her into a hug. “You did a good job standing up for yourself – for Peanut.”

She walked the duo over to the couch.

“I know we leave tomorrow, but it’s your birthday, so I couldn’t leave before giving you this.” She pulled out a shiny pink gift bag. “Happy birthday, Azzi. I hope you love it.” She finished with a whisper.

There were three black boxes in the bag. Azzi chose the skinniest, longest of the boxes.

“You got me a chain?” She giggled. Paige had never gotten her a chain before, but there’s a first time for everything.

The blonde chuckled. “Open the rest, I promise it’ll make sense!”

The next box had two bluish-green studs. The color of the earrings would complement her skin nicely.

The last box contained a ring. It was simple, but absolutely stunning. It features the same color stones as the earrings.

“It’s a promise ring.” Paige blurted. “When you started IUI, I promised you that you’d have a baby. And this week, I’ve been promising you that you will get to hold your own baby.” She continued.

“So, this ring is a promise. A promise that I will never give up on you. You will have that baby to hold.” She took the box with the ring in it. “This is alexandrite. It’s one of the birth stones for June.”

Azzi’s breath hitched and her eyes filled with tears. “For Peanut?” She gave a watery smile.

“For Peanut,” Paige nodded, taking the ring out of the box to show her the inscription.

Peanut, forever carried in love · 06.12.26

Tears streamed down her face, but Azzi was still smiling. “You’re the best person I know, Paige Bueckers.”

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

The next weeks pass in a blur.

Azzi was still off the week after they got back from Philadelphia. Paige was with for the majority of the days, but she went back to the station twice that week. And each time, they sent home enough food to last until her next shift. When Paige was working, her stepmom was at her house with Azzi.

They weren’t worried about her, but they didn’t want her to have to struggle alone. And it was a good thing that Katie had been so involved because she persuaded Azzi to see a therapist.

They met on Zoom once a week. Colleen helped her process her feelings. The relief she felt once Liv called with the results. The anger she felt at whatever genetic mutation killed her baby. The anxiety she felt about being pregnant ever again. The anguish she felt thinking about different milestones with every passing week.

But her sessions were working. By week three, Azzi was baking again. Even though it was for work, not fun, she was able to push past her grief to do her job.

The real testament was during the first week of December, the fifth week since losing Peanut. Paige walked into the kitchen after a nap to discover Azzi cooking dinner at the stove.

She stood in the doorway and watched the woman she loved move around her kitchen like it was hers. Paige honestly had half a mind to tell her she was in love with her right then. Azzi was magic in the kitchen. She didn’t pick seasonings before she started. She didn’t measure anything. She didn’t even set a timer for the chicken to cook. She just moved off of sheer instinct, and Azzi already knew it would be one of the best things she’d ever made.

“Whatcha making, Az?” She pushed off the door jamb.

Azzi didn’t even look back, but Paige could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s supposed to snow tonight, so I made a soup.” She answered casually.

“Azzi, what kind of soup?” Paige whined, still a little tired after back to back shifts.

The brunette giggled. “Sausage tortellini soup.”

Paige dropped to her knees in the kitchen. “Marry me. Please. Right now.”

The light giggles turned into a cackle. “Get up, Paige. You’re so dramatic.”

“You love me this way. Or else you wouldn’t have made my favorite soup!” Paige huffed.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a bit. Her smile was small, like her own little secret. “Yeah, P. I love you exactly the way you are.”

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

Azzi sat crisscross applesauce on the beanbag in Paige’s gaming room. She toyed with one of the strings on a hoodie much too big for her. The silence between the two was much longer than usual.

“Azzi, did you hear my question, or are you ignoring me?” Colleen asked, voice firm.

The curly-haired girl tossed her head back. “I like staying at Paige’s. I don’t have to be alone. She takes care of me. And she doesn’t expect me to be anything when I’m with her.”

“That’s good, Azzi. But do you think it’s sustainable to live in your best friend’s house for the foreseeable future?” Colleen was trying to get Azzi to move back into her own home, but Azzi wasn’t interested in doing that. At all.

“If Paige doesn’t mind, why should I?” Azzi shrugged.

Colleen sighed. “Why do you want to live with Paige instead of go back home?” She questioned. “Is it because of your feelings for her or something else.”

Azzi huffed, crossing her arms. “I should have never told you about my feelings for her.”

The therapist looked to the side before making eye contact with Azzi again. “With everything you say about her, I would’ve been able to figure this out in two sessions.” She smirked. “Now, tell me why you want to stay with Paige.”

The brunette was quiet for a beat. “I don’t want to be in the house where my baby died.” She whispered, fiddling with her Peanut ring.

“That’s more than understandable, Azzi.” Colleen said softly. “You’re allowed to do everything at your own pace. I just think it’s important to know why you’re doing what you’re doing.” She explained.

Azzi nodded, winding the hoodie string tight around her finger. “What if I want to try again? Try to have a baby? Does that make me crazy? Or would that mean I’m –” She paused, looking for the right word. “Disregarding Peanut?”

Colleen’s brows furrowed, but not in concern or disappointment. “Not at all, Azzi. You can try again whenever you’re ready. Having another baby doesn’t take away the love you have for your own.” She smiled. “The best part about a mother’s love is that it increases with every child she has. You’ll never run out.”

“It’s weird,” Azzi finally said. “I thought losing Peanut would make me never want to do this again.”

Colleen nodded, her expression calm and open. “And has it?”

Azzi swallowed. “No. I mean — yes. I was sure I couldn’t do it again. But I keep having these dreams with more a few kids. And now I’m thinking about them more. What they'd look like. How they’d laugh.”

“You’re still picturing the future,” Colleen said softly.

Azzi nodded, voice low. “But I’m scared. I’m scared of doing everything right and it still going wrong. I’m scared I’m not strong enough to do this again. I’m scared if I say yes to trying again and I get pregnant and I have another miscarriage, I’ll break into pieces I can’t fix.”

There was a long pause. Colleen smiled again. “Azzi, I want you to hear me when I say this. Wanting again isn’t weakness, it’s brave.”

Azzi blinked. Her eyes didn’t tear up, but something caught in her chest. “It doesn’t feel brave.”

“It rarely does,” the therapist said. “Sometimes bravery just looks like choosing to keep hoping. Even with shaky hands.”

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

The walls of Liv’s office were much more encouraging and welcoming than Dr. Caldwell’s. Instead of only having a grid of brochures, there was a wall of family portraits. Seeing all of the families Liv had helped made her proud of her friend and (cautiously) excited to start fresh.

When Liv came into the exam room, she greeted Paige and Azzi with a smile. “Are you thinking about next steps?”

Azzi nodded. “Paige said that IVF is a better option if a miscarriage happens. I think I’m ready. I just... I want to know what I’d be signing up for.”

Liv pulled up a chart on her tablet. “IVF is a more involved process. You’d take injectable medications to stimulate your ovaries. It’d be everyday. And they are a lot stronger than the pills used for IUI. You’d need frequent monitoring: bloodwork, ultrasounds. Then we retrieve the eggs, fertilize them, and transfer two or three embryos back after a few days.”

“And the risks?” Azzi asked.

“There’s a small chance of ovarian hyperstimulation. Some people have bloating, headaches, mood swings. Emotionally, it’s intense. Physically, it’s no walk in the park either.”

Azzi nodded, taking that in. “And the timeline?”

“We could start with your next cycle, if you're ready.”

Azzi sat back, lips pressed together. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Liv confirmed.

“I want to talk to Paige first,” Azzi started. “But I think I want to do this. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

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

The sky was already going dusky when Azzi got back home. The soft click of the door closing behind her felt like exhaling after holding her breath all day.

From the kitchen came the rhythmic sound of a knife on a cutting board. Paige stood at the counter in a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra, slicing apples into a bowl. The smell of cinnamon hung in the air.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She just walked into the space that had become a kind of home and watched Paige move.

“I’m ready,” she said finally.

Paige didn’t look up. “For what?”

“To try IVF.”

The knife stopped mid-slice. Paige’s hand stilled on the half-cut apple. “You are?”

Azzi took a breath. “I can’t promise I’m 100 percent ready. But Katie said no one ever is. Paige, I want this. I really want this.”

Paige turned to her then. Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were full. “Then let’s do this.” A beat.

Then softer: “Together.”

[marlynnofmany]

Missing But Not Missed

Paint asked, “So are these clothes for protection, or for decoration?” She peered at the readout on the larger of two shipping cases, her lizardy face curious.

I sat down to look, dangling my legs out the open door of the ship. “A bit of both, I think. This one’s all shoes, which most people don’t leave home without, on account of our delicate human skin. Sometimes they’re fancy, though. These shoes … huh. It’s an odd number.”

Paint looked at the readout, then at my own shoes. “You don’t have an odd number of feet.”

“Right. Well, most of us don’t,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “Do some humans have extra limbs?”

“N— Well, it’s not unheard of,” I had to admit. “Conjoined twins have been known to happen. But it’s more likely that somebody’s missing one. Or, really, that someone lost a shoe and needs a replacement.”

“Oh,” Paint said. “That’s much less interesting.”

“Yup.” I inspected the readout on the other case. These two deliveries were from a shipping department at a different spaceport, which had stringent rules about how detailed the cargo manifests were. Handy for a couple of bored couriers waiting for their clients to show up. “I think these are more decorative, but still socially important,” I told Paint.

She was definitely bored too. She hadn’t even commented on the sights and smells of the passersby. “How important?”

“Most people don’t go around shirtless unless they’re wearing minimal clothes for swimming.” I pointed at the first line on the readout. “These look like regular T-shirts. That’s this, the top part.” I tugged on my own shirt.

“Right, yes,” Paint agreed. “So what are ‘shorts’? Why are they short?”

“Those are for the bottom half, but they don’t reach all the way to the ground.” I held a hand above my knee to show the cutoff length. “Good for covering a sensitive part of the body, and for a place to put pockets. Not very warm, though.”

Paint shook her head, likely at the wasted opportunity for warmth. Her people weren’t called Heatseekers for nothing. “I suppose I can’t argue with pockets. But this all sounds like a lot of practical stuff; I was hoping for something extravagant and interesting.”

“Maybe the shirts have fun patterns,” I said. “The readout doesn’t give every possible detail. Though it does say the shirts are adult size and the shorts are for kids. Maybe it’s a family shopping order.”

“That’s nice,” Paint said. “I wonder why they didn’t order more. Must be a small family.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes that’s all you need.”

A distant voice called, “Hello the courier ship!”

I turned to see a small figure waving, backlit by the shine off a particularly glossy ship parked nearby. I waved back.

Paint said quietly, “Both clients are supposed to be human. I wonder if this is someone— Oh. Never mind.” She shrunk down, embarrassed, and in a moment I saw why.

The smiling fellow who glided into view was definitely human, but just the top half. He steered a hoverstool with masterful precision, making better time than someone with legs would have. Pale skin, graying hair, big smile. “Is this the good ship Slap the Stars?” he asked.

“It is indeed,” I said. “Are you Spencer?”

“I am indeed!” he replied, dipping one shoulder in a way that looked like a bow.

“Then I believe this is for you.” I moved the second box forward and brought out the payment tablet, and we finalized the delivery while Paint pretended she hadn’t misinterpreted his silhouette a moment ago.

A second human walked up, this one with the full complement of legs. I assumed he was our second client, but he greeted the first and was given an enthusiastic rundown of the clothing purchases.

“One of the shirts is the most gorgeous shade of lavender, a nice soft weave, and the shorts are from that great company that relocated!”

“The one with the good seams? Nice! We should get you some more from them.”

“I’m testing out just a couple first, in case they changed anything about their manufacturing after the move. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh, good call.”

Spencer realized he was still holding the payment tablet, and handed it back to me. “Thanks so much!”

“Our pleasure!” I said.

The guy with legs picked up the box, leaving his partner’s hands free for the hoverstool controls. They both said their goodbyes and strolled off in the direction of the food court, where faint music was playing.

“So,” Paint said quietly. “Not a family shopping trip.”

“Not the way we were thinking, no,” I agreed. I looked around at the various people going about their business, spotting several other humans. As soon as I saw one in particular, I suspected he was our second client. “I think another minor mystery is about to be solved,” I told Paint.

“What mystery?”

“The mystery of the odd number of shoes.”

She looked around and made a little “oh” noise when she saw the guy on crutches. He was missing just the one leg, and he also maintained a quicker pace than the average pedestrian, thanks to the long reach of those crutches.

“Is this Slap the Stars?”

“Yes it is! Are you Josh?”

“Yep. And that must be the delivery from my solemate.”

I laughed. “Is that what it is?” Since Paint was looking confused, I told her, “The bottom of shoes are called soles.”

Josh typed his information into the tablet. “I have a friend who’s missing the opposite leg, with the same shoe size. And he has pretty good taste in fashion, so it’s always a nice surprise to swap. Hey by the way, would you guys be heading back that way, by any chance? I’ve actually got a few shoes to send him.”

“Maybe,” I said with a glance at Paint. “Let me check with the captain.”

I stepped aside to use the intercom for the cockpit. Captain Sunlight was there, said yes, and started down the hallway to join us. I ended the call to find Paint discussing prosthetic legs with the client.

“I do have one,” he was saying, “but it’s a pain to use. It takes forever to charge, and isn’t always worth it. I’m faster on the crutches.”

“Are they as maneuverable, though?” Paint asked.

“With practice, they are very maneuverable!” he said. “Have you heard of the Paralympics?”

Paint hadn’t. By the time the captain arrived, the conversation had covered both amputee soccer and one-legged skiing. Paint didn’t even hear her arrive at first. She belatedly stepped aside and stood back next to me so the professional discussion could take place.

Paint murmured, “I’ve never thought of sports specifically for people missing limbs before. It sounds amazing.”

“I’ve seen some! It really is,” I agreed.

“I’m used to that sort of thing being downplayed and ignored,” Paint said. “If you’re missing a part, you just get a replacement part — at least as best as you can — and you carry on.” She shook her scaly head. “I wouldn’t have thought of celebrating it.”

I looked over her head, to where the previous clients were dancing to the music at the food court. They held hands, and one of them danced on air. I smiled. “We humans do love our celebrations.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[bambieyedoll]

HIIII bella annon here :3 you are so sweet oh my goodness ... do ya think you can write more abt bella & actress reader ? :3 any scenario really , but mabye one where the reader is doing 2 projects at the time & readers getting overwhelmed with it ?

omg— hi, babyyy ! i’ve missed you, i hope you’re doing well. of course, love. i’m sorry if i made you wait a bit longer than expected. i hope you like it, mwah x🐰

you knew juggling two major projects at once would be exhausting, but you underestimated just how much.

your days are a constant cycle of early morning call times, back-to-back filming, script memorization, and barely enough time to eat, let alone breathe.

bella notices immediately. they always do.

at first, they just watch you carefully—your slightly slower responses, the way you rub your temples more often, the way your texts become shorter, less filled with the usual emojis and dramatic exclamation points.

“babe, have you eaten today?” they ask one evening over facetime, voice soft but firm. you hesitate for too long, and that’s all the answer they need.

the next morning, a delivery shows up at your hotel: your favorite breakfast, along with a note in bella’s messy handwriting. “for the best actress in the world, who needs to be alive to win all her awards. love you.”

on the rare nights you actually make it home, bella insists on taking care of you.

they wrap you in the softest blanket, make you tea, and put on your comfort show.

you try to protest, saying you should be running lines instead. bella just tuts, taking your script and setting it aside. “not tonight, love. you need a break.”

they send you voice notes throughout the day, little check-ins:

“drink water. right now. i will know if you don’t.”

“babe, please remember to stretch, i don’t want you turning into a human pretzel from all that stress.”

“i love you. you’re incredible. but also, if you don’t sleep at least six hours tonight, i’m coming to drag you to bed myself.”

one night, you finally break. it’s late, you’re exhausted, and nothing about your performance feels good enough.

bella calls just as you’re sitting on the floor of your trailer, head in your hands. “i can’t do this,” you whisper, voice shaky.

bella immediately switches into full comforting mode. “hey, hey, no, don’t say that. you’re doing amazing. you’re working so hard, and i know it feels impossible right now, but i promise you—it’s not. you’re gonna get through this.”

the next weekend, they show up on set unannounced, having somehow arranged with your team to visit.

you nearly cry when you see them. bella just grins and holds out their arms. “told you i’d drag you to bed if i had to. now come here.”

they stay with you for a few days, making sure you actually rest.

at night, you fall asleep curled against them, bella whispering sweet reassurances against your hair. “you don’t have to do everything at once, love. just breathe. i’ve got you.”

with bella there, everything feels a little more manageable. the exhaustion doesn’t magically disappear, but suddenly, you’re not carrying it alone.

they make sure you eat properly, physically dragging you away from set one afternoon to sit outside with them and finish an entire meal. “i’m serious, babe, if you pass out mid-scene, i’m fighting your entire team.”

they also keep you grounded when your perfectionism threatens to take over. when you groan over a take you think wasn’t good enough, bella just nudges you. “you were great. your brain is lying to you. it’s okay, i’ll tell you the truth myself.”

at night, when you’re too wired to sleep, bella reads to you in a soft, steady voice.

sometimes it’s from whatever book they’re into at the moment; other times, it’s just their own improvised bedtime story about the two of you running away to a quiet cottage in the middle of nowhere. “no scripts, no call times. just us, a cat, and unlimited pancakes.”

“and a dog,” you mumble sleepily against their shoulder. bella laughs. “fine. a dog too.”

even when they have to leave, they make sure you’re not alone. you wake up to a playlist they made just for you, titled “for my overachieving love” with a mix of your favorite calming songs.

there’s also a text: “i’m still watching you, babe. eat. sleep. breathe. and please, call me when you have five minutes, i miss your voice.”

the next time you start spiraling, overwhelmed by everything on your plate, you remember bella’s voice in your ear, steady and certain. “just breathe. i’ve got you.”

and you know they do.

[philistiniphagottini]

I hope I am not late on requests. If I am that’s fine I don’t mind.

But I wanted to possibly request maybe some Blades fluff? I’ve been a little out of it lately, and was thinking maybe just some cuddly down time with him would be nice 🥰 I’m certain he’d love fuller figures, soft on his aching hands and cozy.

-noodle

Hi Noodle! Thanks for the request, I'm always happy to see you in my inbox. I'm sorry that you've been feeling down lately, if it makes you feel better, so have I. You can always message me if you need to talk xx. But I hope maybe this little fic might make you feel a smidge better. Thanks for allowing me to write Bladie, I always enjoy writing for him. And you are so right, he loves fuller figures for his aching hands <3

Reblogs and comments highly appreciated.

cw. fluff, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors please DO NOT interact with any of my works

You are so incredibly soft. Blade always silently marvelled at how easy your skin squished under his touch, such a complete contrast to his own scarred and weary body. Your plump figure was soft on his aching hands, warm against his cool skin and sparking back a semblance of warmth as he slipped his hands under the hem of your shirt and rested the large palms on your round stomach. It felt just as comforting as the pile of blankets and pillows you were currently nesting in.

You stirred only briefly, dozing and drifting in and out of consciousness as your long lashes fluttered against your round cheeks as your eyes briefly flickered under the lids. You buried your face further into the crook of Blade’s neck, finding solace in long silky tresses of his dark hair as the wisps tickled your cheek. You took a deep breath as your arms coiled tighter around his back, lost in the tangle of his hair as you pressed the tips of your fingers into the ridges of his spine. When you took a deep breath, the familiar scent of your shampoo curled deep in the pit of your lungs. The smell was comforting as you fell deeper into Blade’s embrace, his body covering yours like a heavy, weighted blanket. It was grounding and something that you needed for the moment. 

You stirred again as Blade continued to run his hands over the swell of your soft stomach, squeezing the soft pudge until it spilled between the gaps of his fingers and made you tingle all over. A disgruntled noise stirred in the back of your throat, warm breath puffing against the side of Blade’s neck but you did not stop the prod of his hands. You encouraged him to continue, enjoying the way he silently appreciated the fullness of your body as your legs entangled further and trapped you more. Neither of you would be able to move without the help of the other. You could feel Blade’s breath stirring soft curls of your hair as his fingers traced along the stretch marks etched into your stomach, the scarred and calloused pads of the digits tracing the little bolts of lightning with intimate familiarity that made heat lick at the base of your spine. 

"Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?" Blade asked, his voice barely above a raspy whisper as it kissed the shell of your ear. 

You hummed in thought as you considered his question. You turned words over in your head as you pondered, sifting through your head as you tried to think up a coherent response. There was nothing particularly wrong, other than you were feeling down and out lately. Little, tiny problems that built and built, festering into a big problem that all came crashing down on you and drained you of most of your willpower. You didn’t know how to describe it. And unfortunately for Blade, he would not be able to cut the unseen demons that lurked in the corners of your mind with the sharp edge of his blade. 

You hummed in thought, your plump lips smacking together in a loud pop as you nuzzled your face into his neck. 

"Cuddle me more and I’ll consider it."

It was only a half joke and the deadpan delivery of your witty reply matched your despondent mood. You weren’t particularly surprised when Blade’s arms coiled tighter around your plump waist, hands anchored to your skin and squeezing you in response. He didn’t have the right words. He never had the right words to comfort you. They didn’t come easy to him. It didn’t really matter much to you. You could feel his worry and concern oozing from him in pulsing waves as you were smothered beneath him, emotions swimming in the swirling depths of his crimson gaze when you chanced a peek up at him. 

"Like this?" he asked. 

It was strange that the hands he used to harm others, could hold you with such gentleness and reverence. Scarred hands capable of killing yet could hold you in a clumsy, soft awkwardness that comforted and soothed your raging thoughts. You hummed in affirmation as he squeezed you a little tighter, aching hands holding onto the softness of your body. A soft smile tilted your lips as you closed your eyes. You pressed your hands into his spine once more, slowly rubbing soothing circles into his back as you basked in the comforting silence of his presence. Blade had always been a safe harbour that you could return to and the thought left you feeling a little fuzzy on the inside as you still pondered on what to say. You didn’t worry so much now. Blade would wait for you to speak and he would always listen.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Words: 9.5k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Bloody gun violence, death, survivor's guilt, anxiety, PTSD

Today's the wedding. Everything is beautiful and perfect. Until it isn't.

It was finally the day of the wedding. You woke before the sun had fully climbed above the trees outside the bedroom window. The light was soft and golden, filtering through the sheer curtains like the morning was holding its breath just for you.

Today.

You didn’t move right away. For a long moment, you just lay there, listening to the birds outside. You heard the sounds of the house beginning to stir. Somewhere below, a floorboard creaked. You could hear faint voices in the kitchen, probably your mother, already organizing something. She’d been in full planning mode since yesterday afternoon.

None of it felt real. Not the silk robe draped over the end of the bed. Not the wedding dress Polly had guarded like a state secret. And definitely not the fact that by nightfall, you would be Tommy Shelby’s wife.

Your hand drifted over your stomach, absently. You smiled. The baby had settled again after all the chaos of the last few days, and you wondered if he knew what day it was. The day when his parents made it official in front of the Almighty and all of Small Heath. 

Sliding out of bed, you crossed to the window and cracked it open an inch, letting in the early spring air. It smelled like grass and roses and new beginnings. A small army of people were rushing in and out of the house with deliveries, flowers. All around them were men with guns, some you recognized and others you didn't.

Behind you, the bedroom door creaked open. “You’re up,” your mother said warmly, stepping inside. “I was just coming to wake you.”

You turned, and she smiled like she was seeing you as a little girl again. “Big day,” she added, her voice catching. “I’ll send in the maid to start your bath. There’s a lot to do. Polly wants your hair done just so. The dress is pressed, and the veil’s ready. And I brought you tea.”

She crossed to the nightstand and set it down. Lemon slices floated in the cup. Of course, your mum thought of everything. “Thanks, Mum.”

Mary cupped your face for a second, then leaned in and kissed your forehead. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride this city has ever seen.”

You smiled. “I hope Tommy thinks so.”

Mary raised a brow. “If that man doesn’t tear up seeing you, I’ll slap him myself.”

You laughed, a little shakily, and the sound eased something in your chest. As she turned to leave, she glanced back once more. “Breathe, love. The day’s only just begun.”

And as the door closed behind her, you let yourself smile. You weren’t afraid of the marriage or belonging to Tommy. You were struggling with expectations. The eyes that would be on you today.

But you were walking into it on your own terms, in the most beautiful wedding dress. Your own quiet joy tucked like armor around your heart. 

The steam from your bath had only just begun to fade from the room when Polly appeared, sweeping in like she’d choreographed the entire morning herself. 

“Now, let's get to work on your hair,” she declared.

You exchanged a quick glance with your mother, who only smirked behind her teacup.

Polly’s gaze was intent on you. “You slept, yes?”

“I did,” you said. “Surprisingly well.”

She gave a nod, approving. “Good.”

You sat before the small vanity as Polly began working on your hair. Her touch was brisk, but careful. Every now and then she paused to tilt your chin this way or that, deciding what looked best.

“This needs to hold all day,” she said more to herself than to you. “Through the ceremony, dinner, and dancing.” A slight frown. “And hopefully no running for your life.”

“Polly,” Mary warned gently.

But you couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped. “Let’s hope not.”

You met Polly's gaze in the mirror, and for a beat, everything stilled. There was something in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. Something protective, yes, but deeper than that. Like she’d seen this moment coming long before you had.

Polly's expression softened, her sharp features momentarily giving way to something wistful. She smoothed a crease on your dress, not because it needed it, but to keep her hands busy. “I wasn’t sure Tommy would ever find someone,” she said, her voice low and honest. “Much less marry her.”

You turned to look at her fully, surprised by the confession.

“But then he saw you. And just like that--” she snapped her fingers lightly “--his mind was made up.”

You gave a soft laugh, nodding. Despite how it all started, it was exactly what he did. 

She nodded. “Ada was right. And at least the two of you get along well enough.”

There was a beat of silence between you, a shared stillness.

“I love him,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out like a truth you’d been holding close.

Polly just looked at you, that knowing light in her eyes burning warmer now.

“Good,” she said, adjusting the edge of your veil. “Because he’d burn the world down for you.”

Polly said nothing more, but her eyes were suspiciously shiny as she resumed styling your hair with new precision.

Mary came over and carefully opened the dress bag, revealing the gown Polly had guarded like a crown jewel. The fabric shimmered faintly in the morning light. It was elegant and soft, with embroidery at the hem and delicate lace at the sleeves. It was beautiful, and it was yours. Next to it was the soft pale blue dress your mother had crafted for the reception. It was almost as beautiful as the wedding dress and blessedly shorter to make it easier to move around and dance. 

You stood slowly, reaching for the wedding gown as Polly helped you step in and adjust the fit. Mary carefully zipped it, smoothing it into place with hands that had clothed you since you were a child. When they were done, they stepped back in silence as you turned toward the full-length mirror. 

The gown settled perfectly against your frame, every detail stitched with care, every fold a reminder of just how far you’d come. Polly adjusted the veil one last time while Mary watched, her eyes misting with something between pride and disbelief. 

For weeks, you’d been afraid. Afraid of not being enough, for Tommy, for this day, for the future stretching out in ways you’d never dared dream. You worried people would see the girl from Gray Street, the one who didn’t belong among silks and chandeliers. And while your wedding gown subtly masked it, you were also in delicate condition. 

But now, standing here in ivory and lace, his ring on your finger and his child growing inside you, you didn’t feel like that girl anymore. He loved you, and for once, you believed it all could be yours.

Let them whisper and stare at you. The ones who mattered were already proud of you, already fighting for you.

As for the rest?

They could go to hell.

“You’re ready,” Mary said simply, her voice thick. "You look beautiful."

Polly handed you your engagement ring to slip back on. Then she carefully placed the beautiful sapphire brooch on your dress. They arranged the veil, carefully helped you into your shoes. Together the two women adjusted your veil, smoothing it into place like they were tucking in their own hopes. 

You turned toward them, your heart hammering. “Thank you, both. For everything.”

Polly smirked. “Don’t thank us yet. You haven’t made it down the aisle.”

Mary gave a watery laugh and reached out to straighten the veil, now resting like mist over your shoulders.

A knock at the door made all three of you turn. Ada burst into the room, all smiles. "You look so beautiful!"

Tommy had already been awake when the house was still dim and the halls were hushed. She sprawled across him as she always did, one arm draped over his chest, her breath warm against his neck. It might have been the most peaceful moment he'd ever felt in this house, in this life. For one fleeting moment, he considered staying there. Waking her slowly with kisses. Letting the day wait.

But he couldn’t. Today was their wedding day.

There was too much to do. Too many things that needed to be tightened. While she slept, safe, for now, he had enemies to outmaneuver and a perimeter to fortify.

So he eased himself from beneath her with the kind of care reserved for fragile things. He pulled the covers higher over her shoulder. And then, without a sound, he dressed and disappeared into the shadows of the waking house.

Keeping her safe wasn’t something he’d leave to chance. Ever.

His shirt was buttoned, waistcoat fastened, sleeves rolled halfway up as he sipped from a mug of black coffee and reviewed the morning’s logistics with Arthur. They weren’t in the study or the kitchen or any of the usual rooms. They were in the entry hall, where the tall windows offered a clear view of the drive, the hedges, the gate. It was important that he could see the front.

“I want the outer perimeter checked again,” Tommy said, his voice low and deliberate. “Even the tree lines. I want eyes everywhere, and I want them in place before she walks out that fucking door.”

Arthur gave a tight nod. “Liam’s already out there, two good men with him. They’ve got three men walking the garden paths, four in the trees, another two by the drive.”

“And the rooftop?”

“Handled.”

Tommy took a slow drag of his cigarette, glancing toward the landing above where she was sleeping.

Arthur shifted beside him. “Rory’s got the guest list locked. No one’s getting in without a nod.”

“And anyone we don’t recognize gets escorted out the back door and into the cellar,” Tommy added.

Arthur smirked faintly. “That’s already been explained.”

Silence settled between them for a beat. Tommy’s eyes narrowed as he watched a bird flutter across the drive. A simple movement, but it reminded him of the “gift” that had arrived days ago. The floral bomb.

“They wanted to shake her,” Tommy said quietly. “Make her afraid to walk down the aisle.”

Arthur’s posture tensed. “Yeah, well, they fucked that up, didn’t they?”

Tommy exhaled through his nose. "She’s still walking,” he said. “I’m still waiting.”

He tossed the spent cigarette into a nearby tray and straightened the cuffs of his shirt. The suit he’d wear for the wedding was hanging upstairs, perfect and untouched. He wasn’t putting it on until every single man on his list confirmed their place.

“I’m heading down to the gate to see it myself,” he said. “No delays, no surprises. Not today.”

Arthur gave a nod. “You’ll be back in time?”

Tommy looked up toward the stairs again. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I will.”

Then he turned, coat already in hand, and strode out the door like a man on a mission.

Today wasn’t just a wedding. Today was sacred.

And no one, no Italian, no enemy, no devil in a silk suit, was going to ruin this for her.

The church was breathtaking, with columns wrapped in soft white blooms and gold candles flickering in the stained glass light. It looked like something out of a dream.

You, however, were struggling not to hyperventilate.

It was standing room only. You’d seen the crowd through the carriage window and nearly turned to mist on the spot. So many people. All of them waiting to see you. 

Ada, calm and composed as ever, stood at your side, adjusting a pin in your veil with steady hands. “Breathe,” she murmured. “You look perfect.”

Your hands clenched your bouquet tighter. “What if I trip?”

“You won’t.”

“What if I faint?”

“Then Polly and I will drag you down the aisle," Ada said with a laugh. "Either way, you’re marrying him today.”

You managed a shaky laugh.

The door opened quietly behind you, Arthur’s head poked in, half-sweat, half-scruff. He was clearly in the middle of some last-minute security scramble. But when his gaze landed on you, he gave a low whistle.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, grinning wide. “You look like you walked outta magazine.”

You gave him a nervous smile, as he walked closer.

With a lowered his voice, he said. “Don’t tell Tommy I said it, but… he’s the lucky one.”

You gave him a quick hug. 

"Gotta make sure no one blows us up before the vows.” He gave you a wink before he dashed off.

Ada leaned closer, grinning. “See? That’s Arthur’s version of a blessing.”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it together. Now it was just you, Ada, and a hush that buzzed with nerves. 

This time when the door opened, Rory stepped in. Your brother looked so handsome in his suit, all clean lines and straight shoulders. And he wasn't looking at you with his usual teasing.

Walking closer, he smiled. “My sister.”

“You look so handsome,” you whispered, blinking fast.

“You look beautiful. Might stop Tommy’s heart when he sees you.”

You let out a small laugh, your lips trembling.

He offered his arm. “Ready to do this?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

He glanced at the altar doors, then back at you. “Dad would be proud.”

That did it. Your eyes stung instantly.

“I mean it,” Rory added, voice thick. “I know you can’t see him... but he’s here. Right now, walking with us.”

You tried to speak, but your throat wouldn’t work.

Ada sniffed from behind you. “Rory,” she said with mock sternness, stepping forward to fix your veil again. “If she starts crying now, I’ll knock you out and walk her up the aisle myself.”

Rory gave a soft laugh, eyes still on you. “Sorry. Just had to say it.”

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back the wave of emotion. 

The music began. Your heart jumped. Ada gave your hand one last squeeze and stepped ahead to take her place.

Rory held out his arm again, offering you steady ground.

You looped your arm through his, leaned in just slightly. And together, you walked into the wedding.

Tommy stood still at the front of the church, the weight of every eye in the room pressing down on him. He barely noticed the standing-room-only crowd packed tightly into the pews and aisles. He barely spared any attention for the hushed murmurs or the way the old chandelier above creaked slightly in the beams. The scent of flowers filled the air, too sweet and overpowering.

His world had narrowed to the space between himself and the entrance doors. Arthur was beside him, shifting now and then as if his suit itched, but he remained steady. His oldest brother was focused, and silent for once. Tommy’s hands were clasped in front of him, but they weren’t still. His fingers tapped against each other slowly, steady. The way he might before a deal, or a strike.

Only this wasn’t war. It was his wedding.

And still, his mind reviewed all the layers of security in place. Liam, John, had three men posted in the choir loft. One at the doors. Two at the back gate. Snipers hidden in the hedges at the estate for later.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and his heart skipped a beat. Ada appeared at the far end of the aisle, smiling. She nodded at him, turning to take her place.

A hush swept over the church like a gentle wind. Tommy’s breath caught somewhere between his lungs and ribs. The music shifted, swelling softly through the old stone church, and there she was.

Her arm was looped in Rory’s, her steps careful but steady, like she was balancing joy and nerves with every movement. Her veil caught the morning light, a shimmer of lace and promise. And beneath it, his beautiful bride. 

Tommy couldn't keep the smile off his face. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Not just because of how beautiful she looked, but because of the hopeful expression on her face. That quiet mix of determination and wonder. Like she couldn’t believe this was real, but she was walking toward him anyway.

Everyone shifted in their seats to catch a glimpse of her, and he heard the collective hush, the low murmurs of admiration. He saw it too, in the way Polly blinked back tears, in the way even Ada softened. It was in the proud tilt of Mary’s chin.

Everything, everything, felt right for a moment in a life full of wrong.

She’d changed everything. Not just his days, or his plans, or the way he slept at night. She'd changed the man he was, the future he wanted. And now she was walking toward him.

His. 

And as she took that first step toward him, Tommy felt his heart soften, and then it swore. I’ll protect her. I’ll love her. Whatever comes, we walk through it together.

She reached him finally, and Tommy carefully lifted her veil to reveal her face. 

Rory took her hand gently, looking Tommy straight in the eye. “I promised our father I’d always keep her safe,” he said quietly, his voice steady but thick with feeling. He placed her hand in Tommy’s. “Today I'm keeping that promise.”

Stepping back, his eyes never left them.

Tommy managed a nod, one warrior to another. No thanks, no speech. Just a look that said I understand. And I’ll protect what you’ve given me.

Her fingers slipped into his, warm and trembling slightly. Tommy didn’t let go. She was all he saw as the priest welcomed the guests, when the first verses of scripture were read. Polly coughed pointedly from the front row, because he hadn’t looked away from his bride in two full minutes.

And he didn’t care.

Because for all the gunfire, the backroom deals, and the ghosts that haunted his name, this moment was clean. Holy, even. He wouldn’t taint it by looking away. 

And she wasn’t looking away either. That meant something to him.

The vows came, and she spoke hers first. He heard every word as she slid the ring on his finger. Not just the ones she said, but the ones she didn’t. The small shake in her voice when she promised to stand with him. The way her eyes glossed when she said “love.”

Then it was his turn. Tommy found his throat tightening as he began, but he got through it. Every word and vow, every ounce of emotion he poured into a promise that only she would ever hear fully. He was able to breathe easier now, his ring on her hand.

And in the beat that followed, before the priest spoke, before anyone moved, she mouthed the words: I love you.

She'd said it before, once or twice. But this time it wasn’t in the dark or in passing. It wasn’t after a night tangled in sheets or a morning half-lost to quiet smiles.

It was now and in front of everyone. In front of God, in front of the ghosts.

Tommy told her once, say it when you mean it, and I’ll know. Now he did.

His heart raced in his chest, not from nerves. From knowing he’d never wanted anything so badly to be true, and now it was. 

The priest smiled and nodded, his voice rising in a joyful declaration. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Tommy pulled her in before the priest finished the sentence. He kissed her like the world had finally stopped spinning. One hand on her waist, the other wrapped protectively around the back of her neck, grounding them both.

The church erupted into cheers and clapping, and somewhere behind them Arthur let out a triumphant whoop. But Tommy didn’t hear any of it. 

All he knew was the soft rush of her breath against his cheek as he whispered, “Mine now. All mine.”

And for the first time in his life, Tommy wasn’t chasing power or revenge or peace. He was simply standing still right where he wanted to be.

The light inside the hall was golden, soft and warm, and just a little bit surreal. Like a dream painted in candlelight and music. You didn’t think you’d remember much after the ceremony, or the trip back to the mansion. Your head had been spinning when your mother helped you change from the bridal gown to the soft blue dress. Your heart was full, and you could breathe now.

Now it was real.

The Shelby mansion had never looked like it did today. The long drive was lined with lanterns, flickering softly even in the daylight, casting a warm welcome over arriving guests. Black cars lined the edge of the property like a protective wall, each one housing a man Tommy trusted with his life. Not that you’d know it from the outside.

You met Tommy there in that small hallway, the quiet just before the storm. Next was a grand entrance into the reception and it sounded easier than the wedding until you got there. 

Tommy's gaze moved slowly over the dress you wore now, like he was memorizing it. Every detail, and line. His gaze finally settled on yours, and he smiled.

“You look…” His voice trailed off. He gave a small shake of his head and stepped closer. “No one’s going to remember what the room looked like. Or what they ate. Or what songs they danced to.” He lifted your hand in his. “They’ll remember the moment they saw you. Just like this.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “And so will I.”

Then, with a quieter smile, the one only you ever got, he whispered, “Come on, love. Let’s give them a night they’ll never forget.”

And with your hand in his, the doors opened. 

The main reception room was a golden glow of polished wood, crystal, and fresh flowers in deep sapphire, ivory, and blush – all hand-selected by Mary and Ada, with Tommy’s final approval. A string quartet played softly in one corner, weaving elegant music through the chatter of the gathered crowd. Champagne flowed from tall-stemmed glasses, and the scent of roast meats, warm bread, and honeyed fruit filled the air from the lavish buffet.

Tables were dressed in linen and lace, each setting marked with fine china and silver place cards. Even the cutlery had been polished to a mirror shine. In the center of it all, the dance floor gleamed, waxed to perfection, waiting for the bride and groom’s first dance. Above it, a grand chandelier sparkled, catching the late afternoon light.

Family mingled with allies. Powerful men nodded in greeting. Curious glances were cast toward the new Mrs. Shelby – admiration, envy, and speculation. The girl from Gray Street now stood at the center of Birmingham’s most powerful family.

Polly held court near the hearth, drink in hand and eyes everywhere. Arthur laughed too loudly. John winked at anyone who looked his way. Ada, elegant and calm, kept things from tipping too far into chaos.

And Tommy, calm, collected, and devastatingly sharp in his tailored black suit, watched everything. He held your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth. All around you there was warmth and laughter. A hum of tension just under the surface, always. But for a moment, it felt like a fairytale.

When the music shifted, the murmur of voices fell to a hush as Tommy led you out to the dance floor. “Dance with me, Mrs. Shelby.”

He led you confidently, as though he’d been born for this moment. As though nothing in the world could go wrong while your hand was in his. The music was slow and sweeping, strings humming softly through the air. You didn’t trip and you didn’t falter because he had you.

“Easy,” he murmured by your ear. “See? You’re perfect.”

And then he began to hum along to the song, low and sweet, just for you. You could have melted right there. The room blurred around the edges, faces blurring into soft shapes, candlelight spinning gently. For a few minutes, it was just you and him. When the song ended and the clapping started, he dipped you just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. And you knew. No matter what came next, he was your anchor. 

Yours.

Dinner was elegant but warm. It was the kind of meal that felt both grand and deeply personal. Long tables were set with gleaming silverware, crystal glasses, and flickering candlelight that made everything glow. The menu was carefully curated: roasted lamb with rosemary, herb-stuffed chicken, buttery potatoes, fresh bread still warm from the oven, and vegetables seasoned to perfection. Wine flowed freely, and every course was met with quiet approval or cheerful clinking of glasses.

Laughter and conversation filled the room, the din of family and friends finally relaxing after a tense week. Tommy looked pleased with everything. Ada had been right. It was a wedding fit for royalty. 

Arthur raised his glass first, clearing his throat with the subtlety of a foghorn. “Right,” he muttered, then glanced at Tommy. “He’s not one for speeches, so I’m doin’ it. You all should know, this man…” He paused, almost cracking a smile. “He was a right miserable bastard until she came along.”

Laughter echoed through the room. Even Tommy smirked.

“But truth is, I’ve never seen him look at anyone like he looks at her. Never thought I would. So... I'm glad he found someone to put a smile on his face. And to put up with him.” He lifted his glass. “To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Shelby.”

The room erupted with cheers and clinking glasses. You beamed.

John was there beside Esme, wearing an easy grin. He stood up after Arthur’s toast, clapping his brother on the back on the way to the front. 

“Not about to let Arthur have the last word,” John said, lifting his glass. “I mean, look at him. He cried during the vows. He’s gone soft.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

“But in all seriousness,” John continued, his grin fading to something gentler, “we’ve seen Tommy build an empire with nothing but grit, blood, and stubbornness. Thought that was all he needed.” He paused, looking toward the bride. “Turns out, he needed someone to remind him there’s more to life than the fight.” He lifted his glass higher. “To the woman who changed our brother. And to the little life on the way that’s about to change him even more. Cheers.”

A chorus of cheers echoed as John sat back down, eyes shining with something unspoken.

Your smile faltered the moment the words left John’s mouth. “…and to the little life on the way..."

Your heart nearly stopped. John said it, in front of everyone. You felt heat rush up your neck as a hundred pairs of eyes seemed to swing toward you all at once. Some faces lit with surprise, others with knowing smirks. Polly’s brows lifted slightly, Mary looked at you in concern, and Ada mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “bloody John.” 

You kept smiling, nodding politely as glasses clinked and the cheers echoed around the room. But inside? Panic. Tight and rising.

Tommy hadn’t made any public announcements. You hadn’t discussed when or how you'd share that bit of news. And now everyone knew. Your hand instinctively drifted to your belly under the table, a protective motion you hoped no one noticed. You glanced at Tommy beside you, who was calm and unreadable, as always. But there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He leaned in just enough for only you to hear, his hand finding yours under the table. “John’s a sentimental idiot,” he murmured. “But the secret’s out now.”

You gave him a look, and he saw right through it. 

Tommy’s gaze didn’t waver. “No one here believes I’d allow myself to be navigated into marriage even with a babe on the way,” he said, quiet but certain. “They know me better than that.”

His fingers curled around yours with a firm, reassuring squeeze. "If anything,” Tommy went on, softer now, “it was the other way around.”

You stared at him.

“The day Rory told me, when you were at your uncle's and I was just fucking lost... I was happy to hear it.” He looked away briefly, then back at you. “Not just because you were having my child. Maybe it meant I’d get a second chance. That you might let me try to do it right this time."

Emotion swelled in your chest, sharp and warm all at once. His hand tightened around yours.

“And now here we are."

You blinked fast, willing the tears not to fall, not in front of everyone. But they weren’t from fear or sorrow. They were the kind of tears that came from finally feeling safe and loved.

Polly rose next, her presence commanding even without trying. She lifted her glass, her voice steady, but full of emotion. 

“I’ve seen this family at its worst," she said. "I've also seen it on the verge of tearing itself apart. And tonight…” Her eyes flicked to Tommy, then to you. “Tonight, I see what we can be at our very best.”

She spoke not just as an aunt, but as a matriarch, acknowledging the past, honoring the present, and nodding toward the future.

“To the bride, who has given my nephew something I never thought he’d find." She paused, just long enough for her next words to really settle. “And to the child, who will grow up in a house that knows both war and love. Hopefully more of the latter.”

The crowd raised their glasses with a soft murmur of appreciation. Tommy nodded to her, a quiet, unspoken thank you. 

And you felt welcomed, like you were part of the family officially.

Polly's eyes shone just a bit too brightly to be completely dry. She gave you a hug before making adjustments to you like she was afraid she wrinkled you, smiling. When she handed you a fresh champagne flute, you accepted it and then found a place to set it to the side when you could. You wanted to enjoy the drinks with everyone, but it wasn't sitting right with your stomach, so you took it easy. 

Even your mother was glowing and tipsy. She was seated with Rory, who looked so proud. Not just to be a blinder, but his sister was marrying their king. As you visited with your family, you caught him sneaking glances at Irene. Tommy had hired her to help your mother at the shop, and she was a lovely girl you recognized from town. Her smile was kind, and Rory shyly glanced down every time Irene caught him looking her way. You'd tease him about it later. Your mother, seeing the same things you did, winked at you.

The music had shifted again, something lively, with strings and horns wrapping around the buzz of laughter and celebration. Her laughter cut through the noise, warm and unmistakably hers. It reached him even above the hum of conversation, above the clinking of champagne flutes and the scraping of silverware. Tommy’s eyes found her easily, even in the crowd. She was standing with Ada and Polly, her dress catching the golden light spilling in from the chandeliers. Her head was thrown back slightly, laughing at something Ada had said. 

He didn’t smile often, not without effort. But watching her now, he felt it, unforced and real. He hadn’t let her out of his sight since the ceremony and wouldn’t, not tonight. Not after everything. Even now, with every Blinder on high alert and trusted men posted outside, he kept his gaze on her. 

Tonight, she wasn’t just the girl he’d fallen in love with. She was his wife. And in this room full of allies and ghosts, she was the only thing that mattered.

Tommy watched her dance with Finn, glowing and unburdened. She’d danced with Arthur earlier, and he’d been fine with that. Arthur had held her like she was family, one of the first times in Tommy’s life when that word had meant something soft instead of something sharp. Rory had danced with her and they were laughing about something, about the girl Tommy had hired to help their mother with sewing if he had to guess. The lad had an eye for her and Tommy was fine with it as long as it didn't distract him from his duties. 

A couple of other men, business associates, mostly, had asked her to dance. They had been polite and respectful. She’d looked to Tommy for the okay each time, and he’d nodded. But the second their hands wandered beyond what was acceptable, the moment their smiles lingered too long, he’d been there. Smooth interruptions, barely noticeable to anyone but her. A hand at her back, a soft word in her ear, a silent request. Tommy couldn't help himself, and she never refused him.

For one goddamned moment, everything in the world was exactly as it should be.

Until it wasn’t. 

Tommy felt the ripple before he saw it, his instincts sharp despite the sound and splendor all around him. He saw movement at the edge of the crowd. He didn't recognize the man, too crisp, too polished. No coat, just a clean black suit that didn’t fit the occasion. The man's posture gave him away, his shoulders were too squared, his eyes were too sharp, too focused.

As Tommy watched, like a vision from a nightmare, the man's hand moved to his side, his jacket parting.

“Gun!” Arthur’s voice cut through the hum of music like the crack of a whip, raw but too far away.

Rory was closer, already moving. He'd spotted the man, too. He shouted something Tommy didn’t catch, surging forward.

All Tommy could think about in that moment was her. She was dancing with his youngest brother, eyes shining under the lights. His heart lurched in his chest.

Christ.

He lunged as the shot rang out, shattering the room. Tommy was aware of the screams that erupted, chairs clattering backward, and glass hitting the floor. It was then that he caught a glimpse of Rory, out of the corner of his eye. Rory moved in his direction just as Tommy reached his bride. He felt a hand shove him down, causing him to stumble. 

Another shot, brother and sister went down in front of him. His bride, Rory, collapsing together. Her soft blue dress was splattered in red, and Tommy's heart almost stopped.

“No,” Tommy breathed.

Another shot cracked the air, coming from next to him. Rory got off a shot. The would-be assassin jerked backward, clutching his gut with blood blooming across his shirt. His gaze was on Tommy, but by the time he hit the floor, he was dead.

Tommy dropped to his knees beside her and Rory, his breath tearing from his chest. His hands moved fast, searching and trembling.

“Move,” he ordered, more a plea than a command.

Her eyes were wide with panic, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts like her lungs couldn’t remember what they were supposed to do. Her blue dress was soaked in crimson, and for one frozen second, Tommy thought the worst.

“No, no...” he rasped, his voice cracking as he reached for her.

He eased Rory off her carefully, his hands shaking as he braced his brother-in-law’s weight and lowered him gently to the floor. Every breath Tommy took tasted like metal and dread. He looked her over, his hands moving over her sides, her belly, her arms, checking, searching, and praying.

It wasn’t her blood. Thank God. Thank fucking God.

But then her gaze dropped, down to the still form beside her, the dark stain blooming beneath Rory’s side.

“No,” she whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. “Rory...” She reached for her brother, her trembling hands brushing his shoulder, his cheek, desperately checking for movement, for a response, for anything. And then she saw her hand. Slick with blood that wasn’t her own. Rory’s blood. She gasped, recoiling like she’d been burned. And in the same breath, she flung the gun clutched in her other hand, like it was cursed. It hit the floor with a dull clatter.

Tommy jumped in, already pressing both hands to Rory’s side, trying to stop the bleeding. Her hands were shaking, her breath quick and shallow, but she wasn’t frozen. She was trying, fighting through her panic. His gaze dropped to Rory’s coat, open and askew. The holster under his jacket was empty, making Tommy’s chest tighten.

His wife had drawn Rory’s gun, and she’d fired. Jesus Christ, she’d shot the man.

Arthur was there now, dropping to a knee beside them, wide-eyed and breathless. His gaze landed on the gun, then swung back to her. He'd seen it too.

"Rory?" she begged, frantic now.

Rory groaned low. The sound of it, strangled and thick, ripped through Tommy like a blade.

“Medic!” Arthur yelled, closer now. “We need a fuckin’ medic!”

Tommy pressed a hand over the wound in Rory’s side, clamping down hard. “Stay with us, Rory,” he muttered. “Stay awake.”

Rory nodded weakly.

The sound of boots, fast and urgent, pounded against the floor. Men burst through the crowd, men who worked for Tommy and served with him in France. They moved with practiced speed, already calling out to each other, already kneeling at Rory’s side.

And then Mary’s voice tore through the chaos. “Rory!”

Tommy didn’t try to stop her, he couldn’t have if he’d tried. She broke through the stunned onlookers like a storm, hitting her knees beside her son, her hands already searching his face, his chest, his hand.

“Sweet Jesus, no, baby, stay with me...” Mary whispered. When her gaze landed on her daughter, he thought she'd faint. His girl just shook her head, pointing to Rory. 

Tommy was already moving, his arms going around his blood-covered wife. Her lips were parted, panic shining in her eyes. He crouched beside her, his voice low and steady. “Come here, love,” he said, reaching for her arms and gently pulling her back.

“But he’s...” She looked to Rory, torn. 

“He’s not alone,” Tommy said. “They’ve got him. They need room to work.”

She looked like she might argue, might crawl right back over. But her hands, still sticky with blood, trembled violently. Her breath came fast, shallow. Shock was setting in.

Tommy gathered her close. “You're alright. They'll take care of him." He eased her back just far enough for the medics to work, shielding her with his body. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears coming on.

Behind him, Mary sobbed her son’s name again. Polly knelt next to her. Arthur and Finn were clearing the space. The shooter lay slumped in a widening pool of blood. The man's eyes were glassy, the gun still loose in his hand.

His bride's gaze followed the line of his gaze, and she gasped. Tommy felt her body stiffen in his arms.

“I shot him, Tommy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I... I shot him.” Terror cracked through the words like glass under pressure.

Tommy pulled her closer, one hand rising to cradle the back of her head, the other settling protectively at her waist.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. “I know you did.”

She flinched like she might break away, like she wanted to take the blame and the guilt and run with it.

He wouldn’t let her. “You saved my life,” he said, low and fierce. “You saved me. You saved Rory.”

“But I...” Her voice caught. “I didn’t even think, I just... his gun, it was there and...”

“Good,” his voice was harder now, but steadier. “That’s what you do when someone comes for your family. You don’t think, you protect them.”

He felt her breath hitch, felt the war between panic and reason. Tilting her face toward his, his gaze locked on hers. “You did what you had to do. And you’re alright. Rory’s going to be alright.” 

And that bastard got what he deserved.

He brushed a smear of blood from her cheek with his thumb. “Let me carry this, yeah? Just hold on to me.”

She didn’t speak again. But she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. And in that moment, he was.

The study smelled of smoke and powder. Or maybe that was just in Tommy’s head. Sitting behind his desk, the crystal tumbler was warm in his hand. John was perched in the chair across from him, his coat draped over one side, blood on the cuff he hadn’t bothered to clean yet.

The wedding reception was over. The guests had been sent home. Most of them never made it past the panic, the gunfire and chaos. Some were still outside in stunned little clusters, trying to make sense of what they'd seen.

Tommy wasn’t sure he ever would. He took a slow sip of whiskey, the burn steady and grounding. His free hand tapped against the desk once, twice, then stilled.

Polly entered without knocking. Tommy looked up, instantly reading the angst in her expression. The quiet way she held herself. His heart kicked hard in his chest.

He stood, the tumbler thudding softly to the desk. “Pol?”

“He’s alright,” she said quickly. “Rory’s stable. The bullet didn't hit anything vital.”

For a moment, Tommy didn’t breathe. Then he exhaled slowly, sinking back into his chair as the relief he wouldn’t let show washed through him.

Polly continued, her voice softening just slightly. “Nadya’s upstairs with her.

His wife. Tommy nodded. “How are they?”

Polly didn’t smile, but her tone warmed. “Mother and baby are fine. Nadya said the baby kicked the hell out of her the whole time she was checking her over.”

Tommy let out a low breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt older than he had that morning. Felt every one of his years, and then some.

The door swung open again, and in walked Arthur. He strode in like he owned the place, blood still crusted on one sleeve, his hair askew, breathing hard like he’d just come from shouting at someone.

Arthur spotted Polly, gave her a nod, then turned to Tommy with a grin that didn’t match the somber tone of the study. “It’s all anyone in Small Heath’s talkin’ about,” he announced, throwing himself into one of the chairs. “Your bride.”

Tommy arched a brow. “What about her?”

Arthur laughed, low and proud. “The way she took that bastard down. Everyone’s sayin’ it. Some even swear they saw it happen. Half of ’em didn’t even make it past the buffet, but now they’ve got a front-row seat in the story, you know what I mean?”

Polly folded her arms. “Of course they do. You give people a headline and they’ll write their own damn story.”

Arthur smirked. “Aye, but this one’s good. Someone sent a killer, the fuckin' Italians most likely, and she shot him dead at her own bloody wedding reception. Bang. They're all talking about it like a fuckin’ film scene.”

Tommy sat back, his fingers tightening around his glass, but his expression didn’t change.

Polly’s gaze moved to Tommy, then to the tumbler in his hand. Pulling down three more tumblers, Polly filled each with whiskey as she talked. “She didn’t freeze,” she said, almost to herself. Lifting a tumbler, she stepped closer, her voice lowering with something close to reverence. “She did what she had to do. That’s what it takes to survive in this family.”

There was a beat, and then a faint, proud smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She handed the other tumblers to Arthur and John. “I hate that she had to do it. Hate that the Italians will paint a bigger target on her back now. But damn it, Tom..." Polly shook her head slightly. “I'm proud of her.”

She raised her glass. “To your bride,” she said. “And to the poor bastard who didn’t live long enough to regret underestimating her.”

His brothers drank to that. 

Tommy stayed quiet for a beat longer, the voices around him fading into the hum of the fire and the ticking of the old clock on the mantel. Polly watched him, her eyes full of truths too heavy to speak aloud. He knew what they were thinking. Hell, he’d already thought it himself.

The first time you kill someone... it  stays with you. Even when it’s right. Even when it’s justified. He’d carried his first for years. Still did, buried under the others, but never gone.

And now she’d have her own ghost. One that wore a suit, crashed a wedding, and bled out on the floor just feet from where they danced. He sighed. 

And if she'd lost her brother because of him... That kind of loss, changed people. It hollowed them out. He’d seen it in trenches, in hospital wards, in his own bloody mirror. And if she’d lost Rory on what should have been the happiest day of her life because someone wanted to hurt him... It had bought them another chance. It didn’t make any of it right. But it justified her reason. For him, that was sometimes the closest thing to mercy the world ever offered.

She was upstairs alone, and he wasn’t there. Tommy drained his glass and rose from his chair without a word. John stepped back. Polly said nothing, but the smallest nod passed between them.

Tommy paused outside the guest room door, his hand resting on the frame. The hallway was dim, the house still finally quiet. The storm had passed, but the wreckage it left behind still hung in the air. He pushed the door open gently. Rory lay in the bed, still breathing, the bandages at his side stark against the white of the sheets. His chest rose and fell, slow and steady. The blood had been washed from his skin, but not from Tommy’s memory.

Mary was there beside him, seated in a wooden chair pulled close. Her hand rested lightly over her son’s, her eyes on him with a quiet intensity that hadn’t wavered since Tommy walked in.

When she looked up, Tommy waited. He braced for fury, for grief, for blame. He was prepared to take it.

But it didn’t come.

She glanced at him with the grace only years of heartbreak could teach. Her face was tired, lined with worry, but her voice was steady. “I lost my husband to the war,” she said softly, glancing back at her son. “I know you don’t always get another day.”

Tommy didn’t look away. “I never meant for this to touch them.”

Mary gave a small nod. “I know.”

A long pause passed between them. 

Tommy looked at Rory again, confirming to himself that the lad was still breathing. Still here.

He lingered at the door a moment longer before speaking. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Mary let out a slow breath, the kind you take when your bones are tired and your heart's still catching up. “I’m… here,” she said finally, her voice a bit hoarse. “That’s enough for now.”

She looked back at Rory, brushing her fingers over his hair the way mothers do, no matter how grown their sons become.

“I had to make her leave the room,” Mary added after a moment. “Nadya wanted to look her over. I told her to rest. To sleep, if she could. But I doubt she’s doing either.”

Tommy wasn't surprised.

“She doesn't know how to handle this,” Mary continued gently, her eyes meeting his. “She's blaming herself for surviving. For pulling that trigger.”

Tommy didn’t speak, but considered her words and he headed for his own bedroom.

The bedroom was dim and quiet when he came in. You’d changed, wearing a modest nightgown. Someone had helped you out of the blue reception dress, but you didn’t remember who. The pale blue dress had been darkened with your brother's blood, and you'd asked someone to take it out of the room. You couldn't bear to look at it again. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, robe pulled tight around you, and your hands folded protectively over your belly. Your baby's movements were just now starting to slow after everything that had happened. You looked up when you heard the door close, and curled in on yourself a little. 

Tommy crossed the room slowly, like you might break if he moved too fast. When he sat beside you, you wanted to lean into him. But you didn't just yet.

“It was a beautiful day,” you said after a long moment, your voice hoarse. “We almost made it through without something happening.”

He took your hand in his. You turned your head, your gaze finding his.

“How do I tell him?” you whispered. “How do I ever tell my son that I took a life… while I still carried him?”

Tommy’s throat worked, but no words came out.

Looking down, you pressed your palm to the small swell of your belly, still tender from where you'd felt him move just hours ago. “He felt it,” you said softly. “The fear and the noise… all of it. I was shaking so badly, Tommy. My heart was racing, I couldn’t breathe. And he was right there.”

Your voice cracked, thick with guilt. “He felt it all, didn’t he?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, folding your hand gently between both of his. “He felt you fight for him,” he said after a moment. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want him to be born into a world like this. I don’t want him born into violence and fear.”

There was silence for a moment. Then his thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, rough against soft. He exhaled, gaze moving briefly to your stomach, then back to meet yours.

“We’re all born into a world of violence,” he said quietly. “That’s just the way of it. Always has been. But the strong survive. The strong protect the ones they love. You did that today. You protected our family.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest at his words. 

“He’ll be strong,” Tommy said. “Because you are.”

You pressed your lips together, trembling under the weight of it. Then he reached for your face, thumb brushing away a tear, his touch gentler than it had any right to be from a man like him.

You searched his face. “But what if it’s already too late? What if it changed something in him because I...”

“You didn’t,” he said quietly but firmly. “That man was sent to kill me. He shot your brother. You put a stop to it. He felt that too.”

You let out a slow breath, but your eyes were still blurry with unshed tears. “Promise me something,” you said. “If something ever happens to me—"

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his voice rough. “Don’t talk like that.”

But you pressed on. “If something happens... you'll tell him who I really was. I'm more than what I did today.”

“I’ll tell him,” he said, voice low. “But nothing’s going to happen to you.”

You nodded slowly. Then, finally, you leaned into him, your forehead pressing against his shoulder. You welcomed the feeling of his arms around you.

“I didn’t think. I just... I saw you go down when the first shot came. Tommy, I thought I'd lost you. Rory fell after the second shot, and I saw the blood. I thought it was mine at first.” Your voice cracked. “I don't know what happened. Rory reached for his gun when... But I keep thinking about it now. I pulled the trigger. I didn’t hesitate.”

“You did what you had to do,” he said quietly. 

You shook your head. “I didn’t feel brave. I didn’t feel anything until it was done. What if I'd missed and shot some innocent person? What...”

Tommy’s eyes didn’t leave yours. He waited for you to finish, waited through the panic, the guilt, the what-ifs.

“You didn’t miss. And if you hadn’t acted, we’d be burying someone tonight. Maybe me. Maybe your brother. Or you and our child.” His arms tightened around you. “You were clear and focused. That’s not luck. That’s instinct. That’s love.”

He pulled you against him, your head against his chest as if he could absorb all of your guilt and fear, take your sins as his own. “Do you think I’ve never asked myself that? If I missed, if I hit the wrong man, if I ruined something I was trying to save?” His gaze found yours again. “But I know what I saw tonight. You didn’t panic. You protected your brother. You protected me.” He exhaled, slow and heavy. “And our son’s going to grow up with both of his parents. Because of you.”

Tommy was quiet for a long moment, still holding onto you. “There was a boy in France,” he said quietly. “Barely sixteen. He lied about his age so he could serve. He was scared of everything. Shells. Rain. Rats. Used to keep a photograph of his mum folded in his breast pocket, always touching it... One night, the trench got overrun. He froze, couldn’t move. I pulled him down, shouted at him to run... but he stayed frozen. So I shot the man charging him. Right over his shoulder.”

Easing back, his gaze met yours. “I’ve never forgotten the look on his face. Like I’d done something monstrous. Or maybe divine. I don’t know.” His voice dropped lower. “I didn’t feel anything at that moment. Not until after.”

You were silent, listening.

“I told myself it didn’t matter. That he lived. That was all that counted.” He hesitated. “But it did matter. Still does.” Then his voice gentled. “So when you talk about how to tell our son... maybe don’t tell him about the killing. Maybe tell him about the moment you saw someone you loved about to die, and you did what no one else could do.”

You burrowed into his warmth, giving yourself to his strength. You swallowed hard. “Maybe,” you whispered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

Tommy didn’t argue. He didn’t offer some soft lie about time healing everything. He only nodded, because he understood. His breath was steady, the faint scent of smoke and whiskey and him wrapping around you like a cloak. And when he pressed the softest kiss to your temple, something in you finally let go.

You weren’t alright, and you might not be for some time to come. But you were safe and loved. 

And you weren’t carrying the weight of today alone.

You held onto Tommy a little tighter, still tasting the blood and fear on your tongue. The vows had been real, the love undeniable. But now you knew something else too.

This war wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless @wantedby-larry @mariaenchanted @moonbeamott @thetamtam9 @ayeeeitsmiracle @atlas-of-a-human-soul

[misshoneyimhome]

Say My Name, Say My Name I Andrei Svechnikov

Requested? Yes / No

Summary; Based on the Tik Tok trend, calling your boyfriend “husband”

Tropes & warnings; established relationship; Tik Tok trend; fluff, soft smut 18+; unprotected sex (p in v);

Other notes: So, this is my debut writing for Andrei Svechnikov - and can I just… *deep breath* how did nobody warn me about how fucking adorable he is!? I mean, I know he's like five times my size, but all I want to do is squeeze his cute face 😮‍💨 Anyway, onto the main point, this is the first of three TikTok-trends stories; it's just pure fluff with a hint of gentle smut 🌷🐰I hope you enjoy it 🤍😉

Word count; 1.8K

➼｡ﾟ

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, sunlight poured through the windows of your snug shared flat as you and your boyfriend Andrei Svechnikov settled in for a quiet day. Andrei, engrossed in watching some sports on the telly, lounged comfortably on the sofa while you nestled into the cushions a few feet away. And as you casually scrolled through your phone, you stumbled upon a new TikTok trend that intrigued you – referring to your boyfriend as your husband and capturing his reaction. The idea caught your interest, especially given the closeness and ease of your relationship, which had flourished over the past two years. So, fuelled by curiosity, you couldn't resist pondering how Andrei would react.

You quietly rose from your spot on the couch, pretending to casually need the loo, before returning with your action camera discreetly set to record. Then, with practiced casualness, you asked Andrei if he felt like eating, suggesting ordering takeaway instead of cooking. And thankfully, he agreed, setting the scene for your playful prank.

As you then pretended to dial the number for takeaway, you held the phone to your ear, putting on a convincing act, and with a mischievous grin, you began the charade.

"Hi, yes, I'd like to place an order for delivery, please," you said, your voice tinged with mock formality. "Can I get a pasta salad bowl with chicken, and some garlic bread? Thank you."

You paused for a moment before adding, "Yeah, um, and my husband would like a Caesar salad with some extra chicken."

The first time you slipped in the word "husband," Andrei's brows furrowed in confusion. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to decipher whether he heard correctly. However, he shrugged it off, attributing it to a potential misunderstanding due to the language barrier or perhaps his own mishearing.

“Mmm, that’s right. Yes, just remember to put the chicken in the salad, 'cause last time you wanted to put it on the side and my husband ended up not getting what he ordered.”

But when you repeated the term, his confusion deepened, and he turned towards you with a quizzical expression. His frown intensified, and he blinked in disbelief.

"Husband?" he muttered; his voice tinged with bafflement. The word hung in the air, stirring a mix of surprise and curiosity within him as he searched your face for an explanation.

You couldn’t deny it was the perfect reaction you’d hoped for. And despite your best efforts to maintain the charade, you couldn't contain your laughter as you observed Andrei's bewildered expression. After pretending to hang up the phone, your giggles bubbled up, eventually erupting into full-blown laughter that filled the room.

Caught in the contagious joy of your amusement, Andrei's own lips twitched into a grin, mirroring your infectious laughter, as he sensed the shift in the atmosphere, and you finally confessed your playful prank, unable to hold back any longer.

"I couldn't resist," you admitted between laughs, your voice filled with affection for your boyfriend. "I saw this TikTok trend and just had to see your reaction. I'm sorry, it was just too funny."

It was a heartfelt moment of shared laughter, with you laughing a little more than him as he was still somewhat baffled. And as the laughter died down, and Andrei's initial confusion turned into amusement, he shook his head with a chuckle, his eyes shining with fondness for you.

"You got me," he said, his tone playful. His amusement lingered, but then, to your surprise, he took your playful prank a step further, and with a pensive expression, he confessed, "You know, I actually don’t think it sounds bad."

His words caught you off guard. You almost choked on your own saliva as you looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?" you asked, curiosity sparked by his unexpected response.

"Yeah," Andrei merely replied, a touch of sincerity in his voice. "I mean, we've been together for over two years now, and... I think maybe one day, maybe soon, it could happen.”

His unexpected response left you both surprised and touched. You hadn't expected such a thoughtful and mature reaction from your just 24-year-old boyfriend, yet his words stirred a mix of emotions within you, ranging from curiosity to warmth.

And as you absorbed his admission, you couldn't help but marvel at the depth of his feelings and the seriousness with which he regarded your relationship. It was a revelation that sparked a torrent of questions and emotions, prompting you to view the future in a fresh perspective.

"Andrei, I... I didn't realise you were thinking about these things," you said softly, your voice infused with a blend of surprise and affection. "I mean, I've thought about it too, but hearing you say it..."

Your words trailed off, unable to fully convey the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within you. But Andrei simply smiled, his gaze meeting yours with steadfast sincerity.

"I just love you," he said simply, his words carrying a sense of truth and commitment that enveloped you in warmth and reassurance as he drew nearer to you on the sofa.

“And I love you,” you replied, meeting him in a tender kiss.

You cupped his face, tracing your thumb over his smooth jawline while admiring his beautiful eyes. Andrei was truly a magnificent boyfriend. 

And in that moment, you recognised that perhaps the playful prank had opened a gateway to a deeper level of understanding and connection with him, paving the way for discussions about the future that you hadn't dared to approach before. As you surrendered to seal your newfound intimacy with another lingering kiss, you couldn't help but melt into his touch, feeling utterly devoted to him.

His hands found the back of your neck, gently drawing you closer as the kiss deepened, while his tongue politely sought entrance. Granting his wish, you allowed him to explore your mouth, relishing the taste of him.

And as the kiss slowly grew more intense, your lungs yearned for air. Your fingers sought his hair, while his palms moved to grip your waist, pulling you firmly into his lap. Then breaking the kiss for a brief moment, you caught your breath while straddling him, and with his hands firmly settled on your hips, you felt emboldened to deepen the kiss once more, allowing your bodies to meld together in perfect harmony.

Andrei’s physique was nothing short of impressive. Every defined muscle showcased the hard work he put in as a professional hockey player, and his sturdy arms made it seem effortless to carry you as if you were weightless. And as you subtly pressed your core against his groin, you let your hands delicately glide down to the hem of his shirt, sliding beneath the fabric to explore his toned torso.

Sensing your cues, Andrei shifted slightly, briefly breaking the kiss to remove his t-shirt, unveiling the enticing sight beneath.

“Mmm,” you purred seductively, your eyes feasting on the sight of your boyfriend. And with a playful smirk, you mirrored his actions, revealing your naked chest as you had opted to go braless that day.

Andrei's hands eagerly explored your breasts, teasing them with nips and kisses before reconnecting his lips with yours. As your hands roamed each other's bodies, the kiss grew increasingly fervent and passionate with each passing moment.

It was clear that both of you desired more. Utilising his strength, Andrei effortlessly lifted you in his arms, gently placing you on your back on the sofa, and with a confident smirk, he trailed kisses down your upper body, journeying past your navel to the edge of your loose leggings. Hooking a couple of fingers under the elastic, he smoothly pulled down your leggings along with your dainty knickers, exposing your bare skin.

You let out a gasp as you felt the cool air against your heat, fully immersed in the moment. Meanwhile, Andrei stood to remove his grey sweats and boxers, revealing his semi-erect member.

It was a breathtaking sight. As you admired your boyfriend, you unconsciously licked your lips, while he slowly knelt on the sofa, leaning in to connect your lips once more. The kiss was almost messy as Andrei gently positioned you in a missionary position, yet it felt incredibly romantic as he tenderly traced his fingers along your sensitive folds.

With a soft sigh, you surrendered to his touch, feeling a wave of pleasure as he carefully inserted two fingers into your entrance, stretching your muscles with a few soft pumps before withdrawing them. Andrei sensed your readiness for more, as you gently stroked his length, ensuring he reached full hardness before leaning back and allowing him to hover over you.

Your eyes remained locked as you relaxed your body, taking slow, steady breaths while he positioned the tip of his member at your entrance, and gradually, he eased himself into your warmth.

“Oh yes,” you moaned softly, matching Andrei’s sounds of pleasure as his cock smoothly filled you. It felt as if your bodies were perfectly attuned as he slowly moved in and out of you, gently stimulating your walls and igniting a wave of pleasure within you.

Your hands found their way to his dark blonde locks, holding onto them as Andrei rocked his hips in a steady rhythm. Together, you felt the slow build-up of climax beginning to take shape. The intimacy shared on the sofa was tender and passionate, yet as your desire for each other grew, it intensified into something more urgent and needy.

The soft sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, blending with your moans. The air hung heavy with anticipation as endorphins surged, a result of the deep connection you shared. Beads of sweat began to form on your skin, evidence of the heat generated by your passionate encounter.

“Mmm… Andrei…,” you moaned softly, the telltale sign that your impending climax was drawing near.

Feeling your muscles gently tighten around his sensitive shaft, Andrei sensed his own peak approaching. Increasing the pace slightly, he buried himself deeper, thrusting faster and harder with each movement. Your fingers instinctively gripped the back of his shoulders, your hips lifting to accommodate him as you neared the edge of ecstasy.

“Yes… oh yes…” you moaned, and with a few more thrusts, Andrei propelled you into a rush of pleasure.

It was an exquisite sensation as your mind soared to new heights, causing your walls to clench around your boyfriend’s member, pushing him over the edge as well. And with a deep grunt, Andrei released himself into you.

There was a brief moment of serene silence as you both took a few seconds to catch your breath and regain control. Then, with care not to spill on the furniture, Andrei gently withdrew from your warmth and settled beside you, pulling you close for a tender cuddle.

“So, this is what I get for calling you my husband?” you chuckled softly, revealing in the comfort of being with your man.

“Maybe…” he grinned playfully.

“Hmm,” you murmured softly. “I can’t really complain, can I?” You flashed him a tender smile.

“No, but I don’t complain either,” Andrei replied softly. “But I do think I’m really hungry now.”

And you couldn’t help but laugh at your sweet boyfriend’s words before responding, “Me too.”

[darksigns-exe]

a thousand flowers could bloom - noah sebastian x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: swearing, dry humping, big feelings

note: by request from an anon <3 im so sorry that it's taking me FOREVER to get to these.

masterlist | read pt 2 here | taglist sign-up

Finding Noah in your apartment like this isn’t unusual. Over the course of your friendship, you got used to Noah taking full advantages of the spare key you had given him. Most of the time he announces himself with a quick text, but on occasion he’ll already be there by the time you come home from work, the store or some social obligation. 

Today was one of those occasions. He’s stretched out over the length of your two-seater when you unlock the door, feet dangling over the edge of it. It’s fairly late, and he seemingly hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights before he’d made a home for himself on your sofa. Noah is so fast asleep that he doesn’t notice you moving around the room, he only stirs when you find a place for yourself amongst his limbs. He stretches with a stifled groan, blinking up at you, still firmly held in the grasp of sleep.

“When did you get back?” he asks, voice still a little rough. 

It’s so awfully domestic. 

There’s really no denying it. What you feel for him can’t be just friendship. Moment’s like this make you feel as if you’re about one step away from your relationship becoming more than that, but at the same time you know how difficult it can be to be with someone like him. The touring and the other demands of his line work already make it difficult to be his friend. And even then, you don’t even know if he wants you like that. 

Realising that you’ve been silent for a moment too long, you shake yourself out of your silence. 

“Half an hour ago, maybe?” you reply. 

He squints at you for a moment before breaking into a smile, “I had to get out of the house for a bit, hope I didn’t interrupt any plans?”

In a way he did, but Noah doesn’t need to know about that. 

“You’re good.”

You adjust your position as he sits up, giving you a little more space. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Noah announces then. 

As if you’d expect anything else from him, the boy is somehow always hungry. 

“I’m surprised that you didn’t order anything before I got here.” you counter, “Our usual place is closed today, so you’ll have to settle for something else.” 

From the sigh he lets out, you’d think that the greatest of tragedies had just struck him. Eventually, he grumbles out a resigned fine, and you’re so sure that you can see him rolling his eyes like a petulant child. You settle on a different restaurant but realise too late that this place has an expected delivery time of almost an hour. 

You decide to put a record onto the turntable while you wait and settle on a favourite of yours. 

Dummy by Portishead. 

The soft pulsing beat of the opening track settles you into a comfortable mood. With your legs thrown over Noah’s lap, you’re more than comfortable. Your idle chatter is interrupted when Noah’s phone dings with a notification that lets you know that your delivery will be delayed by a good twenty minutes. 

The delay quickly flees your mind when his hand settles a little too high on your thigh. The touch is innocent enough, really, and maybe it’s only the music that makes it feel like more than it actually is. But you can’t deny the warm feeling that spreads throughout your body. 

The conversation steering into a more intimate direction doesn’t exactly help your situation. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to talk about your relationships, although you’ve noticed that Noah has talked less about seeing people in recent months. When he would sometimes tell you about the people he went out with, he’d been suspiciously silent on the matter recently, and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t seeing anyone or if he’s just not telling you about it. 

“I don’t know, it just feels like everyone’s a disappointment, you know? I don’t know if my expectations are too high or if people are just shit.” you conclude your rant about the state of your love life. 

Noah eyes you for a moment, “And what do you expect?” Your breath catches in your throat when you look at him. He’s never looked at you like this before – or if he has, you’d never noticed. His eyes are blown wide, lips caught between his teeth. Somehow, you already know that whatever you’re about to tell him will change things between you. 

“I guess I just want someone to want me, if that make sense? I don’t think I’m asking for too much with that.” 

Noah clears his throat. His hand pulses on your thigh, and you’re acutely aware of how intensely he’s pinning you down with his stare. “Oh, absolutely not.” his hand wanders up your thigh so tentatively, “Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong place.” 

Your heart thumps in your chest. 

Surely he isn’t insinuating what is spinning around in your head. 

“Do you think so?” 

You sit up, but don’t quite detach yourself from him yet. Your palms feel awfully sweaty, and you have to force yourself to take deep breaths. 

In the moments before he answers, you feel yourself spiralling through all kinds of scenarios. 

“I don’t know, maybe you should look a little closer to home.” 

His hand settles above your hip. It doesn’t feel foreign, you’ve always been a bit more tactile with each other. You know that part of what has been holding you back from falling into bed with just anyone has been the high expectation you have for your first real sexual encounter. Sure, you’ve made out with people, but it never turned into more. Something had always felt off. 

Something you don’t feel right now. 

“Noah?” you ask quietly, afraid to break this delicate moment. 

“Yes?” his reply sound just as trembling as you feel. 

You can’t find the right words then. Suddenly, everything you could say feels so out of place, so insignificant. 

Thankfully, Noah seems to sense your predicament. 

“Look at me for a moment, will you?” he says softly, drawing your attention to him, “Nothing has to happen here unless that’s what you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. We can just put a pin in this and come back to it when you’re ready for it.” 

As much as you appreciate his concern for you, right now your mind is set on a single track. You don’t know where the confidence suddenly comes from, but you’re glad that it finds you. It takes Noah a moment to catch up when your lips meet his. A second later, his hand finds the side of your face. When you part, his cheeks are tinged bright pink. 

You can’t stay away from him for long, though. Y0u scramble towards him, coming to rest atop his thigh. His arms wrap around your body, keeping you close to him. Noah pushes his thigh upward, bringing it into contact with your centre. It’s just a small touch, lessened by the fabric of your shorts, but it still sends a spike of heat up your spine. 

You feel a little out of your depth with this. In theory, you know what you’re supposed to do, but in practice it feels so daunting. And when you pull away from his lips, Noah’s face immediately twists into a concerned furrow. 

“Is everything okay? Too much?” 

His hands settle on your waist, as he fixes you with just so much worry. 

“I just don’t know – I don’t know what I’m doing.” You admit feeling a little more foolish than you’d like to admit. 

The concern fades into something softer, “Do you want me to help, love?”

You nod, unable to find your voice. 

“Alright. Okay.” you can tell that he’s sorting through his thoughts, “Tell me if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

“I will.” 

A faint smile plays on his lips, “Good.”

With his hands still holding onto your waist, he brings his thigh back into contact with you. The rhythm he helps you find is slow enough, and you find yourself taking over fairly quickly. Noah keeps one hand on your waist, while the other moves up the side of your body, creeping up towards your ribs. His thigh shifts beneath you, drawing a hitched breath from you. 

“Is that good?” he asks softly, his gazed fixed on your face. 

You can only nod, feeling much too overwhelmed to vocalise how you feel beyond the soft sighs that have been pouring from your lips. 

Noah pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your body once more. Your hips move against him seemingly on their own. It’s so dizzying. If you already feel like this with this many layers of clothing separating you, how good will it feel when you can actually feel his skin against yours? 

You feel Noah bury his face in the side of your neck, shifting his body, allowing you to feel how much this affects him too. He moans against your skin when you move against him a little more intentionally. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” you speak into the crook of your neck, lips barely lifting from your skin. 

Your fingers twist into his hair, trying to keep him there as best as you can. The sound he makes when you tug at it a little makes you shiver. 

“Noah.” you sigh. 

The pleasant sting of him sucking a bruise into your skin makes your head spin even more. That knot in your middle feels so tight already, even with so much separating you. 

“Lie down for me, love?” 

His face is so soft, cheeks flushed, lips spit-slicked. 

Noah helps you shift onto your back and covers your body with his as soon as you’re resting against the cushions. He hovers above you for a moment longer, gazing down at you with an impossible softness. And just as he leans down to kiss you again, the aggravating sound of your doorbell tears through the moment. 

His forehead drops to your shoulder as he lets out a heavy sigh. 

Noah presses a quick kiss to your lips before he lifts himself off you again. Your eyes fall shut for a second as you try to make sense of what just happened. 

I’ve wanted this for so long.

The words spin around your head. He wanted this – you. 

When you open your eyes and sit up, Noah is still talking to the delivery person. He returns to you a moment later, placing the bags on your coffee table. He sits next to you, wringing his hands together for a moment before he turns towards you. 

“We should talk about this.” he sounds so awfully hesitant, “I don’t want us to feel weird – I really don’t want you to feel as if I’m forcing something –” 

Instead of letting him ramble on into oblivion, you take the initiative and press a chaste kiss to his lips, effectively shutting him up. 

“Or we could eat and finish this later. You’re not the only one who’s been waiting for this.” It takes a second for your words to reach his head, but when they do, he gives you an almost wicked smile. 

“Oh, we will absolutely finish this later.”

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake

[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers (6)

Ao3 - Prev - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Receptor & Reader(GN), Lazerbeak & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

When Rumble nor Frenzy could play "human-keeper", as they called it, it was given to you strange green and purple pieces of a machine, you couldn't recognize what it could transfom into, but you knew it was made of three pieces only, and one of those was a lense

It had been four days since your promotion, and today would be your first attempt at redirecting shipment, you were trembling in anxiety, hoping whoever of the seekers they sent to retrieve the parts knew how to behave, not betting on Thundercracker to play delivery mech as well as personal driver

"Pacing around won't help your charade human" you hear the soft static voice call out from your pocket, you jump in attention anyways, as he rarely speaks

"Maybe, but it does help me vent my anxiety"

"It really doesn't"

"Well, let me pretend it does"

"Relax, everything is going to be fine, we made sure of it"

You stop in your tracks when noticing a black truck coming into view, the shipment is here "alright, now deliver"

Getting closer and closer, the driver stops by your side, pulling down his window and giving you a toothy smile "oi chief! Where we unloading?"

"Hangar 11 is good, the warehouse is being used today" it wasn't a lie, when the warehouse was too fool or being organized, hangar 11 was usually the go to area for temporary storage, the lie was that the warehouse was not in fact in use, but it was full enough that you could play that card if someone asked

"Gotcha" and he drives off

To sell the appearance, you continue your routine without even looking at hangar 11s' direction, helping around repairs, meetings, writting new guides and requests for upgrades on test models, making sure everyone was justified when there was a day missing in their attendance, negotiating with officers, breaking a fight over hangar 4, and finally lunch

You drop in the quiet kitchen, at this hour no-one was present, which is a blessing, you needed to breathe a little without too many eyes on you

"You know" you hear Reflector speaking again as you take one of the few leftover sandwiches "no wonder you adapted quickly to our chain of comand, your job seems very similar to our rank sistem"

You hum

"But you seem dense in some aspects of it"

You roll your eyes, munching down your food and decides to entertain the bot "how so?"

"Perhaps I am just too good at my job, as usual" you hear the pride in him "there are people wanting to take you down"

You sigh "no shit, that's normal"

"But I mean, really want to, as in, actively planing sabotage and rumor spreading"

"..." You stop, picking a small screw from hou pocket as well as him "what did you see?"

"Careful with that thing human, don't shoot the messager" you feel him jump a bit in your hand "one of them is marking your superior constantly on lunch break, the other one is reporting every single mistake you left untouched, I'm still working on the third ones' problem"

You sigh, masaging your temples, you would have to make sure to don't piss off any of your crew then, they can't do anything if you are competent to the majority present "I'll deal with it, thank you"

"Oh?" You hear him laugh "an aknowladgement is rare when not coming from lord Megatron, but apreciated, human"

You finish your lunch and decide to finally go organize the spare parts "You work for the spy section of the Decepticons then?"

"Hm... I don't have this information" you walk with him down the corridors, still pretending to fix him

"What do you mean?"

"That I don't remember that information, it's probably with one of the other two parts of me"

"Other... parts? As in, you split your conscience?"

"Pretty much yeah, into three, each one knowing parts of a whole that then join togheter once requested by lord Megatron"

"Is that... no wait, they didn't tell anyone how their powers work, never mind..." You hum "were you born with this hability?"

"I guess?"

"Got it" you puff, expected, but still sad, you pocket him again when seeing people approaching

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

After every part was counted and revised by the staff, you could finally separate some of the things you deem more needed, many were tubes, some wires, many metal plates, a motor for jets and tanks just in case, and wheels

All of that in two big boxes, not bad, you could work with that, passing chains around the cargo you make sure to tie them togheter, this should be enough to hold on the weight in the flight, since the Decepticons don't have members that can transform into comum human grounders... unless Soundwave can and just doesn't want to... no, wait, he is a boom box that plays caccettes, that's right, so you are pretty sure it's gonna be one of the seekers

Picking up your phone you find in the last page a decepticon icon, tapping it your keyboard appears, you write your mensage

[Cargo secured, waiting pick up: Hangar 11]

Upon hitting send, a mensage appears

<searching permitted connection....>

<Megatron - online - operational>

<No more permitted conections>

You tap Megatrons name

<conection access granted>

<menssage sent>

<Make this default conection? Y/N>

You tap back in your phone, ignoring the mensage, now you just have to wait and pay attention to the sky...

Deciding it was too dangerous to stay around longer than half an hour, you go back to your duties, the day pass by smoothly than you expect, and soon enough, you start to worry your menssage never went trough, when a ping calls your attention

[Thundercracker is on his way- 17:25:12 - °°/°°/°°/M.R - D.C: Megatron ]

Oh... well, you'll be damned, maybe the rest of the seekers just despise you... or they just like combat more. You lost counts already of how many times you had to hear Starscream chastise Skywarp about his recklessness in battle, you even joined in once, after you had to bend his wings back in place... for the fifth time in two days

Really, how many times were they to be beaten to learn and try to take over with discretion, it's getting ridiculous how the hell didn't they get beaten once and for all already, you start to wonder how Megatron got to be a dictator in the first place, because apparently who reined Cybertron before they got stuck here was the Decepticons, so what gives, does he have all competent people there and got stuck with the worst of his generals?

Is he even a tyrant anymore? Who is ruling Cybertron if both faction leaders are on earth, surely they got more people fighting up there... is there even a war going on anymore, four million years is a long time, maybe they got in an agreement and once he discovers, the silver tank will short circuit and die

Although... this doesn't mean much for your planet does it? You can feel that, even if for now, they are raiding energy companies for necessity, it would soon become the main purpose of earth for the tyrant, a young planet full of energy... he would suck it dry, but humanity is already doing that, if he wants every single charge of it, he should take down the greedy upper-class main companies first... then again, he probably would just do the political move of "you keep an eye on yours and I'll give you money and let you keep your life"

... eh, nothing you already don't expect from humans between ourselves anyways, in this world it all depends on how useful you are to someone else, and for now, you are very useful for them, so you are safe...

Safer than most anywas, and that was the most comforting thought you had this week

The sky roars, and you know Thundercracker is near, people jump in attention then check to see if it's raining, the day is foogy enough to pretend it will soon, so you run along for Hangar 11

The blue jets await your arrival in good shape, you look for sighs of fatigue or malfunction, he is static, and his turbins stop working slowly, letting them cool down naturally from use, his lights are working in perfect condition, and he stops at perfect distance of the wall of boxes, everything indicating attention and awareness, you smile noting that he is alright

There are some workers around catching a break, you greet them and smoothly goes to the lifting cart, driving it into the chained boxes and dragging them bellow Thundercracker

With a ladders help you fix the cargo in two of his loops, usualy a F-15 isn't supposed to carry this much weight, but a seeker is not a F-15, they are faster, and they are more resistant, the damage you saw in Thundercracker and Skywarp is something you bet would have broken any human jet no problem, but they survive it, probably a property of the flexibility of living metal

So you hope that means they are far stronger too, you give a gentle tap on his wheels, and with start wayving your hands at the cockpit, playing along as if you were silognaling to the pilot the green light for take off

When the engines start you are sure he got the mensage, you hear someone behind you murmur "not even a hello, who even is this guy..."

You shrugged a lie coming naturally to you "capitals' lieutenant"

You hear the loud smack of your coworkers jaw as he gulps, and do your best to keep yourself from smirking smuggly

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

Lazerbeak had a different mission today, one not directly given by his boss, but he suspects it was approved anyway since he wasn't sent to the autobots base this cycle anyways, but given by his coworker, it was given as an official mission, it was demanded as one, but he knew it wasn't one

After all, what would they even do with a rusthy human scrap of a two wheel model like this one

Unless the plan was to give it to the little human disassemble, wich was very unlikely, Ravage had been very adamant that he kept the junk intact, perhaps it is a gift, a not so unusual ocurance to the feline minicon when it comes to her favorites, the human did save her life, short off, Lazebeak is still sure anyone would have been able to do that human or not, but the precise surgery that was not a surgery has been reported to be easier to handle than being open and vulnerable in the light of a wrentch

The avian minicon wouldn't know, he was more of a intelligence gathering and last nano-second backup than the others, rarely in need of maintainance himself, so he didn't knew the human as much as he should personally at this point

Even if he was keeping surveillance in them every once in a while, his main job was to keep an eye on autobots, but he was sent to make a quick scan of the military base they frequent

When arriving at the decepticon base, Lazerbeak made sure to put the two wheel model by the medical wing, just as requested

What he didn't expect was the little human to enter right as he was ready to take flight, he freezes, turning his head in their direction, their eyes shone in recognition, a big smile stretching their fleshy face "My bike!"

They run past the minicon immediately, inspecting the item "scratches eveywere, some dents but nothing too damaging, I gotta clean you up of all this sand, oh my baby, how I have missed you!"

Lazerbeak tilts his head a bit in confusion, by Rumble's memory data, a baby should be just a tinny human... perhaps it is also an affectionate term for other things, that would explain it "You got this to me?"

The human looks at him, weary and curious, Lazerbeak lowers his stance, eyes shining once, the human servos twitch tentatively, the avian minicon waits for their reaction, a mischievous glint in his optics

They reach their hand, and Lazerbeak makes a bite in their direction, startling the little thing and making the avian cackle in daylight, the human yelps then remains their composure "alright fine no touching.... thanks anyways"

The little human moves the "bike" over to their own little corner, Ravage has sworn that no matter how far or how fast human contraptions were, Cybertronians were faster, you wouldn't be able to escape even with one hour of advantage in the open desert

And with that, the air spy goes back to his commander, to Megatrons' office he flies, were Soundwave is found discussing matters with their leader

"Any luck with our preparations Soundwave?" The warlord asks, focusing on datasets instead of his spy comander

"Humans EM fields: unstable" the blue mech says, opening his chest for Lazerbeak to doc "Long distance reading: poor quality, intentions vaguely acknowledged at best, Short distance reading: better intention percieved, no cohesive thoughts detected, Phisical conected: still to be tested"

"Good, see to it that you find a way to read a humans mind, the autobots aquired another fleshbag to their ranks, from last reports he seems to be a scientist prodigy, his knowledge on the new energy source they are working on might be useful to us"

"Decoy base: evaluated?"

"Skywarp is working on it, dismissed"

The comander nods, giving a brief tap to his Chamber and leaves, walking back to his shared, but only he uses anyways, office with the air comander, analyzing Lazerbeaks recordings as he does

The spy commander feels Ravage indignation of her gift being given credit to the avian, caccette growling inside him despite her recharge mode, the minicon doesn't seem to care, still pleased at being praised and the change of scenery, Soundwave notes your care with the motorbike, filing the information in case of second hand punishment being needed

Usualy he would now make surveillance as Ravage and Frenzy recharge, the base being almost done, perhaps by the end of seven cycles they could get to work in a transmission tower and finally contact Cybertron

However, if he could finish his human EM field analysis this cycle still, he could move on to more pressing matters, like a plan of kidnapping the human they needed, he is still in need of locating his charging quarters in the autobot base or outside it

As he thinks the blue mech notices his peds driving him to the medical wing, of course, they already do have a human...

Your EM field was always on high alert around him, and most mechs that were far bigger than you, if he noticed correctly, fear surrounding that little head of yours when anyone walks in, not unusual to those who knows about the second form of the disguised mechs, but you were the recent stuborn decision his lord has had

Too valuable to accidentally get rid off, hence he avoided using you directly as a case study first, only as a hipotesis confirmation, humans do not feel his information scans, and that was that, but now... would he risk Lord Megatrons' wrath if his reading in direct contact to a humans mind might potentially fry whatever you have as a processor?

Then again, it would just be a more in deep scan, and it was already proven it didn't hurt from afar...

Slowly he approaches, registering the faint tune you hum, a deep part of him want to tap to the beat, it is quite simple, but he wouldn't be a spy master if he succumbed to these types of urges. He is as close as he can without letting his shadow give him away, in a split second the decision is made, the second you turn around as you noticed the massive mech, with one single digit he pokes your head "wh-?!"

The small creature freezes, gripping the small cloth like their life depends on it, he hold backs a small chuckle, they were amusing to mess with, this, he agreed with his cassettes. Going back to his task, he pats your head more firmly now, concentrating in the waves of energy in one single point, then spreading it to your whole body, the experiment a sucess,he hears your voice

"W..... appening..."

Then he adds his other hands' finger, your voice grows clearer

"Is ...... this..... ?"

Then he vents in frustration and decides to just concentrate all fingers in two spots by your heads' side

"Oh yeah, I definitively passed out on the pile, this is too much for this late of the night... or is it morning already?"

Good, he could work on humans as well, now for a test run in interrogation

"Query: do you know my designation?" Lets start simple

Your eyes shot open "designation-name name of course, name name name his name- fuck, names-"

An image, a memory, a hand inside a lavender piston, a voice, Frenzys voice "are you stupid?! He doesn't know we are here! Do you want to blow our cover?!"

"If he did he would have come and killed the human after yesterdays warning", "a name a name a name a name Frenzys and Rumbles boss-", his own voice "Patient designation: Ravage", then Rumbles' "Bah stop being such a weenie... did-"

"Soundwave..." "SIR DONT FORGET THE SIR YOU DUMBASS" "sir"

More voice than image, but upon called an especific memory it will apear, even if a bit turved, he can work with that, he stops his pats, and can't hold back the chuckle, your fur is sticking out "Assistance: apreciated"

Without any delay, he gets up, and starts walking out of the room, but halts in his way, Megatron is watching from the door, the spy master feels his optics widen and his visor brighten, his posture goes rigid "Lord Megatron"

The silver tyrant hasn't caught his third in command this flustered since the start of this war, it all becomes more comical by the absolute confusion that is scrunched up in the humans face, it is becoming harder and harder not burst laughing "Soundwave"

"This is the weirdest fantasy I have ever had" that does it, the warlord wheeze out a deep hawling laugh, he can't contain it, the allegations of a pet human are going to sky rocket after this but frag it, it was all worth for seeing this scene alone

You and Soundwave look at each other in an empaty-driven concern for the well-being of your own lives, and it only gets worse when you hear a scratchy voice from somewhere in the base screaming "WHAT THE PIT IS THAT SOUND?!"

In a blink of an eye, Soundwave is not by your side anymore, the traitor has abandoned you, Megatron claps his knees, and you hear his vents struggle to keep a consistent intake "I needed this, oh, I forgot I could do that, frag- my vents- scrap... what were you two doing?"

"Honestly, boss?" You decide to just... lay on the ground for a little while, things couldn't get weirder "I have no idea"

And the laugh starts again, but he at least leaves the med bay, and you start to suspect that this is all an elaborated TV prank

[bunji-enthusiast]

Bunji I was wondering if you’ve seen Rise of the Guardians

And was hoping you could make reader like North/Santa or Bunny or even Tooth or Pitch I think they would be fun to write and read

(I feel like Sandman would be like Groot and I font want you to make doubles and I feel like Jack would be super easy to write and he’s everyone’s favorite but I wouldn’t mind if you decide to write either of them)

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

Bunnymund!reader

Summary || Somewhere between dimensions—where Spring kisses the void and reality feels like soft soil underfoot. The air is heavy with residual magic and fractured molecules, the kind of place that shouldn’t exist…but does, because you do.

Note // funny you say this, cause I already had something in the works for Bunnymund!Reader for this thing! I love, love this movie with my heart. Definitely a timeless piece ❤️

You don’t remember falling. But you remember landing.

Sharp. Sudden. Like your name was ripped from the wind and tossed into this world without a warning.

The crater you made is still steaming when she floats down.

Atom Eve. All will and pink light. Her hair rides the breeze like a flame not quite ready to burn out. She's cautious, her hands flickering with latent transmutation energy. Not a villain, not a victim—but unsure if you're either.

You flick your ear. Dust yourself off. Aster Bunnymund doesn’t do ‘damsel’ and certainly doesn’t do ‘defenseless.’

“Alright,” you say, stepping forward, claws flexed just a little, your boomerangs humming low on your back. “Which galactic gremlin decided it'd be real cute to hijack the Easter Bunny mid-delivery route?”

Eve cocks a brow. “You talk. That’s new.”

You smirk. “So do you. Should I clap?”

“Are you… a kangaroo?”

The air stills.

You tap your foot twice. A flash of light, and a tunnel opens behind you, lined in wildflowers and softly glowing eggs. You don’t go through. Not yet. But you let her see.

“You bite your tongue, sheila,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “I’m a Pooka. Guardian of Hope. Bringer of Spring. The original chocolate alchemist. And definitely not your average marsupial.”

Her eyes flick to the ground, registering the blooms sprouting beneath your feet—life, actualized by magic and intent.

Then back to your eyes. “Right. Definitely not average.”

You sense her hesitation. Not fear. Curiosity, laced with that righteous concern heroes carry like second skin.

“Look,” she starts, her voice gentler now, “I thought you were a threat. Some kind of illusion—this place messes with matter. You fell through a quantum rip that shouldn’t even be here. Which… doesn’t explain the sentient eggs.”

“Oi. Barry and the boys are sensitive. Don’t call ‘em eggs.”

The sentient eggs in question hop into formation behind you, saluting Eve with wobbly pride.

She tries not to laugh. Fails. “Okay. That’s… kinda adorable.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you sigh, finally relaxing. “Not here to fight. Was delivering some Hope to a struggling planet—next thing I know, boom. Spliced sideways through a transdimensional chocolate storm and now I'm talking to a bio-alchemist in a pink cape who nearly atomized me on arrival.”

She floats down fully now, feet touching the ground with a quiet crunch of flower petals.

“Sorry,” she says, sincere. “I don’t usually go full defense mode unless I’m—”

“Stressed?”

She blinks. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

You tilt your head. “You glow differently when you’re carrying too much. Hope’s a tricky thing. Harder to hold when it’s not your own.”

There’s a pause. A silence. One of those rare, golden ones.

Then she says, “How’d I get so lucky?”

You shrug, flashing a half-smile. “Maybe the universe thinks you needed a reminder. Or maybe…” You gesture at the blooming life between you. “Maybe Hope shows up where it’s most at risk of being lost.”

She doesn’t answer. Not with words.

But she nods, slow and soft, and for a second, you both just stand there—two beings carved by magic and trauma and too many choices, meeting not as enemies, not even as allies. Just as beings who get it.

You tap your foot once. A tunnel flares open.

“Take care, Atom Eve,” you say, stepping toward the glow. “And if you ever need a bit of Hope again…” You wink. “Just look for the chocolate.”

And with that, the Guardian of Hope vanishes into the soil.

Spring lingers in your wake.

Somewhere on the outskirts of a war-torn city, where spring never had the chance to bloom. The sky is smeared with ash and steel-gray clouds. Blasted concrete and shattered windows sprawl like broken bones. Inside a crumbling clinic, laughter echoes—soft, weak, and impossibly brave.

They’re just kids. Orphaned. Sick. A few too young to understand what war means. But they believe in you.

And that’s more powerful than any weapon.

And, you’re bleeding.

Not badly—but enough. A slash across the arm from one of those shadow-stitched mercs, the kind of thing that smells like sulfur and broken dreams. Hired muscle. Or worse—Fearlings in disguise.

But you don’t move. You crouch low in front of the children, boomerangs already humming, glowing faintly in your palms.

They cower behind you. A girl tugs on your fur. “Bunny?”

“Shh. Gotcha, darl’, don’t worry.”

You flick your wrist.

A bladed boomerang arcs into the night, cracking into one of the creeping figures slinking across the rooftop. It falls in a burst of ash and bone.

The others don’t run. They laugh.

Too many. Even for you.

But you're the Guardian of Hope, dammit. You don’t run either.

You push the kids back toward the cracked stairwell, the one you reinforced with roots and a bit of stubborn magic. Not much time. Not much strength left.

And then—A ripple in the air. A pink shimmer. A shift.

And suddenly they’re gone.

Not the kids—the shadows.

They implode, flash-fried into bursts of energy and torn atoms. You blink, senses whirling.

And there she is.

Atom Eve.

Hovering in the ash, surrounded by a corona of light and fury.

Eyes glowing, palms still hot from the transmutation. Hair snapping behind her like a banner of war.

“You again,” you mutter, straightening with a wince. “Told you to look for chocolate, not carnage.”

She lands next to you, quick scan of the kids huddled behind your barrier. Her eyes soften. Then harden again as more figures crawl from the smoke.

“Guess I was looking for both.”

One of the mercs lunges. You step into it, elbow crackling against its ribs, and spin a kick that launches it back toward a waiting construct of hers—an energy spike that spears it midair.

“Nice form,” she murmurs.

“Yours ain’t bad either.”

Then: a pause.

“They’re sick,” you say suddenly, voice low as the ground shakes beneath another blast. “Some of ‘em don’t have much time. But they believe. They still believe.”

“I saw.” Her jaw clenches. “That’s why I’m here.”

You fight side by side. Like it’s instinct. Like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Boomerangs whip through shadow.

Constructs burn holes in the dark.

You summon roots from below—twisting vines of life that bind and break the enemy—and she builds shields around the children, hexagons of raw will and pink brilliance.

The battle burns hot, fast, and then—

Still.

Just rubble. Breathing. And the tiny sound of coughing behind you. You crouch by the kids again. One hands you a melted egg, soft and slightly lumpy.

“You dropped this,” he says.

You smile—tired, cracked, but real.

“Thanks, mate.”

Eve walks over, sits beside you in the dust.

“You always do this?” she asks, watching the children settle back down, laughing despite the ruins.

“Only on Tuesdays,” you grunt. “And maybe when the world’s got the nerve to forget what Hope looks like.”

She doesn’t speak for a while.

Then, soft: “You shouldn’t have had to do it alone.”

You glance over.

‘Neither should you.’ You think. You nudge the egg toward her. “Go on. Eat it. Might turn you into a rabbit.”

She laughs, actually laughs, and takes a bite.

“You’re insane,” she says.

“Probably,” you reply. “But Hope usually is.”

The wind is calmer now. The smoke from the fight drifts upward in lazy curls, not frantic anymore—just memory. Shadows retreat into their holes when the light’s too strong, and right now, there's nothing brighter than the kids’ laughter.

You sit on a broken chunk of concrete, one leg stretched out, the other bent, arm resting casually over your knee like you didn’t just take down half a strike team with glowing boomerangs and sheer obstinance.

The smallest of the kids—Lani, maybe six—climbs into your lap without asking. You don’t flinch. Don’t pull away.

You just smile, slow and fond, like this is the part you actually came for.

“Bunny,” she says, whispering like she thinks it’s a secret. “When I grow up, can I be magic too?”

You chuckle, adjusting your arm so she’s more comfortable.

“‘Course you can,” you say. “Already are. You laughed during a war. That’s top-tier sorcery.”

She giggles, muffling it in your fur.

Eve watches from a few feet away, leaning on the edge of the clinic wall. She doesn’t try to interrupt. She just watches, her arms folded, but not in that defensive way—not anymore.

There's a softness in her face that wasn't there when you first met. It’s cautious. Thoughtful. A little sad.

You look over and catch her eye.

“Something on your mind, love?” you ask, voice low but not unkind.

Eve hesitates, then walks over slowly. She crouches near the kids, but keeps a respectful distance, like she doesn’t want to disrupt the magic.

“How do you do it?” she asks, barely above a whisper. “They’re hurting. The world’s burning down around them, and still... they laugh. You make them laugh.”

You shrug a little. “Hope ain’t a shield, Eve. Not really. It’s… a seed. A fragile little thing you plant in the worst dirt, with barely any light. You don’t tell it what to be. You just give it a chance.”

She lets that sit for a beat. Her eyes flick to Lani, then the others playing with your eggshell constructs, turning them into crowns and pretend swords.

“I’ve tried to fix things,” she says. “Big things. Buildings. Systems. Families. I can rewrite molecules but not… not what people carry in them. Not always.”

You tap your claw against your chest, just once.

“’Cause you’re trying to heal cracks by covering ‘em in steel. Doesn’t work. Not when what people need is to remember why it’s worth fixing in the first place.”

Eve looks at you. Really looks.

And something clicks behind her eyes.

Not a solution. Just… space. Space for something new to grow. Lani suddenly looks up at her.

“You’re the pink spark lady, right?”

Eve blinks. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

“You were really cool,” the kid says. “You made the bad guy pop like a balloon!”

Eve smiles, surprised at herself. “Thanks. I was kinda hoping no one noticed how shaky my hands were.”

“I did,” says a boy behind her, grinning through missing teeth. “You were shaking, but you didn’t stop.”

Eve exhales slowly. That means more than she expected.

You give her a small nod.

“See? Told you. Magic.”

She looks at you again, not with awe—but with something gentler.

Respect. Maybe even belief.

“...You know,” she says, “I think I get it now.”

You grin.

“No you don’t.”

She frowns. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get it,” you repeat, standing slowly as Lani slides off your lap. “Not yet. You’re startin’ to. But the real secret is you never fully get it. You just keep showing up.”

A beat. Then you add, “You gonna keep showing up?”

Eve looks down at her hands. Then at the kids. Then back to you.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I am.”

The kids are asleep now. Safe. Tucked under makeshift blankets, heads resting on one another, small chests rising and falling. Eve stands by the doorway, arms folded, eyes scanning the distant skyline. And you—well, you’re still seated, sharpening the edge of a boomerang that doesn’t really need sharpening. Just something to do with your hands.

That’s when the hum starts.

Low. Unnatural.

A moment later, a distortion peels into the air with a flicker of blue light. A thin ripple opens like a tear in fabric—and a man steps through.

Long coat. Balding head. A wicked scar running down his jaw. Cool green light from a teleportation badge still flickering on his collar.

Cecil Stedman.

Your ears twitch.

You feel the shift in the air before he speaks. Not malice. Not even threat. Just calculation. Cold as steel.

“You're taller in person,” Cecil says, looking right at you.

You stay seated, brushing a few egg fragments from your lap. “And you're more wrinkled than the rumors.”

He doesn’t laugh. But the corner of his mouth moves, like it almost happened.

Eve turns slightly, but doesn’t speak yet. Just watches. Like she’s weighing something.

Cecil’s eyes scan the scene. The kids. The cracked earth. The torn-open shadows that haven’t quite dissolved.

“I saw the fight,” he says. “Drone footage. Satellite pings. You held your own.”

“Did more than that,” you mutter. “These little ones are still breathin’, aren’t they?”

Cecil nods once. Slowly. Like he’s filing away the confirmation in a long ledger of debts and dangerous favors.

“Hope,” he says after a beat. “That’s what you’re about, right?”

You glance at him. “That a problem?”

“No. It’s inefficient. Messy. Wildly unpredictable.” He pauses. “But it works. Sometimes.”

There’s a longer silence. Eve shifts, finally stepping in.

“What do you want, Cecil?”

He looks at her. Not surprised. Not threatened either. But there's a flicker of... awareness. A different kind of calculation now.

“You,” he says plainly. “And him.”

You snort. “What, the GDA looking to hire a rabbit now?”

“I’m looking for results. You got them.” He steps forward, one boot crushing an empty eggshell. “I’ve got too many variables on the board, and not enough people who know how to work outside the rules without setting the board on fire.”

Eve folds her arms tighter. “You want us to work with you?”

“No. I want you to work near me,” Cecil says. “I know better than to try and leash a wildfire. But I also know you’ve both seen what’s coming. You feel it, even if you can’t name it yet.”

You look up slowly.

“…Pitch,” you murmur. “Or somethin’ worse. Somethin’ whisperin’ to the broken pieces of this world.”

Cecil doesn’t blink. “I don’t care if it’s called Pitch or the goddamn Boogeyman. If it threatens Earth, it goes in the ground.”

The air’s quiet again. Except for the soft breathing of the kids. You flick your boomerang into its holster with a clean snap.

“You don’t believe in what I do,” you say. “But you’re not stupid enough to ignore it.”

Cecil’s voice is low. “I don’t believe in magic eggs. Or flower-covered boomerangs. But I believe in results. You saved these kids. That earns respect. And maybe… a line I can call when the sky starts cracking.”

Eve glances at you.

You meet her eyes.

There’s no need to speak.

You just stand. Tall. Dust-covered. Ears twitching in the wind.

Then: “We’re not soldiers.”

Cecil nods. “Good. I’ve got too many of those already.”

He turns, raising his badge. Light flickers. But before he disappears, he looks back once.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Then he's gone. Just the wind again.

Eve exhales. “He’s the kind of guy who puts a knife in your hand and tells you it’s for the greater good.”

You nod. “Aye. But if the blade’s comin’ either way… might as well decide where to aim it.”

Eve chuckles dryly. “And here I thought I was the jaded one.”

You grin. “I’m ancient, love. Comes with the ears.”

The world is quiet here. Not because it’s peaceful—but because it’s trying to be. The kind of quiet that grows in between the cracks of heartbreak and healing.

You hadn’t planned to stop.

You were passing through—tunnel to tunnel, root to root, delivering hand-painted eggs and tiny woven charms of spring to a few kids at the hospital down the block. You were meant to disappear again. Back into the warren. No attachments.

But something held you here. A tug.

Hope sometimes plants itself in strange soil.

She’s kneeling in the garden bed, sleeves rolled up, dirt under her nails, hair tied in a lazy bun. The green shirt she wears looks lived-in—creases from cradling a baby, wrinkles from sighing too hard, maybe. There's a tiny little shovel in one hand and a ceramic rabbit figurine tucked between a patch of marigolds.

Your nose twitches.

“Symbolic, or just seasonal?” you ask from the fence.

She startles, turns—but doesn’t flinch. That’s rare. Most people do.

Her eyes lock onto yours with practiced wariness. The kind you only learn after losing something you thought was real.

Debbie Grayson.

You recognize her from the files North once handed you. And from the grief that trails behind her like a whisper in the breeze.

She squints at you, shading her eyes. “You’re not exactly hiding. Big, fluffy, and wearing what looks like boomerang holsters.”

You smirk. “Only the finest Outback leather.”

She stands, brushing her palms on her jeans. “So, what are you? Magic rabbit? Alien? Fever dream?”

“All three, if the day’s long enough.”

There’s a beat. Then, surprisingly, she laughs. A quiet, tired sound, but real.

You hop over the fence without a word, landing soft on the mulch beside her. “You’re Debbie.”

She nods. “And you’re real, apparently.”

“Name’s Bunnymund. E. Aster, if you’re formal.”

Her brow lifts. “Like the Easter Bunny?”

“Guardian of Hope,” you say with a half-bow and a twirl of one ear. “Not just eggs and chocolates. Though I do pride myself on presentation.”

Debbie leans back against the edge of a raised bed. There’s something sharper in her gaze now, like she’s connecting dots.

“You’re not here for Mark.”

“Nope.”

“Not for Cecil?”

You shake your head. “Never been fond of secret labs and grim philosophies. Man smells like old smoke and newer regret.”

That gets a full laugh from her, this time. She covers her mouth.

You take a seat beside a tomato plant, careful not to crush the stems. “I stopped by to see some kids. One of them said her mom used to tell her spring comes early if you smile hard enough. That sounded like magic to me.”

Debbie’s smile fades slightly. “That sounds like something I’d say to Mark. When he was little.”

You glance at her sideways. “You’re still sayin’ things like that. Just takes longer for the echoes to come back.”

There’s quiet between you. The kind that doesn't need to be filled.

She watches the breeze flutter through the wind chimes hanging by a wooden post. “Do you ever get used to it?”

“Losing someone you thought was unshakable?” you ask, ears low.

She nods.

“No,” you say gently. “But you get stronger around the shape of the hole.”

Debbie looks down at her hands. “I thought I married a good man. A hero. Turns out he was just… playing the part.”

“He was loved,” you say. “That part was real. Even if he didn't deserve it the way you hoped.”

She doesn’t answer. Just presses her fingers into the soil.

You reach into your satchel and pull out a small wooden egg. Painted in delicate brushstrokes—flowers, vines, tiny stars. You offer it to her.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Hope. Takes different forms. Sometimes it’s a promise. Sometimes it’s just... the courage to keep showing up.”

She takes it slowly, like it might disappear if she touches it wrong.

“You’re stronger than he ever was,” you say softly. Debbie looks at you as you stand.

“I’ll be around,” you add. “If you ever need help. Or someone who still believes in good men. Even if they’re hard to find.”

You tap your foot once. A shimmer of light, and a tunnel begins to open beneath you.

She steps forward, voice quiet but steady. “Thank you.”

You pause just before disappearing.

“You keep planting,” you say. “I’ll keep watch.”

And then—gone.

Just wind, earth, and the quiet sound of chimes in a garden where grief and growth now share roots.

Chicago sleeps fitfully below, the sky strung up with restless stars. Streetlights flicker like uncertain thoughts. Somewhere between yesterday’s grief and tomorrow’s storm, you return.

You step out of the tunnel not with a bang, but with the soft whisper of dew on grass. The roof creaks beneath your weight—not built for seven-foot Pookas, but holding firm like everything else in Debbie’s life lately.

She’s already up here.

Wrapped in a coat two sizes too big—probably Nolan’s. There’s a glass of something amber by her side, untouched.

She doesn’t look surprised when she sees you.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” she says. Not like someone asking for a miracle—more like someone who knew the wind would shift eventually.

You tilt your head. “Rooftop stargazing. Classic grief move.”

She lets out a breath that’s halfway to a chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

You sit beside her. Careful not to crack a tile. “It’s quieter up here. Easier to pretend the world makes sense when it’s small beneath your feet.”

Debbie leans forward, eyes tracing the skyline. “Mark’s gone. Off-world with Eve. I told him it was the right call, but—”

Her voice breaks, just for a second. “God, he’s still just a kid. My kid.”

You say nothing. Just let the moment be.

Debbie reaches for the glass. Holds it. Doesn’t drink.

“They left yesterday,” she says. “The GDA gave me the usual: ‘classified mission, planetary risk, he'll be fine.’ But I saw Cecil’s eyes. No one is ever just ‘fine’ when he’s involved.”

She turns to look at you now. Direct. Unblinking.

“I don’t need a bedtime story. I need to know if there’s anything you can do. You’re not from here. You’ve probably seen things we haven’t even dreamed of.”

You lean forward, arms resting on your knees. “I don’t work for Cecil. I don’t track missions. I don’t answer to flags or labs or secret satellites.” Then softer, “But I listen.”

Debbie exhales slowly. “And what do you hear?”

You close your eyes.

A hundred whispers ripple through the air—joy, dread, faith, pain. But one stands out: a flickering thread of hope that bends but doesn’t break.

“Your son’s still burning bright,” you say. “He’s scared. Determined. Holding the line.”

Her lips tighten. “So I just wait?”

“No,” you say. “You hold. You stay strong so he has something to come home to.”

There’s a long pause.

“I don’t feel strong,” she admits.

You reach into your satchel and hand her something—a pendant made of twined silvergrass, woven with delicate threads of moonlight.

“What’s this?” she asks, fingers tracing its soft spiral.

“Anchored hope,” you say. “You wear it when you’re scared, or angry, or tired of being the one who holds everyone else together. It won’t fix the pain, but... it reminds you why you endure it.”

Debbie closes her hand around it.

“Will it help?” she asks quietly.

You look at her—not the sadness, not the strength—but her, the full weight of all she’s endured and still choosing to stay kind.

“It already is,” you answer.

Silence settles in again, not awkward this time—just shared.

Then she says, “You’re not what I expected.”

You grin. “Few of us are.”

You stand to leave, but before you vanish into the earth again, she speaks once more.

“Come by again,” she says. “Even if it’s just for tea.”

You give a half-bow, one paw to your chest. “You got it, Debbie Grayson. And if tea turns into smashing the occasional lab or decking a morally grey GDA director—well, I’m flexible.”

She actually laughs, you disappear beneath the stars.

And above, a mother wraps her coat tighter, pendant in her hand, eyes on the sky—not waiting anymore, but holding.

Holding fast.

Within the week, Mark and Eve are back. Battered. Changed. Alive. Chicago breathes a little easier tonight, but the air still hums like a string pulled too tight. You feel it the moment you step through the tunnel into her backyard — the tension hasn’t left, it’s just wearing a different face.

You don’t knock. You never need to. The ground splits gently beneath your feet, and you step out beside the flowerbeds Debbie had finally gotten around to replanting. Poppies. You remember — she told you they were her mother’s favorite.

The back door creaks open before you can move.

Debbie leans on the frame, mug in her hand, tired warmth in her eyes.

“I figured I’d see you again,” she says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on in, unless you’ve got some mystical rule about doorways.”

You grin. “Only when dealing with vampires and bureaucrats.”

She actually laughs. That’s new. And healing.

You duck under the frame, careful not to knock anything over, and follow her to the kitchen. There’s a kettle warming. The scent of ginger and chamomile floats through the room.

“They’re upstairs,” she says, before you can ask. “Mark’s asleep. Eve’s pretending she doesn’t need rest. She’ll crash in an hour.”

She sets a second mug in front of you. “Thought you might want something warm.”

You tilt your head. “You brew tea for interstellar rabbits often?”

She smirks. “Only the ones who leave hope charms on my roof.”

You take a sip. “I hear those are limited edition.”

Silence laps at the edge of the moment. Comfortable now. Familiar.

Then, Debbie speaks again — softer.

“You were right, you know. About holding fast.”

You glance at her. She’s not looking at you, just watching the steam rise from her cup.

“I didn’t know how I’d do it. Not after Nolan. Not after everything he said to Mark. But then Mark came home, and he looked at me like... like he still needed me to be his anchor. Not just his mom. But his safe place.”

She looks up, eyes glistening—not with tears this time, but with something brighter. “So I held. And he came back. And I didn’t fall apart.”

You reach into your satchel, pull out a single egg. Painted in soft blues and greens, with a blooming tree etched across the shell in gold leaf. You slide it toward her.

“Spring’s not just a season. It’s a promise,” you say. “That even after the harshest winter, things can grow again.”

Debbie touches the egg gently, reverently. “Thank you, Bunny.”

You lean back in the chair, resting one foot over the other.

“You’re welcome, Debbie Grayson.”

She finishes her tea in silence, and you sit there together a while longer. No world-ending crises. No gods or monsters. Just two people — one human, one Pooka — breathing the same quiet air and watching the future grow roots beneath them.

The sun barely stretches through the windows, painting the walls in soft golds and peach-colored light. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaks. Quiet footfalls. Slower than usual — sore, likely — but familiar all the same.

You're still seated at the kitchen table. Debbie’s already left, humming something to herself as she busied with breakfast. She hasn’t said much, just the occasional look, like she was still trying to believe things were calm enough for a morning this normal.

You feel him before you hear him.

Mark.

He’s moving carefully, like he’s not sure if his body’s ready to be up again. A low groan escapes as he comes into the kitchen, one hand rubbing at his shoulder.

His eyes land on you. He blinks, and again.

“...You’re still here?”

You offer a crooked grin, ears flicking in mock offense. “Hey, I brew a mean cup of chamomile.”

Mark’s face twitches — he’s trying not to smile. He fails.

He pulls a chair, sits slowly. Winces a little.

“I figured you’d disappear like you always do after everything cools down.”

“I was going to,” you say, resting your paws on the table. “But then I remembered someone owes me a rematch in bowling.”

Mark chuckles — hoarse, tired, but real. “You still cheated. You can’t hover the ball all the way to the pins.”

“Not my fault you never specified Earth rules.”

Silence settles for a moment. Not heavy, not awkward — just the kind that comes when you’ve both been to war and made it home.

Then Mark speaks, voice softer.

“Thanks for showing up.”

You look at him. Really look.

There’s still blood dried along the hem of his sleeve. Bruises darken under his eyes. But it’s his expression that catches you — worn, but clearer than it’s been in months. Like something inside finally stopped spiraling.

“Any time,” you say. “Especially if kids are involved. You did good, Mark.”

He glances down, jaw working.

“I didn’t feel like it. I got so—” His hands curl into fists. “I wanted to kill them. I almost did. I don’t think I even cared if I made it out.”

You lean forward.

“But you did. And you didn’t lose yourself. That’s what matters.”

He meets your eyes, searching for something in them. Something that says he isn’t alone in that kind of rage.

“What if it happens again?” he asks, quieter now. “What if I stop holding back?”

You tilt your head. “Then you lean on the people who remind you who you are.”

A beat.

“That includes me, by the way.”

Mark exhales, a slow smile forming. “Thanks, Bunny.”

You shrug, pawing a bit of toast from the tray. “Besides, I’m technically your emotional support cryptid at this point. Comes with the cape.”

Footsteps again. Eve.

She enters in a too-big sweatshirt and messy hair, still pretending not to be sore.

“Of course you’re still here,” she mutters, but there’s no venom in it. Just affection.

Mark glances between you both. “We’re doing pancakes or what?”

You grin.

“Only if I get the first one.”

Eve plops down beside Mark, elbow nudging his ribs — gently, though he still flinches with a groan. You smirk into your mug.

“Tough guy,” she teases.

“Don’t start,” Mark groans. “I’m lucky I’m not still in traction.”

“You’d heal in like… ten minutes.”

“Not the point, Eve.”

Before either of them can escalate into their usual back-and-forth, Debbie reappears from the hall, balancing a large plate of pancakes like it’s an Olympic sport. She’s already smiling when she sees the three of you sitting there — her expression softens in a way that feels... earned.

“Good,” she says. “You’re all here.”

She sets the plate in the middle of the table, and somehow it’s exactly the kind of pancakes that tell you you’re safe: golden, fluffy, warm. A few have smiley faces burned into them — probably for Oliver, but you nudge one onto your plate like you’re claiming treasure.

“Maple?” you ask innocently, peering up at her.

Debbie rolls her eyes, grabbing the syrup bottle and tossing it to you. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Eve reaches over to snatch one of the smiley pancakes before you can. “I saw that first.”

“You cheated, I sniffed it out.”

“You don’t even have a nose under all that fur!”

You both pause.

Mark points a fork at you. “Wait. Do you? Actually? Because I’ve been wondering—”

Debbie slaps a hand on the table, firm. “No anatomy talk at breakfast.”

Everyone freezes. Then laughs.

It’s… light. The kind of laughter that doesn’t come from jokes, but from relief. From being here. From being alive.

Mark tucks into his pancakes with a quiet hum, chewing slower than usual — thoughtful.

“You know,” he says, glancing around the table, “I can’t remember the last time it felt like this.”

“Like what?” Eve asks, leaning her head on her hand.

“Normal,” he says. “Not perfect, but… normal.”

You don’t say anything — you just nod.

Debbie stands behind him, running a hand through his hair without saying a word. The gesture makes him still. Then, almost shyly, he leans into it.

Eve watches him. Then glances at you. “Thanks for not vanishing this time,” she says.

You grin between bites. “Can’t vanish on an empty stomach.”

Debbie moves back to the stove, and as she does, she speaks without turning.

“You’re welcome here,” she says. “As long as you need.”

You pause mid-chew.

It’s quiet again — but this time it’s that same warmth from earlier. The kind you can sit in for a long time and not want to leave.

Mark catches your gaze.

And you know, in that moment, he believes it too.

[mingsolo]

SUCKDAY — night version ⋆.˚

jeonghan x reader / smut, pwp / warnings: oral (m receiving), hair pulling, mentions of spit, cum eating — wc: 462 / r: 21+

final delivery of the thirst week! (only 3 weeks apart from the others WELL) hope everyone enjoys this one, I was just desperately wanting to put this out so much that I forgot it was supposed to be some fantasy related TT don't sue me please hope you enjoy the lemon

SEXDAY <[m.list]

You took a deep breath, focusing on relaxing your jaw and practicing your most seductive smile. Subtle, but inviting. Just as you were ready to enter the stage through the velvet curtains you heard your coworker calling.

“Y/n! He’s here, he’s asking for you!” 

You knew exactly who he was and that you should be there immediately. Smiling wide, you rush to the private rooms upstairs, trying to get there before him. Everyone in the club knows you should leave whatever you are doing when Jeonghan comes.

“You should really start telling me when you will come, I could get prettier for you” Your voice is low and full of need. Jeonghan places soft kisses on your lips, nose and forehead until you disappear down, to place yourself between his legs. You palm him playfully over his clothes, but he quickly takes your hand and puts it beside you.

“Not in the mood for foreplay tonight, I’m going to wreck that pretty throat, is it okay, love?” He strokes your neck with his long fingers.

You nodded. Fucking yes, please.

Jeonghan smirks, grabbing a fistful of your hair while looking at you like he is about to ruin you, and you couldn’t be more impatient, tugging at the fabric of his pants to know you can’t wait anymore. 

Mere seconds later he begins trusting into you, guiding you, letting the feeling of your mouth wrapping his cock guide him. He moans softly but it drives you insane, you wouldn’t know what you do if he was louder. You are gagging and panting and choking but he doesn't stop, not even when you gargle thanks to his cock hitting the back of your throat over and over. Jeonghan bit his bottom lip as he watches your mascara getting ruined, tears rolling down. The drool on your chin falls down your neck into your skirt and you can feel the wet spot through your lace panties onto the floor. 

Jeonghan’s voice was breathy and low, in contrast with his gentle tone. His hand never leaves your hair and he tugs everytime he hears you gag, encouraging your cries. “Fuck, only you can take it like this, no one else,” with closed eyes he comes violently, painting your throat white and having you moaning as you expertly swallow it all. 

Jeonghan falls back on the couch where he was sitting, watching you lick your top lip and remove the spit from the corners of your mouth. He laughs airy and amusedly. “I fucking swear, you are truly are going to be the death of me,” he says before pulling you over his lap and burying his face between your neck and shoulders. 

“You love me,” you say innocently, and Jeonghan laughs.

“I sure do”

@mingsolo please don't repost/translate to any sites.

[purplefangirl42]

Relive the Memories

Summary: Two days at the Winter Solstice Festival, years apart.

Pairing: Silco/Reader (F)

A/N: This was written as part of a gift exchange for my friend @sirenofzaun. Love you Lauren!

Tags: Slight Angst, Established Relationship, Time Skip

AO3 Link Divider by saradika-graphics

The breeze that blew through the alley chilled you down to your bones, setting off a round of shivers that made your teeth chatter. You leaned against the wall behind you and wrapped your arms around your midsection in an attempt to trap some of the remaining body heat. You should have dressed warmer, but the thin sweater you wore was one of the only warm pieces of clothing that you had. 

Why, in Janna’s name, had you agreed to meet Silco up here?

It would have been much warmer down in the Undercity. The closeness of the walls, the hot air coming from the fissures in the ground, and even Jericho’s cooking would have been ten times better than this. Up here, everything was open and exposed. This alley was the closest thing to shelter you had been able to find while you waited for Silco to join you.

Just when you were about to give up and head back home before your fingers froze off, you heard footsteps from the other end of the alley. You turned to look and saw a lanky figure that you knew well heading in your direction. He seemed to be carrying something bulky in his arms, something you couldn’t identify from this distance.

“Kept me waiting long enough,” you accused, shaking your head at him.  “What do you have?”

“Something that I hope will help you forgive me for making you wait so long,” Silco said, lifting the large bundle. “I worked hard to get it for you, so please take that into consideration before you yell at me.”

You scowled slightly before closing the remaining distance between the two of you. Your gaze trailed up and down the thing Silco was holding, still not quite sure what it was. He lifted it higher and the bundle unfurled into its full size, nearly touching the ground.

It was a coat. A nice, long, fuzzy coat. Just looking at it made you feel a bit warmer. You reached out a hand to touch the sleeve and nearly gasped at how soft it felt. You had never gotten close to something this nice, let alone touched it. Your gaze shifted up to meet Silco’s and you tilted your head, raising your eyebrow in a questioning manner.

“Did you rob some poor Piltie lady in the street?”

Silco’s smile faltered slightly before he shook his head.

“First of all, I don’t think you can use ‘poor’ and ‘Piltie’ together in a sentence like that,” he said with a sniff. “And secondly, I acquired this for you as a gift. Worked hard to get it.”

“And by worked hard, you mean…” you started, leaving the rest of your question unspoken.

“I mean…I had Vander distract the shopkeeper while I took it off the rack and threw it out the delivery window while they weren’t looking.”

“Uh, huh,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“If you don’t want it, I can give it to Felicia or Sevika. I’m sure they’d both appreciate a new coat.”

“I didn’t say that. Just wanted to know where it came from, that’s all,” you said, stepping forward. “I appreciate your ‘work’.”

You leaned in and placed a kiss on Silco’s cheek before taking the coat from him. You pulled it on and wrapped it around yourself, instantly feeling warmer as it closed around your body. Silco seemed pleased to see you wearing it, as his grin had returned in full force.

“Thank you, Silco. Not only for the coat, but for the thought that went into acquiring it for me. I really needed something like this.”

“I know,” Silco said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around your midsection beneath the coat. “I can hear your teeth chattering everytime we go scouting together. It’s not very covert if the people we’re spying on hear that.”

You laughed softly and returned his embrace, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m trying not to freeze to death,” you said. “Now, could you please tell me why we needed to meet up here for you to give me this coat? Couldn’t we have met somewhere warmer?”

Silco stepped back from you a small amount and smiled, pulling on the lapels of the coat and closing it in front of you. He reached for your hand and started to pull you down the alley in the direction he had come from.

“It’s time to test out your new coat. We’re going to the Winter Solstice festival. I know you’ve always wanted to go and I was able to get us some tickets.”

“Did you work hard to get those too?” you asked.

“No comment.”

You laughed again as he pulled you along. Though you teased him about his methods, the thought behind the actions meant a great deal to you. He was always surprising you with gestures, both grand and small. This was just another thing on the list of surprises he had concocted for you in your time together.

When the pair of you reached the edge of the festival, you stopped short, bringing Silco to a halt as well. He turned to look at you with a questioning glance, his brows furrowed in slight concern. You stared at the sight before you in amazement, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Darling? Is everything alright?” Silco asked.

“Yes,” you said, your gaze switching from the festival to Silco, “everything is perfect.”

His concerned expression evaporated and a cheerful one took its place as you started moving again in the direction of the ticket gate. Silco gave the man at the entrance the tickets he had procured, and once you got the approval, pulled you through the gate. 

The sights inside the festival were even better than the glimpse you had gotten from the outside. Little twinkling lights on chains hung over the streets, swinging between poles covered in strands of gold and red tinsel. A mixture of savory and sweet smells drifted through the air, carried to your nostrils on the breeze that had previously sent a chill down your spine. You could even hear soft music playing from various places around you, its source unseen by you, which only seemed to add to the magic of the place.

“So, does it live up to your expectations?” Silco asked, diverting your attention away from the environment surrounding you.

“It’s even better than I thought it would be,” you said. “Thank you for bringing me here, Silco.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Silco leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your temple before the pair of you continued down the path to take in all the sights the festival had to offer.

The air felt just as cold as you remembered, possibly colder if you were truly being honest with yourself. You pulled the edges of your coat together to seal in the warmth and block out the cold wind. Over the years, your nice, warm coat had worn down and didn’t quite do the job it used to when it came to keeping you warm. You could never bear to part with it and acquire a new one though. Your heart wouldn’t let you.

The festival around you didn’t seem as magical as you thought it was in the past. Things didn’t sparkle like before, the music seemed out of sync, and even the smells were a bit off. It was almost as if something was missing. The key element that solidified the magic.

You hadn’t been to the festival since the day with Silco, and that had been many years ago. After he disappeared; or died as you had heard but didn’t believe; you didn’t feel it was right to experience any kind of happiness that you had attached to him without him there beside you. You felt it would taint the memories.

You couldn’t say what had brought you to the festival on this day. Something in your gut told you that you needed to go when you saw the poster on the bridge. Maybe it was a voice inside you telling you that you needed some closure. You needed to do something to end that chapter of your life and finally move on. Perhaps this was the way to do it.

As you walked between the various stalls, you thought over your memories of the last time you had been here. Of course, you hadn’t really had the money to buy anything, but it had still been fun to look at things. You had a little money this time, but no desire to make any purchases. You didn’t even truly look at the items on the tables you passed, your gaze just glancing over vague shapes and colors as you walked along.

With such an unfocused air about you, you weren’t watching where you were walking and ran into someone. You nearly lost your balance and reached out to grab the arm of the man you had collided with to steady yourself.

“My apologies, sir. I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

Without looking at the man, face down to hide your embarrassment, you moved to walk past him when you heard a familiar voice speak your name. You halted in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of the voice.

“When I said I worked hard to get you that coat, I didn’t mean you had to wear it forever.”

You slowly turned in place to look at the man you assumed was talking to you. What you saw made you believe that you had hit your head when you ran into him before. The man standing before you was none other than Silco. Alive and present, wrapped in a coat with a large collar. He was older and looked different, most noticeable things being a large scar across one side of his face and an eye that was black and orange.

But it was still Silco.

You were at a loss for words. You probably looked like a fish, standing there staring at him with your mouth wide open. He seemed to understand that you were unable to speak and stepped towards you, holding out a hand.

“I’ll explain later. Right now, we can just relive the memories.”

You took his offered hand and let him pull you closer. The sensation of his touch seemed to right all the things that had seemed off before about the festival. The music regained its melody, the food smelled delicious again, and the lights seemed to shine even brighter than they had the first time.

The magic had returned.

A/N: Give this a like, comment, and reblog and let me know what you think!

[watermelonlovershigh]

Not So Patient After All {part. 13} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

"You've been a real, bad, boy." {part. 12} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: i know, i know. full subrry will appear in the next chapter, i promise. after chapter 12 i thought this part would have him in it but then i came up with this idea and instead of making it too long, decided to make it 2 separate chapters. i hope you still enjoy!!!

This story contains: female masturbation w/ toy, sending nudes, sex, mild dirty talk, ass slapping, use of butt plugs, more sex

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - teacher!harry - subrry }

word count- 2,628

You get impatient after your sex toys arrive and one day while Harry's at work, decide to use one and send him a naughty photo in the process. This leads him to pretend he's mad at you and two rounds of sex, one of which only happens because he gets hard again after you request that he wears one of his new butt plugs.

"Harry, Harry, Harry!" you call out your boyfriends name repeatedly as you move through the house carrying multiple packages. The toys you purchased a week ago have finally been delivered, and you are beaming with excitement. Bursting into your bedroom, you find Harry still asleep under your covers. Unable to contain your joy, you leap onto the bed, causing the boxes to tumble across the mattress, and playfully pounce on his sleeping body.

Harry's quick to pull the blankets over his head and groans in a raspy voice. "Mhm, what? What'd you want? M' sleepin'."

Rolling off his body, you explain, "Our toys came, Harry."

He reluctantly pulls the covers off his head and does a morning stretch, before fully waking up and becoming alert. Harry opens his eyes and glances around the bed, noticing you sitting beside him, with several small boxes scattered at the foot of the bed. "That's nice, but could you come give me a cuddle, please?"

You rush down and slip under the blankets on your bed, snuggling against Harry's warm body. Quietly, you ask, "Aren't you looking forward to our new toys?" Now you feel a little self-conscious about how happy you were when you discovered your deliveries had arrived.

"Baby, m'very happy. S'just, it's a Wednesday. I have work today. We can't use them until we have more time."

"Oh," you say disappointedly, not having thought of that.

Harry senses your disappointment and suggests a plan. He offers, "Tell you what, when Friday rolls around, I'll let you try out some of the toys on me. I know I'm due for my punishment, baby. You can wreck me and then Saturday I'll have time to stay home and recover since I don't work weekends"

Agreeing, you nod. "Okay, sounds like a plan. Sorry I got so excited. Just can't wait to use my new strap-on on you."

"No apologizing, m'love. It's okay you got excited. M' excited too, but we have to be patient."

After cuddling for a few more minutes, you sit up and proceed to open each box to simply glance inside and see what each item looks like. The excitement of seeing your new toys increases your happiness, but you must keep in mind that you need to be patient, or as patient as possible.

Then realizing the time, Harry scrambles out of bed to get ready for work before he's late.

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

Your patience persisted from Wednesday all the way through Thursday morning. Yet, as noon approached on Thursday, you were suddenly consumed by a powerful feeling of horniness. With Harry still at work and unable to offer any assistance, you tried hard to ignore the throbbing sensation between your legs. However, you became so wet that you had no choice but to change your panties, as they had become drenched from your heightened state of arousal.

When your second pair of panties get damp, you'd had enough and get up to go try your new rose vibrator. You feel guilty since Harry isn't here but technically there was never a rule that you couldn't masturbate when he wasn't home. Even if there was, you'd still secretly do it if you needed to bad enough.

After laying a towel on the bed, you undress and settle into a comfortable position. Taking hold of your new rose vibrator, you direct it towards your clit. While the rose was new to you, you were no stranger to suction toys. The moment you switch on the rose toy and place it in the right spot, you nearly jump off the bed due to your sensitivity.

Unlike the rest of your suction vibrators, this one provides a sensation similar to when a human sucks on the clit. While laying on the bed, you hold the rose vibrator against your clitoris, feeling your breath quicken and your wetness increase. In less than two minutes, you're already on the verge of orgasm. But before reaching that peak, you decide to turn off the toy for a second and engage in a bit of teasing with Harry.

You grab your phone and open the camera. In one hand you place your rose back on your clit and your other hand holds your phone. You snap a few photos and quickly send the best looking one to Harry before laying your phone down and getting back to business. Right as you're about to actually come, your phone dings beside you.

Opening your messages, you read Harry's reply and smile evilly.

Harry- Y/n, I'm working!!! You can't be sending me photos like that when I'm at work. Do you know how weird it'd be if I got hard in front of 10 and 11 year olds??? They'd be trying to send me to JAIL!!!

You- oops 🤪

After sending off your response, you complete your task at hand. With all the edging you've done in the past hour, you quickly climax upon switching the vibrator back on. A wave of relief washes over you as the pent-up sexual energy is released. Now feeling tired, you quickly clean yourself up and crawl under your blankets naked, drifting off for a short nap.

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

Harry comes home to a quiet house. He knows you're home because your car is out front. So he does some searching and finds you asleep in your bed. At first glance you look normal, but shortly after making his way over to you, he realises you're naked under your duvet. Probably from not having the energy to get dressed after masturbating earlier.

He wants to be mad that you touched yourself without him being here, but can't. The one thing he's never cared about is his partners pleasuring themselves while he's gone. As long as they think about him while doing it, he's all for self pleasure. But, to be cheeky and mess with you a bit, he'll pretend like he's mad at your actions.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and slowly open your eyes, seeing Harry standing over you. You do a big stretch, your breasts popping out of the covers, and relax back into the mattress. Making grabby hands, you whine, "Come cuddle with meeee."

He shakes his head in disagreeance. "Nope, you decided to touch yourself while I was at work, meanin' you obviously don't need me, so.... m' gonna go shower, along. You've been a very bad girl, Y/n."

You observe Harry leaving your room without looking back, and suddenly feel a wave of sadness. His intentions are unclear to you. So in order to avoid possibly upsetting him further, you opt to remain in bed for a few more minutes until your stomach rumbles, prompting you to rise and head to the kitchen where you'll begin preparing dinner. However, you make sure to put some clothes on first.

As Harry was taking a shower, he had a feeling that you might come and try to join him. He was actually hoping that you would defy his request and still shower with him. But, when you didn't show up, he realizes that you must have taken his words seriously.

After he's finished showering, he follows the aroma of food being prepared in the kitchen and discovers you chopping vegetables on the kitchen island. You gaze up at Harry with a deep frown as he enters the kitchen and whisper, "Are you genuinely bothered that I touched myself? You've never mentioned having that rule. Just so you know though, I was thinking of you while doing it. And I didn't watch any porn."

Harry walks over to you from behind and wraps his arms around you, letting you catch a whiff of his fruity shampoo and vanilla body wash. "Baby, I was just kiddin'. M' not really mad that you masturbated. I don't care if you touched yourself, we all do it from time to time. As long as I know you were thinkin' of me and I wasn't around, m' fine with it. Now, if I was around and you purposefully didn't ask me to help, I'd be a little hurt, but...".

Breathing a sigh of relief, you reply, "Oh, thank God. Because even if you had that rule, I'd still touch myself if you weren't home and I was horny enough."

"Hey," Harry shouts playfully, unwrapping his arms from around you, "now I might make it a rule, just because you said that."

"Whatever."

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

Later that night after everything else is done, you both end up in Harry's bed having sex. It's neither aggressive nor extremely gentle, just your standard, basic sex. Nonetheless, it is satisfying. It starts out with you on top, riding Harry, but then you express fatigue and he carefully lays you down and takes charge.

"Poor baby, too tired to ride m'cock." he mocks while thrusting into you at a constant speed.

You playfully slap his ass and Harry nearly topples over you, moaning super loud. You didn't realise a barely hard slap would have such effects on him. "Oh you liked that, didn't you, hm?"

He nods his head where it rests against your collarbone and answers, "Yes, do it again, please." You rear back your hand and slap his ass cheek harder this time, loving to watch his white flesh jiggle and turn red. "Oh fuck, m' gonna come." Before he allows himself to come though, he slips his hand between your bodies and starts aggressively rubbing your clit against his fingers.

"Ahh, Harry!!!" you cry out, your back arching as you come all over his cock and fingers. He continues his stimulation until you literally start crying from overstimulation. Harry removes his fingers from your sensitive clit but continues thrusting as he finally allows himself to let go and orgasm. His thrusts become weak and uncoordinated as he ejaculates deep inside you.

Once his orgasm diminishes, Harry's heavy body plops down on top of you, almost knocking the wind from your lungs. You both lay there in post-orgasm bliss until you have an idea. When buying your toys on Amazon a few days ago, Harry mentioned how he can sleep with the black silicone butt plug due to its flexibility. And tomorrow you will be fucking his ass. So what if he sleeps with it tonight to make sure he's nice and stretched for you tomorrow. You'd hate to hurt him in anyway.

"Harry?" you say, breaking the rooms silence.

Still breathing rather heavy with his head resting on your chest, he answers, "Yeah, baby?"

"Do you think you could sleep with that silicone butt plug in tonight? You know, because of what's gonna happen tomorrow, I want you to be well stretched so I don't hurt you. And..... I've never seen anyone wear one so I'm kinda curious as to what they look like inside someone."

Your question causes Harry to sit upright. Despite his belief that he doesn't need any actual stretching beforehand, it has been quite some time since he last had anything up his ass, and he would prefer to take precautions. Additionally, the fact that you've never observed someone using and wearing a butt plug serves as extra motivation for him to demonstrate the process.

"Of course, but um, let me just, you know, go to the bathroom and ensure that m' finished using it for the night and that m' completely clean down there. Then I'll come back and you can either assist with the insertion or observe me doin' it."

You nod eagerly as Harry gets up from the bed naked and goes to the bathroom. He remembers a previous incident involving a butt plug and a need to use the toilet, so he makes sure he doesn't have to go to the bathroom in order to prevent a recurrence. After checking his hygiene, he goes back to the bedroom where you have the butt plug and lube set out.

As Harry walks up to the bed, soft cock slightly swinging between his legs, you ask, "Can you do it and I just watch. I'm kinda nervous."

"Sure baby, but nothin' to be nervous about. It's just me, and I'd tell you if you were hurtin' me in anyway. But I can do it and you watch." He climbs onto the bed, still naked from your previous activities, and tries to decide what position he'd prefer to be in, on his knees or layed back with his legs up. He ultimately decides to lay on his back.

Harry settles into position, arranging pillows behind his back against the headboard and spreads his legs. Anxiously, you pass him the lube and butt plug, watching intently as he begins. Despite your initial desire for him to wear it and the upcoming anal sex, you find yourself feeling nervous. Excited, yet nervous. You've never gave anal to anyone before. Mostly because all the men you've been with in the past were too straight and thought negatively on the act.

With the bottle of lube in hand, Harry applies a liberal amount to the bulbous tip of the butt plug using his fingers, followed by wiping any excess off around his tight hole. You adjust your position to sit facing him, allowing you to witness the entire process. You observed how he delicately moves his flaccid cock out of the way and how he carefully goes to insert the lubricated plug into his slick opening. Just before Harry pushes it in, he looks up at you with a soft yet mischievous grin.

He has always harbored a hidden desire for either observing someone engage in self-touch or being observed while engaging in self-touch. Although not solely for pleasure, the act remains deeply intimate, and your observation right now nearly reignites his arousal.

With a deep breath, he relaxes his muscles and slowly starts to insert the butt plug into his ass. The lubricant prevents any pain during the process, despite the stretching sensation. You watch as his anus takes in the butt plug effortlessly, except for the heart-shaped diamond on the end, which sets nicely against his hole. Looking up at Harry's face, you see a slight scrunch, not from pain, but from relief.

"Mhm, fuck, that felt good." Harry annonces, his muscles turning to mush on the bed now that he's finished inserting the butt plug. You smile at him widely, about to speak when he suddenly grunts in what sounds like frustration. "No," he whines, "m' hard again. Too sensitive to be hard again."

Glancing down, you see his flaccid cock no longer flaccid, but half hard. The process of inserting the butt plug in his ass combine with you watching him, it turned him on again.

You let out a giggle and propose, "We could have sex again? Just slower this time. Get all comfy under the covers, turn the lights out, and when we finish, fall asleep naked. Hm?"

Though Harry knows it'll be slightly painful at first from how sensitive his dick is from his previous orgasm, he agrees with a nod. You climb out of bed to turn the lights off, then crawl back under the covers so your plan can unravel.

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

Thirty very sweaty minutes later, you're both knocked out cold in each others arms. Two rounds of sex was almost too much for one night. Not to mention that last round of sex was extremely pleasurable for Harry since he had a butt plug in. Wearing a butt plug during sex always felt super good in his opinion. It stimulated his prostate while giving him that full feeling he longed for sometimes.

Now you just wait until tomorrow night where the pleasure will be upped ten-folds when you fuck him with your new pretty pink strap-on.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

Long Awaited Punishment {part. 14}