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warfaredoll · 1 month ago

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𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

this was supposed to be your daddy…

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — you had it all planned out. the wallet Erik kept eyeing at the store? bought and tucked away. his favorite cologne, the snacks he loved, and the socks he claimed “mysteriously disappeared” every week? wrapped and hidden. you had even picked out the perfect card, handwritten with your favorite memories of him as a dad. and a little drawing your son had made folded inside a card you helped him write. you even had tiny handprints stamped in paint and framed, ready to make him tear up like he always did when it came to your little boy. every detail perfected. the plan was to wake up before him, decorate the kitchen table, and surprise him like he deserved. but of course… Erik beat you to it. you stirred awake that morning, confused by the warm light in the room and the empty spot beside you in bed. when you sat up, you were met with the smell of breakfast something sweet, something savory, and the faint sound of little feet running across the hardwood floor. then, a knock on the door “Mommy!” a tiny voice giggled, followed by a clumsy push as the door creaked open. your son peeked in, messy haired and smiling, holding a bouquet nearly half his size. a mix of your favorite flowers; sunflowers, peonies, wild daisies spilling over the edges of his arms. “daddy says happy fathers day to you” he said proudly, barely understanding the meaning behind the words. Erik appeared behind him, shirt slightly wrinkled, smile wide “happy father’s day baby” he murmured as he leaned in to kiss your temple “or should I say… thank you for making me a father.” you blinked, slightly confused and still dazed. he walked over, setting a tray of breakfast down on the edge of the bed. pancakes shaped like little hearts, fruit on the side, coffee just how you liked it. then, he handed you a folded piece of paper, edges a little bent, colored in with crayon and scribbled pen. you opened it. inside was a hand drawn card, a messy sketch of the three of you Erik, your son, and you holding hands beneath a stick figure sun. beneath it, in Erik’s neater handwriting it read “thank you for the love you give, the life you brought into this world, you didn’t just make me a father you made me the best version of myself.” your throat tightened, “you were supposed to be the one getting spoiled today” you managed to say. Erik just grinned, settling beside you on the bed as your son climbed up between you both “I already got the best gift. every day when I look at you two.” you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as your son leaned into your lap, playing with the petals of the flowers he’d brought. Erik kissed the top of your head again. later, when you finally got to give him your own surprise gifts, Erik smiled so big you thought your heart might burst. he pulled you into a hug, held you close, whispered “thank you for everything. you made me a father.” and even though it was technically father’s day, Erik made sure you knew, you were just as much a reason to celebrate

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — the basket sat on the kitchen table, wrapped neatly in soft tissue and ribbon. you had filled it with all of Tommy’s favorite things, along with a new mug that said #1 Dad (almost), a little framed ultrasound photo, and tucked beneath it all, a tiny white onesie that read “daddy’s first father’s day.” next year, your baby would wear it. this year, Tommy just stared at it like he couldn’t wait. you watched him from the couch, your belly full and round, he walked over slowly, knelt beside you, and laid his head beneath your bump like it was the only place in the world he wanted to be. his hand spread gently across your belly, thumb brushing over the stretch marks you were still getting used to. he didn’t look at them the way you did, to him they were everything. “Tommy” you said softly, running your fingers through his buzzed hair “are you sure you don’t want to do anything? I made plans for us to celebrate you today.” he didn’t answer at first just pressed a kiss to the side of your stomach, then looked up at you with those soft tired eyes. “I’d rather be here” he said “like this.” you let out a little breathy laugh, brushing your thumb down to his cheek, then to his ear lovingly. “you already gave me everything” he whispered “I don’t need anything else.” the baby kicked once, just gentle enough to make his hand shift. he smiled slow, and a little teary. the kind of smile he only gave you when he didn’t know how else to show how much he felt. he tucked his face into your belly again, arms loosely wrapped around your waist like he was protecting both of you from the whole world. “I don’t know how I got this lucky” he murmured into your skin “I don’t even care if I never figure it out.” you didn’t say anything back. you just kept your fingers in his hair, your other hand resting over his on your belly, and the three of you stayed like that. and even though the baby hadn’t arrived yet… Tommy was already the kind of father you always knew he’d be

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — it wasn’t his first Father’s Day but this one felt different. maybe it was the way your daughter had insisted on coloring a crooked heart next to the words “best dad ever” in her homemade card, or maybe it was the weight of your newborn son sleeping soundly against your chest, his little hand curled near your collarbone. maybe it was just that Elliott had become even more of a father in these past few weeks sleepless nights, baby bottles, diapers, and still somehow enough energy left to braid your daughter’s hair and make her laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world. you leaned against the bathroom doorframe, baby boy in your arms, watching him as he stood at the mirror. fresh from the shower, towel slung low around his waist, his skin still damp. he ran a razor carefully along his jaw, shaving down the dark stubble until only the mustache remained a little signature look of his, something that made you smile every time. he caught your eyes in the mirror, flashing you that familiar smirk. “how do I look?” you barely had to even think about it “Handsome.” you replied, he looked away for a second like you still made him nervous, even after all this time. then he tossed the razor aside, wiped down the sink, and turned toward you, arms already outstretched for the baby. “here, let me take him so you can go get dressed.” you both took turns, tag teaming parenthood as you always did. while he changed the baby and helped your daughter into her dress, you slipped into your own dress, touching up your makeup with one hand, smoothing your dress with the other. you loaded up the car, Elliott clicking the carseat into place while your daughter climbed in with her sparkly shoes and tiny purse full of plastic makeup. you sat in the passenger seat, stealing glances at him while he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching back to hold your daughter’s hand. at the restaurant, you stepped out onto the sidewalk in your heels, smoothing your dress as Elliott circled around the car. he carefully lifted your baby from the seat, cradling him against his chest. you turned to your daughter and offered your hand, but she took Elliott’s pant leg instead. you walked beside them, and something about it made your chest ache in the best way. there he was your man, with a baby in his arms, a daughter clutching his leg, and the kindest heart tucked underneath. he looked over at you with a smile so soft it made you smile. “you know” you said as you all walked into the restaurant, “they’re both gonna grow up knowing what it means to be loved right.” he looked down at his son, then at his daughter, who was already proudly telling the hostess it was “her daddy’s special day.” then he looked back at you. “I hope so” he said. and as you sat at that dinner table, tiny crayon in your daughter’s hand, baby snoozing peacefully in Elliott’s arms, you knew Father’s Day didn’t need anything, it just needed him

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — the soft click of your mascara tube closing was followed by the sound of small feet thudding against the floorboards behind you. “Ray” you called gently, eyes still on your reflection “can you help him put on his shoes?” he was somewhere behind you, and then one arm slid up gently around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. careful not to smudge your makeup “yeah, I’ll do it right now” he murmured, his buzzed hair brushed your skin as he pulled away. your 3 year old son came running down the hallway in a fit of giggles “come here little man” Ray said, already grinning as he chased after him “no shoes! noooo shoes!” your son squealed, trying to escape down the hallway again, Ray caught him in three steps, lifting him effortlessly into the air. “gotcha” he said, flipping him gently onto his shoulder, your son laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe “Ray his hair” you warned with a laugh, “you’re gonna mess it up.” Ray shot you a quick look over his shoulder as he carried your wriggling son to the couch, settling down with him perched across one knee “I’ll fix it” he promised, before turning to the little boy, Ray slid the tiny sneakers on one by one, fingers moving carefully as he tightened the velcro straps, making sure they were snug but not too tight. you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them. Ray sat there on the couch in black dress pants and a fresh white button up, your son bouncing slightly on his leg “Alright” Ray said, standing with that little grunt dads always make, and lifted your son into his arms as Ray spun him in a lazy circle before planting a kiss on the top of his head. “shoes are on, and then we hand him off to Grandma.” you tilted your head smiling “and then it’s just you and me.” your mom’s minivan rolled up and your son was halfway down the driveway before Ray even set him down. she scooped your son into a hug then, catching your eye over his head “you two be responsible tonight.” she said, you rolled your eyes at that and waved them off, the moment the car disappeared down the street, Ray’s arms came around your waist from behind, warm palms spreading over your hips, then sliding lower, cupping your ass through the soft cotton of your dress. he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in “Mm there she is” he murmured, kissing your shoulder “I’ve missed this” your hands found his, his grip tightened. you turned in his hold and kissed him, messy, tongue first, breathing heavy through your nose, his hand came down, fingers spreading over your lower belly rubbing it slowly, he whispered it against your mouth “another one wouldn’t hurt.” the words sank in. you leaned back just enough to look in his eyes there it was, he really wanted it, wanted you, wanted everything, again. “you trying to get me pregnant again already?” you teased “If you let me” he murmured. his hands were flat against the small of your back like he needed you closer. your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, clutching him through the fabric of his shirt as his chest rose and fell unevenly against yours.

you smiled against his mouth, eyes half opening “Ray” you breathed, then kissed him again slower. your palm slid up his back “we have dinner reservations remember? your father’s day thing.” he didn’t stop kissing you not at first. he groaned soft but frustrated, nose pressed to your cheekbone, breath hot and impatient “Mmmfuck” he exhaled through his nose in a huff, like the words dinner reservations physically pained him. you felt him debate with it, his cock already half hard between you, your warmth, your lips, your scent and the damn calendar block in his mind that said 8:00 PM, steakhouse, father’s day, dress nice. he dipped his forehead to your neck with a grunt, kissing you there once more. “we either do this now or go hungry” you whispered arching an eyebrow. he pulled back finally, jaw clenching as he straightened up. one deep breath through flared nostrils, then another. he looked down at his chest, saw the faint wrinkles in his shirt from where you’d gripped it, he brushed them down with one hand, muttering something low like jesus christ. then “okay” he said, he turned, grabbed the car keys from the hook by the door, then reached back for you with the other hand, lacing his fingers into yours “let’s go” he said, tugging you behind him “before I change my mind”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — the kitchen smelled like glue, the counter was a mess of glitter, uncapped markers, and little sticky beads. you sat beside your daughter, helping her finish the last details of her father’s day surprise. her small fingers smudged with paint, the craft was simple: a paper plate flipped upside down and painted yellow, with orange and red ribbons glued to the bottom to look like a proper medal. across the center in bold neat lettering it read: BEST DAD she may have picked out the sparkly letter stickers, but the handwriting? that was all you “done!” she announced, sitting back proudly. you smiled, brushing a bit of dried paint from her cheek “okay” you whispered, leaning in like it was a secret “ready to go show daddy?” she nodded, you picked up the plate carefully and followed her barefoot steps out the sliding door, into the backyard where Sam was hunched over something in the grass. you saw him before he saw you shirt slightly damp with sweat, hands working to tighten bolts on what looked like the frame of a new playset. he was focused, a little sun kissed, completely at ease. the sight of him like that still did things to you. “daddy!” your daughter called out, breaking into a run with the plate in her tiny hands. Sam looked up just in time to catch her as she ran into his arms. “hi sweetheart” he laughed, lifting her easily “what’s this?”, “look, look!” she said, shoving the plate between their faces “for you!” he took it gently, looking at the craft like it was the most precious thing he’d ever been given. his smile was soft and big “wow” he said “this is beautiful. thank you baby. I love it.” you walked up beside them, arms folded. Sam looked at the plate again, turning it slightly in his hands, then raised an eyebrow at you playfully “I didn’t know her handwriting got so good” he teased, leaning in to kiss your cheek “yeah she started writing full sentences just yesterday.” you playfully said “should we enroll her in art school already?” he grinned, one arm still holding her tight, the other holding the masterpiece. she leaned her head on his shoulder, giggling proudly, and you reached out to brush a hair strand behind her ear “honestly” you said, eyes moving from the plate to Sam “I think she’s just got really good taste.” Sam kissed the top of her head, then yours “she gets that from her mom.” there was no medal big enough to hold how good he was at this. but she’d made one anyway.

happy fathers day to all the fine pa’s & DILF’S 💐

AND CLEARLYYY I HAVE A FAV so ray’s is like 2k words longer than the rest 😏🙈 #mybabydaddy

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

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misaerabl · 19 days ago

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HAPPY ENDING - abby anderson

ex wife!abby x fem!reader CW: divorce, soft, emotionally charged smut scene,MULTIPLE SMUT SCENES, tender kissing, mutual undressing, gentle fingering, and implied climax with strong emotional context. (also sorry for the horrible cover lmfao, i can't for the life of me make it better, i swear i'll change this shit) SUMMARY: Two years after their divorce, Abby brings their son back home for the weekend. In the quiet of a shared kitchen and old memories, they talk, they touch, and they fall into something that feels like love again. Is this finally the happy ending that they always knew they deserved? A/N (MUST READ): I was debating whether to post this. I don't know if I'm just hormonal or it hits way too close to home but I legit cried (multiple times) while writing this. I wasn't really done with it yet but I couldn't bring myself to torture myself even more!

The last thing Abby packed was your son’s stuffed giraffe.

It sat on the edge of the crib like it always had, one ear chewed and stiff from months of being a favorite. Her hands hovered before grabbing it, slow, almost guilty. Like she knew this was the part that would wreck you.

You didn’t cry. You stood by the door, arms crossed and chest heavy, watching her zip up a duffel bag that shouldn’t have looked so out of place in the nursery, but did. The morning light painted the room in soft gold, but nothing about the moment was warm.

Your son, just barely two then, tugged on your sleeve, asking for a snack.

Abby met your eyes. She didn’t say anything. She never had to. You both knew what this meant. You both knew the ending was here.

Two years before that, you’d found the house.

It was snowing, the soft kind—quiet, almost romantic. You were walking back from the clinic, one hand in Abby’s and the other holding the test results. Positive. One embryo took.

You were pregnant.

You were laughing about something she said—something dumb and hopeful and laced with disbelief—and then you saw it. The house. White trim. Sloping roof. Just enough yard for a dog and a swing set. And somehow, as if by fate or miracle or whatever lesbians believe in when their IVF finally works, it was for sale.

You bought it two weeks later. The older couple selling it said they were moving to a quiet coastal town in Asia to retire. The woman said she hoped the house would hold joy. “It already does,” you’d told her, one hand on your belly, the other in Abby’s.

Everything was perfect. For a while.

Now, your son is three.

And Abby’s outside, strapping him out of the car seat like muscle memory. He babbles at her, one hand clutching the same worn giraffe. You watch from the window, arms curled around yourself, heart doing that irritating thing where it aches without warning. Like a reflex.

She carries the grocery bags in first, balancing the paper bag on one forearm while unlocking the door. She still remembers where you keep the spare key.

He bursts in a second later—small, giggling, snow stuck to his boots—and you kneel down to take off his coat. He throws his arms around you in the way only toddlers can, all weight and trust.

"Hi, baby," you murmur into his hair.

"Mommy!" he yells, like it’s the best word he knows.

Abby bought his favorite yogurt. The blueberry one with the dinosaur on the lid. She also got him socks with tiny planes, a new pack of crayons, and the exact brand of waffles he likes.

You notice the extra coffee creamer, the one you always used to grab. The spicy trail mix you like. A new copy of that book you never got around to finishing.

"You didn’t have to," you say, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while she organizes things like she never left.

"I know," she says, not looking up. “Just thought I’d save you the trip.”

You nod, chewing your bottom lip. You’re not sure whether to thank her or cry.

You tuck your son in after a bath. Abby sits on the floor beside the bed, holding his hand until he’s out cold. It's so natural, it stings.

When he’s asleep, she follows you downstairs. The silence stretches. You take the leftovers from the fridge—her favorites, coincidentally—and you heat them in the microwave.

She sits at the kitchen table. You pour her water.

"Have you eaten?" you ask.

"A bit earlier," she lies, because she always forgets to eat on long shifts and you know it.

You slide the plate in front of her anyway.

She eats. You sit across from her, your fingertips brushing the rim of your glass just to have something to do.

“You still hang the dish towels the wrong way,” she says, gentle, like it’s an old joke.

You shrug. "Habit."

There’s a pause.

“I miss this,” she says softly. “Not just the eating. All of it.”

Your heart clenches. You push the feeling down.

“I do too.”

You both talk for a while—casual things at first. How work’s been. How your son’s been asking about Christmas already. How the neighborhood got a new streetlight installed and your son insists it’s “his” star.

And then it slips in.

Like smoke under a door.

Abby wipes her hands on a napkin. Her voice is so quiet, you almost miss it.

“Do you ever think we gave up too early?”

The question lands like a weight across your chest.

You blink.

The sound of the fridge hums in the background. Your fork scrapes your plate though you’re no longer hungry.

You don't know what to say.

Because yes. God, yes. And also no. Not at all.

You finally speak. “I think we held on too long.”

She swallows. You see the hurt in her eyes, even if she tries to hide it behind a half-smile.

“I just…” she starts, then stops. “You know I never stopped loving you, right?”

“I know.”

There’s a pause.

“You still do?”

You look at her. Really look at her.

Hair tied back lazily. Dark circles under her eyes. That same sweatshirt from college. Her voice like a familiar lullaby you’d forgotten.

And yes.

You do.

But you also remember the shouting. The slammed doors. The tears in the next room while your son slept. The feeling of drowning in a life that was supposed to be perfect.

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

She exhales. Like she needed to hear it, even if it changes nothing.

“Then why couldn’t we fix it?” she whispers.

You don’t have an answer.

The truth sits somewhere behind your ribs, tangled in all the things you never said.

“I think we forgot how to talk to each other,” you say eventually. “We started fighting to win. Not to understand.”

Abby nods slowly. She looks at her hands in her lap like they’re guilty. “I hated how we were becoming strangers.”

You take a breath. “But we weren’t. That was the problem. You can’t be a stranger to someone who knows how you like your toast, who knows which songs make you cry and what brand of toothpaste you hate. We knew each other too well.”

She looks up at that, and for a second, you see it—the grief, the longing, the what-ifs.

“I miss being home with you,” she says softly. “Even when we were falling apart… part of me still hoped we’d figure it out.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s warm. Sad. Soft.

You rise from your chair and cross the room without thinking. Abby stands too. You meet in the middle like muscle memory. Your hand reaches for hers. She lets you.

And then she kisses you.

It’s cautious at first—like a question. Her lips press to yours with all the hesitation of someone who remembers how you tasted and how you walked away. But you don’t pull back. You sink into it, let her kiss you like she used to, like nothing ever broke between you.

The kiss deepens. Your fingers slide into her hair, and she exhales into your mouth like she’s been holding her breath for two years. Her hand finds your waist, warm and grounding, and her thumb slips beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against skin like she’s reacquainting herself with you inch by inch. She pulls you closer, the old familiarity settling between you so naturally that it almost hurts.

She breaks the kiss only to tug your shirt over your head, and you let her. Her hoodie comes off next, and you help her out of it like you’ve done a hundred times before. Your bodies fit the same as they always did, no hesitance, just instinct. You tug at the band of her sweatpants, her breath stuttering as she lets them fall. She kisses your jaw, your neck, her mouth moving with intention, slow and reverent, like she’s learning you again. Like she never forgot.

Clothes scatter quietly on the stairs as you make your way up. The hallway light is off, the moon doing the work instead. She pushes your bedroom door open without asking. It’s still half her room too, no matter what the lease says now. Nothing in it has changed much since she left. Same sheets, same low lamp by the nightstand, same quiet.

She kisses you again at the threshold, a little rougher now, her hands gripping your thighs as she walks you backwards toward the bed. You fall onto it, laughing softly into her mouth before she silences the sound with another kiss. She moves over you, the weight of her familiar in the best way. She touches you like she remembers exactly how. Her fingers trail from your ribs down to your hips, dipping below your waistband but never rushing. She watches your face, always needing to see, to know how you feel it.

She doesn’t speak much. She never did during moments like this. Just little exhales, quiet sighs of your name, the way she kisses your collarbone like it means something. And it does. It always did.

She slides your underwear down slowly, the pads of her fingers brushing your thighs as she goes, her mouth trailing behind. When she finally touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. She still remembers how to draw those soft, shaking noises from your lips. You arch into her hand and whisper her name, and it’s all it takes for her to lean up and kiss you again, deeper this time.

You reach for her too. Hands roaming the curve of her back, the stretch of her stomach, the lines you still remember tracing on early Sunday mornings when your son would sleep in. You pull her on top of you fully, wrap your legs around her waist, your mouths never parting for long. The friction is slow, delicious, and every movement draws out more need. It’s messy in the quiet way, the kind of mess you make when you’re trying not to cry. The kind where moans blend with breathless whispers of “I missed you” and “you still feel the same.”

You come like that—together, tangled in memory and sweat, her forehead pressed to yours, her voice in your ear, and the weight of everything you never fixed still lingering somewhere behind your ribs.

After, she doesn’t let go. She pulls you against her, chest to chest, your legs knotted together like neither of you wants to wake up alone.

You fall asleep in her arms.

And for the first time in a long time, it feels like home again.

You wake to the sound of small feet.

Your eyes crack open just in time to see the door swing open.

Your son stands in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his stuffed giraffe in hand.

His gaze shifts from you to the other side of the bed—to Abby, still asleep under the blanket. His brows pinch together in the way they always do when he’s trying to understand something new.

“Mama?” he asks, voice soft and puzzled.

You sit up quickly, heart stuttering, Abby’s shirt slipping off your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you say gently, climbing out of bed and crossing to him. “Let’s go get breakfast, okay?”

He nods, still glancing back at the bed.

“Is Mommy staying?” he asks, tugging at your hand.

You don’t answer. You kiss the top of his head and guide him out of the room.

“I’ll make waffles,” you say instead, hoping he won’t ask again.

He doesn't. He hums something off-key, clutching his giraffe as you walk him to the kitchen.

Behind you, the bedroom door stays closed. Abby doesn’t come out right away.

And as you pour batter into the pan, your back to the hallway, you don’t know what this morning means. If it’s a beginning, or just another soft, temporary reminder of the past.

But for now, your son is laughing at bubbles in the batter, and you’re still wearing Abby’s shirt.

And Abby… Abby’s still upstairs.

Later that day, after Abby’s gone and your son is napping on the couch, your phone buzzes. It’s your sister. You pick up and barely get a hello out before she starts.

“So. You want to explain why your son told me, ‘Mama sleeped with Mommy and she had no socks on’?”

You groan and cover your eyes with your hand. “God.”

“I'm not judging,” she says, which is a lie. “He said, and I quote 'They were cuddling. Mama had no socks on.'”

You slide down onto the kitchen floor with a sigh, your back against the cabinets. “It was just... I don’t know. It just happened”

“Does she want to come back?”

“She didn’t ask.”

“But do you want her to?”

You don’t answer right away. There’s too much noise in your head—memories, pain, last night’s warmth. You press your palm against your chest like it might keep everything from spilling out.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t think I’m ready to know.”

Your sister is quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice has softened. “Just be careful, okay? For your own sake. And his.”

You nod even though she can’t see it. “Yeah. I know.”

Abby comes by again the next day, just to drop off some clothes your son left at her place. You talk more this time, standing on the porch after your son runs inside with his new truck.

You don’t look at her at first. You keep your arms crossed and your eyes on the chipped paint of the railing.

“What happened that night,” she says, and you can hear how carefully she’s choosing her words, “it wasn’t just about missing you.”

You glance at her. Her hands are in her pockets. She’s not wearing her scrubs today—just jeans and that old gray hoodie she stole from you when you were still dating.

“I still love you,” she continues. “I never stopped.”

You swallow around the knot in your throat. “I know. I love you too.”

She looks relieved, but there’s sadness there too, a kind of restraint that hurts to see on her face.

“But,” you add, because it has to be said, “loving each other didn’t save us the first time. It’s not going to be enough on its own.”

“I’m not asking to move back in,” she says quickly. “I’m not asking for us to pretend nothing happened. I just… I want us to try. Carefully. Slowly. I don’t want to confuse him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you admit. “He’s too little to understand any of this. If we try and we fail again, I don’t want him carrying that weight.”

“I’d never leave him hanging,” she says. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a pause. She steps a little closer, not enough to touch you, just enough that you can feel the heat of her presence again.

“I just don’t want to do this wrong,” you whisper.

“Then let’s do it right,” she says. “Whatever that looks like.”

It’s not a solution. It’s not a promise.

But it’s something.

You nod. “Okay. We’ll try.”

Abby doesn’t reach for your hand, doesn’t lean in for a kiss. She just smiles. A small, hopeful, quietly broken thing.

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

She steps down from the porch, gets into her car, and drives away. You watch her until the taillights disappear at the end of the street.

When you go back inside, your son is lying on the rug with his trucks, humming the same off-key tune from that morning.

You sit beside him, and he scoots closer without looking up, like he just knows where you’re supposed to be.

You think about what trying means. What it might cost. What it might heal.

You think about Abby’s hand brushing yours under the dinner table, about the old room, about how easily everything came flooding back.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of a happy ending doesn’t feel like a lie.

One month later.

Things are quieter now—softer around the edges. The air between you and Abby doesn’t crackle as much. It stretches. Breathes. You still keep your distance in certain ways, still don’t sleep in the same bed or leave your toothbrushes tangled together like before. But the rhythm is new, and not entirely unwelcome.

Abby comes over more often, but it’s never framed as anything permanent. She brings takeout when you’re too tired to cook, lingers by the sink to help with dishes, joins you and your son on Sunday walks to the park. She still calls before she comes. She still asks if it’s okay. And you always say yes, even when you’re not sure what that means.

Your son has adjusted, like kids do. He doesn’t ask why she’s here more. He doesn’t question why some mornings it’s only you, and some nights it’s all three of you on the couch, your knees brushing hers, your son fast asleep between you.

You’re rebuilding. Not with grand gestures, but with little ones. The kind that can’t be undone with a single argument.

On a Friday afternoon, your son brings home a drawing from daycare. You’re in the kitchen, packing up leftovers, when he tugs at your sleeve and holds out a sheet of paper, crumpled at the corners, crayon lines jagged and bright.

“For you, Mommy,” he says, proud.

You smile and crouch to take it from him. “You drew something?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Us.”

The picture is unmistakably his—three stick figures, wide round heads and too-long arms. One of them has your hair. The smallest is holding hands with both adults.

But it’s the label that stops you.

He’s written one word across the top in big, uneven letters.

"Family."

Your hands still. You swallow hard, staring at the drawing, at the way he’s drawn Abby beside you without hesitation.

He doesn’t understand what’s happened between you. Not really. But he feels it—that she’s here again, that something has shifted.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he tilts his head, confused.

“Why’re you sad?” he asks.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you wipe your face. “I’m not. Just... happy.”

Abby arrives ten minutes later. You don’t wait. You hold the drawing out to her without a word.

She looks at it. And then she looks at you. And her face softens the way it always has when something knocks the air out of her.

“He made it at school,” you say quietly.

She holds the paper carefully, like it’s fragile. “He called it… family.”

The word sits between you. Not a question. Not an assumption. Just a truth that neither of you has had the courage to name.

Your son is on the floor, already pulling out his dinosaurs. “Mama, come play!”

Abby glances back at you. “Can I stay a little longer?”

You nod.

And she steps inside like she never left.

Things had been going well. Quietly, steadily—like spring thaw after a long winter.

Abby started staying later. At first, it was because your son asked for another bedtime story, or she forgot something upstairs, or she’d dozed off halfway through a movie. You let her stay on the couch those nights, a folded blanket draped over her legs, her hoodie pushed under her head. The first time you found her already asleep, you brought her a pillow. The second time, you asked if she wanted one.

She never asked to stay. But she never left early either.

Eventually, the excuses started shifting. She started saying things like, “I’ll just head out in the morning,” or “I don’t want to wake him by leaving now.” And once—just once—she said, “I like waking up here.” You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pretend it didn’t settle somewhere deep in your chest.

She made coffee before you even came downstairs. She packed your son’s lunch if she heard you hit snooze too many times. She still folded the laundry a little weird, but you let her. You didn’t correct her when she started calling the house home again.

You didn’t stop her when she started keeping a toothbrush in the bathroom drawer.

And one night—when the house had gone quiet and the lights were low and you were sitting together on the couch after your son had fallen asleep between you, curled against her side like it was second nature—you looked at her, really looked at her, and said, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

She blinked. Softly. Carefully.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I want you to.”

You changed into one of your old shirts. Abby wore hers—gray, loose, familiar. She waited until you got under the covers first before crawling in beside you. There was an inch of space between your bodies, at first. Respectful. Careful.

But you turned on your side, and she mirrored you. And before long, your face was pressed against her chest, your fingers curled into the fabric near her collarbone, her heartbeat steady and warm under your cheek.

You lay there like that, quietly breathing together. Her hand came up to rest at the nape of your neck, stroking gently, and your eyes fluttered shut, safety blooming like a slow ache.

She whispered your name once. You looked up.

Her eyes found yours.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You kissed her.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate, aching. You kissed her like you remembered exactly how she liked it. Like muscle memory, like muscle longing. Her hands found your waist, grounding you, anchoring you in place even as you pressed your body into hers.

Her mouth never left yours. Even when your legs slid between hers. Even when her hand crept under your shirt to touch skin she used to know so well. She kissed you through the weight of every memory you both had buried. Every soft sound you made pulled her deeper. Every soft word she whispered steadied the space between you.

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, and she helped you pull it off. She looked at you like you were something familiar and holy all at once. Her hands found your hips, your thighs, her fingers tracing every curve like she still knew how you fit against her—how to make you melt, how to make you want.

When she touched you, it was with quiet reverence, like she was rediscovering something she thought she’d lost forever. Her fingers slipped lower, slow and careful, her mouth still pressed to yours as she made you sigh, then gasp, then fall apart. She murmured soft things against your jaw—your name, little reassurances, words that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You pulled her closer, dragged her down against you, skin on skin. The warmth of her weight made your whole body hum. You wrapped your legs around her hips, urged her closer, hips meeting with friction and heat. You moved together like nothing had changed and everything had.

It wasn’t desperate. It was deep. Familiar. It was the kind of intimacy that didn’t ask for permission because it already knew it had been given long ago.

When you came again, it was quieter. Slower. Your body arching into hers, your breath caught between a gasp and a cry. Abby held you through it, her hand tangled in your hair, her lips at your shoulder.

After, she stayed close. Your head on her chest again. Her arm around your waist. Her breathing steadied into something gentle and safe.

You didn’t say I love you. Not because you didn’t feel it—but because you did. And for once, it didn’t need to be said.

You already knew.

The morning after, everything feels softer.

You wake tangled together, sunlight pouring through the curtains in golden streaks. Abby’s breath is steady against your shoulder, her arm still wrapped loosely around your waist. She stirs when your son pads into the room, rubbing his eyes with one fist and holding his stuffed giraffe in the other.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands in the doorway, blinking.

Then, with a smile so casual it nearly breaks you, he says, “You sleeped here, Mama.”

Abby sits up slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, bud,” she says. “Just for last night.”

He nods, accepting that, and walks over to climb onto the bed between you. He curls up against Abby, resting his head on her stomach like he used to. For a few minutes, you lie there like that. The three of you. Quiet. Whole.

It doesn’t fall apart all at once.

It starts with a small thing. It always does.

It’s a Tuesday night. Abby had said she’d be home early—that’s the word she used. Home. You’d repeated it in your head after the call, tasting it again, trying to make sure it didn’t hurt. You made dinner. Not anything complicated, just stir-fried noodles, some chicken, the kind your son always picks through for extra carrots. You let him stir the sauce in, made it a game. He kept looking at the door every time a car passed.

But Abby didn’t show.

Not at six. Not at seven.

Your phone stayed quiet. The food went cold.

She came through the door at almost eight, still in her scrubs, her hair a mess, her face drawn tight with exhaustion. And you didn’t yell. You didn’t raise your voice. You just asked, “Why didn’t you call?”

Her eyes flicked toward your son, who had already fallen asleep on the couch, curled up with a blanket and his toy giraffe.

“I was in surgery. It ran long.”

You nodded once, but something in your chest twisted.

“I just… waited,” you said.

“I didn’t mean to be late,” she said quickly, toeing off her shoes. “You know I wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

“That’s not the point, Abby,” you replied, quieter, but sharper. “It’s not about what you meant. It’s about what you didn’t do.”

She straightened, the defense rising in her eyes before she even spoke. “What, you want me to step out of an OR with blood on my hands just to say I’ll be thirty minutes late?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

The edge in her voice made your jaw clench. You took a breath, tried to level it out, but it still came out cracked.

“I’m saying I need to know when you’re not coming. I need to know I’m not just… waiting again.”

Her face changed at that—softened and shut down all at once. Like a door quietly closing behind her eyes. And you hated how fast she retreated. How fast the walls came back up.

“I’m doing my best,” she said, and it wasn’t angry. It was tired. That was somehow worse.

You folded your arms across your chest, not out of anger but to hold yourself together. “I know. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like we’re on the same page. And I can’t go back to pretending everything’s fine just because we’re trying again.”

Abby exhaled sharply through her nose and turned slightly, like she couldn’t stand being looked at. “You think I’m pretending?”

You were about to answer when a soft voice broke through the tension.

“…Mommy?”

Your son stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot, giraffe in hand, sleep still clinging to his face. His eyes moved from you to Abby and back, small and uncertain.

You dropped your arms. Abby went still.

You crouched down first, your voice gentler than it had been all evening.

“Hey, baby. Why’re you awake?”

He didn’t answer. Just rubbed at one eye and mumbled, “Were you mad?”

Your throat closed up.

“No, sweetheart,” you said immediately. “We were just talking.”

He looked at Abby, who hesitated only a second before kneeling down, opening her arms.

He walked to her slowly and climbed into her lap.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, quieter now.

“No,” she murmured into his hair, closing her eyes. “Not mad. Never mad at you.”

He let her hold him for a while, then looked back at you. “Promise?”

You sat beside them and reached out to hold his hand.

“We promise,” you said. “We just got a little frustrated. But we’re okay now.”

You didn’t look at Abby when you said it. You didn’t have to. Her fingers tightened around his back in silent agreement.

You carried him to bed together, tucked him in side by side like you always did. Abby smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead. You turned on his nightlight and left the door open just a crack, the way he liked.

In the hallway, neither of you spoke for a long moment. The quiet stretched until it ached.

Finally, you broke it. Your voice was low.

“I don’t want to fight in front of him.”

“I don’t either,” Abby said, and for the first time that night, she sounded like herself again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

You nodded. “And I shouldn’t have snapped. I just… I got scared. Felt like before again. Like the slow slipping.”

“I know,” she said softly.

You both stood there, a few feet apart, shoulders weighed down by all the promises you never thought you’d have to make again.

Abby looked at you then. Really looked at you.

“I want this to work,” she said. “Even if it’s hard. Especially because it’s hard.”

You nodded again, slower this time. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else. But when you both turned in for the night, she didn’t head for the couch. And you didn’t stop her when she reached for your hand beneath the covers.

You tried.

That’s what you keep telling yourself.

You tried more than most would. You opened the door again, handed her a spare key, let her back into your routines, your silence, your bed. You let your son believe it might really be different this time. And maybe for a while, it was.

But cracks don’t disappear just because you stop looking at them. And wounds don’t close properly if they keep getting reopened every time something feels too familiar.

It wasn’t one fight. It was all of them.

The small ones, the tired ones, the ones that started with a sigh and ended in silence. The ones that happened in the kitchen with your son quietly watching from the hallway. The ones that echoed in the car after drop-offs, in the bathroom at midnight, in the way you both stopped touching each other when it wasn’t convenient.

You tried therapy. It helped, at first. You both showed up. Sat on the stiff couch. Said the hard things. Held each other’s hands when you didn’t know what else to do.

You talked about resentment. About fear. About how deeply rooted your exhaustion had become. You told her how afraid you were of being the only one carrying the weight. She told you she was afraid of failing you again.

Your therapist said healing wasn’t linear. That sometimes, love meant staying. And sometimes, it meant letting go.

You both nodded. Pretended that wasn’t a mirror being held up to your last thread of hope.

But the days stretched. And the cracks deepened. And even though neither of you ever said it out loud, you both felt it—the slow quiet death of trying.

She still stayed some nights. Still helped pack lunches. Still left notes in your son’s backpack and sticky reminders on the fridge. But her smile started missing her eyes. Her laughter stopped curling at the ends. She used to reach for your hand in the dark. Now she just turned her back when the lights went off.

You fought in therapy. You cried in the parking lot. You sat side by side in the car, unable to say a single thing because the words felt like weapons, and neither of you had the strength to draw first.

Then came the Thursday she forgot your son’s parent-teacher meeting. You waited outside the classroom with your arms crossed and a knot in your stomach, watching other kids run to their moms and dads, wondering if your son would remember this. Wondering if he’d tuck it somewhere deep, the way kids do, and let it fester years from now.

She showed up twenty minutes late, breathless and apologetic and full of excuses. But you didn’t want reasons anymore. You wanted change. And she just kept giving you intention.

You didn’t talk for two days after that. She texted. You didn’t answer. Your son kept asking when Mama was coming over again.

And then she did. Quietly. Without knocking.

You were folding laundry in the living room. She stood in the doorway like a ghost.

"We can’t keep doing this to him," she said.

You didn’t look up.

"We can’t keep doing this to us," you replied.

It wasn’t a dramatic conversation. No yelling. No crying. Just exhaustion. Just two people who loved each other too much and too badly.

She stayed that night on the couch again. Not because you told her to. But because neither of you could lie beside each other with the truth hanging so loud between you.

The next morning, your son woke up early. He padded into the kitchen with his giraffe tucked under his arm, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He blinked up at you, then turned to the living room. "Mama?"

She sat up slowly, eyes bloodshot, hair tangled. "Hey, buddy."

He walked over and curled into her lap.

You watched them from the doorway. Watched the way she held him like she was memorizing it.

That was the last morning she stayed.

The official decision came a week later. Not in therapy. Not with fanfare. Just two cups of coffee on the kitchen counter, and one long, hard breath.

"I think we need to stop trying," you said.

Abby didn’t argue.

She nodded once. Looked down at her hands.

"Okay."

She packed slow. Again. Her scrubs. Her hoodie. The books she never read. She didn’t take everything. She never does.

When she hugged your son goodbye, she didn’t say it was forever. You didn’t tell him anything final either. Just that Mama would be at her place more now. But she’d always come back. Always see him. That he didn’t do anything wrong.

He cried. Just a little.

You did too. But not until after.

The house is back to quiet.

You still keep the hall light on for him. You still fold his clothes at the end of the day, line up his little socks and mismatched pajamas. You still sit in the same spot on the couch after he falls asleep. You still wonder if you did enough.

Sometimes he draws pictures. He draws you. He draws himself. Sometimes he draws Abby. Sometimes he doesn’t. You don’t ask why.

She still picks him up twice a week. Still texts you updates. Still sends photos of him covered in paint, asleep in the car, giggling at cartoons. He still asks if she’ll come over sometimes.

You say yes. Even when you mean maybe. Even when you mean never.

Some nights, when it rains, you let yourself imagine the way her arms used to feel around you. The way she’d tuck herself against your back like a second spine. The way her voice could break and build you at the same time.

You let yourself miss her.

And then you get up. Close the windows. Check on your son. Crawl into a bed that feels too big and too small all at once.

You stare at the ceiling and whisper the hardest thing you’ve ever had to learn.

Love is not always enough.

Not even when you want it to be.

#abby anderson #abby x reader #lesbian #the last of us #abby anderson x reader #tlou2 #tlou #abby tlou #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson x female reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby x female reader #abby anderson x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #ex wife!abby #angst

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daisukoth · 24 days ago

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Shuttah's dialogue

I thought it may just be a coincidence that the room before TV World is purple, because the sofa is purple. But like, No. The empty area before the inhabited the Dark Worlds IS purple. The sofa being purple is just to confuse you.

I am so curious about the lore implications of this...

"The couch cliffs. how purple and majestic they were. The dusty, the empty, such are the worlds such as those. Ooo la la. The purple worlds, you think they give the creeps. Tsk... You have seen not but that tempered by light. You should thank Tenna for brightening everything up." Was it not the fountain being opened that brightened everything?

"In the once upon a time, there was a land like purple cliffs. A frozen waste, watery basin, a metal desert. But, this theater was built upon that... and, it grew. Not everyone liked the change. Some people left. Of course, that was in the days of the black-and-white." Isn't this dialogues saying that before the purple, everything was black and white? Meaning that maybe the purple is actually the dusk/dawn of the light?

the Shuttah you find in the purple cliffs tells you: "There once was the great wilderness here! Yes... But, the world became the theater, and us, children of Tenna's contract. Those that did not sign the paper, set off for the far land and were forgotten. What is this wilderness? well... Thats probably what the Man was talking about

the Man behind the tree: "LISTEN WELL TO MY STORY. ONCE UPON A TIME, THE WHOLE WORLD LOOKED LIKE THIS. DO YOU THINK SO? [yes]- REALLY? YOU BELIEVE SOMETHING SO ABSURD? [no]- OF COURSE NOT. IT'S JUST A STORY AFTER ALL. WELL, THE WORLD CHANGED. SOCIETY WAS DEVELOPED. THE EARTH WAS COVERED IN WATER, DINOSAURS APPEARED, AN ICE AGE, HM... ACTUALLY, THERE ARE STILL DINOSAURS... IS IT MIXED UP?"

I thought Shuttah's dialogue may have been about before TV had color. But the way they talk... They're not being literal, both Shuttah and the Man are talking about the past, in a metaphorical sense, maybe.

You can find binoculars in the Man's world, they show you a grey grassland, far away from the place you're in. The Rudinn who was watching it tells you: "I'M TRYING TO SEE AS FAR AS I CAN, BUT IT DOESN'T LOOK TOO GOOD. TALK ABOUT LOUSY REAL ESTATE... I SENSE NOTHING BUT EVIL FROM THAT PLACE!" one of the Rudinn's earlier say: "COPIES ARE MONOCHROME, BUT YOU COLORED EACH OF US IN WITH CARE."

What does this mean? The empty land was once black and white. Kris painted this land where the Man resides, and used mostly green. Thus why Kris doesn't have green crayons anymore

So what this means is that the Dark Worlds were also once black and white, and got painted with purple...?

Its curious to me. Because there are two characters that are connected to purple and monochrome the most; Susie, and Man behind the tree.

What is the meaning here? Could Susie being purple actually have some deeper meaning behind it?

As for the monochrome, it reminds me of Undertale. The prequel, the past. Where most of the UI, and the monsters in battle were all monochrome...

#deltarune #deltarune spoilers #susie deltarune #deltarune ch3 #deltarune chapter 3 #shuttah #man behind the tree #wd gaster

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 month ago

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Beautiful Stranger

(7) I Think it's Finally Safe for Me to Fall

Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentine's Day needs to be special, but what could be more special than your baby girl being born?

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: Pregnancy-related body image insecurity, crying/emotional vulnerability, mention of past relationship neglect, mild romantic/affectionate intimacy, mentions of postpartum exhaustion, light reference to past emotional stress, implied estranged parental relationship, general parenting and newborn care struggles

A/N: These two hold such a special place in my heart and this is where I knew the end of this story would be since I thought of the idea. I'm glad it's finally completed and thank you all for being patient with this series.

February 14th, 2024

Your alarm went off before the sun even thought about rising, but you were already awake, too excited to sleep. This wasn’t just any day—it was your first real Valentine’s Day with Wanda. Not just your first with her, but your first ever with someone who loved you back. Someone who made you feel safe, adored, and wanted. You were determined to make it perfect.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda’s forehead before tiptoeing out of the room.

The boys were still groggy when you woke them up, but when you whispered, “It’s Valentine’s Day, and we’re surprising Mommy,” they both lit up instantly.

Bundled in jackets and fuzzy slippers, the three of you made a chilly early-morning run to the local florist. Billy picked a bouquet of red and pink tulips. Tommy, predictably chaotic, grabbed a bunch of mixed wildflowers and then added a single sunflower "because Mommy’s smile is sunny." You added a dozen classic red roses to the mix and snagged some baby’s breath to tie everything together.

Once home, you ushered the boys into the kitchen and set to work on breakfast. Billy was your fruit expert, carefully slicing strawberries and bananas (with close supervision), while Tommy took charge of arranging toast into the shape of hearts—he insisted. You whipped up heart-shaped pancakes, eggs, and bacon, sneaking chocolate chips into some of the pancakes just because you knew Wanda had a sweet tooth.

“Okay, final touch,” you said, wiping your hands and glancing at the clock. “Cards.”

You’d been working on yours for days—handwritten and heartfelt, folded neatly with a pressed flower tucked inside. Billy and Tommy had each made one too. Billy’s was covered in glitter and stickers, with “I love you Mommy” written in marker across the front. Tommy’s was... abstract, but full of love, with a popsicle stick flower taped inside and a big crayon heart.

With breakfast arranged perfectly on a tray, the three of you tiptoed down the hallway.

“Okay, ready?” you whispered, balancing the tray while the boys clutched their cards and flowers. They nodded eagerly.

You nudged the door open gently. Wanda stirred under the covers, eyes fluttering open as sunlight peeked through the curtains.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy!” the boys yelled in unison, bounding onto the bed.

Wanda blinked in surprise, a sleepy but radiant smile blooming on her face as she sat up. “Oh my goodness... what’s all this?”

You stepped forward, offering the tray with a grin. “Your very cheesy, very in-love girlfriend and her two partners in crime made you breakfast in bed.”

Billy thrust his card into her hands. “I made you this! Look! That’s me, and you, and Daddy, and Tommy. And those are hearts, not potatoes.”

Tommy handed over his popsicle-stick masterpiece proudly. “Mine’s got glue still drying, but I made you a flower that won’t die.”

Wanda chuckled, eyes misty as she looked from the boys to you. You handed her your card last, feeling oddly shy despite everything. She opened it slowly, her smile softening as she read your words.

“I love it,” she whispered, pulling you in for a kiss over the tray. “I love all of this. I love you.”

The boys cheered dramatically and rolled around on the bed, already eyeing the leftover strawberries on the breakfast tray. After a few bites and lots of syrup-covered fingers, they scrambled off the bed with their cards in hand, off to build something with Legos or stage a stuffed animal battle—who knew with them.

That left you and Wanda alone in the soft morning quiet. You took the tray from her lap and set it aside on the nightstand before crawling back into bed, pulling the blankets over both of you.

You were just about to make a teasing comment about her bedhead when you noticed the way she was looking down at the cards again, her fingers brushing gently over the glitter, the popsicle stick flower, your folded note.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting up a bit. “Are you okay?”

Wanda nodded, but her lip trembled, and then a tear rolled down her cheek.

Your stomach dropped. “Did I—did I do something wrong?” you asked, voice low, worried you’d overstepped somehow. “Wanda, if this was too much—”

“No,” she whispered quickly, shaking her head. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t mess up at all.”

You waited, watching as she blinked more tears away and gave you a watery smile.

“It’s just...” She looked down at the cards again, clutching them to her chest for a moment. “Vision never did anything like this. Not once. He was kind, and he cared, but he didn’t... he didn’t think about things like this. About making me feel seen. Or cherished. He didn’t wake up early to buy flowers with the boys. He didn’t teach them how to crack eggs for pancakes or make space for messy glue hearts.”

She looked up at you again, eyes glassy and so full of something vulnerable it made your own heart ache.

“You did all of that. Without me having to ask. Just because you love me.”

You swallowed hard, your own eyes starting to sting.

“Of course I love you,” you whispered, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek with your thumb. “You deserve to be celebrated, Wanda. Every day. Not just on Valentine’s.”

She leaned into your hand, then pulled you in for a long, quiet hug, burying her face in your neck. You held her tightly, running your hand slowly up and down her back.

“Thank you for loving me like this,” she murmured into your skin.

You kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for letting me.”

Outside the bedroom, the boys were already arguing over whose Switch controller was whose. But in here, wrapped up in the warmth of Wanda’s arms and soft morning light, everything felt still. Sacred. Safe.

And more than anything else—real.

Valentine’s Evening, February 14th, 2024

The rest of the day passed in a cozy blur—sticky chocolate fingers, the rustle of tissue paper, and quiet laughter from every corner of your little home. But as the sun dipped low, casting amber across the floors, you leaned in close to Wanda where she was curled up on the couch, kissed her temple, and whispered, “Go get ready, sweet girl. Your dinner reservation is at seven.”

She blinked up at you, startled. “You made a reservation?”

You nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Of course I did. It’s our first Valentine’s Day, beautiful. You didn’t think I’d let the night pass without spoiling my best girl, did you?”

A shy smile pulled at her lips, but her hand instinctively went to her belly—round and heavy now. “I don’t even know if I can get ready,” she murmured. “Everything’s tight or itchy or makes me feel like a walking balloon.”

You dropped to one knee beside her, your palms resting gently on her stomach. “Darling,” you whispered, kissing the curve where your daughter had just kicked. “You’ve never looked more radiant. You’ve made a whole human in there. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath hitched. “You always know just what to say.”

“I just tell the truth,” you said, standing to press your forehead to hers. “Let me help. We’ll find something that makes you feel like you. And if you cry, I’ve got tissues, chocolate, and backup snuggles.”

She gave you a teary little laugh. “Hormones. I’m blaming everything on hormones tonight.”

“You can blame me too,” you grinned. “But only if I get to hold your hand the whole time.”

You walked her to the bedroom and carefully went through her dresses together. She hesitated when she touched a crimson wrap dress, but you helped her into it anyway, tying the sash beneath her belly. When she looked at herself in the mirror, you saw her lips part, her eyes flicking over her reflection with something close to awe.

“Look at you,” you whispered, standing behind her. “My gorgeous, strong, glowing girl.”

“You’re biased,” she said weakly.

“I’m also right,” you murmured, kissing the back of her neck.

The boys ran out in their pajamas just as Pietro arrived to babysit, both of them tackling Wanda in careful hugs and throwing their arms around your waist.

“Have fun, Mommy! Have fun, Daddy!”

You helped Wanda out the door, arm wrapped securely around her waist, hand protective and loving on the small of her back as you got her into the car.

Dinner was soft jazz and warm candlelight. A booth tucked in the corner, dim and cozy, like the world was built just for the two of you. The server brought her a cushion before you even asked. Your hands stayed tangled across the table, her thumb tracing over your knuckles as she smiled at you like you’d hung the stars.

You toasted with sparkling cider, laughing quietly when your glasses clinked awkwardly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mama,” you said, brushing your fingers along her hand. “You’ve made this the best day of my life.”

Her eyes went glassy again. “You say that like it’s easy. Like I’m easy to love.”

“You are,” you said simply. “You’re the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Loving you, loving our daughter… it’s like breathing, darling.”

Tears slipped free before she could stop them, and she laughed through them. “You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

“I told you I’d ruin it more later.”

“You’re lucky I’m too pregnant to tackle you.”

You winked. “I live dangerously.”

And later, when you came home and the house was quiet—boys asleep, the fireplace low—you tugged Wanda into your arms in the living room. Your phone played soft music in the background as you swayed slowly, her belly between you and your palms cradling her like she was the whole world.

“You feel okay?” you whispered.

She nodded, resting her head on your chest. “More than okay. This has been the best day. And... Vision never did things like this. Not even close.”

Your arms tightened instinctively, protectively. “Sweet girl…”

“No,” she said gently, looking up at you. “I’m not sad. I’m just realizing how much more I feel with you. How much better it is, being seen. Being loved like this.”

You cupped her face, your thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You deserve all of this. Every card, every flower, every silly little heart-shaped thing.”

She smiled, and you kissed her softly—slow, steady, full of promise.

“I love you, Mama,” you breathed. “Forever.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered. “And she will too. The moment she meets you.”

And under the twinkle lights, with your heart against hers and your daughter just days from entering the world, it felt like the universe had finally gotten it right.

Late Night, February 14th, 2024

The bedroom was dim, painted in the amber glow of the nightstand lamp. Wanda had changed into one of your oversized shirts, the hem barely stretching over her belly, and you were already in bed, propped against the pillows with a hand outstretched to welcome her in.

She climbed in carefully, letting out a soft breath as she settled beside you, her head resting on your chest. Her hand found yours over the swell of her stomach, fingers lacing together naturally.

“Mm,” she hummed as you brushed your lips against her hairline, “this is the best part of the day.”

You smiled, your voice quiet and full of warmth. “You always say that.”

“Because it always is.” Her fingers rubbed lazy circles against your palm. “Dinner was amazing. The boys were so cute. But this? Just us? I need this the most.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin atop hers. “Me too, sweet girl.”

There was a long, comfortable silence. Just her breathing. Just the weight of her body melting into yours. Then, a little kick beneath your joined hands.

“She’s active tonight,” you murmured, pressing your palm flat against her belly. “Are you keeping Mama awake in there, huh?”

Wanda smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “She always does this. Every time I try to relax.”

“She’s just excited. Probably wants to come out and see how pretty you are.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of her. “Stop,” she murmured.

“I’m serious. You should see yourself right now. Hair all messy, my shirt barely holding on, that sleepy smile on your face. You’re a dream, beautiful.”

She let out a breath that sounded like she was trying not to cry again. “You’re gonna make me emotional again.”

“That’s okay,” you said gently, tightening your arm around her shoulders. “You’re allowed to feel everything. I’ve got you.”

Another pause. Another flutter of movement beneath your hands. Wanda shifted just slightly, burying her nose into your neck.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mom?” she whispered.

You blinked, surprised by the question. “What?”

“I mean it,” she said. “I know I already have the boys, but… this time it’s different. It’s you and me and her. And I want to do it right. I want her to grow up knowing how loved she is, every single second.”

You turned and kissed the top of her head, letting the moment settle into the silence. “Darling,” you whispered, “she’s going to know. From the moment she sees your face, from the way you hold her. From every lullaby and cuddle and boo-boo you kiss. You’re already doing it right.”

Wanda’s eyes finally met yours. Glossy, soft, open.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For today. For everything.”

You cupped her cheek and smiled. “Always.”

She melted into you again, her breathing evening out slowly, sleep finally starting to take her. But before she drifted off completely, her voice reached you one last time, barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.”

You leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight, sweet girl. I love you more.”

And as the snow fell softly outside and your daughter kicked gently between you, the world felt impossibly quiet. Like it was holding its breath. Like everything sacred was wrapped up in this moment—warm skin, soft sighs, and the calm before your whole world changed again.

February 17th, 2024

The house was quiet, save for the hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of old wood settling. Outside, the snow had mostly melted, turning into slushy puddles on the sidewalks. Inside, though, it was soft and warm and filled with a kind of tension—like the air was holding still, waiting.

You came down the hallway to find Wanda in the nursery again.

She was standing by the crib, folding and refolding a tiny onesie that had already been placed in the drawer hours ago. Her brows were knit in quiet concentration, her belly resting against the edge of the changing table as she stared down at the little lavender sleeper.

“Sweet girl,” you murmured from the doorway, “that’s the fourth time you’ve folded that today.”

She looked up, sheepish. “I know. I just… I don’t know. Nesting, maybe? I keep thinking there’s something I forgot.”

You walked over and slipped your arms around her from behind, resting your hands low on her belly and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “We’ve got the bag packed. Car seat’s in the car. Clothes are washed. Bottles are sterilized. Hospital paperwork’s filled out. Everything’s ready, beautiful.”

She leaned into you with a sigh, finally letting the little outfit drop back into the drawer.

“I feel like I should be doing something.”

“You are doing something,” you said, your voice soft against her ear. “You’re growing a whole person. Our girl. That’s more than enough.”

She turned in your arms, letting her forehead fall against your chest. “I think I’m nervous.”

You kissed her crown. “Me too.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if something goes wrong?”

You held her tighter. “Then we’ll handle it. Together. You are not alone in this, Wanda. Not for one second. I’ve got you. And I’ve got her.”

She exhaled slowly, wrapping her arms around you. “Okay.”

A beat.

“Also,” she added, “I swear if you cry before I do when she’s born, I’m going to hold it over your head forever.”

You chuckled, rubbing her back. “No promises, darling. You’ve already got me crying over sonograms and baby socks. I’m a lost cause.”

Later that Night

Wanda couldn’t sleep.

She kept shifting in bed, trying to get comfortable. At first, you thought it was the usual late-pregnancy discomfort—restless legs, pressure, too many bathroom trips—but around 3:00 a.m., she sat up with a sharp inhale and grabbed your arm.

“Hey—hey. Something’s… something’s happening.”

You sat up instantly, all grogginess gone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think it’s starting.”

She winced as her hand moved to her lower belly.

“Contractions?”

“Maybe. It’s different from Braxton Hicks. This one really hurts.”

You were already out of bed, grabbing your phone, checking the time. “Okay. We’ll start timing them. Want to sit on the ball?”

She nodded, letting you help her up and shuffle slowly to the living room. You guided her down onto the exercise ball, rubbing her lower back gently while she leaned forward over the couch cushions.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered, breathy.

“You’re more ready than you think, beautiful.”

“But I’m scared.”

You crouched in front of her, took her hands, and kissed her knuckles. “I know. Me too. But we’re in this together. Every single moment.”

Wanda looked at you, eyes wide and wet, then down at the bump between you.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You reached for your phone again, stopwatch open.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s meet our daughter.”

February 18th, 2024 Labor and Delivery

The drive to the hospital was quiet—tense, but not chaotic. Wanda gripped your hand the entire way, breathing through each contraction like you’d practiced. The windows were fogged from your shallow breaths and the heater, and the GPS voice felt absurdly calm for the way your heart was thundering.

The boys had already been picked up—you ran next-door, banging on your parents door, your dad had come to answer and immediately got dressed, all warm chuckles and gentle assurance. Your mother hadn’t said much—just a clipped “Good luck” before she walked out, but you hadn’t expected more. The important thing was that the boys were excited. Your dad had promised them donuts in the morning and Nerf battles in the afternoon, already calling them “his little squad.”

Wanda had told Vision what was happening. You didn’t ask how that conversation went. She didn’t offer.

Now, you were wheeling her down the sterile hallway of the maternity ward, her hand in yours, her jaw tight as another contraction rolled through her.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” you murmured, brushing her damp hair away from her forehead. “Almost there.”

She just nodded, squeezing your hand so tight it made your knuckles pop.

Room 308 – 7:42 AM

Wanda was 6 centimeters when they checked. You were at her side through every breath, every position change, every low groan of discomfort. She didn’t yell or scream, but the pain showed in the way she held herself—in her trembling fingers, in the way she rested her head against your shoulder and whispered “I can’t” more than once.

Each time, you held her tighter. “You can. You are. I’ve got you.”

She opted for the epidural, her voice shaking as she told the nurse she couldn’t do it anymore. You helped her stay still while they inserted it, kissed her temple as tears slipped quietly down her cheeks.

“You’re not weak,” you whispered. “You’re brave. The bravest person I know.”

When it kicked in, she slumped back, letting out a trembling breath. You brushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her softly.

“I love you,” you told her, hand resting on the swell of her belly. “You’re almost there, sweet girl. Almost.”

11:36 AM

“She’s fully dilated,” the nurse said. “It’s time to start pushing.”

Everything blurred after that—flashes of movement, the beeping of monitors, the sound of Wanda’s breath catching as the pressure built. Her grip on your hand was brutal.

“You’re doing so good, beautiful,” you kept telling her, over and over, even when your own eyes were glassy and your heart felt like it was going to burst. “I’m right here. Just a little more.”

She was exhausted—sweaty, pale, shaking—but her determination never wavered. She pushed with everything she had, roaring out her effort when her daughter crowned, tears streaming freely now as the nurse counted down each push.

And then—

A wet cry.

A sharp, tiny scream that shattered the whole room open like sunlight.

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth as the doctor lifted your daughter up.

“She’s here,” someone said. Maybe you. Maybe Wanda. Maybe the nurse. It didn’t matter.

She was placed on Wanda’s chest, pink and squirming and perfect. Wanda sobbed openly now, her arms trembling as they curled protectively around the tiny body.

You kissed her hair, your own tears falling freely now. “She’s beautiful,” you choked out. “God, Wanda. You did it. She’s here.”

Wanda looked up at you, mascara smudged, eyes shining, and whispered, “She’s perfect.”

You couldn’t stop touching her—Wanda’s face, her hair, your daughter’s tiny hands. You swore your heart had grown three sizes in a single second. You weren’t sure how to breathe around the feeling of it all.

“Hi, baby girl,” you whispered to the newborn, brushing your finger across her cheek. “Welcome to the world.”

February 18th, 2024 2:14 PM — Recovery Room

The world had quieted.

Wanda had finally drifted off, exhausted but glowing, her fingers curled protectively around the soft pink edge of the baby blanket. You were sitting beside her in a low rocking chair, cradling the little bundle of warmth that had changed your entire life in the span of a single cry.

Liliana was wrapped snug, her cheeks rosy and her tiny mouth moving softly in her sleep. You couldn’t stop staring—at her little nose, at the smudge of dark hair on her head, at the way her fingers curled so tightly around yours when she stirred.

You had never known love like this.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your reverie. Wanda blinked awake just as the nurse opened it and peeked in. “The family’s here, if you’re ready for visitors.”

Wanda nodded sleepily. “Send them in.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the door opened wider and your dad came in first, the boys at his side—Tommy practically vibrating with excitement and Billy holding a handmade card in both hands.

They rushed in, their eyes going wide when they spotted the little bundle in your arms.

“She’s so tiny,” Billy whispered.

“Can we see her?” Tommy asked, bouncing on his toes.

You smiled and knelt a little so they could peek at her.

“Boys, this is your baby sister,” you murmured, watching their faces light up in pure awe.

“She looks like Mommy,” Billy said.

“She’s wrinkly,” Tommy added, grinning.

“She’s perfect,” you replied simply.

Your father hovered behind them, misty-eyed as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “You did good, kiddo,” he said, voice thick.

Then Wanda’s mother stepped forward. Iryna’s hands were clasped over her chest, her eyes shining as she approached the bed where Wanda now sat up a little, reaching to touch her daughter’s hand.

“She’s beautiful,” Iryna breathed. “Have you… have you chosen a name?”

You looked at Wanda and she looked at you, that tired, radiant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

You nodded and stood, adjusting your hold on the tiny baby in your arms.

“We did,” you said softly. Then you looked right at Wanda and smiled, full of all the love you carried for the woman who’d just made you a mother.

“We decided on the name Liliana. Liliana Iryna Maximoff-Y/L/N.”

For a second, the room was silent.

Then Iryna gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as tears immediately welled in her eyes.

“You named her after me?” she asked, voice cracking.

Wanda nodded, emotion rising in her own eyes. “Of course we did. You’ve always been there for me, for us. You love our boys, and I wanted her to know she comes from women who are strong.”

You took a slow step forward, offering Iryna the baby.

“Would you like to hold your granddaughter?” you asked gently.

Iryna nodded quickly, her hands trembling as you carefully passed Liliana into her arms.

“Oh…” she whispered, tears falling freely now. “Hello, krasivaya malen'kaya devochka…”

The boys crowded around her legs, peeking up at their new sister. Your dad handed over his phone to start taking pictures, wiping his own eyes behind it. And for a long, perfect moment, the room was filled with nothing but soft voices, laughter, and the overwhelming warmth of a family that had just grown by one tiny heartbeat.

February 19th, 2024 3:17 AM — Maternity Ward, Room 308

The lights were dim, the hospital room quiet but not still. Machines beeped rhythmically in the background, and Wanda lay half-asleep in the bed, her eyes fluttering open every few minutes to check on you both.

You stood barefoot in the middle of the room, Liliana cradled in your arms, swaying gently side to side. She’d woken up with a fussy little cry, her face red and scrunched in the telltale way that let you know something was definitely happening in her diaper.

The problem?

You hadn’t done this before.

Wanda had tried to get up, but you’d shushed her quickly and kissed her forehead. “No, no, sweet girl. You just made a whole human being yesterday. Let me try first.”

Now, with Liliana squirming and grunting softly against your chest, you glanced toward the hallway, debating whether to risk waking the nurse or fumbling through it on your own.

Just then, as if summoned by your panic, a soft knock came at the door and one of the night shift nurses peeked in.

“Everything okay?” she asked in a hushed voice, glancing between you and the baby.

You gave her a sheepish look. “I think she needs a diaper change, and… I don’t want to mess it up.”

The nurse smiled kindly and stepped in. “New parent?”

You nodded.

“Would you like me to walk you through it?”

“Yes. God, yes,” you said, exhaling in relief.

She helped you get everything set up—laid a fresh diaper on the little rolling bassinet, opened the wipes, and showed you how to gently undo the onesie without waking her too much. Liliana made a tiny squawk of protest, her limbs flailing in slow motion.

“Okay,” the nurse said softly. “Wipe front to back, be gentle but quick. Fold the front of the new diaper over and make sure the tabs are snug but not too tight. Watch out for—”

Just then, a tiny stream of pee arced up toward the ceiling, and you yelped and jumped back like you’d been hit with a hose. The nurse caught the edge of the diaper just in time, laughing under her breath.

You stared, wide-eyed. “She’s so small—how did she do that?”

“She’s efficient,” the nurse chuckled. “Welcome to parenthood.”

Wanda was giggling quietly from the bed, barely able to keep her eyes open but clearly entertained by the whole thing. “You okay over there, darling?”

You glanced over your shoulder at her with a grin. “I think I just earned a badge or something.”

Once Liliana was clean, dry, and dressed again, the nurse patted your shoulder. “You’re a natural. You’ll both be pros in no time.”

She left you alone again in the quiet, and you gently lifted Liliana back into your arms, cradling her close to your chest. She settled quickly, cheek against your collarbone, her tiny body warm and perfect.

You walked her slowly to Wanda’s bedside and leaned in to let her see.

“Look who’s back in fresh pajamas,” you whispered. “No casualties.”

Wanda smiled sleepily, her hand reaching out to stroke your daughter’s head. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For all of this.”

You kissed her forehead gently. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Then, as Liliana let out a soft sigh and nestled deeper into your arms, you settled into the chair beside Wanda’s bed—your daughter safe against your chest, your wife drifting peacefully to sleep beside you—and you let your eyes close, heart full to bursting.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t quiet. But it was perfect.

February 22nd, 2024 Home – Day 5

You were tired. No—beyond tired. This wasn’t just lack of sleep. It was full-body, soul-deep fatigue that had started the moment you brought Liliana home and hadn’t let up since.

She was perfect. Absolutely, heartbreakingly perfect. But also very loud. And very hungry. Constantly hungry.

You were back in school now—online classes mostly, but they didn’t care if you were running on ninety minutes of sleep and coffee that had long since gone cold. Wanda had tried to insist you take time off, but you’d wanted to keep at it. You didn’t want to fall behind. You wanted to prove you could do this—be a parent and still keep your promises to yourself.

So you studied with a baby asleep on your chest. Wrote essays one-handed while bottle-feeding. Attended Zoom lectures with your camera off and Liliana’s soft snuffles just barely out of mic range.

And Wanda? She was somehow holding the whole house together.

She worked from the couch or the dining room table, muted on calls while rocking Liliana in her lap. She took breaks between emails to prep dinner, or pack lunches, or fold laundry that somehow never ended. Her hair was always up, her bathrobe perpetually stained with something—spit-up, milk, the remnants of someone’s breakfast.

You kept trying to take things off her plate. But she always met you with that tired, knowing smile.

“We’re both in it,” she’d murmur. “We’ll get through it.”

The boys had adjusted better than you expected. Tommy was always eager to help—bringing diapers, holding bottles, announcing when Liliana needed a “code red” diaper change. Billy was quieter, softer, always the first one to offer to sit beside her when she cried.

And practice helped. It gave them a break, gave them space to be kids still. Your dad had been helping with pick-up and drop-offs, and you were grateful—because you didn’t think you could handle one more drive on two hours of sleep.

That Friday night, the house was finally still. The boys were asleep after practice and pizza. Liliana had been fed and changed, and you had managed to get her to drift off in her bassinet beside the bed.

Wanda was already half-asleep, curled on her side in bed in an oversized T-shirt that had once been yours. You dragged yourself from the bathroom, face washed, finally in pajamas, and slid under the covers beside her.

She blinked slowly at you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion but warm.

“You made it,” she whispered.

“Barely,” you murmured, brushing your knuckles along her cheek. “You should’ve seen the math quiz I turned in today. I may have answered in lullaby lyrics.”

She snorted softly, snuggling into your chest.

“I miss you,” she admitted.

You frowned, pulling her tighter. “I’m right here, beautiful.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But… everything’s moving so fast. I feel like we’re barely catching up.”

You kissed the top of her head, your voice quiet. “We’ll slow it down. Find little moments.”

“I just want to hold you for longer than ten minutes before someone starts crying.”

You smiled tiredly. “That someone better not be me this time.”

She chuckled against your collarbone, and for a long moment, neither of you moved.

Liliana stirred in the bassinet with a soft whimper. You both froze.

Then… nothing.

Wanda sighed in relief. “Okay. Maybe we’ll get an hour tonight.”

“An hour sounds like heaven.”

You looked down at her, studying the curve of her cheek, the way her lips parted as she drifted closer to sleep.

Even in the chaos—especially in it—you’d never loved her more.

March 1st, 2024 Home – Late Evening

The house was finally quiet.

Tommy and Billy had gone over to Visions for the weekend. Wanda had just slipped out of the shower, hair damp, cheeks flushed, wearing one of your hoodies as she curled into the corner of the couch beside you.

Liliana was asleep in your arms, her tiny fingers curled around your thumb, her soft breaths the only sound between you for a moment.

You looked down at her—your daughter. The little girl who had turned your world inside out in the best possible way. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her warm weight nestled against your chest like she belonged there.

Because she did.

Wanda reached over to tuck a loose blanket corner around the baby, her fingers brushing yours. She leaned her head against your shoulder, and you turned just enough to press a kiss to her hairline.

“I don’t know how we’re doing this,” you murmured.

Wanda gave a soft, sleepy smile. “Me neither.”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You sat there for a long while in the quiet, letting the moment soak into your bones. Letting the joy and the exhaustion settle together, hand in hand.

Nine months ago, you never would’ve imagined this—here, with Wanda, with Liliana, with two incredible boys who called you Daddy and a woman who had become the heart of your entire world.

And yet… you remembered it all so clearly.

The day she told you she was pregnant.

Her eyes had been filled with uncertainty, lips trembling as she held the test in her hand. You hadn’t hesitated—not for a second.

“We'll figure something out. Whatever it is, I'll be here for you, Wanda.”

You weren’t even together then. Not really. Not in the way you were now.

But looking back, maybe you’d already known.

That moment felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago, all at once. A beginning wrapped inside of fear and hope. And now, you were here—still figuring it out, still learning—but surrounded by love.

You looked at Liliana again, her tiny chest rising and falling against yours. Your daughter.

The past nine months had been the most beautiful, terrifying, exhausting, incredible months of your life.

And somehow, you knew…

The best was still to come.

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societyfolklore · 4 months ago

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Best Gift Drabble - Bucky

Becuase I'm a sap- I have mix feelings about birthdays, between being an introvert, and also sharing/stealing my older sisters birthday (yes same day, two years a part) I... it took me a long time to enjoy them.. and maybe now because I have my own family.. I don't know ANYWAY! I just decided to through this up.. cos Dad!Bucky lives in my head.. Bucky Barnes never made a big deal out of his birthday. In fact, if left to his own devices, he probably would’ve spent the day like any other- waking up early, taking his coffee black, maybe going for a run before settling into the quiet moments of his life.

But his daughter had other plans.

At precisely 6:07 AM, the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet echoed down the hall, followed by the whispered, "Shh, don’t wake him up yet!" and a not-so-whispered, "But it’s his birthday, we gotta do it now!"

Bucky smirked to himself, keeping his eyes closed as the door creaked open. A weight climbed up onto the bed, tiny but determined, followed by another, softer one.

Then, warm little fingers gently pried at his eyelids. "Daddy, wake up!"

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he finally cracked an eye open. His little girl beamed at him, her messy morning curls barely contained by a lopsided headband. In her hands was a homemade card, decorated in bright colors with clumsy but loving handwriting: Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Beside her, was you, his wife sat with a sleepy smile, holding the youngest Barnes - a drowsy bundle still half-asleep against your chest.

"Morning, birthday boy," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Bucky stretched, exhaling a soft sigh of contentment. "Morning, doll." His voice was rough with sleep as he sat up, his daughter crawling into his lap and practically shoving the card at him.

"Open it, Daddy! I drew all of us, see?"

He took the card, letting his metal fingers run gently over the crayon lines. There they were- him, his wife, the little ones, and even Alpine curled up at their feet. The drawing was messy, imperfect… and absolutely perfect.

Something thick lodged in his throat.

"You like it?" his daughter asked, suddenly unsure.

Bucky pulled her in close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Sweetheart, I love it. Best gift I ever got."

She giggled as he tickled her side, while you leaned against him, warmth and love surrounding them all.

Bucky had lived through more lifetimes than most, seen more birthdays than he cared to count, but this?

This was the only one that mattered.

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dewdropdinosaur · 9 months ago

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Kinktober Day 20: Threesome

Summary: You're good with kids, there is no doubt. Heck, you're a kindergarten teacher, you love little ones. Your boyfriends on the other hand, just love how great you are with kids. Maybe it's time to give you one of your own. Warnings: P in V sex, threesome, breeding kink, cum, reader had a vagina, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @cassandrascottt

You stood at the front of the classroom, laughter mingling with the excited chatter of the students. The vibrant walls were filled with painted art projects, and the scent of crayons and fresh paper lingered in the air. Today’s lesson was all about storytelling, and you had encouraged the kids to use their imaginations, their faces lighting up with every new idea. From being a superhero, a princess, or a dragon, your student’s ideas never failed to excite you.

As the bell rang, the students began to gather their things, and you smiled, waving them off. “Remember, tomorrow is our storytelling contest! Bring your best tales but make sure they are written in your scrapbook!” The children cheered and scrambled out, their giggles echoing in the hall. The day had ended and while a satisfying one, you couldn’t wait to get back home and snuggle up to some warm food with your boyfriends. Yes, Wade Wilson and Logan were an odd pair by themselves but adding you into the mix seemed to make it all the sweeter (or hornier if you asked Wade).

Outside, you spotted Wade and Logan leaning against the school’s brick wall. Wade, in a red graphic tee and a pair of black jeans, was animatedly gesturing as he spoke, while Logan, in his classic flannel and jblue eans, looked not as amused, arms crossed over his chest. Your heart swelled, it was moments like this—seeing the two of them together—that reminded you of how unique their relationship was.

“Hey, beautiful!” Wade called out, his voice playful. “How many lives did you ruin today with your educational superpowers?”

Laughing with an eye roll, you replied while approaching the duo. “Just a few. No one will need intensive therapy after my storytelling lesson!”

Logan pushed off the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re doing just fine. Kids need someone who gets them.” He stepped closer, his presence grounding and warm.

As you walked to the car, Wade pretended to swoon dramatically. “Oh, I’m hot for teacher! So captivating! Did you see how the kids hung on your every word? I was this close to signing up for kindergarten myself!” He pinched his fingers dramatically, as if to show just how close he was to sitting in on your class. It would certaintly be interesting.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d probably scare them off with your face, bub”

A slow blush creeped up your cheeks as Logan opened the car door for you. “You both are ridiculous,” you tried to sound agitated, putting on your best teacher voice, but a shy smile betrayed your amuesment. “But it’s sweet. I’m glad you think I’m good with the kids.”

That caught their attention. They had certaintly talked about it before but now hearing the idea aloud, how good you were with kids thta weren’t even your own, now that sparked an idea. With a quick glance to each other, no words were needed to form the plan that was about to commence. Allowing the thoughts to stew on the ride home, you had no idea of their plan when you entered your shared apartment. Of course, it was messy but the boys had allowed you to decorate it; making it seem less like a college frat dorm room and more like a home. And if their plan came to fruition, it certainy would be a home indeed.

Suddenly, Logan grabbed yours wrists and pinned you down against the nearest wall. His smoldering gaze glowered down at you as his face leaned down to whisper in huskily in your ear.

“What do you think about having some kits of your own?”

“What?”

Coming to your side, Wade joined his partner in looking down at you. Using his hand to reach around and cup your chin, he brought your shocked gaze to look up at him.

“Dollface, I think peanut here is asking to breed you. And I am certainly not opposed to the idea. I mean I am sure a hundred Tumblr fics have been written about it already—”

A dark chuckle erupted from Logans throat at Wade’s words, for once he wasn’t annoyed at the merc’s mouth. As he stood up and let his grip go, both men now stared down at you. After some stumbling and a few apologies to about tripping over variois objects, all three parties ended up in the master bedroom with clothes on the floor. You, laid on the bed and the boy’s eyes darkened with hunger at the sight of your bare form, a silent understanding among them of what was about to happen.

Wade leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, the warmth of his tongue teasing the aroused bud. Dragging his hands across your torso, he slowly marked your skin with his hands. Logan, instead dipped down and spread your thighs, enjoying the way they felt in his calloused hands. With a whimper, you couldn’t help but arch your back into his touch as he dragged his nose across your slit. The heat from his breath left you soaked with desire, cunt clenching around nothing as you imagined all the things that were about to happen.

Hoisting your legs up on his shoulders, Logan massaged the tip of his cock against you hole. Not allowed a moment of reprieve, sheathing his heady member into your cunt with one stroke, Wade then bit the corner of your collarbone to distract you from Logan’s actions. He stretched your needy hole, both of your moaning both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved. You gasped at the stretch, gripping the sheets with each strong stroke. The velvet of your walls squeezing Logan so tight that with every exit and entry of his member into your cunt, the ribs of his cock rubbed against you in a painfully delicious way. Wade took initative and slowly started to leave hot wet kisses and nips across the valley of your neck, only pausing to whisper filthy things in your ear as Logan carried out a relentless pace.

“He’s gonna fuck you so good baby. Think about how good you’ll look, so big and glowing with our baby inside you. You’re gonna be such a good momma. Want us to make you a momma dollface?"

Gosh, he was so hot like this. You hung onto everyword, every image you presented you with. It was addicting, the feeling of Logan inside you, the softness of Wade’s lips worshiping your body as he debauched words continued to send wave after wave of arousal shooting straight down to your already weeping pussy. And you knew it may never happen, you were still on the pill and by all means Wade was infertile with Logan’s ability to breed in question since he was older.

But by any means, you could certaintly get used to this.

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gongyoosgf · 6 months ago

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SOME INFORMATION FROM THE INTERVIEW:

Choi Seung-hyun, formerly known as rapper T.O.P from K-pop juggernaut Big Bang, marked his return to the screen after an 11-year hiatus in season two of "Squid Game."

Previously embroiled in a scandal following a conviction for marijuana use that led to a 10-month suspended jail sentence in 2017, Choi's journey back to the limelight may be a tale of self-reflection.

In the newest season of "Squid Game," Choi portrays Thanos, a failed rapper addicted to drugs who enters the deadly games to escape crippling debt. A character at once selfish and absurd, Thanos delivers a kaleidoscope of exaggerated emotions and awkward bravado, a performance that has sparked both intrigue and polarized reactions.

During a group interview Wednesday, Choi opened up with emotional gravity befitting his first public conversation in over a decade.

“Since it’s my first interview in 11 years, a lot has happened, and I came here with careful consideration, thinking it was the right time. I feel a mix of emotions, including a sense of apology, but today, I sincerely want to share many honest thoughts in this space,” he said.

Reflecting on the turbulent years since his departure from the public eye, Choi spoke about his personal struggles.

“In my 20s, I made huge mistakes, and the dark times I faced then led me down a path I had never been on before. What followed was a truly hellish period of darkness, during which I became emotionally devastated,” he said. "I experienced profound psychological deterioration and intense self-loathing."

It was during these times of desolation that the opportunity to audition for "Squid Game" emerged.

“Then I received an offer to audition for the role of Thanos. Like any other actor, I recorded a video and sent it in. After meeting with the director and going through several rounds of cross-checks, I was cast,” he recounted.

“If it hadn’t been Thanos, I wouldn’t have taken on the role. It was an extremely difficult decision for me, given my past mistakes. But Thanos was a character I had to confront head on -- not a righteous figure, but a stereotypically failed, pathetic hip-hop loser. That aspect gave me the courage to step forward.”

Stepping into the shoes of a character like Thanos proved a formidable psychological challenge, he said.

“The film set had hundreds of actors and crew members present. When we shot the scene where Thanos takes drugs, I found myself in a very embarrassing situation, which was quite psychologically challenging for me," said Choi.

"However, I believed it was my responsibility to overcome this as part of my role, and that determination was what kept me going,” he explained.

Critics have been divided on Choi’s portrayal of Thanos, with some viewers describing the performance as overtly exaggerated and unnatural -- a critique that Choi readily embraced. “Acting and characters are things that can draw mixed reactions and can be highly subjective, and they are elements that audiences may criticize, and I believe enduring such criticism is something I must accept," he said.

The concept behind Thanos, as Choi elaborated, was the essence of failure personified.

“He’s portrayed as a failed member of the 'MZ' generation, full of cringeworthy behavior and over-the-top bravado, like a teenager stuck in a phase of childish delusions of grandeur," he said.

"He’s a character whose body has grown, but his mental age is almost like that of Shin-chan,” he said, referring to the 5-year-old main character of Japanese manga series "Crayon Shin-chan."

Going forward, as for any speculation about a return to Big Bang, Choi quashed the idea.

“Regarding moving forward on my own, I felt that if I faced criticism and backlash, it was something I could endure alone. However, as long as I remained part of Big Bang, the guilt could not be erased, and I believed I could no longer let the team suffer because of me," he said.

"The reason I cannot return is, honestly, because I feel too ashamed to face the other members.”

Nevertheless, Choi hinted at a possible return to music as a solo artist.

“For the past 10 years, I’ve only been going back and forth between my home and my music studio. The reason I stayed in the studio was that creating music was the only time I felt like I could escape the darkness,” he shared.

“I made a lot of songs. There’s no exact release plan yet, but I do have something in mind for the near future," he added.

———————————————————————

i just wanted to say that he is so brave for coming out and finally talking about what happened so many years ago, and he is truly inspiring. i don’t make sappy posts like this often but it makes me so happy to see him not continue to hide in the shadows and instead come out and finally be able to stand in front of interviewers and talk like he used to ♡

#squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game 2 #player 230 #choi seunghyun #squid game thanos #thanos squid game #i love thanos sm #choi su bong #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p #bigbang

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simpingforheros · 8 months ago

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Lover Man

Pairing: Roy Harper X Single Mom! Female! Reader

Summary: Roy Harper gave up on love after his relationship with Cheshire never went anywhere other than creating his bundle of joy that was Lian Harper. That was until she came knocking on his door.

Warnings: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact, Female Reader/Female Pronouns/ Female Anatomy, Fluff eventually turning into Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Close Proximity, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Implied Abuse, Heavy Make-Out Session, Dry Humping, Implied Breeding Kink, Roy Harper being our Gentle King ((only this time)).

A/N: Soooo I had another Roy fanfic written completely in the drafts…and I hated it 💀. So I rewrote it and here it is. It’s a wee bit longer than my normal fanfics and I wanted to add more fluff and more descriptive detail instead of just smut. Please leave me some comments if you like this or if you don’t lol. Thank you.

A/N: I got my own ginger so it makes me wanna write about my second favorite ginger since I hardly see writing for him outside of him being a throuple with Jason. Roy Harper is just as hot as Jason because man’s literally got himself out of a bad place just for his daughter 😭🥹. Our responsibility king. Also Lian is aged up to 7 years old in this.

Dividers >>>> @cafekitsune

Roy Harper was a hardworking man. He slaves over his small mercenary missions with the occasional events of saving the city in the mix of raising a 4 foot ball of energy all on his own. He felt exhausted most the time, but that exhaustion keeps him out of trouble. It also gets him out of any venture for a personal life.

Sure, Roy had the Outlaws who would swing by after missions just to hangout and drink, and the Titans make a rare appearance to visit their favorite niece. Even Ollie and Dinah would occasionally come by to visit. But, after Jade came and left him high and dry, his heart was hollow…

Lian was his whole world and stars. He never thought he could love someone as much as he loved his little girl. He dragged himself out of his drug addiction just so he can take care of her, and she should be enough to make the backbreaking labor enough.

However, he notices how the doodled Mother’s Day cards that used to litter the fridge for Jade began to dwindle as her eyes began to look longingly at the other parents who had two parents and a pair or two of siblings. Lian says she’s happy to live with her Dad, who was her bestest friend in the world, but the occasional crayon drawings say otherwise.

The stick figures of Lian and Roy with a faceless woman and another stick figure child making it very clear that Lian wanted a mother figure, or at least a sibling.

Maybe one day Roy can give it to her…but right now he was too tired.

“What do you mean you forgot??” Roy yells into the phone as he speed walks back to his apartment complex.

He should have known better than to ask Garfield to wait at his apartment for Lian to come home and babysit for a couple of hours while he went grocery shopping. This week has been hell on him. He’s been dealing with some of Black Mask’s crew trying to expand to Star City and when he would try to get some sleep, the noise of some new neighbors moving in woke him up constantly. This was really his only chance to go do anything and Beast Boy forgot to come.

“I asked you to do one thing, Gar! Be here and watch Lian until I got back. How can forget to watch a 7 year old girl?” Roy seethes as he walks into the main lobby and bolting up the stairs.

His heart was pounding with all the possible scenarios. He knows he’s overreacting, that she was just probably sitting by the locked door either entertaining herself or crying. But he also couldn’t help but be paranoid that she strayed off to go find him or someone snatched her up.

His worst fear coming to reality as he walks onto his floor and sees no one. He quickly gets to his door and jiggles the nob, feeling the secured lock.

Just as Roy was about to scream at Garfield again to relieve the unrelenting anxiety, the sound of a door opening behind him catches his attention as a familiar ring fills the static.

“Daddy!” Lian yells as Roy turns around, relief filling his body as he kneels down to greet the girl.

“Oh fuck, you scared me.” He says, as he sighs in relief. His strong arms holding the small girl tight to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the girl mumbles with sympathy pooling in her dark eyes. “I was walking Wren and she wanted me to see her new room.”

‘Wren? Who’s Wren?’ Roy thought as he quirks his eyebrow just as movement catches his eyes again to the door.

Another little girl was standing in the door way to the apartment. She looked the same age as Lian with colorful ribbons in her hair and the matching Star Academy uniform on as Lian.

‘Another Star Academy student? There isn’t any other student living here…’

Then the realization that this was one of the new neighbors hits him as a taller figure appears behind Wren. Her voice throwing Roy in a trance as she scolds the girl.

“Wren, I told you to not stare. Especially at strangers.” Her voice gently but protective as she kept her eyes on Roy. Her hand already on her daughter’s shoulder as her daughter apologizes.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I wanted to see Lian’s Dad and see if I can come over…”

The woman was the same age as him from what he can tell. Healthy, glowing skin despite the dark bags under her eyes. Her hair glowed like a halo in the fluorescent light of the hallway despite the messy frizz of what he thought used to be a protective hairstyle that her work day destroyed. Her boxy scrubs doing noting to hide her figure as the familiar logo of Star City General Hospital shined brightly.

“Dad.” Lian’s inpatient voice cuts through his daze as he looks to his daughter.

“Huh?” He says as his daughter giggles.

“I said, can I show Wren my room? I wanna show her all my Bluey toys.” She says excitedly.

His eyes briefly flickering over to the other excited little girl before stating gently, “I have no problem with it, but did you ask Wren’s mom if she can.”

“Yea! Miss (L/N) said it was alright.” She says happily.

‘Miss? I guess she’s not married…’ he thought as he handed Lian his keys with a joking quip, “Don’r throw a party while I’m over here talking to Miss (L/N).”

The girls giggle before running over to Roy’s apartment and entering. Roy stands up to his full height as he gives the mother a smile. She returns it with her own as she says,

“Normally Wren is pretty shy, so I was happy to see she made friends with a good kid.” She says as she pushes some stray hair out of her face before offering him her hand. “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“Roy. Roy Harper.” He introduces himself as he shakes her hand. He couldn’t help but smile brighter as they pulled their hands away, proud that his daughter helped out a new kid.

“Lian doesn’t have much of a shy side to her. I blame it on her mom’s genetics.” He jokes with a soft chuckle.

“You and your wife must be proud.” She says softly as she props her hip against the doorframe.

“Oh no, I’m not married.” He corrects her as he nervously stuffs his hands in his pocket as he felt a pang of gloom over his heart. “It’s just me and Lian.”

Her eyes dropped as she crosses her arms over her chest as she mumbles, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume…”

“No, youre alright.” He assures her with a shrug. “Honestly, I should be apologizing for your first impression of me being my kid locked out of my apartment.”

She giggles as she waves him off as she says, “Lian told me that her normal babysitters weren’t in town and that ‘Uncle Gar’ was suppose to be here.”

“Yeaaa.” He groans as he defends himself. “I promise that i’m normally on top of the babysitting situation since I normally work nights.”

She nods as she says, “I understand. I have to find my own babysitter now that I moved across the country. I work days at the hospital.”

The idea seeming to strike them at the same time as both their little girls scream in delight as they play in the apartment over.

A compromise between two single parents.

The deal was easy and benefited both of them. Since she had to work 12 hour shifts on a 3 on, two off basis, (Y/N) would drop the girls off at school on her way to work, and Roy adjusted his “work” time so he can be home when they come home from school and babysit until Wren’s mom gets off from work.

When (Y/N) was off and Roy is working, She will keep both girls at her apartment and gets them ready for school in the mornings before they tag off.

During the rare occurrence that Roy had to go away on a “business trip”, the girls would just be with (Y/N) full time with Roy’s promise that it will only be a week and he will watch them when the weekend comes so she can rest.

This has been the routine for three months, and Roy enjoyed it more than he should. It felt great knowing that Lian was in capable, non vigilante hands when he was away and she had a female role model to who doesn’t fight crime in spandex.

Roy also adored Wren. She took a minute to break out of her shell, but she reminded him a lot of Jason. A quiet type who surprised him with her temper and mischief. He can see why (Y/N) is the kind of parent she is and how she easily keeps Wren and Lian in line.

Over the weeks, Wren and Lian became the dynamic duo of Star Academy. They did everything together and would cry if they couldn’t. The two even begged their respective parents for matching Bluey backpacks and sparkly shoes so they can match all the time. They even developed a cute habit of leaving colored drawings under the apartment doors for the other to find. The friendship was very heart warming and helped form the bond between their parents.

The two had a lot in common too. More than they expected.

“Wanna beer?” Roy offered as he stood up from the couch.

“No thank you.” She answers as she focuses on wrapping the present infront of her.

Tomorrow was Wren’s birthday, and while the girls are having a sleep over in Lian’s room, Roy and (Y/N) prepped for her birthday party.

“You sure, doll?” He says as he grabs a couple beers. He sits beside her and holds his open bottle near her as he jokes. “You gonna let me drink alone, and make me look depressed?”

Her eyes darken as she scoots away from him. The air turning cold as she snaps on him. “I said No, Roy.”

Roy immediately freezes before frowning in concern. He puts the beer on the coffee table as he whispers to her. “Hey, I’m sorry…”

Her eyes relax as her shoulders slump. She sighs softly as she mumbles. “No, I’m sorry…”

She reaches into her pocket a pulls out a familiar looking token and hands it to him. A 5 year sobriety coin. His brows shoot up as he looks at her in shock.

She giggles somberly as she says, “it’s not mine. It’s my Dad’s.”

She pulls her knees to her chest as she looks to the wall around the muted tv. Pictures lining the wall of Lian and Roy with some of just them or with friends. She smiles softly as she recounts.

“My dad was a bad alcoholic, but a good dad. He would take me with him everywhere he could and it would be like everyday was a good day. I was too young to realize he drank too much or he yelled at my mom a little too harshly.” She says as she picks at the material of her socked covered feet.

“It wasn’t until I got pregnant with Wren that he realized he had to sober up. He managed to stay clean for almost 6 years until a drunk driver hit him.” She chuckles sadly as she sees the irony in her dad’s death. “He even help me leave my ex who was also a bad drinker. I guess seeing my dad doing it my whole life, I thought it was normal…”

Her arms wrapping around herself before finally looking back at Roy. Her eyes meeting his green ones, her gaze watery as she wipes the tears away.

“I’m sorry, that was too much to put on you..” she said as her voice wavers a bit. “You can drink though I don’t-“

Roy gets up and takes his beers to the kitchen. Confused by his abruptness, she follows him, only to see him dumping out his open beer and starting to dump out the other one. She looks at him confused as he finishes dumping the liquid out before he pulls out his wallet and pulls out a coin.

He hands both coins to her as she reads the one he pulled out of his wallet. 7 years sobriety.

“You were…?” She mumbles is disbelief before he answers.

“Yep, former heroine addict…” he says as he leans back against the counter. His arms flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes shining with seriousness as he says,

“I understand why your dad got help. I did the same thing when I found out about Lian, and I don’t ever wanna do anything that can jeopardize giving her a better life than I had…”

An emotion crosses his face that makes her nervous but excited as he admits.

“And I don’t want to do anything that would drive you out of mine.”

“Please, (Y/N)!” Lian begs as Wren stands behind her with her puppy dog eyes shining behind her.

Those were the famous last words that were said when Lian and Wren convinced her to allow them to go to a slumber party while Roy was out of town. (Y/N) didn’t see the harm since it was Friday night and the girls had been good. Besides, Roy was supposed to be home late tonight so he can enjoy his Saturday morning resting.

It was a good idea. Or at least that’s what she thought before she got mugged on her way home from dropping off the girls.

The woman didn’t see it coming when she was snatched off the street and pinned to an alley wall as a disgust voice coos at her.

“Easy, Babygirl.” The masked man purrs as his dirty finger nails digged into her arms. “Just give me your purse and we can both walk away happy.”

“Fuck off!” She says as she tries to yank away from him .

“Now don’t be such a-!” His growl interrupted as the swoop of air shoots between them. She looks to where it lands and sees a red arrow buried into the wall behind them. The mugger was the first to look back to where it came from before gasping,

“Arsenal? What’s he doing here?” He curses as he pulls (Y/N) in front of him, making the struggling woman a human shield. “I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to hurt the bitch!” He says as he pulls out a knife and holds it to her neck.

(Y/N) only heard about the vigilante through the news. Apparently he used to be Green Arrow’s sidekick before he went solo for some reason and he was a rough guy. He works with the Red Hood who was known for killing criminals so she understood why the man was scared as a figure dropped down from a rooftop with his bow ready to shoot.

Her panic setting in as the bite of the blade was pressed hard to her neck, the anxious blade knicking her. Her panic eyes were set on the archer as she watches him slowly approach.

He looked…familiar. His height and built was impressive despite him being more on the leaner side and his features not obstructed by his sunglasses and hat reminded her of Roy…

“Let the girl go.” Arsenal warns the burglar. His voice was deep, but it didn’t sound natural. It was like he was trying to make his voice sound different. “You’re just pissing me off more and I’m gonna end up breaking your eye socket in.”

The criminal trembles before deciding the best escape plan. He grabs ahold of her purse before throwing her in Arsenal’s direction. Unprepared to the violent shove, (Y/N) falls to the ground before the vigilante can catch her. Her yelp filling space as the hero kneels down beside her to make sure she wasn’t stabbed.

“Hey, you alright?” He says as he scans her body for any serious injury.

She pushes herself up, cringes as her wrist throbs. His large gloved hands on her back and shoulder as he helps her stand when she notices his exposed arm. A familiar faded green tattoo visible on his bicep as the pieces fall together.

“Roy?…” She asks as she looks up Arsenal. Despite his eyes being covered, she can tell he was looking at her in a panic that she figured him out.

“Yea…” He confirms before looking behind her as he realizes the motherfucker stole her purse. He pulls his aviators down to the bridge of his nose, his eyes shining in concern as he mumbles to her.

“Go home. I’ll meet you there so we can talk about it.”

The look in his eyes and the pounding adrenaline makes her fear melt away as she nods her head.

“Okay.”

The throbbing pain in her wrist didn’t stop when she finally made it back to her apartment building, acting as her anchor as the revelation that Roy’s secret night job was him being a Robin Hood copycat.

Thinking back on it, she should have figured he wasn’t a normal guy. Constant bruises, noticeable limps, and stolen ibuprofen were a routine in their life.

The thought made her stop for a second in the stair way.

Their life. The one they shared for months basically together. At first it was just two single parents helping each other out while their daughters bonded. Then her and Roy began to get close, close enough to where they were constant in each other’s apartments as the other child was.

Now he saved her life…maybe he already did that the first day in the city and she babysat a kid she didn’t know…

As she reaches the arch way between the two apartments, her hands searches her pockets for her keys when disappointment answers her.

The keys were in her purse.

With a sigh, she decides to sit on the ground besides Roy’s door as she waits. (Y/N) curls herself into a ball with her knees to her chest as she felt the familiar feeling of exhaustion nipping her eyelashes.

(Y/N) was a hard working woman. When she wasn’t working herself like a dog in the Emergency Room, she was handling a 4 foot ball of attitude. She didn’t have time for any ventures outside of that. She loves Wren with all her heart, but that doesn’t help the hollow part of her heart from throbbing…maybe someday she can give Wren a father who’s worth something. But right now, she was too damn tired.

The door opens behind her as she jumps awake. The woman didn’t even realize she almost fell asleep, but a warm hand opens in front of her as she looks up.

Roy was standing in front of her now. A grey zip up was pulled over his shoulders to cover his costume as her purse hanged on his arm. His soft smile made her stomach flutter as he breaks the silence.

“I guess I got some explaining to do…”

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead she gives him her hand and stands up with his help. Her injured wrist cradled to her chest as they enter the apartment. The movement still felt natural despite the circumstances. Roy didn’t even have to ask about her arm to know she needed first aid on her wrist.

He tended to her sprained wrist as he tells her his life story. She already knew about the general events of his childhood and his life with Oliver Queen, but didn’t know he was a sidekick turned mercenary. The whole story made her head spin as she thought about the man tending to her as a boy wearing yellow and red spandex and managing to attract a female assassin who was Lian’s actual mother…

“So…” Roy says as he expects some sort of reaction out of her.

“So… You are a vigilante…Ollie and Dinah are too.” She recounts as she rubs her bandaged wrists. “And your ex is an assassin…”

(Y/N) sighs before looking at the nervous ginger fidgeting in his seat. His nerves were haywire.

‘What if she leaves?’

‘What if she doesn’t want anything to do with me or Lian anymore?”

‘Is she gonna keep Wren from Lian and Me?’

“Okay”

The phrase makes Roy’s neck snap was he blinks wildly at her. His heart pounding as he scans her completely calm face with a soft smile on her face as she giggles at his baffled expression.

“Okay? That’s all you gotta say?”

“I mean sure I’m not a fan of the whole putting yourself in danger shtick, but if that’s the only downside to you, then I’m okay with it.” She says calmly before giving him a serious glare. “Just as long as the girls are never endangered.”

Roy couldn’t help but fall out of his chair and on his knees infront of her as he laughs. His hands pulling her into his lap as he enjoys the chill of relief as his body yearns for the reassurance of her touch. It wasn’t until he cupped her face that he realized just how intimate their position was.

Definitely not something friends should be doing….

But are they just friends?

“Roy…” She mumbles. Her eyes speaking to his soul as the exhaustion and months of connecting and yearning reach the apex. Or maybe it was the reflection of his own feelings bubbling up as he moves her hair away from her face.

“I promise I’ll never let anything happen to you or our girls…I can’t afford to lose them…or us.”

The first move wasn’t clear. The blur of teeth and tongue distracting him as their hands held the pair close. His hands adjusting her to straddle his lap as hers ran through his hair and over his strong shoulders. His mouth trailing down her jawline and caresses her throat as her hips began to grind into his.

“Aw, poor thing…” Roy coos as his hips rolled to meet hers. His eyes shining with adoration as he marks her smooth skin. “How long has it been since anyone took care of you?”

She rolls her eyes at his teasing before pulling his head back by his hair. “When was the last time you got took care of, Red?”

He glares playfully with a smirk as he says, “Don’t call me Red.”

She giggles as she presses a soft kiss to his cheek before trailing along his jawline. Her breath burning his soul as she whispers, “Then how about…baby?”

He rips her back away by her nape before crashing his lips onto hers. The desperation dewing the walls around them as their soft moans and movement of clothes made their company.

His hands hungry as he finally pulls away from her long enough to push off her sweatshirt. A groan of appreciation fills the space as he admires her body. Every visible scar, freckle, mole, stretch mark, and roll made him want to explore every story that lead her to his arms. But that’s for another time.

His mouth watered as he looks back up at her.

“So pretty, Ma…”

His prayer is followed by his mouth devouring her skin as he kisses her collarbone. Her feathery moans filling the space while his hands caresses her exposed torso. He trails down to the valley of her breasts before pushing the offending bra up so they spill out. Roy couldn’t resist kissing around her sensitive skin, teasing her as her hands tangle in the mess of ginger on his head.

“Baby please…” she whines as her hips roll impulsively on his.

Her underwear was impossibly uncomfortable. Her body burning like iron as her intimate parts tried to cool down. The friction of her jean covered core against the rough tackle gear of his suit did not help as his hand began to grope her other breast.

His chuckle vibrates against the globe of fat as his fingers pinch the stiffening nub.

“Can’t wait to get me in bed? My, you certainly are a romantic.”

Before she can shoot back at him, he withdraws completely from her chest and his hands roughly cup her thighs. In a swift motion, Roy picks her up as he stands up from the floor. The pair share a soft laugh as her brief shock and his amusement leads them to his bedroom.

Once he places her on the bed, (Y/N) sheds off her sweatshirt and bra as Roy whistles in appreciation.

“I love when you strip for me.” He jokes as lust clouded his vision. “Can you do that again but slower?”

She glares at him as she leans back onto her hands as she tilts her head. Mischief fills her eyes as she examines him up and down with her lip between her teeth.

“Then how about you put a show on for me since you want one?” She teases.

His smirk widens as he decides to follow her suggestion. Roy rolls his shoulders back before reaching to slowly unzip the jacket covering his suit. Making a show of pulling it off his arms before twirling it over his head and tossing it.

Laughing follows his movements as he slowly strips off his gear as her hungry and amused eyes followed every rolling muscle exposed to her.

“Damn…” She whispers as a nearly nude Roy begins to crawl on the bed towards her. His prominent bones straining against his boxers as she continues. “And I wondered why you didn’t have a girlfriend…”

He laughs as he cages her in his arms. His ginger hair acting as a curtain over his forehead as he shrugs above her. “Maybe I was waiting on the right one.”

Their lips meet again as their hands began to map out each other. Soon all the rest of the clothes joined the floor.

His erection bobbing between them as his eyes remains trained on hers. His fingers trailing down to her exposed sex, groaning as he runs a finger between her folds.

“Already wet? And without foreplay?” He asks as faux sympathy plays on his face. “My darling clearly neglected that she gets wet from a few kisses…”

“I’m not neglected…” She protests before she whimpers as the bite from his finger entering her unused cunt hits her.

“I wasn’t talking body you directly, baby.” He corrects as his finger thrusts softly along her fleshy walls. The lewd sounds of her moans mixed with her wet sex made him melt as she begs,

“Fuck…quit teasing already, you bastard…”

He decides to oblige by adding another finger to speed up his pace. The thumb on the other hand joining the fun as it rubbed patterns into her puffy clit.

“I got get you all nice and ready..” Roy mumbles as he leans down to press soft kisses on her stomach up to her breasts. The mixture of gentle pecks mixed with the harsh stimulation below driving his lover insane as her hips arched to meet his hands.

“You deserve all that I can give for being such a good mom .” He praises her as he feels her walls clench around his knuckles when he finds the spongy mass he was searching for.

He contradicts himself by abusing that with archer like precision as the coil roughly tightens in her gut. (Y/N)’s gasps and cries desperate for the climax as she grips the hard flesh of his back. Just as she was reaching the peak, he stops.

“Asshole!” She curses at him as he pulls out of her. He chuckles before licking the tip of his soiled finger. Her eyes burning onto his mouth as he groans at the taste.

“Sweet as I thought..” he praises as he uses the hand to pump his cock. He climbs on top of her as he continues. “I’m gonna have to have a better taste next time, but I need you too bad right now…”

She calms her raging breaths as she smiles softly. “Next time?”

Roy pulls her legs up to her chest as he hooks her ankles on his shoulders. His red hot tip played with her clit as he rubs it through her soaked folds. He chuckles at her hopeful voice as he leans down to press a soft peck to her lips.

“Of course,” Roy whispers as his tip catches the entrance. “I don’t think I can go back to being friends after this..”

He slowly pushes into her as her hands shoot onto him as best she could. With her legs pinned to her chest, she can only grasp his bicep and his lower back as she is forced to endure the painful stretch of her neglected cunt welcoming him.

A groan ripping in his throat as he finally seats himself fully into her before peppering kisses on her face.

“Was gonna ask you out on a nice date without the kids around…gonna see if we would be a good fit.” He mutters as his mind seems to run on blanks. His hips rolling to gain some friction in the tight confines of her walls.

Her little breathless moans encouraging him as Roy begins to thrust shallowly to work her open before he pulls out almost completely. He slams back into her befor continuing his non coherent comment.

“But fuck…I don’t regret this. God, if I knew you would look so fucking hot in my bed…” He groans as his head dips to bite along her neck. “And your pussy is so tight…It’s driving me crazy. I wonder how a sweet thing like you could like me…”

His cock messaging all the right nerves in her as (Y/N)’s nails clawed into him. Her moans turning to incoherent shrieks as his tip abuses her spot, remembering exactly where it was when he found it earlier. Her guts twisting at both the words and his abusing pace. The denied orgasm from earlier building back up as her desperation grew wilder.

“God, Roy…So full…so good.”

Fuck she looked pretty. Her lips wet with tears and sip as she cries. Her eyes blown out in addictive lust and watery tears. Roy couldn’t help but cup her jaw in his hand and kisses her. The now familiar taste of mint and nicotine making her more addicted as his tongue claimed every inch of hers. He pulls away as his groans start matching her whines as his hand snakes between them to rub her clit.

“Honey, I may have to fuck a baby into you…” He mumbles as he buries his face in her neck. Her walls responding in a vice grip as he roughens his pace to meet their impending climax. “You like that, pretty girl? Want me to knock you up and give Wren and Lian a little sibling? Give you a nice big family with a white picket fence? God, you’re such a sweet thing that I wouldn’t mind keeping you as my pretty little girlfriend…”

“Roy!” She whines as her body shakes. Her walls closing in on him as she finally reaches her peak. Her eyes rolling back as stars cross her vision before Roy slams into her one more time as his hot cum fills her welcoming womb.

The pair remain still for a moment as soft pecks were exchange. Roy gently pulls out before he helps his love stretch back out. His hands massaging her thighs before grabbing his abandoned jacket to wipe her thighs and himself clean.

“You wanna go out tomorrow?” Her cracked voice catching the archer off guard before he smiles.

“With or without children?”

“Without. They are at a sleep over and gonna go to the zoo tomorrow with their friends.”

“Then it’s a date.”

A/N: Okay I didn’t know how to end this because Ngl I was tired on working on this tbh. I hope y’all enjoyed reading this and let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs are encouraged.

@simpingforheros fanfic. I DO NOT CONDONE MY WORKS TO BE STOLEN, PLAGIARIZED, COPIED, REPOSTED, OR TRANSFERRED ONTO OTHER BLOGS, ACCOUNTS, AND WEBSITES.

#roy harper x reader #roy harper #roy harper x you #arsenal x reader #arsenal #lian harper #Roy Harper fanfic #Arsenal fanfic #batman fanfic writer #red hood fanfic writer #red hood and the outlaws #simpingforheros

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mnmpopcorn · 8 months ago

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BEAUTIFUL BOY !!

featuring you, toji, & baby megumi.

The quiet hum of the evening settled over the small apartment, a gentle warmth embraced the space, painting a soft golden glow as the sun dipped below the horizon. Toji Fushiguro leaned against the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea cradled in his hands. He watched as you sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by colorful toys and the very essence of innocence that was your little boy, Megumi.

He chuckled softly as Megumi scooped up his crayons, a determined look plastered across his face as he tried to color inside the lines of a not-so-straight outline on a sheet of paper. Your gentle cooing encouraged him, your voice a soothing balm that made the chaos of the world outside dissipate.

"Look, Daddy!" Megumi called, his tiny fingers smudged with blues and greens. The pride in his voice shimmered, illuminating even the shadowy corners of Toji's soul. He set his tea down and knelt to be at his son’s eye level.

"That’s amazing, buddy," he said, ruffling Megumi’s hair affectionately. A radiant smile broke across Megumi’s face, brighter than any sunrise Toji had ever witnessed. It was moments like these that made everything worth it, even in a life that often felt engulfed in darkness.

As you joined them, your presence infused the room with a sense of calm. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, watching the two of them with that soft, all-knowing gaze that made Toji’s heart ache.

“Mommy, look!” Megumi exclaimed, proudly displaying his artwork. Your eyes lit up with delight, and Toji couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you both, knowing how beautiful it was to see such joy unfold right before him.

Yet, amid the laughter and tenderness, a shadow lingered at the edges of Toji’s heart. The whispers from the past, the weight of responsibilities, the darkness he often grappled with—these were shadows that he tried to keep at bay for the sake of your family. The world outside raged on, but here, within the confines of your home, he wanted to capture that purity, to preserve these fleeting moments of happiness.

As night fell and the stars sprinkled themselves across the sky, Toji found himself in the small nursery with you, as you gently lulled Megumi to sleep. The boy snuggled in a cocoon of blankets, his tiny breaths even and rhythmic. You brushed your fingers against his cheek lovingly, a gesture that might have seemed simple to others, yet in it lay the profound love and hope of a thousand dreams.

Toji leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold before him, heart swelling with an indescribable mix of emotion. Before he could process his thoughts, you caught his gaze and smiled softly, an unspoken bond tethering you both in that moment.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" you whispered, voice barely a breath.

"Yeah," Toji replied, a lump forming in his throat. “He really is.”

Yet even as he found solace in the warmth of the moment, dread seeped into the crevices of his heart. Any turbulent storm could crash through their fragile peace at any moment. Your life together, filled with laughter and unfiltered joy, was a treasure he never wanted to lose, but the weight of his past felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

"Toji," you spoke, breaking his thoughts, "What’s on your mind?"

He hesitated. There was such beauty in this ordinary moment, yet he’d always been taught that nothing good came without a price. "I just… I want to make sure we’re all right. That he’s safe. I’ve seen what’s out there." His voice was thick like molasses, tinged with regret and resolve.

You stepped closer, your presence like a lighthouse in tumultuous waters. “We’ll be okay. You’re here.”

“That’s the thing,” he rasped, struggling with the lump in his throat. “I can’t promise that forever.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for something unspoken. “Toji, you’re not alone in this. We have each other, and we have him. That’s what matters.”

He sighed, the doubt still lingering. “I just… wish I could give you the life you deserve. You both deserve so much more.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips, the one that could light up the darkest corners of his heart. “What I deserve is the life we have now. This. You, Megumi… it’s beautiful, it’s perfect in its own way.”

The bittersweetness of your words wrapped around him like a warm blanket and pierced through the shadows haunting him. But the fear remained—a specter lurking in the recesses of his mind, whispering doubts he couldn’t silence.

With a heavy heart, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you and Megumi’s crib. “Promise me we’ll always be this happy. That I’ll always be here.”

You nestled into his embrace, your body fitting against his like pieces of a puzzle. "I promise. As long as we stay together, whatever happens, we’ll find a way. You and me, forever.”

In that moment, as the stars twinkled above, Toji realized that despite the uncertainty looming in his life, the love surrounding him was a beacon, guiding him through the darkness—like the gentle melody of a lullaby, bittersweet yet undeniably beautiful, just like his beautiful boy.

#jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x y/n #jujutsu toji #baby megumi #dad toji #jujutsu kaisen #oneshot #jjk oneshot #toji zenin #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #Spotify

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gdinthehouseee · 1 month ago

Text

Father's Day: KANG DAESUNG x READER

summary: in return for mother's day, you try to spoil your husband for father's day.

word count: 1456

tags: tooth-rotting fluff

mother's day (part 1)

You had it all timed perfectly.

Wake up early, sneak out of bed without making a sound, get the pancakes started with your little helper, and have everything plated and ready for a surprise breakfast in bed. It was going to be perfect—just the three of you, sunshine streaming through the windows, and the smell of vanilla and warm butter filling the air. To your immense relief, it’s actually going well.

Your daughter is standing on a stool beside you, proudly stirring a bowl of fruit while humming a song she half remembers. You’ve already flipped the pancakes—heart-shaped and golden—and stacked them neatly on a plate. The kitchen is warm and filled with quiet giggles. The card is finished, glittery and slightly bent, but full of love. You're just grabbing some toppings from the fridge when a soft, sleepy voice makes you jump.

“What’s all this, hmm?”

You turn around so fast you nearly drop them all.

“Daesung!” You whisper, startled. “You weren’t supposed to be up yet!”

He’s standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame with one hand, his hair tousled from sleep and a lazy smile playing at his lips. His voice is still warm and gravelly from sleep, and he’s wearing his favourite t-shirt that always ends up smelling like you. His eyes land on the scene in front of him—your child still proudly mixing fruit, you in his apron, and the table half-set with his favourite mug already waiting.

Your little one gasps like they’ve just been caught mid-heist. “Appa! Go back! Go back to bed!”

Daesung chuckles, stepping further in. “What if I like this dream better?”

Your child hops off the stool and races over, card in hand. “I made this for you! But you were supposed to see it after the pancakes.”

He crouches down right away, taking the card with both hands like it’s made of gold. “You made this? For me?”

“Me and eomma. But I did the stickers!”

He opens it slowly, smiling at the scribbles and stars and the little crayon figures with overly long arms holding hands.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever been given,” he says softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You shrug, a little breathless. “You were supposed to be asleep for twenty more minutes.”

He stands and walks over, still holding the card, and kisses your forehead without saying a word. Then, with a quiet smile, he places a hand on your back and looks at the table.

“You two really went all out.”

“I wanted to spoil you…”

“Mission accomplished,” he murmurs before kissing you on the lips this time.

Your daughter tugs at his sleeve. “Can we eat now?”

Daesung sweeps her up into his arms and kisses her cheek. “Of course we can, sweetheart.”

You bring the plates to the table, and as the three of you sit down—sunlight falling across the kitchen floor, sleepy giggles shared over pancakes and coffee—you see it written all over his face that he’s happy right where he is; with his two most important girls.

The table is a happy mess—plates smeared with syrup, a trail of blueberries leading toward your child’s seat, and the glittery card still proudly on display beside his coffee. Laughter bubbles up between bites, and the morning feels light and unhurried, like the world has quietly agreed to give you this peace. Daesung leans back in his chair with a soft groan of satisfaction, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up just a little, and your child instantly pokes his stomach, giggling as he yelps dramatically.

“You’ve turned into a tickle monster,” he tells her, ruffling her hair.

“You’re a tickle monster,” she shot back, halfway through a mouthful of pancake.

You laugh, sipping your coffee, watching them both with a warmth that’s only edged by something faint—just a whisper of a feeling you hadn’t planned on. You glance down at the table again. The spread is lovely, the morning relaxed and sweet, but… it’s quiet. Simple. A little homemade magic, nothing extravagant. Not like the more outdoorsy celebration he put together for you just a couple months ago. You don’t say anything. You wouldn’t. But you must shift somehow: maybe your smile fades just a touch, or your fingers twitch nervously against your mug because Daesung notices. He always notices.

“You know what I want to do today?” He says suddenly, tone light but deliberate.

You glance up, startled from your thoughts. “What?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He nods, leaning his elbows on the table, fingers laced loosely. “I want to stay in pajamas. Build a terrible pillow fort. Watch something with talking animals. Nap with the two of you passed out on me while I pretend to hate it but secretly love every second.”

You huff a soft laugh, amused despite yourself. “That’s the dream, huh?”

“It really is.” He grins, then narrows his eyes in that familiar, teasing way. “Hey… don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“That guilty look. You think I don’t know that face by now?”

“I just… you do so much for me, and I—”

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “Jagiya.”

You meet his gaze. There’s no teasing in it now—just soft certainty.

“You don’t need to do more. This,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze, “is perfect. Breakfast with my girls. This card. You, looking at me like this morning actually matters.”

“It does matter,” you whisper.

He lifts your hand and kisses it. “Then it’s everything I want.”

Your daughter climbs into his lap mid-sentence, curling up without ceremony, sticky fingers pressed to his shirt.

“See?” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around her. “Perfect.”

You let yourself relax fully then, shoulders easing as you lean closer, brushing your knee against his under the table.

“You sure you don’t want a spa day? Or at least, I don’t know, a fancy dinner?”

“Only if it’s in our living room. And we wear robes and order too much food.”

You laugh, head tilting toward his shoulder. “Deal.”

“Happy Father’s Day,” you murmur.

He presses a soft kiss to your hairline, voice low. “It already is.”

Later in the day, after lunch, your living room is transformed. Couch cushions are repurposed into castle walls, a tall dining chair draped with two blankets forms the central “tower,” and twinkle lights are strung like stars between lamps.

Your child is snuggled up between you both, a bowl of popcorn clutched in her lap, eyes wide as a cartoon plays quietly on a tablet propped up with books. You’re pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Daesung, your cheek resting against the softness of his t-shirt. He’s got an arm curled around you and another across your daughter’s stomach to keep her steady, holding you both close like it’s instinct.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along your upper arm. You feel him sigh more than hear it.

“I think this is the coziest I’ve ever been,” he murmurs.

You smile against his shoulder. “Even more than the hotel from our anniversary?”

“Hotel didn’t come with a popcorn monster and glitter still stuck to my neck.”

You lift your head just enough to glance at him, and sure enough, a stray pink piece of glitter catches the light just beneath his jaw. You reach up and gently brush it away.

He watches you do it, gaze soft. There’s something different in his silence now. Not heavy—just full. Like he’s soaking in every second and quietly tucking it away for later. The kind of silence that says he doesn’t want this moment to end.

Your child leans into his side and lets out a deep sigh, thumb in her mouth, already halfway to sleep. Daesung adjusts slightly, careful not to disturb her, and lowers his voice even further.

“You know,” he says softly, “some days I still can’t believe this is real.”

You shift slightly to look at him. “What?”

He glances down at both of you—your sleepy eyes, your child’s soft breaths—and offers a small, almost shy smile. “This. Us. Her. The way my heart feels like it might break just holding you.”

“You’re so good to us, Dae.” You kiss his shoulder, then nestle into him again, resting your hand over his heart. “You deserve this kind of peace.”

“The peace is you.”

You feel his lips press softly to your hairline, then again—slower this time, like he’s trying to memorize how you feel against him.

Your child gives one last sleepy mumble, something about pancake dogs and glitter capes, before fully succumbing to her afternoon nap. Daesung pulls the blanket up over her and exhales a slow, full breath.

“I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

taglist: @emmiesoverthemoon @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 @heartubeatusalon @ninnys @lilshu65

#bigbang #bigbang x reader #daesung x reader #daesung #kang daesung x reader #kang daesung #d lite #d lite x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #fathers day

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yuh13lo · 1 month ago

Text

⚝ Crayon pact M.S.

The warm hum of Matt’s room was all too familiar — the soft thrum of a fan, the glow of LED lights strung lazily above the headboard, and the way his bed always seemed to dip just a little on the side he always laid on. His girl best friend was curled beside him, their shoulders touching slightly, limbs tangled in the most casual, unspoken comfort. A playlist was playing softly in the background, a mix of songs they always ended up coming back to.

Matt stared at the ceiling, arms behind his head, voice soft. “If you could live anywhere in the world, no limits, where would you go?”

She paused, chewing on her answer before whispering, “Somewhere warm. But not too warm. Like…a little house with a big backyard. Maybe a lake nearby. And, like, ten dogs.”

Matt laughed under his breath. “Ten? That’s aggressive.”

“Fine, eight. Two cats. And maybe a raccoon if we can train it.”

“You can’t train a raccoon.”

“You don’t know that,” she grinned, nudging him. “You just don’t believe in love.”

“I believe in dogs. And maybe cats. And I definitely believe in pizza at midnight.”

Before she could answer, there was a soft knock on the door, then it cracked open. His mom peeked her head in, holding a small stack of crinkled paper.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping fully in. “I was cleaning out some stuff in the basement and…found these.” She placed the stack on the bed between them. “Thought you two might want to see.”

Matt squinted, sitting up a little. His best friend blinked at the papers, reaching for the top one.

And then — they both froze.

It was a drawing. Two stick figures, one with what looked like brown hair (definitely Matt), and one with two giant pink bows (her). Underneath, in shaky crayon handwriting:

“Matt and Y/n’s Wedding. We will live in a castle with 15 dogs, 7 cats, and 1 tiger. I will wear a sparkly dress. Matt will wear a suit with rocket shoes. There will be ice cream cake and a petting zoo.”

“Oh. My. God,” she whispered, turning red.

Matt started laughing, full chest laugh, the kind he didn’t even try to hold back. “No way,” he choked out. “We were unhinged.”

“Why a tiger?! Why did we think we could own a tiger?”

“You had standards,” he smirked. “I respect it.”

She grinned, flipping through more pages — more dreams scrawled in colorful markers: wedding guests listed as their favorite classmates, an RSVP card made from notebook paper, and a detailed diagram of “our future house” with an entire wing dedicated to “just naps.”

His mom was smiling fondly in the doorway. “You two were inseparable even then.”

“Still are,” Matt mumbled without thinking, glancing sideways at her.

And for a second, the energy shifted — just a little. Like a thread pulling tight between them. She looked up at him, soft smile playing on her lips, like the kind only Matt got to see.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said quickly, voice a bit tighter now.

His mom winked at them. “Of course. I’ll let you get back to…whatever this is.” And with that, the door clicked shut behind her.

They sat in silence for a beat.

Finally, she nudged him. “So…you still think you can rock rocket shoes at our wedding?”

Matt smirked. “Only if there’s still a petting zoo.”

She laughed, falling back against the pillow. “Deal.”

And beneath the covers, their pinkies brushed — lingering. Not quite holding. But almost.

Like they knew…some childhood plans might’ve been written in crayon.

But some parts? Some parts still felt a little real.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #madison beer #sturniolo smut #madi filipowicz #matthew sturniolo

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ticifics · 5 months ago

Text

the nanny

Kit Walker x f!reader

Summary: "Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled. You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job." Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

Warnings: no use of y/n, dad!kit, nanny!reader, fluffy, no briarcliff

A/N: It's been so, sooo long since I wrote about the kit, so I decided to do something cute, the poor man deserves some happiness (just look at that face, he's basically husband material)

The paper between your fingers was crumpled at the edges from being held so many times. You read the ad once more, as if the words would suddenly change:

Looking for someone to care for two children and help with the house. Immediate work. Interested parties, please come to the address below.

Simple, direct, and with a certain implicit desperation. It was your best chance. You had been in town for just a few days and needed a job, a roof over your head, some stability.

The house was small, modest, but cozy. The front lawn was a bit overgrown, and a tipped-over tricycle near the porch indicated it was indeed a home with children. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, your heart racing.

The steps on the other side were quick, and when the door opened, you found yourself facing him.

Kit Walker.

The name was in the ad, but you didn’t expect him to be... like this. Brown, messy hair, eyes the same color, deep and somewhat tired, as if carrying more than a man his age should. He looked a few years older than you, yet young enough to be the father of two small children.

"Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice.

"Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job."

Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

You entered, smelling the warmth of wood and coffee, mixed with the unmistakable scent of a house with children: crayons, cookies, and a faint trace of baby cologne.

The living room was simple, with old furniture but well cared for. There were toys scattered here and there, a small blanket thrown over the couch, and some kids' drawings pinned to the wall.

"Well, I don’t want to make this formal or anything," Kit scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. "To be honest, I need someone as soon as possible. I work all day, and I can’t keep up with everything on my own. The idea is for you to be with the kids, help with the house... those kinds of things."

You nodded. "I can do that."

Kit studied your face for a moment, as if looking for something beyond your answer.

"Do you have experience with children?"

"Not professionally..." You hesitated. "But I’ve taken care of my cousins when they were little. I like kids."

Kit nodded slowly, as if considering your answer, but his gaze was still sharp, evaluating you in a way that made your heart race. He seemed like someone who wanted to trust, needed to trust, but didn’t give that trust easily.

"It’s a full-time job," He crossed his arms, the thin fabric of his shirt stretching slightly across his broad shoulders. "You’d need to be here all day, sometimes at night, depending on my schedule. I work a lot."

You nodded, trying to seem as confident as possible. "That wouldn’t be a problem."

"Good. Because they need stability," Kit rubbed his chin, briefly looking away. "It’s already been hard enough for them."

There was something heavy behind those words, something he didn’t say, but that lingered in the air between you. You wondered what exactly had happened, but didn’t dare to ask.

Kit cleared his throat, refocusing on the conversation. "Can you cook?"

The question came without warning, and you blinked, a little surprised. "Yes. Quite well, actually."

A shadow of relief passed over his face. "Great. I get by, but..." He made a vague gesture, as if already used to eating poorly. "It’d be nice if they could have real food, you know? Not just sandwiches and instant noodles."

You smiled faintly. "I can take care of that."

Kit opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, shifting his weight. You noticed how tense he seemed, as if about to ask a question he didn’t know whether he should.

"Can I ask you something?" He narrowed his eyes, curious. "Are you married?"

The question caught you so off guard that it took an extra second to respond. "What? No! No, I’m not married."

Kit relaxed almost imperceptibly, and you couldn’t tell if it was because the answer relieved him or if he just didn’t want to get into trouble. "Sorry. I just... don’t want to hire someone with a jealous husband showing up at my door afterward."

You let out a short laugh, more out of nervousness than anything. "You don’t need to worry about that. No jealous husbands. No husbands, period."

Kit gave a half-smile, but quickly looked away, and it was at that moment that a fleeting thought crossed your mind.

It was sad that a man like him didn’t have a wife.

The thought came as a reflex, and you quickly pushed it away, as if you’d done something wrong. It wasn’t your business. But still... he seemed like someone who deserved it. Someone who loved deeply, who would do anything for those he cared about. A man like him shouldn’t be alone.

Before you could get lost in that thought, a sound echoed through the hallway—small footsteps, followed by excited laughter. Kit didn’t even need to turn around to know what was coming, and the smile that appeared on his lips was so immediate and genuine that something warm spread in your chest.

"DAAAAD!"

Two children appeared in the room, running without hesitation toward Kit. He bent down instantly, opening his arms to receive them. The first to arrive was a boy with light hair and bright brown eyes, who threw himself into his father’s arms with the force of a rocket. Right behind him, a little girl with dark skin and soft curls stopped beside them, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Kit laughed, running his hands through the boy’s hair before turning to his daughter. "Hey, hey, calm down. You don’t even know her yet."

The two turned to look at you, and you felt as if you were being assessed.

"Who is she?" The little girl asked, her voice small but firm.

"She came for the ad," Kit explained, adjusting Thomas in his lap. "She might take care of you guys while I work."

"Can she tell stories?" Thomas tilted his head, his eyes shining with expectation.

"I can," you answered, smiling.

"Better than Dada?"

Kit scoffed, indignant. "Hey! I’m great at it!"

Thomas looked at his sister, clearly waiting for her opinion. Julia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at you before asking, "Can you make pancakes?"

You laughed, crouching down a little to be on her level. "With chocolate chips and strawberry syrup."

Her expression shifted slightly, as if considering your answer. Then she looked at Kit and then back at you, still evaluating.

Kit watched the interaction with a playful gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying seeing how you handled the two.

Finally, Julia nodded, crossing her arms. "I think you can stay."

Thomas agreed with an enthusiastic nod, and Kit let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"Looks like you passed the test."

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