#delightful silly words with a rhythm

[shenzaibird-art]

I've had a new OC (actually a revamped old OC) for exactly one month now and I already have 25+ arts/sketches and 28+ lore notes/story scenes related to him.

Send help.

(Also sorry if this looks morbid, it was supposed to be goofy I swear)

[devdozes]

Love me like a sailor

im sorry it was a long time anwyyas hope u like the fic ! horror, dark romance ig?, lowkey YANDERE some spoilers on 3.2 quest, and just silliness

The scent of laurel smoke curled through the air, laced with something older, bitter—like burnt parchment and hubris. You stood beneath the Sacred Tree, where philosophers carved truth into bark and left their minds to rot with honor. They called this place holy.

You called it absurd.

“Found something funny?”

His voice was a low purr, golden in timbre, venomous in rhythm. Anaxagoras—Anaxa, as he insisted you call him when no one else could hear—emerged from the columns like a specter from forgotten scripture. His robes shimmered like oil on water, reflecting knowledge too painful to bear. Eye the color of the sweet magenta-cyan ombre.

You didn’t look away.

“Only the idea that anyone here thinks they know anything at all.”

That smile. That cursed smile. He hated it. He loved it.

“Blasphemy,” he whispered, delighted. “You’ll fit right in.”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The Nousporists had no scriptures, no prayers, only questions so sharp they left the mind bleeding. Anaxa led them like a messiah of madness, burning every ideal of truth to rebuild his own version—twisted and elegant, cruel and beautiful.

You should have left the Grove.

Instead, you debated him.

And that’s when the trouble began.

Because when you said, “You’re wrong,” with a laugh in your voice and not a shred of fear in your eyes, he felt something break. And Anaxa did not break.

So he followed you. He read your discarded notes. Memorized your arguments. Stole the scent of your skin from the folds of your coat when you left it unattended. Rewrote his entire doctrine to include you as a conceptual axis without you noticing.

He never touched you.

He never dared.

But every night, in the sanctum where thoughts became flame and philosophies were branded into flesh, he dreamed of flaying the world open and handing you its still-beating heart.

“You don’t get tired of chasing your own logic circles?” you asked once, after a particularly vicious debate.

Anaxa looked you dead in the eye slowly, as though the sight of your breath misting in the cold air was sacred.

“I only walk in circles because you are the center.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

The Nousporists were not a school. They were a fever. An idea that spread like mold under gilded thought. Founded by Anaxa, born from his desire to prove that even divinity could fracture under scrutiny. To challenge the Coreflame of Reason was to challenge god itself—and so he did.

But what the others never understood was this:

The Nousporists were built for you.

His "heresies"? All mimics of your questions.

Does truth decay the longer we observe it? Is prophecy a mirror, or a command? Can love exist without misinterpretation?

You were not a lover. Not yet.

You were a problem.

Anaxa studied you like a puzzle made of void and starlight. Every time you opened your mouth, it wasn’t words—it was scripture only he could hear.

Subject Log, Entry 12 I accused her of solipsism. She laughed. She asked if I dream in color. I lied and said yes. (Note: I need to know what she dreams. Perhaps she dreams me.)

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The deeper your research delved into the Chrysos Lineage, the less you slept. The more Anaxa watched you not as a peer, but as a phenomenon.

Your desk was a chaos of forbidden manuscripts, old glyphs glowing faintly, and diagrams of neural decay. At the center was your theory: The chrysosis was not divine punishment, but cognitive overload—a truth so absolute the brain set itself aflame to escape it.

Anaxa began sleeping in your study. He said it was to "supervise your deductions."

He never slept.

One night, while researching on Tribios as per Anaxa's request, you fell asleep with your cheek pressed to your notes. When you stirred, hours later, Anaxa was still at your side, chin resting on his folded arms beside you. His eyes were closed. Not asleep. Just...waiting.

He whispered, "I tried to dream about you. But I couldn’t replicate you. Not even in sleep."

Your breath caught. You wanted to mock him, to defuse it—but the way he looked at you made your heart crack sideways. Like you were his last theorem. Like he would kill every scholar in the Grove if it meant you’d say his name just once with awe.

And perhaps you did. Quietly.

"Anaxa." Holy fucking shit, he felt his undead heart burst up with blood

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The Chrysos Heirs—beings of legend, said to carry the golden blood of the gods—were central figures in Amphorean history. Aglaea, the Goldweaver, stood as the acting leader of the Heirs, her divine authority inherited from the Titan Mnestia. Phainon, the Nameless King was undergoing the trial of the Coreflame. Hyacine, the enigmatic priest, was whispered to possess the ability to mend the celestial realm and to bear the fate of Aquila. Mydei, the Undying, bore a curse that rendered him immortal, a testament to his harrowing past. Cipher, the Fleet-footed, was a shadow that danced on the fringes of time, her allegiance and motives obscured, She was the demi-god of Zagreus.​

Together, you and Anaxa embarked on a clandestine journey to dissect the essence of these figures. Nights were spent poring over ancient manuscripts, deciphering prophecies, and constructing theories that bordered on heresy.

The question that haunted your research was profound: What was the true nature of the Coreflames, and why were these individuals deemed worthy of their inheritance?

"The Titans,"

Anaxa mused one evening, fingers tracing the faded ink of a forbidden text, "were said to have crafted the very fabric of our existence. Their Coreflames are not mere symbols of power; they are fragments of creation itself."

You nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. "And the Chrysos Heirs are the vessels chosen to wield these fragments. But by whom? And to what end?"

Anaxa's eyes gleamed with a mixture of excitement and something deeper, more insidious.

"That, my dear, is the crux of our inquiry."

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Your research led you to the origins of the Titans themselves—beings born from the Coreflames, each embodying fundamental aspects of existence. Kephale, the Worldbearing Titan, had sacrificed their Coreflame to ignite the Dawn Device, creating a sanctuary amidst the chaos wrought by the Black Tide. This act of selflessness set the stage for the rise of the Chrysos Heirs.

"The Black Tide," Anaxa pondered aloud, "was the catalyst that plunged the Titans into madness. But what if it was more than a mere calamity? What if it was a deliberate act to dismantle the old order?

The notion was radical, yet it aligned with the patterns you had begun to discern. "And the Chrysos Heirs are the instruments to establish a new order—a cycle perpetuated by the acquisition of Coreflames." Anaxa's expression darkened, a shadow crossing his features.

"A cycle that demands scrutiny. For if we are to break free from the chains of predestination, we must first understand the forge in which they were crafted."

"So, in simple words, The current chrysos heirs who bear the coreflame of the deceased titans, will bear the misfortune of becoming the titan in the next cycle..?" You questioned as your eyes widened to meet his magenta-cyan eyes this time driven with something which not even you knew.

"Correct." He said as his grin widened.

You glanced up to find him sitting unnervingly still, the ink quill idle in his hand. His eyes were on you—but not in the way a scholar looked at a peer.

His gaze had slipped. Dropped. Traced the curve of your jaw, the line of your lips. He wasn’t hearing your words anymore. His lips parted as if something sat behind them—some urge, some truth trying to claw its way out.

Your throat felt dry.

“...Anaxa?”

He didn’t look away. His stare stayed heavy. Dark. Hungry in a way he’d never let surface before.You shifted in your seat, your heart thudding once in your chest, louder than it should’ve.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked once. Slowly. And smiled with an unsettling softness, like he was indulging in something he wasn’t supposed to. “Forgive me. You said something… that caught my attention.”

“Something about the Heirs?”His eyes flicked back up to yours. “Something far more dangerous. Your breath hitched. The tension in the room was suffocating now—thick, aching.

You couldn’t explain why your pulse was racing, or why you suddenly felt like you were being studied not as a colleague, but as a mystery he was desperate to unravel.

You looked back down at your scroll, trying to focus.

“W-We should finish transcribing this section before—”

His voice was lower now. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You froze. Slowly looked back up.

Anaxa’s smile had vanished. His fingers were curled around the edge of the table, knuckles white. His pupils dilated. The madness in his gaze shimmered like oil beneath a calm sea.

“Every night I leave this chamber and I think I’ve regained my composure. And then I see you again and I—” He stopped himself, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “...This is not what I intended. I wanted truth. I wanted the the true reason of all of us, the Titans’ legacy. But now I find myself… wanting something I was not supposed to want.”

You stared. Unable to speak.

“And it infuriates me,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “Because it makes me weak. You make me weak.” The words hit you harder than they should’ve.

You felt hot. Flushed. You didn’t know what you were supposed to say. Was he confessing? Was he unraveling?

“Anaxa…” you started, voice shaky, unsure if it was warning or invitation. He leaned forward, slow, calculated—like a predator who didn’t want to scare its prey, but couldn’t help indulging in the thrill of it. His hand stopped just beside yours, close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

But he didn’t touch you.

He wouldn’t. Not yet.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he whispered, voice dangerously soft. “But you should know this: the more we uncover, the more I realize the truth of this world is nothing compared to the truth I’ve found in you.” He said as he forcefully moves back away from you, in fear and something else

You held his gaze. Breath shallow.

The silence between you and Anaxa stretched taut—thick like honey, cloying like fate. He hadn’t moved since the moment he confessed those words.

The fire in his voice still clung to the air like smoke, and yet something in his expression had begun to flicker—falter.

His lashes lowered, eyes narrowing not with menace now, but something disturbingly fragile. Doubt. As if he expected your silence to become a knife. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered suddenly, voice cracking at the edges.

“You’ll leave. You’ll run. Like all the others who called me cursed. Mad. A blasphemer…” You stood. Slowly. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw locked tight. He expected distance. Recoil. Rejection. A scholar might call it logical consequence—he called it inevitability. But you didn’t move away.

You stepped closer. He blinked, confusion warping into something far more desperate as he rose slightly tumbling backwards. “What are you—?”

You were close enough now to see the cracks in him. Not physical—no. His composure. That perfectly constructed mask he wore around the others, around even you, was splintering right at the edges.

You could see it in the twitch of his mouth. The unsteady breath.

The trembling in his fingers as he kept them clenched at his sides, refusing to reach for you. Because he didn’t dare. Because he feared touching you would shatter the only sacred thing left in his world.

You leaned forward. Brief. Barely a heartbeat’s worth of contact. Your lips brushed his. A breath. A flicker of softness. A question without words.Then you pulled back, just as fast.

Your heart thundered, panic laced in your movements as you turned to go, your voice stumbling out—“Forget that happened, we have research to—”

But you didn’t get far.

His hand was on your waist.

Gripping.

Firm.

Not rough.

Not yet. But trembling with restraint.Then he pulled you back, and suddenly he was burying his face into the crook of your neck like a man starved.

Like something had finally broken loose in him—unleashed, unstopped, unholy. You gasped softly as you felt his breath ghost across your skin.His voice was low, unsteady, wrecked.

“Why… would you do that to me?” His other hand found your back, clutching it like he was trying to make sure you were real.

Like you’d slip through his fingers otherwise.His grip tightened. And behind his calm whispering, behind the warm pressure of his body pressed into yours, his thoughts spiraled like wildfire—

She’s mine. She’s real. She kissed me. Me. Not them. Not the sages, not the heirs. Me. She chose me. She cannot leave. She cannot see the others. She cannot be claimed by anyone else. I will burn the world if it touches her. I will gut the sky itself if it looks at her wrong.

His eyes—glowing now, iridescent with the light of something not entirely sane—flickered open against your skin. He pressed his lips to your throat. Not a kiss. A mark. A claim without blood.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, trembling. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

You didn’t know. But maybe… maybe you wanted to. Because you didn’t push him away .And that was enough to damn him.

Woah sorry if it's ooc and bad, I've lost my writing skills 😞

[noralia20]

Isn’t she lovely…

sum up : nearing Sirius' first birthday with his daughter at his side

tw : fluff, some bad memories, abusive family

ship : poly!marauders x fem!reader

After Hogwarts, the four of you had carved out something soft and sacred: a messy little house on the edge of the London suburbs, its walls stuffed with laughter, socks that never matched, and the constant hum of love.

James, Sirius, Remus—and you.

It didn’t take long for the chaos to settle into rhythm, and even less time before your shared love started to grow roots deeper than any of you expected. Two years into this quiet life, you found yourself pregnant. You’d all agreed early on—there’d be no paternity tests, no need to label who the “real” father was. You were all one heart, beating in different bodies.

And somehow, fate—or magic, maybe—had honored that wish.

Lyra came into the world one cool April morning, red-cheeked and loud-lunged. She quieted the moment she heard Remus’s voice—soft and steady, like the pulse of something ancient and safe. She had his freckled skin, Sirius’s storm-gray eyes and dark curls, James’s easy smile and stubborn cowlick. She was all of them. All of you.

The sleepless nights blurred together in a haze of lullabies, shared feeding shifts, and warm arms wrapped around each other in the quiet dark. Lyra’s tiny presence had filled the house with a kind of peace none of you had known you’d been missing.

But as the days passed, and her seventh month neared, something shifted.

Sirius grew quiet. Not cold, just... dimmer. Less of his usual barked laughter, fewer teasing kisses pressed to your temple in passing. He still held Lyra like she was made of starlight, but sometimes you’d catch him staring—not at her, but through her. Like he was seeing something else. Someone else.

His birthday was coming. And it was always a difficult time.

It hadn’t erased the ache of what came before—the cold, gray walls of the Black family home, where birthdays weren’t celebrated, only tolerated. That haunted look in his eyes always surfaced around this time of year, no matter how much love you poured into him.

And this year, with Lyra smiling up at him like he hung the stars, the weight of it all seemed to be pressing heavier than ever.

You knew what haunted him—what curled beneath his silence like smoke.

Sirius thought he didn’t deserve her.

You saw it in the way his eyes lingered on Lyra, too long and too quiet, as if he were memorizing her innocence before the world could bruise it. She shared his eyes—those stormy grays that once brimmed with defiance, now shadowed with fear. Sometimes he couldn’t even meet her gaze without flinching, as if staring into her was staring back into a version of himself he never wanted to become.

He thought about how he had once been cradled, soft and untouched in his mother’s arms. How her voice had maybe once been gentle, not that he remembered, before it sharpened into commands and curses. How love had curdled into something cold and conditional. What if that was inside him too, buried like a dormant curse?

From his spot on the kitchen table, Sirius watched Lyra squeal with delight as James made silly faces, her tiny fists waving in the air as she bounced on his knee. Her laugh was pure sunlight—unfiltered, unafraid. And Sirius’s chest ached like it might cave in.

You moved without a word, your hand reaching out to gently rest on his knee, grounding him in the present. Warmth. Presence. Love. Across the room, Remus wordlessly slid a steaming cup of tea into Sirius’s hands, his touch lingering just long enough to say I’m here.

Sirius barely spoke these days. Words felt brittle in his mouth, too clumsy to carry what he felt. But you knew. All of you knew.

You couldn’t fix what lived in his memory. You couldn’t rewrite his childhood or reach back through time to hold the boy he used to be. But you could be here. Now. With him. As he learned, slowly and painfully, that he was not his mother. That he was not the poison that raised him.

That he was loved. And safe. And still worthy.

He looked down at the cup in his hands, then at you, and for a moment, the tightness in his jaw eased. The tiniest crack of something—hope, maybe—broke through.

“I don’t know if I’m a good dad,” he murmured at last, voice rough. “I don’t know if she should see me that way.”

You squeezed his knee, then stood and moved beside him, resting your chin on his shoulder as Remus stepped closer too. James, still bouncing Lyra, looked up with that easy smile of his, and said without hesitation, “She already does.”

Lyra squealed again, reaching toward Sirius with grabby hands and a grin that could split the sky.

And when he took her into his arms, trembling just slightly, she rested her forehead to his and sighed, utterly content.

The morning of Sirius’s birthday arrived quietly.

There were no streamers, no pancakes in the shape of his name, no outbursts of celebratory joy. Just the soft clink of cutlery in the kitchen and the distant cry of a waking Lyra from her nursery upstairs.

He left for work early.

No kiss goodbye, just a murmured, “Don’t wait up,” and the familiar scent of leather and cloves lingering in the doorway. You hadn’t expected anything different—Sirius never celebrated his birthday. Not really. Not since he left home. Not since birthdays became a reminder of who hadn’t celebrated them with him.

Still, your chest ached as you watched him leave, shoulders tense beneath his jacket like the weight of the past still hung from them.

Later, after Lyra had been fed and changed, you found yourself in the kitchen with Remus and James, sipping lukewarm coffee while the baby babbled softly in her high chair. The room felt too quiet without Sirius’s usual sarcasm or dramatic storytelling.

You stirred your mug slowly. “We should leave him be today. At least for now.”

James leaned back in his chair, dark circles under his eyes and worry tucked into the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he sighed. “He hates being reminded. Always has.”

Remus was silent for a moment, nursing his tea, eyes fixed on the grain of the table. Then, quietly, “But we don’t have to ignore it either.”

You nodded, understanding. Pushing too much would only drive him deeper into himself—but pretending it wasn’t his birthday would hurt in a different way. Sirius didn’t want celebration; he wanted to be seen. Not as a name on a cake or a date on a calendar—but as him. As someone still here. Still worth loving.

“I think,” Remus said gently, “we can make it soft this year. Just... let him come home to something warm.”

James grinned, just a little. “Blankets. Tea. Chocolate cake we can claim is for Lyra.”

“She doesn’t even have teeth,” you reminded him.

“Exactly,” he smirked. “More for us.”

You laughed, quietly, and glanced up at your daughter. Lyra blinked at you with those wide gray eyes—Sirius’s eyes—and clapped her hands against the tray of her chair.

“We’ll be here when he’s ready,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

And you would be. All of you.

Waiting in the warmth of this house, ready to remind him that this home—his home—was nothing like the one he’d left behind.

That night, Sirius came home angry.

You heard the front door shut with too much force, the thud echoing through the house like a warning. His jaw was tight, eyes stormy, and his coat was still halfway on as he stormed through the hallway. You didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t need to.

None of you spoke. The air shifted around him gently, like the three of you had wordlessly agreed: no pressure. No pushing. Just presence.

Remus held Lyra, bouncing her carefully on his hip. James stood in the kitchen, arms crossed but not tense, watching with the same helpless ache you felt in your chest.

And Lyra, sweet and oblivious to the way pain can settle into skin like frost, reached out from Remus’s arms with a delighted squeal. “Aaa!” Still unable to form words.

Her tiny fingers stretched toward Sirius, wriggling in excitement.

But Sirius didn’t stop.

He barely glanced at her, eyes flickering past her like he couldn’t bear to look. Then he disappeared into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

The sound startled her.

Lyra’s bottom lip trembled, her face scrunching as a sob burst from her lungs. Remus immediately shifted her, shushing her with practiced calm, but it couldn’t soothe the hollow twist in your stomach.

You exchanged a look with James. Neither of you said it out loud, but you knew what the other was thinking. This wasn’t just about today. This was a wound years deep, re-opened by love he didn’t feel he deserved.

“I’ll go,” James said quietly, and disappeared down the hallway.

Time passed. Enough for Lyra to calm down, to fall asleep curled against Remus’s chest. Still, no word from either of them. So you went.

The bedroom was dark. The kind of dark that held silence like a weight.

You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted, and then you saw them—two shapes on the bed. James lay close to Sirius, one hand resting over his chest like a silent tether. Sirius was curled in on himself, barely breathing, and even in the shadows, you could feel the way grief and guilt pulsed off him like heat.

You padded forward carefully, your weight barely shifting the mattress as you slipped into the space between them. Sirius didn’t speak, not at first. But his breath hitched as soon as you touched him—just your hand on his arm.

And then came the words, broken and barely held together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

You curled your body around his back, arms wrapping him tightly, your forehead resting between his shoulder blades. James shifted closer too, his hand now pressed to Sirius’s side. You didn’t stop him from apologizing—you just let him say it until he couldn’t anymore.

“I don’t know how to be what she needs,” Sirius choked out finally. “She’s so… good. And I—Merlin, I’m not. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to turn into her. I don’t want her to be scared of me. She shouldn’t even—she shouldn’t ever call me ‘dad’. She deserves better than someone like me.”

He was trembling now, and James pulled him closer, nose pressed to the back of Sirius’s neck.

“She will call you that because you are that,” you whispered. “Not because you’re perfect. Because you’re hers. Because she knows your voice, and your laugh, and how your arms feel safe.”

“And because you love her,” James added, soft and steady. “You love her like it breaks you. That’s what being a dad is, Pads.”

James’s voice was gentle, firm with truth, and Sirius stilled under your touch.

He didn’t reply—not right away—but something shifted in the way he breathed. You stayed there, wrapped around him, holding the cracks together until the worst of it passed.

Eventually, with coaxing and soft kisses and promises that it was okay to come back to the light, you managed to pull him from the quiet dark of the bedroom.

The scent of warm apples and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen.

Remus stood at the counter, spoon-feeding Lyra in her high chair. She was all sunshine again, kicking her feet happily and thumping her tiny hands against the tray. The tears from earlier had long since vanished—her world blissfully reset.

Sirius stopped at the doorway.

His hand gripped the frame, knuckles pale, eyes locked on her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but you saw the way his chest lifted—slow, shaky—as if he didn’t know how to step back into a room that still wanted him.

Remus turned, smiling softly. “She’s alright. So are we.”

He rose from his seat, brushing past Sirius with a quiet squeeze to the shoulder, and handed him the small bowl of puréed fruit. She finally looked up and her eyes lit up like a thousand stars. She didn't see the broken man he knew he was, she didn't see a disowned heir, a runaway. She saw her father, her safe haven.

Sirius hesitated. His fingers curled slightly, like the weight of the bowl might be too much. But before he could step back, James nudged him forward with a gentle nudge to his back. “Go on. She’s been waiting for you.”

With a tired sigh and a quiet mutter you didn’t catch, Sirius moved toward the chair and slowly sat down in front of Lyra.

He blinked at her, cautiously scooping a small spoonful of the food and guiding it to her mouth. She opened wide, smacking her lips happily, cheeks full and eyes gleaming.

You and the others moved around the kitchen quietly, preparing tea, cleaning up the counter, staying close—but giving them space.

You caught it then: the small smile. The one that crept slowly onto Sirius’s face, cautious but real, as he dabbed her chin with a napkin and cooed softly, “There you go, sweetheart. You’re such a little mess.”

And then—clear as day, piercing the air with joy—came her voice.

“Papa!”

The room froze.

Sirius went absolutely still, the spoon suspended in mid-air. His breath caught audibly in his throat, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.

“Papa!” she squealed again, clapping her hands against the tray, food smearing across her fingers and shirt. She bounced, eager for his attention, as if she knew exactly what she was saying.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared, like the word had physically knocked the wind from his lungs.

Then slowly, trembling, he set the bowl down on the table and buried his face in his hands—heels pressed against his eyes, trying to stem the flood. His shoulders shook once. Then again.

A watery laugh escaped his lips.

And then he was standing.

He reached for her, pulled her from the high chair and into his arms with a desperate kind of gentleness, like she might vanish if he wasn’t careful. Lyra tucked herself against him with no hesitation, sticky hands clutching at his shirt.

“Papa,” he whispered, over and over again. As if trying to prove to himself that it was real. That she had chosen that word—him—first.

You saw the way his face crumpled, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief and a kind of joy that left him raw.

He laughed through tears, holding her tight, pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her tiny hands. “That’s me,” he whispered, voice cracked wide open. “That’s me, baby girl. Papa. I’ve got you.”

None of you moved to interrupt. James leaned back against the counter, blinking fast. Remus swallowed hard, his hand brushing lightly against yours.

And you—you felt your heart swell to the brim.

Because that word—simple and small—had been everything Sirius needed.

He cried, and he laughed, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself feel it all. Lyra, content in his arms, curled into him without a care in the world, smearing fruit across his chest.

And Sirius didn’t care. Not about the mess. Not about the shirt. Not about the parts of him he thought were broken.

All that mattered was this.

This moment. This love.

And the little voice that had named him something he never thought he could be.

For a few precious seconds, the house was silent—stunned into stillness by Lyra’s voice.

But then came another sound. A soft, choked sniffle.

You turned your head and saw Remus do the same, both of you setting your sights on James. His eyes were glassy, lips wobbly, and his arms crossed stubbornly like he was trying to contain the absolute flood of emotions threatening to break loose.

“I can’t—” he sniffed again, wiping his face with his sleeve. “This is unfair. Why didn’t I record this? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and now I’m going to die.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Remus rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “You absolute sap,” he muttered, rubbing James’s back.

Then Lyra, in Sirius’s arms, looked over at the two of them. Her eyes lit up again, and she pointed enthusiastically. “Dada!!”

The second the word left her mouth, everyone froze.

Remus’s jaw dropped. James blinked rapidly, hand to his chest. And Lyra just beamed, so proud of herself. Sirius gasped, his arms tightening slightly around her. “She—she knows, oh my god—”

James dropped to his knees like he’d been shot in the heart, dramatically clutching his chest. “That’s it. I’m done. She’s too smart. Too pure. I’m crying forever now.”

Remus didn’t even try to stop smiling as he leaned in and kissed every inch of her giggling little face. “You clever little thing,” he murmured. “You knew. You knew we’re all yours.”

Her laughter, bright and bell-like, echoed through the kitchen—pure sunshine.

You stepped back slightly, heart so full it hurt, and your elbow bumped into the edge of the old vinyl player on the sideboard.

Click.

Soft static, and then—

Isn’t she lovely…

The opening notes of Stevie Wonder's voice filled the room, perfectly timed. Sirius let out a breathless laugh, already swaying gently with Lyra still in his arms, lifting her just slightly so her feet kicked in the air.

“Alright, alright,” James sniffled, pulling himself dramatically to his feet. “If we’re crying and dancing now, someone has to lead you.” He grabbed your hand and twirled you into a slow, playful spin.

You laughed, clinging to him, as Remus wiped his face and headed back toward the stove. “Someone has to keep dinner from burning,” he teased over his shoulder. “But I’m choosing the next dance.”

The kitchen filled with the smell of spices and the warmth of something that had nothing to do with the oven. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lyra’s cheek as Sirius danced with her gently in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder.

Then he leaned over, his lips brushing the skin of your neck, his voice low and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say earlier.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For this. For her. For not giving up on me.”

You turned, one hand still resting on Lyra’s back, and kissed him softly—his cheek first, then his lips. “Thank you, Sirius.”

Because you weren’t just a family.

You were his second chance.

And in the golden warmth of a messy kitchen, with dinner cooking and a baby squealing and laughter rising like a song, Sirius Black was home. And for the first time in a few years, he could enjoy his own birthday, because life was worth waking up to her.

dividers : @enchanthings @omi-resources

[notyourhetloki]

Can I request Wade and Logan/reader breeding kink? 👉👈 both of them too excited about it and competitive? (Can you make reader gender neutral (he/him or they/them or trans ftm (he/him), you can use any terms for genitals and stuff it's ok)

into it (Logan x Reader x Wade)

Reader: he/him (ftm)

/NSFW Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Fuuck I had so much fun writing this, anon! It's a bit short but it's pure porn so I hope you still end up satisfied lol (also sorry about the random gif, I couldn't find a more suiting one lmao). Anyway, hope you like it! xoxo

Tags: ftm reader (reader has a vagina), breeding kink, creampie, they both fuck you, Wade being a fucking joke, Logan is not having it, piv sex (unprotected), porn without plot.

Word Count: 908

—

As soon as you walked through the front door, they were all up in your personal space. Wade and Logan promptly started to take your clothes off, not exactly caring about being gentle.

"Boys! Calm down, there's plenty of me for the both of you!" You tried appeasing, but to no avail.

"And yet is nearly not enough." Groaned Logan, ripping your underwear off with his bare hands. You gasped as his fingers immediately found your sex, rubbing your clit while Wade kissed your neck.

"Sorry about that, doll. We'll buy you another one." Wade whispered into your ear, taking you by the hand and convincing Logan to continue things in the bedroom.

You were basically thrown onto the bed, naked and vulnerable and super turned on. You could already see their hard bulges before they started to take their own clothes off.

"On all fours for us." Ordered Logan, and you gladly obliged. "Attaboy..."

After all their clothes were out, Logan started positioning himself behind you until you heard Wade complain.

"Wait a minute, mutton chops! Why do you think you get to go first?" Wade pointed out.

"Because I can and I will." Logan retorted impatiently, giving your ass a light squeeze.

"Nuh-uh! That ain't fair! I propose a rock-paper-scissors to sort things out, nothing fairer than that." Said Wade holding a closed fist out.

"Fucking hell, fine!" Logan agreed and quickly started the game. They finished the round and Logan played scissors, while Wade played paper.

"Best out of three?" Begged Wade, but the other man didn't care for it.

"Fuck off." Logan pushed Wade aside and started positioning himself again, putting the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You were really wet, so it didn't hurt when he slammed into you. You were full, stuffed to the brim, and you thought it couldn't get any better than that... until Logan began thrusting into you, hitting a sweet spot inside that made you cry out in pleasure.

"Let us hear those sweet sounds you make, boy." Logan said while fucking you. He breathed loudly, grunting and grabbing you at the hips with enough force to bruise. The sounds you made together were obscene, and that turned Wade on even more.

"Gosh... fuck him silly, Wolvie." Wade was jacking himself off, looking closely at Logan's dick in and out of you. "Cum inside him..."

Logan groaned again, more urgent than before. A sudden thought took over him, and he needed to let it out. "I'm gonna breed you, (y/n). I'm gonna fill you up so good... fuck, fill you up with my seed."

"Goddamn!" Said a surprised Wade, not expecting the other man to be so earnest. "That's so fucking dirty... I love it."

"Ah, yes! Please..." You moaned, feeling energy and heat through your whole body. You were being used by him, your body only an object... it turned you on so damn much.

Logan's thrusts began to get even more rough, he was fucking you hard and the sounds he made were animalistic. Soon he turned erratic, his hips faltering in the rhythm he had set. You knew he was close.

He came with a loud grunt, holding you for dear life. Breathing deeply through his gritted teeth, Logan recovered and slowly took his member out of you. A bit of cum dripped from your entrance, and Wade observed everything with a delighted expression.

"I bet I can cum even more in his pussy..." He whispered mostly to himself, but you both heard him.

"You wanna bet, bub?" Said Logan with a satisfied smile on his face. What doesn't a good fuck does to one man's humor?

"Hell yeah, peanut." Wade soon replaced the other man's position and unlike Logan, asked for your approval. "You alright, gorgeous?"

"Y-Yeah... please, give it to me." You moaned as you felt his cock entering you, stuffing you up again.

Wade was a bit gentler with his hands, grabbing you thoughtfully at the places you weren't bruised. But his rhythm... he was still a beast.

"Fuuuck, you feel so good, pretty boy." He moaned, not stopping for a second.

"Hmm, Wade... Logan... ah!" You couldn't stop making noises and calling out for them, dumb with the feeling of being full.

"Good job, sugar... you're being so good for us." Said Logan while standing beside you, watching as Wade pounded into you with great enthusiasm.

"Shit, I'm close... I'll cum inside your pretty cunt, (y/n)." Wade gripped you even harder and finally slammed his hips into you, his climax followed by a deep moan.

He took a few breaths and slowly came back to earth, removing himself from you with a pop. Even more cum oozed from inside you, a beautiful and sexy sight for the both of them.

"As my partner here mentioned earlier... consider yourself 'bred'." Wade taunted, giving a final slap on your ass and retreating himself to put an arm over Logan's shoulder. "Sooo... about that bet, what is my prize?"

You laughed as you laid on your back to watch them both, exhausted but completely satisfied.

Logan suddenly grabbed Wade by his balls, looking him in the eyes. "You get to keep all of your blood inside your body today, sounds good?"

Wade responded in a higher octave, nodding his head and still holding Logan's shoulders. "Ouchie! So rough!" Logan let him go, but Wade only got closer. "You're lucky I'm into it."

—

[sealcowboy]

tidebound

merman!joost x pirate!reader ʚ pt. 2 to this, highly recommend to read that before this

rpf || dni if you don’t like, just block

even after a few days, the crew still didn’t ask questions.

not when you started walking the deck barefoot before dawn, or when you stopped snquinting at maps like they had all the answers. not when you took to humming old shanties to yourself, even the silly ones.

they figured you were clearing your jhead.

they figured captains did that sometimes.

you didn’t tell them about the shell, or the spiral, or the boy in the tidepool. you didn’t say his name, not out loud, not around them. some things stayed between you and the sea.

but every night, when the ship settled quiet and the crew snored in hammocks or curled against crates, you found your way to the railing.

just to look.

just to wait, even if you didn’t call.

and more often than not, he was already there.

joost.

he didn’t always arrive with a splash or a ripple. sometimes he was already resting against the ladder, half-draped over it like he belonged there, waiting like it wasn’t even a question. other times, you’d spot him from a distance. pale hair bobbing just below the surface, tail flicking lazily behind him as he swam in slow circles around the hull.

you learned to tell when it was him before you even saw his face. something about the hush in the air. the way the sea stilled. the quiet curiosity that always seemed to follow.

and slowly, night by night, you built a rhythm.

he would offer you something small. a shell, a polished shard of glass, a bit of carved driftwood that looked suspiciously like a bird if you tilted your head. once, a fishbone shaped like a spiral. he handed each one over like it was sacred.

you started bringing things too. little gifts from your world. a broken compass that no longer pointed anywhere. a scrap of red ribbon. a button with an anchor stamped into the metal. he collected them with quiet delight and kept them tucked somewhere you couldn’t quite see. maybe in the folds of the coral behind his shoulder, maybe tucked under a fin or inside some underwater hiding spot. you didn’t ask. it felt private.

he didn’t talk, not in words you understood, anyway. but he liked sounds. if you whistled, he’d echo it. if you tapped out a rhythm on the rail, he’d match it with little flicks of his tail or taps on the ladder.

once, you sang.

just a few lines from something your mother used to hum. and when you stopped, a little embarrassed, he stared at you like you’d hung a star just for him.

he didn’t try to repeat the melody. he just watched. quietly. reverently. like it was something worth remembering.

you didn’t feel alone when he was near.

and the more he stayed, the more you found yourself doing small things to make it easier for him. lowering the rope ladder before sunset. dragging a crate over so you could sit at eye level with him. learning how to lean without falling when the ship shifted. letting your boots stay off, even after the chill set in.

you still captained the ship. still gave orders, still barked over the wind when storms threatened, still steered her true when needed. but there was a softness to your step now. something lighter in your voice when you weren’t being watched.

your crew noticed. they didn’t mention it.

they weren’t stupid. they saw you leave bits of food near the edge of the deck. they saw the way you paused at the waterline in the morning, like you were waiting for a sign. they saw the smooth green stone you kept looped onto a cord around your wrist.

but they said nothing. maybe out of respect. maybe out of kindness. maybe out of fear.

either way, they let you have it. whatever it was.

and it became… normal. strange, but steady.

sometimes joost stayed longer. not just minutes hours. long enough for you to fall half-asleep on the deck beside him. long enough for him to trace idle shapes on the wood with his fingertips while you talked to him like he could understand every word.

you talked about simple things. what the clouds looked like. the names of your crew. which fish were the worst to eat and which ones tasted like heaven when grilled. how once, when you were ten, you fell off a dock and thought you were going to die, and now look at you.

he listened. always. eyes bright. head tilted. hands steady.

sometimes he’d mimic your gestures, clumsy but earnest. sometimes he’d offer little nonsense sounds in return, and you’d try to guess what he meant. more often than not, it turned into a kind of game.

you’d point at things and say the names. he’d repeat them, wrong, always, but with such musical precision that it felt like he was singing your world back to you in his own tongue.

one night, you said your name again.

he repeated it, softly this time. still wrong. still beautiful.

then he pointed to himself and tapped his chest.

“joost.”

you smiled, and replied. “i know.”

and when you touched your hand to your heart, quietly, without thinking, he mirrored it.

that was the first night you fell asleep on the deck with your head resting against your arms and woke to find a blanket over your shoulders. not one of yours.

woven from seaweed and something finer. soft, still damp, but not unkind. it smelled like salt and stone and sun.

he was gone when you woke. but the blanket stayed.

you folded it gently. kept it safe.

you never asked what he wanted. he never asked you to stay. neither of you needed to.

you had your ship. he had the sea. but between those two places, on warm nights with stars blinking overhead and wood creaking gently beneath your feet, you had something else.

not love. not yet.

just quiet company. the kind that made the world feel less sharp.

and every time he surfaced, every time you saw that pale hair catching the light, that easy tilt of his head, those bright eyes watching you like you were worth knowing.

you smiled.

“joost.”

you didn’t whisper it to call him anymore.

you just said it because you were glad he was there.

and because, this time, he stayed.

i was playing crk while writing this so ignore any mistakes

[koenigami]

"One Thing" by Lola Young tags : caleb x fem!reader, fluff, crack, a little suggestive, he doesn't appreciate your little performance ... at least not with that specific song a/n : can't get the song out of my head, and i couldn't help but imagine trying to romance caleb with it only for it to go wrong teehee

I wanna take you on a little ride. I wanna make you feel so nice.

The music blasts through the speaker in Caleb’s kitchen. Warm light filters through the curtains, drowning the room in a soft orange hue. Side by side, you two do the dishes, he scrubs and washes while you dry them off, both your bellies filled to the brim with delicious food and love. 

When you’re deep up inside.I wanna show you just what I like. 

“I wanna eat you up, I wanna cook you lunch, I wanna love you, babe.”

He smiles and shakes his head when you start singing to the sultry song with a big spoon in hand, a little makeshift microphone. Swaying your hips to the rhythm, you point at him as if your performance was solely dedicated to him. Anyone might think you’re making a fool of yourself, but to him you’re just the sweetest being on earth in that instant. Right there in his home, his kitchen, in his presence, you find the comfort to be your unapologetic self and he wouldn't want it any differently.

“Break your bed and then the sofa." “I wanna pull you closer.”

“Hey, careful-” He chuckles breathily when you suddenly pull him in by his collar, and make a glimpse of hope bloom inside his chest when you lean in close enough for a little peck but instead decide to let go and pull away. 

You’re too cute, he thinks as his cheeks almost start hurting from the big smile that's stretched over his warm face.  

That is, until his subconsciousness finally decides to listen not only to the melody but also the lyrics of the song, and his previous delight immediately starts to dim. 

“Everybody wants to know ya. But me, I only want one thing.” 

What? Why wouldn’t you want to know him? I mean, you already know him. Actually, nobody knows him as well as you do so why would you-

“I don’t even want your number. Don’t care if you got another.”

Another? His plump lips form into a pout as the words you sing right at him seem to strike a nerve inside him. That’s it, he decides. He hates the song from now on, and the fact that you’re teasing him with it is so, so not cool. 

“Cause tonight, I’m your only lover. And I’ma give you that one thin-”

And just that easily, the artist’s voice is drowned out by your loud squeal when Caleb’s arms circle around your waist and pull you up on the counter. With wide eyes you stare at him in shock at how easily he’s just done that as if you weighed nothing. 

“You know, I think I prefer Eminem.” It’s a raspy whisper against your lips before he smashes his own against them in a heated kiss. He’s unrelenting as he molds his lips against yours before biting down on the lower one hard enough for you to part them in a silent gasp.

Despite the air that sneaks inside through the open window, your body feels hot. On fire. Breathless, with glazed eyes and a heaving chest, you stare up at Caleb once he decides to pull away, and smirk self satisfiedly at your state.

His hands start kneading at your hips, and slowly slide lower to your thighs while his mouth attaches itself to your neck. He sucks and bites and licks his marks as if to soothe the light sting, but deep down he doesn’t feel sorry at all. 

Yeah, sure, he might be a little silly for feeling that way over something as simple as a lustful and emancipating song. But he simply doesn’t like it. 

It feels so right when I’m acting so wrong. No smalltalk, that shit’s so long. And you’re breakin’ my back, you’re so so strong. And I want you so bad like “OMG”- 

[andy-15-07]

Hello, could you do a Pedro Pascal x fReader curvy CIA agent, they meet for the first time and go on a date, Pedro after the date goes home and says he found his soulmate and has a silly smile, exuding happiness

Secret Hearts and Stardust

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2854 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The evening was unusually warm as you stepped out of your sleek, black sedan and into the softly lit ambiance of The Gilded Lily—a chic little restaurant known for its intimate vibe and artfully curated jazz background. You, a curvy CIA agent who’d spent years blending into shadows and decoding secrets, were now about to step into a light you rarely allowed yourself: vulnerability. Tonight was different. Tonight, you had a date with none other than Pedro Pascal.

Standing near the entrance, your heart pounded a curious rhythm as you smoothed down the fabric of your form-fitting emerald dress. The dress hugged every curve of your body, a gentle yet assertive declaration of self-love and confidence, a far cry from the utilitarian uniforms of your everyday covert life. As you scanned the room, your eyes landed on him: Pedro, leaning casually against a polished mahogany bar, his dark eyes scanning the room until they rested warmly on you. A slight, self-assured smile played on his lips as he stepped forward.

“Good evening,” he said in that familiar, mellifluous tone that had captivated audiences around the world. “I’m Pedro.” His voice carried an effortless charm, and even in the bustling atmosphere, it seemed to wrap around you like a protective cloak.

“Hello, Pedro. I’m Y/N,” you replied, offering a handshake that quickly evolved into a brief, knowing smile. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

Pedro’s laughter was light and genuine. “Neither was I, but sometimes the most delightful surprises are the ones we don’t plan for.” His eyes crinkled with amusement as he gestured to a quiet booth in the corner, its warm lighting promising an oasis of conversation away from the clamor of the restaurant.

As you both settled into the booth, the conversation began with the casual ease of old friends reuniting after a long separation. Over a shared appetizer of truffle fries and a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc, you discovered how Pedro’s day had been spent balancing film shoots with unexpected moments of hilarity, while you recounted a day filled with high-stakes meetings and covert operations that were as challenging as they were unyielding.

“So, you work in… a field that requires a lot of discretion?” Pedro inquired, leaning in as if he were about to unravel an intriguing mystery.

You smiled wryly. “Discretion is an understatement. I’m in the intelligence community—a CIA agent, if you can believe it. I spend my days untangling webs of secrets and navigating through a maze of lies.” Your tone was light, yet behind your eyes lay the depth of experiences that few could imagine.

His eyebrows lifted in genuine interest. “That sounds like something straight out of a spy novel. I can only imagine the stories you must have.”

You chuckled softly. “Stories? I suppose I have a few, but not all of them are meant for dinner conversations. The life I lead is often hidden behind layers of duty and codes. But tonight, I’m glad to share some of the lighter moments. After all, everyone deserves a break.”

Pedro’s eyes sparkled as he leaned back, clearly fascinated. “Well, tonight you’re giving me a glimpse into a world I’d never experience otherwise. And trust me, I’m all for experiencing the unexpected.”

The conversation flowed naturally, punctuated by moments of laughter, reflective silences, and the occasional shared anecdote. Pedro recounted tales from his travels on set, the odd mishap with a prop that turned into an impromptu comedy skit, and the time he had to improvise during a tense scene. You, in turn, found yourself sharing snippets of your life that were seldom told—the thrill of chasing leads in distant lands, the camaraderie of working with a team that trusted you with their lives, and even the surreal feeling of living two different lives: one defined by duty and the other by moments of genuine connection.

“Do you ever wish you could just… step away from it all?” Pedro asked quietly, his gaze earnest as he took a sip of his wine.

For a moment, you considered the question. “Every single day,” you admitted, “but then I remember that it’s not the work, it’s the mission—the idea that I’m making a difference in some small way. Still, nights like these remind me that there’s more to life than secrets and strategies.”

Pedro nodded, his expression softening. “I get that. Sometimes, being in the spotlight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either. You’re always playing a part, always expected to be something or someone. But tonight, I want to just be with you—no pretenses, no roles. Just two people sharing a moment.”

As the evening deepened, so did your connection. The restaurant’s gentle hum faded into the background as your conversation ventured into more personal territories. You spoke about your childhood dreams and how life had taken unexpected turns, while Pedro confessed his own struggles with living up to the image the world expected of him. There was a sense of relief in laying aside the masks you both wore every day.

“Tell me,” Pedro said with a teasing glint in his eye, “what’s something about you that no one would guess?”

You paused, considering the layers of your life. “Well,” you began, leaning in conspiratorially, “I can infiltrate some of the most secure facilities in the world, but I still sometimes struggle to assemble IKEA furniture without losing my mind.”

His laughter filled the booth, warm and infectious. “Now that, I would love to see. I can only imagine the epic battle of man versus Allen wrench.”

Between bites of dessert—an exquisite molten chocolate cake—and sips of a decadent port wine, the evening turned into a series of joyful revelations and shared confidences. Pedro’s charm wasn’t just in his celebrity aura but in the genuine curiosity he had about the world and the people in it. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t anticipated, shedding a layer of guarded professionalism to reveal the person behind the badge.

“You know,” Pedro said, his tone shifting to something more contemplative as he looked into your eyes, “life is full of unexpected encounters. I’m beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I’m in the middle of one of those surprises right now.”

A gentle blush warmed your cheeks. “I’m glad you think so. It’s rare to find someone who can see past the surface, to appreciate the complexities beneath.”

He smiled, a soft, silly smile that hinted at a profound joy. “I have a confession to make.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper that somehow made the words feel even more intimate. “Tonight has been unlike any other date I’ve ever been on. I know it sounds crazy, but I think... I think I’ve found my soulmate.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate promise wrapped in sincerity. For a moment, you were silent, the weight of his confession mingling with the joy of the evening. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic declaration—it was a quiet, honest admission that resonated deep within you.

“Pedro…” you began, searching his eyes for a trace of jest, “that’s a big statement for a first date.”

He chuckled, a light, self-deprecating sound that belied the intensity of his feelings. “I know, I know. It might seem impulsive, but I can’t shake this feeling. There’s something about you—something real—that makes all the chaos of my life seem worth it. I’ve met a lot of people, played many parts, but with you, it’s like I can finally drop the act.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. In that moment, all the complexities of your secretive world and his public persona seemed to converge into one perfect truth: that connection, genuine and unexpected, had the power to transform everything.

After dinner, you both took a slow walk along the moonlit boulevard that lined the river. The city lights danced on the water, casting shifting patterns of gold and silver. The conversation continued effortlessly—this time, quieter, more reflective. Pedro shared a memory of his grandmother’s advice about always following one’s heart, while you recalled a rare moment of vulnerability from a past mission that had left an indelible mark on your soul.

“Do you ever worry that we’re just... too different?” you asked softly as you paused at a quiet overlook, the city sprawling before you like a living tapestry.

Pedro considered your words, his gaze drifting to the horizon before returning to meet yours. “I think it’s our differences that make this so exciting. I come from a world of bright lights and constant scrutiny, while you navigate the shadows with a grace I can hardly imagine. But maybe that’s exactly what we need—a balance, a merging of two disparate worlds.”

You smiled, feeling the tension in your chest ease as the thought sank in. “A balance,” you echoed. “I like that.”

There was a gentle pause, the only sound the distant hum of the city and the soft rustling of leaves in the night breeze. Pedro reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a tender gesture. “I’m not saying everything will be perfect. Life never is. But what I do know is that I want to explore this connection—every unpredictable, exhilarating moment of it.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you squeezed his hand in silent agreement. “Then let’s take it one step at a time. No expectations, just us figuring it out as we go.”

As the night wound down, you found yourself back at the restaurant’s entrance, reluctant to part ways but knowing that the evening was far too special to end on a hurried goodbye. Pedro walked you to your car, the warmth of his hand lingering on yours a promise of more to come.

“You know,” he said as you reached your vehicle, “tonight has been nothing short of magical. I can’t remember the last time I felt this... alive.”

You paused, meeting his gaze. “I feel the same, Pedro. Thank you for a truly unforgettable evening.”

After a final lingering look and a gentle kiss on your cheek, you climbed into your car, the gentle hum of the engine mingling with the soft afterglow of your shared moments. Meanwhile, Pedro lingered by the doorway, watching until you were safely out of sight. With a small, silly smile that betrayed his inner joy, he muttered to himself, “I’ve found my soulmate.” The words, simple yet profound, echoed in the quiet of the night as he slowly walked away, each step buoyed by the newfound happiness that filled him.

Later that night, as Pedro finally reached the solitude of his apartment, he couldn’t help but replay the evening’s events in his mind. Standing in front of his mirror, he caught his own reflection—a man whose eyes shone with a mix of wonder and certainty. “I’ve found my soulmate,” he repeated softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. The admission was not just a fleeting thought but a declaration that resonated deeply within him—a truth that had emerged from the shared vulnerability of an evening spent connecting beyond the masks and roles they both carried.

The next morning, Pedro’s phone buzzed with messages from friends congratulating him on the mysterious and captivating woman he’d met. With every notification, his heart swelled a little more, and as he sipped his morning coffee, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes had lit up when you spoke about chasing justice in a world of secrets, and how you had, in that moment, allowed him a glimpse into your soul.

Meanwhile, as the day unfolded for you, you found yourself reflecting on the previous night with a mix of awe and cautious hope. Life in the intelligence community rarely allowed for such moments of unabashed honesty. You recalled Pedro’s words, his vulnerable confession echoing in your thoughts, and wondered how a man so steeped in the glitz of fame could see the raw, unguarded parts of you that you usually kept hidden. Yet, somehow, in that brief interlude, the distance between two very different worlds had dissolved into nothing more than a shared human experience.

During a quiet break in your hectic day, you picked up your phone and sent a simple message to Pedro: “Last night was incredible. I hope we can do it again soon.” His response was almost immediate: “Absolutely. I can’t wait to see you again, Y/N” There was something so comforting in that exchange—a promise that, despite the chaos of your respective lives, there was now a space where both of you could be completely authentic.

That evening, as you prepared to wind down, you found yourself replaying the night’s memories in your mind. The gentle cadence of Pedro’s voice, the twinkle in his eyes when he spoke about following one’s heart, and the quiet strength in his declaration—it was all so unexpected and so real. In your line of work, trust was hard-earned and vulnerability was often a liability. But with him, it felt like a risk worth taking, a rare chance at genuine connection.

Across town, Pedro settled into his couch, a contented smile still curving his lips as he scrolled through photos from past events and snippets of fan messages. Yet none of them compared to the authenticity of last night. “I’m not one to believe in soulmates,” he mused aloud to his reflection in the darkened room, “but maybe I should start reconsidering.” His mind drifted back to the way your laughter had filled the quiet corners of that intimate booth, the subtle way you had looked at him as if you were reading between the lines of his carefully crafted persona. The memory was enough to make him feel like a young man again, full of dreams and possibilities.

It wasn’t long before Pedro picked up his phone once more to send a quick, playful text to a close friend who had always known his heart better than anyone else. “I think I met someone who might just be the real deal. I’ve found my soulmate, and I can’t wipe this silly grin off my face.” The response was immediate—a mix of teasing banter and heartfelt congratulations that warmed him even more.

Over the next few days, both of you found subtle ways to integrate these newfound feelings into your everyday lives. In the midst of strategic briefings and covert assignments, your thoughts would stray to that magical evening, to Pedro’s honest words and the undeniable spark that lingered in the air long after the night had ended. And Pedro, in the midst of film shoots and press interviews, found himself waiting eagerly for the next time he’d get to see you—curious to discover more about the woman who had so effortlessly disarmed him.

One lazy afternoon, as you sat in a quiet corner of a bustling café—your temporary refuge from the relentless pace of your work—a familiar notification popped up on your phone. It was a message from Pedro: “How about dinner tomorrow night? I’d love to hear more about your adventures in the field…and share a few more of mine.” You couldn’t help but smile as you typed your reply, feeling that same spark of anticipation that had made you step out of your comfort zone just a few nights before.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,” you replied. “I have a few stories that might just rival your tales from behind the scenes. See you then, Pedro.”

That simple exchange carried with it the promise of new beginnings—a chance to weave together the disparate threads of two lives that had found each other in the most unlikely of ways. And while the world around you continued to spin with the weight of secrets and staged performances, there was now a corner of your heart that belonged solely to the memory of a date that had redefined what it meant to be truly seen.

In the end, it wasn’t just the allure of Pedro Pascal’s celebrity or the thrill of stepping out of your usual guarded persona that made that night unforgettable. It was the authenticity of a moment when two people allowed themselves to be vulnerable, honest, and open to the possibility of something extraordinary. A moment when a curvy CIA agent and a celebrated actor discovered that beneath all the layers of duty and public image, there lay a simple, undeniable truth: that sometimes, in the most unexpected encounters, you find the person who makes all the risks and uncertainties of life seem utterly worthwhile.

And so, as you closed your eyes that night, memories of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and promises of tomorrow gently lulled you into a peaceful sleep. Somewhere in the city, Pedro did the same, his silly smile a constant reminder of the joy that had unexpectedly blossomed between you. In the delicate interplay of shadows and light, in the blending of two very different worlds, you both had discovered something rare—a spark of soul-deep connection that would forever alter the course of your lives.

[misspygmypie]

Playtime with Maebry - or not

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Baby Maebry Words: 800 Request: lando trying to play with mae but she is too interested in other things around the house to pay him much attention. maybe lando getting upset? Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando had meticulously planned this playtime to be a big success. With his heart set on making Maebry’s day as joyful as possible he had prepared several entertaining activities. He envisioned a day filled with laughter and delight, imagining each moment as a small victory in the effort to bring smiles to his baby girl’s face.

Every detail was meticulously considered, from the toys to the activities, all chosen to engage and amuse his precious daughter. Nothing made him happier than seeing Maebry’s giggles and smiles and he was determined to deliver just that while Y/N and Noah were out having a mommy/son date.

The day began with his signature “Peekaboo.” Lando crouched behind the couch, peeking over the top with exaggerated wide eyes. “Peekaboo,” he called out, his voice as cheerful as he could manage. Maebry, dressed in a cute blue onesie and tiny socks, sitting on the plush carpet in their living room, briefly looked up, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. Lando's heart skipped a beat and he got excited but as quickly as she had looked she turned her attention back to the crumb on the floor she was currently inspecting. Lando's enthusiasm wavered but he shook it off and tried again, moving to another spot for a fresh attempt.

Next up was his colorful musical toy. He shook it vigorously, producing cheerful sounds and flashing lights. “Look, Maebry! It’s a rainbow spinning thingy,” he said, shaking the toy with exaggerated motions. Maebry, however, barely glanced at it before focusing her attention on a forgotten piece of paper stuck to the floor. Lando’s jaw tightened, his confidence shaking but he wasn’t ready to give up. He took a deep breath and prepared for the next activity.

Desperate to capture her interest, Lando reached for the “Living Puppet” - a bright orange hand puppet creation with big eyes. He put it on and began an animated puppet show. “Hello, Maebry! I’m Gigi and I’m here to entertain you,” he said in a high-pitched, silly voice, making the puppet dance and sing. Maebry looked at the monster with a hint of curiosity, her little brow furrowing slightly but her fascination soon shifted to a stray sock she’d found. She placed it on her head with the seriousness of a fashionista, completely ignoring the puppet’s antics. Lando’s face flushed with frustration. His carefully orchestrated plans seemed to be falling flat.

Determined not to let the day go to waste Lando decided to pull out all the stops. He stood up and started dancing - really dancing. “Look at me, Maebry! I’m dancing just for you,” he said, trying to be as energetic and silly as possible. Maebry glanced over briefly, her attention momentarily captured but then she turned her focus to the dining chair’s legs. She began tapping them with a small, satisfied grin.

Lando’s shoulders slumped. He felt exhaustion and frustration bubbling up inside him. His elaborate plans for playtime were being completely overshadowed by his daughter’s fascination with ordinary household items. He sat down heavily on the floor, feeling a bit defeated. He watched as Maebry continued to tap the chair legs, seemingly oblivious to his efforts. Her small hands made a gentle rhythm, her eyes sparkling without a care in the world.

Taking a deep breath, Lando tried to redirect his frustration. He decided to join Maebry in her exploration. He picked up a few crumbs and began to examine them with exaggerated curiosity. “Wow, look at this one, it’s got a very interesting texture,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic, his voice filled with mock amazement. Maebry glanced at him, her eyes widening slightly before she giggled, reaching for another crumb with delight. Hearing that precious giggle, Lando felt a wave of relief wash over him. The sound he’d been striving for all morning was finally there.

As he continued to mimic her actions, Maebry’s giggles filled the room and Lando couldn’t help but smile despite himself. He watched as she crawled through the apartment, her little hands scattering the crumbs from what looked like one of Noah’s treat bars around while laughing happily. Her joy was contagious and Lando found himself laughing along, his earlier frustrations melting away.

In that moment, Lando realized that his carefully crafted plans didn’t need to be perfect. What mattered most was being present with Maebry, sharing in her simple, unfiltered joy.

“Today wasn’t exactly what I planned,” Lando said with a chuckle, rubbing her back lovingly, “but it turned out pretty great, didn’t it?”

Maebry looked up at him with a radiant smile, her eyes twinkling with happiness. Her little face was flushed and her laughter was like music to Lando’s ears. All he could do was smile back at his little, happy girl, his heart swelling with love.

________

AN: Sorry it's kinda of short but Anon I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya @sltwins

[fervidgrey]

my favorite flavor on you✨️

When did the chapstick you wear become a ritual for him? Why did it feel so good?

✿ Featuring: hajime umemiya, hayato suo, jo togame

✿ Warnings: the only warning is that I am terrible at writing fluff but I am trying to stretch my wings. sfw.

¨`*•✿ Togame ✿•*`¨

Togame's chin tips, stopping just before the kiss, where he lingers. His glasses rest at the tip of his nose, while his green eyes peer down at your lips. A frown takes over his features. Your change in chapstick did not go unnoticed. 

“Where is the one I like?” His question startles you.

He wiped his long thumb across your bottom lip smearing your chapstick away. You shifted your foot, finding your words.

"I was running late, this was the only one in my bag." It was true, you had rushed to meet him after work. His favorite lemon scent balm sat on your desk forgotten.

"Don't forget again." He smiled coly before pulling you close and bringing his thumb to your lips once again. He focuses the last bit of chapstick away before taking a long drink of his ramune.

His lips pulled you into a demanding, his fingers lacing in your hair. You melted into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips on yours and the warmth of his body pressed against you.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed and your lips wet. A small smirk sat at the corner of his mouth. He adjusted his sun glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose.

"Much better," he murmured, chuckling to himself. Your whole mouth now tasted like ramune, the flavor strikingly similar to his favorite chapstick. Something told you this man might be more in love with ramune than you.

¨`*•✿ Ume ✿•*`¨

The look on his face was sweet as normal but there was something about the way Ume’s eyes traveled to your lips after a kiss that made your heart drop. You had forgotten to put on his favorite chapstick, sweet mint. It smelled akin to one of the herbs in his garden.

He would never say anything negative about something as silly as chapstick- no he was far to sweet but it was easy enough to read the disappointment in his eyes. You silently cursed yourself for such a small oversight. Ume's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he smiled softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"Shall we take a walk to the garden?" he suggested, his voice warm and inviting as always. You nodded, grateful for the distraction from your perceived misstep.

As you strolled hand in hand among the fragrant herbs and blooming tomoatoe flowers, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of having let him down. The mint plants caught your eye, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Ume noticed your gaze and squeezed your hand reassuringly.

"This is good timing actually," he smiles, leading you closer to the patch. A small tin was sitting in the shade with a silly doodle on the lid.

“Here!” His grin was ear to ear waiting for you to take it. Gently you palmed the tin noticing it was twist. With ease you twisted the lid and instantly smelled mint. Upon closer inspection you noticed it was some type of balm.

“I made it for you, homemade lip balm!” He looked so excited as he pointed to his plants “They are from my garden!”

Your heart swelled as you realized the depth of Ume's thoughtfulness. The worry you had felt earlier melted away, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. You couldn't help but smile as you gazed at the homemade lip balm, a testament to Ume's care and creativity.

"Ume, this is... incredible," you breathed, your fingers tracing the doodle on the tin. "You made this just for me?"

He nodded, his eyes filled with delight at your reaction. "I've been working on the recipe for weeks. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

Touched by his gesture, you immediately opened the tin and applied the balm to your lips. The cool, and the tingley sensation was refreshing. With a quick lick you could detect subtle undertones of other herbs from his garden, maybe cammomile. It was better than any store-bought chapstick.

“I love it Ume, thank you!”

Ume's big blue eyes lit up with joy, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips. As he pulled away, he licked his own lips, savoring the taste.

"Mmm, even better than I imagined." he murmured, his gaze warm and affectionate.

¨`*•✿ Sou ✿•*`¨

The dry winter air pulled at your skin with a fury. You had dressed warm but the air still found tender flesh to dehydrate. Small red dots forming on your cheeks as proof. Pursing your lips became very painful.

You fumbled in your pockets, searching for the familiar tube, but came up empty. A pang of disappointment hit you as you realized you must have left it on your nightstand this morning. With a huff your resigned yourself to cracking lips for the rest of the day. Of course Sou appeared beside you, seemingly out of nowhere with the very thing you needed.

"Here," he said softly, pressing the chapstick into your gloved hand. "I always keep one- just in case."

Gratitude washed over you as you applied the soothing balm. The familiar scent of mango filled your nostrils, a small comfort against the biting wind. Sou's thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze you, especially in these harsh winter months when he always seemed to anticipate your needs.

"Thank you," you murmured, your newly moisturized lips curling into a smile. Sou nodded pulling your scarf up higher, covering your nose and mouth, how you got such a sweet boyfriend was beyond you. He used the height difference to kiss the top of your forhead, his lips oddly warm dispite the weather. A blush rushed to the top of your ears as he lingered, enjoying a moment with you in the falling snow.

"Come on," Sou said, gently taking your hand. "Let's get you inside before you freeze." You nodded, feeling the chill seeping in despite your best efforts. Sou gestured towards a nearby café, its windows glowing invitingly in the fading afternoon light.

"How about some hot chocolate? My treat." Sou offered, knowing it was one for your greatest weakness. You could never turn down chocolate, and thought of your hands around a steaming mug was too tempting to resist.

[foreverisntenough]

https://www.tumblr.com/foreverisntenough/759269266884329472/thought-of-a-one-shot-idea-trent-is-playing-the?source=share

--------- My tiny one shot below for you 🤍

'Big Gunna Fan' - 1.4k words |

↳ Teddy loves the attention she gets when she starts to repeating a line from a song but Y/N was less than impressed with what music Trent had been playing in front of her.

Other ForeverIsntEnough One Shots

---------

“Fubumeen!” Teddy yelled with a giggle running around the gym in your house. The gym in your home acted as Trent’s sanctuary, a place where he could unwind and keep in peak condition. Today, he’d brought Teddy down with him. She liked to just spend time with him, letting her bounce around on the yoga mats while he worked out. Music blasted from the speakers—his usual playlist of high-energy tracks, including some rap songs that he knew he’d have to be careful with around his little girl but Marcel and Curtis were over today so he let them play on. As Trent finished a set of weights, he heard Teddy mimicking the lyrics to a Gunna song that had been on loop lately in and out of the gym, her voice innocent but unmistakably repeating a bar with a curse word. He froze, torn between stifling a laugh and knowing he had to nip this in the bud. 

“Nah, Ted. Can’t say that. We’re just vibing alright?” Trent laughed and shook his head. He wasn’t really sure how to address it. His mind was split. He knew he had to tell her no but it was silly, it was only a song. Before he could say anything more, Marcel and Curtis erupted in laughter and started encouraging her.

“Young Gunna Wunna back, callin' me splurge.”  Curtis rapped back to her with a bit of a bob of his head crouching into a squat in front of her. He waved his hand for her to say it again. 

“Fubumeen!” Teddy giggled once more, loving the attention and the smile on all the boys faces. 

“Young Gunna Wunna, they workin' my nerves.” Marcel continued on with more lyrics taking a seat on a bench. He was more than entertained with this, Teddy was his little bestie and these were peak moments. It was hilariously cute but he was a fun uncle, not her parent. 

“Fubumeen!” Teddy yelped a bit louder. She was delighted by the attention and continued to repeat the phrase, her eyes shining with amusement. Trent, unable to hide his own grin, decided to let it slide for the moment, figuring it would pass when the song changed. That evidently wasn’t the case when they all returned upstairs.  You knew the three boys would be hungry and likely Teddy too so you were in the kitchen getting some food ready. Teddy was eager to see you, still riding the high of the gym’s antics, she couldn’t wait to share with you all the fun she had just had.  

“Ted, big Gunna fan now?” Marcel laughed walking into the kitchen as expected, holding her, able to hear her mutter the ‘fuck you mean’ phrase as if she was practicing. You turned to see her cute as ever chubby cheeks full and indented with dimples. Trent laughed but internally was hoping it stayed downstairs. 

“Fubumeen, mama.” Teddy proudly repeated once more with some rhythm.  Your eyebrow raised, not totally sure you heard her correct. Trent winced as he entered the kitchen behind them hearing it already. “Mama like dada and Celly’s music.” She giggled, thinking she was still being funny. 

“Yeah, baby?” You shot Trent a pointed look. You let it go once or twice but when you saw the greed grow on her face from the attention. You knew it needed to stop. Much like her dad, Teddy loved being gassed up. This was probably one of the few things you weren’t going to indulge her in for confidence. You had to try to suppress a smile. It was cute but definitely not okay. “T?” You questioned him a little curious how you ended up with your daughter saying this. 

“Baby, it’s just a song, and, well it’s a little funny, no?” Trent raised his hands in defense, still trying to suppress his own smile but remembering rapidly that this probably wouldn’t sit well with you. You hated that you had to play bad cop but you didn’t want your baby girl saying this. 

“Okay a little but it’s also not though. This isn’t funny, seriously.” You quipped biting your lip trying not to laugh seeing Marcel continue on with Teddy. You crossed your arms attempting to stand your ground, though there was a hint of amusement in your eyes.

“Mama! Fubumeen! Fubumeen! Fubumeen!” Teddy continuously yelled having the time of her life reciting the Gunna lyric. At this point Trent was sure you weren’t going to be happy. 

“Teddy, no, baby. Stop please.” You reprimanded her and Trent’s stifled quiet laugh stopped. “T.. that’s enough.” You shot him a glare. Teddy of course listened to you but you know she’d immediately listen to Trent, no explanation needed plus he was the one that started this.  

“Hey Ted, mmnnmm. No more.” Trent commanded Teddy, shaking his head and she stopped instantaneously. A part of you was so frustrated by his influence on her. You just huffed with a roll of your eyes. Marcel and Curtis were now on their phones starting up a completely separate conversation between the two of them over at the kitchen table. Despite being friends, the fear of ‘parents’ being mad had them wanting to get out of there quickly.

“Mama funny though. They laughing. Fubumeen?” She questioned if the phrase was funny to you too. The boys couldn’t help their laughter from starting up again hearing her little voice say it again with such inquiry, oblivious to the tension the lyric had caused. The other boys were one thing but Trent started to laugh again was the final straw for you. 

“Yeah? Just keep going then... You want her to say the next couple lines?” You snapped at Trent sarcastically. For context the following words were variations of ‘fucking this bitch like a perv, smack from the back, grab her perm,’ and so on…

“Baby… I’m sorry it’ll be fine.” He cooed to you with some fear. He knelt down to Teddy’s level now gently taking her hands, knowing he had to fix this. “I know it was funny, baby but that’s a big kid word. We don’t say that, okay? It’s only for grown-ups, and even then, it’s not very nice.”  Trent tried to explain to her as her eyes began to poole, realizing that what she had been giggling about wasn’t nice. You turned unamused with Trent trying to rectify a situation he created. 

“But was dada music.” Teddy pouted as her lash line filled with tears. “Mama?” Teddy's eyes darted around the kitchen looking for you in a panic. She broke away from Trent in tears, worried, chasing after you. 

“What Teddy girl…” You replied fairly short but still flashing your eyes down to her. 

“I’m sorry, mama.” She began balling. Crying floods of tears.  “Mad at mes foreber?” Teddy hiccuped vision blurred from all her tears. Guilt crashing over her. 

“No, my baby. C’mere. We just don’t say those things, okay?” You cooed softening as you kneeled down to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes too, sweetheart. But it’s important to listen to Mummy and Daddy when we say something isn’t okay to say.” You gently tried to explain. You kissed her head consoling her till she calmed down. 

“Can I still go gyms with dada?” She sheepishly asked you. You smiled. It was sweet, all she wanted was to just be with her daddy.  You repeated her question louder for Trent to hear who was leaning in the doorway looking on. 

“Course, baby bear. We’ll listen to something else next time though, yeah?” Trent gently smiled feeling both guilty and relieved. You nodded with a hum agreeing with him that there should be some sort of censoring go forward. 

“Hold you to that, daddy.” You winked at Trent. You picked Teddy up with you as you stood and held her to you after she refused to let go now. She’d be glued to you for the next few days trying to regain your love back. The thing she didn’t realize was that she’d never lost it, not even for a second. Trent laughed at your wink. He knew he’d have to be more careful about what he played around Teddy, but he also couldn’t help but appreciate how she’d brought some unexpected humor into their day. 

“So mummy forgave our Teddy bear... What about daddy?” Trent asked you with some cheek and a pout running his one hand over Teddy’s hair and pulling you by your waist into him with his other. Teddy looked up to you with the same pleading eyes as Trent's awaiting your answer.

⇨ Read other ForeverIsntEnough work here!

For context:

[pistachiofiasco]

fear, hallways, decrees

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff/comfort Words: 1460 Warnings: implied fem!reader (periods)

Also on AO3!

it's been many years since I wrote anything and it's been even longer since I posted anything I wrote. So, yknow, play nice lol

He had heard the guard. Knew the words that were said were "seems unwell", not "is injured". And yet it did nothing to stop him from storming out of his meeting, cane thumping resoundingly (his expression must have been more terrifying than usual, no one had dared to make a single sound in protest, and some were likely to still be sitting there until he got back).

He had made such an effort to ensure your safety since your arrival in Obsidian. No one knew the dangers better than he did after all, and he knew he’d never recover if something happened to you whilst in his care. The cogs in his mind were turning, his brain trying to make the usual connections and leaps that he was renowned and feared for, but every idea came at him in such a rush that he found he couldn’t settle on a logical conclusion. First, he had to establish the facts, with his own eye, preferably. The repetition of the words he actually heard, not the ones he feared, did nothing to curb the feeling of dread in his chest, the need to see you with his own eye, the worry, the fear, the old memories--

Turning the corner, he found you, to the side of the corridor, slumped against the wall. For a moment he almost faltered (were you conscious?), felt his chest beat out of rhythm (had you passed out?). Two more guards were hovering over you, clearly wanting to help but also aware they were not permitted to. In the last twenty steps it took to reach you, he could hear your chiding tone in his mind, a conversation you had shared multiple times ("Gilbert, the decree is ridiculous, what if I need help when you're not around?" "And where exactly would you be going without me, little rabbit?"), and if he felt just a little chagrined at the situation playing out exactly as you said, only you might be able to figure it out (later). And that would be fine.

For now, the worry overpowered everything. You had looked up when you heard him approaching (not unconscious, awake and aware), had known it was him before he could even call for you (had you recognised the sound of his footsteps? It would be delightful if you did, though it was more likely his cane that gave him away). You smiled at him, leaning against the wall as you were, and you seemed fine, bar sitting against the wall in a random corridor. Your voice didn't waver when you called his name and you seemed more embarrassed at the attention than in pain. Your face was paler than usual though.

She seems unwell sir.

He knew from the look on your face that you'd be apologizing for interrupting his work the second he was close enough (as if it mattered, as if anything mattered more to him than you, but you still didn't quite believe that, no matter how many times he insisted it was true). You were pushing yourself up before he could reach you, support reaching out from well-meaning but unacceptable hands. They stopped short and their owners seemed to leap away in response to his presence and you acknowledged it all with a huff and a pointed look in his direction. He could hear your voice as clearly as if you had shouted the words down the hall at him ("what did I tell you? This is silly Gilbert").

It didn't matter though. In the next moment, he was beside you, arms out to catch you, legs braced to support your weight. Your hands landed on his arms, holding gently, not clutching (not in need of support). As he looked you over, confirming for once and for all that there was no injury (though you were definitely pale and your temperature was higher than usual and he had ultimately found you sitting in the corridor so something was clearly wrong; if not physically then--). Your hand on his cheek brought him back and you smiled ruefully as his eye locked with yours. You truly did seem fine and he felt some of the tension give way.

"I'm okay, I promise Gil, it's nothing serious-"

Which means there was Something. The tension was back. He could feel his smile become sharper, his eye narrowing, and you stroked his cheek, thumb brushing softly under his one eye, in response. There was a look on your face asking him to not go overboard - though you expecting him to control himself when Something was an issue now hovering between you asking for a bit much considering who he was, in his opinion. The thought must have shown on his face because you made a small noise in your throat, your smile exasperated but affectionate. It eased him down again; he knew what you were like when you were actually unwell - you had little energy for joking and your smile never conveyed as many feelings at once (in his heart of hearts, he considered that maybe that was one of the scariest things he had ever witnessed. Your eyes glazed over with fever, your smile so hollow in comparison to what he knew of you and so brief, fading after barely a moment as the pain and discomfort took you again. He had decided to do everything he could to prevent you from getting so sick again, Walter's professional bewilderment at his "advancing medical technology by another hundred years" meaning barely anything in the face of you waking up, fever finally broken, and reaching for him, calling his name so gently, so affectionately).

You did seem fine. Perhaps it was a momentary thing, with you pushing yourself to help around the castle. He might have believed it, if you hadn't taken a step towards him and he hadn't watched your eyes lose focus as you tilted and half stumbled into him. His arms were already around you, bearing most of your weight, as you breathed sharply against his neck. There was the smallest groan on discomfort at the back of your throat, though it was loud enough in his ears to drown out the worried exclamations from beside him. You were unwell then. There was Something.

Almost like you knew what was about to happen, your hands clamped down on his before he could reach low and lift you. There was a panicked look on your face as you locked eyes with him, minutely but frantically shaking your head. His patience was fraying; the lack of explanation was aggravating him. He could almost feel the pieces of the puzzle coming together, but somehow couldn’t quite grasp what the look on your face meant. But you knew him so well, better than anyone ever could. One hand smoothing over his chest, you glanced at the two guards still standing nearby.

"Could you get me a painkiller from Walter? And maybe some hot water and a towel? Please."

Their responses were immediate, a quick and sharp salute at both of you before they immediately rushed down the hallway. Gilbert watched them go, feeling the threads in his mind finally pull taunt with understanding. A glance at you as you turned back to him and your expression tied the knot, the answer settling, the picture crystal clear.

"Help me to bed please?" Your smile was small and apologetic (and still undercut with embarrassment – teasing you now would be exceptionally mean, especially with your legs still shaky), soft fingers reaching up to his face again to brush through black strands. You almost definitely knew how far you had pushed him in the past few minutes, though now he understood why you were trying to avoid providing any explanations (you had expected him to figure it out, clearly, though he suspects a part of you might have hoped he wouldn’t – loving relationship or no, appearing vulnerable in front of him was like asking him to play with you and you both knew it, and while you knew it was all in good fun and with all his affection, perhaps you wanted to spare yourself the embarrassment of the current circumstances). He doubts he would have taken well to you announcing the issue either, considering his possessiveness over you and your body. The decree was not winning him any points in this argument.

Still, as he wrapped an arm around your waist and you both turned towards the bedrooms, he couldn't quite let you get away unscathed. You had scared him after all.

"At least the sheets are all black; you’ll have nothing to worry about little rabbit."

Your groan sounded down the hallway, mixing with the unfamiliar echoing sound of his genuine laughter.

idk I had very bad cramps and I needed some kind of comfort lol

The line about Walter + advancing medicine 100 years comes from this post which has some of my favourite tidbits about this silly little affection starved man.

[rockingrobin69]

Honourable Defeat

Harry bumped his hip into the chest of drawers in the usual place he normally bumped it. The corridor was narrow, but that wasn’t the problem: from this spot you could see into the living room, and on the rug was a sight so fucking impossible Harry normally lost a bit of, er. Focus. No, he had to focus, because he was carrying two cups of very-very hot tea (Draco doesn’t take it unless it can seriously damage his tongue). Had to focus, because this would be happening a lot now, every day even. Grinning, buzzing with all this giddy—excitement—bumping into the cabinet too, whatever, breathlessly spilling into the room.

“Hello there,” said a voice so soft that Harry had to spit out, “Malfoy. Malfoys.”

To the lump on the rug, wrapped in blue, sticky-smile smeared all across his face and a tuft of blond hair in his fist.

“Darling,” Draco said, half a laugh and half a cry, and Harry didn’t know if he meant him or the baby before, “sweetheart, that rather hurts. Ow. Please, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Scorpius must have minded, because all he did was giggle. Looked up at Harry, sharing the incredulity, probably, the absolute gob-smacking heart-crushing delight at seeing Draco like this. Sprawled on the floor in his crisp trousers and vest still buttoned, his face soft with laughter. Harry—erm. Was, erm. Not invincible.

“What?” Draco cried, or demanded, looking up at Harry now with that terrible smile, “not you, too? I was looking forward to having a conversation with at least one intelligent adult today.”

“The meeting,” Harry groaned. “They didn’t approve your request?”

Draco sighed, rolled so he lay on his back, hair still caught in Scorp’s fist. “No. It seems that adding a nursery is simply not feasible for the company at this time. The board suggested I gave up my position.”

“And?”

He snorted. “And nothing. I spent the afternoon trying to teach Scorpius how to curse. Nothing severe, maybe just jelly-legs, or, calling our CEO a bloody wanker would be nice.”

“Draco!” dropping to his elbows, helplessly drawn closer, “is that the kind of language—”

“Oh come on, Potter, he’s not even one. He doesn’t know what the word means.”

He smelled like Scorp’s lavender shampoo. His eyes, when they landed on Harry, grey and warm. “What?” Harry asked, voice thick with a smile, and Draco shook his head, then winced.

“Ow—Merlin’s sake, Scorp, you have the grip of a giant. Hey, maybe he’d end up a Catcher.” Turning back to Harry, the tiniest movement, “I thought you went to make tea?”

The cups were cooling on the table. “Forget tea, we’re not rooting for our son ending up a Catcher.”

“Any position in a Quidditch team,” Draco said in his dry tone, but his whole face lit up like a spark, making Harry hear what he actually said, making him—choke on something in his throat. “It’s the game that matters, Harry.”

“The game,” he agreed nonsensically. “Draco—”

“We’ll have to find a solution, of course. For the nursery situation. Now that my bloody wanker of a boss made taking Scorp to work impossible.”

Scorpius made a bright sound, something like laughter, and both of them turned to him, this little lump of a smiling face. “Well done, my love,” Draco cooed, and Harry—erm—didn’t cry or anything, but he did make a sort of sniffling sound, “Smith is a bloody wanker, hmm?”

“Draco!” Harry squealed, and he looked back with a devilish grin.

“Apologies. I wouldn’t want to teach… our son such language.”

They lay just lay there for a moment. Draco’s chest going with Harry’s rhythm, up, down, and this thing on his face, uncertain and—happy. Harry took his hand.

“Exactly. I’d expect you on your best behaviour from now on, Malfoy.”

“Of course,” with a flutter of those endless lashes. Scooting a touch closer on the rug. It carried the table, the one with the tea, another possible future disaster: Harry didn’t care about this either.

“Come here,” hand behind Draco’s head, another hand coming to cup his cheek. “You gorgeous, silly thing.”

“Harry,” half a moan, half a whisper, and his eyes closing, delicate lashes on Harry’s face, mouth coming up for a kiss. “Ha—ow!” and then started laughing, hysterical waves of it, loud in Harry’s ear: “Scorp, love, you have to let go, ha ha, ow, that really does, ha, hurt, you scoundrel,” and Harry was laughing too, was weak, in fact, in the centre of his core was weak for this, was defeated.

“You two,” he mumbled, swallowed, are my whole heart, a little frightened and deliriously overjoyed. On the rug, Scorp continued making nonsensical sounds, and Harry and Draco kept laughing.

(Flufftober day 17. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[copias-fluffy-asscheeks]

Softly Into The Night

PapaIV x Reader

sfw, comfort.

*𖤐*

The night was draped in a velvety darkness as you found yourself alone in Copia’s dimly lit chambers. The echoes of haunting melodies still resonate in your mind, the remnants of midnight mass that had been led by him this night. Despite the eerie ambiance, there was an undeniable allure to the quietude that surrounded you as you awaited the man himself.

Sitting at the edge of his large canopy bed lost in your thoughts, you couldn't shake the feeling of longing that tugged at your heart. The enigmatic Papa had captivated your soul with his hauntingly beautiful voice and mysterious presence long ago, before he even earned this role, for he had been the shy and silly Cardinal back then. There was a gentleness behind his full eyes, there always had been, and you had longed to offer him the comfort and love he may seek in his demanding role for the clergy.

Just as you were lost in these musings, a soft voice called out from behind you, accompanied by the soft creak of an opening door. "Il mio tesoro, there you are."

Startled yet delighted, you turned to find Papa, still dressed in his robes, his mismatched eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

"Oh, Papa," you greeted, a warm smile gracing your features.

The embrace of silence was all-encompassing, and without the need for words he walked over to you, taking you into a big hug. His presence was always a comfort to you, as yours was to him. Since the first night you had shared his chambers he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, though you had no issue with it and even so he had checked many times, his longing to stay near you and touch you was all too strong; hugging you, kissing your temple every few minutes or just sitting, the smallest thing like your pinkies linked grounded him. He gave a deep, contented yet shaky sigh.

He was relaxed against you, but you could still feel the tension in his shoulders and back.

"Papa," you whispered softly, "You seem burdened. Is there anything I can do?"

For a moment, he hesitated, but the trust you had cultivated between you over these months encouraged him to more easily open up. "It is a heavy mantle I wear," he admitted. "The expectations, the darkness, it can be overwhelming at times. It's tiring."

In that moment, you knew what he needed—comfort, warmth, and the assurance that he was not alone in his struggles as long as he had you, and if all went to both your visions that would be forever. Without second thought you squeezed him a bit tighter to you, bringing one hand up to stroke through his graying hair.

To your delight, he leaned further into your gentle touch, his head now resting on your shoulder. The scent of incense and leather filled your senses, and you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

In the safety of your arms, hidden from prying eyes, Papa always allowed himself to let go, shedding the weight of his on-stage persona and revealing the vulnerability beneath. You caressed his back in soothing circles, assuring him that it was alright to seek solace and support.

"I've got you," you whispered, your words carrying the promise of unwavering love and kindness. He nuzzled closer, his grip on you tightening, as if to anchor himself to the warmth of your presence. The walls he had built around himself for the day crumbled, allowing you to glimpse the tender soul he kept hidden from the world.

For the rest of that night, you cuddled together on his bed, finding warmth in each other's arms. You mumbled stupid jokes to each other, told funny stories and had deep conversations until he shifted to lay his head on your chest, nuzzling into you while you gave a pleasant hum. His arms snaked tightly around you, and before long his soft, steady, melodic snores filled the quiet of the room as the tempting darkness of sleep washed soothing waves over his body.

*𖤐*

Taglist: @copias-girl @papasmicstand @lightbluuestars @random-bl-fan @sweatandwoe

A/N: Thank you lovely @lurancyvenom for proof reading this for me, give her a follow if you're not following her already cause you should!! Edit: AND thanks to her for the title!!

[madamejadex]

Hello mommy ❤️

Thank you for answering the previous ask. I think I understand the difference between light and heavy degradation more now, and also found out I prefer only light degradation much like you as well!

As for the BDSM club, there's an event that's happening next Friday, I might consider going even though it still feels super scary- but I've just been curious about BDSM for so long that it feels silly to not really explore it since I have the chance now hehe 🥰

I'd also like to confess that since the last time, I have kept...teasing myself with your posts when my roommate is sleeping, but I also touched myself and moaned out for you when I'm alone (which was...very- very satisfying). The things you do to me (and many others) 🥵 I hope you get a kick out of seeing how we pant and are just so desperate for you 😳

I also would like to ask one question ☝️ ummm for science if you may- how do you feel about face sitting? (Asking cause I like the idea of being the one on the bottom but can't for the life of me imagine how it feels to be on top cause it feels so exposed and also with a constant fear of suffocating the other person 😭)

xoxo 🔥

Hello, my darling little flame 🔥

Mmm… thank you for your message. It made me smile from start to finish. I'm so pleased to hear my earlier response helped bring you clarity and how lovely that you’ve discovered your preference for light degradation. It’s such a delicate dance, isn't it? A whisper of humiliation, just enough to make your cheeks warm, but never enough to bruise that soft heart of yours.

And now, a BDSM event I suppose it's this Friday? Oh, sweetheart... let me know if you go okay? I'm proud of you either way.

Now… Your confession?

Darling. You just know how to make Mommy smile, don’t you?

The thought of you squirming in bed, teasing yourself under the covers while your poor roommate sleeps just a few feet away... Touching yourself, panting my name, moaning as if the sound of my words stayed with you long after you closed the app? Mmm. You’re lucky I find it flattering.

No, more than that, I love it.

Yes, I get a kick out of knowing you’re that needy for me. That worked up. That wrecked and aching just from my my words alone. It’s delicious knowing the kind of effect I have on such a soft, sweet girl like you. And you know what?

You’re always welcome to confess it. Mommy likes knowing when sweet girls come undone for her.

Now, on to your question, and what a delightful one it is. Face sitting.

Let me start by saying: it’s one of my favorite acts, and for very good reason. It’s a mix of dominance, intimacy, control, and surrender that few other positions can match. And while yes, it’s exposed, and that’s exactly what makes it so powerful.

To be on top is to own the moment. To ride someone’s mouth, to press your thighs around their face, to let yourself be seen and tasted and use someone for your pleasure, it’s vulnerable, yes, but it’s also exquisitely empowering when done with someone who’s eager to take you fully.

And as for the fear of suffocating them? Sweet girl. If they’re doing it right… they won’t mind gasping a little for air. They’ll thank you for it.

But on a more serious note, a good partner will always communicate limits and use signals if breath becomes difficult. You’ll find a rhythm together, lifting slightly for a breath, sinking back down when you feel their tongue work harder, hungrier, more desperate. You can ride that line of control and care so beautifully if you take your time.

If the idea of being on top still feels intimidating, start slowly. Try straddling their chest at first. Let them kiss and tease you while you build confidence. Then, when you’re ready, when the hunger outweighs the fear, let yourself own their mouth. You’ll find it’s so much more satisfying than you imagined.

Now… Next time you find yourself panting for me in the dark, don’t forget to whisper thank you, too. Mommy always loves her good, grateful girls.

xo Miss Jade

[askstevella]

—Meet The Parents 💕

In other words - His dynamics with them

~~~~~~~~~

🌻 Father-Son Dynamic: Steve Rogers and Bradley James Rogers

When Steve Rogers found out he was going to be a father, he was overcome with excitement. It was a total surprise, but it didn’t matter. He kissed Stella, lifted her into an embrace, and felt a warmth he had never known. It didn’t matter that he was Captain America to the world—he was just Steve Rogers at home, and now he was going to be a dad.

Throughout the pregnancy, Steve’s love for Stella and their growing child only deepened. But balancing his responsibilities as an Avenger with being a father was hard. Leaving Stella behind for missions and meetings tore at him. Each time he left, he would kiss her, place a hand on her belly, and whisper, “Be good to mama, Bradley. Daddy will be home soon.”

When Bradley was born, Steve was overcome with emotion. Holding his son for the first time, he whispered, “Hey there, big guy…” His voice was soft, filled with awe—his first words to his son were gentle, marking the beginning of a love unlike anything else.

As Bradley grew, Steve made every effort to be present in his life—picking him up from school, giving him baths, reading bedtime stories, and teaching him sports. But Steve wasn’t perfect. He sometimes felt overwhelmed by his dual life and, despite his best efforts, would find himself trying to not snap at Bradley or missing a moment because of his commitments. He’d feel guilty, and later, try to make up for it. Still, he always showed Bradley love, even if it wasn’t always in the perfect way.

As Bradley grew older, he began to understand the weight of his father’s absences. He knew Steve had to leave to fight battles, but it didn’t always make it easier. The sting of seeing his father rush off to save the world sometimes left Bradley feeling neglected, even though deep down he knew the sacrifices Steve made were for a reason. It wasn’t about wanting to fight—it was about necessity. Steve fought to make the world a safer place for Bradley to live in, to create a world where his son could grow up without fear.

Still, the tension between them sometimes simmered. Bradley, torn between admiration and frustration, resented how often his dad had to leave. Steve, in turn, carried a heavy guilt. But there was one thing that was never in question: when Steve returned, he made sure Bradley knew he was loved. His priority, above all else, was spending time with his family. Whether it was a silly movie night, a spontaneous outing, or just a quiet day together, Steve made every moment count, showing Bradley that no matter what, he was always his biggest priority.

Despite it all, their bond remained unshaken. Steve was always there when it counted, doing his best to balance the impossible. For Bradley, it wasn’t about being perfect—it was about knowing that his father loved him. And for Steve, it was about trying to be the hero his family needed, even if it meant learning from his mistakes along the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🌷 Mother-Son Dynamic: Stella R. Strange and Bradley James Rogers

From the moment Stella found out she was expecting, everything about motherhood was a surprise. It wasn’t planned, but as she looked down at the little life growing inside her, excitement quickly overcame her anxiety. She shared the news with Steve, and to her delight, he was just as thrilled as she was. Their joy became the foundation of their journey as parents, with each passing month deepening their connection to their unborn son.

Stella, balancing her demanding career as a nurse, often struggled with the new responsibilities of motherhood. But she found her rhythm, whispering to her belly, stealing snacks in secret, and enjoying little moments of bonding before Steve returned from his missions. She cherished every kick and every flutter. “Daddy’s gone… let’s sneak into the kitchen,” she’d say with a wink, all while laughing about Steve’s inevitable eye roll when he came home to empty granola bars.

When Bradley was born, Stella was overwhelmed with emotion. She marveled at the tiny, perfect child in her arms. As he grew, she made sure to be there for him. She became a stay-at-home mom, loving every moment of cooking him snacks, giving him baths, and singing songs together. And when Bradley’s curly hair started to form, Stella squealed in delight—it was just like hers, and it made her heart swell with pride.

But being a mom wasn’t always easy. She felt the weight of wanting to be perfect and sometimes struggled with guilt, especially when work or life distracted her from moments she wished she’d been there for. Stella, like Steve, was fiercely protective of Bradley, sometimes a bit too much. She worried, often questioning whether she was doing enough, but her love for her son never wavered.

For Bradley, Stella was a constant source of warmth and affection—whether it was through tickles, bedtime stories, or quiet moments at home. Sure, they had their challenges—his rebellious streak clashing with her protective nature—but deep down, she always supported him in finding his own way. Stella’s love was unconditional, and as Bradley grew, he knew she’d always be there, ready to guide him, protect him, and give him the space he needed to be himself.

Through it all, Bradley learned what it meant to love and be loved, not through perfection, but through those everyday moments of tenderness, laughter, and understanding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

THE BIG LESSON 🫶🏼

At the end of the day, both Steve and Stella were learning as they went. They weren’t perfect parents, but they did their best for Bradley, each in their own way. And Bradley, with his rebellious streak and desire to carve his own path, knew that despite the imperfections, his parents would always show up for him.

~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ahhh I know it was rather long 😅 but I wanted to expand on Bradley’s dynamics. It only felt right to start with Mom & Dad

Stay tuned for more news 🗞️ I’m thinking of doing his dynamic with his School Crew OR his dynamic with The Young Avengers. You choose which one comes first 👀

Anyways let me know what you think 💭

Tags: @ask-starrk @missstrawbs2001 1 @purpleprincessonfyre @wizzzardofoz z @thechoooooosenone @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh h h @marvelsfavoriteuncle @elzabeth-stark @sci-fi-lexcon @jackiequick @blueboirick @gcthvile @aidanxsophxoxo @meiramel l l @trulysummersprivate @yetanotherwells @gaminggirlsstuff

[exhaustedpirate]

that your feelings are driving you wild

day 28 of @bucktommyfluffebruary (my last entry!) this was supposed to be a simple proposal and it ended up being 3k of insanity! basically yall, ignore the 8x06 episode aside from the bucktommy stuff - they still broke up but got back together a couple of months later, that's all you need to know!

rated G | 3496 words also on AO3

“And now,” Chimney announces through the mic on the short stage of their private karaoke room, looking ready to crack up in laughter. “Let’s welcome Bobby Nash to sing Sexbomb!”

All eyes turn to the off-duty Captain, expecting to see embarrassment, only to find him with a pointed smile towards his wife. “You did this.”

Athena shrugs, her expression impassive but for a hint of a teasing smile. 

“Come on, Cap,” Chimney finally loses his battle and laughs against the mic. “It’s my anniversary.”

“Technically,” Buck pipes up from where he sits with his body pressed against Tommy’s. “Your anniversary was last month.”

“It’s not our fault that we do shift work, Buck,” Maddie points out, waving away his interjection. Buck shrugs, pulling Tommy’s arm tighter around his shoulders. “Please, Bobby?”

Bobby and Athena are stuck in a staring contest before Bobby grins and stands up. The room erupts into cheers and the fumbling of taking out phones to record.

“If I see any videos circulating the internet,” Athena calls over the celebration, sitting back on her chair with a pleased smile. “I’m arresting every single one of you.”

A collective groan gets silenced by the police sergeant’s look. Bobby grins proudly from the stage, a besotted look on his face, while Chim starts up the song.

“Can she do that?” Tommy asks quietly, his ear close to Buck’s ear. 

“Probably not,” Buck shrugs, making sure his camera is pointed perfectly at Bobby on stage. “But I wouldn’t test Athena Grant-Nash.” Tommy laughs, kissing the side of Buck’s head.

Bobby’s hips swing from side to side as the instrumental starts and the room fills with wolf-whistling and whoo-ing when their Captain starts to sing. 

And, well…it’s not bad. It’s not Ravi-trying-to-hit-Whitney-Houston’s-high-notes bad. 

It’s…endearing. But Athena is a fan. 

While she started the song sitting back on her chair, with a victorious and delighted smile, she is now leading Karen into a bouncy dance while Hen and Chim shimmy together. Maddie and Eddie laugh as they finally get to a good Cha-Cha rhythm. 

“Looking good, Diaz!” Tommy yells from the couch. Buck laughs at the blush in Eddie’s face before twirling a giggling Maddie. 

“You know,” Maddie calls out, a smile that is wicked enough to look out of place on such a sweet face. “Buck has quite the dancing feet, Tommy.”

Tommy turns to Buck whose attention is now fully on the video he’s recording, his face clearly not masking his trepidation. His parents got him into some dance classes and he had enjoyed the comfort of following a routine, a choreography, the way every step matched a beat. Buck had stopped after leaving home though, hadn’t danced since.

Unless grinding at the club or swaying slowly with his arms around Tommy counted.

He counted one of them. The most important one.

Tommy was a good dancer. He was good at everything.

Like being able to notice Buck’s anxiety. His strong arms pull him closer without disturbing his recording, his lips press against his hair, his brow. Buck relaxes in his hold.

“I like keeping your dancing feet to myself,” Tommy murmurs in his ear and it’s ridiculous, it’s silly, and yet it makes Buck melt, his body burrowing closer to Tommy’s body. “I’m a lucky man.”

Buck turns off his phone - Ravi is filming anyway -, there are more important things to look at than Bobby shaking his butt while singing down at Athena from the short stage. Like his boyfriend’s smile, his eyes. God, they’ve become that couple, haven’t they?

“I love you.”

Tommy’s smile stretches against his lips, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, making Buck just want to kiss him, lick him, bite him. 

“I love you too.”

Geez. He needs to chill.

Bobby’s final note brings their attention back to the stage, where by some power of music, Athena is being dipped by her husband, an utterly delighted and loving look on her face. Her ring shines in the coloured lights of the stage as she holds Bobby’s face. 

That weight on Buck’s chest gets slightly heavier. 

It’s just beautiful to be loved like that. 

Everyone claps and cheers, Tommy reluctantly removing his arm from around Buck’s shoulders to join in the clapping. Buck looks at his boyfriend. Just beautiful.

“And that was Bobby Nash,” Chimney takes the microphone from their gleeful Captain, he and Athena stumbling out of the stage. “I don’t think any of us were expecting that but we’ll never forget it.”

“I know that’s right,” Hen says, making Bobby wave away everyone’s whoo-ing, a blush finally appearing on his cheeks while Athena leans heavily against his side, bright eyes looking up at her husband. 

“Calm down, everyone,” Chimney calls out before looking down at the list in his hand. His grin widens, mischief in the stretch of his lips. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” Tommy chuckles next to Buck and brings his bottle of beer to his mouth. “Next up, singing Whatta Man, we have the Buckleys!” The beer that had just been in Tommy’s mouth exits out through his nose.

“Come on, Buck,” Maddie giggles, stepping up on the stage, bouncing restlessly on her toes. She takes the microphones from Chimney who makes his way off the stage. She holds out the extra microphone towards a still-shocked Buck. “I can’t do this without you.” His sister tries to hide the slight tremble in her voice with a teasing sing-song tone. It doesn’t work for him.

Buck pats Tommy’s back as he stands up, shifting between glaring at his beaming sister and worrying for the older man. Chim shuffles over with a shit-eating grin. 

“Make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die or I’m gonna kill you.” Buck points between his brother-in-law and the pilot hunching over on the couch.

Tommy inhales sharply. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” His voice is rough but he waves Buck away to the stage. “Go, go.”

“I got him, Buckaroo,” Chimney teases, his hand on his former colleague’s back. “Go dazzle us.”

Buck glares at him before stepping onto the stage and taking the microphone from Maddie. 

“Oh, this needs to be saved for posterity.” And Buck has a glare for Karen as well, not that it stops her from recording the performance.

But it’s not like he can keep pouting when Maddie tugs on his hand and vocalizes the intro to the song in his face. Buck rolls his eyes affectionately and smiles, joining her. He is reminded of the times Maddie would drive him and she’d blast the radio and they would sing together.

This isn’t much different. He’s still among the people he loves most, among family.

Buck lets himself relax, uuh-ing and yeah-ing with Maddie before the chorus kicks in. 

“What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man,” The siblings sing together before Maddie places a hand by her ear. “You got to say it again now.”

And it’s almost like they planned it, choreographed it. They point at their amusedly flustered partners as they sing. “Yeah, he’s a mighty, mighty good man!”

They cherish the laughter, the teasing, because Tommy and Chimney are looking at them with that look. The one that Maddie gives Chim when he’s enthusiastic about the family movie nights. The one that Chim gives Maddie when she sings to Jee-Yun. The one that Tommy gives him when he’s 45 minutes into an hour-long info dump on the rainbow tax. The one that Buck gives Tommy when they share a blanket for their 5th time watching Love, Actually that month.

The look. 

“So here's to the future 'cause we got through the past,” Buck sings and laughs at the faux exasperated look on his boyfriend’s face and even more at the fitting lyrics. “I finally found somebody that can make me laugh.”

“You’re so crazy,” Maddie’s hand finds his wrist and her voice trembles for the first time. “I think I am having your baby.” 

It would be impossible for her to have made a mistake since the lyrics are rolling in front of them, it takes him a second. It takes everyone a second as the backing vocals of the chorus sound over the hushed room. Maddie has his wrist in a vice grip even as her eyes are locked on Chimney’s.

“Holy shit, you’re pregnant!” Ravi’s high-pitched voice shatters the stillness, voicing the collective conclusion. 

“Is that true?” Chimney asks from where he still stands by Tommy, now with the older man’s hand on his back, urging him forward. His eyes are watery, a hopeful smile trembling on his lips.

“Yeah,” Maddie says into the microphone, her whispered voice enhanced by the speakers. “I found out this morning,” She sniffles and smiles. “It finally happened.”

“It finally happened,” Chimney repeats as he stands in front of her before he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “It finally happened.”

Buck sniffles as he watches the emotional hug, the way Maddie hides her face in Chim’s neck and the look on Chimney’s face. So much love, he feels like he’s going to explode. 

As they often do, his eyes find Tommy’s. His blue eyes sparkle in the lights and he has that beautiful pout on his lips that speaks to happiness, to emotion. The backing vocals of the song are still playing, whatta man repeating over and over as his boyfriend’s eyes find his. Tommy’s smile is small but so happy. He feels his chest bubbling over. What a man.

Buck clears his throat and speaks with a wavering voice on the mic. “Can someone shut down the music so we can congratulate the happy couple?”

That seems to set everyone in motion. Karen quickly smashes the pause button, Maddie pulling him into the hug and the small stage being overrun by warm hugs, words of congratulations, tears and laughter. It’s warm and his cheeks hurt from all the smiling but all he can see is Maddie and the way she lights up under everyone’s love. They came a long way.

“I’m so happy for you, Maddie,” He whispers as he tucks her into his arms, feeling that warmth when she wraps her arms around him tight. “You deserve this.”

“We deserve to be happy, Buck,” She looks up at him with that bright smile of hers that he can’t help but return. “We made our happiness possible.”

“You don’t find it, son, you make it.”

Uh.

He nods, kissing her forehead before he finds Tommy looking at him, that soft smile on his face. Yeah. “You’re right.”

“I always am.” She winks at him and they laugh as she pulls him off the stage to where their friends and family have finished setting up the toast they’ll be doing in their honor. 

There are glasses of champagne and two with ginger ale passing around the room as everyone gathers in an oval shape, Maddie wrapped around Chimney’s arm at the top of it. 

“To the happy couple,” Bobby raises his glass, his arm around Athena’s shoulders. “And to their growing family.” 

Echoing cheers echo through the room as everyone raises their glasses in response. Tommy’s free arm is wrapped around his waist and, surrounded by his people, celebrating love and happiness, he feels at ease.

Eddie jumps on stage next, dedicating his song to Maddie and Chimney and to the rest of the couples in the house. He surprises them with his smooth voice as he sings If Tomorrow Never Comes by Garth Brooks. 

The ballad brings everyone into a slow dance. Buck’s arms wrap around Tommy’s neck while his boyfriend wraps his around his waist. They are barely moving, just swaying in place to the rhythm of the song. Ravi’s voice joins Eddie’s and Tommy laughs quietly against his ear. 

It’s perfect. 

“So tell that someone that you love, just what you're thinking of,” Eddie finishes the song on his own, Ravi standing to the side filming everyone with his phone. “If tomorrow never comes.”

The room fills with cheers but all Buck can look at is the way Tommy’s face lightens up, the way he looks so relaxed, happy, with his eyes on their friends. God, he loves him. His smile softens as he turns towards Buck, that look in his eyes and he’s glad to have Tommy’s arm still around him. Should he do it now?

His knees feel weak. There’s a lump in his throat and he swallows around it. His mouth opens.

“-by Tommy Kinard!”

“What?!” 

Tommy’s eyes look like they are about to pop out of their sockets as he looks at Chimney on stage, at his friend’s mischievous grin. Buck glances between the two of them, his wide eyes taking the form of excitement, curiosity.

“Come on, Tommy,” Maddie grins from their left. “It’s our anniversary!” 

“I already gave you a Le Creuset set.” Tommy raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Maddie’s angelic expression.

“Don’t be a party pooper, Kinard,” Hen calls out from the other side, her arm heavy around Karen and an almost empty glass in hand. “Just go up there and sing the song!”

Tommy’s eyes narrow before he hums. “You did this, didn’t you?” Hen only shrugs, an uncoordinated movement that has her wife laughing against her.

Buck had heard Tommy sing before, in the privacy of his boyfriend’s - theirs now - home. Either during the moments they would cook together, the speakers playing through one of their playlists or on the occasions they would watch musicals. Tommy loved them, Buck loved that Tommy loved them.

Tommy can sing. It’s really all bluster. 

“Go,” Buck urges, Tommy’s wide eyes turning towards him. “I sang too.” He chuckles.

It takes a second before his boyfriend sighs. “Fine, fine,” He rolls his eyes fondly at the echoing cheers around the room. “If I make a fool of myself, you have to come save me.”

Buck grins brightly, Tommy matching his smile. “Promise.” He smacks a kiss on the older man’s lips before pushing him towards the stage.

“What’s the song anyway?” Tommy’s voice catches faintly on the microphone he takes from Chimney and Buck notices Hen’s devious smile from the corner of his eye.

Chimney’s only answer is to bump his eyebrows at him. “Get him, big guy.” He taps his oldest friend’s arm before jumping off stage.

As everyone smirks in anticipation, a synth percussion plays through the speakers. Tommy must recognise it immediately because he groans and hides his face in his free hand. Buck can see a smile peeking through.

“Really?” He asks through the mic.

“Don’t act like you don’t know the song, Tommy.” Chimney calls out, holding his phone up while Maddie looks like the cat that caught the canary.

Tommy glares at his friends until, Buck assumes, the lyrics come in. “You're so hot, teasing me,” He turns to Buck with a deep blush on his cheeks. “So you're blue, but I can't take a chance on a kid like you,” His face must be doing something because Tommy’s lips lift in a small smile. “It's something I couldn't do.”

There are a million thoughts in Buck’s head, synapses firing every which way as Tommy sings. 

“There's that look in your eyes, I can read in your face, that your feelings are driving you wild,” Tommy smirks at the way Buck’s eyes flutter and he has to lick his lips from how dry his lips are. “Oh, but boy you're only a child.”

“Stop thirsting after your boyfriend,” Buck is bumped by Eddie as the chorus hits, everyone bouncing around and laughing together as Tommy sings the chorus. 

Tommy loosens up, clearly knowing the lyrics without checking the screen, his eyes on Buck as he sings a song that was likely meant to be a tease regarding their - not really big - age difference. Joke’s on them, Buck is a fan.

“I will not.” He mumbles, too busy watching his boyfriend on stage, definitely thirsting. 

“I can see what you want,” Tommy smirks through a fake pout. “But you seem pretty young to be searching for that kind of fun, so maybe I'm not the one.” Buck scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, making Tommy laugh.

“Now you're so cute, I like your style, and I know what you mean, when you give me a flash of that smile,” Buck laughs as Tommy winks at him and he approaches the stage. “Oh but boy, you're only a child.”

Buck dances through the chorus under Tommy’s appreciative gaze, that smile and that look that he loves so much always present. It’s like there’s no one else in the world when the song turns lower, Tommy approaching the edge of the stage.

“Take it easy, better slow down, boy,” Tommy’s voice is lower as his hand finds Buck’s hair, his fingers tangling in his curls. “That's no way to go, does your mother know?” Buck really hopes the mic doesn’t pick up on the actual purring coming from him. “Take it easy, try to cool it, boy,” With his fingers on the back of his head, Tommy brings his face up to face him. “Play it nice and slow, does your mother know?” 

Buck almost feels bereft without Tommy’s hands on him again, standing by the stage watching his boyfriend sing the chorus again with a smirk towards him. His mouth is agape and he feels that stirring in his gut and he feels that…that urge. 

It’s an hour or a second before Tommy finishes the song, wolf-whistles and cheers filling up the room. But Buck has only one thought as he steps onto the stage, Tommy’s cheerful smile only for him, ignoring the uuh-ing of their family, and grabs Tommy into a kiss. 

Just a press of their lips together. When he opens his mouth, their faces no longer pressed together, he knows the words that are going to leave it.

“Marry me.”

And he gets the pleasure of watching his boyfriend’s - hopefully, fiance - parted mouth turn into a wide grin before-

“No!”

“Yes!”

Everyone turns to the exalted Chimney, his hands thrown up in frustration, and Eddie, with a victorious fist raised in the air. 

“Wh-What?” Tommy asks, his eyes glancing from Buck to their friends, clearly unsure of what to do. Buck doesn’t either.

“You planned this!” Chimney points a finger at Eddie who grins smugly.

“Of course I did,” Eddie gloats. “It wasn’t hard to convince Hen to pick a song for Tommy. She’s pretty drunk…”

“Hey!” Hen protests and almost stumbles if it wasn’t for her wife’s hold on her. 

“He’s right, babe.” Karen sighs, fondly exasperated and Hen reluctantly agrees.

“Yeah, he’s got a point.”

Eddie’s grin is even wider now, puffed up chest and all. “You don’t think I know that my best friend likes it when his boyfriend sings to him?”

Tommy seems to decide that he’d rather look at Buck, his eyes wide and bright. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” Buck whispers in response, his fingers running down the side of Tommy’s face. “Marry me?”

“And he did it again,” Eddie points at the couple on stage. “Pay up, Han.”

“Did you guys bet on who would propose first?” Maddie asks from the side, disappointed eyes on each of them - so effective even Eddie’s gloating dimmed.

“W-we went ring shopping with them,” Chimney explains. “Separately, of course, but we saw each other in the shop.” He points between him and Eddie.

“We just had very strong opinions on who would do it first,” Eddie shrugs before holding out his hand. “And I won!”

Chimney sighs and slaps a 10 dollar bill on Eddie’s hand. “I hope the 10 bucks was worth it.”

“It’s about the principle, my friend,” Holding each end of the paper bill, Eddie pulls it taut a couple of times. “Maybe I should treat my friends with it,” He pockets it with a smirk before turning to the stage. “What do you say, Buc-?”

“Yeah, I don’t think they heard any of this.” Maddie taunts over Eddie’s shoulder as they watch Buck and Tommy sitting on one of the furthest couches. 

Buck’s legs are draped over Tommy’s and their foreheads pressed together, their fingers intertwined over Buck’s lap. There isn’t a ring on Tommy’s finger but the way Buck plays with the fourth finger of the pilot’s left hand tells them that it’s only a matter of time.

They don’t hear the “I love you”s they whisper to each, or the premature wedding plans, or the proposal that Buck never got to do and the proposal that Tommy could still do but won’t - this one was perfectly imperfect. They don’t hear the sighs they let out with each kiss, the moans, and the happy sniffles as Eddie dazzles the crowd with a rendition of We are the Champions.

10 bucks is a good price for a happy ending.

for those who don't know the song that tommy sings (and the origin of the title) is "does your mother know" by abba but the mamma mia version - it plagued my days and i couldn't not write tommy being silly as he sang this song to buck! the last fluffebruary day! i can't believe it's over! a big round of applause to @aesthetictarlos for putting this whole thing together, what an amazing event! it was a pleasure to participate!