#Married Couple

[madeleineengland]

Anthony Bridgerton before Kate:

Anthony Bridgerton after Kate:

[lyn31]

Hiii just finished reading the honeymoon fic, can you write the continuation of the fic? Them going skiing and enjoying their holiday? Just pure fluff and lovey dovey 😘

I gotchuuu, here is the pure fluff honeymoon experience! Chaotic too 😂 Hope you like it! Let me know what you think! 💕

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The Warmest Cold Days

Summary

A cozy winter honeymoon for a newlywed couple, where playful teasing, shared memories, and the intimacy of snowed-in nights deepen their connection as they explore both the beauty of their relationship and the quiet, blissful moments of married life.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Married fluff, newlywed couple, honeymoon activities, banter, playful, flirty, skiing, skating, shopping, cozy!

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The next morning comes with a different kind of quiet.

The snow has stopped, leaving the world outside brushed in soft light and crystalline stillness. You wake to the sound of water boiling in the other room, the clink of a mug being set down, and the faint rustle of winter gear. The bed beside you is empty, still warm — proof Zayne’s already up and moving.

When you sit up and call his name, he answers from the kitchen.

“Stay in bed. It’s still early.”

Naturally, you ignore him.

You shuffle out from beneath the blankets, dragging one around your shoulders like a cape as you pad into the living room. He’s just finishing pouring something into two thermoses—his hair still damp from a shower, ski jacket halfway zipped.

“You didn’t wake me,” you grumble mid-yawn.

“It’s still early,” Zayne replies, handing you one of the mugs. “And I also watched you drool into the pillow for ten minutes and decided to let you rest.”

You give him a flat look, sipping the hot chocolate anyway. “Romantic.”

“Isn’t it?” He leans in, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ll run the bath.”

You nod, eyes still closed, hugging your mug like it’s your last tether to warmth. “Thank you, husband.”

“You’re welcome, wife,” he replies, and you expect the usual soft brush of his lips. What you get is a kiss that’s slow, deep, and far more indulgent than necessary for someone just offering to run a bath.

Your breath catches slightly as he pulls away, and you open your eyes halfway to find him already turning toward the bathroom, like he didn’t just short-circuit your thoughts.

“You could’ve joined me if you didn’t take a bath first,” you mumble, almost accusing, though you don’t even sound convincing to yourself.

“I still can join you.”

You snort, not bothering to hide the amused disbelief curling at the corners of your mouth. Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d mean it. And worse—you know he would.

You shoot him a look over your mug, one brow arched. “I’m starting to think you’re trying to sabotage our plans again.”

He doesn’t answer, just tilts his head slightly like you’re not the first suggesting it. You huff under your breath. You won’t admit he’s right — even if the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

After a much, much longer bath than planned—with limbs tangled under steaming water and hands that didn’t quite behave like they were supposed to—you finally emerge from the bathroom, warm, flushed, relaxed… and immediately betrayed by the snowsuit waiting on the bed.

You eventually wrangle yourself into it—layers upon layers until your arms, and every step sounds like your clothes are trying to fight each other. You feel like a walking pillow. A very loud walking pillow.

Zayne, of course, is already fully suited up, like this is his normal Saturday routine. Not a wrinkle in sight. His scarf is tucked perfectly, his gloves on without struggle. He looks like a catalog ad. You look like a preschooler who lost a fight with a snowsuit.

“Don’t,” you grumble as he crouches in front of you to fasten your boots.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies, tone far too neutral.

“You thought it.”

His gloved hands are quick and sure, buckling the last strap like you’re about to waddle off to a snowball war zone. There’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. You almost miss it. Almost.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you half-grumble.

“I enjoy many things about being married to you,” he says, standing slowly. “This is just... high on the list.”

You meet his eyes. “Helping me into boots?”

He leans closer, fingers brushing a bit of lint from your scarf. “No. Watching you try to maintain dignity while struggling.”

You smack his chest with a mitten. It makes the dullest thud in existence. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Stop flirting with me while I look like a sentient sleeping bag.”

“Can’t help it.” His eyes flicker with quiet amusement. “You're still my wife. Even in maximum puff.”

You sigh dramatically. “This marriage is a trap.”

“I’m glad you fell into it.”

You want to say something clever back, but then he’s opening the cabin door and the crisp mountain air rushes in, biting your nose and stealing your breath in the best kind of way. Snow glints outside like powdered silver. Your gloved hand slips into his without a second thought. And in the distance, the slopes curve into soft white hills beneath a pale blue sky.

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You know that Zayne is annoyingly good at skiing. Graceful, composed, barely a wobble. But you also don’t remembering struggling this much as well, you spend the first fifteen minutes figuring out how to stay upright, arms flailing every time you try to stop.

He’s patient—but not immune to amusement.

“Need any help, wife?” He calls from ahead, coasting to a smooth stop as you nearly eat snow behind him.

“Nope!” You yell back. “I can do this...”

He slides over, catching you around the waist before you tip again. You brace your hands on his shoulders, breathing hard from laughing and sheer survival.

“Okay, maybe I do need help,” you mutter. “I swear I was not this bad the last time we skied.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, brushing snow from your hat. “But I’m still impressed you managed to almost take out that pine tree.”

You shove him, lightly, and he doesn’t budge. But he kisses your cheek before letting you go.

You both fall into rhythm eventually—him showing off a little, you pretending not to notice. There’s a break at the mid-slope lodge, hot cider and cocoa warming your hands as you press close on a bench, your legs brushing beneath the table.

You don’t stay long. There’s more mountain to conquer.

And you do.

Kind of.

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By afternoon, you’ve peeled off your gear and found your way into a tiny souvenir shop near the base of the mountain. It smells like pine and cinnamon and faintly burnt coffee, the shelves lined with handmade ornaments and absurd trinkets—a snow globe that plays heavy metal, a taxidermy squirrel in ski goggles.

You find a knit beanie with floppy antlers and immediately force it onto Zayne’s head.

He stares at you silently while you grin and lift your phone.

“I don’t think mocking your husband is a very wife thing to do,” he says.

You snap the photo anyway.

He sighs. But still doesn’t take it off.

You leave with the hat, a wooden keychain shaped like a snowman, and a tiny bottle of peppermint syrup you swear will revolutionize your hot chocolate game.

Speaking of—your next stop is a specialty café just down the road. The menu is a wall of handwritten chalk flavors. Chili spice, salted hazelnut, rose, espresso, lavender-white. You order a tasting flight, side by side on a window bench, your knees knocking beneath the table.

Zayne doesn’t like the lavender there. So you swap it with yours.

He doesn’t try to stop you.

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The sun dips low by the time you return to the cabin. The air is colder now, the kind that clings to your lashes and bites your cheeks. You kick off your boots, peeling off layers with exaggerated groans as you both slump into domestic exhaustion.

“I think I bruised muscles I didn’t know I had,” you say, collapsing onto the rug.

Zayne disappears into the kitchen for a moment, then returns with wine, two glasses, and a tray of snacks—cheese, crackers, fruit, some leftover chocolate from earlier.

He sets it by the fire, sits beside you, and tugs a blanket around your shoulders without a word.

The flames crackle. Your socks are mismatched. The playlist you started earlier picks up something soft and slow. It’s not a love song, not exactly—but Zayne sets down his glass, rises to his feet, and extends a hand toward you.

You blink up at him.

“You’re serious?”

“Come on,” he says. “I’ve seen you fall today. This is safer.”

You laugh, let him pull you up.

The dance is slow, quiet, just a sway in the firelight with your arms around his neck and his hands at your waist. The room glows gold around you. His forehead rests against yours, and neither of you speak—not needing to.

Just warmth.

Just stillness.

Just him.

Eventually, you fall asleep wrapped in his arms on the couch, the fire dwindling to embers, your breath soft against his collarbone. He doesn’t move for a long time.

He doesn’t need to.

You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

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The third morning of your honeymoon starts with a sleepy stretch and Zayne flopped across half the bed like gravity gave up on him.

You stare at his bare shoulder, blink at his hair sticking up in all directions, then poke him in the ribs.

“We’re married,” you whisper dramatically.

Zayne doesn’t move.

You poke him again. “Wake up. You have a wife.”

A muffled noise escapes from where his face is buried in the pillow. “I had a drooling wife yesterday, too.”

You ignore that last comment and crawl over him. “You promised me a snowman.”

“Mmm.” He pulls you in, trapping you against him.

“You at least heavily implied it.” You poke his cheek.

Zayne opens one eye. “You were naked when I said that.”

Still, he gets up. He always does.

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The snow is powdery and fresh, soft underfoot as you crunch your way to the flat patch near the trees behind the cabin. You’re bundled up again, but less miserably so. The air feels clearer. Your hands are warmer.

“Okay,” you announce. “We’re building the most anatomically correct snowman in the region.”

Zayne looks at you sideways. “Anatomically correct?”

“He’ll have personality,” you answer like that explain anything. “And pants.”

“...We don’t have pants.”

“I have imagination.”

He exhales through his nose and kneels beside you as you start shaping the base.

You spend the next hour bickering about snowball size, proportion, and whether the snowman should have a tragic backstory.

You say yes. Zayne says that’s too much emotional labor for someone made of ice.

You trade a long look, holding back a laugh and he just stares back deadpan.

When you step back, your creation stands tall and slightly crooked. He has a pinecone for a nose, scarf from your luggage, and Zayne’s gloves because “he looked cold.” His arms stick out like he’s about to embrace death.

Zayne tilts his head, studying it. “So? Have you decided his tragic backstory yet?”

“He’s the husband. Obviously.”

Zayne turns to you. “The husband?”

“Yes. Look at the expression. Dead inside. Haunted. Probably married to some overly enthusiastic woman who drags him out to build snowmen when he’s tired.”

He steps closer until your boots knock gently against his. “That sounds tragic.”

You flash a smile. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

Zayne cups your face with gloved hands, voice dry. “I also signed up for tax benefits.”

He tries to kiss you, but you pull back, take a handful on snow from the ground and swing your hand at him.

Thunk.

A snowball explodes against his shoulder.

Zayne blinks at you.

You don’t look the least bit sorry.

And just when you see a snow start to form in his palm you take cover.

What follows is absolute chaos. Snow flies. You shriek when he ducks behind a tree and nails you square in the back. He slips at one point and eats it, which you declare a personal victory even though you fall right after. You chase him, tackle him into a snowdrift, and end up laughing so hard your stomach hurts while he pins your wrists and kisses you breathless in the cold.

“Wife,” he murmurs against your cheek.

“Husband,” you reply.

It’s chaos and doesn’t make sense, but it’s both of you together.

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You head into town around lunchtime, cheeks still flushed from the cold. The bookstore sits on the corner of a winding street, its windows fogged up and the sign out front hand-painted in curling letters: The Binding Page.

The inside smells like old paper and cinnamon tea. There’s a fireplace in the back corner and overstuffed chairs, most of them occupied by sleepy couples or bundled-up tourists thumbing through novels.

Zayne disappears into the nonfiction section while you meander, fingers trailing over old spines. You find him twenty minutes later crouched beside a shelf, flipping through a book about winter constellations.

You lean over his shoulder. “Planning to teach our future children how to navigate by starlight?”

“Planning to avoid being mocked when they ask questions.”

You nudge his side. “They’ll love you either way.”

He glances at you. “That’s because I’m their father. You’re the chaotic one.”

“And you married me.”

Zayne closes the book and stands, taller than the shelves and unfairly graceful as he slides it under one arm. “I married you because you’re chaotic.”

You follow him to the counter, arms full of secondhand novels and one ridiculous romance book you pick up solely to embarrass him. You wait until the cashier rings it through.

“Just doing research,” you say.

Zayne doesn’t blink. “For what?”

“For being the best wife.”

He stares at you for a long second.

“You already are.”

Your heart flips in your chest. You nudge him with your elbow, suddenly shy. “Cheesy.”

“Objectively true.”

You walk out into the cold again, hands brushing, bags swinging at your sides.

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Evening falls with a slow hush. The sky outside shifts from lavender to deep blue, and the moon rises pale over the trees.

Back at the cabin, you light a few candles—more for atmosphere than anything else—and Zayne starts the bath.

It takes forever to fill, but it’s worth it. Warm water, steam curling over the edge, soft citrus-scented bubbles because apparently that’s what the honeymoon kit included. You slide in first, sighing, letting the heat undo the day’s soreness.

Zayne joins you after a moment, settling behind you with his arms around your waist.

Neither of you talk much at first. The silence is easy, filled with the sound of water shifting and skin brushing beneath the bubbles.

Eventually, he says, “We should take more baths together.”

You tilt your head. “You mean we should do more honeymoon.”

He hums. “I don’t know. My wife’s kind of a menace.”

“She’s beautiful, though.”

“She is,” he agrees. Then, after a beat. “And she has terrible aim.”

You laugh, flicking water toward his face. He catches your wrist, presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“Give me my guns and I’ll show you terrible aim.”

“That’s why I didn’t give you any.”

You splash him one more time, he chuckles before pulling you back to sit comfortably in front of him again.

Your back rests against his chest, your head tilted to the side. His breath moves through your hair, slow and steady.

It’s quiet again, and this time you keep it that way.

You don’t need words to know how much you’re loved.

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You’re not sure what time it is when you finally stir, only that the air smells faintly like pine and your thighs still ache from the night before.

Zayne hasn’t moved.

He’s stretched out beside you, arm slung over your waist, hair a soft mess against the pillow. His breath cools the back of your neck, and his hand has long since migrated beneath your shirt in his sleep—palm resting low on your stomach, fingers just barely curved in possessive laziness.

You sigh into the sheets. “Husband,” you murmur.

A slight hum answers you. His hand tightens.

“We’re definitely sleeping in too much on this trip.”

Another hum. “And?”

“We’re not even snowboarding. We’re just...doing very little. And fooling around a lot.”

Zayne finally speaks, voice low and hoarse with sleep. “It’s almost like we’re on a honeymoon.”

You roll to face him, tucking into the warmth of his chest. “Still feels like I tricked you into marrying me.”

His eyes blink open just enough to meet yours. “I’m the one who took you to the festival and asked you to marry me.”

You smile and try to hide your face, but he catches your jaw, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek. Then your nose. Then your mouth. “Wife,” he adds, lips still brushing yours, “I like waking up like this.”

“Half-naked?”

“Married. Completely yours.”

You groan, but you’re smiling. “That’s terrible. Say it again.”

He does.

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You eventually get out of bed around noon—just long enough to pull on warm clothes and venture into the village café, where the lunch menu is full of soups, thick bread, and mulled drinks. You sit across from each other by the window, knee brushing knee, and Zayne steals your roll without blinking.

“You signed a contract,” he says calmly when you glare at him.

“To love, honor, and not let you starve.”

“Exactly.”

“You are so lucky you’re handsome.”

“I know,” he replies, dry as ever. “You always say that’s why you’re keeping me.”

You chuckle. “Don’t get too cocky. I could still trade you in for a snowboard instructor.”

He reach for your drink and takes a slow sip of it, completely unfazed. “You’d miss me before dinner.”

“Maybe,” you say, nudging his knee under the table. “But only because no one else makes hot chocolate like you.”

After lunch, you walk down to the frozen lake where the resort sets up its seasonal skating ring. You rent skates, lace them on with gloved hands, and immediately regret all your life choices as you stand wobbling on the edge of the ice.

“Why does this feel harder than fighting Wanderers?”

"Because Wanderers don't create icy ground," Zayne murmurs, already gliding past like he was born on skates.

You eye him, amused. “Okay. Showoff.”

He circles back toward you, stops neatly, and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll catch you.”

“Will you?”

“I always do.”

You roll your eyes, but you take his hand.

The first few minutes are full of swearing under your breath and clinging to him while he guides you forward one slow glide at a time. He keeps his pace steady, never letting go, and never laughing even when you trip into him for the third time and nearly send both of you sprawling.

“Maybe we should have practiced before doing this in public,” you mutter.

Zayne leans down. “You mean practiced at home?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Really?”

He just lifts a brow at you.

You almost fall again—but of course, he catches you.

“They do say men only have one thing on their mind,” you say, shaking your head dramatically—even though Zayne’s still the only thing keeping you upright.

“Yes, only one thing.”

You both laugh, breath fogging in the cold, the sound echoing softly across the ice.

Eventually you find your rhythm—or enough of one to loop around without catastrophe—and when you glance up, you realize he’s been watching you this whole time. Not like he’s monitoring you for falls.

Just…watching. The same way he always does. Like you’re the only thing worth seeing.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Still staring.”

“Still beautiful.”

You want to kiss him. You do, leaning in just enough to bump his nose with yours. He tilts his head slightly, brushing his lips over yours in the middle of the snow-covered rink, and no one else seems to exist for a while.

It’s just a quick kiss—barely anything at all, and somehow everything.

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Dinner is something easy—roasted vegetables and soup reheated from what you brought back. The cabin is quiet again, warm again, the sound of the wind outside soft against the windows.

After you’ve eaten and changed into comfortable clothes, Zayne makes hot chocolate while you pull every blanket in the cabin onto the couch. You settle against him with your cup in both hands, back pressed to his chest, your legs tangled over his.

It’s peaceful like this. The fireplace glows low. You’re both quiet, drowsy from the day, and it doesn’t feel like anything else needs to happen tonight.

Until he glances out the window behind you and nudges you gently.

“What?”

He just nods. “Look.”

You twist around to look.

Above the trees, the night sky has gone green.

The aurora glides silently across the stars, colors shifting from emerald to violet to blue. It moves like a breath, like a dream just barely held in place.

You turn back to Zayne, who’s still looking up—but you don’t think he’s watching the sky anymore.

“We’ve seen this before,” you whisper.

“Yes.”

“But you’re still staring.”

He meets your gaze. “So are you.”

You lean back into him, your cheek against his shoulder. “This is…kind of perfect.”

He hums softly, arms tightening around you. “Everything’s been perfect.”

You smile against him. “Alright. Husband.”

“Yes?”

“What should we do tomorrow?”

His hand strokes lazily over your arm. “Hm. Hike? A proper souvenir shop? Or stay in and fool around until lunch again?”

You grin. “Are those my only options?”

“No. But they’re the most rewarding.”

You laugh into his chest, and he kisses the top of your head.

Outside, the aurora ripples on, quiet and otherworldly.

Inside, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

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Notes

Cuteness overload that I feel like pelting them with a snowball 😩😂💕 And here's the proposal and wedding, and the first day of honeymoon (smut)

[h0ggan]

Record Some pieces I drew last year Bolly the Walrus and Bastian the Sea lion

[polentaconleche]

20 years of weaving may have change her hands, but her husband surely doesn't mind 🫠❤️✨

[osctwink]

okay hear me out… ceo lando and his secretary oscar

[bellarkeselection]

My Forever Wrangler

Requested by @hayvenleave Reader and Tyler are high school sweethearts and got married, but reader feels a little off when Tyler starts getting closer with Kate

My first ever Tyler request ( hope I did a good job 😊 )

Some people say don’t marry your high school sweetheart because you’ll always be living in the past. Others say it’s the greatest thing in the world. I chose to believe it’s the best thing I ever did, at least until I saw my husband getting close to our newest team member Kate.

“You know uh - EF1 or EF5 tornado rating. It’s not based on size or wind speed. The power we ascribe is based on damage. It’s only really after the fact we can really define it. What it destroys, takes from us.” My husband crossed the room towards Kate, gently raising a hand to her cheek brushing falling tears from her face. “I’m sorry for what happened. But how much more are you going to let this thing take from you?”

“Tyler.” Kate leans forward up on her toes looking like she was about to kiss him before I sharply gasped altering my presence in the doorway of the barn.

The pair turned their heads in my direction separating from how close they were to one another before I had said something. “Y/n, I didn’t - it’s not what it looks like.” My husband attempted to say but I spun on my heels and stomped out of the barn they were in making our way back to the main house that we were staying at.

“Y/n, Y/n wait. Hey, wait, wait.” I heard Tyler calling my name but I ignored him and just kept walking away from him.

Suddenly something wrapped around my waist and yanked me backwards where I screamed hitting whatever or more so whoever had done that. “Ahhh! Tyler, what the hell - how did you do that with a garden hose?” Lifting my head up I met his gaze seeing that he had made a nearby hose a makeshift lasso.

“I used to do rodeo, remember.” He reminded me.

Dropping my gaze weakly I made a noise. “Oh right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t know another way for to stop and listen to me when I tell you that nothing happened between me and Kate back there.” He began explaining to me while I pushed the garden hose down my legs and get it off of me. Tossing the hose into the nearby bushes I didn’t want him to get another chance to use his charming rodeo skills on me for a second time.

“It didn’t look that way to me, Owens.”

Tyler gave me a sad look hearing me call him Owens rather than by his first name. I usually only called him by his last name when I was really pissed at him for something and he that because we were best friends. “Y/n, I know that you’re angry with me. But I swear nothing has been going on between me and Kate-“

“Then why did it look like you were going to kiss here when you guys were talking in the barn huh?” Crossing my arms over my chest I scowled at my husband.

He gently touched my shoulders locking his gaze with mine. “She went to kiss me, not the other way around. I would never do anything to lose you.”

“That’s awfully similar to what you told me when Penny Brooke wanted to kiss you at Junior prom.” I glared at him bringing up the night he had asked me to with him and another girl at our high school was all over him.

He slightly rolled his eyes at the memory. “Yes, she had her hands all over me. But again she tried to kiss me. And I think you’re forgetting that night I left with you and that’s when I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“I guess so.” Looking at my muddy boots I tucked some hair behind my ear. He has always been by my side and the night we started dating he was only about me and no other girl in our school. “Can you forgive me for overacting?”

Tyler nodded extending a hand out to me. “I can never stay mad at you, darling. Now will you let me up for my mistake of not spending enough time with my girl.”

“What do you have in mind, cowboy?” I tilted my head to the side waiting for his answer.

He smirked leading me to his truck helping me inside the passenger seat of the vehicle. “Go back to the good old days, just you and me. Me driving a truck and you filming our adventures on your YouTube channel.” He sits a small iPad in my lap that he had taken out of his glove box.

Tyler was the one who had went to college and got a degree. Yet he trusted me to manage his YouTube channel just like I did when we would mess around chasing storms on our dates before we tied the knot. “I can’t believe you kept my old YouTube account active after all these years. We were making videos when we were so young and reckless.” Scrolling through the old video lists I chuckled looking at the profile picture of me and Tyler. The picture was me hanging off Tyler’s back with a tornado forming behind us in the sky.

“You were my first tornado chasing partner.”

Waving my index finger in his face I teased. “That’s favorite tornado wrangler partner to you.”

“Now and always, baby.” Tyler removed his cowboy hat from his head placing it on mine. I chuckled pushing it up since it fell down in my face from the fact that it too big on me. “Sorry bout that. I’ll buy you your own hat.”

Leaning across the console I kissed him gently on the lips. “Nah. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”

“Sounds like a good feeling to chase, Ms. Owens.” Tyler cupped the side of my face kissing me before we sat back in our seats and kicked up dust leaving the driveway in search of a nearby storm we could chase just the two of us like the good old days.

Comments really and appreciated along with reblogs ❤️

[nagidonburi]

[unknownchicasblog]

Edging is a word and Oldxian is the definition

[lyn31]

Hi Hi! I love your writing so much!! Could I request Zayne&mc and their second pregnancy. Sorry if I got the age gaps wrong but it seems like mc gets pregnant shortly after “Seed Baby”. I’d love to see Rose’s smug reaction to the so called “careful couple” and then later when mc & Zayne discover it’s twins mc is convinced Rose cursed her.

Eyyy, I’m glad someone picked up on that! Ahahaha—because the twins definitely weren’t a planned pregnancy 😂 I actually had it planned out (another reason I gave that little nudge with the last bit in “Seed-baby”). I was going to write the smut for it too, but that can wait! It doesn’t happen right away from Seed-Baby, but the next year technically!

And this is helping me—I’m not procrastinating! Yay! Let me know what you think! 👀💕

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Little Surprises

Summary

A heartfelt and humorous story about a couple's unexpected surprise pregnancy, turning their lives upside down as they navigate the joys and challenges of this new chapter and the thought of adding new family member.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, pregnancy surprise, banter, silly, sweet, emotional!

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The mission’s long over, but you’re still at the base, running end-of-day reports while Tara complains about paperwork, Rose pokes at the vending machine, and Lara’s being overly generous with ginger tea distribution.

She walks up to your desk just as your stomach turns for the third time that today.

You blink at her, glance down at the steaming mug she sets near your elbow, and then everything lurches. You’re out of your seat in a heartbeat, bolting toward the office bathroom.

You barely make it in time.

Your knees hit the tile as you grip the sides of the toilet, gagging. It’s awful. And loud. You hear the door creak open behind you—soft steps.

A familiar hand gathers your hair.

Rose.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just holds your hair and rubs a slow, grounding line between your shoulder blades.

“You’ve been off for a while,” she murmurs. “You should probably get it checked.”

“I’m fine,” you croak, flushing the toilet and leaning back against the wall, eyes shut. “Probably something I caught on the trip.”

Footsteps creak in the hallway. Lara’s voice floats in. “Even if it’s just the flu, better safe than sorry.”

You don’t even lift your head. “Not you too.”

Tara leans in against the door frame, sipping from a coffee can. “You know your husband’s gonna check you anyway, right? If he see you, it’s over.”

You sigh, dragging your hand down your face.

Rose offers her hand and helps you up. You rinse your mouth, wash your hands, wipe the sweat off your forehead.

Then she says it, too casually.

“Speaking of the trip… are you sure you caught something from there and not brought something back instead?”

You blink. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

She just raises an eyebrow, glancing from your eyes to your stomach and back again.

You frown. “What—”

Your voice cuts off as your own eyes widen.

Tara’s the one who gasps. “Oh my god. Are you pregnant?!”

“What?! No! I’m on pills!”

Rose’s tone is maddeningly calm. “It’s not a hundred percent, sis.”

“And wasn’t the trip for your ten-year wedding anniversary?” Lara adds, too amused. “I doubt you two were holding back.”

You rub your forehead. “This is not happening. We weren’t planning to try again for another four years.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Rose, gentle this time. “You don’t want them?”

“Of course I do!” you snap, too quickly. You exhale hard. “It’s just… not the plan. And besides, I’m not pregnant. You’re all being ridiculous.”

Rose hums, unfazed. “One way to find out.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your pulse and get your replu ready, when Tara suddenly claps her hands.

“Right! Stay put. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

You turn. “Tara—don’t you dare—” call after her, but she’s already halfway out the door, yelling something about a convenience store and how she’s buying the good brand.

You slump into Rose’s side as Lara hands you tissues and a water bottle like a war medic. “This is excessive,” you mutter.

“No,” Rose says dryly. “This is justice.”

Twenty minutes later, Tara returns triumphant—waving a plastic bag overhead like she just came back from a holy quest.

“Okay,” she says, dropping it on the desk. “We’ve got options. Pink box, digital one, and the one with the stupid little lines no one can ever read properly. You’re doing all three.”

“Why?” you deadpan.

“Because if I have to watch you puke your soul out, I deserve to confirm if you’re creating life.”

“I’m not!”

“You might be!”

With an exaggerated grumble, you snatch the bag from her and march back to the bathroom. You hear Lara mutter something like, “She’s definitely pregnant,” and Rose whisper, “I can already hear the existential spiral.”

You do the tests.

You sit on the closed toilet lid, arms crossed, eyes locked on the trio of plastic sticks lined up on the sink like tiny instruments of destiny.

Five minutes.

You glance once. Blink.

You lean in.

All three. Positive.

You stare at them in stunned silence.

Then you start laughing.

Loud. Unfiltered. A little hysterical.

The kind of laugh that bubbles up from deep in your chest—raw and unguarded. You laugh so hard it aches—until it doesn’t. Until it’s something else.

The sound fades, leaving only silence. Heavy. Humming.

You wipe at your eyes, not realizing they were wet.

And then you look at the tests again.

Three positive lines. Clear as day. No ambiguity. No denial.

You go still.

Like your whole body’s trying to catch up to the truth.

Your hand moves to your stomach, instinctive. There's no bump, no flutter, not yet—but the memory of that weight, of that fullness, is still in your bones. You remember.

You know.

Your chest tightens, not with panic, but with the kind of ache that carries echoes. Of swollen ankles and early mornings. Of doctor visits and sleepless nights. Of being stubborn, pushing through deadlines you didn’t need to meet, convincing yourself you could juggle everything without slowing down.

And then the first kick. The first cry. The way it all changed after.

You sink a little into the toilet lid, a breath leaving your lips in a slow exhale. Two years back at work. You’d just started to feel like yourself again—or at least, the version of yourself that knows how to juggle everything. But this time... this time, the thought of pausing doesn’t make your skin crawl. It doesn’t feel like a threat to your identity. It feels… almost like a relief.

You tilt your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Your fingers stay on your stomach, loose and still. You don’t know what’s coming. You’re still scared. That won’t change. But the fear doesn’t drown you this time. It doesn’t win.

A quiet smile tugs at your lips.

“Okay,” you murmur, just to yourself. “We’ll do it different this time.”

You open your eyes, a little watery, a little dazed—but certain.

And for the first time in minutes, maybe longer, you breathe in fully.

Deep and steady.

Because this time… you’re not afraid to slow down. Not afraid to rest.

The door swings open a second later—Rose, of course, but this time her brow furrowed in worry, probably from whatever she heard outside the stall. “Are you okay?”

You turn the sticks toward her like you’re displaying cursed evidence, but you can help the curve on your lips. “All three.”

Tara lets out a whoop from behind her. “Knew it! Knew it!”

Lara peeks in with a grin. “Guess your body's not great at waiting four years.”

You shake your head slowly, dazed and still grinning. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Rose nudges your knee with hers. “Do you want it to?”

You look at her, really look, then down at the three test results.

A wave washes over you—warm, slow, terrifyingly tender.

Your hand moves to your stomach, resting like it’s already real.

“…Yeah,” you murmur. “I think I do.”

Then louder. “I mean, I was hoping for more eventually. I just didn’t think eventually meant now.”

Lara smiles. “Well, the universe disagrees.”

“And so does your uterus,” Tara adds helpfully.

You throw a wad of toilet paper at her. She dodges it with a cheer. “So! How’re you telling Zayne?”

You blink. “I’m just gonna tell him?”

Rose snorts. “After what happened the first time, he might actually tie you to the bed.”

Without missing a beat, you shoot back. “He doesn’t need a reason to do that.”

“Yeah, but we’re used to Rose doing it. Not you too!” Tara protests.

Three overlapping “ew”s hit your ears. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, come on. We’re all married—don’t be dramatic. It’s not like Rose doesn’t overshare about her married life.”

Rose just rolls her eyes.

“Right. The hormones are definitely kicking in already,” she says, crossing her arms.

Lara leans in, more serious now. “But seriously. This time, you need to slow down.”

“I already plan to take a break, chill!”

That shuts them up.

You look at all three of them, confused by their silence—and then Tara gasps.

“Holy shit. It’s the miracle of parenthood. She actually wants to take a break from work!”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Rose sighs, wiping away imaginary tears.

“Truly historic,” Lara adds, miming the same.

You roll your eyes. You’re too tired to argue. But then Rose nudges you again, and the glint in her eye tells you exactly what she’s about to say.

“Don’t you—”

“What did I say before?”

You groan and chuck a different roll of toilet paper at her.

“Please don’t destroy company property,” Lara says calmly, like this is just another Tuesday.

“Hey, what did I do? I’m not the one who bragged about being the ‘careful’ one,” Rose says, dodging the toilet paper.

“You jinxed us!”

“Nah, I predicted it. Honestly, I was more surprised when you two planned Serena and actually succeeded.”

“Hey!”

“Actually, same here,” Tara chimes in.

“Hey!!”

“To be fair,” Lara says, deadpan, “I thought you’d have kids right after the wedding.”

“Oh, screw you guys!”

You end up throwing every toilet paper roll at them. They shriek, dodge, and laugh—but so do you.

Three tests in one hand.

Your squad by your side.

And a quiet, undeniable bloom of disbelief turning into joy.

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

It’s late afternoon when you arrive at Serena’s preschool. The moment the door opens, a wave of tiny voices bursts out.

“Bye, Serena!”

“See you tomorrow, Serenaaa!”

“Bring your cool star stickers tomorrow!”

She walks out slowly, her soft footsteps nearly lost in the chorus of chaos. One hand waves delicately, her expression calm despite the flurry of goodbye shouts. You swear her classmates treat her like the lead of a drama troupe heading off-stage.

You take her hand and squeeze. “Popular as always, huh?”

She glances up at you with a small smile, holding her snow rabbit in her other arm. “They talk a lot, but they nice.”

You laugh. “Yeah, they really do.”

Serena nods, expression thoughtful. “Willow’s still drawing baby trees.”

As you walk down the sidewalk together, you give her hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey… remember when you and your cousins asked Daddy about where babies come from?”

You chuckle. “Of course she is. But you… you understood it really well.”

She hums quietly.

“So…” you say lightly, “what would you think if we planted another baby seed sometime? Like… if you had a little sibling?”

She doesn’t answer right away. She frowns at the sky like she’s waiting for a cartoon idea bubble to pop up. Then she looks at you, asking, "In Mummy's belly?"

You stifle a laugh. “Yes. In my belly.”

“Hmm,” She hugs her little stuffed rabbit to her chest. “It might hurt you. But it’s very worth it.”

Your breath catches for a second. That was almost word-for-word what Zayne told her once, when she asked if it hurts. You remember the way he said it so gently. “Sometimes, yes. But the doctor and everyone around the mom help take care of her, so she’s not alone. And when the baby finally arrives, it’s… very worth it.”

You don’t say anything else about the baby for the rest of the way home. You just smile to yourself, asking how her day was, listening to her quiet little ramblings, and remembering all over again that yes, this will definitely be worth it.

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

Dinner is done, the dishes are stacked, Serena’s belly is full, and your feet are finally up. Zayne’s just finished showering, fresh in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair still damp, trailing a faint scent of eucalyptus soap.

Serena is curled up on the rug with a picture book in her lap, giving each character a wildly different voice. You’re half-watching the TV, half-dozing, one arm slung lazily over the backrest.

Zayne sinks down next to you with a quiet sigh. He stretches his legs out, then turns to look at you properly. Not just glance—look.

“You okay?” he asks.

You blink at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. “Yeah. Just tired.”

His brow furrows slightly. “You’ve been quiet today.”

Before you can respond—before you can even begin to find the words—Serena pipes up from the floor, completely unbothered, completely unprompted.

“Mummy wants to plant seeds in her belly.”

You blink. Zayne blinks.

There’s a beat of pure silence.

Zayne turns to you, confused but processing fast. “I thought… we were going to wait?”

You lift a hand, half shrugging, half suppressing a laugh. “Apparently, the decision was made for us.”

His eyes widen slightly.

“Wait. Are you—? Now?”

You nod.

“Probably from our anniversary trip,” you say, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Y’know. That romantic getaway where someone kept insisting on no distractions. I was on pills. Apparently that’s not enough.”

Zayne just stares at you.

For a second, there’s no calculation. No analysis. Just silence.

Then—the faintest breath escapes him. His eyes soften. And then the smallest smile curves at the corner of his lips—not the usual amused one, not the teasing kind. It’s quieter. A little stunned. A little awed.

“...Another—?”

You nod again.

He exhales, almost a laugh but gentler, and reaches for your hand. Like he needs to touch you just to make it real. His thumb brushes against your fingers, reverent, like you might disappear.

And then you see it. The math kicking in.

Anniversary trip. No distractions. No interruptions. No protection.

He blinks. “That... does make sense.”

You snort. “Took you a second.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m a doctor, not a psychic.”

You both laugh softly, and then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing with warm certainty.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You squeeze his hand. “Still a little shocked. But… yeah. I’m good.”

He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple. “Then I’m good too.”

“This time I’m going to take a break right away.”

You didn’t expect that to make him react, but you can practically see his eyes shining—watery, actually—so you lean in and kiss the corner of his eye, your thumb brushing lightly under the other.

“Don’t cry on me, dear.”

“You said I’m allowed to cry if I feel like it,” he murmurs, his voice suspiciously thick. He pulls you in closer, holding you tighter. And apparently, you taking care of yourself is included in that category.

You laugh softly and tuck your head against his chest. You can feel it—his heartbeat, steady and warm, his arms tightening just enough around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Like the future has started to take shape already, quietly wrapping itself around the two of you.

You raise a brow. “How couldn’t I? Even if I didn’t, my husband would do it for me anyway.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, nose brushing against yours. “Good. It only took ten years for you to surrender.”

“Mm. I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll let you have that.”

There’s a beat of soft silence. Your cheek rests against his, his hand over your belly even though there’s nothing to feel yet. Just the idea of it. The weightless beginning.

And then—

Serena flips her book shut with a dramatic thwack and scrambles onto the couch, wedging herself between you like she’s been summoned by the gods of mischief.

“Can I name the baby?” she asks brightly, eyes shining the same way as Zayne’s.

Zayne blinks. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” you say at the same time.

He sighs. “We're doomed.”

You smile into his shoulder, heart full.

Not exactly the plan.

But exactly right.

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

Bonus

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

The room is dim and cool, the hum of the monitor the only sound for a moment as the ultrasound tech moves the wand across your belly.

Zayne’s holding your hand, thumb brushing absent-mindedly over your knuckles. You’re focused on the screen, trying to make sense of the blur of black-and-white shapes when the tech tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Hm.”

Your heart stutters. “Hm what?”

She smiles, calm. “I’m just adjusting the view... ah, there we go.”

She taps the screen.

“You see this? That’s the baby.”

You nod slowly, relief softening your breath.

Then she shifts the wand slightly. “And that… is baby number two.”

Your brain blanks.

Zayne blinks. “I’m sorry. Two?”

The doctor grins. “Congratulations. You’re having twins.”

There's a beat. Then Zayne turns to you, slow, like the movement is physically difficult.

You’re already staring straight ahead, mouth slightly open. “Rose cursed us.”

He lets out a stunned, breathless laugh. “Blessed,” he corrects automatically, dazed.

You turn to him with a look. “Yes… bless,” you echo flatly.

The doctor tries not to laugh, adjusting the image again. “They’re both looking healthy. Strong heartbeats. Congrats again, Mom and Dad.”

Zayne leans forward slightly, eyes locked on the screen now. You feel his hand squeeze yours tighter, but it’s not panic—just awe.

“…Two of them,” he murmurs.

“Double everything,” you whisper. “Double diapers. Double crying.”

He’s already smiling now. “Double the love.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too.

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

Serena is lying on her stomach, coloring a lopsided rainbow on the living room floor. You and Zayne sit across from her, your phone ready with a grainy printout from the scan.

“Okay, sweetie,” you start carefully. “Remember how we said Mummy has a seed growing in her belly?”

She nods seriously. “It’s gonna be a baby. I know.”

“Well…” Zayne says, nudging the printout her way. “Turns out, there’s two seeds.”

Her eyes go wide.

You grin. “Which means two babies. Like Willow and Jace.”

She gasps dramatically, hands flying to her cheeks. She whispers. “Two fruit?”

Zayne chuckles. “Exactly.”

Serena stares at your belly like she’s trying to x-ray vision through your shirt. “Your belly gonna be extra big. Like what Auntie Rose say before?”

“Yes. And thanks, honey,” you mutter, patting her head while Zayne snorts.

She beams. “It’s okay. I’ll help take care of them. I’ll be a big sister times two!”

You smile, heart swelling, as she scoots closer and presses her ear against your stomach like she’s trying to hear a secret.

“They’re talking,” she says solemnly. “One said I want cookies.”

“That one’s definitely yours,” you tell Zayne.

He leans back, lips twitching. “Smart already.”

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

Notes

Since I already did a planned pregnancy announcement before, I thought this angle would make sense—especially because, well, it is a surprise after all! Hope y’all enjoy! 💕 If you didn't already read it, here's Little Joy

[americanandwhore]

almost our anniversary <3

[kinkycouple2020seven]

We hit 4,000 followers! Thanks for following us and for all the messages. We love them!

[osctwink]

yes lando, wife him up..

[flx-res]

Tom and Star in their early adulthood < Star and Tom in their 40's

After three chaotic and strange months (they felt like a fever dream) I'm so glad to know that there are some things that will never change in my life no matter what happens. Things like my faith in God, my love for my father and sisters and my love for my studies and for the drawings I do, especially my tomstar stuff 🥹💖 Since I made that post about the third tomstar kid, I wanted to make another drawing of Tom and Star in their 40's bc I think that's my favorite timeline in my alternate universe now. It used to be when Star and Tom are in their early adulthood and still doing gf/bf romantic sh*t before they become rulers of Mewni. But two decades later when all the villains (from my story) have been defeated, when their kingdoms are thriving again thanks to their children, and Star and Tom are finally in peace, with no more duties other than enjoying each other's company and living every day as a happy old-married couple, I think I love this timeline more now 🤍✨

[propertyofjameswilson]

This is just a casual day for them.

[unknownchicasblog]

Little mo cooking in his little room with He Tian while he plays the guitar is the most romantic thing ever 😭😭