#tiny grass is dreaming

[thethirdbear]

[katyspersonal]

Healing church setting up the sprinkler in the front yard of the grand cathedral so Amelia can run around and bite the water. Enrichment.

Dude fdshhfdh This is so wholesome xD

This is how Amelia's era as a vicar SHOULD have ended *sob*

[drunkken-butterfly]

Día y noche dando vueltas

[theonottsbxtch]

THE FLAT NEXT DOOR | OP81

an: @iimplicitt started drawing a firefighter oscar and next thing i knew, i was writing this story. it's so dear to me, firefighter!oscar you mean so much to me. also ive written something similar to this called sunflower syndrome (i dont think ive posted) which i can post, its next door neighbours and shes a single mum as well, its completed just never been posted lol - lemme know if you want it

summary: a firefighter with a soft heart & no idea what he’s doing with his life. a single mum who gave up everything for a tiny pair of shoes. a six-year-old matchmaker with a butterfly painted on her cheek. and the slow, aching kind of love that feels like coming home.

wc: 14.1k

Oscar hadn’t planned on becoming a firefighter. In fact, he hadn’t really planned on anything. Life, so far, had been a series of decisions made more out of avoidance than ambition. Moving to England from Australia at fifteen had felt like starting over in the middle of a film, he’d missed the beginning and had no idea what the plot was meant to be. His accent had softened over the years, but the disorientation never quite left.

By the time he finished school, uni felt like a trap more than an opportunity. He wasn’t academic, not really. His girlfriend back then had big dreams and a UCAS application filled out before the rest of them even figured out their predicted grades. She wanted him to come with her. Scotland, maybe, or Manchester, but he couldn’t pretend to want something just to stay close. Long distance sounded like a slow death, and he was already tired of pretending to care about futures he couldn’t picture. They broke up in late spring, somewhere between the last exam and prom. He barely remembered the conversation now, only the strange mix of guilt and relief afterwards.

The fire service had been a suggestion from someone he barely knew, his mate’s older brother or a careers advisor he met once. The idea stuck, though. It felt solid, practical. So he moved to a town just outside London, somewhere not too fast but not too sleepy either. Now, in his mid-twenties, he still wasn’t sure it was what he wanted, but it was something. A job, a flat, a rhythm.

The flat was part of a red-bricked terrace that hadn’t aged gracefully but wore its wear with a sort of tired charm. Peeling paint on the railings, a communal garden mostly made of grass that didn’t grow right, and neighbours you recognised before you knew their names.

For a while it was quiet on his floor until his neighbour moved in not long after he did, though they didn’t speak properly for months, he always saw her. She was quiet, but not unfriendly. Always rushing, school runs, shopping bags, the sort of tired that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from doing everything yourself. She had a daughter, six years old and full of questions, the kind who shouted hello from the doorstep and thought Oscar was a superhero just because he had boots by the door and came home smelling faintly of smoke.

He didn’t know much about her. She kept to herself, didn’t bring people round, and handled things with a quiet efficiency that made Oscar feel both impressed and slightly in the way. He saw her most often on Sunday mornings, pyjama bottoms tucked into socks, mug in hand while she coaxed the little one into her coat. He wondered, sometimes, if she had ever had a plan, or if she, like him, had simply found herself in a life that looked like it belonged to someone else.

The town had a softness to it in the early mornings, before the cars filled the roads and the high street buzzed with prams and pensioners. The air still held a trace of mist, clinging to hedgerows and the slate roofs that lined the close. Oscar liked this time of day, even if he wasn’t a morning person by nature. There was a quiet permission in the hush, like the world was still deciding what kind of day it wanted to be.

His flat smelled faintly of laundry detergent and burnt toast. He tugged on his jacket, the navy fire service one with the embroidered badge half-unpicked from where it had snagged last month. His boots were by the door, laces loose from habit. The station wasn’t far, a ten-minute walk if he didn’t stop for a coffee or get caught by someone with too many questions.

He swung the door open and nearly collided with her.

“Sorry—” they said at the same time, both stepping back, the awkward shuffle of neighbours not expecting to meet in the narrow shared walkway.

She was crouched beside Aurelia, zipping up a purple puffer coat that was already streaked with breakfast. Her hair fell forward as she glanced up at him, blinking through the unexpected encounter.

Oscar straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you there.”

“That’s alright,” she said, standing up. Her voice was warm, light, with the kind of casual tiredness that didn’t sound like complaining.

Aurelia grinned up at him, gap-toothed. “Are you going to fight fires today?”

He chuckled, crouching a little to her level. “If they start, yeah. Hopefully not too many, though. I’ve just cleaned my helmet.”

She giggled at that, and her mum gave him a grateful sort of smile, small, quick, like she wasn’t used to people being gentle with them.

Oscar stood again, unsure what else to say. The kind of silence that stretched just a second too long settled between them.

“School run?” he asked, just to fill it.

“Yeah. She’s already tried to convince me she’s sick twice.”

“I am sick,” Aurelia insisted. “Sick of spelling tests.”

That made her mum laugh, the kind of laugh that sounded like it didn’t come often enough.

Oscar smiled, then pointed toward the road. “I’d better get going before Zak starts calling. My boss has the patience of a gnat.”

She nodded. “Alright. Have a good shift.”

He hesitated for half a beat. “You too. I mean—have a good school run. And day. And… everything.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You too, firefighter.”

As he walked down the path, he heard Aurelia whisper, “Mummy, I think he’s cool.”

He grinned all the way to the station.

The station smelled of instant coffee, damp gear, and the faint chemical tang of smoke that never really washed out. Oscar pushed through the side entrance, nodding at the watch crew already gathered in the mess room. The TV was on mute, rolling through the morning headlines, and someone had burned toast again, the fire alarm had a nasty habit of reacting more to that than actual emergencies.

He dumped his bag in his locker and shrugged off his jacket, already feeling the dry warmth of the place settling into his bones. There was a comfort to the station, rough around the edges, but reliable. It reminded him of the school changing rooms back in Melbourne: paint chipped from too many boots, the faint echo of shouts in the corridor, the shared understanding that none of it was glamorous, but it was theirs.

“Morning, mate,” came a voice from across the room.

Oscar looked up to see Andrea, one of the senior firefighters on his watch, cradling a mug with World’s Okayest Firefighter printed in peeling letters. He had salt and pepper hair, always grumbling about overtime, and somehow managed to be everyone’s uncle without trying.

“Morning,” Oscar replied, reaching for the kettle. “Anything going on?”

“Not yet. Callout at half three, car in a ditch near the A-road, but that’s about it. Oh, Zak wants a word when you’ve got a sec.”

Oscar groaned quietly. “Do I need to be nervous?”

Andrea grinned. “Always.”

He found Zak in his office, chewing on a pen lid and frowning at a stack of paper that looked older than both of them. He waved Oscar in without looking up.

“You busy this weekend?” Zak asked, without preamble.

Oscar blinked. “Uh, not really. Why?”

Zak finally looked up. “We’ve been asked to send someone to this community thing at Chestnut Grove Primary. Little safety talk, couple of demos, let the kids have a go with the hoses, all that, see the truck.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Chestnut Grove? The one down the road”

“Yeah. Saturday morning. Council’s pushing the whole community engagement thing again. You up for it?”

He could’ve said no. He wasn’t the best with big groups, especially ones full of excitable children and clipboard-wielding parents. But something about the name clicked in his head, a flicker of memory. Hadn’t he seen little Aurelia in a forest green uniform?

“I’ll go,” he said, surprising even himself.

Zak blinked. “Right. Well. That was easy. Cheers.”

He left the office feeling oddly restless. Community events weren’t usually his thing, too many people, too many eyes. But he figured it was just one morning. How bad could it be?

Back in the mess, Andrea glanced up from the paper. “You’ve got that face on.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’ve agreed to something and immediately regretted it.”

Oscar shrugged, pouring himself a coffee that tasted vaguely of plastic and burnt hopes. “Just volunteered for the school event.”

Andrea gave a low whistle. “Brave man. Good luck dodging flying juice cartons.”

Oscar smiled to himself, thinking of Aurelia’s grin that morning, the way she’d looked up at him like he was some kind of action figure come to life. If nothing else, maybe it would be nice to see some children think he was a hero he 100% wasn’t.

It was one of those spring mornings where the sun tried its best, but the chill hadn’t quite loosened its grip yet. The air was sharp, fresh with that faint green smell of grass and new leaves, and the sky had that washed-out blue that promised warmth later, maybe.

Oscar parked the spare appliance near the edge of the school field, just where the tarmac gave way to a patch of uneven grass. The truck was technically out of use, something to do with the hydraulics, Zak had said, but it looked the part and that’s what mattered. He unfolded the little step ladder and opened up a few side panels to make it look more interactive. A pop-up banner flapped in the wind beside him, showing a smiling child in a tiny fire helmet with the slogan Be Cool, Stay Safe in cheerful red letters.

The fair itself was already in full swing: bunting strung between gazebo poles, the smell of frying onions from a burger van, and a trail of small children darting between stalls clutching glittery cupcakes and face paint flyers. Oscar had been given a little corner to himself on the edge of the field, which suited him fine. He liked watching the buzz of it all from a slight distance, present, but not in the thick of things.

He was in full kit except for the heavy jacket and helmet, both left hanging neatly inside the cab. Just his white fire service shirt rolled up at the forearms, and the braces of his overalls snug over his shoulders. He leaned against the side of the truck, hands in his pockets, the breeze tugging gently at the hem of his shirt.

A few curious kids had wandered over already. Two boys who’d wanted to climb inside the cab and press every button, a shy little girl who’d asked if he had ever rescued a cat from a tree, while he hadn’t, he said yes, and a boy who only cared about the siren.

Oscar found himself smiling more than he expected. There was something easy about it. Maybe it was the way kids didn’t expect anything except enthusiasm and the occasional high five. Maybe it was the way parents hovered a few feet away, grateful for five minutes of peace while someone else answered the never-ending questions.

He took a sip from his coffee flask, just as he heard the unmistakable patter of small feet sprinting across grass.

“Neighbour firefighter!”

He turned, and there she was, Aurelia, bounding across the field with a neon butterfly painted across one cheek and a balloon animal in one hand. Her plimsolls were slightly muddy and her coat was half unzipped.

Oscar laughed, straightening up. “Oh, I know you!”

She skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless with excitement. “Mummy said we might see you but I didn’t really think you’d be here!”

“Well, I don’t lie about fire engines,” he said, crouching down to her level. “That’s a very serious thing.”

She grinned, already peering into the open side of the truck. “Can I go in?”

“Course you can—but hang on a sec, where’s—?”

And then he saw her. Walking at a slower pace across the grass, hands deep in her coat pockets, eyes already on him. The breeze lifted the edge of her scarf, and her hair glinted slightly in the sun. She looked different here, more relaxed somehow, out of the usual early morning rush and into something softer.

“Hi,” she said, when she reached him. “Looks like you’ve got an assistant now.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, “bit short for the uniform, but she’s got enthusiasm.”

Aurelia had already clambered halfway up the step ladder, peeking into the cab with the confidence of someone who fully expected to be given the keys. Her balloon animal was now tucked under one arm like a sidekick.

Her mum laughed, folding her arms loosely as she watched. “She’s been bouncing off the walls since breakfast. I think she thought she’d get to drive it.”

Oscar grinned. “Could probably teach her. Might be more focused than some of the lads at the station.”

She gave him a look, one of those amused half-smiles he was starting to recognise, a little dry, a little warm. “You here all day?”

“No, just the morning. Couple of hours, bit of leafleting, bit of ‘don’t play with matches’ chat. Then I get to drag all this lot back to the station and pretend it never happened.”

“Well,” she said, glancing toward Aurelia now balancing with one foot on the step and the other poised mid-air, “you’re already a highlight. She’s going to talk about this for weeks.”

Oscar watched Aurelia for a beat, her complete absorption in twiddling the dials on the dashboard, and then turned back to her mum, catching the moment her eyes dipped.

Just for a second.

A quick flicker downward, over the rolled sleeves, the broad line of his shoulders beneath the white shirt, the dark straps of his overalls snug against his chest.

He smirked. “Careful, you’re staring.”

Her eyes snapped up, sharp and just slightly horrified. “I am not.”

“You are. It’s alright. Happens all the time,” he said, leaning casually back against the truck, utterly insufferable now. 

She scoffed, but her ears had gone pink. “No! I just think it’s a nice shirt. Very crisp. Good cotton, probably.”

Oscar chuckled, folding his arms. “I’ll let the fire service know. Get one sent out to you.”

“Oh, good,” she said dryly. “Nothing says flattering like free uniform merch.”

Aurelia’s voice rang out before he could reply. “Mummy! Come look at the back bit! There’s hoses!”

She gave him a look that said this isn’t over, then stepped past him to help Aurelia down. Oscar caught a whiff of her perfume as she moved, something light and clean, like citrus and soap, and tried not to look too pleased with himself.

He crouched again beside the little girl. “Want to hold the thermal imaging camera?”

Aurelia gasped like he’d offered her a crown. “Can I?”

“Course you can. Let me just grab it.”

While he disappeared momentarily into the side compartment, her mum looked after him, one eyebrow raised, like she was still debating whether to be annoyed or amused. Maybe both.

When he returned, holding the chunky bit of kit with both hands, he caught her smirking to herself.

“What?” he said, passing the camera to Aurelia.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “Just admiring the shirt again.”

Oscar grinned. “Thought so.”

And if he stood a little straighter for the rest of the morning, well, no one could blame him, really.

By midday, the fair was starting to wind down. The bouncy castle had deflated into a sad, crumpled mess, and a few stalls were already packing away jars of pick ’n’ mix and rain-speckled flyers. The sun had climbed properly now, still not warm, but bright enough to squint against.

Oscar stood by the truck, arms folded loosely, watching as Aurelia gave the thermal imaging camera a final, dramatic sweep across the grass, pretending to detect imaginary fires. Her mum hovered a few steps behind, rummaging in her bag, trying to locate a missing glove.

He caught her voice, half-muffled by the breeze. “Alright, Rels, we’ve got to go soon. Last bus is at twelve and I’m not chasing it again.”

Oscar straightened a little. She was looking at her watch, already slipping back into that quiet, slightly hurried rhythm he recognised from mornings in the shared walkway.

He pushed off from the side of the truck and wandered over, deliberately soft-footed across the grass. He stopped just behind her.

“Boo.”

She jumped about a foot in the air and turned, hand instinctively going to her chest. “God, don’t do that!”

He grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

She exhaled sharply, trying not to smile. “You’re a menace.”

Oscar nodded toward the road beyond the fence. “You’re heading off?”

She gave a small nod, still a little breathless. “Yeah. Got to catch the bus before it disappears into the void. It’s only once an hour out here.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, hands back in his pockets now. “Let me give you a lift.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’ve got to drive the truck back to the station anyway, and Aurelia’ll love it. And I brought my car in this morning, first time in ages, I was running late, so I can just take you both home after.”

She stared at him, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. I mean, that’s kind of you. I don’t want to, um…”

“Inconvenience me?” he finished, one brow raised. “You wouldn’t be. It’s just a lift.”

She hesitated, glancing at Aurelia, who was now poking at the truck’s steering wheel with something close to reverence. “We don’t usually talk this much.”

Oscar gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Thought I’d change that.”

She looked like she might say no, just on instinct, like she didn’t want to be a bother, but the words never quite came. Instead, she sighed and gave him a resigned sort of look.

“Fine. But only because Aurelia will probably combust if you offer.”

Oscar turned to the little girl, crouching again beside her with mock seriousness.

“Hey, Aurelia,” he said, “want to ride in the fire truck?”

Her eyes went wide. “What? Really?”

“Really,” he said, gesturing grandly toward the cab. “I need a co-pilot.”

She shrieked in delight and immediately threw herself at her mum, already halfway into the truck in her head. “Mummy, mummy, we’re going in the fire engine!”

Her mum shook her head with a quiet laugh, murmuring as she passed Oscar, “You’re going to regret this.”

But he was still smiling, already opening the cab door, like he doubted that very much.

Once he checked that everything was back in place, Oscar jogged over to the headteacher, a harried-looking man in a tweed jacket with a clipboard under one arm, who, thankfully, tended right to it and began talking to the stall holders.

When he turned back, he found Aurelia had already jumped in and her mother was right behind her attempting to get up herself. He came up behind her quietly, hand brushing gently around her waist as she shifted her weight.

“Easy,” he said near her ear, low and careful. “Didn’t want to startle you again.”

She tensed slightly, then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something else. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

He tightened his hands around her waist and hopped her up into her seat then stood on the ledge. “Right then, Aurelia you’ll have to sit on your mum’s lap,” he told her, lifting her up onto her mother’s lap. “I haven’t got a booster seat, and I reckon you’d get swallowed up by that seatbelt on your own.”

“Okay!” Aurelia chirped, already clambering in. She nestled against her mum, legs swinging slightly, her face bright with excitement.

“Hold still a sec,” Oscar said, reaching in to pull the seatbelt across both of them. His arm brushed hers as he clicked it in, and when their eyes met briefly, he gave her a look that was pure cheek.

“Safe and sound.”

She raised a brow. “You enjoy this far too much.”

“I really do,” he grinned.

He stepped back, shut the door with a solid thunk, and jogged round to the driver’s side. Once inside, he leaned over and handed Aurelia a chunky black handset.

“Alright, Firefighter Aurelia,” he said, reaching for the cab’s radio. “We’ve got a very important mission.”

He pressed the button and spoke into it in his best dramatic voice. “Control, this is Unit Seventeen. We've received reports of a rogue ice cream van, repeat, rogue ice cream van, causing mayhem in the residential zone. Suspect is armed with sprinkles. Requesting permission to pursue.”

Aurelia squealed with laughter and clutched the handset like it was made of gold. Her mum shook her head, but Oscar caught the smile she was trying not to show as he flicked the ignition.

The old appliance groaned slightly as it rolled off the grass and onto the gravel path. The gate swung open ahead of them, and they bumped gently onto the road.

The drive was short, fifteen minutes or so, but it was quiet, in a good way. Aurelia made soft siren noises under her breath the whole time, practically vibrating in place, and her mum kept a steady hand around her middle to stop her launching herself at every passing tree or pigeon.

When they finally pulled into the station yard, the engine still humming beneath them, Oscar spotted Lando through the open shutters. He was parked in a camp chair just inside the bay, arms folded, head tipped back, fast asleep with a half-eaten bag of crisps in his lap.

Oscar flicked his gaze up to Aurelia, then caught her mum’s eye.

“Wanna wake up Sleeping Beauty?”

Aurelia’s face lit up. “Can I? Really?”

“Go on then,” he said, reaching up to the dash. “Just one burst, yeah?”

She bounced in her seat as he tapped the siren switch. The wail screamed to life, echoing through the yard. Lando nearly fell out of his chair, crisps flying in every direction.

Oscar killed the siren after two seconds, laughing as Lando stood up blinking, dazed and scandalised.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Lando shouted, wiping crumbs off his shirt.

Oscar stuck his head out the window. “Community engagement, mate.”

Aurelia was giggling so hard she nearly dropped her balloon animal.

Her mum shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re going to get sacked.”

Oscar smirked. “Not unless he grasses.”

He parked the truck, turned off the engine, and helped them both down one at a time.

As he pulled up, he looked at her sideways. “Worth it?”

She gave him a wry look. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

He grinned. “And yet, look at the smile on your daughter’s face”

She didn’t respond straight away, just looked at him, that same half-smile playing at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes yet. Not because she wasn’t happy, but because she wasn’t used to all this. The ease of it. The way he fit so seamlessly into an afternoon that wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a spring fair and a sugar crash.

Aurelia, oblivious to the grown-up moment passing quietly over her head, was already tugging at her mum’s hand.

“Mum! Look! Look, it’s like Fireman Sam! The pole! Can we slide down it? Can we?”

Oscar chuckled and crouched beside her. “You’ve got a good eye, Aurelia. That’s the real thing. Only the grown-ups are allowed on it though, bit dangerous, that one.”

She pouted, considering the injustice, then lit up again. “When I’m a grown-up, I’m going to work here with you.”

“Deal,” he said, offering her a pinky. “You’ll be the best firefighter in the place.”

She pinky-swore with great ceremony, and then launched into an intense interrogation about hoses, helmets, and whether or not he’d ever saved a dinosaur (he hadn’t, but he’d chased a very angry goose once, which she seemed to find acceptable).

Eventually, the sugar high began to dip and she slumped a little, thumb sneaking toward her mouth before her mum gently steered her hand away. Oscar caught the silent exchange and didn’t say anything, just gestured toward the far end of the garage.

“Car’s parked out the back. You ready?”

Her mum nodded, brushing a stray curl off Aurelia’s forehead. “Yeah. Let’s go before she falls asleep standing up.”

Oscar got changed out of his gear and wore just a hoodie and a pair of shorts as the girls walked to his car. They bundled into his car, Oscar making a show of unlocking the door like it was a limo and she was royalty, and within five minutes, they were on the road again, the fire truck a quiet memory behind them.

Aurelia was asleep before they turned onto their street.

Her head lolled against her mum’s arm, soft snores escaping in little puffs. Her butterfly face paint had mostly faded, a faint smudge of pink and glitter under one eye.

Oscar pulled into the car park behind the flats and cut the engine. The stillness after the hum of the engine felt sudden, like stepping into a moment that didn’t quite belong to the day.

She shifted carefully, not waking Aurelia, and glanced over at him.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes still on the dashboard for a moment before he looked at her.

“I know,” he said. “That’s kind of the point.”

They got out quietly, and he came round to open the door for her, taking Aurelia gently from her arms and settling her against his shoulder without fuss. She stirred but didn’t wake, hand fisting into the fabric of his shirt as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

They climbed the stairs together, slow and careful, her just a step ahead as they reached their landing. She unlocked her door quietly, reaching out to take her daughter back.

Oscar passed her over gently. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

“She’s all legs,” she whispered, smoothing Aurelia’s hair.

He nodded, hands slipping back into his hoodie pockets. For a second, neither of them moved.

The corridor was still. Just the hum of an old light overhead and the faint smell of fabric softener from someone’s laundry down the hall.

“I should… put her down,” she said, but her voice didn’t carry much urgency.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. “This was nice,” he said. “Spending time. With you.”

She held his gaze, surprised by how much that simple truth settled somewhere deep in her chest.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, soft and honest. “It was.”

Neither of them quite knew what to say next. But it didn’t feel awkward, just quiet. Comfortable.

Then she smiled, just a little, and nodded toward her door.

“See you tomorrow, neighbour.”

He smiled back, stepping slowly away.

“Sweet dreams, Aurelia,” he said, softly, before turning and heading for his own door, the warmth of the moment still clinging to the edges of him.

And behind her closed door, she stood for a beat longer than she needed to, heart ticking just a little louder than usual.

A couple of days had passed, and the brightness of the spring fair had faded into a more typical grey sort of morning. The kind that didn’t quite rain, but threatened to at any moment. Oscar was shrugging into his station fleece, keys already in hand, when he stepped out into the corridor and nearly tripped over something on the doormat.

He blinked down at the small tupperware tub sitting neatly against his door, like it had been placed there with great care.

Inside, through the foggy plastic lid, he could just about make out a few slightly lopsided fairy cakes, frosting a bit wonky, a generous scattering of rainbow sprinkles on top. They weren’t shop bought. Not a chance. They had that unmistakable homemade charm, the kind that didn’t care about appearances but would taste better than anything in a bakery.

Tucked underneath the corner of the lid was a small card, folded over like a secret note passed in class. His name was scrawled across the front in purple felt-tip, the letters slightly uneven. 

He crouched down, picked it up, and flipped the card open.

Dear Mr Oscar,

Thank you for letting me drive the fire truck. You are the best firefighter in the world. I made you fairy cakes. Mummy helped but I did the mixing.

Love from,

Aurelie (age six and a HALF)

Oscar stared at the note for a long moment, a smile spreading slowly, unstoppably across his face.

He glanced at their door, tempted to knock, but it was early, and quiet behind the wood. Probably the usual hushed breakfast rush in there, uniforms, pony tails and cereal on the floor. He didn’t want to interrupt. Not yet.

So he tucked the card into his jacket pocket and examined the container, before heading off down the stairs with the kind of ridiculous warmth in his chest that made even a dreary Tuesday feel a little golden around the edges.

By the time Oscar got home, it was well past eight. His shift had overrun, as they often did, from a small domestic fire to someone’s car keys that were stuck in the car. He was knackered, hungry, and somehow still smiling like an idiot every time he glanced at the now empty cake tub in his hands.

He’d saved one. The best one, in his opinion. A bit sunken in the middle, heavy on the sprinkles, the icing smudged at the side like someone small had licked their thumb and tried to fix it. It was tucked into a bit of kitchen roll in the pocket of his coat.

The corridor light flickered as he climbed the stairs, his boots quiet on the worn carpet. Their doors faced each other, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure if he was about to come off charming or really quite tragic.

But then he knocked.

Soft, just enough to be heard over whatever bedtime might sound like on the other side.

A pause. Then the click of the latch, and she opened the door just a crack before widening it when she saw him. She looked cosy, oversized hoodie, hair up, bare feet. The kind of comfort people didn’t wear unless they felt safe at home.

“Hi,” she said, surprised but not in a bad way. “Everything alright?”

Oscar held up the empty container like a peace offering. “Official return of government property. Wouldn’t want to be accused of fairy cake theft.”

She smiled, hand resting on the doorframe. “Did she really give you those?”

“Left them on my doormat. Full note and everything. Genuinely the highlight of my week.”

“She was very serious about it,” she said, laughing gently. “Kept asking if I thought you’d know they were from her. I told her you’d probably figure it out from the purple pen.”

“There was a lot of purple,” he nodded solemnly. “It was a full forensic giveaway.”

She laughed properly then, a hand over her mouth, and the sound curled around his ribs like a warm drink.

“I, um…” he shifted a little, suddenly aware of his own nerves, “I saved one. If she wants it back.”

She raised a brow. “You saved one?”

He held up his hands. “For sentiment, not greed.”

“Mm-hm,” she said, amused. “Well, she’s out like a light. Crashed in the middle of Matilda. Completely missed the part where Miss Trunchbull throws a child across the playground.”

“Shame. That’s the best bit.”

They stood there for a second longer than was casual, silence stretching warm between them.

Then, soft as anything, she said, “You want to come in?”

Oscar blinked. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it’s not weird.”

She stepped aside to let him pass. “It’s a little bit weird,” she said honestly, then smiled. “But not bad-weird.”

He slipped inside, brushing past her in the doorway, and something about the quiet of the flat, the low lamplight, the faint scent of strawberry shampoo in the air, it made him feel like he was somewhere he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

She shut the door behind them, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like just the neighbour with a fire truck.

He felt like someone she wanted to keep close.

The flat was warm in a lived-in sort of way. Not spotless, but comfortable. A couple of cushions on the floor, a half-folded blanket draped across the back of the sofa, a mug left forgotten on the coffee table with a teabag still inside. It felt like somewhere someone lived, not just existed.

Oscar stood a little awkwardly in the middle of the room at first, unsure whether to perch or hover. She motioned towards the sofa, already heading into the kitchen.

“Put the telly on if you want. I’ve got, like, two channels that work properly and one that just plays antiques shows.”

He chuckled, watching her disappear round the corner. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He heard the clink of mugs and the whirr of the kettle. The sofa gave slightly under him when he sat, still warm where she’d been earlier, and he glanced around, a framed photo on the side, probably her and her daughter at the beach. Wind-swept hair, noses sun-pink, a proper grin on Aurelia’s face. That same grin she’d worn all day at the spring fair.

She came back in with two mugs, one hand curled round each handle.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it, so it’s builder’s,” she said, offering him one. “Strong enough to put hairs on your chest.”

He took it with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into his fingers. “I’ll risk it.”

They sat, not far, not quite close, but comfortably between. The telly was on in the background, some low-budget crime drama no one was really watching. The soft light pooled across her legs where she’d folded them under her, and the sleeve of her jumper kept slipping over her knuckles as she held her tea.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, nodding at the mug, then motioning towards the kitchen. “And for the cakes. And the note. That really made my day.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “She loves you, you know. Keeps calling you our firefighter.”

“Our?” He raised a brow, teasing. “Possessive, that.”

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “You did give her a lift in an actual fire engine. Might’ve set the bar a bit high.”

“Bugger,” he muttered playfully. “Should’ve started with something less exciting. Bin lorry, maybe.”

They both laughed, a quiet, comfortable sound. The kind that filled the little flat without echoing, like it belonged there.

There was a lull then, not awkward, just gentle. She reached down to pull the blanket from the floor and tossed one end over his legs without a word, settling the other across her own.

He blinked down at it, then looked at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sharing blankets now, are we?”

She didn’t even look at him. “You’re the one who looked cold.”

“Right. Humanitarian effort. Got it.”

He sipped his tea to hide the grin, eyes on the telly though he couldn’t have said what was happening. Every so often, her knee brushed his. Not enough to make a thing of, but enough to notice.

Eventually, she said, quiet enough that he almost missed it, “It’s nice. Having you here.”

He turned to her then, properly, softly. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

The telly droned on. Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Inside, two mugs slowly cooled on the table, and two people who hadn’t meant to mean anything to each other found themselves sitting shoulder to shoulder beneath a blanket, realising maybe they did.

It had been just over a week since that quiet evening on the sofa, and things had shifted in the sort of way you only noticed once it had already happened. There hadn’t been any grand declarations, no big talk, no labels. Just little things.

Oscar now offered her a lift any time he saw her out shopping, even if she only had a single bag. He’d insist it was on his way, even when it clearly wasn’t. He started carrying her parcels up without being asked, shoulder-barging the stairwell door open with a grin and a “Special delivery!” like it was no big deal. He always handed them over with one hand and a joke but his eyes always lingered just a beat too long. She didn’t seem to mind.

She didn’t say no to him, either.

It wasn’t just about her, though. He was clearly soft on Aurelia too, somehow managing that delicate balance between fun and dependable, chaos and calm. He never tried too hard, never made her feel like a chore. Just… showed up. It mattered.

So when he spotted the two of them coming back from school one afternoon, something in his chest twisted.

Aurelia wasn’t bouncing the way she usually did. Her hand was tucked tightly into her mum’s coat, and her face was blotchy in that telltale just-finished-crying sort of way. She wasn’t sobbing now, but she wasn’t smiling either.

Oscar frowned, stepping out of his doorway just as they reached the landing. “Alright?” he asked gently, eyes flicking between the two.

She gave him a small, weary look, and then crouched to Aurelia’s level. “Go on, love. Go get changed into your pyjamas, yeah? I’ll be in in a minute.”

Aurelia nodded mutely, her little lip still trembling, and padded through the front door. It clicked softly shut behind her.

Oscar stayed quiet for a beat. Then, low and careful, “What happened?”

She let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall, arms folded. “It’s nothing big. At least, not to anyone else. But to her…”

He waited.

She glanced down at the floor. “It’s bring your dad to school day tomorrow. They’re doing some assembly thing. A lot of the kids’ dads have these big jobs —marine biologist, police, pilot, someone even works at a zoo. And obviously she doesn’t have anyone. She asked if she could take her god father, but he’s away, and my brother’s not really around.”

Oscar’s brows pulled together slightly, the picture forming. He could feel the weight of it even now, the pressure that sort of thing put on a kid. Everyone else parading a parent around like a badge of honour. And her? Just trying to smile through it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a lot for her to carry.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “She didn’t say anything about it until just now. Said she didn’t want to upset me.” She scoffed lightly at herself, blinking fast. “She’s six, for God’s sake. She shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

Oscar’s gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted slowly to meet hers. “Why don’t I go?”

She blinked. “What?”

“To the school. For the thing. I mean.” he shrugged, awkward now, eyes flicking away “If she wants me to. I’m technically a firefighter. That’s still cool, right?”

She stared at him.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I’ve got the day off. And I’ve got the uniform. Not the proper helmet, that’s locked up, but I could bring the jacket. Talk about smoke alarms and what happens if you leave your toast in too long.”

“You’d really do that?”

Oscar looked at her properly now, really looked, and all the gentle affection in him softened his voice. “Yeah. If it’ll help. I’d do a lot for her. And you.”

Her lips parted like she might say something, but nothing came out straightaway. Instead, she just nodded, slowly, almost like she didn’t quite trust her voice yet.

“I’ll ask her,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But thank you, Oscar.”

He gave a half-shrug, like it was nothing, but his heart was thudding behind his ribs.

“Tell her I expect a very professional introduction,” he said, backing away toward his flat, trying to keep it light.

And just before he stepped inside, she called after him, voice soft but sure.

“She’ll be over the moon.”

He didn’t say anything back.

He just smiled.

And his whole chest felt full.

Oscar had never had stage fright in his life. He’d once crawled through a burning pub roof, half convinced it was going to come down on his head, and hadn’t flinched. But standing outside the Year Two classroom, fiddling with the zip on his fire service fleece while a sea of tiny faces peered through the glass?

Yeah. That did it. 

Aurelia stood proudly beside him, hand firmly in his, like she was escorting a VIP. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered with complete sincerity. “You’re the best one.”

That undid him a bit.

The door opened and a teacher with a rainbow lanyard and a kind smile welcomed them in. Oscar ducked slightly out of habit, as though the ceiling might lower to match the size of the furniture. The classroom was bright and chaotic in the way only a primary room could be. Walls plastered with glittery artwork, phonics charts, paper bunting with all the kid’s faces and a corner reading nook with two bean bags that had seen better days.

Aurelia immediately tugged him by the hand to the back wall. “These are mine,” she said, pointing to a messy collage of tissue-paper flowers, a painted hedgehog, and a bright crayon rainbow. “And that’s my favourite one.”

He leaned in, smiling, and then paused. Nestled in the middle of the display, in a wonky black felt-tip frame, was a drawing of three stick figures.

One tall with brown hair and blue scribbles on his shoulders. One with long lines of hair and a dress in Aurelia’s favourite shade of pink. And one, small and neat, holding both of their hands.

His throat did something strange.

Aurelia tapped it with pride. “That’s you,” she said. “That’s me. And that’s Mummy.”

He blinked. Swallowed. “Right.”

No one had ever drawn him before. Not like that. Not part of something. Not holding hands.

She didn’t notice his pause, already rifling through a drawer of coloured pencils, humming quietly. The rest of the class buzzed around them, but in that little corner, time felt like it had narrowed.

“We’re allowed to make a new picture for home if we want,” she said. “I’m going to do one for Mummy.”

He crouched beside her, watching her draw two wonky hearts and a triangle house with smoke coming from the chimney.

“Can I help?”

She nodded and handed him a green pencil.

He added a little tree with apples. Then, below the drawing, in his slanted, firefighter has to fill forms handwriting, he wrote carefully:

Mummy is the prettiest of them all.

Aurelia giggled and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I think mummy is going to love that.”

He smiled at her, warm and full. “I hope so.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of picture books, wide-eyed questions from excitable children, and a slightly panicked moment when one kid asked how many people he'd "seen explode." 

But through it all, it was Aurelia's face he kept coming back to. The way she looked at him with pride, like she’d brought in something precious to share. The way she whispered his name to her friends, like she was letting them in on a secret. The way she slid her hand into his without even looking, like it was just the natural place for it to be.

And maybe the strangest bit?

It felt like home.

After the school visit, Oscar hadn’t quite been ready to say goodbye. Not yet. So when Aurelia mentioned, rather loudly and unsubtly, that she fancied an ice cream, he’d raised a brow in her mum’s direction and said, “Well, I suppose it is practically summer…”

She didn’t protest.

So they ended up walking to the corner shop, Aurelia skipping ahead with a swirl cone in one hand and rainbow sprinkles already melting down her fingers. He paid for the lot, obviously, brushing off any protests with a lazy, “Call it my speaker’s fee.”

When they got back, Aurelia darted inside first, cone long gone and hands sticky, only to stop dead in the kitchen.

“Mummy! Look!”

Aurelia pulled out the paper from her book bag with sticky hands, but her mum took it delicately, like it was something rare. Her eyes softened as she read the words beneath the sketch. Then, without a word, she reached for a magnet and pinned it to the fridge, pride of place, just above the shopping list.

Oscar watched from the doorway, the weight of something quiet settling in his chest. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

That night, just before he was about to settle in for a late dinner and a bit of telly, there was a soft knock at his door.

He opened it to find her standing there in joggers and an oversized hoodie, a small container in her hands.

“I made this,” she said. “It’s not much. Just lasagne. But it’s a thank you. For today.”

His lips curled into a slow, lopsided smile. “I see where Aurelia gets it from.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. He took the container from her, their fingers brushing for a second too long, and the air between them shifted—just slightly, but enough to notice.

They stood in the corridor for a moment. It was quiet. Still. A pause between heartbeats.

Then, softly, almost shyly, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He froze, just for a second. Her lips were warm, gentle. She was already pulling back, the beginnings of an embarrassed smile forming as she started to turn away.

But he caught her.

“Wait.”

His hand came up, firm but tender, fingers tilting her chin towards him. His thumb brushed her cheek, and then—

He kissed her.

Not tentative. Not uncertain.

He kissed her like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. Because he had.

She gasped just a little and then melted into him, her hands sliding up into the front of his hoodie, bunching in the fabric like she needed something to hold onto. And when she let out the tiniest, breathy moan against his mouth, he smiled into the kiss, cocky and utterly undone all at once.

“Alright there?” he murmured against her lips, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

She was breathless. “It’s been a while.”

His eyes softened, thumb still stroking along her jaw. “Worth the wait, though.”

She nodded.

And neither of them moved. Not for a long while.

Just them. Just warmth. Just… something that felt very, very real.

They stood there for a while, neither of them quite ready to let go.

Eventually, she nudged her nose against his cheek and whispered, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

He blinked at her, lips still curved from the kiss. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She led him back into her flat, closing the door softly behind them. The hallway light cast a warm, golden glow over the walls, and the familiar smell of home. He followed her into the living room, everything dim and quiet. Aurelia’s newer drawings were still scattered across the coffee table. A soft throw had been kicked half off the sofa.

She turned to him, suddenly sheepish, running a hand through her hair. “I feel like I’m at uni, sneaking someone in,” she said with a small laugh.

He grinned. “I never went.”

She tilted her head, surprised. “Me neither.”

He looked at her for a second, then nodded towards the closed door down the hall. The one with a glittery star-shaped sticker on it.

“That why?”

She glanced back at the door. Something shifted behind her eyes. A quiet sadness, old but not forgotten.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I was supposed to. Got in and everything. Nottingham. English Lit. But I was nineteen and stupid and thought I was in love.”

She walked over to the sofa, sat down, and he followed. Their knees brushed. She stared at her hands for a moment before continuing.

“Didn’t know I was pregnant until I’d already turned down the offer. Was going to reapply the next year. But then she happened. And everything got really real, really fast.”

He didn’t say anything. Just listened, his body angled towards her, giving her the space and the safety.

“Her dad left when she was four months old,” she said, with a small, almost apologetic shrug. “Just sort of disappeared. Too young, too overwhelmed, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”

He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice was gentle.

“Of course it matters.”

She gave him a tired smile. “Not in the way people expect it to. I’m not bitter. I’m just tired sometimes. It’s a lot. But then she does something like draw me with a crown and a sparkly dress and labels it Queen of Mummies and I forget everything else.”

Oscar looked at her for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re incredible, you know.”

She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’m tired and a bit moody and have approximately seventeen loads of laundry waiting, but thanks.”

He reached out, his hand brushing gently over hers. “I meant it.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft and a little glassy in the low light.

There was a pause, weightless but full of something.

“You’re not sneaking me in,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re letting me in.”

And that, God, that did something to her.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he tucked her in without thinking, arms coming round her like they’d always belonged there.

They sat there like that. Still. Quiet. Her fingers tracing absent-minded shapes on his forearm. The world outside fell away, no alarms, no homework, no long nights of dishes and lost socks.

Just this. Just him. Just her.

And the hum of something beginning to bloom.

It had been about a month since that first kiss in the corridor.

Oscar still had his own place, but he spent two, sometimes three, nights a week at hers now. It wasn't official, they hadn’t talked about labels, but the toothbrush beside hers in the bathroom said enough. So did the way he’d taken to calling her flat home without thinking, or how Aurelia would lean sleepily against his leg in the mornings while she waited for her eggs to finish cooking.

They had a rhythm now, dysfunctional but quiet and real.

He’d learnt how not to wake Aurelia when he rolled in late, how to turn the key in the lock with just the right amount of pressure and not let the hinge on the bathroom door creak when he showered after a night shift. She, in turn, had mastered the morning shuffle. Tiptoeing around the flat while he slept off the early hours, even closing cupboard doors with that soft, deliberate touch only mothers and night nurses seemed to perfect.

Some mornings, if his shift ended early and she had a bit more time, she’d curl back into bed beside him for a half hour. No words. Just warm limbs tangled together under the duvet while the outside world waited.

It was gentle, it was something he’d never thought he’d get, something he’d never thought he’d deserve.

That night, though, the fire station ws quiet and all he could think about was home. He was half slumped in one of the chairs in the rec room, sipping lukewarm tea from a chipped mug and watching some repeat quiz show on mute. It was just him, Lando, and two of the more senior lads, all of them looking somewhere between exhausted and wired.

Then the alarm started blaring.

The tone was different, lower, more urgent. Not a false alarm or a test. Not a bin fire or a smoke detector in a student flat.

Oscar was already on his feet before Control came through the speaker. 

“House fire reported, scratch that, pub fire, multiple reports of visible flames, location. The Fox and Hound, Chapel Lane.”

That made him pause. The Fox and Hound was a big one. Old building. Thatched roof. Always busy on weekdays and visible from his little flat.

It was 2am.

“Let’s go!” Andrea shouted, already moving. Oscar hauled his gear on, the straps familiar and fast now. His thoughts flicked to her, to Aurelia, how they were safe at home but bound to wake up to the sound of sirens. He tucked it away. Couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about anything but getting there.

The engine roared to life, tyres heavy on wet tarmac. Blue lights bounced across empty roads and shuttered shopfronts. No one spoke. Lando checked the comms, while Oscar stared out the front window, jaw tight.

As they got closer, they could already see the glow. Not just smoke, flames. Licking skyward in bright, vicious tongues.

He felt it then. That buzz in his blood. Not fear, exactly, something sharper. Something colder.

They pulled up just outside the pub. Heat rushed at them as soon as the doors opened. People were gathered at a safe distance, coats over pyjamas, phones in hand, eyes wide.

Oscar jumped down, helmet secure, heart thudding.

“All right,” came the voice in his earpiece, “we’ve got reports of staff inside, one maybe trapped, two might’ve made it out the back.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Which floor?”

“Upstairs flat. Left side.”

And just like that, they moved. Through the smoke, through the roar and the crack and the chaos.

He didn’t think of her again until they were inside. But when he did, it was like armour.

She’s waiting. You get out. You go home.

The heat hit him like a wall.

By the time Oscar got inside, the fire had already taken hold of the bar. Bottles of spirits cracked and burst like fireworks, sending shards and fuel across the floor. The wood panelling burned fast—too fast. There was a reason fire crews hated pub jobs. Alcohol and timber made for a nasty combination.

His mask filtered the worst of the smoke, but visibility was poor. He ducked low, sweeping the hose with one hand while shouting into the crackling dark, “Fire and Rescue! Anyone inside?”

There was no reply, just the moaning groan of the ceiling starting to go.

They cleared the ground floor quickly. A member of staff had managed to stumble out the back, coughing and panicked, mumbling about another one unaccounted for.

Oscar was halfway out, half a breath from turning back, when he caught sight of the stairs through the smoke.

Stairs.

He froze, then turned back to Control. “This place has rooms. It’s an inn.”

There was a pause in his earpiece.

“Confirmed. It’s a pub with letting rooms. Upstairs. Go careful.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He ran.

The heat intensified as he climbed. Fire moved like a living thing, chewing through floorboards, plaster, lives. The smoke was blacker here, thicker, laced with that acrid sting of burning plastic and varnish.

He moved fast, sweeping left and right. Doors half-open. Sheets scorched. The moan of fire too close.

And then he heard it.

A sob.

Small. Choked. From the far room, left corner.

He found her curled up on a narrow bed, knees hugged to her chest, cheeks streaked with soot and tears. Couldn’t have been more than eight. Long brown hair stuck to her face, and she was shaking.

“Mum?” she whimpered.

Oscar’s breath caught.

For half a second, she wasn’t a stranger. She was Aurelia. She was his little one. In a different place, a different time, but just as small. Just as scared.

He didn’t hesitate. Ripped off his oxygen mask and crouched down beside her, voice steady.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay. I’m here to help. We’re getting out of here, alright?”

She nodded, hiccupping sobs now. He wrapped her in his jacket, pulled her close, and hoisted her into his arms.

“Close your eyes for me, alright? Tight. Don’t look.”

She did.

The flames were close now. He felt the blistering heat crawling up the corridor behind them as he turned, shielding her with his body.

The ceiling above the stairwell was starting to sag. There wasn’t time to think. Only move.

He bolted.

Smoke seared his lungs. His mask hung useless at his hip. He pressed her tighter to his chest, ducked as a beam groaned and crashed just behind him, sparks flying past his shoulders.

The front exit was blocked. Too hot.

He spotted a smashed window in the corridor off the landing—low enough. Maybe.

He didn’t think, just acted.

He lunged for it, twisted his body to take the brunt, and threw his arm over her head as he pushed through.

Glass scraped his back. A cry tore from his throat, but he held her steady.

And then—

Air.

Cool, blessed air.

He stumbled out onto the pavement, coughing, the girl still cradled tight against him.

A medic ran forward and took her. She was sobbing, but alive. Alive.

Oscar slumped to his knees, gasping.

Lando was beside him in seconds. “Mate—what the hell?!”

Oscar waved him off, catching his breath, throat burning.

“She was in there. A kid.” He looked up. “Could’ve been her, Lan.”

Lando didn’t need to ask who her was.

It took another hour to put the fire out completely. They lost the roof, and two rooms, but no lives. None.

Oscar sat on the pavement long after the hoses went still, his turnout gear soaked through, back bleeding, lungs scorched, but he was upright.

He couldn’t stop seeing the girl’s face.

Couldn’t stop seeing Aurelia in it.

By the time they got back to the station, Oscar was soaked through with sweat and soot. His shirt stuck to the grazes along his back, stiff with smoke. His hands trembled when he took his gloves off.

The station was quieter than usual. No jokes. No kettle boiling. No telly. Just that heavy silence that follows the worst kind of shout.

Zak caught his eye as he stepped down from the truck.

“You’re done for the night, Piastri,” Zak said quietly, hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Oscar.”

Oscar opened his mouth to argue, to say he was fine, standard procedure, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t fine. He didn’t feel anything close to fine.

So he nodded. Wordless. Stripped off his gear and shoved it in the drying room. Pulled a hoodie from his locker and walked out of the doors with the smell of burny wood still clinging to his hair.

The cab ride home was a blur. He didn’t remember much except asking the driver to leave him on the corner, needing the walk to clear his head.

But it didn’t help.

Because all he could see was her. That little girl, curled up in the bed, sobbing for her mum. The one he carried out. The one who had Aurelia’s eyes.

He didn’t even realise his key had missed the lock twice until the door opposite his flat opened.

And then she was there.

She took one look at him and moved without thinking. “Oh my God—Oscar—”

He barely got the door open before she crossed the hallway, hands on his chest, eyes scanning him like she needed to count all his fingers and toes just to believe he was still whole.

“I heard there was a fire. We could see it from here, someone said it was your station that went out and—” Her voice cracked as she clung to his hoodie. “You didn’t answer your phone so I assumed you’d gone but—”

He didn’t mean to. But his arms went round her like instinct, and his voice finally gave out as he buried his face into the side of her neck.

“I need to see her.”

She didn’t ask who. She just nodded.

He stepped inside her flat and moved straight to the bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, the way it always was. Soft light from her nightlight spilled onto the hallway carpet.

Aurelia was fast asleep, curled on her side, clutching that stuffed bunny she never went to bed without.

Oscar watched her chest rise and fall. Just breathing.

Just alive.

And that was all it took.

His knees buckled slightly, hand braced on the doorframe, and tears spilled hot down his cheeks. She was there in an instant, arms around his waist, and he didn’t try to stop it.

He wept quietly, forehead resting against hers, chest heaving as every unspoken terror bled out of him.

She reached up and cupped his face gently. “Come on,” she said softly, “let me take care of you, yeah?”

He didn’t argue.

She led him by the hand to the bathroom, flicked the light on low, and turned the tap to fill the bath.

Without a word, she reached for the hem of his hoodie, and he let her lift it over his head. Her fingers brushed the grazes on his back, and she exhaled, not quite a gasp, but almost.

He looked down at himself. Soot-stained, battered, worn thin.

She didn’t say anything. Just tugged his joggers off gently, like she was handling something fragile.

When he was bare before her, she stepped closer, pressed a kiss to his sternum, and wrapped her arms around his middle.

He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing her in. Clean. Warm. Real.

“You’re home,” she whispered.

“I thought she was going to die,” he choked. “She was crying for her mum. She was—she looked just like—”

“I know,” she murmured, and her hand found his. “You saved her.”

She helped him into the bath, then climbed in behind him, still in her top having discarded her leggings, gathering him close like he was the one who needed holding now. And maybe he was.

No more sirens. No more shouting. No fear.

Just soft water. Warmth. Her.

Home.

The steam had fogged up the mirror, and the water had gone lukewarm by the time she pulled the plug. Neither of them moved for a moment. Limbs heavy, breath slow, her arms still wrapped around him from behind. His back rested against her chest, and her cheek was pressed to the crown of his head.

Eventually, she stirred first, nudging his shoulder gently.

“Come on,” she whispered, voice hushed like she didn’t want to wake the world. “Let’s get you dry.”

He let her guide him up, hands loose in hers. She reached for a towel and wrapped it round his waist, then took another and ran it through his hair, careful and slow like she was unravelling the knots of the day with each movement. His eyes stayed on hers the whole time, soft and unreadable. She dried herself as he put some clothes on, watching him as he slipped on the pyjamas he left yesterday, while she opted for a pair of shorts and a tank top.

She led him into her bedroom with nothing but the quiet creak of floorboards between them. Her hand rested on the small of his back, grounding him.

When she turned to face him, he didn’t speak. He just looked at her like she was something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

“Lie down,” she said softly.

He did, not like it was an order, more like a suggestion he’d been waiting for. He lay back against the pillows, hair damp, skin warm. He looked younger in the low light. Unarmoured. All soft edges and tired eyes.

She climbed in beside him and straddled his hips, in the vest and shorts she’d pulled on a second ago. Her fingers ghosted over the scrapes on his shoulder, her brow creasing.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live.”

“Still.” She leaned down, brushed her lips over one graze like it deserved an apology. “You gave too much of yourself tonight.”

He let out a slow breath, hands resting on her thighs. “Didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“I know.” She kissed another spot. Then another. “But you don’t always have to carry everything alone, you know.”

He swallowed, his throat tight. “I don’t know how to do this slowly,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not with you. Not after tonight.”

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his. “It doesn’t have to be slow,” she murmured, lips brushing his. “It just has to be soft.”

And it was.

No rush. No fumbling. Just touch, and breath, and the quietest kind of yes in every movement.

His fingers curled around her hip, grounding himself, and when he kissed her back it was like he needed her to know. I’m here. I’m yours. I came home to you.

She smiled at him, the warmest smile he’d ever seen.

It wasn’t fireworks or declarations.

Just warmth. 

Home.

She kissed him again, this time slower. Deeper. Her fingers slid into his damp hair, anchoring him to her, and his hand found the curve of her hip again, drawing her in without thought.

The air between them felt thick with warmth, not heat, like the moment before a storm breaks, all hush and anticipation. There was no rush in it. No fumbling. Just the steady build of something that had been waiting in the quiet between them for weeks.

She shifted a little, her legs bracketing his, the hem of her vest brushing the tops of his thighs. His hands slid up, tracing her shape like he was learning it by heart. The small of her back, the line of her waist, the softness of her ribs. She leaned down, her breath warm against his cheek.

“Is this alright?” she asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his nose along hers. “More than alright.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time, and he responded with a soft noise at the back of his throat, his hands gripping a little tighter, his body rising to meet hers. Their movements found a rhythm, gentle, reverent. He helped her lift her vest, pulling it slowly over her head, and she let it fall to the floor beside the bed. There was no embarrassment in her. No hesitation. Just trust, and something else, something fragile and burning beneath the surface.

He sat up, mouth brushing her collarbone, then lower, until she gasped, not from surprise, but from the quiet ache of being seen. Wanted. He pressed kisses down her chest, hands steady on her waist, as if every part of her mattered. Like she wasn’t just something beautiful, but something sacred.

Her fingers found the waistband of his joggers and tugged them down with a quiet smile. “I think you’re overdressed.”

He huffed a laugh against her neck. “Been saying that about you for weeks.”

When they came together it wasn’t fireworks. It was warmth, and weight, and breath. Her hand slid into his, fingers laced tightly, like she needed the grounding. He moved slowly, gently, his forehead resting against hers, his free hand stroking up the length of her spine in time with the soft rhythm between them.

Neither of them spoke, not because there was nothing to say, but because everything important was already there, in the way their bodies met, and parted, and met again. In the way she whispered his name like it meant something. In the way he held her like she was the only safe thing left in the world.

And when it was over, when her body relaxed against his, and his arms came around her like instinct, they stayed there, skin to skin, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and the quiet hum of something that felt a lot like love.

He brushed his fingers through her hair, soft and absent.

She pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, her voice barely more than a breath.

“I’ve never had this,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got it now.”

And she did.

The flat was filled with the kind of early morning stillness that only came after a long night. The light outside hadn’t quite brightened, but it wasn’t dark either, that muted, silvery sort of grey that hinted at a day gently waking up.

Oscar stirred first, arms curled around her, legs tangled in the duvet. Her head was on his chest, one of her hands tucked beneath his shirt like it belonged there, like it always had. He blinked slowly, heart still steady in the after-glow of everything, and let the moment stretch.

No alarms. No radios crackling to life.

Just breath. Just her.

Then came the familiar shuffle of small feet padding across the hallway, a door creaking ever so slightly, the rustle of a blanket being dragged along the floor.

Aurelia.

He felt her tense slightly against him, just a flicker, the instinct of a mum on alert, but she didn’t move to untangle herself from him. Instead, she sighed, soft and sleepy, and whispered, “She’ll come to the kitchen first.”

Sure enough, a cupboard door opened with a tiny clatter. A pause. Then the quiet clink of a cereal bowl.

He smiled. “She does this every time, doesn’t she?”

“She thinks she’s sneaky.”

“Is she?”

“Not even slightly.”

He laughed gently and kissed her hairline before slipping out of bed. He pulled on his joggers and one of her hoodies that hung by the door, the sleeves a little short on him, then padded into the kitchen.

Aurelia looked up from the kitchen table, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went wide for a second, not surprised, just curious, and then her face broke into a grin.

“You slept over again.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly a bit shy. “Yeah. That alright?”

She nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re in mummy’s hoodie.”

Oscar laughed. “I am. D’you reckon it suits me?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Yeah. But your sleeves are funny.”

Just then, her mum appeared in the doorway behind him, wrapped in one of his T-shirts, hair tousled, still sleepy-eyed.

Aurelia beamed.

Oscar glanced back at her, and something in his chest pulled, that same quiet tug he’d felt last month, in the classroom, staring at a child’s drawing of a life he hadn’t known he’d wanted until he saw it sketched out in crayon.

The three of them. A little sun in the corner. Lopsided hearts.

She came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, a soft morning kind of kiss, and brushed past to the kettle.

Aurelia watched them both, spoon hanging from her mouth. Then, very simply, she said,

“You should just live here now.”

They both looked at her.

She shrugged. “You always make mummy smile.”

Oscar blinked, caught a little off guard. He looked over at her, the woman who’d somehow become the best part of his days, and saw the faint blush creeping up her neck.

“We’re working on it,” she said gently, reaching to ruffle her daughter’s hair.

And maybe they were.

They didn’t have a grand plan, or timelines, or promises inked in stone, but they had something. And in typical child nature, after dropping a bomb like that, Aurelia left her bowl and moved onto drawing.

Oscar was mid grabbing the butter from the fridge when his phone started to buzz with a FaceTime call.

He frowned at the screen, then smiled. “It’s my mum.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You gonna answer?”

“Suppose I’ve got to now,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and tapping the green button.

His mum’s face filled the screen, tanned and bright-eyed, her hair swept back, sunshine spilling in behind her through the windows of her kitchen in Melbourne.

“Oh! Look who it is!” she grinned. “Took you long enough to answer. I was starting to think you’d moved to the moon.”

Oscar chuckled. “No, still Earth-side.”

She narrowed her eyes, playful. “That is not your flat, Oscar Jack. I know your tiles. Is this Lando’s place?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but just then, Aurelia let out a small triumphant cheer as she held up her finished drawing. “Look, Oscar, it’s us in the fire engine again!”

His mum’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s not Lando either.”

Oscar looked down at the floor for a moment, then gave a sheepish smile.

“Right,” he said, shifting a little. “So… bit of a life update.”

He turned the phone round gently, showing his mum the cosy kitchen, the mess of crayons, the fireman sticker Aurelia had slapped onto the fridge, and finally, her.

She smiled warmly, caught off guard for just a second by being the centre of attention, but not pulling away. She gave a small wave. “Hi.”

Oscar cleared his throat, a little hoarse with nerves. “Mum… meet the woman who’s kept me sane the last couple of months.”

His mum blinked, a beat of silence, and then she smiled so wide it softened every line in her face.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Now that makes sense.”

He laughed, a quiet, breathless sort of sound, and she leaned into his shoulder slightly, her hand resting on the table beside his. Aurelia had already resumed drawing, now completely absorbed in adding stars to the day sky.

His mum nodded, still smiling. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” he said, before he could even think to stop himself.

There was no panic in it, no need to explain further. Just truth, warm and steady between them all.

“You look happy, love,” his mum said at last. “Properly happy.”

He glanced sideways, saw the way she was looking at him, like he’d finally landed somewhere soft.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I am.”

Just as he was about to speak up again, Aurelia called his name demanding his immediate attention, and to Oscar, she deserved immediate attention so he left the phone on the island with her and wandered off into the living room to see what she needed.

“So,” his mum said, leaning her chin on her hand, “you’re the one that’s brought my son back to life huh.”

She laughed softly, brushing a crumb from the table. “I don’t know about that. He’s done plenty of the heavy lifting.”

His mum tilted her head. “You’ve got no idea, have you?”

She looked up, brow furrowed just slightly.

“That boy,” his mum said, with the fondness she recognised as a parent, “has always been kind. But I haven’t heard him sound like that in years. Like there’s a little bit of sunshine in his voice again.” Her eyes stung, just a little, but she kept her smile. “He makes it easy to be kind to him.” “I’m glad he’s got you,” she said, voice quieter now. “And I’m glad he’s got her too. It seems your little one is a bundle of magic.”

She nodded, looking toward the living room where they were both laughing. “She’s my whole world.”

There was a pause, and then Oscar’s mum said, not unkindly, “Must’ve been hard. Doing this all on your own.” “It was,” she admitted, honest without bitterness. “Still is, some days. But it’s better now. Easier, with him.”

His mum’s smile turned into something a little misty. “Well. If he’s half as good to you as he was to his little cousins back home, you’re in very safe hands.”

“I think I am,” she said, quietly.

Oscar’s voice called from down the hallway then, something about star stickers and him being promoted to co-pilot of the living room space rocket, and they both laughed.

“I should go help him survive his new role,” she said, pushing her chair back.

Oscar’s mum smiled. “Tell him I said he’d better ring again soon. And you, look after each other, yeah?”

“We will.”

And as she ended the call and stood, walking towards the warm sound of her two favourite voices down the hall, she realised it had been a long time since things felt this much like home.

Seven months had passed, and life had woven itself into something steady, soft edges and everyday joy.

Oscar had sold his flat back in April, after a lot of faffing and a surprisingly emotional trip through storage boxes. Now, all his belongings lived here, in the flat that had once felt like hers and hers alone, but now smelled like them. His mugs were in her cupboards, her shoes were tangled up with his by the door, and there were three toothbrushes in the bathroom, hers, Aurelia’s, and his. One day, quietly, it had stopped feeling like he was staying over, and started feeling like home.

They had routines now. Quiet ones. Aurelia would burst into the bedroom at seven on the dot if it was his day off. On early mornings, he’d creep in at six, just off a night shift, and she’d leave the landing light on for him like a lighthouse. He knew how she took her tea, and she’d learnt not to make noise until he’d actually had some of it. He made dinner most nights, unless she’d had a good day at work and was feeling ambitious.

It was simple. Not perfect, not glossy, not always easy. But it was theirs. And it was good.

This morning, the flat was busy with the chaos of first-day-back energy. Year Three. New backpack. New lunchbox. New plaited hairstyle that had taken them two goes to get right.

Aurelia had been buzzing from the moment she opened her eyes.

“Am I late? Is it time? I’m going to forget cursive. I bet I’ve forgotten cursive!”

“You can write better than most adults, you’ll be fine,” Oscar said, dropping a kiss to her forehead as she wriggled into her shoes.

Her mum gave her one last once-over by the door, brushing a bit of fluff off her shoulder. “You look beautiful, baby.”

Oscar grinned. “You look cool. Very Year Three.”

She beamed. “I’m going to boss Year Three.”

He dropped her off that morning, gave her a high five at the gates, and watched her disappear into the swarm of backpacks and bright socks and morning yawns.

But it was that afternoon that stopped him still.

He’d offered to do pick-up. Thought it’d be a nice surprise. He stood by the railings, hands in his jacket pockets, feeling strangely nervous in a sea of parents and buggies and scooters.

Then she came running out of the gates.

Pointed straight at him.

And with the biggest grin, shouted, “My dad is here to pick me up!”

Oscar froze.

The word rang out in his head like a church bell. Like something he wasn’t quite supposed to hear.

Dad.

His chest tightened. Not with panic. Not with fear. But something much bigger. Something messier.

She ran straight into his arms and he lifted her with a small laugh, though it came out shaky. She chattered the whole way home, about spelling tests and Miss Price’s new earrings and how someone brought in a tarantula, but he barely caught any of it.

Because one word had wrapped itself around his ribcage.

Later, once she was tucked up on the sofa with a biscuit and the telly on low, he stepped into the kitchen, where she was rinsing mugs by the sink.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little quieter than usual.

She turned, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Hey, you alright?”

He just looked at her for a moment. His eyes were glassy.

“She called me her dad.”

She paused. Slowly put the towel down.

“I went to pick her up and she saw me and said it. My dad is here to pick me up. Just like that.”

He let out a shaky breath, a small, astonished sort of laugh. “I thought I was going to cry right there in the playground like an idiot.”

Her heart clenched. She stepped toward him, and he pulled her in like a lifeline.

“She meant it, didn’t she?” he whispered into her hair.

“She did,” she said softly. “She really, really did.”

That night, after the dishes had been done and the flat had settled into its usual hush, Oscar found himself stood in the doorway to Aurelia’s room.

She was half asleep already, the telly's low hum from the living room barely audible through her door. She stirred slightly, sensing him, blinking one eye open.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

He stepped in, crouched beside her bed. “Just checking in on you.”

“You always do,” she said sleepily, reaching for his hand.

He smiled. “Habit now.”

She squeezed his fingers. “You’re the best one, you know. I’m really glad you’re mine.”

Oscar swallowed. “I’m really glad I’m yours too, pickle.”

She wriggled a bit, yawning into her blanket. “Love you, Oscar.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Love you more.”

And in the quiet of that room, with the soft rise and fall of her breathing, he stayed just a minute longer, heart full in a way he never thought it could be.

Over the years, things changed. For the better and never the worst.

They got married in a small ceremony at the register office, all low-fuss and laughter and Aurelia dropping petals like she was queen of the world. He wore his uniform jacket, she wore a soft blue dress that matched her eyes, and Aurelia insisted on holding both their hands the whole way through the vows.

He officially adopted her not long after that. There was paperwork, a hearing, signatures, all formal, all necessary, but what he remembered most was the moment she looked up at him, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cardigan, and said, “Can I have the same name as you?”

He cried. Fully. In public. No shame.

“You sure?” he’d asked, voice thick.

She nodded with a smile that could’ve split the sky. “I want to be the same as you.”

After that, life kept growing. Gently, beautifully.

They hadn’t planned on having another child. Not because they didn’t want to, more that they’d built a home already, and it felt enough. But life, as ever, had other plans. It happened one quiet spring, and when she told him, he’d gone very still and said, “Are you serious?” and when she nodded, he sank to his knees with his arms round her middle like she was something holy.

That pregnancy was nothing like the first. It wasn’t fraught with fear or pain or the weight of being alone. This time, she had someone holding her hair back when the sickness kicked in. Someone who learnt how to make the weird toast she liked at four in the morning. Someone who ran baths and rubbed her back and whispered “you’ve got this” against her skin when she needed it most.

He took proper paternity leave too, remembering how he told Zak, “Don’t give me grief, Zak, it’s the law”, and when he finally did go back to work, he did it dragging himself out of bed with bags under his eyes, a half-eaten banana in one hand and a tiny sock stuck to the back of his uniform trousers.

But he was happy.

Proper, head-to-toe, bone deep happy.

Oscar, who used to dread going back to his childhood home, now booked flights to Australia every year like clockwork. Family trips, beach towels, squabbles over carry-ons, and Aurelia teaching her little brother how to build sandcastles while their mum took pictures and Oscar applied suncream with the seriousness of a soldier preparing for war.

And when he looked back, years later, in the slow quiet of a Sunday morning, coffee in hand and the flat filled with life, he sometimes thought of the school fair. Of the day he met her. Of balloon animals, and face paint, and one very small girl yelling “Neighbour firefighter!”

And he’d smile, every single time.

Because somehow, against all the odds, it had been the beginning of everything.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

[cesium-sheep]

dream about meeting up with The Girls (gn) and also moss but xe was going by pam, matt was driving us all to someone's house to hang out and we saw a secondhand shop with a lot of pastels so everyone made the executive decision to stop in just cuz I looked longingly and it was sooo nice in side the very first display was a bunch of hello kitty christmas stockings

[riddlesrizzler]

Cupcake Kisses

summary: your new lip gloss has sent mattheo into a frenzy. characters: bf! mattheo. reader. mentions of slytherin boys. warnings: none just fluff :) word count: 831

It had been an ordinary Saturday morning-soft sunlight filtering through the enchanted windows of Hogwarts, warm enough to melt the frost from the grass, but still kissed with winter chill. You’d bundled up in your favorite coat and scarf, Mattheo trailing behind you with his usual confident swagger as the two of you wandered through Hogsmeade.

You hadn’t meant to go into the little apothecary-slash-beauty shop nestled between the stone shops, but something about the warm lighting and the soft pastel decor called to you. It smelled like sugar and lavender inside, shelves glittering with bottles and balms, lip glosses, and enchanted perfumes. You wandered in, and Mattheo let out a sigh but followed anyway, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

You were drawn to the display of lip glosses near the front-each tube sparkling like a potion, promising scents like “Strawberry Dream” and “Marshmallow Mischief.” But one stood out in particular: Sugar Rush - Cupcake Scented. The tester glimmered with the faintest pink sheen and, curious, you dabbed some onto your fingertip and brought it to your lips.

Immediately, you smiled. It smelled like vanilla cupcakes fresh out of the oven.

You bought it on the spot, not even waiting for Mattheo’s teasing to start.

-

Back in the Slytherin common room later that evening, you were lounging on the emerald green sofa, blanket tucked around your legs, a book balanced on your knee. You’d applied the gloss again simply because the scent made you happy. You barely even noticed when Mattheo dropped down beside you with a groan.

“Bloody freezing outside,” he muttered, shaking out his coat and rubbing his hands together.

You hummed sympathetically but didn’t look up. That changed quickly when Mattheo suddenly turned to stare at you-eyes narrowed, head tilted.

“What?” you asked, blinking.

He leaned in slightly. “You smell… sweet.”

You giggled. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You smell like… cupcakes.”

You flushed. “Oh! It’s my new lip gloss. I got it when we went shopping in Hogsmeade. It’s cupcake scented.”

Mattheo reached over and plucked the tube from the table where you’d left it. “This tiny thing is responsible for me wanting to kiss you every five seconds now?”

You raised a brow. “You already kiss me every five seconds.”

He smirked. “Exactly. Now I have a reason.”

Without warning, he leaned in and kissed you-soft and slow, savoring the scent. His hand cradled your jaw like you were made of porcelain, and when he pulled away, his eyes were glazed over.

“Merlin, you taste like sugar.”

You rolled your eyes, flustered. “It’s just lip gloss, Mattheo.”

“No,” he said, tugging you gently into his lap. “It’s dangerous. You’ve weaponized cupcakes.”

From the nearby chairs, Theo and Enzo looked up from their game of Wizard’s Chess.

“What’s dangerous?” Enzo asked, curiously eyeing the two of you tangled on the couch.

“Apparently,” Mattheo said, nuzzling into your neck, “my girlfriend’s lip gloss.”

Theo snorted. “Let me guess-cupcake flavored?”

“How did you-?”

“You’re literally sniffing her like a bloodhound,” Draco deadpanned from where he was studying at the table.

Blaise smirked. “At least he’s obsessed with sugar and not hexes for once.”

Mattheo didn’t respond. His attention was completely on you-fingers tracing circles on your thigh, eyes hooded with the soft kind of love that made your heart flutter. Every time you shifted or smiled, he leaned in for another kiss.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered against his lips.

“And you’re a walking bakery,” he said smugly. “And now I’m addicted.”

-

You spent the next few days noticing his behavior getting worse.

He’d sneak kisses in the middle of class, behind bookcases in the library, and even once during breakfast while you were sipping pumpkin juice. All because you wore the cupcake lip gloss.

At one point, you caught him digging through your bag looking for it.

“Mattheo!”

“What?! I needed a hit.”

“You act like it’s a drug!”

“It is!” he exclaimed, holding the tube up like a precious gem. “You don’t understand what this does to me, darling.”

Eventually, you were nearly out of the gloss. You were sitting on his bed in his dorm room, cross-legged in one of his oversized sweaters, carefully applying the last of it with your fingertip. Mattheo sat beside you, watching like a hawk.

“You should get more of that stuff,” he muttered.

You looked at him, amused. “You want me to always smell like dessert?”

He gave you a look. “You already are dessert.”

You laughed, cheeks glowing as he crawled behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You could smell like nothing and I’d still be obsessed with you,” he murmured. “But this… this is just unfair.”

You leaned back into him, smiling. “So you really love it?”

“I really love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But yes. The gloss too.”

And then he kissed you again.

Warm. Sweet. Full of cupcake-flavored love.

[valyriandreamer]

Perculiar Lady

summary: Jacaerys Velaryon is a devoted husband to his wife, no matter how peculiar she can get.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x reader

The late afternoon air held the hint of salt from the sea, mingling with the fragrance of wildflowers that grew stubbornly between the cracks in the ancient stone pathways. You were crouched near the edge of a patch of lilies, your hands delicately prying a small beetle from the wet earth.

Jacaerys stood behind you, watching with a soft smile as you turned the tiny creature over in your hands, your purple eyes reflecting the fading sunlight as you examined the beetle’s wings. The mud clung to the tiny insect's body, but you didn't mind the dirt; your focus was entirely on the small, helpless thing in your palm.

“Look,” you said quietly, turning to Jace with wonder in your voice, “its wings are stuck.”

Jace knelt beside you, resting on the balls of his feet as he extended a hand. You placed the beetle in his palm, trusting that he would be as gentle as you always were with the world’s smallest creatures. He turned the insect carefully, his thumb brushing away the mud that had ensnared it. You watched him with a mixture of fascination and love. Jace was patient, where others would have dismissed your concern as childish or odd. He never once called you mad, not like your mother had whispered behind closed doors when she thought you weren't listening.

“Are we taking it to our room?” Jacaerys asked with a soft smile, his eyes meeting yours. His brown eyes, warm like honey, always made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way that no one else did. Not your mother, not the maesters, not even your father, who tried to love you but could never understand you.

You gave a small laugh, one that sounded more like a breeze whispering through the trees. "I don’t think it would like the room," you replied, brushing a stray silver-gold strand of hair from your face. "It belongs out here, I think."

Jacaerys nodded. He understood. He always understood, even when you struggled to explain yourself. He placed the beetle back on the ground gently, and you watched as it scurried off into the grass. The small moment passed, but it left a warmth in your heart. These moments with Jace were everything to you.

The wind shifted, and you froze. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You could feel them again—the ghosts. The invisible presences that followed you everywhere, the ones no one else could see. Your chest tightened, your breath quickened, and the world around you blurred at the edges.

Jace was by your side in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. He didn’t ask what was wrong; he didn’t need to. He knew. He always knew. The panic that clawed at your insides like a ravenous beast began to subside under the familiar pressure of his embrace. You focused on the steady beat of his heart, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his breathing.

“They’re here again, aren’t they?” Jacaerys whispered into your hair, his voice low and comforting.

You nodded, burying your face in his chest, the rich scent of his skin calming you further. “I can feel them,” you whispered back, your voice trembling. “Watching… waiting…”

Jacaerys held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. “They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately to believe that the things you saw, the shadows that loomed just beyond the edge of sight, were only in your mind. But how could you, when you could feel them so keenly? When they whispered to you in the dead of night, filling your dreams with images of things long dead and forgotten?

Your mother, Alicent, had always looked at you with a mixture of pity and fear. From the time you were a child, she had treated you as if you were fragile, almost breakable. The day she had agreed to your marriage with Jacaerys had been one of the rare moments when you had seen relief in her eyes—as if you were finally someone else’s responsibility, no longer her burden to bear.

But Jacaerys never made you feel like a burden. He had taken you as his wife not out of duty or convenience, but because he had truly wanted you. He had seen your strangeness, your peculiarities, and had loved you for them. Even now, as you stood in the fading light, haunted by the unseen, he held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I’ll chase them away if you want,” Jacaerys said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hand brushed against your cheek, his touch feather-light.

You managed a small, shaky smile. “You’d do that?”

He smiled back, that lopsided grin that made your heart ache with affection. “Of course. I’ll chase them all away, every last one of them.”

You knew he would. You knew he would humour you, would run through the garden or the halls of Dragonstone, waving his arms and calling out to the ghosts to leave his wife in peace. It was absurd, but Jacaerys never cared about appearing foolish, not when it came to you. He had done it before, on more nights than you could count—banishing your invisible tormentors with all the seriousness of a knight battling real foes.

But tonight, you didn’t want him to chase them away. Tonight, you only wanted him to hold you, to remind you that no matter how strange or broken the world seemed, there was still something real and solid in it—his love.

“I just want you to stay with me,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his chest.

Jacaerys nodded, his arms never loosening. “Always.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, standing in the middle of the garden as the sky darkened, the first stars appearing overhead. The wind whistled through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, the waves crashed against the cliffs, but here, in Jace’s arms, the world was quiet.

The ghosts were still there. They always would be. But with Jace, you could bear them. He was your anchor, the one thing that kept you tethered when everything else seemed to slip away. You knew that the whispers would return, that the panic would strike again, and the shadows would come creeping back into your mind. But as long as Jacaerys was there, with his steady heart and his unwavering love, you could face them.

He was the husband you never thought you would have. The kind of man you had been told you didn’t deserve, that you would never find. But Jace had chosen you, strange as you were. And he had stayed through all the dark nights and haunted days.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “I love you,” you whispered, the words so quiet they were almost lost to the wind.

Jacaerys smiled, his hand cupping your face as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, you believed him. You believed that no matter how haunted your mind was, no matter how broken you sometimes felt, there was still something whole and good in the world.

It was him.

It was Jace.

And for now, that was enough.

part 2: Gossiping Corridors

[syrecjh]

Katsuki Bakugo doesn't do dates.

Not the scripted kind. Not the candlelit, violin-playing, champagne-glass-clinking sort of nonsense you see in films Mina makes you all watch during sleepovers. He scoffs at the idea of roses and reservations, says it's "pretentious bullshit" with a scowl that could make thunder tuck tail and run.

But you see the truth behind his fangs — that nervous energy he hides behind explosions and eye-rolls, the way his hand lingers on yours half a second longer than it should, the almost-painful softness in the way he says your name when no one’s around to hear.

So when he asks you out — or, well, grumbles it out between gulps of water after sparring — it’s clumsy and awkward and laced with too much heat. You find it romantic honestly.

“Y’wanna... go out or somethin’? Like a date. With me. Don’t make it weird.”

And now here you are, in the golden cusp of a late afternoon, standing in the middle of a quiet, open field just outside the city, wildflowers tangled around your ankles, the sky cottoned with soft clouds, and Katsuki Bakugo — real, raw, and gloriously unsure of himself — beside you.

He didn’t bring flowers. He brought you to them.

No restaurant. No crowd. Just this — sun-warmed grass, cicadas humming low, and the hush of wind as it passes over the backs of your knuckles. He’s carrying a paper bag full of hand-packed food: grilled teriyaki rice balls, cold soba, a tiny container of strawberries he swore weren’t for you but placed right in your lap anyway.

“You don’t gotta say anything,” he mutters when you sit on the picnic blanket, cheeks pinker than dusk. “Just eat.”

But you do speak. You thank him. You laugh when he mutters that the blanket’s too small. You tease him about the fact he made heart-shaped tamagoyaki “by accident.” And he fights his smile the whole time, gaze flickering from your lips to the skyline like you might disappear if he looks at you too long.

Somewhere between bites and shy glances, you fall into a rhythm. He starts talking — not about hero rankings or strategy drills, but about things that make his voice drop to a quieter key: the way the stars looked on his first solo patrol, the dream he had once where his hands didn’t explode but bloomed into fireflies, the fear of loving someone so much that it makes him weak.

You tell him it doesn't. And for a while, he believes you.

By the time the sun begins to dip, and the world turns syrup-soft and violet, he’s lying back on the blanket, arms folded under his head, a ghost of a grin on his lips. You’re beside him, watching the sky fade into stars. You don’t say much — and you don’t need to.

Because in this quiet space, where wildflowers grow and the sky turns soft as breath, Katsuki Bakugo is not the grenade boy or the top hero-in-training or the storm that others fear.

He’s just a boy. With his heart in his chest, laid bare.

And maybe — just maybe — it’s starting to bloom.

[dykebehaviour]

honey on your tongue

domestic bliss with southern!wife!ellie x reader

summary: deep family fluff, loving married smut, sensual scenes, tender language, motherhood themes.

cw: fem!reader, butch!ellie, smut, oral r!receiving, fingering r!receiving.

a/n: save me butch cowboy ellie…save me…

you wake to the soft creak of the old farmhouse settling around you, the pale gray glow of dawn slipping through the gingham curtains.

your body is warm beneath the quilt, pressed tight to the familiar weight of ellie. one of her arms lies heavy across your ribs, her calloused palm resting just beneath your breast. her breath is a slow, deep rhythm against the back of your neck, her scent like cedar and sun-warmed hay.

you shift slightly, earning a gravelly murmur from her sleep-rough throat.

“where ya goin’, darlin’?” she rasps, voice thick with sleep and accent slow as molasses.

you smile softly, hand covering hers. “gotta start the day, cowboy. juniper’ll be up soon.”

her arm tightens around you instinctively. she noses into your hair, lips brushing the curve of your neck.

“mmm. lemme have you just a minute longer.”

and you do, the two of you swaying in that sweet early-morning hush, your pulse drumming slow under her touch.

by the time juniper’s little feet come pattering down the hall, you’re standing in the kitchen in one of ellie’s old flannel shirts, humming as you pour batter onto the hot griddle.

“mama!” she squeals, curls wild, cheeks pink with sleep.

ellie’s behind her seconds later, grinning with her hat tipped back, sweat-damp from feeding the horses.

“mornin’, juni bug,” she drawls, bending to scoop her daughter up in strong arms. “you ready for some pancakes?”

“yes!” juniper giggles, wrapping her arms tight around ellie’s neck.

you watch them, heart full to bursting - ellie pressing a kiss to juni’s temple, that lopsided smile of hers lighting up the whole room.

the old truck rumbles over dirt roads, the morning already bright with sun and birdsong.

juniper sits squished between you both on the truck seat, her tiny hands clutching a worn straw basket. ellie drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting across the curve of your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the worn denim.

downtown, the farmer’s market hums with life. stalls overflow with fresh produce, jars of jam and honey, baskets of bright flowers. the air smells of cut grass, ripe peaches, and fried dough.

juni pulls you both from stall to stall, cheeks flushed with joy.

“look, mama! look, mommy!”

she picks out fat red strawberries, bundles of wildflowers, a tiny jar of clover honey.

ellie leans close, whispering low by your ear, her breath warm against your skin:

“could spend every damn saturday just watchin’ my girls smile.”

later, the three of you sit beneath a big oak tree, sipping lemonade from paper cups. juniper falls asleep against ellie’s chest, her little hand fisted in her mama’s worn work shirt.

you lie beside them in the shade, watching ellie’s lashes flutter against sun-browned skin. she looks at you, a soft smile tugging her mouth.

“got more than i ever dreamed of,” she murmurs. “you. her. this whole life.”

you stroke your fingers through her hair, voice thick:

“so do i.”

by mid-afternoon, the sky bruises dark.

you and ellie race across the porch as fat drops begin to fall, giggling breathless. the thunder rolls low and deep across the fields.

inside, juni shrieks with glee, pressing her hands to the windows to watch the lightning.

“mama ellie, look!”

ellie crouches beside her, one arm curled around juniper’s waist. you settle on the couch behind them, wrapping them both in a worn quilt.

outside, rain batters the tin roof in a steady roar. the house feels small and safe - a little world unto itself.

ellie hums soft against your shoulder, an old song joel used to sing. you press your lips to her hair, breathing her in.

later, with the storm easing, you three curl in bed together, juniper nestled between you. ellie’s arm reaches across both of you, protective even in sleep.

and in the hush of the post-storm dark, your heart aches sweet and full:

this is it. this is everything.

one warm night, you put a record on while ellie’s finishing up the dishes.

the notes crackle soft - slow and sultry country blues.

ellie turns, eyebrow raised. “you tryna seduce me, darlin’?”

you grin, taking her hand. “might be.”

she pulls you into her arms right there in the kitchen, strong hands settling low on your waist. you sway together, bodies pressed close.

“you’re somethin’ else,” she breathes against your ear.

juni comes toddling in moments later, squealing. “dance with me too, mama!”

ellie grins wide, sweeping her up. “always, bug.”

the three of you spin and laugh beneath the old light fixture - the kitchen filled with joy, with love, with all the things that matter most.

down at the south pasture, ellie lifts juniper onto the gentle mare, hands steady on her waist.

“you hold on tight now, juni bug,” she says softly. “i got ya.”

you watch from the fence, heart in your throat.

ellie walks beside them, leading the mare slow and patient. she murmurs praise the whole way, her voice warm and low.

“that’s it. you’re doin’ so good.”

juni beams, waving at you proudly.

ellie catches your gaze, eyes shining, and you both know, without words:

we built this. we’re raisin’ this beautiful little life together.

that night, the house is quiet. juniper sleeps sound and sweet down the hall.

you and ellie curl beneath the quilt, her body warm against yours, her scent all hay and sun and salt.

ellie kisses you slow, deep - her tongue teasing yours, her thigh sliding between your legs.

“been wantin’ you all damn day,” she growls low.

your breath catches as her mouth trails down your neck, her hands rough beneath your nightgown.

“ellie-”

“shh, darlin’,” she soothes. “gonna take care of you real good.”

she strips you slow, reverent, her green eyes dark with hunger as she takes you in, bare beneath her.

“fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

she slides down between your thighs, lips soft and teasing over the inside of your knee, your inner thigh, making you writhe.

then her mouth is on you; hot, slow, relentless.

her tongue works you steady, her low groans vibrating through your core.

“god-ellie-” you cry, hips arching.

“that’s it, pretty girl. gimme all of it.”

she doesn’t stop until you come shaking beneath her, her name a broken moan from your lips.

but she’s not done.

she slides up your body, slick fingers teasing your entrance.

“wanna feel you ‘round me, darlin’. need it.”

she pushes two fingers deep, slow and sure, her thumb circling your clit.

you gasp, clutching her broad shoulders as she fucks you steady, her mouth hot at your ear:

“love you. love you so fuckin’ much.”

you come undone around her, sobbing her name, lost to the stars.

after, ellie gathers you close, kisses slow and soft.

“mine,” she whispers. “forever.”

you nod, voice thick:

“forever, cowboy.”

in the mornings, ellie brings you coffee in bed before dawn.

in the afternoons, she teaches juniper how to ride, strong and gentle by her side.

in the evenings, she kisses you soft on the porch swing, your daughter’s giggles echoing through the fields.

at night in the hush of your room, beneath the old quilt, she loves you with hands and mouth and heart, slow as the turning of the seasons.

this is the life you chose.

a house full of love.

a wife who touches you like you’re made of gold.

a daughter who lights the whole damn world.

and every day, every breath, you thank the stars you found them both.

[em1i2a3]

For Sure

Pairing: Dad!Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Mom!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: After giving birth you and Bob are adapting to parenthood and all the challenges that come along with it (Sequel to ‘Some Kind Of Love’)

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Traumatic Childbirth (referenced and slightly described), Mentioning of Scars, Descriptions of Blood and Medical Jargon, Bob goes into a bit of a depressive episode, The Void and Sentry make appearances!, there are some supernatural elements tied into the super baby lol (I truly took the idea and RAN SO FAST with it, I loved the ideas I got!), THERE IS A TIME JUMP (but we explore the time that has passed!)

Author’s Note: I absolutely adored writing this, I loved exploring the dynamic of Bob/Sentry/The Void all playing a part of the kiddos life, and on top of that I truly loved writing all these scenes. It was so so fun. Dad trio for the win! Hope yall enjoy ❤️(ps…Might make this a series to be honest.)

Word Count: 6,176

The curtains had been pulled open hours ago, and the light had not stopped spilling in since.

It came through the wide-paned windows like a divine breath, covering everything in its path with slow, honey-thick warmth. The wooden floor glowed beneath it, each slant of light stretching long across the rug and up the edge of the crib, as if the sun itself had reached in to kiss the room. Particles of dust drifted lazily in the beams–soft, weightless–like the whole space was suspended in a dream it didn’t want to wake from.

The air smelled like home.

Not in any ordinary way–but in the unique, living scent that only existed here. It was the smell of sleep-warm skin and faint cotton, the sweet mineral of breastmilk and the softest hint of sunlit heat–like warm grass and wind-dried sheets. Your baby smelled like the world at its gentlest. Like summer and something ancient. Like the part of a late July afternoon that lingers against your skin even after you’ve stepped inside.

The bedroom around you was still.

A cotton blanket, rumpled and half-folded, hung over the side of the rocking chair where you’d spent more hours than you could count. One of Bob’s sweaters–thick, navy blue, and stretched slightly at the collar–was draped across the foot of the bed where he’d shrugged it off in a daze sometime around 4 a.m. The corners of the room were lit with low, syrupy gold, each object softened around the edges by the way the light bent through the window glass. There was a weightless quality to everything–like time itself had gone quiet to make space for this moment.

You were barefoot on the rug, its knit fringe brushed against the arches of your feet as you swayed gently in front of the crib. The weight of the baby in your arms was small, perfect, and curled right into your chest, right where she belonged.

Your voice was soft–barely louder than the hush of the lullaby playing from the nearby speaker–but it filled the whole room, overtaking the soothing noise.

”Can you hear Mommy’s heartbeat, my sweet girl?” You rocked slowly from one foot to the other, a rhythm that you always fell into when you held your child. Your cheek rested against the crown of her head, the fine, light brown hairs there were sun-warmed and silky from her last nap. One hand cradled the back of her tiny skull–fragile and perfect–while the other curled beneath her bottom, her legs folded frog-like against your sternum.

She stirred faintly at the sound of your voice, her little mouth twitching in her sleep as if she was about to form a word she had not yet learned. The warmth of her breath puffed softly against the hollow of your throat, and her ear was pressed over your heart, twitching slightly as your pulsed thudded beneath it.

You held her closer, breathing in the scent of her like it was something sacred, and technically it was.

She didn’t smell like lotion, or powder, or anything artificial. She smelled like the sun and heat after a long day outside. Like the wind when it rolls through tall grass and brushes the sweat at the back of your neck. She smelled like sweet milk and the warmth of something elemental, and it always made your eyes sting with tears.

Because she was real and breathing, and here.

And for a moment, you forgot anything else had ever existed.

You didn’t hear the shift of the floorboards, didn’t sense the air move. You were so completely wrapped in her that you didn’t notice the golden hum of power until it was already curling behind you–heat without fire, presence without sound.

Then came the voice, soft as breath, warm as light.

”Have I told you,” Sentry murmured behind you, so close you flinched, “That motherhood looks beautiful on you, my love?” A small smile appeared on your lips, as he stepped closer, one palm gliding beneath your arms and resting over the soft swell of your ribs, while the other wrapped gently around your middle until both arms cradled you from behind.

Your back pressed into his chest without hesitation–broad and impossibly warm, like his entire body radiated light just beneath the skin. You could feel it pulsing in slow waves, like sunlight made breath, and you leaned into it instinctively, as if the gravity of him was something you had always known how to obey. He curled around you protectively, like the moment might shatter if he touched too much too fast.

His chin lowered to the slope of your shoulder, coming to rest lightly there. The angle brought his face close to your neck–so close you could feel each word before he spoke it, the breath of him ghosting over your skin.

“Look at her…” Suntry whispered, his voice curling into the air like golden silk, “Our little Sunniva…” The name slipped from his lips with a kind of sacred weight, and your heart skipped in your chest. A perfect mix of you and Bob, with little pieces of him and the Void stitched beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. That was how he always said it. As if your daughter was the result of some ancient alchemy, the kind only gods could attempt and mortals could carry.

Sentry’s hand slid lower, slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed beneath the soft hem of your cotton shirt, pausing when they found the edge of the scar that marked your C-section–still slightly raised, still tender in places. His palm came to rest there with care, not for pain, but for awe. He wasn’t touching a wound.

He was touching an origin point.

“…And all of it came from you,” He whispered, voice rich and breathless, as though he hadn’t stopped being amazed since the moment he felt her for the first time through your skin, “You made room in your body for something celestial.” His other hand lifted then, moving slowly until it came to rest over yours–the one cradling the back of Sunniva’s head. The sheer size of it dwarfed your fingers, but the way he held you both was tender, and soft. Protective without pressure.

When he praised you, it was always hard not to smile.

Even now, even in the soft ache of exhaustion and the still-lingering uncertainty that motherhood carried in its quiet hours, he had a way of cracking your chest open and filling it with light. You felt it blooming now beneath your ribs–pride, joy, and love so immense it bordered on ache.

Your lips curved softly as Sentry’s hand remained steady over the scar that marked where she had entered the world–your world, his world, their world now, forever changed. His warmth radiated through you like the sun itself had chosen to wrap around your spine and settle in your marrow.

And it wasn’t just comfort–it was care. The way he held you. The way he spoke. As if your body were still something holy long after the miracle had already arrived.

Your head tilted just enough to glance back at him, and your smile deepened as he caught your gaze with that golden-glow look–eyes bright and endless, brimming with something far too big for this world.

“You always say that,” You whispered, breath catching as his hand gently smoothed over your side again. “That she came from me. That it was me.”

“Because it was,” Sentry breathed, his voice like honey poured over warm stone. “It was you. You were the altar. You were the divine soil. The universe did not grow her by accident—it chose you to hold all that power in your bones and bear it forward into the light.”

The words settled around you like heat, making your throat tighten. He had a way of saying things that made them feel too big to fit inside your chest.

He leaned forward, the tip of his nose brushing gently behind your ear as he spoke again–low, lyrical, with that sacred hush that made it feel like time itself leaned in to listen.

“You grew stardust in the hollow of your belly,” He murmured, “And gave her breath. Gave her name. Gave her form. You made light inside the dark and called it daughter.”

Your eyes stung.

He had always spoken like that about her. From the first time he felt her flutter beneath your skin. From the first time your womb twisted with her kicking strength, and he dropped to his knees with tears on his cheeks and hands trembling in awe.

It was how he’d won you over in the end, when the name had first been whispered into your half-dreaming mind.

You and Bob had searched for weeks.

It had become a quiet ritual near the end of your third trimester–slumped side by side on the couch with swollen ankles and stacks of baby name books, Bob cross-legged on the floor beside your knees, thumbing through dog-eared pages like he was studying for an exam. The list on the fridge kept changing–written in black marker and scribbled over until the paper had softened with wear. Every name you tried felt like trying on the wrong coat. Too small. Too grand. Too familiar. Too forgettable.

Bob would rest both hands on your belly, fingers spread wide, and whisper to her softly with his forehead pressed against your bump

“Ca-can you use some of those powers,” He’d murmur with a grin, “To tell u-us what you want to be na-named?” You’d laugh every time, even when you were too tired to keep your eyes open. And always, always, she would move. A slow roll beneath your skin, or a little press of heel or hand right into his palm. She knew his voice. She knew your laughter. She responded like she was already part of every moment.

And then, one night, she gave her answer.

You were curled against your maternity pillow, one leg flung over it, hair mussed from restless sleep. The lull of the compound had settled around you–Bob asleep beside you, the soft hum of the fan, and your body sore and humming with the weight of anticipation of the baby’s arrival. You were on the verge of sleep when Sentry said it.

”How about…Sunniva?” Your brow furrowed, dazed, and you mumbled out the name like it was part of a dream you weren’t ready to let go of.

“Sunniva…?”

The silence that followed was full of breath, like the pause between sunlight and shadow.

Then Sentry’s voice returned, slow and reverent, gilded with awe.

“It means sun gift,” He murmured, “Because that’s what she is. A divine offering. A light birthed from your bones and fed by your breath. She grew inside the heat of you–your blood, your heartbeat, your starlight–“

You blinked into the dark, the curve of your belly heavy and warm beneath your hand.

“She will walk with the warmth of you wrapped around her soul, even when you’re not near. Because you gave her the sun–not in name alone, but in origin. You let it live inside you. You carried it. Endured it. Became it.” That night, you hadn’t said anything. You couldn’t. You just let the name echo in your ribs until it settled in like truth. Like it had been waiting to be spoken all along.

And in the morning, when Bob stirred with sleep-tousled hair and kissed your cheek, you’d told him.

“Sunniva.”

He blinked slowly, then smiled, eyes soft and glassy as he pressed his lips to your belly. “S-Sunniva,” He whispered against your skin. And right beneath his mouth, she moved.

Now, in the golden hush of the morning, with Sentry wrapped around you and the weight of her pressed gently into your chest, the name turned out to be the best thing you had chosen in a while.

Sentry’s lips brushed the slope of your shoulder, his voice warm and teasing, but still somehow reverent.

“How about you give her to me for a bit, and you can catch a shower…” You smirked without turning around, cheek still nestled against the crown of Sunniva’s head.

”Are you trying to tell me that I smell?” A laugh rumbled low in his chest, the vibration curling through your spine like sunlight rippling across water.

“No,” He chuckled, voice dipped in amusement and something heavier beneath, “Not at all. But…For the past two months you’ve been giving off these very, very strong pheromones and I–well–can’t be around too long without getting a little…” He paused, the smile in his voice deepening, “…Loopy.” You let out a laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you shook your head, cradling Sunniva more snugly to your chest.

”Loopy, huh?”

“It’s disorienting,” He insisted, tone mock-serious as he gently began to loosen your hold so he could take her. “It scrambles my thoughts. Makes me want to do things that are very counterproductive to…Say… Peaceful morning bonding time.” You snorted, easing Sunniva into his arms, and immediately she settled against him like she belonged there too. Like she knew. His golden glow flickered gently along his skin, dimmed and hushed, wrapping her in something unseen but undeniably protective. You crossed your arms loosely and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re already wanting another one, hmm?” You teased. “She’s two months old, Sentry. At least wait until six months to start getting baby fever again.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle now resting against his chest.

“It’s not like I’m a god or anything…” He said, all faux-innocence and that impossible shimmer beneath his words. Then, with a grin: “It’s not like we don’t want to be fruitful and multiply.”

You burst into another laugh, your head tilting back just slightly as you gave him an exasperated look.

“Way to be subtle.” You joked. He grinned wider, the light in his eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

“You can’t blame me,” He whispered, glancing down at Sunniva and then back at you “You made her. How do you expect me to not want to see what else you can do?” You could feel your cheeks heat up.

“Okay,” You started, already turning toward the ensuite, throwing a glance over your shoulder. “I’m going to go shower now. Before you actually jump my bones.” Behind you, his laugh followed you like warmth trailing behind sunlight.

“You know I’d never do that…” He called softly, then after a beat: “…Unless invited of course.” You didn’t answer. Just laughed again as you disappeared into the bathroom, already feeling the echo of him pressed behind you–and the smile still blooming on your lips.

You closed the door softly behind you, the latch clicking into place with a quiet finality that made the silence feel fuller, heavier. The bathroom light flickered on with a soft hum, spilling pale illumination across the tiled floor and catching in the faint sheen of condensation still clinging to the mirror from earlier.

You peeled off your shirt, slowly, tugging the fabric up over your head and dropping it beside the sink. Then your sweatpants, loose and worn and comfortable–those too joined the growing pile on the floor. You stepped closer to the mirror, bracing your hands on either side of the sink, and stared.

So much had changed.

Your breasts were fuller now, skin softer, a little heavier. Your hips were rounder, waist thicker. The skin along your belly was stretched in places, faint silver lines catching the light where stretch had given way to grace. But the structure of yourself…Was still there. The silhouette of the woman you’d always been lingered beneath it all–altered, yes, but not lost. Rewritten, maybe. But never erased.

And there, just below your navel, lay the scar.

Jagged. Dark. A thin ridge of memory.

The techs in the med bay had called it a clean recovery. “Healing beautifully,” they said. “No complications. No sign of tissue strain. Just keep applying the salve.” They made it sound easy. Dismissable, even. But they hadn’t seen what came before the healing.

You had.

You remembered waking up drenched in blood–how it soaked the sheets beneath you, hot and metallic and immediate. How your breath had caught in your throat before the scream could escape. You remembered your hands, slick with red as you cupped your stomach, sobbing, no, no, no over and over like the words might somehow undo what had already begun.

Bob had been the one to find you.

He carried you, sobbing and soaked, to the med bay himself–his shirt already clinging with your blood by the time he kicked the door open with a shout. His face was pale, shattered, barely holding it together. He didn’t speak much in those moments–he just kept whispering, “Please. Please. Please.”

They performed the emergency C-section in under five minutes.

You weren’t awake for it.

But Bob had been.

Later–after the transfusion, after the fever broke, after you woke up to the white ceiling of the med bay and the soft cry of your daughter from across the room–Bob had told you everything. He sat beside you, hands trembling as he held yours, voice breaking on every other word.

“She…Sh-She came out screaming,” He said, tears tracking down his face. “Not–not weak either. It w-was loud. Like she was–like she was announcing herself.”

You remembered staring at the ceiling as the tears rolled down your temples, still too dazed to speak. Bob had kept going.

“She turned a sh-shade of black. N-Not all of her. Just… f-from her belly up. It faded after a few seconds. But it was there. V-Void black.”

You closed your eyes now, remembering that part–how even the med techs couldn’t explain it. Her vitals had been normal. Her cry was strong. But the dark stain that had bloomed across her newborn skin had left the entire room in silence.

“She’s healthy,” They’d said. “We ran every test. Everything came back normal. It was likely a stress response. Possibly tied to residual gene activation.”

But you knew better.

And so did Bob.

The Void had passed into her.

Not all of it. Not its full weight. But a sliver–an echo. Something black and ancient that had whispered its way through the umbilical tether and taken root in the very heart of your daughter. The med techs didn’t know what to make of it. They didn’t understand The Void. But you did. And Bob did.

And Bob never stopped blaming himself.

Even now, two months later, you could still hear the way he’d said it:

*“I-I shouldn’t have done th-this. I shouldn’t have c-come near you when I could f-feel him moving in the b-background. I was careless. I was selfish.

You had taken his face in your hands and reminded him, over and over, that there was no one else you wanted by your side. That there was no one else who could have carried you through it. That Sunniva–all of her, even the dark parts–was still yours. Was still light. Was still love.

That first week after you were released from the med bay was the hardest–for everyone, but especially for Bob.

He tried.

God, he tried.

But the fear lived in his blood now, just beneath the surface of every breath, every twitch of movement, every sound Sunniva made in the middle of the night. He barely slept. Barely spoke. The shame had settled in his bones and dragged his shoulders lower each time he walked into the room and saw her sleeping in your arms–small, perfect, untouched by him.

And it wasn’t for lack of love.

He loved her so much it wrecked him.

But that was the problem.

Love made room for fear. And in Bob’s mind, fear always meant failure.

For the first few days, he didn’t hold her. Not once. Not even when you tried to place her gently into his arms. He’d shake his head, kiss your temple, and murmur, “I-I’m ju-just tired, Y/N.” But it wasn’t tiredness. It was terror. And that terror opened a door.

The Void slipped through.

It started in small moments–quiet flickers in the corners of the room when the lights dimmed too low or when the cries in the middle of the night lasted too long for Bob to soothe. You could feel it before you saw him–the weight in the air, like the temperature had dropped by a single degree. Like a shadow had curled into the walls.

But he never scared you.

You and The Void had formed a kind of reluctant truce over the course of your pregnancy. He would emerge when Bob fell too deep into self-doubt, when the stutter gave way to silence, and his hands couldn’t stop shaking. He would never stay long. Never push. Just… appear.

And despite everything, he had always been careful with you.

Polite, even. Wry. Curious. And surprisingly…Attentive, as much as he could be at least, so there was never fear when he was around you and Sunniva for short periods of time, and when he inevitably took over Bob for that first week.

When The Void came fully, it was seamless. A silent succession. No shudder, no burst of power. Just a stillness. Like the last light had clicked off in a hallway, and something else had stepped forward to stand in the dark. The gold of Sentry dimmed. Bob’s stutter fell away. And in its place, The Void sat cross-legged at the edge of your bed, back impossibly straight, unmoving, as if carved from shadow.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t touch the baby. But he stayed.

And that mattered more than he knew.

Everyone at the compound helped where they could. Feeding bottles. Cleaning. Rocking Sunniva through the naps she fought hardest. Yelena and Ava kept a timer running for formula prep. Walker, surprisingly gentle, would pace the kitchen floor with her bundled against his chest while muttering about covert ops being easier than colic. Even Bucky tried to lull her to sleep with a variety of Russian lullabies when your eyes were too swollen with exhaustion to keep open.

But during the night, that was when you would take over the shift, and during that The Void would be beside you.

He never slept. Never turned his back. And you never let him think you didn’t notice how often he looked at her.

You’d lie on your side with Sunniva swaddled between you, her little fists curled beneath her chin, and you’d feel his gaze brush against you like the wind behind a closed window. Glances sharp and quick, like they cost him something each time. He’d look away just as fast, shoulders stiff and unreadable. But you knew.

You always knew.

He was afraid. Not of her. Of himself.

He thought his presence might unmake what your body had spent nine months building.

You’d tried to bridge the space in small ways. Soft commentary. “She looks more like Bob when she’s fussy.” Or, “She coos when she hears music–must be from Sentry.” But it was never enough to draw him closer.

Until the final night of his residency basically. The night that brought Bob back.

Sunniva had finished crying an hour before, but the after-sobs still hiccupped in her sleep. You stroked a finger down the bridge of her nose, whispering rhythmic shh’s as her little chest rose and fell. The Void sat beside you, hands on his thighs, posture perfect in a way no humans ever was. His gaze stayed forward, unmoving.

You cleared your throat, then spoke without preamble.

“Void…Will you hold her?”

He didn’t look at you. Not at first. Just inhaled slowly through his nose, the sound faint and dry. His shadow shifted where it met the bedsheets, too quiet to be a sigh.

“It is not a good idea.”

Your brows drew together.

“Void…She’s a part of you as well.”

A pause.

“When she cries too hard, and we can’t settle her…” You said gently, “Her skin turns that deep black. Just like you. And she gets those freckles–those little white ones that you have all over your body…” He blinked slowly. Then finally, finally turned his head.

His eyes–those eerie, glowing white pupils–landed on you first. Then drifted to her.

Quickly.

Then away again.

You leaned closer. “She’s not just mine and Bob’s…She’s yours and Sentry’s too.” He was silent. A beat passed. Then another.

“…Hold her, Void. Come on. Please.”

Another beat.

Then the faintest ripple of movement. His hands lifted slowly from his thighs. A quiet shift of mass as he adjusted his seated posture. His jaw flexed in thought, even though it was all mostly lost in the dark shape of him.

“…Okay,” He murmured. Almost to himself.

Your chest softened with hope. Your frown turned into a small, genuine smile. You reached for the pale knitted blanket folded at your side and opened it with slow, careful movements.

“Alright,” You whispered. “Hold out your arms.”

He did.

Wide, cautious, rigid. But compliant.

You draped the blanket over his forearms with care, tucking it in at the crook of his elbows. His eyes narrowed, confused.

“What are you doing?”

“You run super cold,” You commented, still smiling as you adjusted the wrap. “I’m just making sure she’ll stay warm with you.”

“…I see,” He murmured, his voice a strange echo of curiosity and something that might’ve been gratitude.

Then, carefully–so carefully–you placed Sunniva into his arms.

She stirred a little. Let out a quiet sigh. One tiny hand flopped free from her wrap and landed against his chest, right over his core, where no heartbeat lived.

The Void stiffened.

Every part of him froze for a second, like he was afraid the contact might unmake her.

But then…His arms shifted. One hand curled beneath her body, while the other adjusted her head. Not gracefully, not expertly, but carefully.

He stared at her for a long moment.

“…She’s quite big,” He said finally, voice low and almost puzzled.

You smirked, that familiar expression curling onto your face like sunrise. You shifted to face him fully, hands tucked beneath your chin as you leaned in.

“I know,” You replied gently, watching as his arm curved protectively around the bundle, “I carried her.”

And that was the moment it happened.

The change wasn’t sudden–it never was with Bob. It was slow, delicate, like dawn bleeding into a sky that had forgotten it could be anything other than night.

The Void blinked.

Once.

Then again, slower.

His jaw shifted, clenched once before loosening again, and his head tipped forward just a little as he looked down at the sleeping weight against his chest. The shadows across his skin began to ripple–soft at first, like the dark was being exhaled from his pores.

“I…” His voice faltered. Not with fear, not with resistance. Just…Astonishment.

“I think you may have cracked the code,” He whispered.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“I feel…” He started again, gaze flickering down to where Sunniva’s tiny fingers had curled loosely into the edge of the blanket. “I feel like…He’s coming back.”

Your heart lifted, slowly and achingly, like something weightless breaking the surface after being buried for far too long.

The black faded gradually–like ink dissolving in golden water. His shoulders softened, sloping downward instead of held in perfect stillness. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow. And beneath the slowly receding shadow…Pale skin began to show.

Bob’s skin.

Freckled and familiar.

You watched the shift, your lips parting slightly in awe, and your entire expression melted. The same way he did. There were no words for it–not really. Just a kind of knowing that passed between your bodies like a shared exhale.

He was coming back.

And not just from the shadows.

He was coming home.

Your hand reached out and gently touched his shoulder, your thumb brushing along the curve where Void’s silhouette had dissolved back into Bob’s arm. It was warm now. Real.

That night changed everything.

It was the end of one chapter and the beginning of something wholly new–not a return to normal, but a step into something deeper. More shared. More whole.

The Void didn’t vanish after that, not completely.

But he no longer had to take over.

Now, standing in the soft bathroom light, fingers tracing the faint scar across your belly, that moment felt light years away. The fear. The silence. The stillness that had once haunted every hallway of your heart. It had passed. Not erased, but lived with.

And most days, it felt like a relief.

The Void still came sometimes. Quietly. Just for a minute. He never stayed long–just long enough to check in. To see how she was doing. To see how you were doing. He would nod, speak a word or two in that soft, carved-glass tone of his, and then let Bob come forward again.

It was easy now.

It felt like…Balance.

You stepped into the shower and let the water run over your shoulders, quick and warm. You didn’t linger. Not with a baby in the next room and a partner who couldn’t stop making eyes at the smallest pair of footie pajamas like he was already dreaming of more.

When you stepped out, towel wrapped around you and hair damp against your neck, you padded barefoot back into the bedroom–and paused.

The sun had shifted since you’d gone in, casting a deeper warmth across the rug. Bob sat on the edge of the bed, one leg up, cradling Sunniva in the crook of his arm, feeding her from a bottle with practiced ease. His hair was messy, one hand supporting the bottle as he rocked her ever so slightly. Her fingers curled loosely against his wrist, content.

He looked up the moment he heard you–the soft shuffle of your bare feet on the rug pulling his gaze gently toward the ensuite door.

And there they were.

Those blue eyes. Pure, clear, unguarded.

No gold shimmer. No white pupils. No lingering trace of shadow curling at the edge of his lashes. Just Bob. Sleep-soft and a little disheveled, with a smudge of milk on his shirt and that unmistakable tenderness resting deep in the curve of his mouth.

His smile was crooked, shy, blooming in real time as he took you in.

“I-I went into the ov-overflow stash,” He said, voice warm with quiet apology, “Sh-she started to get really fussy, and I di-didn’t want the lights bursting like last time.” You smirked, pushing your damp hair off your cheeks, amusement flickering behind your eyes as you walked toward him.

“Well, that’s why it’s called a stash,” you teased, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek—gentle, warm, lingering just long enough for your lips to curve against the blush that immediately bloomed beneath his skin.

His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, soaking it in.

You stepped away then, reaching for a fresh set of clothes from the dresser–a clean pair of Bob’s old basketball shorts you’d unofficially claimed and a loose, zippered maternity top that made feeding easier. As you moved, you glanced back at him, voice light but laced with meaning.

“Sentry’s already planning for another one.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, his brows lifting in startled horror before he let out a low, suffering groan.

“Ho-how about we wait till she’s six months before we st-start even thinking about th-that,” He muttered, his tone laced with exasperated affection.

You laughed–a full, bubbling laugh that warmed the whole room.

“That’s exactly what I said to him,” You replied, pulling the shirt over your head and adjusting the zipper at the chest. “We don’t even know the extent of Sunny’s powers yet. From what we’ve seen, she’s literally almost as powerful as Sentry… And she’s just two months old.”

Bob blinked down at Sunniva, who had just finished her bottle and was now sucking gently on the silicone tip in her sleep, her tiny body completely relaxed against his chest. His voice was soft as he replied.

“It’s…It’s am-amazing to witness though… I won’t li-lie to you.”

You paused, your smile tugging a little deeper.

“…I agree with you there.”

Padding quietly across the floor, you moved to stand in front of him, brushing your fingers over the fine hair on Sunniva’s head before leaning down again–this time kissing Bob on the forehead. Right between his brows. Right where the weight and worry used to live.

His eyes closed again at the contact, lashes resting on his cheeks, and you let your lips linger there for an extra second, before pulling away.

“I’m glad I’ve got the most amazing men by my side to help me handle all of it though,” You murmured. Gently, you cupped his cheek with your hand–your thumb tracing the edge of the freckles there–before leaning in and kissing him once on the left cheek, then the right. Light, warm, reverent.

Then, with a smile still tugging at your lips, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. Not rushed. Not urgent. Just…Thankful. His lips parted slightly, breath catching in the way it always did when you kissed him like that—with no pretense, no warning, just a quiet overflow of everything you felt.

When you pulled back, his eyes were open again, glassy and full. A faint tremble moved across his mouth as he looked up at you, like he wasn’t sure how to hold everything inside his chest all at once.

“Y-You’re the one that I owe all of it to,” Bob whispered, voice cracking gently with the weight of it. You didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch a little between you as your hand slid to his shoulder, your thumb brushing once more along the curve of his neck.

Then, from the little bundle cradled against his chest, came the softest coo.

Your head tipped slightly, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I’ll take her back now,” You said, voice warm and teasing, “I miss the warmth–and chances are she’s going to spit up soon, and you’ve never been lucky with that…” Bob groaned immediately, dropping his head back with the most exaggerated suffering sound you’d heard from him all week.

“D-Don’t remind me,” He muttered, shifting her a little in his arms as you reached for her. “Wh-When it went all do-down my back that last time I thought I was having a b-boiling hot sh-shower.” You laughed–bright and musical, your hand covering your mouth as the sound bubbled out of you.

“Oh god, the face you made,” You giggled, carefully gathering Sunniva back into your arms, “You looked so betrayed.”

“I was…” Bob muttered darkly, but there was a grin twitching at the corners of his lips as he watched you settle your daughter against your chest again. She let out a sleepy sigh, fingers twitching against your collarbone as her little head tucked beneath your chin.

Bob looked at you both like he was trying to memorize the shape of the moment. Like if he blinked too long, he might lose it.

His voice, when it came again, was soft. Barely above a breath.

“I-I love you,” He murmured, almost like he was afraid to break the stillness. “Both of you. So much it…Hu–Hurts.” You looked down at your daughter, her tiny cheek resting against your skin, then back at the man you had built everything with. The man who had walked through shadow and shame, through gods and grief, and still come home.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling down at him. “I love you too Bob.”

And the light that filled the room–golden and thick and unrelenting–only grew warmer.

[norrisainz33]

photograph || op81

summary: after receiving an old photo album from your mom you take a bittersweet journey through memories of your childhood best friend, oscar piastri.

pairing: op81 x childhood bestfriend!reader

warnings: heavy on the angst. unresolved feelings

word count: 2,155

a/n: first ever fully written fic 🥹 this is also definitely inspired by the song photograph by nickelback what can i say

masterlist | pt. 2

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

with a big sigh you pulled the old photo album from the envelope your mom had mailed. she’d been tidying up the house back in melbourne and insisted you take it claiming that it belonged with you. and so there it was resting on your coffee table. the cover was still plastered with stickers and the words y/n's favorite book scrawled across it in glitter glue, a relic of your younger self. you ran your fingers over the worn surface, took a deep breath and opened it. the first page hit you like a truck bringing back an overwhelming amount of emotions. it was a full-page photo of you and oscar on your very first joint podium at 10 years old with the biggest smiles you could have mustered.

✿

you remembered the first time you saw him on track. he was barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel but the way he drove it, like the world around him didn’t exist, made you certain that something special was happening. you two were of similar ages but even then you knew that kid with the messy brown hair and the most determined look in his eyes was destined for something bigger than the little karting track in melbourne and the classrooms you two found yourselves in.

your weekends were spent racing, laughing, and sharing the kind of friendship that only childhood can provide. oscar was your closest friend but there was always something else, something unspoken, that lingered between you. it wasn’t obvious at first, not in the way he smiled at you after winning a race or how you’d both hang out afterward joking about everything and nothing.

but there was something about the way he looked at you in those quiet moments when your gazes met, that made your heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the thrill of racing. you would never admit it to him though because he was your best friend and someone you couldn't bear the thought of ever losing no matter how much it hurt to see him with other girls at school.

✿

shaking your head with a small smile, you turned to the next page of the photo album. this one was filled with pictures of you and oscar at your very first f1 grand prix together. tucked neatly beside the photos was the physical ticket from that day and a small picture you had painted that you had signed by your favorite driver at the time. it was a weekend you'd never forget.

✿

“you’re going to make it to f1 and race here one day,” you had told oscar as you two sat side by side watching the cars zip around albert park.

he smile that crooked smile of his and said something like "nah, I'm just racing to beat you silly girl!"

✿

the next page in the photo album brought a wave of nostalgia. it was a collage of moments captured with your beloved little digital camera, the hot pink one you carried with you everywhere back then like a secret sidekick. the photos were a mix of everything that had made that you happy at the time: snapshots of you and oscar grinning wide outside the track, arms slung around each other, sunburnt and buzzing with excitement; blurry, magical pictures of the night sky, stars peeking through the soft glow of city lights; and tucked between them, tiny doodles you’d sketched later of race cars, your helmet design ideas, and little icons of everything that had made you fall in love with racing in the first place.

✿

sometimes, late at night after a race, you and oscar would sit side by side in the grass behind the track. the night air would be cool, the stars barely visible through the lights and he’d talk about his dreams, about f1 and you’d listen, trying not to think about what it would all mean for your friendship.

you were only just kids and you had more time ahead of you or so you thought because the day he hold you he was leaving came sooner than you would've hoped.

✿

you flipped to the next page in the album which held your and oscar’s final last day of school photos that were taken just a few short weeks before he had left. you were on the front porch of the piastri family house in your favorite dress with your hair braided neatly back and oscar stood beside you in his usual school polo, his hair slightly messy, and wearing that same goofy grin he still hasn’t grown out of. you couldn't help but envy the way your eyes sparkled in the photo.

✿

you were sitting in your final class of the day before break - only half listening as the teacher rambled on about everything you'd have to complete while on holiday. you willed the time to go by and snuck glances at oscar who was sitting next to you. when the bell finally rang and you skipped out of the classroom excited for break, you noticed that oscar hung behind. you turned to face him and were met with a rather sad looking oscar, something you hadn't really seen before much less on the last day of classes.

“i have to leave,” he said, the words so simple yet terrifying. he was fumbling with the zipper on his backpack as he refused to make eye contact with you.

your heart dropped into your stomach. "wait.. oscar what in the world are you talking about? you mean leave class?" you asked quickly.

oscar finally looked at you now, his expression a little too serious for comfort. “i’m going to boarding school..... in england so that i can focus on my racing.” his voice was barely a whisper.

it took you a moment to process what he was saying. this wasn’t just about leaving class or even leaving your karting team behind.... this was him leaving everything including you.

“you..... you cant be leaving already? but… what about karting? what about your family? what about me?” you squeaked out as tears began falling down your cheeks.

“i have to do this, y/n/n,” he explained. “you know I have to. this is the next step for me y/n/n just like we've always talked about!! i want to make it to f1 and this.... and this is the way i do that.”

your chest tightened. you wanted to tell him to stay. in fact, you wanted to beg him to stay on your hands and knees but you couldn’t. he was chasing his dream and you knew that but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

✿

you wiped away a tear as the memory of that day replayed in your head. it felt like a piece of you had climbed onto that plane to england with him and no matter how hard you tried you were never quite able to find that piece again.

✿

when you said goodbye at the airport it was even harder than you expected. he stood there with his backpack, his eyes damp and his hair dishevelled. he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye either.

“i’ll be back,” he promised. “i’ll visit, and we can race again together, yeah?”

you nodded, though you didn’t know if you ever would because you were staying here and he was moving on without you.

the months that followed felt like years until they began to actually turn into them. he was gone and living a life you couldn't even begin to imagine. you’d send occasional messages, have brief update sessions but it was never the same. you wanted to be happy for him and part of you was but you missed him terribly. and it wasn’t just the friendship that you missed. it was the little moments like the endless laughter, the late night ice cream runs, and the way he made everything feel right even when a race or a maths test hadn't gone your way.

✿

the last page in your album held a photo of you and oscar at the final race of his you’d ever attended. it was not long after your birthday when nicole had insisted you come with her and hattie to watch one of his formula 3 races. you hadn’t seen him race in person since the karting days and truthfully you hadn’t really seen him much at all since then either.

after a lot of convincing you finally agreed to tag along. and it was there, standing at the edge of the track, that it hit you.. the boy you had grown up with wasn’t the same person anymore and you hardly even knew who that person was.

that day was the last time you'd had seen oscar.

wiping away more tears, you flipped back through the album looking through all the doodles, race tickets, school photos, and everything else in between. so many tiny pieces of your childhood was captured within these pages and so much of it included oscar.

you'd spent all these years thinking you were just missing your best friend. but now, looking back on it all, you knew the truth. you loved him and maybe you always had.

but he was gone now. not in a tragic way, just... in that way life sometimes pulls people apart. years had passed and the distance between who you were then and who you were now felt impossibly wide. you couldn’t call him up and tell him not after all this time. what would you even say?

so instead, you closed the album slowly, pressing your hand to the cover like it could hold everything in place.

you missed him and maybe you always would but that’s just how it had to be.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: ahhhh if you made it this far tysm for reading!!!! let me know if you would like a part 2... maybe of y/n getting an invite to australia 2025??

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° just put your sweet lips on my lips

( isagi yoichi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — the first part in my newest series: the garden of you! (masterlist)

♡ word count — 1.2k

♡ content — isagi yoichi x fem! reader, slursagi mentioned, isagi is HEAD OVER HEELS for reader, just freaking puppy love, fluff, invasive paparazzi, established relationship ( 5 years ), reader & isagi are 25ish, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — In the world’s eyes, Yoichi Isagi is unstoppable — the best striker alive, a two-time World Cup champion, and infamous for the brutal insults he dishes out on the field. But when the stadium lights go out, he comes home to you — still shy, still boyish, still head-over-heels. Under city lights, on the bench where it all began, he realizes that no trophy will ever compare to the way you say his name.

── .❀ we should just kiss like real people do

The world knows Yoichi Isagi in superlatives.

The best striker to ever play the game.

The man who’s rewritten soccer history—twice.

The player who turned “egoist” into a philosophy.

The boy from Japan who stunned the world and never stopped.

They know his goals. His mind. His ruthless hunger.

They know the way he screams across the pitch — brilliant, brutal, and unfiltered — flinging words that make highlight reels just as much as his goals do.

“You’re lucky I don’t play defense or you’d be in the fucking ground.*”

“Hope you brought a second pair of cleats, ‘cause I’m dragging you for the rest of this match.”

“I’m the best in the world, and you’re barely even a footnote.”

Iconic. Viral. Merciless.

But the Yoichi Isagi that walks through the front door at 9:42 p.m. on a Tuesday night?

He drops his bag by the door and calls out a little breathless, “I brought you the melon pan you like—!” before even taking off his shoes.

You’re still on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, legs tucked beneath you, and as soon as you turn and smile at him—

He just… melts.

“Hi, baby,” you say.

And he stares. All pink ears and wide eyes and messy hair. He’s still in his training hoodie, still smells like grass and heat, but he looks at you like you’ve just told him he won the World Cup again.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles without thinking, and you giggle as you take the bag from his hand.

“You’re the one who’s glowing.”

“I’m sweaty,” he says bashfully.

“You’re glowing,” you insist, grinning up at him. “Like a boy in love.”

He groans and hides his face in your shoulder, mumbling something about you being unfair. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he clings back like it’s been days, not hours. 

He does this every time — like he’s scared he’ll blink and wake up to find it was all a dream.

You’ve lived together for three years now.

You’ve been his for five.

But Yoichi Isagi still gets shy when you compliment him.

Still flushes when you kiss his cheek.

Still stares at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

When you’re out together, he gets stopped often — for autographs, photos, interviews. His fame doesn’t just follow him. It hunts him.

So when he books a quiet little dinner date at a tiny ramen shop tucked away from the city center, he hopes for some peace. Hopes for a normal night.

Hopes, selfishly, that maybe people can forget he’s Isagi Yoichi, world champion, and let him be just Yoichi, your boyfriend for a night.

But he’s not surprised when the flashes start.

You catch on quickly. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts closer to block you from view, arm resting behind you on the booth’s backrest.

“I guess someone tipped them off,” you sigh, picking at your noodles.

He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him. But it does. It always does — when people take your time like they’re owed it, when they ruin these quiet little moments he lives for.

So he looks over your shoulder. Locks eyes with the nearest camera.

And flips them off with a casual middle finger, expression still soft as he returns to you.

“Yoichi,” you gasp, hiding your laugh behind your hand.

“They’re not invited,” he says easily. “I have plans. With you.”

You lean over the table to kiss his cheek.

He blushes so hard he forgets how to use chopsticks for a full thirty seconds.

It’s only after dinner, as you’re walking hand-in-hand through the quieter parts of the city, that something shifts. He’s quieter now. Focused. Like there’s something heavier beneath the surface of his usual shy smiles.

The street is familiar. A little run-down, flickering lights here and there. You round the corner and see it before he says a word.

The bench.

Old wood, faded green paint. Under the lamp post where you met.

Where he sat beside you that night after training five years ago, heart still racing from the match, vending machine broken, unsure of how to start a conversation with someone like you.

You remember offering him a drink.

He remembers the first time you smiled at him.

And now, all this time later, he’s pulling something from his pocket.

Velvet box. Shaky hands.

And then he’s on one knee.

Your heart stutters. Your breath catches. His voice shakes.

“From the moment you said hello to me, I’ve been yours. Hook, line, and sinker.” 

He laughs through a tear that rolls down his cheek.

“You are every part of me. You consume my every waking thought. I love coming home to you. I love seeing you in my jersey. I love every part of being with you—and I want to do it forever.”

His voice drops. Barely above a whisper.

“Please. Will you marry me?”

You don’t remember saying yes out loud.

But you’re nodding. Crying.

Reaching for him with both hands, and then he’s standing, arms tight around you like you’re the only safe place in the world.

And he sobs.

Not the kind of tears that fall on the field, surrounded by roaring fans.

But quiet, breathless ones. Overwhelmed. Grateful. Real.

Yoichi Isagi.

The world’s greatest striker.

A living legend.

A foul-mouthed genius with two World Cups and a target on his back.

And in your arms, just a boy in love.

Hopelessly, deeply, forever yours.

Later that night — or technically, early morning — the world finds out.

Isagi posts just one photo to his account:

A candid shot of you in his arms, standing at the very spot where he asked you to marry him.

You’re laughing, hand outstretched, showing off the ring.

He’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

No caption. Just a daisy emoji.

And within minutes, the internet erupts.

By the time sunlight filters through your bedroom curtains, he’s already lying wide awake, phone in hand, blinking at the dozens of articles piling in.

Isagi Yoichi: Giving Up Soccer for Love?

Engaged! The Striker Who Won the World’s Heart Gives His Away.

A Ring, True Love, Another World Cup?

He sighs and turns off the screen. Drops his phone onto the nightstand and lets his head fall back against the pillow.

Because in this moment, he couldn’t care less what the world thinks.

Not when you’re draped over him like this — half-on, half-off, mouth slightly open and drooling against his chest. One of your legs tangled between his, one hand resting right over his heart. Right where the ring he spent months agonizing over gleams up at him in the warm morning light.

He tightens his arm around your waist. Brings his other hand up to brush through your hair, so gentle, like he’s afraid to wake you. But you shift anyway.

“Mmhm… good morning, baby,” you mumble, voice raspy with sleep.

And he’s gone. Just like that.

Heart wrecked. Soul floored.

Totally, irreversibly, eternally yours.

A soft little laugh catches in his throat.

Eyes watering all over again.

God, you don’t even know what you do to him.

“Good morning,” he whispers. And presses a kiss to your forehead like a vow. Like he’ll never stop saying it.

Not for the rest of his life.

i'm obsessed with isagi HE'S THE MC FOR A REASON

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[jinusajas]

04/27/25; 01:00am

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ spring kisses with them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

{ one smile, one kiss, two lonely hearts is all that i need now, baby | you’re on my mind every night, every day… }

you became drunk off the scent of flowers, giggling each time sylus teases you with their soft petals.

his gaze remain soft; rufescent eyes gazing down at your figure as they fill with adoration for you. holding the flower gingerly by its stem, he places the pink petals against your lips. a tickling sensation was felt on your skin, causing your lips to tilt up in a sweet smile that captivates your beloved.

the flower’s petals shift in response to the wind, the petals breaking from its stem before landing against your parted lips. letting out an amused chuckle, sylus removes the single petal from your lips. he takes a moment to admire it before pressing a kiss against it.

warmth courses through your veins at the sight as you lean up to frame at his face. with the single petal now floating away, he captures your lips in a sweet kiss before landing with you against the pile of flowers-

a sudden memory resurfaces, of dragon wings and the scent of datura flowers filling at the air as the crimson petals danced in the wind.

caught in a sweet dance, zayne takes your hand and guides you around the gazebo. with your dress flowing around you, you felt as though you were living in a fairytale.

surrounding you were the dizzying scent of flowers coupled along with the cheerful chirping of the birds. unbidden joy courses through you, with your arms wrapped around zayne’s neck (like it was the most natural thing in the world.)

his hands wraps themselves behind the small of your back, bringing you achingly close to him. his eyes were brimming with an unspoken devotion to you as zayne leans forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. the faint taste of macarons fills at your senses each time zayne moves his lips oh so lovingly against yours-

making all of your dreams come true within that single moment.

you swore that you lived to see xavier’s pouting face each time you pressed a kiss against your favorite plushie’s face, holding the bunny so close to your chest even as xavier tackles you back against the cushions.

he hovers over you, half-lidded gaze taking in your playful expression while looking at your slightly parted lips. with a gentle sigh of your name, your beloved leans in closer to you, ready to share a sweet kiss-

only to let out a grunt of disapproval when his lips met with the toy bunny’s face.

feigning a look of annoyance, xavier takes the plushie in his hand and embraces it for a few seconds before playfully punching it. his actions earn a gasp from you, and when you reach out to save your precious baby-

only to have xavier interlock your fingertips together with his, bringing you closer as your lips met with his. he kept you locked in a passionate kiss, with him silently begging you to open up to him. feeling the tip of his tongue pushing against your lips, you slowly open up to him-

the plush long forgotten now, you delve your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to you as you lay back whilst surrounded by the scent of him and spring flowers in full bloom.

the scent of wisterias were thick in the air as the petals blew over rafayel’s open sketchbook. his sketch was forgotten the moment you lay down with him on the grass, your fingertips gently tracing at his features.

the lemurian finds himself leaning into your touch, eyes taking in the beautiful sight of your smiling face. turning away from you for a brief moment, he sees a tiny wildflower with white petals and picks it. holding up the gentle bloom to you, you half expected rafayel to fasten it above your ear-

yet was left pleasantly surprised when he ends up placing it on your lips. only catching a glimpse of his playful expression, you gasp upon feeling him kiss you, moving the soft flower against your lips to cause a gentle friction you had never felt before.

and you quickly became addicted to it.

with your eyes clenched shut, you bask in the sensation of his kisses, never wanting this moment to end.

caleb had never looked so happy-

so free before this very moment-

and you wanted to burn this memory into your mind, never wishing to forget.

the boat sways within the lake, yet you found it comforting to lay in it with your beloved colonel. you had no idea how many hours he spent making sure your spring date was perfect-

ensuring your happiness above all else.

your whispered promises of forever lingers within the air when caleb takes you within his embrace, placing a kiss against your hair while softly calling you by name. you meet his gaze, feeling your heart racing at the sight of his crooked grin.

moments pass, and when you kept looking at him with such a soft expression, something shifted within him,

with his gaze narrowed, caleb leans closer to you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss while under the canopy of the moss and trees.

{ you can say that i’m a fool and i don't know very much | but i think they call this love | oh, i think they call this love. }

end notes: this looks like a very cute banner, but i think i’ll skip this one for now if i can’t get sylus’s card with my free pulls (;﹏;) but have this unedited drabble in celebration for the new spring banner ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[sushirrrry]

SEVEN MINUTES || a harry styles x you one-shot. word count: 3,353 content warning: teen angst & fluff

summary: you and harry are camp counselors; you've never been kissed, but you landed on him for a quick game of seven minutes in heaven. he takes the lead.

It was the last week of camp.

The senior counselors had the night off, making sure to make their own memories that felt like their early childhoods had. Most of the kids were asleep in their cabins, save for the few youngest ones still fighting dreams with flashlights tucked under their blankets.

The sun had gone down hours ago, but the woods still buzzed with life—cicadas humming, the occasional hoot of an owl, someone’s distant laughter rolling from the mess hall.

And there you were, sitting on a quilted patch of grass behind the arts & crafts shed, cross-legged and nervous, a circle of citronella candles flickering around you and campfire burning ash up into the sky. Half the counselors were already tipsy on warm beer and vodka passed around in water bottles. The other half were drunk on freedom—just a few more days until real life crept back in; many of them would go to college, or trade schools.

It was sinking in that this was your last summer here.

“Alright, campers,” Jamie grinned, a crooked flashlight held beneath his chin for dramatic effect, “time for a classic.” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

A chorus of groans and whistles erupted from the small group—about ten of you, total. Your stomach flipped at his words, knowing what it meant but also knowing that you just couldn’t get out of it.

“Oh my God, Jamie,” whined Marnie, dramatic as always, flopping back against a log. “What are we, twelve?”

Jamie twirled the empty water bottle in the middle of the circle. “Don’t act like you don’t wanna get shoved in the craft closet with Mason.”

Marnie gave a soft gasp, and kicked grass at him, but she was smiling. Mason was handsome, sure—but he wasn't even close to your type.

You tried not to shrink into yourself; this wasn't the activity you were looking for. You weren’t exactly known for being wild; you were the quiet counselor, the responsible one—always up early, always with a first-aid kit.

You were the kind who let the kids paint their nails with Crayola markers and sat in the shade reading To Kill a Mockingbird while the others cannonballed into the lake.

Then, there was Harry, the tall, broody, charismatic charmer who one simply could not resist staring at once you saw him.

He sat opposite you, one leg bent, his tattooed forearm resting lazily over his knee. He wore an old, cut-up band tee this night and those faded camp shorts that somehow always managed to sit just right on his hips and thighs.

His curls were pushed back with a blue paisley bandana, and his eyes were fixed on the bottle with amused interest, dimples barely there in the soft glow of the candlelight and fire that sat in front of him.

You knew Harry—but not just from camp, from town. He’d been in your English class junior year. He used to sit behind you and borrow your pencil just to annoy you, even though you knew he kept at least three in his backpack. He was charming in the way only someone effortlessly cool could be, never trying too hard, just… there.

He was also the boy you’d had a crush on since freshman year. But you were too quiet, too average, and Harry always felt like he lived just outside your orbit.

Until now, you guessed. Harry was right in your orbit, a little too much.

The bottle spun. Around and around, it went, all eyes watching it blur across the circle. It landed on Cara first, then Jamie, to many exaggerated “oohs”. Everyone watched as they disappeared into the tiny closet at the back of the shed while the rest of the group snickered and threw pinecones at the door, teasing and mocking them.

You watched them go and tried not to think about what it would be like to be chosen, because being chosen would mean you would have to face the fact that you had… never been kissed. Not even a small one—not even a silly, playful one as a kid. Your cheeks were already warm, and not just from the summer air or the heat of the fire in front of you.

The game went on. A few more pairs disappeared inside and came back out flushed and giggling—you hoped that they would just give up on it after a while, maybe pivot to a different game once everyone got bored.

You laughed along with everyone else, but your heart was thudding in your chest, palms clammy against your thighs.

But of course, your nightmare had become reality as you then watched the bottle land on you.

A sudden hush came over everyone until you heard Marnie next to you.

“Oooh!” Marnie squealed, grabbing your shoulder. “We’ve got a good girl up to bat now!”

You laughed weakly, trying not to shrink under the sudden attention.

“Alright,” Jamie said with a grin, staring back at you. He handed you the bottle and raised his brows at you. “Spin to meet your destiny, good girl.”

You leaned forward on trembling fingers and gave the bottle a twist. It spun fast, making the grass shiver beneath it. Around and around and around until—

For a split second, no one moved. Then the entire circle erupted.

“Oh, come on,” Jamie howled, turning towards Harry. “You landed on Styles?!”

“Harry, don’t break her!” Mason teased, holding onto his shoulder.

Another person yelled: “She’s too sweet for you!”

You could hear another: “Be gentle!”

Marnie’s eyes widened as she bumped your shoulder, whispering over at you, “Oh my god, you lucky duck!”

Harry just smirked without saying a word or making a big deal of it, and pushed himself up to his feet. He offered you a hand without hesitation, and something about the quiet ease in his eyes made your skin buzz with an electricity of a thousand voltages.

“Ready?” he asked, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded, trying to not make it too obvious that you were more than nervous. Your throat was dry, so you didn’t want to speak. All you could think about was it was going to happen… he was going to kiss you.

He led you toward the shed, ignoring the loud whistles and claps that followed you both from the annoying crowd that saw around the fire, half-drunk on excitement and half on beer.

The door creaked open, revealing a cramped space lined with shelves full of dried-out paints and yarn balls and string lights that hadn’t worked since ‘78.

He clicked the door shut behind you and the sound was final as the muffled voices faded beyond the wooden doors. You were in a pocket of silence, just the two of you. It was dark except for a sliver of moonlight leaking through a dusty window. You could barely make out his silhouette, but you knew he was taller than you and you knew that he was standing in front of you.

“I don’t think we’re gonna last seven minutes in here without inhaling glue fumes and sunscreen,” he said, voice light, trying to break the tension.

You laughed, a little too high-pitched which made you cringe. Your fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt. Then came the quiet; Harry cleared his throat as he turned his head towards the door. His hands pushed into his pockets as you sniffled.

The sounds of the party outside were filling the small shed, but you knew that everyone was talking about you.

“Have you ever played this before?” he asked, tilting his head toward you. His voice was soft and sincere when he spoke, almost like he knew that he could feel your energy. He was being kind.

That was the thing about Harry—he was the cutest and the sweetest. All the other boys there at the camp, they had such a roughness about them, but Harry didn’t. Harry was kind and playful and talked to anyone who needed it. He wasn’t judgmental or looking to make fun of anyone. So, his question didn’t throw you off too much, and you decided to be honest with yourself, and him.

You shook your head, then. “Never.”

“Me neither.” Harry admitted, shrugging. His eyes diverted down as he took in a shaky breath.

That surprised you, so you looked up at him and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiled faintly, scoffing a bit. “Usually, I’d skip this stuff—I don’t really like the whole ‘forcing people to kiss’ kind of thing.”

“Me either,” You hesitated, crossing your arms over your chest. “You could’ve skipped tonight.”

“Didn’t want to.” There was a faint hesitation before he shrugged. “Why didn’t you?”

The pause was palpable. His eyes searched your face as you went to speak and nothing came out. So, you just bit on your lip and diverted your eyes so he wouldn’t see.

You didn't have a chance to answer when he spoke again.

“You’re nervous.”

You tried to laugh again, but it broke in your throat. “A little, yeah.”

When he stepped closer, you backed up instinctively until your shoulders brushed the shelf behind you. The whole closet smelled like crayons and pinewood and dust. The floor creaked when he took a step, but he instantly knew what he was up against.

Harry’s voice was lower now as he gave you a small look and then, even in the dark, you saw the quirk of his smirk creeping up his lips. “You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you?”

Your breath caught at his question, shaking your head, just a little. “No.”

His eyes didn’t mock, they didn’t widen in surprise, they just softened. They just settled on you, and you could tell that he was trying to make you as comfortable as you could be in a situation like this. He pulled his lips in his mouth, giving you a warm glance before he spoke again.

“Okay,” he said gently. “Well, do you want to?”

You blinked, almost shocked that he would ask you like that—you looked at him with wonder as he smirked; you wondered if his cheeks had reddened at the thought of being a bit forward.

“I-I mean, if you do, I want to do it right,” he added, like it mattered to him. “Only if you want to. I mean—you know, a first kiss is something you remember forever, so.”

You didn’t realize how badly you’d wanted to hear that until now.

You nodded, and your voice came out as a whisper: “Yeah,” you nodded again, a bit more comfortable in the situation as you prepared to ready yourself. “Yeah, I-I want to.”

He just gave you a soft smile, then leaned into you with a soft deliberant motion, giving you time to stop him if you wanted. His fingers came to rest lightly on your jaw as he tilted your neck to meet his tall length, the pad of his thumb brushing your cheek. He smelled like cedar and beer.

His lips touched yours like a question, almost wondering if you were going to pull away. Everything about it was careful and wonderous and after all of the movies and books you read, you didn’t know kissing could feel like that.

You kissed him back with a bit of tension at first, then with more confidence as his hands settled at your waist, anchoring you down to the ground. You moved with him, moved with his lips; it was just like learning to dance. His lips were warm and tasted like beer and spearmint, and he moved with such reverence it made something tight in your chest unfurl.

He pulled away just an inch, eyes on you for a moment as you fluttered yours open. “Okay?”

You nodded, dazed, almost feeling like you could have levitated. “Yeah.”

He smiled again—this time more openly. “Can I keep going?”

You didn’t have to say anything, you just nodded with a smile that had crept up on your face. Harry took it as a sign to move in again. Your hands moved into his curls that were pushed back by the blue bandana and you wondered if he liked it like that.

And so, he did. Just a bit faster now, deeper. His nose nudged yours, and you tilted your head the way he guided you to, learning as you went. His mouth moved with a lazy kind of precision, like he was in no rush, like you were the only thing worth kissing in the entire world.

His lips parted slightly this time, coaxing yours open. When his tongue slipped into your mouth—just a little—you stiffened, instinctively pulling back a breath, unsure what to do with the new sensation.

But Harry stilled. He didn’t push you to reciprocate, knowing he may have pushed you a bit too far with that.

His hands, which had gently curved at your waist, gave the faintest squeeze—like he was grounding you, letting you know he was still there. And when your hands fisted gently into the soft cotton of his camp shirt, when your lips found his again, he kissed you back like it was a gift.

You leaned into it this time, understanding how the sensation felt and understanding how it made you feel.

The flick of his tongue was tender, unhurried—there was just a bit, nothing too intense. He tasted like spearmint gum and something sweeter—like campfire smoke and warm breath and the warm beer he’d have a couple of. You followed his rhythm, let yourself feel it—you let yourself want it.

Harry let out a sound low in his throat, barely more than a hum, and you felt the heat of it vibrate between your mouths. His fingers gripped your waist just a little tighter, and for a moment, he kissed you with more urgency, almost like he’d forgotten where you were, like he wanted to give you everything.

It felt… different. It was intense in a way you hadn’t expected before, like you didn’t know if you could have just stopped yourself without something pulling you out of it.

Your chest fluttered and tightened all at once, and when his tongue grazed yours again, an unintentional sound slipped from your throat—a small, helpless whimper like you couldn’t contain it anymore.

You felt it escape before you even registered it.

Harry stilled, stopping his motions as he did. You pulled back an inch, horrified, eyes wide because you did something completely awkward and weird and you shouldn’t have done that—that’s why he stopped.

“Oh my god—sorry,” you whispered, mortified. Your cheeks burned as you pulled away and touched your lips just to make sure that they were still there.

But Harry’s eyes had gone darker by just a flicker at your sounds. His breath caught like he’d heard something he hadn’t meant to, like something inside him reacted before he could stop it. He blinked, then gave a small, breathy laugh, more flustered than amused. His hands flexed at your waist before pulling back slightly.

“It’s okay,” he said, almost under his breath; he rubbed the back of his neck. “It was… yeah, it was totally fine—I just,” Harry took in a shaky breath, “Sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say—neither did he. You felt both that adrenaline in your vein and shaky, like you’d stepped too close to a fire.

But Harry cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck like he was embarrassed now. “Sorry. I just—um. Got a bit carried away for a second.”

You caught the way his eyes darted away, like he needed a second to find control again.

Your heart was still thudding, but in a different way now. Not just nerves—something else. It was something new. And though your lips were still tingling and felt like they were on fire, and you didn’t know where to put your hands anymore, there was something oddly comforting about knowing that he was just as flustered as you. Your hands were just on his shoulders—so muscular and steady under your touch.

“Same,” you said softly, with a half-laugh. “Um—thank you.”

Harry looked up at you then from his glance as he gave you a small shrug, “Definitely don’t need to thank me. Was it good?”

You bit on your lip as you nodded softly and looked up at him, “Really good.”

Harry’s eyes were soft and understanding and looked like he wasn’t just proud, but he was glad that he had been your first—glad that he had been the one to get you in the shed, because no one else would have treated you with the same respect.

“Could do it more sometime, if you want.”

His words rung out in the small shed area before your eyes shot up at him, at his invitation. You didn’t know if you had heard exactly what you had thought you did, but your mind practically went blank at him.

“Oh—oh, um,” you took in a breath, but you were unable to answer directly before you were rudely interrupted.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been gone until there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by a few raps that sounded like the palm of someone’s hand.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” Jamie called, and the circle outside erupted in laughter and cheers, hooting and hollering.

You jerked back slightly, breathless, flushed. Harry laughed under his breath and turned towards the wooden door before he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmured to you, only you. “Let ‘em talk.”

You nodded at his confidence. You were taken aback when he took your hand, lacing your fingers together. When the door opened, there was less noise, but more nosy glances—people starting to whisper and gasp as you both made your way back.

“Well, damn,” Mason muttered, crossing his arms. “That was a long seven minutes. Some may say,” he looked at his watch, “Nine.”

Jamie laughed with another counselor next to him, shaking his head, “Look at her cheeks!  Styles had her moaning in there, for sure.”

Marnie threw a water bottle at him, “Shut up, Jamie!”

You flushed even deeper, but Harry just grinned and wrapped an arm around your shoulder and neck as he pulled you closer. “Nah, I think I just raised the bar.”

That made the girls whistle and the guy’s groaned at his words, and you just poked your cheek with your tongue.

Marnie rolled her eyes and tugged you away, but not before whispering, “So…”, she trailed off as another spin had been taking place, “Tell me everything.”

You bit your lip, smile creeping in. “He’s a good kisser.”

Marnie’s eyes widened knowing that you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, and the smile on her face was undeniably mixed with pride and wonder.

It was when you looked up and saw him on the other side of the fire for the first time since separating. Your eyes trailed over to him, noticing that he had already been glancing over at you; your pulse running a hundred miles a minute.

In an instant, you noticed that he hadn’t been paying attention the game anymore.

Instead, he stood from his spot between his friends, and walked around behind you and sat down quietly beside you on the blanket—close enough that your knees touched. He didn’t say anything right away. Just bumped your shoulder lightly with his and leaned back on his palms, eyes on the stars.

���You okay?” he asked, voice low so only you could hear.

You nodded, hugging your knees to your chest. “Yeah.”

A small silence bloomed, but you felt the small acknowledgement deeper than anything you had felt that summer.

Then, without looking at you, he added, “You’re a really good kisser, by the way.”

You turned sharply, wide-eyed, lips parted in disbelief. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I know,” he said; eyes twinkling like he knew he’d get that reaction from you, finally glancing at you with a smile so soft it made your stomach turn inside out. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

You stared at him, feeling the tightness in your chest loosen. His smile didn’t waver, either. And just like that, something in you settled. He looked away again, watching the sparks flicker up from the campfire.

His knee stayed pressed to yours the whole time. No one else seemed to notice. But you did; you noticed everything.

[delugyu]

kinda need a dilf soobin fic after seeing this tweet im literally sooo needy for him and soobin and impregnation kink go hand in hand hell yeah

https://x.com/twelve05cm/status/1909199625203986476?s=46&t=U4fjq0fKz8UIHAp0_D907w

dilf soobin is something so special to me

(wc: 2.8k / warnings: marriage au, breeding kink, tons of body worship, oral (f rec.), so much kissing, unprotected sex)

soobin has been wanting to become a dad for a while. you’ve been married for a year now, and the rate at which he’s mentioned having kids has only increased over the past few months. you usually laugh it off and tell him you’re not quite ready, but right now, watching him goof around with your friend’s two daughters… you’ll admit, your womb feels a little empty.

there’s something so pure in his eyes when he looks at these kids. he’s like a gentle giant, treating them so carefully and talking to them so patiently. your heart soars when you watch the girls lean into soobin, little arms wrapping around his big body. the sight is so cute that you can’t stop staring.

your friend takes notice of your staring. “baby fever?” she asks with a knowing grin on her face. you turn to her with a guilty smile. she continues, “i could smell it off you from a mile away.”

“isn’t it so cute?” you say, watching as one of your friend’s daughters play with soobin’s hair. the other stays attached to soobin’s hip, entertained just by chasing soobin’s hand that he playfully pulls from her tiny one.

“it is,” your friend agrees. “you two would be amazing parents.” her statement almost makes you tear up. you can picture it so clearly: standing in your yard with soobin, watching your child run around in the grass. you really want that some day. in fact—

“i kind of want to start a family,” you tell soobin once you get back home and in your bedroom. he blinks at you, standing dumbly for a moment like he hasn’t processed your words. you walk toward him, unable to contain your excitement. you’re so giddy about finally feeling ready to give soobin what he’d always dreamed of.

his starstruck face is so funny. you cup his cheeks and give him a short, sweet kiss. his eyes scan yours like he needs to know that this moment is actually real. you kiss him once more to prove it.

“soobin,” you say, thumbs rubbing the apple of his cheeks. “i’m really ready now.”

he kisses you like he can’t hold himself back, hands clutching onto your waist to pull your body into his. it’s hard to kiss him when the two of you are smiling so widely and giggling so much. your hands shift to his shoulders, caressing him lovingly. there’s a slight buzz in your body from all the anticipation.

“baby,” he says, pulling away from the kiss to look you in the eye once more. “are you sure?” he gently guides you backward onto the bed, laying you down like you’re fragile and precious.

“i’m really sure. i want to give you a child, and i want to be a good mom, and i want to make you a dad. i want a family of our own.” your words are so sincere that it almost chokes you up. soobin stares at you with such love and adoration in his eyes that it would be impossible to not want to give everything to him—your heart, your body, your life, your future.

he takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth. he kisses your ring finger, right over your wedding band, and it feels like falling in love all over again. it feels like the start of the rest of your life.

“i love you so much,” he says, devotion dripping off his words. his hands pull your skirt off slowly while his lips find yours. his touch runs along your thighs, feeling up and attending to all your flesh. he parts from the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, then strips you of your bra. you sigh out when he wraps his lips around your nipple, threading your fingers through his hair.

“i love you too,” you breathe out, hips rolling up into his. his hands eat up every inch of your skin as his mouth worships you. “so much. more than you could ever know,” you add. his hand travels down between your thighs, rubbing at the junction and pulling a moan from you.

his tongue flicks across your nipple before he pulls away, a strand of saliva connecting his lips to your skin. the hand that’s not pleasuring your center moves to cup and squeeze your breasts, watching your reactions diligently. he circles his thumb around your pebbled bud and smiles fondly when it makes you keen. he pinches your nipple, then soothes it, then brings his other hand up from your core so he can focus on both your mounds.

he massages your tits with careful hands, slender fingers so skillful and attuned to your pleasure. he knows everything there is to know about you, including what gets you the wettest. he’s toying with your body in the exact ways he’s learned works best over the years, and it’s effective. you can’t control the way your back arches into the feeling, gasping and clutching onto the bed sheets.

“my pretty wife,” he praises, leaning down to place a kiss over your heart. he continues to pepper kisses across your chest and collarbones, keeping his mouth and fingers busy with spoiling you. “i want to be with you forever.”

“mhm,” you hum, but it sounds much more like a moan than an earnest agreement. your mouth drops open, hips grinding desperately into the air in search of some relief for the pressure between your legs. he notices and takes pity on you, returning one of his hands to your clothed slit. he runs a finger over your folds, and your legs shake at the sensation. he rubs tight circles over your clit, unhurried and focused. your hips continue to jerk up, chasing the relief soobin provides you.

“my pretty baby’s feeling good?” he asks, pinching and tugging at your nipples, making sure to give both your breasts attention. you nod feverishly, making him hum in satisfaction. “yeah, gotta keep you happy. gotta keep you wet, right? keep this little cunt nice and wet.” he presses his finger down on your clit and runs it through your folds as if to prove his point, stopping at your entrance to feel the arousal seeping through the thin material of your panties.

he pulls your panties to the side and holds your hips up a bit so he can watch your cunt ooze out. he runs his hands down your thighs soothingly, caressing the flesh as your pussy continues to leak. he licks a stripe up your neck, greedy hands moving to your waist, then your breasts, your arms, your hands. he intertwines his fingers with yours and holds them at either side of your head, mouth meeting yours again for a searing kiss. his tongue invades your mouth, licking desperately into you while you grind against him.

your body keeps jolting, so incredibly on edge, feeling like you need almost nothing to push you over. you’re so worked up that you feel insane. your hands tighten their grip on soobin’s, desperate to take in as much of him as you can.

“i really need you,” you whine as you disconnect from his hot lips, stomach muscles clenching from how close you already feel. “hurts so bad, soobin. please, baby.”

he coos at you and kisses your cheek. he trails his kisses from your cheek back to your mouth, licking your bottom lip with need. you open your mouth readily, letting him tangle his tongue with yours again. you feel pathetic with how much you’re whining and moaning, and more so when you realize how bad you’re trembling.

soobin attaches his mouth to your throat, sucking and nipping at your skin eagerly. his hands stay in yours, not loosening his grip even as he continues trailing his tongue down. he coats you in his kisses, loving every inch of your skin that he can. his tongue laves over your navel, kissing all over your stomach and biting your waist.

“soobin, please,” you beg yet again. he looks up at you from where he now rests between your legs, keeping eye contact as he runs his tongue over your cunt. your hands release from his as they fly to your tits, playing with yourself as soobin tends to your slit.

his tongue dives into your hole, nose pressed against your clit as he curls the muscle up inside you. you cry out, and soobin has to hold your legs apart to keep them from dancing around everywhere. he moans as he licks further into you, movements desperate as he shuts his eyes to focus on working his tongue inside you.

“so close..!” you yelp out, clutching onto strands of his hair as you pull his face closer to you. he groans at that, and the vibrations leave your body jolting. “nngh—gonna cum on your face, baby.”

his hungry slurps and moans serve as encouragement for you to grind harder against his face. you’re nearly seeing stars when he starts flicking his tongue around, riding his face in a sloppy rhythm as your high starts crashing over you.

“fuck, soobin, that’s it! god, right fucking there,” you moan. he presses his face as close to you as he can possibly get, and his fingers sink deep into your thighs with his effort to hold you open. he laps up all the cum that pools out of you, aching for as much of it as he can get.

he pulls away once your body stills, licking his lips as his eyes run down your body. “you’re so hot,” he says, coming up to steal a kiss from you. your hands clumsily try to peel his shirt off of him, and he decides to have mercy and help you out after a minute of struggling. you’re still shaky, so getting soobin out of his clothes is a bit of a hard task.

you bite down on your lip as you watch soobin take off his pants and boxers. his cock is rock hard and weeping, and your mouth pools with saliva at the sight. you grab onto his shaft, pumping him slowly, but he grabs your wrist to stop your movements. you blink up at him in question.

“gonna cum too soon if you do that,” he explains. his hand runs over your lower stomach, pressing down where your womb is. “need to spill myself deep in here.” he presses his palm down harder, and your legs clamp shut at the unexpected pleasure.

he pries your legs back open and directs his tip to your sopping entrance. his eyes are lustful and unfocused as he hovers his face over yours. “fuck me,” you plead pathetically.

“i’ll fuck you,” he agrees. he starts pushing himself in.

“give me a baby,” you add, parting your legs a little wider in invitation, even as he’s already sheathing himself inside you. his hips push much further into you at your raunchy words.

“i’m going to,” he promises. his eyes are dark, and he doesn’t look away for a second. you bask in the intensity of the moment, letting the sensuality consume you. “you’ll be a mommy. you’ll make me so happy.”

he grinds his pelvis against you when he bottoms out, letting you squirm and gasp beneath him. his hand find your clit, rubbing messily over it like he’s already trying to get you to cum. you widen your eyes and grasp onto his wrist, but he doesn’t stop.

“s-soobin,” you moan.

“just give me another orgasm, baby,” he says, starting to fuck you now. his pace quickly turns relentless and sloppy, trying to bring you over the edge.

your eyes roll back as he hammers into you, angling his hips up until he hits a spot that makes you cry. “fuck! there!” you sob, clutching onto soobin for dear life.

“yeah? here?” he asks, breathless, hitting the spot again. your answer comes in the form of a broken moan, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. “right there, huh, baby… feels so good, i know.” his voice is so soft but deep and sexy. matters are only made worse when he presses against your lower stomach again, making your legs kick out.

“i’m gonna cum,” you warn, and soobin doubles his efforts to get you there.

“yeah, let me feel it, pretty. promise i’ll give you a baby right after,” he rambles, placing a hundred wet kisses onto your neck and shoulders. your walls clamp down over him, and your legs tighten around soobin’s waist as you cum. he sings praises against your skin, voice all gravelly and dark. it makes you shiver.

what’s more exciting is the rush you feel right after you cum. every inch of your body is alight, extra sensitive, extra receptive, all because you know what comes next. soobin smiles down at you, so fond and adoring that you can’t help but steal one of his hands to take in your own.

“take it from me,” you whisper. “my womb is yours. just like my heart, just like my soul.” soobin’s hand flattens out over your stomach. he stares at you like he’s never longed for something more in his life.

“i’ll give you the world,” soobin whispers back, sealing his promise with a kiss on your lips. he slowly starts fucking you again, taking his time. “you gave me everything. let me be the best man you could ask for.”

and he is. he’s such a good husband that you wonder how you could have gotten so lucky in this life. he loves you more than you thought was ever possible, and you never question his devotion. he’s the only man you’d ever want this with. you want all of yourself to be his, just as all of him is yours.

“i love you,” you declare as you place your palm over his beating heart. his pace hastens at your words, as if you’ve activated something inside him. his thrusts are deep and purposeful, and you’ve never felt more connected to him than you do now.

“you’ll take all of me,” he says, getting lost in the moment. you want him to fall into the feeling, to succumb to his instincts and claim your body for good. “you’ll carry my baby like a good wife.”

you whine at his words and the roughness of his voice. “i will,” you agree.

“and i’ll keep you nice and full,” soobin continues, jackhammering into you now. your eyes shut as you allow him to take you as he pleases, feeling ecstasy fill your veins at the promise of carrying soobin’s child.

“need to feel you cum in me,” you plead, grabbing onto him desperately.

“yeah? i’ll drain myself inside you. plug you up real good so nothing goes to waste.” he’s frantic now, hands squeezing your flesh as he chases his high. your head spins, needing him to release inside you already.

“do it, need it..!” he doesn’t leave you waiting long, bottoming out and spilling inside your warm walls with a harsh slam.

“fuck, baby… stay still for me, keep it all in,” he groans, hands running all over your body like he can’t decide what to pay attention to. he ends up settling on your hips, pulling you flush against him so that there’s no chance of any of his seed escaping you. he’s breathing heavily on top of you, so hard that you’re a little concerned.

“binnie?” you ask, making sure he’s okay. he lifts his head toward you and smiles a little, eyes softening as his climax fades.

“baby?” he answers with a cute giggle. he kisses your jaw, pulling away with a loud smooching sound. you can’t help but laugh at his endearing antics. “i can’t tell you how happy i am.”

“you don’t have to. i can see it all over your face,” you say, running a hand through his sweaty hair. you stare at him in silent admiration for a few seconds, letting the butterflies swarm in your stomach. “i’m excited too.”

soobin rests his head on your chest. “i can feel your heartbeat,” he comments.

“mhm, just for you.” you close your eyes and let the bliss of the moment ease you toward sleep. you feel soobin intertwine his hand in yours once again.

“you’re gonna be a mommy~” soobin says, all dorky and giddy.

“and you’ll be the best dad ever,” you add. you run a hand down his back in the way you know gets him tired. “now let’s rest.”

you drift off imagining that not-so-far-away world where you and soobin watch your kid run wild in the yard. you don’t think you stop smiling even when you sleep.

[adispit]

‘Sweet thing’

Hare! original character x bunny! male reader

warnings: predator prey dynamic,humping, overstim, mind break (kinda), breeding, slight dubcon, naive innocent reader, size kink, scent kink, creampie

notes: this idea has been stuck in my head for too long lmfao I rly went down the rabbit hole writing this 💀

You were a sweet thing, a bunny bred to be docile and kept at home like the naive creature you were! Your owner was extremely protective, never allowing you to go out and always pampering you with treats and pets!! You were the perfect house pet. However, always being at home was so boring and dull. Sure, being fawned over by your owner was always enjoyable but you wanted to be like other bunnies! Why shouldn’t a grown-up bunny like you also be able to go out and explore the huge world? All you had was a small town where you and your owner lived in, nearby meadows. There were so many delicacies you hadn’t tried yet, like wild carrots or apples! All the food you had at home were just leafy greens and pellets…so you had to formulate a plan immediately!! Sure, your owner might be a tad bit worried or maybe even disappointed but you would just go for a quick trip into the meadows nearby, only a few hours you swore!

Hence, your plan began. No better time to slip out when your owner was busy at work. Full of excitement and anticipation, you quickly jumped out of the window onto the pavement. The fields were so close! You quickly hopped your way to the meadows where the other bunnies promised there would be the precious apples and food you had dreamed about. Hungry and ecstatic, you finally arrived but the delicious food that was spoken about was nowhere in sight… you were starving! Maybe this was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have gone out, your owner was going to be so angry… Not only was the pristine and white fur they loved so much now dirtied, you were a disobedient bunny who ran away because you were too greedy…

Tears began to form in your eyes as you thought about the disappointment in their eyes and how they probably wouldn’t love such a naughty bunny anymore… You were such a silly thing, knowing nothing of the world and yet you still wanted to explore! Hours went by, and you grew tired of wallowing in your misery, it was night now anyways, it was time to finally go home even if your owner would be unhappy. At least you had a roof and a warm bed to sleep in! Trudging through the tall grass, you tried to retrace the steps you took but it was too dark. The inky darkness filled your vision as panic began to fill your heart. How were you supposed to go home now?! Oh no…you could feel the waterworks starting again. However before you could even burst into tears, your ears picked up rustling in the grass behind you.

Without a single thought left in your brain, you immediately darted in the opposite direction of whatever monster was stalking you in the night. Fear clouded your senses as you felt a shiver go down your spine. What horrors were hidden in the night? You didn’t want to know! You really should have stayed home but now there whatever was hunting you! Unfortunately you began to tire, your hunger and outbursts having sapped your energy, but you could still hear the loud thumps of whatever chasing you get closer and closer, their hot breath on your nape. Your pace slowed and the creature tackled you. Clenching your eyes shut, you willed yourself still and accepted your fate.

You could feel something caress your cheek. “Open your eyes bunny.” A domineering voice commanded you and you meekly peeked one eye out to see a massive hare over your form. He was huge! Both in muscle and size, he overwhelmed your tiny body. You didn’t stand a single chance against him. “What d-do you want, Mister Hare… I-I just want to go home..” you trembled, the stutters in your voice unable to hide your fear. A low chuckle reverberated from him, “Oh you naive thing, I just want to eat you up. You’ve been in my territory since afternoon and emitting that sweet scent. A tiny creature like you should be protected but you just happened to chance upon me, what a pity.” Hearing his words, your suspicions were further confirmed. You were never getting home and a big bad hare now wanted to eat you. You went slack, what could you even do now… “O-okay, Mr Hare, just make it quick… I don’t want to be eaten painfully and slowly…” you were ready, this would be how you went…

“You misunderstood me bunny. I’m not eating you up literally, I’m going to breed you so you reek of me all over like my property.” Confusion filled your face but not long before you felt him grind against your pelvis. Oh. He meant that… Forgetting your initial terror, you immediately flushed red. You had never done this before..and your owner forbid it, saying something along the lines of “I’m not ready to be a father”. Wait, but you were both males, how could you both mate?! Your obvious inexperience and bewilderment must have been evident because Mr Hare laughed again. “It doesn’t matter if you’re male, there’s still a hole, you silly thing.” He grunted. Not waiting for your reply, he hoisted you onto his lap, the curve of your ass now rubbing against his huge bulge.

You could feel the copious amounts of precum wet the thin shorts your owner had insisted on giving you for the sake of “propriety” and yep there they went, as Mr Hare ripped them off. A whimper escaped you as the friction of his cock rubbing against your perineum sent sensations you had never felt before running through your body. “Uagh-?!” A surprised moan ripped from your throat as you could feel something thick fill your hole. His fingers were in you! You felt his fingers graze something in you that made you clutch at his shoulders in a fit of pleasure. A knowing smirk appeared on his face and he repeatedly jabbed at the spot, “I found your prostrate.” He snickered.

“N-nng- ah! T-too much!!” You keened as you buried your face in his shoulders, your body spasming at his relentless teasing of your prostrate. Shortly after, a loud sob left you as your cock squirted all over your stomach, leaving you limp. “Can’t have you weak before I breed you bunny.” Mr Hare clamoured as he left a chaste kiss on your lips, a sharp contrast to his rough man handling. Pushing you into a mating press, the head of his throbbing dick pushed at your weakly twitching rim. Glancing down at his cock, terror filled you at the size of his dick, that was monstrous!! “N-no, wait it won’t f- AGH” Before you could protest, he sharply thrusted into you as you wailed out in shock at the sudden intrusion.

Growling, the hare left no chance for you to complain as he snapped his hips against yours repeatedly like he was a man possessed. “You really are so tiny, look at your small excuse of a cock bunny…you deserve a good breeding..” he teased as his cock plunged into you. Endless whines left you as the onslaught of pleasure left you orgasming over and over again. You could only weep as Mr Hare painted your insides white without an end in sight. “P-please sir, it’s too m-mu-much!” You pleaded but your pleas for him to stop fell on deaf ears. “Gh- just gotta give you one more load one more bunny, gotta make you full of my cum.” He murmured as he grasped at your waist tightly. Oh that was sure to bruise tomorrow. Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, you could only mindlessly mewl in response as another dry orgasm wracked your body.

The sun was rising and you were a sight to be seen. Eyes rolled in a dry orgasm as you unconsciously grinded back on the hare pistoning away at you, a mess in your own bodily fluids and the semen dripping from your abused hole. Unable to take anymore abuse, you blacked out and before you slipped into the welcome embrace of the darkness, you could feel yourself getting cradled and picked up and a kiss pressed to your dry lips.

You were definitely never gonna go out again.

note: why does no one ever talk about how hard it is to write smut OMG 😭😭 I legit spent an hour stressing over what to write so it sounded stimulating enough and legit 😞 anyways take this pathetic piece pls have mercy lol its like my first time writing smut (despite the fact I read smut 😭🙏)

Reblogs are appreciated :) if you want a part 2 lmk!

Pt 2 is here : Mates (Sweet Thing Pt.2)