#Happy one year to me crying so much over beard !!!

[narnian-neverlander]

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again [Machine Herald Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: “You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 10,7k

Warnings: slight body horror/modifications, suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence (injuries and blood, mentions of torture, mentions of character death, alluded murder)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Does a broken rib from too much coughing count as the AO3 curse yet cause wow this took way longer than expected. Anyways, Epic x Arcane has been bouncing around my head since Season 2 came out, but this was inspired by this post from @le-fruit-de-la-passion cause I saw that and I’ve been internally screaming over it ever since 💁

Happy Valentine’s everybody 💞

Nothing had been the same since you woke up.

It’s to be expected, it had been almost two years after all.

Two years since the explosion. Two years since half the council had died. Two years since any attempt at peace between the two cities had been shattered. Two years that you had spent blissfully unaware of all of this; a coma keeping you trapped within the confines of a hospital bed and your own mind.

You’d expected pain after coming back to your senses; it was the last thing you remembered before the world had went dark. But you’d slept through most of your recovery. Through your wounds turning into scars. Through your muscles growing weak from disuse. Your hands were a different story, though. They didn’t so much hurt, only at times, as they were simply numb. Shattered bones and nerve damage had made them mostly useless and that was not something any amount of time would simply fix.

Not everything had completely changed, though, you’d found. You’d been awake for not more than an hour when Jayce had burst through the doors of your hospital room. And sure, he’d looked different: his hair longer, a beard, the white and gold that had always dominated his outfits replaced with black and silver, a brace on one of his legs and a cane at his side. But the relief in his hazel eyes when he’d found his friend conscious was familiar. The way his hug had felt. And how he’d completely avoided your gaze when you’d asked about your lover.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

He’d expected you to cry, scream, anything. But you hadn’t. You’d merely nodded, as numb as your broken hands, and had thanked him for coming to see you. Had told him to go back to his work, he must certainly be busy after all. And it had torn him apart, to see you, someone he’d always known as energetic and joyful, so tired, so apathetic. The very least for him to do had been to offer his help in any way he could, including finding a doctor that would fix your hands. He’d been more than reluctant to leave you, but you’d asked for some time alone to rest and he could hardly deny you that - it had still taken him a good ten minutes more to actually take his leave, with promises of a soon return and to simply send for him if you needed anything.

You’d settled back into the bed, fully intent on going back to sleep and pretending you’d be able to wake up in a different world, but the sun had caught on something metallic on your bedside table, hidden behind flowers and cards. You’d reached for it with stiff, unsteady fingers, almost sending the small, scratched up, mechanical cat crashing to the ground; luckily it had just ended up bouncing off your leg and then settling in your lap.

You’d stared at the little robotic feline in astonishment for a long time, unblinking amber eyes staring right back, like it would tell you who had brought it here, when it should’ve been sitting on a shelf in your apartment. Like it would give you all the answers and solutions in the world. An answer to your pain. To the hopelessness creeping in. To the feeling of your heart slowly shattering.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

It had almost made you drop your precious possession all over again, breaths heavy and migraine pounding in the back of your skull. And your racing mind had very clearly told you that there’s no recollection of ever having heard him say anything like this, your aching heart replying that it had been an idle wish, nothing more.

This idle wish comes back to you know, lying bruised and bloody and dazed in a ditch somewhere in Zaun. The people you’d been sent to for help had turned out to be anything but the kind, generous researches they’d made themselves look like; only interested in their own profit, gained on the backs of the helpless and the beaten. And after months of more pain and suffering, once you’d no longer been of use, your body even more mutilated and damaged than before, you’d been discarded like the trash they viewed you as. Face in the dirt, body and mind exhausted and screaming for rest, just a small respite, you consider letting go. Consider closing your eyes and just letting eternal rest take you; you don’t have anything left, after all. No home to go back to. No loved ones waiting for you.

Your shattered psyche seems to welcome the idea more than anything; through blurry vision you swear you see your lost beloved right in front of you, like it’s just another lazy morning spent in bed together. A warm hand cupping your cheek, gentle amber eyes, voice still raspy and accent thick from sleep. Telling you to go back to sleep. That it’s okay to rest. You blink and he’s gone.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

A cry for help, created from a desperate mind and a broken heart. A fantasy. Wishful thinking. Nothing more. No one would be coming for you. Nobody would know or care if you just laid down to die right here. But there’s still a part of you, tiny as it may be, that wants to live. That under no circumstances wants to die on the same streets you once crawled your way out of, while your tormentors get rich on your suffering and are left with no consequences. Your blood’s starting to boil, powering you like a steam engine, getting you up on your hands and knees, groaning and whimpering in pain as you hopelessly try to get your feet back under you.

Peace is for the dead, revenge is for the living.

It’s what forces you towards the city limits on wobbly, clumsy legs, one stumbling step at a time. If revenge would be your only reason to live, then so be it. You’d take it over simply giving up and being forgotten; your body left to rot in the dirt.

So you live off scraps and garbage. Get your quick bouts of rest on dark, dirty street corners. Collect herbs from the riverbed, as scarce as they may be, to fight off the infections you incurred. It’s not pretty or elegant and you can barely call it living, but you’re alive. And eventually you catch rumors, whispers, only spoken in the same shadows you’ve now spent months living in: rumors of a healer. Well, some call him that. Others revere him as a god. Others fear him as a monster, more machine than man. But they all agree on two things: that he’s the one to go to if you’re in desperate need of help and have nothing left to lose. And where to find him.

The gate to the house on Emberflit Alley is old and bent and rusted. Not locked, but your stiff, useless fingers have enough trouble opening it anyways. The front door is a different story entirely, encrusted with interlocking gears to keep you and anyone else out unless invited in. So you knock and you wait. And then you repeat that process. Until it becomes clear that either no one is home or that a disturbance isn’t currently wanted. You’re not about to give up so easily though, so you step off the porch and start making your way around the house in search of any windows to knock on instead or maybe even break if necessary. It’s dusk by now and the ever present fog that always seems to cling to this area of the Lanes isn’t making your job much easier; your foot inevitably catches on something, a loose brick or a protruding pipe maybe, and sends you stumbling, falling and while you manage to catch yourself against the brick wall, your flailing palm ends up going straight through a window.

Perfect. You hadn’t actually been serious about breaking and entering. Not entirely, anyways. Trying to assess the damage to your hand in the dimly lit alley, you’re distracted enough to not pick up on the sound of a door opening and you only notice the heavy footsteps when they stop right behind you.

“You’re persistent if nothing else, I will give you that.”

The voice is deep, warped, with a mechanical echo to it, but it’s the accent that sends an unwelcome and unexpected twinge to your heart. You turn around very slowly and carefully, prey about to get caught by something terrible, and gulp when you actually need to crane your head back and look up cause fuck, he’s tall. At least a head taller than you, with a broad frame, all heavy armor and pieces of metal, a sharp, three pronged claw pulsing with energy pointed right at you from over his shoulder and a mask with only two hollow, glowing, yellow eyes staring back at you. He’s an imposing, unforgiving presence and you’re starting to understand why people only come to him as a last resort. But you’d come this far and he’s right, you’re persistent, stubborn, if nothing else, for better or for worse.

“I was— No one was opening the door and I was just trying to— Are you the Herald?” It’s a redundant question, really. “It’s what they insist on calling me.” Okay, you’re having a conversation. Sorta. That’s progress. “They also say that you… help people?” He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side and while you might not be able to see his eyes, you can feel them taking you in from head to toe. “To the best of my abilities. What would you need help with?” You falter for a second. “It’s uhm… a lot, really, but mostly my hands?” Most people have always reacted with disgust or pity and you don’t expect him to be much different, so the way you bring your hands in front of you for him to see is slow and hesitant. He leans forward for a better look and you fight the urge to back away and flee. It’s quiet, too quiet, the way he’s so intensely studying you and your injuries unnerving and the metal claw that looks like it could tear you in half opening and closing and rotating as if in thought is most definitely not helping your anxiety. Finally, he straightens up and turns around. “Follow me.” He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he check to see if you actually do follow him, merely strides back inside the house, leaving you scrambling to catch up.

The halls that he leads you through have dozens of motionless automatons leaning against the walls, the room you eventually arrive in is lined with shelves of glass jars containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid and in the far corner a leather gurney with a mechanized drill laid upon it and stains you don’t want to think too hard about. Fortunately, he doesn’t lead you over to that, but instead to a workbench cluttered with machinery and tools and blueprints. He sits in the old, rusty chair and then drags out a little stool from under the table, gesturing for you to copy him while he reaches above his head and fiddles with what is revealed to be a bright, neon lamp when it finally flickers to life, blinding you for a moment and leaving spots in your vision. You do as your told and finally place your hands in his when he holds out his own, one gloved and from what you can tell human, the other solid metal.

There’s a certain gentle diligence with which he conducts his examination, something you most definitely didn’t expect, but it puts your frayed nerves at ease. It also triggers a memory from long ago, an accident in the lab, that had ended with you curled up against your boyfriend’s shoulder while Jayce had carefully picked glass shards from your palms. A slight shake of your head brings you back to the present; a different life, it no longer matters. It’s silent between you two, except for the occasional question from his side that you answer truthfully. Eventually, he sits back and switches off the lamp above you. “Your hands can not be salvaged; the damage is too severe and was left insufficiently treated for too long. If you want full use of them back, they will need to be replaced.” He says it like it’s the most logical, natural thing in the world and to him it must be, but to you? It leaves you stunned, mouth going dry. “So I’d lose them entirely…?”

“You already have,” he states matter of factly. “Now it’s just a matter of wether you’re insisting on clinging on to broken, useless flesh and bone for the sake of sentimentality or if you’d rather exceed your human limitations and be able to return to a normal life.” It takes everything you have not to laugh bitterly; new hands or not, you weren’t going back to your old, normal life anytime soon. But he’s right nonetheless. “And you can do that? Replace them? Make them work like before?” You can’t be certain, with the mask’s filter and all but it almost sounds like he scoffs in offense. He waves his own hand in front of your face and flexes his fingers for show; dark, solid metal, expertly welded and crafted together to create a perfectly functioning hand. “Naturally.”

There’s nothing for you to think about anymore. “Okay. Yeah, I… that sounds good. Except…” Maybe there is one thing to think about. “I can’t… pay you for it. B-but I can work it off! Or I could—“ he decisively cuts you off with, “I do not take payment for my work.” And your jaw actually drops, because there is no way anyone in this world would offer services like this for free. There always has to be an angle, something to be gained. “Right. So you just do this out of the goodness of your fucking heart? Do you even have one? A heart, I mean.” He stands to his full height and it hits you like a ton of bricks that you just followed a complete stranger into the confines of his home. A stranger twice your size that would have no trouble turning you into parts for his future experiments. A stranger that has a reputation on Zaun’s streets as an unhinged monster. And it seems like you might’ve hit a nerve.

But he merely reaches past you, for something behind you on the table and comes back with a pair of tweezers and gauze and then proceeds to remove the parts of his window that are still stuck in one of your palms. Right. Since you can’t really feel them, you’d forgotten all about them. “Of course not. And to answer your question, no, I got rid of my heart a long time ago; it was of no use to me any longer. I only ask that you stay here during your recovery so I can oversee the adjustment process. Document it to further my research. You will be paying me in information, knowledge, progress. That is worth more than any gold or jewels you could throw at me.” Your own heart is going a mile a minute after that scare, but you’re slowly coaxing your body to calm back down. If he truly wanted to harm you, he would’ve done so by now. “And you’re sure that’s enough?” A sigh, as if he’s forced to explain something overly simplistic to a child over and over again. “You can bring any scrap metal you may find on the streets to me, if that will make you feel better.” You snort in amusement. “Okay, sure, you got yourself a deal. Sooooo… now what?”

He pauses wrapping your hand for a moment and turns his unblinking gaze to you again. “Malnourished, sick or overly exhausted people make for greater risks, both during surgery and recovery.” You flinch because you damn well know that you check all of those boxes. And you’re sure he knows it, too. “Yeah, well it’s not like I can snap my fingers and magically be healthy again. If I could, I wouldn’t be here. Besides, do you know where you live? You can’t tell me that every Zaunite who comes in here is of picture perfect health?”

“No, I just thought you should be made aware. We can perform the procedure tomorrow, at least get some sleep before that; surely that’s not too difficult?” It almost sounds patronizing and you realize you’ve gained back, or rather are rediscovering a part of yourself you haven’t used in a long time in the few minutes you’ve been talking to him: the defiant smartass. “Of course I can do that, I’m not an imbecile. There’s a brothel owner who owes me a favor, I’m sure I can get her to cough up a bed for the night.” He’s doesn’t look up from putting the finishing touches on your bandages, but apparently he still feels the need to state, “And leave with more diseases than you came with?” Had he just called you diseased? “I’ll have you know I don’t have anything contagious, thank you very much. I don’t think. And it’s that or sleep out on the streets again, so…”

“Or you could just stay here.”

You barely manage a very intelligent ‘Huh?!’ in return.

“You will return here tomorrow anyways. And stay here for your recovery. One night will not make a difference.”

Your eyes flit over to the leather couch in the corner; it’s clearly old and worn, missing an armrest and has obvious tears in the leather. Truly, you shouldn’t be this comfortable around him so quickly, but it’s still the closest thing to an actual bed you’d had in months so you’d take it.

“If it’s okay with you.” you shrug and quickly walk over to the sofa, dropping the bag that contains whatever little belongings you have left to the floor and then promptly collapse on it in an exhausted heap of limbs. That seems to break some of his composed facade as you catch him physically startling in your peripheral while you’re busy shrugging out of one of your coats and turning it into a makeshift pillow. “There is a room upstairs, with a bed, entirely unused. You can sleep there.” But you’re drowsy already, the worn leather surprisingly soft and pliant against your battered body. “So you don’t sleep, I assume; noted. And don’t worry, I don’t snore, so I won’t interrupt your… your work. You won’t… even know… I’m…” You’re out cold before you’ve finished your sentence and it takes all of half a minute before you’re lightly snoring. Liar. But he knew that already.

A heavy sigh and then he’s up, grabbing the blanket and pillow from the bed upstairs; replacing the bunched up coat under your head and pausing before he covers your body with the thick, warm fabric. Your skin has lost color, you’re underweight, he most definitely caught you limping earlier and those are just the things he could tell from a first glance. Your hands would be an easy enough matter to fix, but the rest would take time and care. He covers you with the blanket and you immediately snuggle up into it until only your hair is barely poking out. So you still hate the cold, then. Just like you’re still defiant and mouthy. It’s ridiculous how much you haven’t changed in direct contrast to him; changed so vastly and completely, of course you wouldn’t recognize him.

Carefully dragging down the blanket and the backs of your several layers of clothing, he indeed finds a series of numbers and letters branded into the skin at the back of your neck, as expected. He recognizes their shoddy handiwork by now; you weren’t the first Zaunite to come through his door after they’d fallen victim to that group. But you’d most definitely be the last. He gathers some things from around the lab and finally grabs his staff from where it’s leaning against the wall, gem at the top crackling with energy; one last look at your curled up form and then he’s out of the door, leaving you resting in his lab.

You’re warm, comfortable. It’s quiet and you actually feel well rested. All of that is so utterly foreign to you, it frightens you back to consciousness, makes you startle awake and fall off whatever you’d been asleep on in the process. Blind panic as you untangle yourself from a blanket you don’t remember having and stagger back to your feet, wild eyes searching for the closest threat.

Dim lighting breaking through murky windows, shelves stocked organs, a bloody gurney in the far corner and a hunched over figure at a workbench, their back currently turned to you as a clawed contraption over their shoulder emits a thin, precise ray of light.

“I do not appreciate getting lied to.”

There’s a part of your mind screaming at you that you know this voice, this person, this place, but the terrified haze you’re in yields little room for rationality as he shuts off the laser and turns around to face you, features covered by a mask with nothing but a set of glowing yellow eyes.

“You do, in fact, snore.”

It’s like a switch gets flipped, the haze lifts as you realize that you’re safe and you collapse back into the couch in a relieved heap, breaths still frenzied and heart still trying to jump out of your chest. “Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t comment any further, simply gets back to whatever it is he was working on before, leaving you to recover by yourself. It takes a few minutes, but once you consider yourself sufficiently calmed, you sit back up on the couch cross legged, blanket draped over your shoulders, wanting to apologize and thank him properly, but looking at him gives you pause.

He seems… smaller somehow than the night before. You find your answer in a heap of metal scattered around his workbench: big, cumbersome pieces of armor. Armor that you remember seeing on him yesterday, that you’d just assumed to be irremovable parts of his body. What you most definitely do not recall are the dents, scratches and the dried blood all over the metal. Nervously flitting your gaze back to him, you see what he’s working on is actually himself; laser directed at a part of his chest that he seems to be welding shut. And you’re taken aback at how much skin there is - human skin. The entirety of his chest and his right arm are sleek steel, interlocking gears and mechanisms, flawlessly shifting into each other as he moves, thin glowing panels pulsing with energy from hidden engines. And there’s definitely more metal at his right hip, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, but other than that…

His left arm is mostly pale skin, scarred flesh at his shoulder connecting to the dark steel; a wired glove slipped over his slender fingers seemingly controling the movements of the claw over this shoulder. His stomach and waist are still incredibly human too, if nothing else because of the dark purple bruise forming against his skin. He’s nowhere near as much machine as you’d expected, not to mention he looks… hurt. Had he been in a fight? Gotten attacked?

You open your mouth to ask, but think better of it before any sound can come out. It really has nothing to do with you; what he does in his own time is none of your business. It still feels off, to infringe on his time and help and not even ask if he’s alright when clearly, something that you’re not privy to has happened. Never one to leave well enough alone, you grab your bag from the floor and start sorting through the collection of herbs you’ve managed to acquire over time. Once you’ve found the ones you’re looking for, you package them into the most clean rag you have in your possession and tie it shut; uncrossing your legs you walk over to him and place the haphazardly made package on the table, careful not to disturb him. The movement still gets his attention and even with the mask’s filter, confusion is clear as day in his voice as he asks, “What is that and what is it doing on my workbench?”

“It’s an herbal remedy, for uhm… bruises and the like?” you explain, vaguely gesturing at his waist. “You soak it in boiling water and then put it on the effected area; it helps with swelling and pain.” It’s silent for a few long seconds, then, “I see. Thank you.” Not even remotely close to anything you were readying yourself for as a response, but it makes something within your chest beam with pride. You don’t even realize you’re still staring until he points it out and is met with, “You’re just… not exactly what I expected.”

“A monster?”

The laugh you let out is so shockingly soft, it almost startles him. “You’ve got a reputation, sure, and you’re… intimidating at first glance, I’ll give you that, but… I’ve met plenty of monsters in my life and none of them were anything like you. In fact, all of them looked and acted remarkably, ordinarily human at first.” There’s no further elaboration from your side and your gaze is distant, mind somewhere far away from here. He almost calls your name, but it occurs to him in the nick of time that you never actually introduced yourself. You’ve been here for less than twenty four hours and already he’s slipping, making mistakes; he can’t have that, so he drives the conversation in a direction he has control over. “I am almost finished with my repairs, I can get the general anesthetic started so we can proceed with your surgery as quickly as possible.”

Wild, hot panic takes over your gaze and he fully expects you to bolt out the front door with how you flinch and take a step away from him. “I need be under for the surgery? Can’t you do like, local anesthesia on my arms?” He hesitates; he’s never known you to be afraid of medical procedures, so what’s the problem? “First off, I will not be replacing both of your hands at the same time. Too risky and you’ll be completely incapacitated; we’re going to start with only one today. And no, in theory, you do not have to be under full anesthesia, however, we are talking about a delicate and unusual kind of surgery; I can not promise that it will be painless while you’re still conscious.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind the pain, I just… I wanna have some agency in what gets done to my body from here on out.”

Ah. So that’s it. One glance at the dried blood still clinging to his armor on the floor and he feels the rage from last night raise it’s ugly head again. He shoves that right back down, cursing internally, before he answers you, voice level and betraying nothing. “All right. It will not be a pretty sight, though.” You shrug, as nonchalant as if he’d just told you about dinner plans. “I mean, I don’t have to watch directly. But I’m gonna admit, I am curious.”

The curiosity lasts for all of the first cut into your flesh, then you turn your head away and simply let him work in silence; wouldn’t want to distract the man currently flaying you open and re-wiring your nerve endings. Luckily, there’s only the occasional pinch and pull, but you stay pain free otherwise. Recovery after the procedure is a different story entirely though; painful and arduous and time consuming. And you’re more than a little surprised at how diligently the Herald takes care of you. Keeping a close eye on his newest test subject, that’s what you write it off as at first. But as the weeks go by there’s a certain familiar domesticity that sneaks into your routine and you find yourself talking with him more and more. Well, it’s mostly you talking, but he listens; you know because the day after you complained about the room you’d been staying in feeling too dark, you’d come back from an errand to find the windows cleaned, the curtains gone and some mismatched lamps placed around the room. It’s a sweet, quiet kind of constant reassurance and you can’t help the way your heart warms at it; so much like what you’d been used to from your lost love.

The day you pick up a glass of water all by yourself, without spilling anything and the glass noticeably cold against your fingers, you almost weep with joy and just barely hold yourself back from tackling him in a hug. Instead you busy yourself with touching as many things in his lab as you can get your one properly functioning hand on - which means you miss the way he so openly stares at you, obvious even with his mask hiding his features. He hasn’t seen you this happy and energized since you showed up on his doorstep. It makes some part in chest whir conspicuously and it almost feels like something is overheating, so he quickly turns away and grabs a random, discarded project from his workbench to fiddle with.

“Do you… ya know, eat?”

It’s a random question, even for you, but he answers nonetheless. He’s used to it by now.

“I no longer require it as a form of energy replenishment, no.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, that doesn’t answer my question, though. You don’t have to, but do you? Sometimes?”

“I fail to comprehend why we are having this conversation in the first place.” He doesn’t put down his tools, nor does he look at you.

Okay, fair point.

“Well, I uh… I used to be a chef, had my own restaurant and everything? And since one of my hands finally works again I figured I’d like to give cooking something a try? And if you have a favorite, I could make it for you? As thanks for… well, for giving me a hand?” It’s not one of your finer jokes, you will admit, so you’re not surprised he doesn’t laugh. Not that you’ve ever heard him laugh at anything, for that matter. He doesn’t react at all, except for, “I told you, I do not take payment for my work. Are we done with this fruitless conversation now?” It stings more than you’d like, to have him dismiss your tries at kindness like that, even though you know it’s not personal.

“Right, yeah, sorry. It’s just… cooking’s the only thing I’ve ever been good for and I like to be some sort of useful so… but you’re right, it’s stupid. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better.

It was years ago, he shouldn’t remember you saying it as clearly as he does. Nor the way you’d looked then; all teary eyed and vulnerable, in front of him and only him. He shouldn’t remember and much less should he still care. He finds himself putting down his tools anyways.

“Sweetmilk.”

It doesn’t even register that he’s talking to you at first, considering you’re already halfway out the door to give him some peace and quiet. “P-pardon?”

“Sweetmilk.” he repeats. “It’s technically not food, but a weakness of mine and it’s still made on a stove. However, I am out of—“

“I got it! I’ll go get everything; I know how to make it!” The biggest grin on your face, you’re out of his lab in an instant and he hears the front door open and close not long after that.

There’s an actual skip in your step as you make your way down the street, there’s no other way to put it.

You are no fool. It’s in the way he hyperfocuses on his work. In the way his place is always a mess, right down to how his tools and notes clutter his desk. In the way what little sunlight manages to reach this part of the Lanes catches in his chestnut hair when it filters through the windows. In the little vocal mannerisms and gestures that you remember oh so well, that he apparently was unable to remove, no matter how much of a perfect machine he claims himself to be. It’s all right there, it had been from the start, this had just been the final push you’d needed. The final push to actually let yourself hope.

You are no fool. He knows this. He knows this and yet he let you have this. This tiny, obsolete, aggravating piece of information that has now turned him into the fool instead. He’s certain you’ve already figured it out, how could you not have? With the way you were immediately way too comfortable around him? With the way you sometimes talked about yourself, your past, just naturally assuming he’d be able to fill in the blanks, cause to him, they weren’t blanks at all? With the way it had been so easy to slip back into old, dangerously domestic habits with you? This had simply been the final nail in the coffin, yours or his, he isn’t sure; he is sure, however that you do not belong here in his oh so carefully crafted solitude.

Over two years. That’s how long it had taken him to put himself back together again. To rid himself of the parts the Hexcore had already infected, tainted, taken from his control. To replace his dying lungs. To make sure he didn’t fall apart again after every second step. To ensure he was no longer weak. And then he’d come for you, intending to save you, make you whole again, but you’d been gone. Disappeared from your hospital bed, from Piltover all together it had seemed. He’d crossed several lines in his search for you, even the ones he’d set for himself; namely never asking for help from his former best friend and partner again. In the end, the only thing he’d accomplished had been to widen the ever growing rift between them, no step closer to you. So he’d done the only thing he could still think of: rip his heart straight from his chest to maybe, hopefully, get rid of the agony right along with it; erase the joyful memories that held nothing but misery anymore. And it had worked; everything inside him dulled and numbed enough to simply drown himself in his work with no interferences. Until you’d stumbled back into his life. And things should be different, he shouldn’t care about you anymore outside of how you can further his research, but they’re not. The way the two of you still fit together so effortlessly is disgustingly, hauntingly familiar and he has to put a stop to it. He has chosen to live like this, in isolation and loneliness, he would not force it on you in the name of some long forgotten affection.

Perfect opportunity strikes some days later, while he’s in the process of replacing your second hand and you question him about his own augmentations. So he tells you about his weak leg and his collapsing lungs like you don’t already know. Watches the smile vanish from you lips and your face fall as he explains how he removed his connections to people from his past.

“So you… you don’t remember anyone who used to be a part of your life? Family, friends, lovers?”

“I remember them just fine, I simply got rid of any unnecessary emotional attachments associated with them. I remember my mother’s lullabies, I do not miss them any longer. I remember the discussions with my old partner, yet I no longer look at them fondly. I remember the lazy mornings spent with my lover, but I don’t yearn for them anymore.”

You visibly flinch at that last one and he merely warns you to stay still, like he doesn’t know what hearing all of this must do to you. It goes quiet between you two afterwards and any glance he steals at you confirms his theory, proves that his action had the desired reaction: the cogs are turning in your head and the longer they do, the more the despair and grief start to show on your face; realization that he is no longer the man you knew and that you no longer have a place by his side. It’s quick, simple work to finish your surgery and he decides to leave you be, give you time to let the new information he provided you with sink in and with some trivial errands used as a quick excuse, you’re left sitting alone on a rickety old stool in his lab.

And you stay seated for a long while, still and unmoving, blankly staring off into the distance as you hopelessly try to process what he just revealed to you. The love you hold for him hasn’t diminished in the slightest, no matter how much he might claim to have changed, but what’s it worth if you’re nothing but a stranger to him now? If the affections he’d had for you in return were lost to his quest of a perfect evolution?

You’re unsure what compels you to rise from your seat, to stroll across the room and absentmindedly trail your fingers across the books on one of his shelves. Maybe you’re simply trying to distract your mind from spiraling further down into the dark abyss of hoplessness it’s currently headed for. Maybe a part of you already knows that this is not meant to last and you’re trying to commit everything to memory through touch alone, now that he’s returned that sensation to you. The very last thing you expect is for one of the spines to catch your attention and for just a moment, you’re back in your old apartment, your old life. Hurriedly pulling the book from it’s spot you find that you are in fact correct, this used to belong to you. The corners of the dark blue cover are frayed and the golden lettering faded, but you recognize it anyways; you’d lent it to him years ago and he’d just never gotten around to giving it back. Which still doesn’t explain what it’s doing here, surely he doesn’t have any use for it anymore. You gingerly dust it off, careful not to over exert your new fingers, and crack it open only for a little slip of paper to immediately come fluttering out and land on the floor in front of you. Picking it up, you find only two words written in a handwriting you know all too well.

Lavender = devotion

The memories flood your mind wether you want them to or not; memories of your absolute mess of a first date. Of the meticulously crafted bouquet of flowers he’d gotten you, based on the book you’d lent him.

Putting the paper back with the page containing it’s corresponding flower, you quickly rifle through the rest of the book and find plenty more notes still left within the pages, all in his handwriting.

Iris = hope, trust

Alstroemeria = mutual support, fascination

Carnations = sincere love, respect, new beginnings

The last entry you come across doesn’t have a written note with it. Instead you find a picture: the two of you, slumped together on the sofa in the lab, all tangled limbs and sleepy intimacy, blissfully unaware of your friend sneaking this picture. It’s marking the pages for camellias and you don’t need a note or a proper look at the information in the book to know what they symbolize; not when you can clearly remember him telling you.

Eternal love. I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.

The book slips from your fingers, landing open on the floor with a dull thump as you go right along with it, knees hitting the wood beneath you hard as you curl in on yourself and sob, photograph cradled close against your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve cried, some still coherent part of your mind realizes. Since waking up. Since being imprisoned and tortured. Since coming here. Since being forced to accept stroke after stroke of fate that had irreversibly changed your life entirely against your will or control. So you cry and you weep and you scream at the top of your lungs. For yourself and everything you’ve had to endure. For all you’ve lost. For the life you could’ve had.

You have to leave. You have to. Or you’d spend the the rest of your life desperately trying to rekindle a love that no longer exists. A final glance at the picture still held in your hands and you consider taking it; he wouldn’t miss it, he probably doesn’t even know it’s still here. But the people in that photograph are long gone and it would cause you nothing but more grief, so what’s the point? You drop it between the pages you’d found it in and shove the book back into its’ spot on the shelf before scrambling to your feet and beginning to gather your things strewn across his house. And you could’ve left then and there, things packed and mind made up. You probably should have. But it doesn’t feel quite right either, just disappearing without a trace. So you sit on the bed you’ve called your own for the past weeks and you wait. Until you hear him come home in the middle of the night and the urge to sprint downstairs, throw a quick goodbye and thank you over your shoulder and slam the door on this entire sad, miserable chapter of your life is there. But you don’t. You can’t. Because despite everything, you still want a proper goodbye - you didn’t get one last time, after all. Except you have no idea how you’d go about that, so you stay right where you are and rack your brain. Until dawn breaks and you’re no closer to a solution, so you drag your tired body off the bed and make your way downstairs; you’re just looking for more excuses to stay at this point.

Of course you find him at his workbench, where else, most of his heavier armor discarded and Hexclaw dimantled in front of him as he diligently solders wires to metal. Pausing in the doorway, you wait for him to acknowledge your presence, giving yourself some more time to think, but when several minutes pass and he doesn’t even look up you clear your throat, receiving a quick ‘Morning.’ in return and nothing else. No point beating around the bush, is there?

“When do you think I’ll be able to leave?”

Too busy fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of your shirt to distract yourself, you don’t notice the way he almost flinches, everything he’s doing coming to a halt. It’s quiet for only a moment before he says, “You are not a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you wish to.”

Not the answer you want, not the answer you long for, but an answer nonetheless

“I… now would be good for me, I think.”

“Very well.”

And that’s the end of it. The room is blanketed in silence once again, except for the scrapes and shuffles of his tools as he goes back to work. No grand, emotional request for you stay and why would he? You’re a stranger, an experiment and there’ll be others like you; others to further his research and learn from. He doesn’t need you anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time, you realize. Oh how you wish you could feel the same. You go to grab your bag from the hallway in apathetic, almost mechanical movements, nothing but muscle memory driving you at this point and you expect to walk out the front door without another word exchanged between the two of you, but surprisingly enough, he calls out to you again.

“Where will you go?”

Stopping in your tracks, you come to lean against the door frame, gaze falling anywhere but him. You’re not sure what he’s even asking for, it won’t have any impact on his life after all, but you answer honestly anyways. “As far away from this city as I can get, probably. There’s no one— there’s… nothing left for me here anymore.” A pause as the faces of your tormentors flash before your inner eye. “Not before making the bastards who used me pay for it, though.” He unscrews a panel at the base of the Hexclaw while posing another question. “And if that costs you your life?” You shrug even though he can’t see. “Just as well. I’m not sure I’ve got the will to build something new for myself anyways…”

Silence falls again and you interpret it as the natural end of the conversation and your cue to leave. Except there’s one last thing you need to get off your chest - quite literally, in fact. Slipping off the chain around your neck, ring still safely attached to it as always, you approach him and place it on the surface of his workbench. To your utter surprise, he actually interrupts his work and picks it up with careful fingers; his face might be hidden from you by his mask, but he radiates confusion so you explain before he has a chance to ask. “When I first came here, you told me I could pay you in scrap metal if it made me feel any better about encroaching on your space and time. You can melt this down, throw it out, I don’t care; I’ve carried it around with me long enough and it was always meant to be yours.” You truly don’t have the strength to wait for his reaction, or probable lack thereof; this means nothing to him now, you mean nothing, and that thought makes you hurry towards the exit, tears burning in your eyes.

Despite better judgment, you pause in the doorway, fingers tight around the strap of your bag and swallow around the growing lump in your throat. “Thank you…” It’s barely above a whisper and it’s not enough. You were the one who wanted a proper goodbye this time, weren’t you? So you turn to fully face him, met with the same blank, hollow eyed stare you’ve grown oh so used to and you smile, genuine and grief stricken. “Thank you for everything, Viktor.”

Part of you wonders when he last heard his own name. If he even still remembers it.

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in his quiet lab, with only his research to keep him company, just as it should be.

The front door is as far your shaky legs get you, bag slipping from your shoulder as you slump against it, forehead pressed to the cool, worn wood as you press a hand against your mouth in a desperate attempt to to stifle the sobs. The man you’re leaving behind is the love of your life no matter what, you’ve known that for ages; there was a before him, but there was never supposed to be an after. And yet now you have to figure out exactly what that after is going to look like, because he’s gone and at the same time he’s still here and that, oh that aches something awful. It’s unfair and it’s cruel and it makes you want to claw your own chest open to strangle your heart with your bare hands just to make the pain stop. It makes you envy him for the first time, no heart left in his chest to ail him. And it makes you despise him, because how dare he leave you alone with the burden of this love you were supposed to share?

The heavy footfalls behind you should jumpstart you into action, make you wrench the door open and get out or at the very least compose yourself, but you can’t. You find that you simply don’t care anymore either. Let him see what he’s done to you, what he’s turned you into, even if he wouldn’t shed a single tear over it. A mechanical hand comes to rest next to your head, his presence right at your back, so close and so very much like the first night you came to this place and yet everything’s so incredibly different now.

“What? Did you forget some kind of last diagnostics test on the new hand or something?” The tears are obvious in your tone. “No. But you should know that the people you plan on taking revenge on are already dead. I made sure of it.” Breath catching in your throat, the memory of your first morning in this house comes back to you: the bruises, the blood on his armor, the way everything about him had screamed violence and death that day. “You… Why?” It makes no sense whatsoever and it’s making your head spin and he’s not answering, until, “That’s hardly a concern for you now. I simply thought it consequential for you to be made aware of the fact that if you wish to depart from this city you may do so. There is nothing—“ It’s the first time you’ve heard him falter and fumble in all your time here and when he speaks again there’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite place, accompanied by the hand against the door clenching into a fist. “There is no one keeping you here anymore.”

The clock in the corner counts down the seconds, loud and echoing in comparison to the quiet that has befallen you both. A quiet you decide to break, tentative and scared.

“Isn’t there? My tormentors might be gone, but what of the man I love? Could he still find it in him to love me if I stayed?”

“I don’t believe that still matters, does it? You’ll leave either way.”

And something inside of you snaps.

You brace your forearms against the door and shove backwards, catching him so off guard he stumbles back a step or two, creating just enough distance for you to rear back your hand and punch him square in the jaw. His mask gets knocked clean off his face, loudly clattering to the floor; your freshly operated hand sparks and creaks ominously, fingers now bent at odd angles while searing pain shoots up your entire arm, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the white, hot fury that’s boiling you alive from the inside out.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?!”

He doesn’t even deem it necessary to look at you; completely frozen to the spot, head turned away from you and hair covering his eyes from your view. He will have to listen to you either way, wether he wants to or not. Wether he still cares or not.

“You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

You slump back against the door for support, chest heaving and unharmed hand coming up to cover your face; a desperate and all but pointless attempt to hide the tears and stifle the sobs.

He’s a scientist, an engineer. Solving problems, fixing things, improving lives; it’s what he does. What he thrives in. Yet he doesn’t know how to fix this. So he zeroes in on the one thing he can fix.

“Let me see your hand.”

But you don’t let him. Curl in on yourself and angle your body and injured hand away from him; it makes you seem so much smaller. So vulnerable. So defeated. Good. Maybe if he can drive you away even further then…

“You are… a distraction. A hindrance to my work that I can not tolerate. You do not belong here and it would be better for the both of us if you left and never returned.”

With the mask gone, the mechanical edge to his voice is missing as well, but every word still stings like the cut of a blade.

“So turn around and let me go. You’ll never have to see me again, I promise.”

He knows all too well how seriously you take that; every promise, no matter how small or menial, a solemn oath, never to be broken. He can not let you make this one; every part of himself rebels against the very thought of letting you walk out that damn door, even if it would be the logical thing to do. Drive you further away, he’s not capable of that any longer, who is he trying to fool? Himself, most likely.

Stepping closer he gauges your reaction and when you don’t recoil from him any further, he rests his hands on either side of you and drops his forehead against the old, worn wood above your shoulder.

“I can’t.”

It’s spat through grit teeth, like it physically pains him to admit it. But it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in his voice during all the time you’ve been here.

“I removed every function that wasn’t vital; every memory that was redundant to my work. Affection, jealousy, admiration, anger, joy, sorrow; any emotion that would’ve proven an aberration sooner rather than later. I clawed and prodded and scraped at my own insides until nothing remained and yet you refused to let go.”

Your sobs have reduced to sniffles, your body still beneath him; except for the hand you’ve dropped from your face that he now feels running up his back, titanium fingers gliding over the metal ridges that make up his spine until they settle at the nape of his neck.

“Your face, your laugh, your favorite color, the way you’d look cooking breakfast in the mornings, the way your body would feel against mine; every detail, no matter how minute stayed. Etched into the fissures of my brain, burned into the steel I used to rebuild myself, regardless of how many times I replaced it. Carved into my being, my very soul; I could not remove you any more than I could remove the engine beating as my heart. And I can not go back to how things were before you came here. Before you found me again.”

“Why not? You seemed perfectly happy in your solitude with your work.” Your voice is small, but genuine. And you almost squeak in shock, wind knocked out of you, when his arms come around your middle to hold you tight, almost too tight, flush against him as he buries his face into crook of your neck.

“Because you are in every fraction of skin, in every blood vein that still remains within me. In every bolt, every wire, every piece of metal I welded to myself. I do not… function properly unless I know of your whereabouts. Unless I know you’re safe and cared for. And it was maddening, to surpress it, to ignore it all these years; a clear error constantly rearing its’ ugly head, telling me that I will never get any further in my research, my work, my vision, unless it’s resolved. Constantly running on loop in the back of my head, reminding me that I am incomplete. I need you, you are an essential part of me, right down to my very atoms and it makes me, all of me, no matter what else I might become, yours.”

There’s fresh tears streaming down your face, because he sounds so tired. So desperate. So upset. So painfully human. You find yourself doing the same thing you’ve always done when you’ve had him in your arms, worried and anxious about something; gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and lean your head against his carefully. “Viktor, if you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask. You know that; if you want something all you ever had to do was ask it of me. But I need you to ask me, all right? I need to hear you say it.” He doesn’t answer right away, only draws patterns into the small of your back in thought; a habit of his you remember all too well. This close, you can feel the heat coming off him, generated from the several engines powering him and a barely there hum and whirr of machinery against your chest; a sound that comes in regular intervals, akin to a heartbeat. When he does speak, his voice is weary. Conflicted. Unsure. Scared.

“I am not the man you fell in love with, my heart. Not gentle, nor kind. There is no coming back from the lines I’ve crossed and I don’t— I can not love you the same way I used to. The way you’d deserve. And yet… I want to be selfish.” He pauses for a bitter, ridiculing bark of laughter and shifts in your hold and it’s only then that you realize the skin at the slope of your neck and your collarbone is wet. Shame threatens to choke you when it occurs to you that up until now you didn’t think he still could cry. “I shouldn’t want for anything. Machines do not want or desire or long for things. But… they need all their components to operate as they’re supposed to; to perform at their full potential.” He’s rationalizing it, you know and you’ll be fucking damned if you interrupt him. “And I need you to stay. Here, with me. Then maybe in time you’ll be able to love me as I am now.”

Your chuckle is weak; you’re exhausted physically and emotionally. “What a silly thing to say. That’s assuming I ever stopped loving you in the first place.” It should be impossible, for his embrace to become any tighter, but it does and it’s almost starting to hurt - good, because the pain makes it real.

It’s in the way he buries his face against you further, a noise oh so very similar to a sob escaping him, and how your gaze catches on his mask left discarded on the ground that it finally dawns on you: he’s hiding. From you or from himself, you’re not certain, but you’re not having it any longer. “My love, let me see you.” He doesn’t move; if anything he freezes up. “Please?” You try again and are met with the same result, except for, “You will not like what you find.” Irritation flares up in your chest, manifesting itself in a harsh tug on his hair and, “That’s for me to decide.” It takes him a few very long, agonizing seconds, but eventually, he sighs in defeat and pulls back enough for you to be able to get your first proper look at his face after all these years.

No wonder you managed to break your hand, his jaw and cheeks are all solid, dark, smooth metal, connecting to the column of his throat. Your fingers are moving before you can stop yourself, trailing along his cheek bones where hard steel meets soft, scarred flesh. Still as pale as always, almost deathly so, faint blue veins under his skin now in plain view and the contrast to the two moles you adore all the more prominent. The ever present dark circles under his eyes have evolved into lasting bruises. And oh his eyes. The same beautiful gold you remember, except now they’re rimmed with a thin ring of bright pink, courtesy of the Shimmer you’ve seen in his lab no doubt, bright against the deep, dark, purple-ish black that now makes up his sclera. But dissimilar from your memory as they may be, the look in them is one you recognize: careful, poised for rejection, but the remaining tears betray him. It’s strange, how he can look so utterly different yet so hauntingly the same.

He had imagined this moment plenty of times, but never in his wildest dreams could he have come up with this. Yes, there’s several emotions at once crossing your face when you finally see him, yet none of them negative. It’s genuine, innocent curiosity at first, reflected in the careful fingers that reach out to touch him. And before he has time to fully register your touch against his skin, your expression shifts and it’s nothing but pure, unadulterated admiration and affection. “Still so beautiful. Still all mine.”

Just like that, all the tumult and chaos and noise in the back of his head that hadn’t once stopped in the last few years finally seems to silence and he can actually fucking think in peace again for the first time - and the first thing he thinks to do, the most logical thing to do, really, is to curse under his breath before crashing his lips to yours. It’s needy and filthy and all tongues and teeth, your back making abrupt contact with the door again as he shoves you against it, hands coming up from your waist to cup your face. The gesture is tender and sweet and entirely contrasting to the way he’s kissing you; to what he claims to have become. It’s more than welcome nonetheless, giving you a sense of security you didn’t realize you needed as your intact hand moves away from his hair to cover his. It just so happens to be the one that’s still mostly flesh and blood, warm against your skin, except for a thin, cold sliver of metal you feel that you can’t place at first. You don’t remember seeing any augmentations that would feel like this on his hand before. Curious despite the adoring, addictive haze that’s starting to cloud your mind, fingertips try to make out more detail and you find it in tiny little ridges in the metal sitting specifically on his ringfinger that feel suspiciously like letters. Letters that spell out one word: Unconditional.

Your ring. He’s wearing your ring.

It makes you kiss him harder, wanting him so much closer even though it’s hardly possible. You could stay like this for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ever need for anything else. How unfortunate it is then that one of you both still needs air to fill their lungs to live. How unfortunate that that someone is you; personally you gladly would’ve suffocated against his lips, but he seems to have other plans as he pulls back to let you take some much needed deep breaths, chest heaving while he settles for leaving chaste pecks against the skin of your face.

“Still all yours,” he confirms and you mirror the smile you can hear in his voice. “Now and always.”

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Chapter Ten (End)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Two years have passed since you and Dean finally lay everything out on the table, a lifetime of love and friendship, and it's about time it's made official.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings/tags: Smut (18+) Fluff!! Emotions are high in this one! and a surprise ending...👀

AN: Alright guys! We have officially reached the end of this series! It's been a ride and I'm so grateful for those who stuck around till the end and rode this journey with me! 🥹 It was my first time writing a full series and I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I have! 😭❤️ (gifs not mine, found on google)

P.S. This chapter was originally 3k… 😉

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Dean exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what had to be the hundredth time. The reflection staring back at him felt surreal—like he was looking at someone else. Someone settled. Someone whole.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. If someone had told him two years ago that this was where he’d end up—with you—he’d have called them crazy.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Sam stepped in, already looking dangerously glassy-eyed.

Dean smirked. “You gonna cry, Sammy?”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped forward, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Just… proud of you, man. And happy for you. You deserve this.”

Dean swallowed. He hadn’t expected the weight of the moment to hit quite like this, but suddenly, it did. All those years—the two of you orbiting each other, pushing and pulling, too damn stubborn to admit what was obvious to everyone else. For so long, he’d been afraid to want this, to believe he could have it. But now?

He shook his head, smirking. “Jesus, if you start bawling, we’re gonna have to seat you in the back.”

Sam laughed, shoving him lightly before pulling him into a tight hug. Dean clapped his back, holding onto the moment longer than he’d admit.

Then, the door swung open again, and the rest of his friends poured in—Benny, Cas, Gabe—all wearing varying degrees of smug grins.

"Well, well, well," Gabe drawled. "Look at you, all cleaned up and looking respectable. Never thought I’d see the day."

Dean rolled his eyes, but Benny clapped him on the back. “You ready for this, brother?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

Then, the door opened one last time, and John Winchester stepped in.

The room quieted just slightly—not out of tension, but out of the weight that John always carried with him. His gaze swept over Dean, taking him in.

“How you doin’?” John asked.

Dean let out a breath as he smoothed his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his suit jacket. “Good. A little nervous, but… good.”

John nodded, stepping closer. His sharp hazel eyes softened as he studied his son, and after a beat, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

“You know,” John started, rubbing a hand through his thickening beard, there was more and more grey beginning to run through it now, “I knew she was the one the moment you brought her home.”

Dean huffed a little shocked. He never thought his father paid much attention to his relationships, unless Dean was asking for advise about something. John had always been the kind of father who seemed absent, out of the loop per se but, if you ever needed him, poof he was there.

“Yeah?”

John smirked. “Damn right. You trailed after that girl like a puppy since the moment you met her.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not true.” It was. But Dean wasn’t about to admit that, he had to keep some dignity at least.

John let out a low laugh, glancing toward Sam, who was already grinning. “Oh, it is. Everyone saw it—hell, you’d look for any excuse to be near her. You’d act like it wasn’t a big deal, but soon as she walked in a room, you lit up like a damn Christmas tree.” He chuckled along with the other men in the room, and then added,

“And if she so much as smiled at another boy?” He blew out a breath, like it was the damnest thing. “You’d sulk for hours.”

Benny let out a laugh, and Cas muttered a “it’s true” whilst Sam and Gabe outright cackled.

Dean huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, let’s not turn this into roast-the-groom day.”

John’s smile lingered for a moment before he took a breath, his expression growing more serious. “You know, that’s how it was for me with your mom.”

Dean blinked, straightening slightly at the sudden shift in tone.

John nodded. “She had me wrapped around her little finger before I even knew what hit me. Still does.” His voice softened. “Women like that, they keep you on your toes. They challenge you, make you work for it. But, son, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Nowhere better to be.”

Dean swallowed hard, something thick settling in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever heard his dad talk about his Mom like that—not in a way that was this raw, this honest.

John held his gaze. “You found something rare, Dean. Something worth everything.” He let out a quiet breath. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Dean felt his throat tighten, but before he could find the words to respond, John pulled him into a firm hug.

It caught Dean off guard for half a second, but then he exhaled, sinking into it. His dad wasn’t a man of easy affection—not by a long shot—but when he did something like this, it meant something.

And it warmed Dean straight through.

John clapped his back before stepping away, clearing his throat. “Now, let’s get you married.”

Meanwhile...

You smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress, breathing in deeply as you stood in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at you barely felt real.

The dress was perfect—elegant but effortlessly you. Every delicate detail, every soft fold of fabric. It was another thank you to Jo and her wizardry in dress picking.

Your fingers brushed over the locket resting against your collarbone—the one that had belonged to your mother, the one Dean had returned to you. It was your something old, something borrowed, and as you held it gently, your heart ached with the weight of her absence. But there was comfort in knowing that a part of her was with you today.

Behind you, the room buzzed with excitement as all the ladies in your life gathered.

“Holy shit,” Jo breathed, eyes wide and a little watery as she took you in. 

Charlie joined her, the both of them clinging to each other like proud aunts. 

Jess, ever the romantic, clasped her hands together, beaming. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Mary stepped forward with a warm smile, adjusting your veil with careful hands. Her touch was gentle, but you didn’t miss the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You’re glowing, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion.

She lingered, taking you in with soft eyes. Mary had been like a third mother to you for as long as you could remember—always there with quiet wisdom, unwavering support, and a love that felt just as fierce as if you were her own.

“I’ve watched you grow into this incredible woman,” she continued, blinking back tears. “And I’ve always known—always—that you were meant for my boy. No one else could love him the way you do.” A watery smile pulled at her lips. “And God knows, he needs someone like you.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest.

Mary cupped your cheek, her touch featherlight. “I’m so proud of you. And I know, without a doubt, that you and Dean are going to build something beautiful together.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, squeezing her hand. There was a nervous energy thrumming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the bad kind—it was the kind that came with knowing something life-changing was about to happen.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

Ellen and Bobby stepped inside, and the moment Ellen saw you, she gasped. Her expression softened as she reached for your hands.

"You look beautiful, baby." Her voice wavered just slightly, and when you saw the glisten in her eyes, it nearly broke you.

Ellen Harvelle never cried.

But today, she did.

"You always were a handful," she teased, blinking rapidly as if to stop herself from full-on sobbing. "But damn if I ain’t proud of the woman you’ve become. How grateful I am to be your mother.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to ruin all of Jess’s hard work on your makeup. You squeezed Ellen’s hands. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart.” She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held.

Jess sniffled. "Damn it, you’re making me cry already!”

A collection of watery chuckles rippled through the room as you pulled back, watching Jess and the other women dab at their eyes. But when Bobby stepped forward, the laughter faded, replaced by something heavier.

He looked at you, and for the first time in your life, you saw him struggle for words.

“Ah, kid…” Bobby murmured, voice thick as he took you in. “Your mom… she’d be so damn proud of ya.”

Your throat tightened instantly, tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that morning. You pointed at him warningly. “Nope. Don’t you do that. Do you know how long this took?” You gestured to your face in emphasis.

A chuckle rumbled from Bobby’s chest, but the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. He stepped closer, squeezing your hand.

“I mean it. You’re gonna be the best thing that ever happened to that idjit. Not that he don’t already know it.”

A watery laugh bubbled from your lips. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bobby cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Now, uh… before we go, I just need to make sure you’re sure about this. ‘Cause once you marry into that family, there’s no gettin’ out."

“It’s true.” Mary added with a shrug and a chuckle.

You smirked. "Well, damn. And here I was thinking I could just return him if I changed my mind."

Bobby snorted as everyone else laughed. "You’re stuck with him, sweetheart." He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "But I gotta say… I don’t think he’d ever let you go, even if you tried."

Your heart clenched, warmth spreading through your chest, because you believed so too.

"You ready?"

You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and then—

“More than ever.”

The first notes of Canon in D drifted through the air, soft yet powerful, carrying with them the weight of the moment. The murmur of the guests faded, the world narrowing to the centre aisle where one by one, your loved ones took their places.

Sam stood tall at Dean’s side, ever the loyal brother and best man, while your bridesmaids passed Dean with knowing grins. He barely registered them, too caught up in the pounding of his own heart, in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, in the anticipation buzzing in his veins.

And then—

The doors at the end of the aisle opened.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

There you were.

The world fell away, dissolving into a blur of nothingness. His vision narrowed, locking onto you as you stepped forward, arm looped through Bobby’s. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating you like something out of a dream—his dream. And damn, if he didn’t feel like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

You were stunning, but more than that, you were you. The same girl who had been his best friend for more than a decade, who had driven him crazy and made him laugh harder than anyone. The same woman he had spent late nights with on the couch, teasing and pushing each other, pretending you weren’t falling long before either of you admitted it. You were the one who knew him better than he knew himself, who had stood by him through every fight, every high, every low.

And now, here you were, walking toward him, about to be his forever.

His throat tightened. His chest ached with the sheer force of everything he felt. And it took him a second to realise—damn it, he was actually crying.

Bobby’s grip on your arm was steady, though Dean didn’t miss the way the older man’s fingers clenched just slightly, like he was holding on for one last moment. Bobby had been your rock, your father in every way that mattered, and today, he was giving you away.

When you reached the altar, Bobby turned to Dean, meeting his gaze with the kind of silent understanding only a father figure could give. His eyes softened, but there was steel beneath them—a warning, a promise.

"You take care of her, ya hear me?"

Dean swallowed hard, nodding with confidence as he told him, “always.”

Bobby gave your hand one last squeeze before placing it in Dean’s, stepping back with a small, gruff sniff.

The warmth of your touch sent a shiver up his spine, grounding him, steadying him.

You looked up at him as you stepped up to the alter, eyes shimmering, lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Hi.”

Dean let out a quiet, shaky laugh, shaking his head as he drank you in. “My god, you’re beautiful.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and overwhelming, and as you stared into his eyes. Those same green eyes that had been home for as long as you could remember. You knew, without a doubt, that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Every step that had led you here—every late-night conversation, every argument, every kiss, every stolen moment—had been leading to this.

To forever.

The reception was already in full swing, the room buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, but everything quieted when Gabe stood, a smirk already tugging at his lips as he raised his champagne flute.

"Alright, folks, settle in," he started, flashing a wink at you before glancing at Dean. "Now, I had a whole touching, sentimental speech planned—real tearjerker, would’ve had you all sobbing into your drinks—but then I thought… nah, let’s tell the truth instead."

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd, Dean shaking his head while you rolled your eyes fondly.

"This story? This epic love story? It didn’t start with a grand romantic gesture, or some movie-worthy meet-cute. Nope. It started… with a dream." Gabe let the words settle before arching a brow. "And not in the chase-your-dreams kinda way—though, to be fair, there was some chasing involved."

Laughter rippled through the room, Dean groaning as he dropped his head into his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know what I mean," Gabe continued smugly, clearly enjoying himself. "But let’s be real, this was always inevitable. It was clear as day these two were made for one another, the rest of us were just waiting for them to catch up. And when they finally did? Well, let’s just say… history was made. And, in some small way, I’d like to think I played a part in that. Y’know, a guiding hand. A little nudge. A subtle push toward the right direction."

Dean snorted. "Subtle, my ass."

Gabe ignored him, raising his glass higher. "So, here’s to them—two people who took their sweet time figuring it out, but who got it right in the end. To love, to laughter, and to the two luckiest people in the world."

The room filled with cheers and the clinking of glasses, and you turned to Dean, shaking your head.

"You still sure we shouldn’t have revoked his speech privileges?" you teased, despite the tears in your eyes.

Dean chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he’s an ass, but he’s our ass.” You hummed in agreement and allowed Dean to pull you in for a sweet kiss. 

Gabe clinked his fork against his glass again, clearing his throat dramatically. "Alright, lovebirds, enough of the mushy stuff, before you make us all sick. Let’s get to the part we’ve been waiting for." He shot a wink your way before grinning at Dean.

"Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance!"

Another round of cheers erupted as Gabe lifted his glass in your direction, smirking. "Try not to step on her feet, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stood, but then grinned down at you, taking your hand and guiding you toward the dance floor. Your heart pounded—not from nerves, but from the sheer overwhelming happiness swelling in your chest.

Then, the unmistakable opening chords of Ramble On filled the space.

You blinked, then let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head as you glanced up at him. "Seriously?"

Dean smirked, pulling you in close. "What? You really thought I’d let our song be anything else?"

You melted into him as he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting warm and steady on your waist. The world faded, leaving just the two of you swaying together as Plant’s voice crooned through the speakers.

It was perfect.

From childhood best friends to navigating the tangled mess of emotions that came with your so-called arrangement. The night you finally admitted the truth—that you had always loved him. And whats more, so had he. You’d both been naive idiots thinking you could be anything other than this.

A year later, Dean had proposed.

He had done it under the stars in your father’s scrapyard, the place that had always been special to you as a kid, where you had felt closest to your mom. He had decorated it with fairy lights, roses, the whole nine yards, and when he dropped to one knee, looking at you like you hung the damn stars, you hadn’t even let him finish his speech before tackling him to the ground with your answer.

And now, here you were.

Your matching wedding bands, new but already familiar, warm against your skin.

Your arms around him, your heart pressed to his, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Dean pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, swaying with you in time to the music, his voice low as he murmured, "Took us long enough, huh?"

You smiled, tightening your hold on him. "Yeah," you whispered. "But we got here."

The song carried on, and as the tempo picked up, you felt Dean shift against you. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "You ready to really do this?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled back, a devilish grin spreading across his face just as the beat kicked in. With a playful tug, he spun you out, making you laugh in surprise, and when he pulled you back, he didn’t slow down.

The two of you let loose.

Gone was the slow, tender sway. Instead, Dean twirled you, moving with an effortless ease that made your heart race for an entirely different reason. You chuckled, shaking your head at the fact Ramble on was your first dance song, but damn if it wasn’t so him—so you.

When the lyrics hit, Dean pointed straight at you, his voice loud and clear as he sang along, "I'm goin' 'round the world, I gotta find my girl—"

You didn’t miss a beat. Grinning, you sang right back, "I've been this way ten years to the day—"

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy crackling through the room like wildfire. One by one, your friends and family got swept up in it—feet tapping, hands clapping, laughter spilling from every corner.

Charlie and Jo grabbed each other, twirling dramatically before rocking out to the familiar riffs, their hair flying as they head-banged in sync. Sam was pulled in by Jess, who grinned up at him with that determined look he never could resist.

Even Bobby, usually content to watch from the sidelines, let out a gruff chuckle before grabbing Ellen’s hand, the two of them stepping onto the dance floor like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

And then there was Gabe—fully committing to the moment, arms flailing, air-guitaring like his life depended on it. The sheer ridiculousness had you dissolving into laughter as you twirled in Dean’s arms, breathless, giddy, caught up in the rush of it all.

Your friends and family surrounded you, the circle growing tighter as the song surged on. Twirling, jumping, shouting the lyrics like you were at the best damn concert of your lives. It was wild. Chaotic. Perfect.

And through it all, Dean never let go of you.

No matter how much he moved, how hard he laughed, how off-key he sang, his hand always found yours. Always drew you back to him. Like he was tethered to you, like you were the one thing in the world he’d never lose sight of.

By the time the song came to an end, you were breathless, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. The room blurred around you, a hum of joy and celebration, but all you could see was him.

Dean pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips as he panted slightly from the exertion. His green eyes, bright with mischief and something even deeper, locked onto yours.

“I love you, Mrs. Winchester.”

The way he said it—like he was savouring the words, letting them settle into his very bones—you knew he’d never tire of calling you that. And neither would you.

“And I love you, Mr Winchester.”

Dean’s smile was radiant, warmth and adoration shining in his gaze as he cupped your face, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so soft, so reverent, it stole what little breath you had left. In that moment, with the music fading and the world narrowing to just the two of you, your heart felt impossibly full. Your soul, finally, was whole.

3 weeks later.

The soft sound of waves gently lapping against the shore blended with the distant chirping of tropical birds as the golden morning light seeped through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the plush California king-sized bed.

A gentle breeze drifted in from the open window, carrying the scent of salt and sun-kissed sand, ruffling the gauzy fabric ever so slightly. The silky sheets were cool against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of Dean’s body beside you. With a contented sigh, you burrowed deeper, letting the warmth of the moment settle in your bones.

It had been a whirlwind since your wedding three weeks ago—an intoxicating rush of something long overdue. Of love, laughter and celebration with everyone who mattered most, all of which still echoed in your mind. 

Unfortunately, reality had hit fast afterward, with both of you needing to dive back into work almost immediately, your honeymoon put on hold until the vacation days finally kicked in. But now, you were here. Just you and Dean. Together. Alone in paradise.

And what a paradise it was.

Ten glorious, sun-drenched days in the Maldives, tucked away in your own private villa perched over the crystalline water. The white sand stretched like silk beneath your feet, the ocean a dazzling shade of turquoise that shimmered under the endless blue sky. Every morning felt like something out of a dream, like waking up inside a living postcard.

You’d always imagined a warm, beachy destination for your honeymoon—Hawaii, maybe the Florida Keys. Something close, something simple. But you never expected this. Your parents and Dean’s had banded together, insisting you take your first trip as husband and wife international. A wedding gift so extravagant it had left you both stunned, speechless even.

Of course, you knew why you and Dean had initially opted to keep things local.

Your lips twitched at the memory of the exact moment Dean had opened the gift, his expression shifting from excitement to sheer, unfiltered dread. Because the Maldives didn’t just mean a long flight. No, it also meant taking a seaplane to reach the private island resort.

Looking at him now, utterly at peace, snoring softly beside you, his upper body bronzed from days in the sun, freckles scattered across his golden skin like constellations, it was almost impossible to believe this was the same man who damn near lost his shit on both flights. The contrast was almost comical.

Gone was the stiff, panicked man who had sat ramrod straight in his seat, white-knuckling the armrests like his life depended on it. The man who had hissed “This is a terrible idea” every time the plane so much as dipped slightly. The same man who, when faced with turbulence, had squeezed your hand so hard you were genuinely worried about circulation loss. And when the seaplane landed on the water? He’d practically kissed the ground the moment you stepped onto the dock.

Your heart ached in the best way as you thought back on the past week—warm sand between your toes, the taste of tropical cocktails, the lingering press of Dean’s lips against your sun-drenched skin. Late nights filled with soft laughter and slow kisses, tangled sheets as you celebrated your marriage in the best way possible. 

It had taken you both a long time to get here, to this moment, but damn, were you happy.

Unable to resist, you swam through the sheets, moulding yourself against the familiar warmth of Dean’s body. Your fingers trailed across his chest, tracing over the scattered freckles like your own personal game of connect the dots, mapping out the skin you had come to know so intimately. 

Your touch was light, teasing, before finally settling over the hand resting on his stomach, now adorned with the simple silver wedding band that matched the ring on your own finger. A symbol of forever.

Dean stirred as the soft press of your lips ghosted along his shoulder, trailing kisses up the strong column of his neck. A deep breath shuddered through him, his muscles tensing before melting into your touch. He shifted fully onto his back, blinking his tired eyes open, only to be greeted by the most beautiful sight.

The soft glow of morning light behind you, your hair tousled, your eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief.

That damn smirk of yours.

His lips curled up at the edges, but before he could say anything, you leaned in, continuing your path of lazy, unhurried kisses along his jaw, your mouth warm and soft against his skin. His breath caught when your teeth grazed his pulse point, the sharp contrast sending a thrill straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut again at the feeling, his breath coming quicker. 

But then a thought, albeit fleeting, hit him. Why did this feel so familiar? 

However, his grip tightened instinctively on your waist, heat blooming low in his stomach as you suckled at his skin and he pulled you up, crushing his lips to yours in a slow, searing kiss.

Your tongue caressed his, your touch sending fire through his veins, and then your hand slid down his abdomen—fingertips just barely grazing the hard planes of his abdomen, slipping beneath the sheets with agonising slowness.

And that’s when it hit him. Just like Déjà vu.

The dream. 

This was exactly what he had pictured two years ago. The one thing that had shattered every illusion he had about what you were to him, the moment that had forced him to confront the truth—that he wanted you in ways he had refused to acknowledge before. That you were so much more than just his best friend.

It had led to The Arrangement. The realisation. The confession. Everything between then and now had stemmed from that dream.

And now, here you were. Not some figment of his imagination. You were real, you were his wife. 

And this time, there was no rude awakening. No air horn. No sudden jolt back to reality.

Just you and your fingers curling around his hard length in a teasing grip, that had his breath stalling in his throat.

A dream literally come true. And damn, if this wasn’t a full circle moment. 

“Fuck.” Dean huffed, head falling back against the pillows as your touch grew more purposeful, the whole thing made more intense by this little realisation. You tugged him softly, playfully, the pads of your fingers stroking his heated skin with an almost lazy confidence, and Dean let out a long, shuddering exhale.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groaned, one hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in your hair. “Feels so good, baby.” You hummed in response, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his throat, your pace never faltering as you worked him, watching the way he came undone beneath you.

Dean’s stomach tensed when you suddenly slid lower, a slow, teasing descent, your mischievous gaze locked onto his as you kissed your way down his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body thrumming with anticipation as your lips trailed lower.

“Shit,” he rasped as you reached his lower abdomen, your teeth grazing over the sensitive dip of his hip. His cock twitched in your grip, thick and pulsing with need, and you smiled against his skin, amused at just how wrecked he already was.

“You okay there, handsome?” you teased, your voice warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the absolute sin in your eyes.

Dean let out a strangled chuckle, shaking his head. “You know what you’re doin’.” 

“Mm. Maybe.” Your fingers tightened around him, stroking him once, twice, before your tongue darted out to tease the tip, swiping across the leaking head in one slow, torturous lick.

Dean’s hips bucked on instinct, a wrecked groan spilling from his lips. “Fuck—”

And then, without warning, you took him into your mouth, warm and wet and perfect, and his whole world tilted.

“Shit—baby—” His hand fisted in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your tongue working him in a way that had his jaw clenching and his abs flexing beneath you.

You were relentless, sucking him down with slow, deliberate drags, your eyes locked onto his the entire time, like you wanted to watch him fall apart. And he was—fuck, he was unraveling at the seams, barely holding onto control. 

“You’re too good at this,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their grip in your hair. “So goddamn good. Fuck—gonna make me—”

But before he could lose himself completely, he forced himself to move, a growl ripping from his throat as he reached down and hauled you back up, capturing your mouth in a desperate, heated kiss.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and rough, still breathless. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart.”

And then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you, his lips trailing down your body, kissing, worshiping, taking his time to appreciate every inch of you.

His hands spread across your thighs, parting them, his breath hot against your skin as he settled between them. His mouth found your inner thigh first, teasing, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh just to hear the way your breath hitched.

“Dean,” you whimpered, your hips shifting beneath him.

He smirked, dragging his lips up, and up, until he was right where you needed him. “Relax, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough, filled with promise. “Lemme take my time with you.”

And he did.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, savouring you, his hands gripping your hips as he pinned you down, determined to make you feel everything.

You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair, your back arching off the bed as he worked you open with his mouth—licking, sucking, teasing, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

“Dean—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with hunger, dark with raw need. “Let me hear you.”

And so you did.

You didn’t hold back.

You cried out as two thick fingers slid deep into your dripping cunt, curling just right—hitting that devastatingly perfect spot he had long since memorised, learned by heart just to ruin you over and over again. Your back arched, muscles clenching as he pumped them in and out, each stroke dragging a fresh moan from your lips.

His mouth came away from you, slick with your arousal, his focus now solely on his hand as he fucked you with his fingers, determined, relentless. His wrist flexed, his pace quickening, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your thighs trembled violently, your body caught between the unbearable pleasure and the overwhelming pressure coiling deep in your core, rising fast, too fast.

“I know, baby,” Dean groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh, holding you wide open as you writhed, instinctively trying to fight what you knew was coming. “Don’t run from it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The raw command in his voice shattered you.

With a strangled cry of his name, your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot, electric, tearing through every nerve in your body. Your release poured out of you, soaking his arm, drenching the sheets beneath you. The sheer force of it left you shaking, gasping, completely wrecked beneath him.

And Dean all but growled.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, dragging his fingers from your pulsing cunt, watching in fascination as your slick dripped down his wrist. He lifted them to his mouth, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he sucked them clean, groaning at the taste.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something darker, something purely possessive. “Every time… I swear, it just gets better.”

Heat flushed through you, but the shame that once crept in at moments like this was gone.

Dean had stripped it from you, erased it with every moan, every praise, every time he worshipped the way your body responded to him. He loved this. Loved dragging you over the edge so hard, so deep, that you couldn’t hold back. Loved watching you come apart, seeing the proof of how fucking good he made you feel.

And fuck, did he make you feel good.

You swallowed, watching as he smirked, his hand gliding up your trembling thigh, rubbing soothing circles as he took in the mess between your legs like the goddamn masterpiece it was.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, trailing his fingers through your slick folds, groaning at how sensitive you still were. His cock twitched from where it was trapped against the mattress. “And already dripping for more.”

You bit your lip, eyes half-lidded with need, your body still molten, still buzzing, but the hunger in his gaze sent another sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

“C’mere,” you murmured, crooking a finger at him, and Dean obeyed instantly, moving up your body with a predatory grace until he was caging you beneath him, his forearms bracketing either side of your head.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him down for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, desperate and messy. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, the way he devoured you without shame. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, tugging him closer, needing him now.

Dean chuckled against your lips, low and husky, cocky as ever, but fuck, he loved you like this—needy, impatient, desperate for him. He rolled his hips, his thick cock gliding through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick, teasing you both with the friction.

“Dean,” you whined, your nails biting into the firm muscles of his back.

He groaned, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. “Goddamn, baby—”

You whimpered as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, your whole body arching, pulsing, silently pleading.

“Baby, please,” you breathed into his ear, your voice drenched in pure want.

And fuck—Dean couldn’t deny you anything when you begged like that.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he tilted his hips and pushed in, inch by glorious inch, stretching you open, filling you to the brim.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt in your tight, throbbing heat. His forearms trembled where they held him up, his jaw clenched as he fought for control, fought against the primal urge to pound into you, to take you the way he needed to.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re perfect.”

You gasped, your walls fluttering around him, nails dragging down his back, your body begging for more.

“Fuck me, baby,” you pleaded. “Please—”

And with that, he was gone.

All restraint shattered.

Dean fucked you, deep and unrelenting, hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that had you keening, moaning, gasping his name like a prayer. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your stomach, palming your breasts, fingers finding your throat, owning you.

He growled against your lips, biting at your bottom one as he pulled back, eyes dark, feral. “This what you needed, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t even form words, just nodded frantically, lost in him, in the overwhelming pleasure he wrung from your body with every deep, punishing thrust.

“Goddamn, you’re so good for me,” he groaned, voice wrecked, his pace growing erratic as he felt you tightening around him, pulling him deeper. “Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna soak my cock this time?”

You sobbed, your entire body trembling, on the edge of bliss so sharp it made you ache.

Dean reached between you, his fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles.

That was it.

That was fucking it.

Your climax crashed over you, stealing every last bit of breath from your lungs, and you screamed his name as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him like a vice, milking him for everything he had.

Dean groaned, long and deep, his hips stuttering, his body locking up as he spilled into you, filling you with everything he had, holding you tight, panting against your sweat-slicked skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together, bodies trembling, completely spent.

Dean finally let out a slow, satisfied breath, brushing damp hair from your forehead as he kissed you, slow and deep, nothing but pure devotion in the way his lips moved against yours. 

“God, I love you,” he murmured between kisses, voice hushed and reverent, as if the words themselves weren’t enough to contain the depth of what he felt.

Your heart fluttered, as it always did when he uttered those three words, and your arms around his neck tightened, holding him closer.

“I love you too,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. His green eyes softened as he leaned into your touch, letting out a contented sigh before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to your palm.

And then a quiet huff left his lips as he dropped his head onto your chest, the weight of him grounding you, comforting in a way you could never quite put into words. Without a second thought, your fingers drifted into his sweat-slicked hair, combing through the damp strands, soothing him as exhaustion slowly pulled you both under.

“I can’t believe this will be our last night here,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep.

You hummed in agreement, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. This place, this little bubble you’d created together, had felt like a dream—one you weren’t quite ready to wake up from.

“Maybe we should just move here,” you murmured playfully, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Quit our jobs and stay forever.”

Dean let out a lazy chuckle, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t tempt me.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling him snuggle closer, his breathing deep and even. Within moments, sleep, once again, claimed you both. 

A couple of hours later, the sharp grumble of your stomachs had dragged you both from your unplanned nap. The two of you groggily peeled yourselves from the tangle of sheets, reluctantly leaving the comfort of your bed to shower and dress. 

The day passed in a slow, blissful haze—lounging on the terrace, nibbling on fresh fruit and pastries, talking about home, about work, about everything and nothing at all.

As the evening approached, you had one last dinner reservation at the resort’s restaurant. Dean opted for a quick dip in your private pool while you got ready, the sound of water rippling as you slipped into a white, flowy sundress, the light fabric brushing against your ankles. You left your hair down, the soft waves cascading naturally over your shoulders—just the way Dean liked it. A touch of mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and you were ready.

“You look beautiful,” Dean’s voice was thick with appreciation as he appeared behind you in the mirror, his reflection stunning—his hair damp, torso bare and glistening with droplets.

You bit your lip, heat pooling in your stomach as he trailed his fingers over your exposed shoulder. Respectfully, he refrained from pulling you flush against him—knowing he’d soak your dress—but he still pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your skin.

Dean winked before stepping back, and with zero shame, dropped his shorts, giving you a perfect view of his delectable peach of an ass. He caught you staring as he looked over his shoulder, and with a cheeky grin gave his own firm cheek a light smack before stepping to the shower.

You were still giggling and shaking your head as you slipped on your sandals.

The restaurant was breathtaking—an open-air dining space set against the endless stretch of ocean, the sky painted in fiery hues of orange and pink as the sun melted into the horizon. Soft lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables adorned with crisp white linens and delicate floral arrangements.

The scent of salt and grilled seafood hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of waves rolling onto the shore and light spoken conversations from the other guests.

Dean pulled out your chair for you before settling into his own across from you, already reaching for the menu with a familiar furrow of his brows.

“You know, we’ve been here all week, and I still don’t know what half this stuff is.” He let out a huff, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The two of you had tried different restaurants around the island, and while the menus varied, the dishes always seemed to push him slightly outside his comfort zone.

You giggled, shaking your head before deciding to take pity on him. “How about the steak?” You leaned over, tapping the menu where the 8oz fillet with sautéed potatoes was listed. “It’s about as close to a burger and fries as you’re gonna get.”

Dean followed your finger, eyes scanning the description with renewed interest before nodding. “Alright, yeah. I can work with that.” He flagged down the waiter, ordering you both a beer along with his steak, while you opted for grilled salmon with fragrant coconut rice.

When the food arrived, Dean eyed his plate warily, poking at the steak as if it might bite back. Clearly not used to the meat un-minced and patty-like. He cut into it, taking a tentative bite, chewing slowly as he mulled over the flavours.

“Well?” you prompted, watching him closely, lips twitching.

Dean let out a low hum of consideration. “It’s… not bad.”

You let out a laugh. “That’s practically a glowing review from you.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “Hey, I like what I like.”

Still, he indulged in the experience, even letting you feed him bites from your own plate after some playful coaxing. He’d grumble about it, but the way his eyes flickered with enjoyment every time he took a bite of your dish didn’t go unnoticed.

The night carried on in soft conversation and easy laughter, the warm glow of the lanterns reflecting in his eyes. And through it all, his gaze never strayed far from you—watching, adoring, committing this last night to memory.

Back in your villa, the island's natural warmth was thick in your hut with the scent of salt and jasmine as you pushed open the patio doors. Behind you, a familiar melody drifted through the space—the soft, unmistakable chords of Your Song filling the air as Dean messed with the vinyl player. The resort seemed to be a big fan of Elton, you'd noticed.

You smiled at the song choice, turning just as he held out a hand, a boyish grin tugging at his lips.

“Dance with me?”

Your heart melted, and without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you close. His hands settled at your waist, yours looping around his neck, and he swayed you both to the slow rhythm. His chin rested atop your head, his fingers tracing lazy, absent patterns along the small of your back.

The gentle hum of Elton John’s voice wrapped around you both, the moment steeped in quiet affection.

“I hope you don’t mind, that I put down into words…” Dean sang along to the chorus, his voice soft and deep, trailing off as he smiled down at you.

“How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he finished, his gaze holding yours, warm and full of something that made your chest ache.

Just as you rose on your tiptoes, he wasted no time meeting you halfway, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deep. The warmth of his body, the press of his hands against you, the way he kissed you—it all built into something deeper, something more desperate.

But then—

A sharp pang shot through your stomach.

You froze, your breath hitching. Then, it twisted, turned, and a wave of nausea slammed into you so suddenly, you barely had time to shove Dean back before sprinting to the bathroom.

“Shit—sweetheart?”

Dean was at your side in an instant, gathering your hair as you lurched over the toilet, emptying your stomach. His warm hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice laced with concern.

“Do you think it was the food?” he asked, frowning.

You let out a weak breath, wiping your mouth. “Maybe,” you murmured, though doubt crept in. If it was the food, wouldn’t Dean be sick too? He had shared bites of your meal, after all. However, another wave of nausea hit you and had you hugging the toilet bowl once more. 

You spent the rest of the night curled on the cool tile floor, Dean refusing to leave your side. He wiped your clammy forehead, whispered reassurances, cradled you against him when you finally had nothing left to give.

By the time the early morning light filtered through the windows, you were drained, barely able to crawl into bed.

When you woke a few hours later, your body was still heavy with fatigue, your stomach uneasy, but you managed to push through, packing sluggishly as Dean went to check out.

You were in the bathroom, collecting your toiletries, when your gaze landed on something that made your breath hitch.

Your box of tampons.

Unopened.

A strange, uneasy feeling settled in your chest as you stared at it. Slowly, you did the math in your head, counting back the days, trying to recall the last time you’d needed them.

Two weeks late.

Your stomach flipped—not from nausea this time, but from something far more terrifying.

No. No, it was impossible.

You were on the pill. You took it religiously.

But they aren’t always foolproof, your annoying voice of reason argued.

A sharp breath left you as you stared at the box, heart hammering in your chest. However, a thought hit you. You remembered finding it on your first night here. 

Rummaging through your toiletry bag, you exhaled in relief when your fingers brushed against it. A pregnancy test. One Charlie had slipped in as a joke—a homage to her annual Twilight binge—thinking she was hilarious. And right now? You were thanking her ridiculous sense of humour.

“Right. You’re just being irrational,” you whispered, trying to calm yourself. “You just ate something bad and your body rejected it. It’ll be negative and you’ll feel real stupid for freaking out over nothing.”

Your fingers fumbled with the packaging as you ripped it open, barely noticing the way your hands shook. Luckily, you needed to pee anyway, and with a deep, steadying breath, you settled onto the toilet, slipping the stick between your legs.

When Dean returned, the sight of your half-packed suitcase made his stomach tighten. You weren’t in the main room where he’d left you.

Had you gotten sick again?

The thought unsettled him. He’d spent the entire walk back hoping last night had been a fluke—that you wouldn’t suddenly take a turn for the worse, forcing him to figure out where the hell the nearest hospital was on this island.

You looked better this morning. Tired and a little pale, but no vomiting. No fever. That had been enough to ease his nerves—until now.

Then, he saw the bathroom door slightly ajar.

Quietly, he stepped forward, pushing it open. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head down, shoulders tense.

“Hey, is everything o—” His words died in his throat when his gaze landed on the object grasped tightly in your hands. A little white stick.

His heart spiked.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, eyes wide and alarmed, not easing his nerves at all. 

“Dean,” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

AN: Now... I have a confession. I had originally ended this at the wedding, but inspiration struck. And maybe stubbornness to finish up with these two. So the honeymoon was added and thus the premise to... *drum roll*... The Predicament. A sequel series that will follow Dean and the reader becoming parents. That's right! This isn't the last of this pair. 🤪 Also want thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me throughout this series! I hope you're all excited for another adventure with these two! 💙

Dean Winchester/Series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

[420days]

BIRTHDAY SEX | ROMAN REIGNS

Summary: the title says it all tbh…

Warnings: Smutttt

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Monae ! Happy birthday to you!” The waiters sung as Monae smiled across the table at her husband of seven years.

All weekend he’s done nothing but spoil her. Whether it be a brand new Chanel purse, a soothing massage, or the brand new black body KIA K5 with the red interior she’s been yearning for.

They were now seated in one of the best seafood restaurants in Chile enjoying each others company.

“Thank you guys.” She smiled as she saved the video to her phone and looked at the chocolate dessert in front of her.

“You must want me to cry again.”

“Never that love. I just have to show you how much I love you. With all you do for me and the kids. Holding the house down when I’m on the road and treating me like a king all the time. I gotta do the same for my queen.” He looked her in her eyes meaning every word.

When he meet Monae nine years ago he had no idea he was going to fall for her so fast. She was everything he wanted in a woman from her looks to her personality. He knew instantly he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her bad here they were nine years later, married with four kids.

“You’re so sweet. I love you.” She leaned over the table to place a kiss on his lips which he returned.

“I can’t believe I’m thirty three. We’re getting old babe. You’re all gray and everything.” She joked making him shake his head.

She absolutely loved the gray in his beard. It was something about it that made him look extra sexy and she couldn’t get enough of it. Joe on the other hand preferred to dye it and prevent himself from looking older.

“That’s cause you love this shit. I keep it like this for you.” He told her and she bite her lip in response.

“It adds to your sexiness.” She gripped his chin and leaned over the table so their faces were close together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmh.” She nodded her head, never breaking eye contact with him. It was no lie the drinks were getting to her and once it was in her system it made her feel some type of way.

“Finish your dessert.” He mumbled already knowing what type of time she was on. He knew exactly how they got when they both had liquor in their systems.

The sexual tension was high as she finished her dessert, savoring each scoop of vanilla ice cream as she licked it off the spoon.

When she finished Joe payed the bill and waited for the driver to bring them to the hotel. In the car they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Joe gripped his wife’s behind caressing it in his large hand as she smiled up at him with lust in her eyes, stealing kisses from him every now and then.

From the time they stepped foot in their luxury hotel suite it was on. Joe instantly stripped her of her dressed and pulled her thong to the side. Hoisting her into the he pinned her against the wall and immediately went to work.

“Mmh, fuck.” She moaned as his warm mouth attached to her vagina and began eating her out.

“You like that? Daddy’s making you feel good?” He spoke against her allowing all the vibrations to run through her body.

“Yes, you’re making me feel so good. Keep going, just like that.” She moaned into his ear, giving him the reassurance he needed.

It didn’t take long for her to cum all over his tongue and he savored every drop of it. His licking and slurping made her wetter by the second.

“Fuckkk— I love you.” She managed to get out as he slipped inside of her began pounding her up and down on his dick. He knew his wife’s body like the back of his hand and loved being in control of it. She was submissive to him because he deserved it. He could do whatever he wanted with her body because she trusted him that much.

“I love you too baby. Look at you wetting me up.” He created space between them, allowing her to look down and see her fluids that coated his dick.

“Hmm, you feel so good. I promise you’re the only one who makes me feel way.” She moaned.

“That’s how it better be. I’d hate to have to show you that I don’t play about you.” He gripped her neck and stuck his tongue in her mouth. The two of them fought for dominance as Monae came to her climax.

“I’m gonna cum baby.” She told him as she sunk her nails into his shoulder bracing herself.

“Go ahead, I got you.”

That was all she need to hear befor she released her fluids all over him and tried to catch her breath.

“Damn baby, don’t do that.” He hissed as she squeezed around him, releasing as much as she could.

“I can’t help it. She loves you too damn much.” She whispered against his lips making him smile as he carried her out to the balcony.

“Bend over.” He told her and immediately she did. She didn’t care that they were eight floors up and her head was spinning. She knew her man had her.

“Always so fucking wet.” He lined up with her opening before slamming inside of her, gripping her waist to hold her in place.

“Babe, hold on.” She held her hand out trying to adjust to him. You’d think after nine years she’d be used to him but the experience was different every time.

“Nah, don’t do that. You can handle it baby. I know you can.” He spoke softly as he grabbed her hand and used it as leverage to pound in and out of her.

“Mmmh, right there.” She moaned while arching her back, throwing it back on him just the way he liked it. She rested her face on the banister of the balcony and took all that he was giving her. In the nine years they’ve been tightest this was definitely one of the best birthdays she ever had.

“Babe.” She called out feeing her legs go numb but he already knew what time it was. He let go of her hand and used his strong arm to hold her body up a she pleasured her. He was so close to cumming and knew she was too.

“Shhh, I got you. You about to cum baby?” He asked as he gripped her hair and pulled her body closer to his. All Monae could do was nodded her head as tears rolled down her face. Her body was going into overdrive for this man and she loved every second of it.

“Mmhmm.” She nodded her head.

“Go ahead, I got you.” His words were like music to her ears because instantly she released all over him and he followed suit emptying all he could inside of her.

“Oh my god.” She breathed out as he held her body and moved her way from the balcony, lifting her into his arms so he could carry her back to the bedroom.

“Happy birthday baby.” He kisses her lips.

[venusswhite]

A Thousand Years | Arcane Vi x Fem Leitora (Part. 1)

After losing everything, [Name] tries to rebuild her life. But what happens when a ghost with pink hair returns?

notes: English is not my first language, and I initially wrote this fanfic in Portuguese. With the help of online resources, I rewrote it in English.

Part. 2

“I will love you ’til the end of time” - Lana Del Rey

You were living with your parents when the war began. Your family lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city. Your mother sold trinkets, and your father repaired them. It was a simple, hard life, but it was a happy one.

Until that day…

It was nighttime when screams and gunshots were heard. The Enforcers were committing genocide in Zaun. You woke up startled, feeling your father lifting you from your makeshift bed on the floor, followed by your mother covering you with a cloth that went over your head.

Everything happened so fast. One moment, you were in your father’s arms amidst the chaos. The next, you heard gunshots too close for comfort and your father shouting:

“Darling!” — a term of endearment he used for your mother.

Curious and worried, you lifted the cloth covering your head, a decision you would regret for the rest of your life. You saw your mother, bleeding, beside your father, who was crying uncontrollably as he tried to stop the bleeding. She was struggling to breathe, each breath coming with more difficulty.

“Come on, Darling! Get up! We can’t give up now!” your father yelled, holding you in one arm while trying to lift your mother with the other.

“Dad?” you called out, crying and scared, noticing more Enforcers approaching.

Your father turned and, upon seeing them, threw himself to the ground to shield you. More gunshots rang out, and you felt a hot liquid hit your skin, followed by a burning pain in one of your arms. Then, everything went dark…

“Eyes on me!” I woke up dazed, seeing a tall, bearded man in front of me holding a blue-haired girl who didn’t seem much older than me.

“It hurts…” I complained, feeling something warm pressing against my arm. When I looked, I saw a pink-haired girl with a sorrowful expression wrapping a piece of cloth around my bleeding arm.

“Can you stand?” the man holding the child asked.

“I think… I can.” I stood up with help from the pink-haired girl.

“We need to move. There’s no time.”

“What’s going on? Where are my parents?”

The man sighed, his gaze saying more than his words:

“I’m sorry, child. I’ll take care of you, alright? Just trust me.”

He then held the older girl’s hand, and she extended her free hand toward me. Reluctantly, I took the pink-haired girl’s hand.

We walked for hours. Along the way, we encountered two boys: one taller and stocky, the other thin. Their expressions mirrored everyone else’s: sad, uncertain, and fearful.

The blue-haired girl was now awake, tear trails marking her dust-covered face. The pink-haired girl tried to stay strong, but fear was evident in her eyes. The two boys looked around in utter desperation.

After hours of walking, we arrived at a warehouse hidden behind a bar.

“Come here,” the man called, making me sit beside him. He removed the makeshift bandage from my wound, which was caked with dried blood and had an irregular hole.

“This will hurt a bit…” he warned, picking up a pair of tweezers.

The bullet was lodged in the wound. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to muffle my screams in my old coat. The other children watched in shock and sympathy.

“All done. Now keep the wound covered, alright?” he asked with a slight smile, and I nodded.

“I’m so sorry this happened to all of you. My name is Vander…”

One by one, everyone introduced themselves:

“[Name]”

“Claggor”

“Mylo”

“Violet… and this is my sister, Powder,” the pink-haired girl added, looking at her sister, who was clinging to her with trembling fear.

“Alright. I’ll get you water and food. Take care of each other. I’ll be back soon,” he said, leaving.

Silence filled the room. Vi and Powder sat on one of the beds, while Mylo and Claggor sat on another.

“Can I sit here?” I asked, approaching the two sisters.

“Sure,” Vi replied.

“How’s your arm?”

“It hurts a little, but it’ll pass. Do you think that man is really trustworthy?”

“I don’t know, but he’s our only hope.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

The rest of the time was spent in silence. Shock and fear still held everyone captive.

After some time, Vander returned with food and water for everyone.

“I also brought clean clothes and blankets.”

After eating, I went behind a curtain Vander had set up for us to change. I removed my bloodstained clothes and cleaned myself with a damp cloth, returning to an improvised bed beside a bunk where the sisters were already lying.

Despite my sadness and fear, sleep soon overcame me.

Years passed. The new life was hard, but gradually, everyone adjusted. At first, nightmares plagued us all, and it was normal to wake up in the middle of the night to someone screaming and crying. But Vander was always there to protect us.

He taught us everything we knew about Zaun, Piltover, and the monsters who had killed innocents.

Over time, the five of us grew very close and became inseparable. Though disagreements occasionally arose, we always protected each other — whether from others when trouble found us or from Vander when we got into mischief and knew he’d scold us.

In recent months, I began to experience something I had never felt before. I didn’t know what to call it, but I always felt it when Vi was near me. It was a warm sensation in my chest, as if nothing else mattered except her.

Confused, I decided to talk to the person I trusted most and who always helped me: Vander.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked, sitting on a chair in Vander’s bar.

“Of course, [Name],” he said, sitting beside me.

“Have you ever… liked someone?” I asked, unable to meet his eyes.

“Liked in what sense?” he asked suspiciously.

“Romantically, you know?” I glanced at him, seeing a small smile forming on his lips.

“Ah, of course I have. I lost her the night I found you all.”

“I’m sorry, Vander. I shouldn’t have asked. I really am.”

“It’s alright! Why are you asking about this?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I wanted to know what you feel when you like someone,” I finally admitted, nervously wringing my hands.

“Well… you feel like you always want to be with the person, to keep them safe and well. You might feel shy around them, want to spend the rest of your life with them. You feel many different things, [Name]. It’s not the same as liking a friend or family member. It’s a stronger, more intense feeling.”

“I see,” I replied thoughtfully. “And can a woman feel that way about another woman?”

“Ah, yes, of course. There are no rules for love, [Name]. Love is love, no matter what. But why are you suddenly asking all this?”

“It’s nothing! Just curiosity,” I quickly replied, avoiding the subject.

Before Vander could respond, Powder came running in:

“Vander, Vi won’t give me her candy!” the blue-haired girl said, hiding behind the man.

“That’s mine. You already ate yours,” I heard a familiar voice behind me, and instantly my heart raced and a strange feeling arose in my stomach.

“Powder, give it back to your sister. I saw you eating yours,” Vander said.

“That’s not fair,” the younger girl muttered, sulking as she handed the candy back to her sister.

Vi then sat beside me at the table, eating her candy.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I quickly replied, throwing a pleading look at the older man not to say anything, making him laugh.

“Me and Mylo are having a dart-throwing competition. Want to join?” she asked, looking at me.

“Sure! Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and walked off, disappearing through the door behind the counter.

“It’s about Vi, isn’t it?” Vander asked quietly after she left.

“What? Was it that obvious?” I asked, worried.

“No, relax! I just know my kids,” he chuckled.

“This feeling is so strange, but it’s good at the same time. It’s so confusing, Vander.”

“You’re still young, [Name]. You don’t have to figure out what you feel right now. There’s plenty of time for you two to explore these feelings. Take it slow, explore them…”

“I will. Thanks for listening, Dad.”

“Anytime, [Name],” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Now you’d better go before Vi comes back and drags you there.”

As soon as Vander finished speaking, Vi appeared, calling for me. I got up, hugged him, and walked toward her.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked curiously.

“Nothing important,” I replied, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment, afraid she might find out.

She looked at me suspiciously but didn’t insist.

We arrived in the room where Mylo, Claggor, and Powder were, and soon the competition began. The dispute became intense between Vi and Mylo, both throwing the darts with force, their eyes locked on the target, determined to beat each other.

In the end, Vi won by just two points. Powder and I shouted, running to the pink-haired girl in celebration. She high-fived Powder, still cheering enthusiastically, and then picked me up, spinning and jumping around.

As she spun me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her face—her almost gray-blue eyes, her pink hair slicked back, the small freckles on her face… Everything about her fascinated me. Everything about her caught my attention and awakened an irresistible desire to never stop admiring her.

Maybe… maybe I was starting to like her.

Hey, everyone! I hate using “y/n,” so I’m going with [Name] instead. When Vander talked about the woman he loved, I imagined it being Vi and Powder’s mom 😭, but feel free to picture someone else if you’d like. Anyway, that’s it. Let me know if you spot any typos! Kisses!

[lale-txt]

˚₊·͟͟͞͞➳❥ +18 ; dilf!bokuto ; f!reader

retired pro-athlete bokuto kōtarō felt never more at ease in his life than he does now. he still gets up early for his morning run (much to your chagrin) but always returns with a sweet treat from the bakery down the road (much to your delight) and comes crawling back to bed with you after his shower, hair still damp and stubble scratching against your skin when he trails kisses from your jaw down to your neck. in all these years he hasn't lost an ounce of his energy and stamina, and while his body changed–a softer tum, grew a beard, less bruised hands–his adoration for you stayed the same, unwavering and steady.

bokuto doesn't ask for much in life. he's content with holding you, your back nestled against his front, big arms enveloping you from behind, the rhythmic pulsing of your cunt around his softening cock, the sheets a damn mess. you're so warm, dripping for me, baby. so perfect for me. the calloused pads of his fingers drawing lazy circles around your clit, making you squirm and whine so sweetly first thing in the morning. you are his favorite morning workout and he’s more than happy to oblige when you haven’t quite gotten your fill yet, flipping you over so you’re straddling his thick thighs, a low ‘ride me’ murmured against the shell of your ear. 

to think that you were akaashi’s editor once; your first big girl job, so eager and full of life, always on his heel about meeting deadlines–only to call bokuto sobbing when akaashi locked you out or decided to delete half of the manuscript of his book without consulting you first. bokuto handled it. bokuto took care of everything. bokuto was there, he showed up when you needed a shoulder to cry on (and later a tongue to cum on) and always found the right words to put the sun back on your horizon. 

at first you only had bokuto on speed dial for when you needed a pep talk to pick up your confidence again; he was good at that–reminding you of what you’re capable of, having trust in you when you forgot how to, being the reassuring big hand between your shoulder blades. then, some time later, he talked you through your messy pillow humping sessions at the other end of the line, patiently waiting till your mewls and heavy breaths faded into soft snores and then staying up some more while you were sound asleep. eventually he got you a burner phone, one where he’d text you the address of whatever hotel he was staying at while on the road with his team, always a hot bath and room service ready for you when you arrived. it was a miracle when your feet even touched the ground really, from the way he picked you up at the threshold and carried you from one flat surface to another, preferably with your legs around his waist and his cock throbbing inside of you.

it was impossible not to fall for bokuto; not when he kisses you with his hands cupping your face as if he’s holding his entire world, or when the constellation of stars in his eyes carries your name, or when he murmurs your name like it’s a spell he’s under. whether your thighs are suffocating him while he eats you out like a man starved or fucks you against the hotel room window at the top floor–there’s no doubt his love runs deep, deep, deeper than his cock hitting the back of your throat, molding you like molasses. 

you are his to protect, his to keep, his to adore. his.

[andiberzatto]

Tomorrow, You’ll Break My Heart (Angst! Frank x Reader)

SUMMARY: Frank and you broke up years ago. Frank shows up on her bed one night after she comes home from work because he found out she got engaged. He wanted to see for himself, even if it hurt. (Frank being sentimental and angsty, based off of “Someone Else and Jesus” by Ricky Manning)

“hey doll, sorry to drop in unannounced…I just missed you so much” frank says softly looking at her with his infamous sad puppy dog eyes. Frank doesn’t even do it intentionally, it’s just how he looks when he’s feeling vulnerable and emotional.

he takes in the sight of her standing there, looking exhausted but still as beautiful as ever. His heart aches at the sight of the engagement ring on her finger, a constant reminder of what he's lost.

she walks over to the bed, “you’re really here…” it feels like a sick dream.

he stands up and walks over to her, pulling her into a hug. “fuck, I missed you so much. I'm so sorry for breaking up with you. It was a stupid mistake.” he buries his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. “you still smell the same...” he mumbles mostly to himself.

she nods “you look different…” she takes a look at his longer hair with small curls that fall more by his face and his full beard. Most gruff than the clean shaven marine he was when he left.

he pulls back slightly, running a hand through his longer hair. “you like it? I grew it out.” He looks at her, his brown eyes searching her face for any reaction. He's changed his appearance, trying to move on, but seeing her again makes him want her approval.

He sees the nod and takes it as a sign that she doesn't hate it. He sits back down on her bed, patting the spot next to him. “sit with me?” he asks, his voice low and hesitant.

“Why are you here… why now?”

"Because hearing you're engaged fucking broke me, Doll." He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, looking down at his hands. "I went back to therapy. Started dealing with my shit. Realized I let the best thing in my life just... slide through my fingers."

He grumbles audibly at the frown that swallows your lovely face,"Don't give me that face. I deserve it." He turns to face her fully, his knee brushing against hers. "I ghosted you. Threw away six months of perfect, and I'm here because... fuck." He touches her ring finger again. "Tell me you're happy."

her bottom lip pokes out. She doesn’t ever want to hurt Frank. She was happy but now she’s conflicted.

"Fuck, Angel." He takes her hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I can see it in your eyes. You're conflicted." His heart is racing, hoping he's not too late. "Tell me to leave and I will."

she starts to tear up, “he’s a good guy.. he’s a really sweet guy”

Seeing her tear up, Frank's heart shatters. "No, no, no." He pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he rocks her back and forth. "Please don't cry, Angel. I can't take it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

she sighs “I’m sorry Frankie I didn’t mean to cry…”

"It's fine, Doll." He pulls back slightly, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "You're engaged. You're happy. You meet 'a really sweet guy'. Where the hell am I?" He laughs softly, but it's forced. He's jealous.

she smiles softly “my first love.. my everything?”

His breath catches in his throat at those words. The exact words he once told her about himself. "Then why are you crying over me being here?" He cups her face gently, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Are you engaged because he treats you right... or because you miss me?"

“I said yes because I didn’t think you’d ever come back for me” she says it soft and slow.

"So you settled?" He swallows hard, his jaw clenching. "You settled for a'really sweet guy' because you thought I was gone for good?" He searches her eyes intensely, looking for any sign that she still has feelings for him.

“I guess in a way I settled but I made sure he wasn’t a dickhead” she admits softly, no one could be frank. Frank is a unique person to love…

"He makes you laugh?" He asks softly, his voice laced with jealousy. "He holds you at night? He knows your favorite movie? He remembers your favorite ice cream?" He's torturing himself, but he needs to know.

she nods “he even takes me to Tony’s on water street. He did it of his own accord..”

His stomach churns at the thought of another man taking her to their favorite spot, the place where he first kissed her, where they had their first date. "He knows you like the chicken parm there?" He asks through gritted teeth, trying to keep his anger in check.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to keep the jealousy from consuming him entirely. "He's probably a great guy. Probably treats you right." His voice catches slightly. "Probably tells you you're beautiful every damn day." He looks away for a moment, fighting back more emotions.

she nods “you showed up to see for yourself?”

"I had to know." He looks back at her, his eyes searching her face. "I had to see for myself that you're really happy. That you're really in love." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "But now that I'm here, I can't just leave."

“No one can ever replace you in my heart. To love me they get to learn you in the process” she says it so matter of factly. Like it’s her golden rule.

His eyes widen slightly as he hears those words, feeling a glimmer of hope. "You mean he knows about... us?" He asks, leaning in closer. "He knows that I was your first love? Your everything?" He uses her own words against her, needing to know more.

“Of course” she says it so easily.

"And... he's okay with that?" He asks softly, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. "With replacing the man you were originally in love with? With being compared to me every damn day?" He searches her eyes, hoping for any sign that she still loves him.

“He and I have had long tough conversations about you and what you mean to me” which isn’t a lie. You needed your current relationships to always know they’re a special part of you that burrows away holding onto the memories of Frank.

Frank nods slowly, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he imagines those conversations. "So he knows. Really knows what I meant to you." He takes a trembling breath, realizing the weight of that knowledge. "And still, he chose to love you anyway."

“Yes. He knows every part of me was shaped by you. And for that he thanks you for.” Another thing that was true. Frank is the reason you wear your hair up more, you were self conscious of your ears so every time you wore your hair up Frank would kiss just behind your ear and murmur how beautiful you looked. He’s the reason you sing in the car at red lights with the windows down, Frank told you to not give a fuck what anyone thinks as long as it’s not hurting anyone. What’s the shame in blasting Lizzy McAlpine and screaming along at a red light? Helps the time go by.

Frank's heart aches at her words, feeling a pang of regret and longing. "He thanks me for shaping you?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "For making you the person he loves?" He looks away, his eyes welling up with tears he refuses to let fall.

He chokes back a sob, his heart feeling like it's being torn apart. "And... you're happy with him? Really happy?" He asks, his voice shaking with emotion. "He makes you laugh the way I used to? He holds you the way I used to?"

she moves to hold him “Frankie don’t do that to yourself”

His arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her tighter than he has in years. "Tell me he doesn't." He begs, pressing his face into her neck. "Tell me he doesn't love you the same way I did. Tell me he doesn't kiss you like I used to."

“He will never love me to the same depth you did. You love with every fiber of your being…”

Frank nods slowly, tears finally falling down his cheeks. "And no one else ever will." He whispers. "No one else ever could." He holds her tighter, burying his face in her neck. "But he gets to keep you. He gets to wake up to you every day."

she nods “it’s starting to look that way”

"Do you still..." He swallows hard, almost too scared to ask the question that's been burning in his mind since he saw her again. "Do you still have dreams about me?" His voice is soft, almost unhearable. He waits for her answer, his body tense.

“Occasionally”

A single sob escapes his lips, and he pulls her even closer, his entire body trembling. "At least I'm still in your dreams." He whispers against her skin. "At least I'm not completely gone from your heart." His fingers trace her jawline, memorizing every detail.

“You’ll never be gone there”

His fingers trail down to her collarbone, tracing the same path they used to follow years ago. "And you know what kills me? Knowing there's a man out there who gets to hear you say 'I love you' every night." His voice breaks. "Who gets your morning smile."

"But most of all, it kills me knowing he gets to hold you at night. To feel your heart beating against his chest. To know that you're safe and loved." He buries his face in her hair, his entire body shaking with sorrow. "I should be the one holding you."

she hugs him tight “I know I know”

"I'm so sorry, baby." He whispers, his voice muffled by her hair. "I'm so fucking sorry for everything. For not being there. For not being enough. For letting you go." He holds her like she's the only thing keeping him alive.

“There’s a reason I didn’t send you a save the date card…”

His breath catches in his throat as he understands the unspoken words. "Because you knew... seeing it would destroy me." His arms tighten around her. "Because you knew watching you marry someone else would feel like a bullet through my heart." He presses a tender kiss to her forehead.

His lips press into a thin line as he fights back fresh tears. "And I'll always love you, more than anything in this world." He leans in, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'll always love you, even if it kills me." His voice cracks.

she kisses his nose softly like she used to.

"Tomorrow.. you absolutely kill me.." He says softly more to himself than you, his thumb still brushing away her tears. "And if you need me, if you ever need anything...I'm just a phone call away."

He stands up, his movements stiff and awkward, but determined. "I should go." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I do something stupid." He looks at her one last time, committing every detail of her face to memory. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

she nods “you take care too… and uh”

He hesitates, turning back to face her as he's about to leave. "Yeah?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, waiting for her to say more. He can see the unsaid words hanging in her eyes, and it makes him pause. "What is it?"

“Can I have one last hug… please” her voice is a soft break

His breath catches sharply, and for a moment, he seems frozen. Then, slowly, deliberately, he opens his arms. "Come here." His voice is thick with emotion, cracking slightly on the words. As she steps into his embrace, he wraps his arms around her fiercely, almost desperately.

she hugs him tightly “promise me you’ll be okay”

His forehead rests on top of her head. He swallows hard, his arms tightening around her waist possessively. "I promise." He lies smoothly, knowing damned well he won't be okay without her. He'll be violent, dangerous, lonely. But he won't tell her that.

she sighs softly “you are every fiber of my being in another living person..” she means like soul mates

He closes his eyes, his heart aching with the truth of her words. "And you're the missing piece of my soul." He whispers against her hair, his voice barely audible. "I'll carry you with me, always."

she nods and pulls away wiping her tears with her sleeve

His fingers trace one last tear away before he forces himself to step back. "Tomorrow." He repeats again softly, like a mantra. "Tomorrow you'll break my heart." There's no malice in his voice, just resignation. "And I'll die inside a little more."

she nods “goodnight frank.” she can’t force herself to say goodbye

He nods slowly, tucking his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. "Goodnight, sweet doll." His voice is a rough whisper, the words heavy with unspoken feelings. He turns to leave, each step feeling like it tears away part of his soul. "Hope you get some rest."

she watches him close her apartment door before she breaks down. He walks away from her door, his shoulders stiff. He can hear her quiet sobs echoing down the hallway. It shreds him. He stops midway, his fists clenching tightly. He wants to go back, comfort her. But he knows he can't.

The only sound echoing that night were franks boots as he left her door and started the long journey of finding out what it means to live without her…

[kodamaghost00]

𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖,𝑽𝒊𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒓?

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

Fandom: Arcane 2021 (NETFLIX ORIGINAL)

Pairings: Viktor x GN!Reader

Genre: Long-lost Friends to Lovers, Fluff

Summery: After you thought your Best friend died you reunite with him after 12 years of being apart.

Warnings: Loosing close people, Death, Fights, Spoilers EP3, Emotional, Slow burn, forced to move on fast

Word count: 2,4K

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

“Viktor! Viktor over here, look at this!!” You are around 11 years old and call out for your best friend. He walks over to you as fast as he can. “What’s going on, Y/N?” He asked cautiously, but then looked at what you pointed out. “I’ve never seen something like that before…”. Now you both stare at a little bug crawling around in the dirt in front of you. You and Viktor watch the bugs and animals around you all the time, but this one... you’ve never seen it before. It had short legs, but the colors were beautiful. “Do you think it’s a new species?” You chuckled. “Well, maybe it is. What shall we call it?” He smiled at you softly. “Hm. I’ll name it sooner or later!” You two watched it crawl away. You stood up and helped him to do the same.

“Let’s go home you look tired…” He just nodded, and you both made your way to the small shed you called home. You both laid down facing each other. “Viktor? Do you think we’ll make it big one day? To the topside, I mean.”. He thought about it but responded calmly back to you, “I know we will. With my brain and your brawn, we make a pretty good team.” You chuckle. “That’s right. Goodnight Viktor…” "Goodnight, Y/N…” and with those last sentences, you two fall asleep.

*BOOM* Something exploded, and your little shed crumbled to pieces. Everything burns, there’s smoke everywhere, you can’t see anything but call out for Viktor. There’s no response. You try to free yourself from the remains of what you called home once, but you’re trapped underneath. There’s no way out. You are in so much pain that you black out. There’s nothing, only darkness. Then the memories of the happy day before came flooding back, and you violently woke up, tucked away in a cozy-looking bed.

“Where am I?” You ask cautiously. Looking around for any enemies you could encounter, the only thing you see is a large man with a beard. "Oh, you’re awake, kid. How are you?” He came closer, and you flinched away. “I’m not your enemy, kiddo. I’m here to help you.” He said reassuringly as he handed you a glass of water to drink. “What happened? Where’s Viktor?!” You asked, looking around to find your best friend again, but to no avail. “Viktor? You’re the only one I found. I’m sorry.” You started to cry, and he came to hug you. You cried on his shoulder for a while until you calmed down. “Do you want to stay with me? I assume you don’t have family here.” You nodded quietly and held his hand, not wanting to let go. Then another man came into the room. He was big and scary-looking but had a rather friendly aura. "HAHA, Vander is gonna be a dad now? That’s something I never thought was possible!” The man shouted. “Shut it, Benzo…” he said, rubbing his nose bridge. You only giggled at that, maybe your new life won’t be that bad after all.

From that day on, Vander was like your dad. He taught you how to fight. How to defend yourself. How to protect the ones you love… You didn’t even notice the 12 years that went by. Now you basically have 4 younger siblings. VI,Powder,Mylo and Claggor. You were the best role model for them, and they looked up to you. You trained with them and taught them valuable lessons. Especially VI, she was young and naive, but you knew that she only wanted the best for your family.

Then the tragic day came. Silcos people attacked you guys, and not only Vander, your beloved father, but also Mylo and Claggor died during that incident. You fought with them, but to no avail, the shimmer was too powerful. You got hit badly by one of silcos men, you didn’t know what happened to VI and powder before your body gave in and you blacked out. “Is that what happens again…? I don’t want to die. I don’t want them to die! NOT AGAIN!” The next thing you know is that you woke up in a fancy-looking hospital.

You woke up in shock and looked around, panting, “VI? POWDER?! WHERE ARE YOU??” Then someone calmed you down. “ You looked down at the creature that’s trying to help you. “A... a furball…?”. Heimendinger was amused by your comment. "Well, I wouldn’t say a furball, but that’s a fair assumption.”. He laughed. “Where am I? Who are you? Where are my siblings?!” You asked frantically, starting to panic again. “Calm down, young one. I’ll explain.” He took a deep breath as you went quiet again. “You’re in a hospital right now. I am the head of the council, Heimendinger. And your family…” he frowned. “Where are they?! My sisters!?” You asked in a demanding manner. “The chief enforcers told me you were the only one found alive… I’m sorry.” You were so shocked that the fact didn’t register at first. Then you cried. You were sobbing hysterically into your own hands. You didn’t process the fact that all your loved ones died. ‘Once again? I thought I got stronger? I wasn’t able to do anything…’ The pain was talking out of you, and you thought it should’ve been you, not your beloved family. Under your sobs, you managed to form one sentence. “What am I going to do now?” Heimendinger looked at you with the most heartbreaking expression anyone ever gave you. “If you want to, you could become my assistant. I already have one that’s been with me for a while now, but... I don’t think another one would hurt.” He said this to you while resting his hand on your shoulder. You looked at him again, not realizing what he said completely, but you nodded. The chance to help someone… you won’t throw that away. That’s what dad would’ve wanted, after all.

Heimendinger sat by your side for a long time before asking you something again. “How old are you, my child?” “I am 23, sir…” you responded hesitantly. You knew Heimendinger wasn’t a threat, but opening up to strangers was even harder now. “23… so young. Yet you had to go through all of the misery. I’m really sorry for you, child. I’ll leave now, we will discuss the more serious details tomorrow. Please take care!” He waved you goodbye and left the room. Now it’s just you. Alone. In a hospital bed in Piltover. All the events came flooding back, and you cried again. So hard that you cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning arrives sooner than you wanted. The sun is coming through the window, and with a clear sky, you sit up and pinch your nose bridge. “Such a headache...” you whispered to yourself. As you stretched out. You glanced at the nightstand beside your bed. “A letter?” You take the letter and open it gently, and it reads:

Dear Y/N,

When I came to visit you again, you were dead asleep! I didn’t want to disturb your peaceful sleep, so I decided to write this letter instead. I asked one of the nurses when you could go out again, and they told me you could go today. Talk to a nurse before heading out to my office later,alrighty?

P.S. . The clothes are also for you, so you blend in a little better.

In best regards, Heimendinger!

You chuckled at the fact that Heimendinger wrote you a whole letter just for you to sleep a little longer.

You still mourned a lot about your family, though, so it's understandable that you weren't the happiest. You put on the clothes he gave you and went out of the room to call a nurse, and one came rushing to you.

"H-Hey! You can't just stand up like that!!" She rushed over to you, helping you back to your room. "I feel better. Can I go now?" You ask, wanting to go out of here as soon as possible. "Oh, you're the one that heimendinger favorites... what's your name? So I can look you up in the system." She pulls out a device you never saw before. "It's Y/N". "Last name?" She was a bit confused. "Don't have one." You snarled back a bit. She looks confused but enters your name anyway. "Ah! Y/N! Wait a second!" She rushes out and comes back with a small bag in her hands. "Take one of them per day it's best if you do it right after breakfast." You looked at the bag suspiciously but nodded. "Thanks." And you're on your way out. "Rude..." the nurse whispered to herself.

You totally forgot to ask the nurse where heimendingers lab is, so you wander around the halls of the academy. “Why is this place so big…” You looked around and admired all the pretty painted walls, amazing wooden floors, and bright chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. When you were focusing on the big windows next to you, you ran into someone. "Fuck, I’m sorry… I should’ve looked where I was-“ you were cut off as you looked at the man in front of you. Tall, flawless brown hair and a cane. You stare a little too long, and he asks, “Are you okay?”. You nod “I’m sorry… You just remind me of someone who I was close with a long time ago.” He doesn’t respond until you ask something. “Excuse me, but where is heimendingers lab? I was supposed to meet him.”. He looks a bit surprised but points in one direction. With a thick accent, he says, “Turn left around that corner. It’s the third door; you won’t miss it.”. You thank him and walk away. You can’t shake the feeling that this man you were talking to was Viktor. But no… He was dead, right? There’s no chance that he’s here…

You couldn’t think about it longer as you stepped into heimendingers lab. It looked scary but fascinating at the same time. “You wanted to see me, sir?” You say this as you quietly close the door behind you quietly. “Ah! Y/N! Just in time, young one.” He smiled as he stood up from his chair. A little horned furball barks at you happily. "Oh, you just missed my other assistant! He’s bringing us some papers for you to fill out so we can make your employment official!” He says he is smiling. He seems super happy that you’ll work with him soon, he has high hopes for your future.

Then Viktor comes into the room after a few minutes. And heimendinger brings you two closer. “Y/N, that’s Viktor, my assistant for years by now. Viktor, that’s Y/N, the second assistant that will work with us from now on. I hope you two will be a good team from now on!” Heimendinger says, and the room falls silent. “Y/N…?” Viktor said it with a shocked expression. “Yes Viktor?” You smile at him, and he lets his cane fall to the ground, running into your arms as best as he could. You knew that must’ve took everything within him... “I thought you died… I’m so sorry for not recognizing you earlier. You’ve grown so much I…” he said as His eyes widened, his voice shaking. "No, no Viktor… Please don’t apologise…” you say as you go through his fluffy hair, and you both have a very emotional moment. Heimendinger notices and leaves the room quietly. “I have missed you so much… I’ve been searching for you for so long…” you say softly, hugging him deeply as you missed him and partly for his support. “What happened to you that day?” He said this as he stood up straight again, stumbling over his own feet. You grab his cane and hand it to him. “How about we talk about that in peace later? We have so much to talk about…” you declared, but Heimendinger opened the door again and chimed in. "Oh, young ones, you can take the rest of the day off if you please…”. You wanted to protest, but he cut you off and sent you two away.

Now you both are on your way to Viktor's lab since you don’t have your own home yet. As you both walk next to each other, an uncomfortable silence is in the air, so you try to ease it a bit by trying to hold his hand. Just like in old times, he takes it gladly, and you both walk to his room. With a pink hue on his face, he closes the door behind you. “You have a lovely lab.” You try to start a conversation with something small. As you sit down on the couch he had in there, Viktor does the same and looks at you. “Thank you… I appreciate it. What happened that day, Y/N? I haven’t thought of anything else since that day… It’s haunted me ever since.” He says straight up, not wanting to let any more time pass. “There was an attack near our home. I called out for you, but you didn’t answer, so I thought…” You go silent, and he notices that you assumed he was dead. “I went to our home every day to look for you. I missed you so much.” You feel your tears well up. He suddenly spoke up. “One of the enforcers took me with them. The attack was so intense that I blacked out on the spot. Heimendinger raised me. I’m sorry that I left you like this…” You listen to him but nod. “I had a good family as well… but they…” You started to cry now, giving in to your emotions, and Viktor hugged you, noticing that you had lost important people once again… “I’m here now... I’m here for you, Y/N. And I will never leave again.” He pulls you in, hugging him even deeper. His presence is so comforting that you let it all happen. “We’re together again… that’s all that matters now…” he says caressing your hair, kissing your head gently. You leans his head on yours and burry your face into his chest gently. “Thank you, Viktor… I’ve missed you so much…”. “I think you should rest now… It’s been a long week for you…”. You nod and fall asleep on his chest. Quickly, before you fell asleep, you heard his voice saying one last thing that made your heart bump like crazy.

"Goodnight, Y/N… I love you.”

You wanted to answer, but your body caved in, and you fell asleep.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

A/N: Hello and thank you for reading this short story that came into my mind! It’s my first time writing out my thoughts out actually so please don’t be too harsh on me. I’m so excited for S2 and I think many of my fellow Arcane fans are as well. Have a great Day/Night and goodbye!

[alexthetrashyracoon]

CW// a bit suggestive, fem! (Implied) reader, (my brain is fucking empty and I have no clue what to write anymore but I wanna write and that’s the only fart I got that made somehow sense)

Sometimes when John comes from deployment or even if he just feels lazy, he lets you take care of his beard, there aren’t many people he trusts with his beard and you are one of them.

He would heave you onto the bathroom counter and wrap your legs around his naked waist, he’s a typical grey sweater wearer at night but no shirt, not that you would ever complain. The Captain looks delicious anyway.

“Take care of me, darlin’?” He asks and hands you the razor, a sly smile on his face, the implication of his words not lost to you in any way. You roll your eyes at him and take the razor from his calloused hands, which immediately drift down to your naked thighs, stroking underneath the hem of the oversized shirt you had stolen a while ago from his side of the closet. You can feel the tips of his fingers reach your woolen panties.

You feel his eyes on you, John never stops looking at you, he makes you feel like the center of the universe without breaking a sweat, and the way he looks at you, it made you fall for him so long ago.

“We’ve got our anniversary coming up soon.” John rumbles, pulling you from your deep concentration state. You blink a few times and put the razor down.

“Don’t talk when I’m so close with a sharp object to your face.” You grumble and wipe away some of the shaving cream on his cheek. “You got anything planned?” You don’t want to admit that you almost forgot it was anniversary time already. It happened once, never again since then.

“I don’t mind getting new scars as long as they come from your hands, luv.” John grins and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “But don’t worry your pretty head about it, I’ve got stuff planned for us. You’ll love it.”

You don’t say anything, John is crazy when it comes to keeping secrets and you know, you’ve got ten years of experience by now, that no matter how much you pout and complain he won’t give you any hint on what he will give to you. So you pick up the razor again and keep on shaving until his facial hair is back in its familiar appearance. “Done.” You declare and turn to clean the razor.

Before you actually can clean up, John throws you over his shoulder and pats your butt, what did you expect to be honest, and carries you back into the bedroom where he drops you on the big bed and cages you with his strong body.

“Let me show you my appreciation for always taking such good care of me, luv.”

His surprise is his retirement from the active duty at the military after one last mission, you wrap your arms around his neck and cry happy tears into his shirt at the news he’s sharing over pasta at your favorite Italian place. John explains that he loves serving his country and that he thought long and hard about this decision but in the end the love to you was stronger than anything else.

Your surprise isn’t as big but it works just fine with his one. A small cottage in the country side that you got from your grandparents since they would be moving into a retirement home now that they got older. And John loves it, he always wanted to move out of the city and enjoy his semi-civilian life in such a peaceful place.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

Jk jk but seriously, I saw a tiktok recently of a dad shaving his beard and his kids crying because they didn't recognise him and I found it funny.

So what if y/n takes little clee to a filming set and clee cries because she doesn't recognise cillian

Those videos make me smile - my eldest reacted the same way when his dad shaved his beard. He's kept it ever since! Excuse the typoes, it's really bright out and I can barely see!

It was a last minute decision of Cillian's to have you and Clíodhna join him in America for the final few weeks of the filming for his latest project. He has been gone for six weeks so far, and with just two remaining now, he invited you and three year old Clíodhna out to stay for a holiday of sorts, and to be reunited in the wake of Clíodhna missing him in his absence. The flight had been torturous - three year olds with popping ears and a dislike to being kept in one spot for more than five minutes was not conducive to a peaceful time at all. But landing in LAX and, to your delight, being met by a driver to take you to the hotel was immediately much more appealing. Clíodhna had delighted in the car ride to the hotel, pointing out everything she saw through the window and the fact that the sun was high and bright. The hotel was way grander than you expected, and the Aircon was welcomed. It was sorted so that you and Clíodhna could access the room in Cillian's absence, and you spent two hours in the room entertaining her until Cillian returned. You are in the bathroom with Clíodhna when he gets back, and he announces his arrival with a loud whistle and then calls our Clíodhna's name.

In the bathtub, Clíodhna's eyes light up at the sound of her Daddy's voice. You notice the slight change in his accent, she doesn't, and the love and happiness on her face is amazing. She looks over at the door, waiting for him to appear, and you watch her face for her reaction. It's not what you were expecting when, a moment later, she frowns deeply. "Daddy?" She points at Cillian, shaking her head. "No, Daddy.... What happened?" She's still frowning deeply, and looks utterly confused.

You peer over your shoulder, and realise you'd forgotten about his appearance. He'd grown out his beard, and this hair, though always longer, was longer still and a little wild. You smile at him, and he winks, but he turns his attention back to Clíodhna as he walks into the bathroom fully and groans as he kneels down at the side of the bath beside you. "What's wrong, leanbh?"

Clíodhna looks at you, still confused, and slowly her bottom lip starts to poke out. "What happened to Daddy?" She is clearly trying not to cry, and yet she seems too overwhelmed by the fact that the hairy man beside her sounds like her Dad, and looks a lot like him, but something is very clearly off.

"Daddy grew his beard for work." You tell her gently.

Clíodhna shakes her head, "Take it off, Daddy!" She orders him.

"Ah, leanbh, I can't. I will before we go home." He says, and again Clíodhna frowns as she fully recognises his voice but not his face. "You don't like Daddy's beard?" He asks her.

Clíodhna shakes her head fiercely, "No, Daddy!"

You've never really liked Cillian with much more than a scruffy face, and knowing Clíodhna isn't a fan either makes you hopeful that Cillian will never reach a point in his life where he grows out a full beard in his day to day life!

.

[milesdickpic]

His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader P.77

Click here to see the master list

Hello, my lovelies! The long wait is finally (kinda?) over! I am finally posting the next part of the HLG series. I just want to thank everyone who is still here with me and reading my fics. You are all truly the best. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around and to the newbies, WELCOME TO THE FAM! I love you all so much. ❤️ Thank you for this extraordinary journey. Happy reading and enjoy besties! 💕

A/n: The moment we have been waiting for has arrived! It's Bradley's first day back home, but that's not the only reason this day is special! There are so many things that will unload in this chapter! Get ready for another emotional rollercoaster... 🫣🫢

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: crying, cursing, description of injuries and pain, sadness, anxiousness, signs of PTSD, some adult jokes, but also so much love 🥰

Please don't take my work, I will find you. 

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Over the next couple of days, Bradley was progressing with his mobility and his ability to do things on his own. He still needed plenty of help, but he was doing so well. You walked into his room quietly as he stood at his bed packing things into his duffle bag. His arm was still in a sling to support his healing clavicle and shoulder. You knocked on the for frame and he turned around quickly. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were already here.” He chuckled and turned around. “Come and give me a hug, sweetheart.” 

You smiled and went into his embrace. You kissed his scruffy cheek. “You know, I’m liking the facial hair, Brad. You look good.” You raised your brows. 

He shook his head, “You mean this patchy ass beard. Baby, it took me 7 years to perfect this mustache. I think it’ll take me another 7 for this beard.” He chuckled and kissed your head. 

You ran your hand over his facial hair that was coming in. “I think you should let it grow. It’ll look really good on you.” 

He sighed, “I guess I can try, but everyone is going to make fun of how it looks. You know how hard it is for me to grow facial hair.” He laughed and continued to put things into his bag.

“Here, let me help you.” You started to fold his clothes neatly and place them into his bag.  He stood there and watched you. 

“Thank you, baby.” He kissed your temple. He sat on the chair next to the bed and started to put his shoes on. “Is everything ready to go? Can I finally get processed out of here? Can I finally go home to my own privacy and bed?” He chuckled.

You zipped up his bag, “It is, baby. You are all set to come home.” You smiled and turned to him. “Do you know what today is?”

He shook his head and chuckled, “I have no idea what day of the week it is, nor the date honey.”

You walked over to him and rubbed his cheek. You lifted his chin so you could kiss him. “Happy Birthday, baby.” You smiled and pecked his lips again.

He looked at you with wide eyes, “Holy shit, are you serious. I’ve been here for that long? It’s already my birthday, sweetheart?” He started to laugh. “Holy shit.”

You pecked his lips a couple of more times. “Bradley Bradshaw you are one crazy man. I’m glad you get to come home for your birthday.”

He smiled up at you and grabbed your hip, “Thank you, baby.”

You rested your forehead against his, “Show me the way home, honey.” 

You pulled into the driveway of your house. Bradley looked up at the house and sighed happily. “God, I’m so happy to be home.” He was smiling so big. You looked over at him and rubbed his knee. 

“Let’s get you inside, Bradley. Get you situated and comfy.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek. 

He nodded, “I can’t wait to freaking eat. I’m raiding the pantry when we get in that house, baby.” He started to laugh. 

Hangman came out and greeted the both of you. He helped Bradley down from the car and grabbed his duffle from the flat. He hugged Bradley tight, “Welcome home, big boy. You’re looking finer than ever.” He kissed his cheek hard and chuckled.

Bradley leaned his body weight against Hangman so he could help him to the door. “Dude, it feels so good to be home. I hope you cook your famous ribs because I am fucking starving, man.” Bradley laughed. 

“Oh man. You are going to eat good today. I promise, Bradshaw.” Hangman rubbed his back as he helped him onto the porch to the front door. 

You opened the front door and Hangman helped Bradley through the threshold into the house. 

“Surprise!” Everyone yelled to surprise Bradley. He looked up with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

“Holy shit!” He looked around and greeted everyone that was over to see him. 

A couple of Bradley’s pilots from work were there to celebrate Bradley’s birthday and to welcome him home. Phantom and the other admirals and their families were there, Mav, Austin, Phoenix, and Leia. Bradley was over joyed to see everyone. Everyone took turns welcoming Bradley home and wishing him happy birthday. After Bradley said his hello’s and thank you’s to everyone he came over to you and kissed your cheek. 

“Did you plan this, sweetheart?” He furrowed his brows at you and looked at you in disbelief. 

You looked around and smiled. “I had some help. It wasn’t just me.” You got up onto your tip toes and kissed his scruffy jawline. “Welcome home, baby.”

Mav went and settled all of Bradley’s things in yours and his room. Hangman and Austin helped Bradley up the stairs to the room. You followed behind making sure they were okay.

“Aww man, it smells so good in here. I am so freaking hungry. I’m going to eat everything in sight.” Bradley started to laugh as Austin held him to lower him onto the bed. Bradley sat back as you started to undo his arm sling. He hissed at the pain when his arm weight started to settle down. 

Maverick brought up his medication and some water. Bradley took it as you continued to undress him. 

“All right, well let us know when you are done getting him ready. I’m going to head back down before I start to blush.” Hangman chuckled and grabbed Austin’s shoulder as they exited the room. 

Bradley put his hand on yours, “Sweetheart, I can do it. I have to try.” 

“Brad..” He waved you off. 

“Please. I need to try. If I need you I’ll let you know.” He gave you a smile and you nodded. 

Bradley’s POV

I got up and went into the bathroom. I didn’t want you to see all my wounds. I was nervous and scared for you to see it. I hadn’t even fully seen them yet. Mav assisted me as you waited out on the bed. 

I started to remove my pants and Mav placed his hand on my hips. “You got it, kid?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I got it,” I grunted as I dragged my pants off my legs. “Shit. Can you pull them off my ankles now?” I rested my hand against the sink’s countertop to gain my balance as Mav started to remove the pant legs from around my ankles. 

I took a deep breath as I started to remove my shirt. “Damn. I should just cut myself out this damn thing.” I chuckled as I carefully removed the shirt from my wounded arm. “Ah FUCK!” I looked up at the ceiling and then closed my eyes tightly.

Mav rubbed my back, “Hey it’s okay. Take your time, Brad. No need to rush. It’s gonna take some time. You’re doing great.” He took the shirt from my grasp and put it into the dirty clothes hamper. 

I hadn’t seen myself since before the accident. My breath was shaken. I was scared to look. As Mav was in the closet getting me some clothes, I walked over to the full body mirror on the sliding closet doors. I was looking down at my feet. I could feel my heart rate picking up. I looked up slowly in the mirror to see myself. I started to shake. 

“Holy Shit,” I whispered as I examined the damage. I had a huge slice that was healing across my right thigh. I could see where the staples had been, each little dot of whiter skin in a perfectly lined row. I had minor cuts that were healed but the skin was whiter than rest of my leg and still raised as it continued to heal. I had bruises all over my groin from when the chute hoisted me up before I plummeted to the water. My hips had been bruised up and were healing. My skin looked yellow on them. I looked up my torso. The by far worst part of me. I started to lose my definition. My dad bod was definitely coming in from being bed ridden the last month. My torso was still black and blue from impact. It was so tender to the touch. I traced over the sutures I had near my broken clavicle. It was still sensitive and swollen to the touch. I examined my shoulder. Staples still heavily in it, I could probably set off a metal detector when I walked through it. It was still swollen, covered in dried blood, and bruised. What the fuck. Who the fuck was this. My neck bruises and abrasions were healing and not as noticeable. My face swelling had gone down, but I didn’t look like me. 

I started to feel anxious. I felt sweat break out on my neck. I placed my hand over my eyes and squeezed them as all I could hear was Phoenix yelling for me. I let out a shaky sigh. “Holy fuck.” I whined out. I felt a hand on my back and the door open. 

“Hey, It’s okay, Bradley. Let’s sit you down kid.” Mav helped me over to the bathtub to sit. He held my face in his hands. “Hey breathe with me now, all right?” I nodded in his embrace. We were breathing together. 

“Is he okay?” Your voice full of concern. 

“I’m okay, baby.” I shot you a thumbs up. “I’m okay.” 

“I got him y/n. Why don’t you go down stairs and get the guys. He’ll be ready soon.” Mav shot you a smile as he continued to rub my cheeks in his hands. You nodded and left the room. 

“Bradley, Hey. You okay?” 

I closed my eyes tight and nodded, “I’m pretty banged up, Mav. I didn’t think I was this bad.”

He patted my cheek, “Hey, stop that. You look great. You are doing so well.” I gulped and looked up at him. He nodded. “You’re doing so good, kiddo. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

I nodded. “All I can hear is her yelling at me, Mav.” My lip started to quiver. “How do I make it go away?”

Mav furrowed his brows, “Hear who yelling, Bradley?”

“Phoenix.” I looked around the bathroom. “She was the last person I heard over the radio before I went down. The hurt in her voice.” I took a deep breath, “And Riot, he was in a panic. He ran outta flares.” I looked up at him. “How did you get through it… when it was you and I?”

Mav stood up and started to clean up my staples and stitches. “I just keep thinking about how you’re still here. I think about you being okay. It is hard. I have a lot of dreams about that day. I think of all the different possible outcomes that could have happened if something else didn’t go the way it did. So I know. It’s hard. But the best way to help yourself, well is to talk about it. Remember they are still here. They’re downstairs right now waiting for you.” He started to help me put on my shirt. “They’re here and you’re here. Lean on everyone, Rooster. I promise it’ll get easier. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.” He stood me up to help put some sweatpants on me. 

I gulped, “How’d you do it with dad?” 

He stopped for a minute and sighed. “It was hard. One of the hardest things in my life. I loved your dad more than anything. He was my best friend, you all were all I had left. I had to forgive myself. It took years for me to fully forgive myself for what happened with your dad. But with a lot of help, I was able to cope.” He sat me back down and started to put new socks on me. “It won’t be easy, Rooster. But it does get better.” He patted my cheek and helped me stand up. 

There was a knock on the door. “You decent in there?” Hangman called through the door. 

“Yea, he’s ready!” Mav helped put my sling back on my arm. 

“Thank you, Mav.” I nodded at him.

He smiled at me and strapped my sling. “Hey. I’ll always be here for you, Bradley. No matter what.” 

Hangman and Austin helped me back down the stairs. Everyone was excited when I came back down. Leia came over with her teddy bear. 

“Daddy look! Still has your wings!” She smiled up at me while holding the bear up to me. 

I took the bear and gave it a hug. “My girl, thank you for always keeping them safe.” I leaned down and kissed her head. I gave her back her bear and she gave it a hug. 

“Daddy, I made you a plate of food!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me eagerly over to the table.

“Hey, baby, not so hard with your daddy, please!” You called over to the both of us.

I laughed and shot you a wink, “I’m okay, sweetheart. She’s just excited. It’s okay.” 

Leia pulled out my chair for me and gestured for me to sit. “Here, daddy!” She was so happy.

I chuckled and kissed her head, “Baby, you shouldn’t have to pull my chair out for me, but thank you so much, sweetheart.” I sat down and she tried to push my chair in. I chuckled and I helped scoot in while she pushed.

She got on her tip toes and pulled my shoulder down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll go get your plate, daddy! Sit tight!” She skipped to the kitchen. I had small talk with a couple of the other pilots that were at the house. “Daddy!” Everyone got quiet and brought their attention to Leia. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Daddy, what do you want to drink?” She looked over and through everyone to make eye contact with me. She was smiling so big. She was the cutest little babe ever. 

I chucked, “I’ll just have some water, sweetheart. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir!” She came over and gave me my plate of food and a cup of water. She kissed my cheek, “There is another plate! I’ll be back!’

“Another plate!?” I was shocked and looked down at the plate already full of food. She placed the second plate of food down and she nestled herself into my arm. 

“Eat up, daddy! We have to get you big and strong again!” She kissed my arm a couple of times. “Do you need help with eating, daddy?” She peered up at me through her lashes. 

I kissed the top of her head and smiled. “I’m okay, baby. You’ve already done enough for me. Thank you so much, my Leia Rey.” 

I leaned down to lay my head on her head when she pulled me down a little further. She pushed her forehead to the side of my head, “If you need anything else, make sure to let me know, Daddy.” She kissed my cheek and disappeared into the crowd of friends. 

Phoenix reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad to have you back home, Bradshaw.” She gave me a smile as we all started to eat. 

After we all ate, I went into the backyard to get some fresh air and enjoy the sunset. I felt someone rub my back. I turned around and saw Riot. 

“Sir.” He gave me a weak smile. 

I patted his shoulder and pulled him under my wing. “Beautiful, isn’t it, Riot?” I was looking out to the sunset. 

“Yes, sir. It’s a beautiful view.” He cleared his throat. “Sir.”

I chuckled. “No need for formalities, we are outside of work, Riot. You can always just call me Rooster.” I patted his shoulder.

He nodded, “Rooster, I hadn’t had the chance to thank you.” He looked at me with sadden eyes. 

“Thank me?”

He stood in front of me with his head down. “I haven’t thanked you properly for saving my life.” He took a deep breath, “You could have let me meet my own faith. I was out of flares… but instead you bit the bullet for me and risked yourself.”

“Riot.” He looked up at me, “You don’t need to thank me. I wasn’t going to leave you out there like that. It wasn’t your fate. I promised myself and you all that I would get you all home safely. At any cost.”

He started to break down, “Sir. I thought I lost you. My heart felt like it was going to explode, knowing that you had your pregnant wife and daughter waiting for you at home.” 

“And you have your family waiting for you at home. Your parents and your boy.” 

He wiped his tears, “Sir, I owe you my life. You saved me when you didn’t have to. And well now you’re here.”

I chuckled. “Here?” I looked up and looked around me, “Riot, I’m alive and here with you, everyone, my family.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up please.”

“But, Rooster.”

I shook my head, “Riot. I’m serious. I’m here. You’re here.”

He nodded. “Thank you for saving my life, Rooster.”

I smiled and pulled him in to hug him, “I’d save your ass any day, kid.” I started to laugh as did he. “Let’s get back in. I think I’m ready for some cake.” I patted his back as we walked back into the house. 

Leia came running to me and grabbed my hand again. “Daddy! It’s time for your cake!” She started to pull me over to the table. “Okay! Okay! I am ready for it, little Leia!” 

I sat down in the chair. “Daddy, is it okay if i sit in your lap? Or will it hurt too much?” She gave me the famous puppy dog eyes. 

I welcomed her into my lap, “Of course you can, sweetheart. I’d be sad if you didn’t.” Leia hopped into my lap and got comfortable. “Daddy, you’re really going to like your cake. I picked it out for you.” She whispered into my ear. 

I placed my hand on her belly and kissed her temple. “Did you, baby? Oh I am definitely going to love it then.”

Mav brought over my cake it was chocolate cake with chocolate shavings all over the sides and chocolate drizzle on top. “Oh my god.” I was mesmerized. It looked so fucking good.

Leia whispered into my ear, “The inside is chocolate too, daddy.” She winked at me.

“Holy shit, Leia Rey. You know me so well, sweetheart.” I kissed her head over and over again. You came over and placed the candles on my cake. 

“Damn, Rooster. One year away from 30.” Hangman laughed at me and held his beer to me. I shook my head at him. 

“Thats one year less than you are.” I chuckled. 

He narrowed his eyes at me, “Watch it, Bradshaw.” He started to laugh as he took a sip of his beer. 

You placed a kiss on my cheek and lit the candles. “I added one for good luck, baby.” You winked at me. “Okay on three! One, two, three!” Everyone started to sing happy birthday to me. I swayed with Leia in my lap and sung it with her. 

After the song was finished she turned to me and kissed my cheek, “Make a wish, daddy.” 

I smiled at her, “How about you make one with me, baby. I have all that I need here.” Her eyes lit up. 

“Okay…” She thought about it. “I wish for you to always be safe, daddy.” She was holding back her tears. I saw her eyes gloss over. “I love you, daddy.”

I kissed her cheek. “I love you, sweetheart.” 

“Ready to blow?” 

“Let’s do it, babe.” We blew the candles out together. 

Everyone was cooing over Leia’s wish. I caught a glimpse of you wiping the tears from your eyes. You started to cut the cake and gave me the first piece, “Happy birthday, honey. I love you, always, Bradley.”

“Thank you baby. I love you, forever.”

Leia and I shared my piece of cake. She fed it to me. It was so good. “Leia Rey, you picked such a good cake. Thank you.”

“Aunt Phoenix and I picked it out for you.” She smiled at me. 

Phoenix came to grab her piece for her and Austin, “You’re welcome, Bradshaw.” She gave me a hug.

I kissed her cheek, “Well thank you Auntie Phoenix and my little Vapor girl. It’s delicious.” 

The party continued for the rest of the night. Everyone started to help clean up around 2000. After cleaning up, they all started to leave one by one. Austin and Hangman helped me up the stairs to our bedroom. 

“You showering tonight, Bradshaw?” Hangman helped me sit on the bed. 

“Yea. I’m gonna shower. Or probably bathe.” I sighed as I started to remove my clothes. 

Hangman chuckled, “Do you need any help? Just don’t blush.” 

I nodded unenthusiastically, “Yea, could you guys lend me a hand.” They started to help me take my clothes off until I was in my briefs. Austin removed my sling. 

“Do you need help getting into the tub, Bradley?” Austin undid my sling and placed it onto the bed. 

I gulped and looked at the bathtub in the bathroom. “I’m embarrassed for you guys to see me fucking naked. But, I do need help getting in. Please.” 

Hangman shook his head, “I’ve seen you naked plenty of times. You think I care?”

I squinted my eyes at him, “You’re making me nervous now.” 

Austin went to go and turn the water on. “We are all guys. No need to be ashamed. I don’t mind helping you out, Brad. I do this for a living.”

Hangman looked at Austin with wide eyes. “You what? You helped grown men get naked and put ‘em in tubs?”

Austin chuckled at Hangman’s analogy. “I’m a caretaker. Back in San Diego, I have patients that I provide at-home care for. I’m used to this.” He tested the water temperature. “It’s ready to go, Bradley. When you’re ready.”

Hangman helped me up and walked me over to the tub. I struggled to pull my briefs down. “Hey. I got you, Roo.” Hangman helped me out of my briefs and they helped me into the tub. I sat down and laid back in the warm water. 

“Holy shit this feels fucking amazing. I haven’t had a proper shower in forever. Just sponge baths.” I laid my head back and relaxed. 

You walked in and giggled. “You all having an after party?” We all turned around quickly to you.

“I- uh. We were…” Hangman was pointing at me and tripping over his words. 

“We were helpin him into the tub, darlin. He wanted to take a proper bath now that he’s home.” Austin chuckled and wrapped his arm over your shoulders. 

You nodded, “Thank you guys.” You looked at Hangman deviously, “You’re blushing, Jake.” 

You started to laugh as he rolled his eyes. “How about you guys go help finish cleaning up. I’ll take it from here.” You smiled at the both of them.

“Hey, no it’s okay, y/n. We can help him out.” Hangman waved you off.

You hugged both of them and started to push them out the door, “I got it from here boys, thank you. Seriously.” 

They left and you came back to me in the tub. “Baby, I can do it. I promise.”

You knelt down by the tub and placed your hand on my cheek. “I know you can, but just let me help, okay?” You kissed my forehead. “Just sit back and relax, Bradley. I’ll get you cleaned up.” 

I sighed and leaned back. “I just need help washing my back, baby. That’s it.”

You giggled, “Just take my help, babe.”

“But you’re already doing so much. And you are SO pregnant.”

You shook your head, “Don’t under estimate me, Bradshaw.” You narrowed your eyes at me.

Mine went wide. “Baby, I would never.”

You grabbed a cup and started to fill it with water to pour onto my hair. It felt so good. You started to massage my scalp with the shampoo and I nearly melted under your touch. I let out a little groan.

“You doing okay, baby? Am I hurting you?” You brought your lips to my ear since you were sitting behind me.

I shook my head, “No, sweetheart. It just feels really nice.” You continued to wash my hair and then you rinsed. You added the conditioner and continued to massage my head. When you started to wash my body you were so gentle. I just wanted to fall asleep in the tub. I didn’t want to get out. 

“You ready to get out, babe?” You smiled at me as you poured water onto me to keep me warm. 

“No, but I know I should get out.” I started to sit up. “Thank you for helping me, sweetheart.” 

You kissed my cheek and patted my face dry, “I’d do anything for you, Bradley.” 

You went and got the guys so they could help me out. After I dried off you help me put my clothes on. You re-bandaged my shoulder and clavicle and helped me into bed. You set up a couple of pillows to help keep me elevated. Mav came in with my medication for the night. While I took my medicine, you went to go and get ready for bed. 

“Leia is already down for bed. I put her down before bringing up his meds.” Mav smiled at you. 

You kissed his cheek and got into bed. “Thank you so much, Mav. Thank you for helping out today.” 

He winked at you and patted my leg, “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

I laid back and looked over at you. “Ready for bed?” 

You smiled and got comfortable, “I am. I’m going to sleep so much better knowing you’re here next to me.” You inched closer to me. 

“Come here. Baby.” I held my arm up and you nestled your self into my side.

“I love you, Bradley. Good night,”

“I love you, sweetheart. Good night.”

Your POV

You heard little mumbles coming from Bradley. You got up and looked at the clock. 1:30 AM. You thought that maybe he was in pain and was just trying to handle it. You sat up and placed your hand on his arm. 

“Baby. Do you need more medicine?”

He started to fidget under your hand. “Riot…. Riot I got you…”

Oh shit. You started to rub his arm. “Baby. Bradley.”

“Fuck….No….I’m sorry…” He started move his head side to side. 

“Bradley.” You turned your bed side light on. His eyes were squeezing and his hand balling into a fist. “Bradley. Honey. It’s okay baby.” You were rubbing his chest as he struggled in his sleep.

“PHOENIX!” He shot up hitting you with his shoulder. He was wincing at the pain he was in. He started to cry slightly as he held his clavicle and his chest. 

You held your hand over your mouth and scooted closer to him. You laid your head on his shoulder and comforted him. “Hey. Hey, I’m here. You cradled his head in your arms. “It’s okay, Bradley. You’re okay baby. Riot and Phoenix are okay.” 

He started to cry in your arms. “I’m so sorry baby. Did I hurt you?” 

You shook your head and cupped his cheeks in your hands. You had tears in your eyes. “No, Bradley. You didn’t hurt me. You don’t have to apologize. You’re okay my love. It’s going to be okay.” You scratched at his head and cradled him against you. “You’re okay baby. It was just a dream. They’re all okay.” You placed kisses on his head over and over again. “I’m here, Bradley. I love you. I promise you are okay.”

He held onto you as he started to calm down. He was still shaking slightly in your arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Shhhh.” You shushed him and comforted him. 

“Don’t apologize, baby. You’re okay. You are all safe, Bradley. I promise.” 

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Babes! We are finally back 🥺 Thank you all for being so patient with me! I hope you are all doing well! Are you excited for Bradley to be back home? 🥹 I am! But he definitely has a long road ahead of him. #InDadlyWeTrust 🫶🏼 I'll see you in the next one, besties! 🫶🏼

The party crew is in the comments 🥳

[ftmsteveraglan]

this is so cringe im sorry but i just noticed ur blog with trans william afton/steve raglan and you are so so incredibly real for that i think!!!! if you’re still taking requests, could you write like a fanfic where both william and the reader is trans bc like bro…. i rarely see fanfics that include ftm william AND ftm reader 😭😭 like i never see t4t william but ik his freaky ass would be attracted to that t guy boy loser swag or whatever…. but if ur not taking requests anymore/or has already done this its all good tho!!

also unrelated but happy new year!! can’t believe it’s 2014 already… /j

so i've gotten two requests for t4t william x reader, and it makes me happy to see that other people agree that he'd be into that cringefail loser t guy energy. hope you guys enjoy some smut!

contains: dom william, ftm4ftm, face sitting, william with a strap, matthew lillard's tongue. words for genitalia include slit, hole, cock, and tdick.

"that's it, baby, let me hear you."

you couldn't help the whine rising up in your chest as he murmured against your skin. you tried to squirm away from his teasing, but with one big hand gripping your thigh and the other squeezing your ass, william made it very clear that he was the one in control, and he'd be getting what he wanted. your futile attempts to get control only spurred him on as he ran his obscenely long tongue up your slit, drinking in your juices.

"come on, babe, quit teasing," you complained, grinding down on his face. william's deep chuckle from beneath you only stoked the fire in your belly some more. you gasped as you felt his tongue slip inside you, tasting as much as he could. as soon as his tongue entered you, it disappeared, only for william to wrap his lips around your tdick, making you whimper.

"love this fucking cock, baby," he groaned before running his tongue over it. you gripped onto the headboard, knuckles white from exertion, as he sucked eagerly, knowing just how much this would drive you crazy. any shame you had left as you ground harder against his face, chasing your orgasm, until finally, after several long, agonizing minutes, you came with a loud cry, whining as william crooned up at you, "there we go, baby, just let go..."

he playfully smacked your ass as you climbed off of his face. the sight of him send another shock of heat to your core, his normally bright eyes dark and wild with lust, his beard soaked in your slick. william chuckled and licked his lips, savoring your taste for just a bit longer.

"we're not done yet, baby," he purred as he shifted positions on the bed. "i wanna see how pretty you look when you come on my cock."

you moved around to lay on the bed, allowing yourself to get a better look at william's strap on. you could see his own slick running down his thighs as he stroked the sparkly purple strap, and part of you desperately wanted to eat him out, to taste him just as he'd done to you.

but tonight was all about you.

william climbed on top of you and leaned down to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. "tell me what you want, baby," he said softly before kissing you some more.

"just fuck me already," you begged. "fuck me, please, please, please..."

william grinned as you pleaded for him, a predatory smile which sent a thrill through your veins, before he lined up his strap with your hole.

"good boy," he murmured, kissing you as he slid his way inside.

[verdemoun]

Wait wait wait please tell me more about Kieran and Javier timewarp plsplspls do they go on manfailure dates. Will they go on fishing trips. Does the timewarp vdl gang own a shitty little kayak like they deserve? Need to see Kieran and Javier being losers in love traversing modern times

THEY ARE MY ENDGAME because this is johnigail charthur era but i need my boys to find happiness.

kieran having been in modern era for 12 years when javier gets there. he may be a loser and also neurodivergent but he's so much more relaxed and confident than the gang ever got to see him be. grew his hair longer learned what a razor is and keeps his beard more even length even if his moustache is never more than like kitten whispers. healthy weight functional muscle from walking (drunk sprinting) and gardening like he's thriving

and javier's like having a rough time y'know he just wants to be around the gang all the time. he has felt so alone pretty much since the gang broke up and he's really ashamed of the fact he gave up his/Dutch's ideals and started working for the government for the sake of saving his own skin. and the general learning modern era stuff. most of the gang are busy with their lives though so kieran is accidentally the one who has to show him around?

javier has a type. and kieran very confidently taking his hand with a smile and saying they had to hold hands crossing the road? tall pasty manfailure with ratty dark hair? javier is panicked he is screaming oh no he's hot. it's a constant game of 'is he flirting or is he being socially dense' and javier is about to rip his hair out which kieran finds hilarious and adorable. its completely intentional. kieran is very honest, will fall in love with anyone he finds beautiful and thinks dad bod timewarped rdr1 javier is every bit as damned fine as rdr2 javier.

look they are disasters okay they're disasters in queer genderless human forms. javier went from still holding onto an on-and-off relationship with john pre-1899 that relied on codes and discretion not for being gay but because john was still trying to work things out with abigail (javier was so in love he just accepted being treated like that!!) to blushing at spontaneous pda because kieran glanced over and remembered how handsome his boyfriend is. getting told i love you seventeen times a day. doing something stupidly mundane only to hear 'pretty' from across the room and kieran just watching with the goofiest in love smile on his face. not only how flustered javier gets but also has he ever been in a relationship where he was loved as much as he loved someone? trying not to cry as he catches his semi-verbal boyfriend practising spanish so they can talk in javier's first language because NO ONE IN THE GANG EVER TRIED TO LEARN SPANISH EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN'T SPEAK A WORD OF ENGLISH WHEN HE MET THEM

javier's loyalty also meaning he is the biggest advocate for anything kieran needs to support his neurodivergency?? using the famous 'make grown men piss themselves' glare before staff can even comment on kieran bringing his snacks to a fancy tapas place on date night. also knowing exactly what makes safe foods safe and being able to offer mouthfuls of new foods that kieran might like or very honestly say 'do not touch you will be physically disgusted by this'. both considering a perfect romantic evening fishing. just quietly fishing lost in sharing tips and bait and the total bliss of one another's company. couple pic looks like american gothic with both of them completely blank and holding fish. nestled on the couch watching tv in spanish because kieran has his headphones on and doesn't listen anyway but really enjoys it. javier replacing the weighted blanket. kieran being taller and just picking javier up if something his brain detects as a threat happens because protect loved one comes first and javier trying trying to assure him the small yappy dog is not a threat to their lives but also almost tearing up because imagine someone loving him enough to actively try and keep him safe

it started ironic but their song is literally fish by craig campbell and javier will sing it while playing guitar despite neither one of them particularly enjoying country music but loving that song. the gang are mortified and see kieran as an innocent soft bean of purity who doesn't understand the song is not about fishing. not only is he fully aware but that is exactly why it is their song. trust they have the best sex life in timewarp. just losers with trauma and seperation anxiety who are completely devoted to each other, actually listen to one another so sincerely and never have to be worried about being left behind or forgotten again

to the second point annabelle being the big cheese wealthy woman of the group bought hosea a very modest aluminum boat with a low power engine because he's getting too old for rowing and she knows he does enjoy fishing. john will not touch it with a 10 foot pole he is convinced it is going to sink at any second when someone is reeling in a fish all other passengers have to move to the other side for balance and despite opportunities to buy significant better ocean vessels hosea loves the ss old girl. they can pry his shitty boat from his cold dead hands. so many happy, good, new memories he's formed with the gang in post time-warp.

[hydeingpurples]

Hey man! I always love hearing about others’ transition. I’m a trans guy myself who is just now identifying that way very recently and is navigating getting ready to start T and top surgery whenever I’m able as I am saving up. I’d love to hear about your journey and where you are now. 😊

🏳️‍⚧️ Testosterone and Top Surgery 🏳️‍⚧️ (UK) : Discovering Myself, Hormones, Top surgery, Where I Am Now

Hey buddy! I'm more than happy to tell my story so far. I'll pack as much into this post as I can, as it may be helpful to others too, so it may be a bit long, but I'll do it in sections 😊

🕵🏻 Discovering Myself 🧐

This bit was tough. I think it is for a lot of us. I knew deep down for several years that I wasn't a girl. I was terrified of the thoughts that were buzzing around my head, terrified of the things I was feeling. I buried it so deep. At university, I started to let go a bit. Friends around me came out as non-binary and trans, I figured it wasn't so bad. I experimented with pronouns and identities, and eventually I admitted to myself that I was just a guy. I came out to my family aged 21 by letter and it went really well.

Things were still a bit scary though. Trying a binder on for the first time was both exciting and daunting. It felt so freeing and right, but scary too because it meant that, maybe, I needed to get rid of my chest.

💊 Hormones 💉

Over time, the dysphoria got worse and worse. I was becoming extremely jealous of my best friend who was on testosterone (T) and features that other men had that I didn't. I struggled most with my period. At its worst, I spent hours in my flat toilet and the toilets at work crying and withering in disgust and vile discomfort. I'll never forget those feelings.

I knew I'd make it to the other end though one day because my friend had. And, fortunately, April 2023, that day came.

📝 Testosterone Prescription 😄

After jumping through a load of loopholes and sending my blood tests off, my GP/Doctor booked me an appointment. I thought it was just to talk to me about my blood tests.

I sat down and he talked to me for a bit. Nothing much, nothing special. Then, he started printing something out. He whipped it from the printer and handed me this lil slip of paper. It was a prescription letter.

You know how people say the world can stop? Or go in slow motion? That's exactly what happened. I must have spent an entire lifetime staring down in silence, in awe, at this little piece of paper. My eyes were welling up with joy. I looked at him and all I could do was thank him, over and over and over again. A great smile beamed on his face.

Upon leaving, everything was blurry. It was like I had tunnel vision. All I could see was this piece of paper. I stormed out of the building, called my Mom, and violently cried with joy.

"Slow down, I can't understand you", she said.

"I've got it. I've got it. I have a testosterone prescription!" I spluttered.

It took me a while to calm down, haha. I've never been so joyous.

🌱 Testosterone Effects Timeline 📊

⚠️Please note everyone's changes, intensity of changes, and rates of changes are different⚠️

Week 1: no voice drop, but my throat felt different; increased discharge downstairs; a little sweatier and took me longer to cool down.

Week 2-3: some hot flashes but not many; needed bigger meals.

After 1 month: period stopped (🥳); small amount of increased hair growth on legs; head hair started growing faster; more and slightly more intense hot flashes; subtle voice changes, easier to talk at my lowest level.

2 months: stamina increase, longer work time and shorter recovery time; voice slightly deeper; upper lip hair started coming through darker; increased peach fuzz hair growth on face, arms, legs, stomach, especially legs; increased spots on back.

Up to 6 months: how I felt and processed emotions changed (found it A LOT easier to process emotions, less chaotic mind); even more hair growth and a few random beard hairs; further stamina increase; my sweat and pee changed how they smelt which was weird; further voice changes; sometimes I had sudden bouts of strong hunger but not often.

Up to 12 months: increased downstairs discharge stopped; even more body hair (thicker, darker, curly), especially on legs; a few more beard hairs on chin; back spots decreased; voice a little deeper; face shape changes, boarder shoulders.

Up to 17 months (now): almost every area on my legs is hair; hair growth on butt and up butt; a few more beard hairs (that grow back pretty quick after shaving); warmer, more and longer got flashes, difficulties cooling down (I'm also extremely heat averse though so 🤷🏻); masculinising hairline (i.e receding at the front to look more masculine); much more noticeable voice changes, difficulties reaching higher tones, much easier to talk low.

Extra: I haven't experienced any bottom growth or change in libido at all. I've identified as asexual for a while now and still do, no changes at all. It's fairly common to experience bottom growth and some report a change in libido too, I just haven't 🤷🏻

🧑🏻‍⚕️ Top Surgery 😷 - double incision

I was terrified I wasn't going to get to this stage. I moved from Wales to England and both have different medical systems, so I was petrified of my surgery referral getting lost.

Fortunately, it didn't get lost. Once it was booked in, I had my consultation where I met the surgeon and her team, I was measured, told about the process and what could go wrong and what the solutions were.

Now I had a new fear: was this right? The self doubt was ridiculous. What if I regretted it? What if I hated my results?

The morning of the surgery answered these questions. My plan was that if it felt wrong on the morning, I knew I had the power to back out.

At 8:30am I was called to my surgery. I wrapped my arms around my Mom, a giant smile swallowing my face, and I said, "see you later!", and pranced down the corridor with the nurse. I was SO excited.

Going under anaesthetic was perfectly alright. It was insanely fast which I wasn't expecting. They started the anaesthetic and all I had time for was a few sentences before I was out.

🛏️ Recovery 🏥

💫I've got a big list of tips and tricks for top surgery recovery which might be best for another post because it's huge💫

Recovery actually wasn't too bad. When I woke up, the only discomfort I felt was a prickly feeling around the surgery site which they quickly sorted with painkillers. The day after anaesthetic was a bit rocky, I slept a lot and felt a bit icky, basically like a hangover. After that, all I felt was a dull aching in my abdomen for 3/4 days, otherwise no pain. I couldn't actually feel anything around my nipples or incisions, it was totally numb. The trickiest part was actually keeping myself busy so my Tourette's didn't damage the surgery site.

Once things had healed up a bit more and my stitches were out/dissolved away, I really started to appreciate my new chest. Unlike some people, I didn't have a super euphoria moment. For me, it's simply been total peace and relief since. I no longer think about my chest in any capacity. It feels natural, normal, right, and that, to me, means it was absolutely the right decision. It was what I needed.

🙋🏻 Where am I Now? 🙋🏻

It's been just over 10 months since my top surgery and my scars are fading very well. I'm very happy with the results. I've regained a substantial amount of sensation too in both my nipples and the incision scars. I've done a huge amount of scary care which I'm happy to talk about in another post so this one doesn't get any longer.

I'm fortunate enough to have had all of my records changed, I have a male passport, and I recently passed my driving test and have a full driver's license with my new name on it!

But, I think more importantly, I now feel more confident, I care about what I wear and how I look, I've found my style and what I like to wear, I look after my personal hygiene, and I feel like myself.

And that is where I am now 😊

I hope you've found this helpful in some way. There's a lot of information here. It was nice to type that story out. If you'd like anything else in more detail or have any questions, go for it!

[shellingtons-failed-driving-test]

Chapter One

4,311 Words

Authoru's Note:

Sorry, this doesn't have a title yet, but I'm trying to think up one. I just wanted to go ahead and post it to see what people think. If you have any suggestions pls put them in the comments.

Oh, my word this got way longer than I'd originally intended. I hope I was okay with the characterisation. I was worrying so much as I was writing it. I hope the interactions feel in character and you enjoy it.

Also, I have changed the ages slightly, which I think is fine because they're unspecified. However, it is canon that Peso has finished Medical school, but in the story, he has not. He's 19 and a half because he went to nursing school right after high school and plans to get a medical degree later.

And, in this universe, all humans are animal hybrids so they have actual hands and feet but still ears and tails. I'm not exactly sure how to explain it, but they're referred to by what type of hybrid they are as well as their race. Certain areas have more common hybrids that correspond to what "regular/normal" animals live there. EX: skunk hybrids are only in the Americas because skunks don't live anywhere else.

Anyway, sorry about my ramblings, and happy reading!

Peso's Perspective:

The big car stops with a squeal, throwing me forward with its sudden breaking. As soon as the door opens the sound of waves crashing and seagulls crying fills my ears. The sea breeze is refreshing after being cooped up in a vehicle for so long.

“Here we are.” The driver says curtly. He’s a state government employee with a scruffy beard that makes him look older than he probably is. He didn’t say a single word the entire drive, leaving me in silence broken only by the occasional crackling of the radio. In a way, it was good because it gave me a chance to do some last-minute studying of the Octonauts handbook pdf I printed out at home. Still, I felt like he was kind of glaring at me in the mirror. Maybe it’s just the anxiety. Maybe he’s just a grumpy person. He had photographs of his children clipped to his visor, but I didn’t see a wedding ring. Divorced, maybe?

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s just my job. Say, you’re with that team of astro- er, aqua- whatever, scientist, right?”

“The Octonauts, yes.”

“Right, that’s what it was.” He nods as he helps me unload my bags. I gulp a bit at their size. I’m really going to be living at sea for months. I hope my family will be okay.

As soon as he sets the bags down, he closes the hatch and drives off, leaving me once again alone. The other Octonauts, the original Octonauts, have been at sea for a year already. They got a send-off with fanfare at their port in England, all I got was a crumpled map to try and find my way around this place. I’m not jealous but . . . it only reminds me that I’m the newbie, not one of them.

I’m only here as a filler for Dr. Deere, who had to leave due to a research development for one of his projects on land. They’re going to have a proper replacement, someone qualified, in six months at the latest, that’s what they said. It takes a lot to qualify for this programme, the best of the best with years of study in their fields and here I am, just some lucky guy. I’m not even an actual doctor, just a nurse, and even then I still have a few final training courses to complete. All week I’ve wondered, why on earth would they pick me? Am I even good enough?

I blink at the blare of a ship’s horn. Crap, I can’t zone out like that! I need to be prepared for anything, ANYTHING. I will be . . . as soon as I find the ship.

I was sent the training videos, all 600-something of them, on a hard drive the size of my hand, but obviously, I haven’t had time to watch them all and downloading them would’ve taken nearly all of my storage space, so I just packed the whole hard drive instead. The schematics are on the hard drive too, so I have no idea what this thing looks like. They said they’d go over plans and safety once I was settled, but I wish I could at least have a photo. It’s got to be some kind of submarine, right?

The port on the Isle of Skye is a small, but bustling place. The signage is old, and blocked by containers coming in. A crew pulls a fishing net of turtles out onto the dock, and I wince. Then, I see they’re all for studying. Several scientists surround them, scanning red tags on the fins and retrieving cameras from their shells. I smile as I pass them, waving at the turtles, who wave back. I notice one of the scientists, a brown-haired man hurrying around. When he looks at his tablet he jumps in surprise.

“Jumping jellyfish! We were totally wrong about the feeding grounds. This is amazing! I thought . . .”

I don’t catch the rest as I walk on. I’ve never heard someone so excited about being proven wrong before.

As I round the corner, I see it. 

Dios mío . . .

It looks like an octopus. Of course, it does. I’m so stupid. It’s the Octopod. A state-of-the-art international research station with laboratories capable of housing a crew of 10 for extended periods. Can I just go in?

I stop when I get to the ramp, hesitating at the bottom, I survey the large oddly shaped submarine once more. My temporary home. As I look up something flickers in the window, like a lamp, or a streak of orange, but it’s gone before I’m sure.

I remember what my 4th grade science teacher, Mr. Perez always said: Take a deep breath. I do, and even after all this time, it helps.

The ramp echoes under my feet in a comforting way, assuring me of the ship’s solidity. A small yellow creature greets me, and I gasp. It frowns.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me. You’re very cute looking, you just scared me.”

It makes a chirping sound, which sounds affirmative. Laughing, I follow it into the elevator, as it closes I hear footsteps, someone running.

“Tunip!” A male voice pants, he has a heavy Scottish accent. “Don’t . . . leave me.” 

Huffing and a little winded the scientist from before appears. The yellow creature makes a sound that sounds like a scold. 

“Ah, well, sorry. I got distracted with the turtles.” the man says sheepishly. He’s the same scientist I saw with the turtles. Now that I can see him better it’s clear that he’s not too much older than me. His chestnut brown hair is messy and his eyes have bags underneath them but are still concerningly bright, He bears the appearance of an overworked uni student, and yet somehow still cute.

The creature blows a raspberry at him and starts to close the lift doors.

“Hey, now that’s not very kind! I was just trying to– Ah, hey! Don’t close the lift on me!”

The creature huffs, sounding almost affectionate, but allows the man into the lift. 

Once inside he takes a deep breath, pulling a handful of Polaroids from his shoulder bag, looking at them as if to make sure they don’t disappear. They’re of the turtles, and a few have him in them, but he doesn’t spend as much time looking at them. Finally, he turns to me, as if he’s just noticed me.

“Oh, hello there. Forgive me, I didn’t see you. I’m Shellington.” He doesn’t extend his hand, only nodding, but the greeting is still just as friendly.

“I’m Peso. I’m the temporary medic.”

He nods, more to himself than to me, I think, muttering “Oh, good. It’s dangerous for us not to have one on board, especially with Kwazii.”

As the lift rises, it makes a loud mechanical whirring, as if no one had bothered to dampen it as they do in most lifts. In fact, the whole thing looks industrial and feels about five degrees colder than before the door was closed. I wonder why, I also wonder who Kwazii is. Finally, it dings and the doors open and he steps out into a small dark room. I trip after him, barely able to see a centimetre in front of me.

“Uhhh?”

My foot collides with something and I go sprawling over (except not really because there’s barely space in this room for my body length).

“Owwie! You’ve stood on my foot!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. But, where are we?”

“Oh, whoops, I must’ve forgotten to mention. This lift is only here because some equipment would be unsafe to carry any other way, either because it contains potentially hazardous materials or it’s simply too large.”

“Oh . . . I suppose that makes sense.”

It would be hard to carry an entire x-ray machine up and down stairs, even a portable one.

“Welcome to my closet!” He says it with his arms wide to indicate the space around us with affected excitement, but the space is small so he can’t extend his arms very much. I can’t help but laugh.

The idea of being in a closet makes me laugh a bit, but I still don’t like dark spaces.

“Can we, um, maybe get out?”

“Oh, right, yes.”

He presses a switch I can’t see and light streams in. With a sigh of relief, I follow him into the larger room. It’s a laboratory. It’s very green, with light green walls, floors and posters. Now that I pay attention, even his shirt is olive green. He must really love green.

I turn to ask him about where I’m supposed to be, only to see he’s already gone back to work. Right, they don’t have time for a bumbling rookie. After a moment of debate with myself, I tap him lightly on the shoulder. It takes a few times before he notices, and when he does he jumps again. 

“Excuse me, do you know where it is I’m supposed to go?”

He furrows his brow thoughtfully, “Hmm, I don’t have much to do with the recruitment process, that’s Professor Inkling and the Captain’s job, but I believe you’re supposed to meet with the Captain, he should be in HQ. I have to finish processing this data, but Tunip can take you.”

“Okay.”

The creature, Turnip, seems to smile. He chirps excitedly leading me back to the lift. When he gets in he jumps high enough to press the button that reads HQ. The ride is short and the doors open out to a large circular room. Glass makes up the top half of the room, a large skylight. I can only imagine what it must look like underwater. It must be incredible.

In the centre stands a tall man, not quite old enough to be my father, but a little older than Pogo, with neatly combed white hair, he wears a blue uniform with a tool belt. This must be the captain. He smiles, extending his hand. He towers over me.

“Good morning, you must be Peso. I’m Captain Barnacles, it’s lovely to finally meet you, Dr. Deere told me all about you.” His voice is loud, but kind.

“Oh, h-he did?” It comes out as a question, and I stutter under everyone’s sudden gaze. Even Tunip looks expectantly at me. “I mean, I’m glad he did. And I’m very glad to meet all of you and be working with you.”

“Us as well, we hope you can learn a lot during your time here. Let’s meet everyone.”

He waves for me to follow and takes me to a station full of buttons and computers. A woman gets up when she sees us. She has warm brown skin and hair cut in a fluffy chin-length bob, sunbleached with blond highlights. She’s a bit taller than me

“Dashi, meet Peso, our new medic.”

“Rad! Nice to meet you Peso. I’m Dashi, head of system and operation here in the Octopod. I run all the computer systems and track the weather patterns, but on my days off, I’m a surfer.”

With her Australian accent, it definitely makes sense.

“Ooh, fun.”

“It is, have you met anyone else yet?”

“The Captain, but that was obvious, sorry, and Shellington. He introduced himself as just Shellington, but does he have credentials I should call him by?”

“Not yet, but finished uni and he’s doing his PhD research on this mission, so he will. Have you met the vegimals yet?”

“The what?”

“They’re what he’s doing his research on. Oh, I’m sure you’ll just love them. I think Barrot is with Tweak right now actually.”

At this, Captain Barnacles nods, “Yes, I’m taking him to meet Tweak next.”

“Great, see you around, Peso!”

“You too.” I take a breath as we get back in the lift.

“This must be a lot for you.”

“Oh, no, sir. It’s really fine.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can handle it, but if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask any of us. I know they can be a bit intense at first, but they’re all good people and they all want the same thing, to help creatures in the ocean. We’re happy to have you and they’ll be happy to help you adjust.”

“Thank you, Captain.” I can tell from his voice just how much he believes in the crew and in me, the only question is whether the crew feels the same, and if I even deserve that belief.

“I do hope you’ll settle in easily.”

“I’ll try my best. The crew all seem really nice.”

The lift dings then, relaising us to what looks like a garage with a large pool in the centre.

I see more of the creatures like Tunip standing next to a machine I can only describe as looking like a big orange shark, holding wrenches. What was it Dashi called them? Vegi-mals? The vegi-mal is as orange as the gup.

“47, please.” a female voice calls. Whoever she is, she has a southern United States accent like I’ve never heard before. I look around for the woman but I only see a pair of fluffy, light green ears sticking out from underneath the metal shark. They contrast oddly with the orange.

The vegi-mal hands her the large wrench he was holding.

“Thanks, screwdriver.”

She reaches up and he puts a small screwdriver in her hand.

“Thanks.” she hands the wrench back, “carrot.”

Huh?

The vegi-mal hands her a carrot straight out of the toolbox.

“Tweak, are you almost finished?” the Captain asks.

“You bet, I’ll be done faster n’ you can say buncha munchy crunchy carrots.”

Just as she pronounces the “t” she slides out from under the machine, half-eaten carrot in hand.

“What’s up?” Her hazel eyes sparkle in a nice way.

“Tweak, I’d like you to meet the new member of our team, Peso. He’ll be our medic for the next few months.”

She jumps up, striding over to shake my hand, “Nice to meet ya, Peso. Welcome abroad, and welcome to the Launch Bay.”

She takes a big bite of carrot, smiling, her green braid swinging as she walks over to the control panel. She’s more muscular than I am, wearing a jumpsuit not zipped all the way so it shows her tank top revealing her build. Her belt is full of tools I can’t even name, she looks like she belongs here.

“Thank you, it’s such a nice space,” I tell her honestly, looking around at all the gadgets. Finally, I spot something familiar. Ring of Fire, it's my younger brother, Pinto’s favourite video game. Seeing it makes me miss him more. 

She follows my gaze, “You play? I’m always up for a tournament!”

“Oh, ah, no. My younger brother. I’ve joined him a few times but I always die before the first round.”

“Shame, maybe I can teach you. Perhaps I can even teach you so well you’ll beat Kwazii. Ah, speakin’ of Kwaz, I should probably put Bea way before he comes lookin’ for her.”

Two people now have mentioned Kwazii. I wonder what his deal is? Is he the Octonauts mischievous pet or something? Whoever he is, I really want to meet him now. Meanwhile, there's a bubbling and the orange metal contraption disappears into the water.

The Captain laughs, “Yes, you should. Thank you for taking the time for Peso, I’m sure we’ll be back soon to see which Gup he’ll be riding in.”

“Well I was working’ on a little project . . . but yeah, s’probably best if he just rides with one of us for now. Gup A’s probably safest. You’re going to see the professor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well tell him thanks for the book, it’s helped a lot with my design.”

“I will. He’ll be glad to hear it.” The Captain smiles as he takes us back to the lift.

“The Equipment elevator, really, Cap?”

“Well, I thought that—”

Suddenly there’s a whooshing, and somebody lands right next to me.

“Ahoy Tweak!” A male voice shouts.

Tweak looks unimpressed, but I can see hidden affection when she rolls her eyes. “She’s not here.”

“Not anywhere?”

“Nope, ya just missed here.”

He whines, “Tweeeak! When am I gonna get my Gup back?”

“Come on, it’s just repairs, we do this every quarter, you know this.”

“I know, but . . .” he turns, starting to stalk off, then calls over his shoulder, “Fine, but I’ll be back!”

“I’m sure you will.”

While he’s looking at Tweak he stalks right into me. I fall very gracefully onto my butt. He snaps his head back in my direction with surprise, looking down.

“Oh, hey there little fella. I’m sorry about that.” he bends down offering his hand, and after a second I decide to embrace the humiliation and take it. He smiles, “So what brings you here?”

“I-”

“Are you lost?”

“What? No, I-”

“Kwazii.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation, Captain.”

“I know but-”

“Are you here for a tour? I didn’t think they let people do that.”

“Kwazii.” Captain taps him hard on the shoulder.

“Ouch! What is it, Captain?”

“He works here now.”

The man, Kwazzi, steps back, eye wide, then narrowing into basically a slit. I shiver. “Oh.” he lifts his eyes patch, squinting to look at me . . . and then he bursts out laughing.

I feel my entire body heating up with humiliation. Tweak winces.

“Oh, matey, I’m so sorry!” he manages between laughs, “I thought you were a kid. My bad, my bad.” At last, he recovers himself, extending his hand. “You must be Peso. I’m Kwazii, First Lieutenant.”

I don’t shake his hand. He frowns, retracting it and crossing his arms in disappointment. He seems kind, like someone who cares but that only makes it more patronising, only he isn’t wrong. Of course, he thought I was a kid. I am a kid. I don’t belong here with these smart talented adults.

It must show on my face because he softens, he steps forward, then back as if unsure of what to do. I don’t want to be babied. I’m not some creature he has to help. I want to be here to help, and here I am obviously a penguin out of water.

“Oh, I’m not laughing at you, I was laughing at meself, for being so knot-headed”

It’s fine really. I’m used to it, to being underestimated (even though I’m not sure I even have the skills) I don’t let it touch me anymore. (at least that's what I’m trying to tell myself. It’s not working.) I shake my head, not able to help the sign that escapes me. I am so in over my head. I don’t think he meant to be rude (surely not, but maybe insulting rookies is acceptable in scientific communities. Even if he sounds like some sort of pirate, he’s probably waaay smarter than me). “Oh. No, it's perfectly fine, you’re not the first and won’t be the last.”

He stands even farther back, not saying a thing, arms still crossed. His eyes scan over me, as if picking me apart, definitely judging me. He almost looks still, almost, but I can tell he’s not, not on the inside anyway. He can’t seem to truly stand still, his tail and ears twitching impatiently. He rocks on his feet ready to go do whatever it is he does at a moment's notice. Now that he’s as close to still as I suspect he gets I take the chance to really look at him.

The last member of my new team is tall (well, tall to me, and most people are tall to me, so probably medium height), and ginger. Unlike most gingers I’ve seen he’s not actually strawberry blond or a carrot top, but a light shade of orange that changes colour as the light shifts. It’s pretty.

His eye does the same. I can only see the right one and it's hard to tell because he keeps twitching but I think he has heterochromia, the rarer kind where one eye has two colours. The eye that I can see is brown with an amber in a ring around the middle.

But that’s not the strangest thing about him, one of his ears has a piece missing from it. I shiver at the thought of what could’ve done that. Did he get it while on a mission? Luckily they said I won’t have to go on missions . . . probably.

The Captain coughs awkwardly to break the silence. “Kwazii is field personnel, so he spends most of his time outside of the Octopod. You most likely won’t be seeing each other too often.” he looks at me as if trying to assure me. I know it’s unkind, but it makes me feel a bit better that I won’t have to spend much time around Kwazii. He's loud, seems unpredictable and looks dangerous (though I’m sure he’s not).

“That must be very exciting. I’m sure we can get to know each other some other time, then.”

He smiles but like all cats he has fangs, so it’s all teeth. I try my best not to gulp. Thankfully Captain leads me toward the lift. As we walk away I hear Kwazii whisper to Tweak “Huh? Where are they going?” I don’t even know why I turn around, but I do.

“Why aren’t you using the octochute?”

“The what?”

“The octochutes, haven’t you been using them?” I can tell he’s not trying to be mean. He looks so genuinely confused that it’s almost comical. His face is like the "???” expression in real life. It makes me laugh a little, releasing the tension.

“No.”

“Well then how’ve you been getting around, then?”

“I just took the lift.”

“But . . . it’s for equipment?”

“Yes, Shellington told me.”

He still looks incredulous. “The equipment lift? Why in the seven seas would ya do that, matey?”

“I don’t know, I just . . . did.”

“Matey, we ONLY use it for equipment, plus it’s sooo slow, and cold.”

Oh, that would explain why it isn’t nearly as fancy as the rest of the ship and opens into closets. I feel dumb for not realising it before. I guess I just thought they were cramped for space, but of course not. How stupid of me.

“Kwazii. Be polite, I told him too. It is his first day, after all. The octochutes can be a bit shocking at first, and he’s already come a long way to get here. I wanted to ease him into it.”

Kwazii droops, face losing the confusion and entering to a neutral state with no expression at all, after seeing him so energised it looks wrong like excitement is the natural state of his particles.

The Captain leads me away, back into a second equipment lift (I didn’t know there were two), I exhale when it closes and Kwazii and Tweak disappear.

After escaping another closet, we step into a bright blue and white room. It’s filled with medical equipment. This must be the Medical Bay. Through the door’s small window, I can see through the window across the hall. In his laboratory, Shellington is typing away on a desktop. Probably finishing the data he was talking about earlier.

“Here we are.”

I turn back to where the Captain stands. 

“This is the Medical Bay, where you’ll be working for the next few months. You share a sleeping pod with Dashi and there’s an Octochute that will take you there.”

“Sh-hare?” I mean, sure, I’m gay, I’ve known that since I was young, but still, wouldn’t Dashi like her privacy? I’d like my privacy. We barely know each other!

“Oh, not like that, this isn't a sleepaway camp. We’re all professional adults, she gets one half and you get the other, there’s a wall in the middle with an Octochute. If you want Dashi to show you how to use it she’ll be happy to, I’m sure.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Captain.”

“I hate to leave you all by yourself, but I have a meeting with Tweak to discuss her latest project. If you need anything just find one of us.”

“Oh, okay.”

He leaves, and then I’m alone. The Octopod must be soundproofed to outside sounds because I can hear nothing but the air system cycling. I pull my phone from my pocket for music, but the battery is dead. Great! And then, I’m not even sure exactly why but I start to cry. I’m an idiot, trapped on a ship with people I don’t know who probably think I’m incompetent and unqualified for a job I didn’t even sign up for. The meeting with Kwazii showed me exactly how much I don’t know. Now here I am, pathetically crying. I miss my family.

There was a cat in my class in primary school, an orange tabby just like First Lieutenant Kwazii. He’d been held back a year so he was taller and bigger than all of us and he was loud too and would always bully the smaller kids and get away with it. I don’t even know why I’m remembering him all of a sudden. I know he and Kwazii aren’t the same, but I’ve never liked loud unpredictable people. They scare me. Maybe that’s why.

And something tells me I’ll be seeing Kwazii in the Medical Bay somewhat often. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I don’t dislike him, of course not, but I feel . . . wary.

Oh well. I won’t allow him or anyone else to interfere with my job. I will prove to myself and them that I can handle myself for a few months. And then it’ll all be over and I’ll get to go home again.

Taking a deep breath, I keep busy by familiarising myself with the workings of the Medical Bay and everything in it. It’s fully stocked with any supplies and equipment I could need so all I brought were clothes. There isn’t much to do, so I resort to cleaning the space that’s probably already sterile, just because it calms me down.

After a while, an announcement comes over the speakers that we’ll be departing for the Mediterranean Sea to aid in the preservation of coral at sunrise tomorrow. 

Before I know it I find myself falling asleep at the work table. Too tired by the day’s events I let myself drift off.

(A/N: Poor Kwazii, he can be kinda scary without meaning to be. He’s just so confused as to why someone wouldn’t want to use the super duper fun octochutes. LOL)

[transguyjesus]

GOSH it has been ages since I've done an update. I've just been so out of it due to many happenings and also because I moved the blog to a different account.

SO. I went off T about a year ago.

When I first started, i knew that there was a possibility that i'd want to go off eventually for different reasons. Months into hrt one of them became obvious: I was producing way too much blood. By the second year i was going to need to get my blood drawn ever few months to keep me at healthy levels. Due to other reasons, (mainly the pandemic) i was forced to stop before that happened.

But when i started back up, desperate for the changes i needed (deep voice and facial hair were always my priority) the blood became a concern again. So by the third year, i had to start getting my blood drawn every few or so months, just as me and my doctor had thought.

I also started losing way too much hair. My hair was thinning FAST and I thought i was prepared to go bald for the sake of my dysphoria but it turns out I wasnt. I didnt like, cry about it, but i realised that it bothered me way too much.

So I thought for a LONG WHILE and ultimately came to the conclusion that, well, my beard has filled up quite nicely, i even get healthy envious comments from cis dudes about it, my voice is quite deep and with voice training i can get it even deeper if i want to. I am definitely planning on going back to working out when i find both the time and the place, and i dont think i want to have much more hair on my back, i already have some nice patches on my shoulders and my chest and stomach are also covered in a decent amount of hair.

I decided to try it out. If i hated it, I could always go back on T.

A bit over a year since my last shot, this is what's happened:

-My voice can still go just as deep as ever, but now it's easier to also go into higher ranges. I suspect, with some light voice training, I'll have a pretty wide range and that pleases me, as I love to sing.

-I started bleeding again only two months ago. I was dreading this, as it was a huge GD inducer. But it was just meh. I really think that my mental state regarding myself helps with this. I am so comfortable in my body now, as a man who happens to have these parts, that thinking of myself as "a dude who menstruates" is just whatever now. Being able to look in the mirror with how T changed some of my facial features and gave me a nice beard DEFINITELY helps, though lmao

-My hair stopped thinning. And it's growing back a little, so far just enough to cover the worst of it. I know it will not grow back completely and i don't want it to. I just want to be able to keep my hair for at least another decade without any bad balding.

-i have not yet seen any significant change in fat distribution. My hips are still smaller than my shoulders and my waist is still bigger than it was pre-T. I hope me eventually getting back into regular excercise will help me keep it that way.

-About that last bit, my chest was always pretty small. I was very lucky in that regard. Pre-t it was still too much for me so i wore a binder daily. With fat redistribution it got smaller, i think both due to fat not depositing in there and because my shoulders got broader (i can fill up shirts i couldnt before). I'm still able to not bind. And i can comfortably walk around shirtless if i want to. This is very likely also due to higher confidence in myself. I don't think I'll go back to binding. It already damaged me enough. If for some curse my chest does get bigger I'll just hurry up the process and take a loan for top surgery.

-My beard, for some miracle, is STILL filling up. I recently noticed that it's covering a bigger area than before. This is likely to be from my PCOS, as even pre-T i had some very light facial hair (it was just enough to use mascara to darken it and pass it off as the weakest goatee in the world 🤣 but it made me happy back then. Wish i could show that little dude how he'll look 5 years later, his face would be AMAZING)

And that's about it, so far. I'm pretty ok with how things have turned out. I have to get some blood work done to check my hormone levels, I'll be updating how that's going. Will i go back on T? That's yet to be seen. Some days I feel like i want to go back on T right now. But pretty quickly i realise that no, I'm still good. It's very likely I'll go back on T in the future. How far? No idea. Could be next month. Could be next decade. But yeah. Off T for a year and I'm still no less a man. I'm very much still just Me.

I wanted to share this because it's part of my journey as a person and I also know many people think you can't go off hrt once you've started. I've seen enough people mocking others (specially binary trans people talking to nonbinary ppl) for planning on taking hormones only until certain changes happen and then stopping. I'm here, as a binary trans man, to say that's bullshit and you can do whatever you want.

I can't speak on estrogen hrt, but if you're afab planning on getting testosterone hrt for any reason, the only thing i advise if you're planning on going off after certain changes is to THOROUGHLY research what those changes will be. I've seen enough people complaining about bottom growth when that is ALWAYS the very first change. Nothing else happens as fast when you take T. Also Look at the men in your family. I was wholly, 100% aware i would go bald, i thought i was prepared for it due to knowing it would happen, but clearly i wasnt. Make an informed decision and listen to yourself if, like me, you initially thought you were Ok with a change you knew would come but when it happens you don't like it. It's ok. People change.

Be confident in yourself and your identity, nobody knows you better than you. Only you know what will make you happy.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {27}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, wedding bells are ringing. F1 Masterlist || Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Australia 2024

“Hey Christian,” I greeted nervously as I sat in the master bedroom of our hotel suite, hoping Pierre was too busy playing with Addie in her room to overhear the phone call. “I was wondering if you remember making me a certain promise some 15 years ago?”

The Red Bull principal chuckled. “That depends, I don’t have a spare seat.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” I rushed to clarify. “Pierre is very happy at Alpine. I was wondering if you could put me in touch with one of the Red Bull artistic pilots. I know I’m hoping for a miracle but it’s for a top secret mission on Saturday after the wedding.”

“Colour me intrigued. I’ll make some calls and see who’s available at such short notice.”

I thanked him before bidding farewell and sending out a prayer that Christian could help because I hadn’t been able to get this idea out of my head for two days. Knowing there was nothing else to be done until Christian called back, I focused on the paperwork in front of me. Mum had sent through the documents for Addie’s new birth certificate and I slipped it into the folder with our marriage certificate that the celebrant needed on the big day. 

It was like the stars had aligned and everything I thought I would never have was coming into fruition. Just thinking about how far I had come and how happy I was brought tears to my eyes and I swiped them away before they could fall on the important paperwork.

“Mon ange?” I looked up from the bed and found Pierre crossing the room, concern written on his face. “What’s wrong?”

I held my hand out reaching for him, the sapphire engagement ring glinting under the chandelier, and he quickly took it as he climbed onto the bed. 

“Nothing’s wrong,“ I promised with a sniffle. “I love you so much and you make me so happy.”

“Then why are you crying?” he asked softly, catching a stray tear with his thumb. 

“Because I’m happy.”

“I’m confused,” he admitted as wrapped me in his arms. “That’s twice this week I’ve found you in tears.”

“I know, baby. It’s just the closer we get to the wedding I find myself thinking about us and how much things have changed. You have made my life infinitely better, and Addie’s too.” Another wave of emotion washed over me and more tears spilled down my cheeks. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

“Three days,” he said with a growing smile. “It seems so close yet so far.”

I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day as I stood at the edge of the rooftop garden and looked at the city sprawling below. The sun was beginning its descent and the thousands of twinkling fairy lights came to life as a pair of arms curled around my waist and Pierre’s trimmed beard tickled my neck and he kissed my racing pulse.

“What’s on your mind, Mrs Gasly?”

I smiled at the name and turned in his arms so I could kiss my husband and tasted the subtle notes of the champagne he had used as a toast during our speeches. 

“How perfect this moment is,” I answered as I draped my arms around his neck and we gently swayed to the music playing at the other end of the roof. “I needed a moment to make sure it was real.”

I could still feel the weight of the fountain pen in my hand, remember the strokes of the nib across the papers and the sight of my signature next to his. Husband and wife, mother and father. They were the two most important documents I had ever signed and I had trouble pushing away the memory of the marriage and birth certificate because they had made me unbelievably happy.

“There they are,” Pierre said with a chuckle as he wiped away the tears that snaked down my cheek. “I wondered when they would show.”

A small laugh bubbled up and it had been surprising that I had been able to make it through our vows without crying. I had been blinking furiously, not willing to have anything blur the memory of Pierre standing in front of me, his steady hand holding my trembling one as he slipped the wedding band onto my finger.

“Thank you,” I mouthed as my voice failed me. 

“You can thank me with another dance, darling wife,” he said when he was satisfied no more stray tears were going to escape and he offered his elbow. “I am never going to get tired of calling you my wife.”

I looped my arm in his and we turned our backs to the city lights. “And I am never going to get tired of hearing it, dear husband.”

“Adelaide Mirabella Gasly, no running.”

“You’re not meant to smile when you growl her,” Granny chided softly as she zipped your departing dress up, her head tilting slightly as it caught slightly at the small of your back before gliding up.

“I can’t help it,” I huffed, still unable to stop smiling at her new surname. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy. It’s like I need to scream it to the world or I’m going to explode.”

“Remember this feeling, sweetie,” Granny said as she patted my cheek. “Marriage isn’t easy and it won’t always be happy chappy. Remember this feeling, so you know what you are fighting for when it gets hard.”

I took her hands in mine, giving them a small squeeze. “Not exactly the advice I thought I would get on my wedding day.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Take it from someone who has been married four times, it may not give you butterflies but it is practical.”

“I think the fact you have been married four times means I shouldn’t take your advice, Granny.”

She pinched my cheek at the comment before stepping away with a laugh. “You’re 100% right, I’m older but certainly not wiser. Now go enjoy your honeymoon - may it be your one and only.”

I wrapped Addie in my arms after finally catching her running through the living room with Pierre hot on her tail, her wedding cake sugar high well and truly setting in. “I love you, baby girl. We will see you in two sleeps, okay?”

“I want to come,” she grumbled for the millionth time as I put her back on the ground, her bottom lip quivering.

“We will go on a family trip after the race,” Pierre promised as he knelt down at her height. “Anywhere you want, just the three of us.”

He held out his pinky and she wrapped hers around it. “Where’s Sydney?”

My heart nearly leapt out of my chest as I looked at Pierre. “Where did you hear that?”

“It was on the tv,” she said with a shrug. “There was a zoo.”

“Oh, it’s a city a few hours away from here. Do you want to go there?”

She nodded happily and Pierre promised to take her to the zoo, so long as she promised to behave for her grandparents who would be looking after her while we went away for a short honeymoon.

Everyone was still on the rooftop bar, dancing and singing to the music Danny Ricciardo was playing after talking the DJ into letting him have a go. They would likely keep partying for hours yet but me and Pierre would continue with our own celebration at a luxury villa on a private beach out of the city. I could already hear the helicopter coming in to land on the helipad across from the reception area.

A cheer rose from the crowd as they formed two lines and tossed handfuls of rose petals and rice over us, the grains slipping down my cleavage for Pierre to find later. We had already thanked our friends and family before leaving to get changed but I still stopped to squeeze my mum's hand and then dads as we made our way along. 

The helicopter whipped Pierre’s hair around but mine was pinned down tight and my giggle was lost to the wind as he unsuccessfully tried to hold it down before helping me step up into it. We surged into the air and the pilot tilted the chopper so we could see our guests waving goodbye before we disappeared into the night, our first night as husband and wife.

“Ready, Mrs Gasly?” Pierre asked over the headset as he took my hand, his thumb running along the wedding band he had placed on my finger.

“Siempre, Mr Gasly.”

Media Day in Melbourne

We hadn’t even taken five steps into the paddock after scanning our passes when our presence was announced.

“Paaaapi Chuuuulllooooo!” Daniel shouted across the paddock, drawing the attention of the reporters who he had been chatting to about racing on his home track again. “And Mrs Papi Chulo.”

“No, Danny, hard no,” I said with a cringe. “Keep the perverted names to Peirre only, please.”

He pouted playfully before going back to his interview and I left Pierre to sign a few hats, taking Addie’s hand and making our way to Alpine’s hospitality. All along the way friends and strangers alike gave us their well wishes for a long and happy marriage as they admired the pair of rings on my finger.

Thankfully it didn’t take long for Pierre to catch up since he had a busy day with interviews booked between the two free practice times. He reached me with the assistance of a quick jog just as Addie spotted Otmar and had darted off after him and a big smirk was plastered on his face.

“So, no Mrs Papi Chulo,” he confirmed with a laugh when I slapped his ribs lightly. “I was just checking.”

“That’s a no from me,” I confirmed with a droll stare that turned to a smirk as I bit my lip. I stepped closer and rose to my tiptoes so I could whisper in his ear since there were always microphones nearby in the paddock. “But you can call me mamacita.”

Pierre caught my hips and stopped me from the quick retreat I had been planning. “Uh-uh, where do you think you’re going, mamacita?”

I smirked as I recognised the look in his eyes and pressed your body flush to his. “To get you an ice bath, dear husband. It feels like you might need one.”

“Dieu me donne la force,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers slipping as I stepped away.

“You are going to be late, Mr Gasly,” I said as I pointed to the countdown for the first free practice. “And you still need to get dressed out of those tight clothes.”

He bit his lip and I knew it was to hold back a witty remark but I was right, he was late and as soon as free practice was over then it was straight into the media frenzy. “I’ll get you back for this, Mrs Gasly,” he warned with a smirk before taking off into a jog again.

“I look forward to it!”

The crowd for Pierre’s media time slot was busier than usual, with dozens of signs of support waving about for him - or at least the nickname Danny had popularised. Still, I loved seeing them all there cheering for my husband as I waited on the stage with today’s reporter, Lydia. As usual, Pierre was running a little late and skidded to a stop on the stage at seeing me on the red lounge suite set up.

“Here he is!” Lydia gushed, earning a cheer and round of applause. “Come, come, take a seat and get comfortable. Today is special because we have a fun little game that your wife has put together.” Pierre looked giddy when Lydia said ‘wife’ and he looked my way as I bounced my knees nervously. “Have you seen your wedding photos yet?”

Pierre grinned as he picked up his microphone. “Yes, we received a few teasers this week and, wow, they are amazing.”

“I have a few here today, but I’m told these ones you haven’t seen yet.” A quiet ‘ohhh’ rose from the crowd. “Your task is to figure out just how many Gasly’s are in each photo.”

Pierre’s brows pinched in confusion as the first photo was shown and he looked over the rim of his sunglasses at the image. 

The Palais Theatre had made a beautiful backdrop for some black and white images and in the picture Pierre had curled his arm around my waist, cradling me back into an elegant dip. Little did he know that out in the sea of seats his brothers had been hidden and they stepped out into the aisle to mimic the move with Phillipe dipping Paul. They were both grinning like fools and it was a miracle that they had kept quiet before hiding once again.

A burst of laughter erupted from Pierre as he looked into the crowd and spotted his brothers with the rest of our families. “I’m actually lost for words,” he admitted as he shook his head. “I don’t think they even dipped their wives at their weddings.”

“So how many Gasly’s are there in the photo?” Lydia prompted and he scanned it again to see if anyone else was hiding.

“Four,” he answered confidently before the next photo appeared.

This time it was one from under the starting lights on the grid. After we had taken a few pictures with just the two of us, Addie had joined us and she sat on Pierre’s shoulders while reaching for the five red lights above. It was then that Pascale and Jean-Jacques had stood up from where they were hiding on the bridge that spanned the grid width, both copying Addie’s excited pose.

“Five,” he said with a chuckle after scanning the picture twice to make sure there weren't any more hidden and turning to me. “How did you manage this?” 

“With difficulty,” I admitted, getting more anxious by the second. 

“Halfway there,” Lydia cheered and the second to last photo appeared.

 It was down on the lakefront of Albert Park and we were facing each other, smiling brightly as the sun shimmered on the water's surface. While we were so focused on each other, a few faces had peered out from where they were hidden behind the trees in the park and two bystanders sitting on a park bench reading the local newspaper folded them up.

Another burst of laughter erupted from Pierre as he pointed out his mother and father as well as Adelaide and two of her cousins in the trees, then his brothers on the park bench. “Nine.”

The photo changed and my stomach did a little flip as his brows pinched together again. At first glance it looked the same as the last photo, all the extra Gasly’s still in the park. But something had changed.

The photographer had done so well to distract Pierre long enough for the surprise to be completed and Pierre had complained at how long the ‘perfect’ photo had taken. Now he saw the final image and he wasn’t the only one to be surprised.

“What the?” he exhaled as he saw the writing in the sky and pulled his sunglasses down to get a closer look. 

Christian had pulled through and his friends at Red Bull Air Racing had been happy to help make my idea come to life without even knowing the meaning behind it. To anyone else the word neatly scrawled across the blue Mebourne sky would probably cause confusion but to Pierre it meant everything. 

Sydney

I had been biting my lip as he stared at the word, the crowd silent as they waited for an explanation. “Now how many Gasly’s are in the photo?”

“Ten,” he rasped, his throat thick with emotion as he licked his lips and reached over to me, his hand coming to rest low on my stomach. “Tu es enceinte?”

“Yeah,” I whispered as I placed my hand over his. “We’re having a baby.”

Click here for chapter twenty eight.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover