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hihomeghere · 1 year ago

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Wedding at the End of the World | Five Hargeeves \ F!Reader

Word Count : 3.3k Summary : A reader insert for the episode Wedding at the End of the World. You and Five reminisce on your wedding/proposal before going to Luther and Sloanes wedding. You both go to the wedding with high hopes of a good evening. ( I do not own the Umbrella Academy or any of their characters) Warnings/Tags : Cursing, fluff, alcohol, allusions to sex, mentions of death, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested.

“How was the bachelor party?” You asked as Five walked into your shared hotel room. He walked over to the bed.

“Wasn’t half bad.” He said with a smug smile. He sunk down onto the mattress untying his shoes. You set your book down on the side table, it wasn’t that interesting anyway. But after stopping the apocalypse twice in the last month you were due some down time. He crawled onto the bed and you accepted him with open arms. At this point in your marriage everything was muscle memory, the way you two always came together. His head rested on your chest, while his arms wrapped around your waist. He relaxed, his whole weight on top of you. Your hand stroked his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

“You know, I don’t regret anything about our wedding day.” He said looking up at you, “but it was nice to have all my brothers together before Luther’s.” He smiled, kissing your wedding ring. A beautiful art deco style band.

“Five Hargreeves,” You said a smile creeping onto your face, “are you going soft on me?” You chuckled as he scoffed.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy spending time with my brothers?” He rolled his eyes, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Whatever you say, old man.” You kissed his head, closing your eyes.

“Where are we going?” You giggled as Five pulled you through the outskirts of a vineyard, circa 1972

“You’ll see.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You rolled your eyes following him blindly. He turned through a stone doorway, letting go of your hand.

You followed him, walking down sandstone steps onto the lawn. The sun was setting, causing an orange glow to reflect on everything. Lavender bushes lined the lawn, Five stood in the middle, a picnic set out before you. You smiled, racing to meet him. He grinned as you threw yourself into his arms, he spun you lightly, your cream sundress flowing around you.

“What is all this?” You asked, your smile all but splitting your face.

“Happy anniversary,” he said looking down at you through his lashes. You cocked your head to the side.

“You little,” you hit his shoulder softly, “I thought you forgot.” You shook your head.

“I could never.” He said, a hand resting over his heart. You shoved him, he exaggerated his movements, falling to the ground. You tackled him, straddling him between your legs. “The food is going to get cold.” He said in between your kisses.

“Is that really what you’re thinking about?” You laughed pulling your hair away from your face. You sat up, removing yourself from his lap. You kneel in front of the food display, two glasses with a bottle of champagne, a charcuterie board, and for dessert different fruit tarts. Five began to pour you a glass of champagne as you dug in. From the lawn you could see the sun set over the ocean. The bright turquoise waves crashing against each other.

“You know,” Five started, you turned to look at him, the golden rays shining on him, “you are the best thing to ever happen to me.” He grinned at you, chuckling to himself.

“Same here,” you grinned, laying your head on his shoulder, “I wish everyday could be like this.” You sighed contentedly watching the sun disappear into the horizon.

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise to love you everyday with no conditions, if you’ll have me.” He said kissing your head. He moved slightly, slipping his hand behind him to pull a box out of his pocket.

“Five are you?” You asked sitting up.

“Will you marry me, Y/n?” He asked with a nervous smile on his face, you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

“Yes! Yes! Of course!” You laughed, throwing yourself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you, laughing with you. He put the ring on your finger, tears slipping past his lashes. You cupped his face, kissing him sweetly. He deepened the kiss, his tongue running across your lower lip.

“You know, I reserved this villa for two more hours.” He whispered, pulling away from you, a lick of fire behind his eyes.

“This is officially worse than the apocalypse.” Five mumbles next to you. You hit him softly, grinning.

“Oh hush.” You say turning back to Sloane and Luther. Sloane looked breathtaking, they both glided on the dance floor. Drawn to each other like magnets. Unable to be apart, always connected to each other in some way.

“Were we ever like that?” Five asked his nose wrinkling in disgust as his arm snuck around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“Who says we aren’t?” You laughed leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. He kissed your head, sighing as he watched his brother dance with his bride.

There was no denying how deeply he felt for you. It was no use, he had tried to bottle up the love he felt for you for years! And yet here you were, nestled in his arms. He still couldn’t quite understand how you had fallen for him. You were heaven on earth, a cool drop of water in the apocalypse. You were nothing like him, pure, kind, empathetic, any man's dream girl.

And you had chosen him. A stubborn, egotistical old man who had (at first) brushed you off without a second glance.

You worked hard, breaking down his walls brick by brick. Like those bricks Five had fallen for you, and hard. His heart had long ago been branded yours with a hot iron. He was only so lucky that you had fallen for him just as hard as he had fallen for you.

“C'mon Mr. Hargreeves,” you said, detaching yourself from his side, “dance with me.” You asked, reaching your hand out. He smiled softly, taking your hand in his. You could ask him to cut out his heart and give it to you on a silver platter and he would do it.

“How could I resist Mrs. Hargreeves?” He asked his hand returning to its rightful place at your hip, his other hand holding yours. You both swayed gently to the music, your nose nestled into his neck breathing in his aftershave. You never thought your life would be like this, after all the torture and pain you had been through. You never thought you would have a normal life after that. Well, your life with Five wasn’t exactly normal. You were both stuck in your 20 year old bodies after a mishap time traveling, a couple apocalypses under your belts, and a crazy family to boot.

But it was your life, he was yours, and you were his. You were happy, content, even if the world was going to end. As long as Five was by your side you could face anything, even the end of it all.

“Oh what am I going to do with you?” You chuckle looking into his green eyes. A smile split his face, creeping all the way to his eyes.

“Anything.” He replied simply before capturing your lips against his. You hummed softly, closing your eyes. The song slowly came to an end, and you both retired to your table.

There, Five made it very clear that he had one goal for the night. He poured a concoction of alcohol into glasses for the both of you, trying to get you as drunk as he was. You were giddy, the booze making you tingly all over. Every time Five would catch your eye you would giggle and shy away from his gaze. He put his hand on your leg, his fingers slowly inching up your thigh. He was trying to find an excuse to get you both out of this reception and back up into your room. He knew in a blink he could get you back in bed, but how to do it without 1. Drawing suspicion and 2. Without having to hear about how rude it was for you both to leave and effectively killing the mood. Unfortunately for Five, his brother had to cock block him.

"Cinco!" Klaus exclaimed as the two looked over. "Mi hermano! And hermana-in-law.” He lowered his voice smiling at you.

"Oh, god," Five said, chewing loudly. "What do you want?" You giggled while sipping your champagne.

"Listen to me," Klaus said, sitting in front of you, "Dad is upstairs right now with a plan to save everything. So what say you and I pop up to the suite for a little chit chat?"

"Are you like Frick and Frack with the old man now?" Five asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at Klaus.

"Y/n help me out! This dad's different," Klaus defended him. "He's a turtle. Hard on the outside, but all cute and wrinkly and occasionally delicious on the inside." Five took a drink of his champagne

"Klaus?" Five asked.

"Yeah?"

"Old dogs like me and him never change," Five told him. You rolled your eyes, lightly hitting his shoulder. "It’s true! He has never had our best interests at heart. So, my only plan for tonight is to get fucked up beyond all recognition."

"Sure. Have at it," Klaus said, getting up as Five placed a shot inside another drink.

"I shall!" Five exclaimed taking a shot.

“Y/n what do you think?” After not making any leeway with Five, Klaus turned to you.

“Klaus, can’t you just enjoy the party? No apocalypse talk for one night, please.” You smiled lazily, resting your hand on his velvet suit.

“You’re only getting away with this cause you’re cute, you know that right?” He groaned, rolling his eyes. Five recoiled, a disgusted expression on his face.

“Oh please, it’s not like I’m gonna jump your wife’s bones.” He smirked, “Although Y/n….” He trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Klaus, if you would so kindly walk away before I break your arm.” Five clenched his jaw, Klaus recoiled before walking away. “Why do you humor him?” Five asked as you turned to face him.

“Because he’s your brother, and for the most part he’s a good brother.” You said putting your hand on his shoulder looking into his eyes. He avoided your gaze. You smiled before leaning forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, over his two freckles.

“He better not sit here.” Diego said quite loudly drawing your attention away from Five, which he responded with a whine when your lips left his cheek. “I swear to god he better not sit here.”

“What is he doing here?” Ben added, “Who invited him?” Your eyes caught the elephant in the room. Reginald Hargreeves, your father in law. He gave a weird smile which just made the awkward tension in the room ten times worse. You looked back at Five, who gave you a knowing look before shrugging and taking another shot.

Lila and Diego made their way over him, Lilia apparently looking for an introduction.

“You won’t make me do that, right?” Five asked, taking your hand as you watched the somewhat pleasant interaction.

“Small talk with my in-laws is not on my apocalypse bucket list.” You reassured him, laughing. He smiled, “But if you wanted to go over and talk to him, I wouldn’t make you go alone.” He rolled his eyes staring at you.

“I’d rather lick a cheese grater.” You snickered before stealing one of his champagne flutes and downing it.

“What is he doing?” You asked as Reginald got up with a flute and a microphone, “oh my god is he going to give a speech?”

“Dear god, let’s hope the kugelblitz takes us before he starts.” Five mumbled before drinking another flute of champagne. You reached out blindly hitting him on his shoulder, you couldn’t look away from the anticipated train wreck in front of you.

“Sloane ever since you were a little girl, I’ve always known you were exceptionally bright. And although I can’t say I know Luther all that well, from the few moments we have shared, it seems you have found yourself an adequate partner.”

“He just called Luther adequate.” Five snickered a grin plastered on his face, you shushed him not wanting to miss any part of the speech.

“I acknowledge that as a father I was not without my faults. I hope these shortcomings will be seen as only a rough patch on an otherwise verdant lawn.”

You took Five’s hand, giving him a smile.

“You know for the most part this isn’t a bad speech.” You whispered, “Remember that wedding we went to in 1986?” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“How could I forget? We killed the groom's uncle after the reception.” He said meeting your eyes, a lick of fire in them.

“See! No one has died at this wedding!” You said the alcohol giving you a false sense of confidence.

“Yet.” He reminded you by holding up his flute for you, you raised your own clinking the two glasses.

“I’m proud to call you my children. Even those whom I raised in a revenant version of myself.” Five leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. You rubbed his back lightly, gauging his reaction. “I hope that tonight we can create a few special memories, in whatever precious little time we have left.” You looked back over at Five, biting your lip slightly. You had a good run, but like Five you were so tired of running.

“So in closing, the sun rises over a lily field. A mother veiled her lips concealed.” Alison stormed off toward the elevator, “the mourners come in droves of black. To bury what their hearts unpack, with shallow breath and time eclipsed.” You looked over at Viktor who was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. A pain shot through you at his expression. “I pray you miss death's gentle kiss.” He raised his flute to Luther and Sloane.

You sat in silence for a minute, turning your attention back to Five. He had the same pained expression, you grabbed his hand squeezing it. He turned to you, offering you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Diego and Klaus started clapping, “Bravo! Bravo dad!” Klaus said.

“I didn’t think the old man had it in him.” Five whispered to you.

“Guess some old dogs can change.” You offered wrapping your hand around his bicep, pulling yourself closer to him.

“My wife, always the optimist.” He smirked, taking another sip of champagne.

“You love it.” You said resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“That I do.”

You watched as Lila, Diego and Klaus all made their way to the dance floor, Luther and Sloane joining them.

“Come on mister,” you said, pulling yourself to your feet. He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance before taking your hand as you pulled him onto the dance floor.

Slowly you all made your way out to the courtyard. Five draped his suit jacket over your shoulders as you led him to two chairs. He had definitely met his goal for the night. He was fucked up beyond all recognition. You sat next to him, pulling him back into your chest. His cheeks were rosy, a side effect of all the alcohol. His warm hand rested on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. While the bottle he had been nursing was clutched tightly against his chest. He rested his head on your shoulder as you looked up at your impending doom. Was it wrong to say it was beautiful? The swirling reds that danced in the dark sky. The orange string lights casted a glow on all of you, illuminating the otherwise dark courtyard. You pulled the bottle away from Five's lips, taking a drink for yourself. He let out a whine as you pulled it towards your lips.

“Hey guys.” Luther said as Sloane and him sat down. You waved to them as Luther leaned over to say something to Viktor. He put a hand on his back before Diego piped up.

“Oh no, no, no, no!” He said as Ben and Klaus walked over to where you were all seated.

“Klaus, why are you bringing Ben here!” Five said with a slight crack in his voice gesturing at Ben.

“Hear me out!” Klaus said as a very drunk Ben leaned on him adding a little word here and there.

“The brother that you all knew as Ben is gone. And not- I don’t mean our Ben the nice Ben.” He clarified, “I mean this Ben.” He said pointing back to Ben as he put a bottle to his lips. “The asshole he’s gone now.”

“Klaus what are you talking about?” Luther asked, looking around at all of you.

“And the man that stands in front of you is new, new Ben.” You watched as Klaus shook Ben, Five winced slightly looking at his two brothers. “And he’s one of us, and he’s a member of the team.” Klaus started chuckling, “and he’s part of the family!”

“Part of the family!” Ben yelled in unison

“And as a welcome gift I suggest we throw him off the roof.” Five smirked before you hit his chest. “What was that for?” He asked, dazed looking up at you.

“Five.” You deadpanned

“Yeah I’ll help.” Diego said, looking at you two.

“Come on!” Klaus said both of them were hanging off each other.

“You know what, you know what.” Luther said pointing at the two men, “He can stay. He can stay.”

“Why?” Diego asked looking up at Luther

“Cause it’s my wedding day, man. Come on, he can stay.” You giggled as Ben and Klaus stumbled over to you all.

“How many times can he pull the ‘It’s my wedding card’” Five asked, rolling his eyes.

“As many times as he wants babe” You said kissing his head.

“Barf,” Lilia said looking over at you two, “not you love, just the general idea of anyone finding that little turd attractive.” She said pointing at Five.

You shook your head trying to hide your smile. Five recoiled before looking back at you.

“Stop smiling!” He groaned, his brows furrowed, he looked like an angry toddler. At that you could help laughing, you held his face in your hands.

“Oh baby, don't be upset.” You kissed him before kissing all over his face, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.

“Ooh woah, holy smokes.” Klaus said, looking up at your impending doom. Five reached for the bottle taking another swig.

“Hey you know something?” Luther said, breaking the silence, “tonight is all I ever really wanted.” A smile spread across your face as you looked at your brother in law.

“To get hitched?” Diego asked

“Just… everybody coming together when it really matters.” He said, you grabbed Five's hand lightly squeezing it, “one big real family.” He kissed your hair, you all knew that Luther was the only one out of the siblings to have the guts to say what he felt. Suddenly Five moved off of you trying to get to his feet, clutching his stomach. He dry heaved as he almost fell onto his face, barely catching himself.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Everyone yelled leaning away from your stumbling husband.

“Oh I think I’m gonna hurl,” he muttered to himself.

“Go get your man Y/n.” Diego said as you walked over to Five rubbing his back.

“Actually uh,” Five said, breaking away from your grasp, “I think I’m hungry, see ya guys I’m gonna hit the buffet.” He said stretching out his arms before gesturing inside. You sighed as he stumbled toward the building.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Viktor asked, pointing toward Five with his bottle.

You turned back to find all your siblings chuckling softly.

“I better go after him.” You said pointing behind you, “good night guys.” You waved before following Five inside.

“Night y/n.” Diego said, waving at you.

“We know who isn’t getting screwed tonight!” Klaus said loudly, you only flipped him off before heading inside. After your lovely drunk husband. You wouldn’t trade your family for the world.

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deesseshesca · 4 months ago

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PAC : How can u express your affection to your partner while having sex ? (18+)

Oh...Today drain me...

Good evening pretty souls ! I am so excited ... IS OFFICIALLY KINKTOBER ! DAY : 17-18

You want to have a more detailed readings (for 2.22$), you can join my Chérie d'Amour (soul tribe)

SEX Doula =SALE READING

PILE 1

Strenght (reverse), knight of wands (reverse),8 cups, 9 pentacles

You guys are very photogenic. Your friends love taking pictures of you and may even do it without you knowing. Y’all are very aesthetically pleasing people. On the other hand, y’all can’t not take a good picture to save yourself. You are incapable of finding the angle or even placing the phone properly, worse than boomers for some. Which ends up pissing off your friends. Y’all are not tech savvy. We are lucky you even know how to use your phone.

The way you show your affection is by having no control on the relationship. Wherever the flow brings y’all, you cool with it. You don’t care for labels and you are down for literally anything. Don’t care and you will never care for the title ‘’ relationship’’, you don’t mind being ‘’just friends’’ forever. You guys can move in together, fuck each other cuddle, go to hopsital appointment and share y’all deepest secret and even convince a kid with no title. You will not have shame or even be scared to explain your situation to people around you because you don’t mind how unorthodox it is. That being said for technicalities, you will allow your partner to explore sexual endeavors with other people. Even allowing them to hold their own independence meaning living in the same house but sleeping in different bedrooms. If y’all share an abundance with each other, you can share a mansion. Like the east side is yours and the south side is his/hers. You will show your affection by holding no taboo against them. They can possess any sex toys; they might even introduce you to their sex dolls, if they feel like it. Y’all may not even have sex at all… some of y’all is giving lavender marriage. Maybee ? I don’t know ? I have no clear indication of such but the way I am writing it, it sure sounds like it. Another way to show your affection is by accepting their belief, y’all may have different religion or practice. Lastly you may show your affection by not expecting anything material from them (which lowkey breaks one of the principles of Lavender marriage …). You don’t expect a ring, a car, or even roses on valentine day’s. All things said , it is really a show of going with the flow. If they decide to do it, you don’t mind doing it too. If they dim all the little gestures unnecessary then so do you. Ultimately your ‘’ no pressure’’ attitude is going to be the best way you show affection to them which can simulate their sexual appetite.

💌 : FIND OUT, How your partner use their fingers in the bedroom ? on Ko-fi.

PILE 2

Queen swords, 4 swords, 7 pentacles (reverse), 2 pentacles

Y’all are adopted. Y’all were in the system until 10 years old ( max ) then your life took another turn for the best. You always loved your adoptive family. They always welcomed you and poured into you. The whole family is always showering you with gifts, affection and support but you need an answer. You got them, you quickly realize that you dodge the bullet. Your biological family may be very abusive.

The way you show your affection with your partner in a sexual setting starts with foreplay. You may indulge in giving your full attention to them. You are the perfect boyfriend/girlfriend for nerds. You will let them rant bout all the rules in the new fantasy world in which they are obese about while giving them the ‘’fuck me’’ eyes. You have beautiful brown eyes with stars in them when you are looking at something that you love. Sex apart, they love the way you look at them. You make them feel like the most loved human being with only a look from you. The appreciation, tenderness, passion all of it in the iris of your eyes is making them love sick. Back to the sex, the way you listen and UNDERSTAND (at least try) make them feel fucking special. You even go as far as engaging in conversation with them which they looooove. Even when you are clumsy with the concept of a subject you don’t get mad when they correct you. Artists would be the perfect pair for you too. Not only are you the perfect muse (we are going to get into it later…) but you are a smart one. You don’t mind diving into the critics of philosopher, you don’t mind debating who is the best musician of the Renaissance, you don’t mind sitting down and letting your partner paint your back when they are overstimulated and you don’t mind listening to your partner singing for hours until they find perfect note. You have the patience of a God and that makes them want to give it all to you. Honestly you love discussing and especially debating because that’s why you turn on. So everything I listed is something they naturally do and everything is a way to get your panties wet/cock hard. Yes, paint on bareback and let your hand caress. Yes, sing to me how good I make you feel in between the sheets. Yes, debate the principle of Aristotle with me and show your passion. I love how you are trying to make your point while at the same focusing on my juicy lips. Ok! Pile 2, your energy fully took over for a minute. Another way you show your affection is by making sure they reach their orgasm. It doesn't matter if they are tired after going hammers into you and making you cum at least 3 times.It doesn't matter if you are worn out. You need them to cum or you are dying … Ok a bit dramatic… (I feel like y’all are natural drama queen/king). You will give them a handjob or you will rub their clit. You will do what is require for with the power still left in you to deliver your duty (Like I said fucking dramatic). Plus you will love to dive into the pleasure of a long intensive edging session, y’all can go for weeks edging. Playing with each other without actually reaching the sinful need of the body. Building the orgasm with each other and not cheating even when you are really really really horny. Is almost a principle of respect for you. Lastly, you are acceptive of them in the bedroom. You don’t shame them for their kinks, you encourage them to go for it. You allow an open and affectionate communication for y’all to discuss y'all fantasy, kinks , experience, need, want, desire, etc…

💌 : Also don't feel bad because you have leaned on your partner through out the whole quest to your roots adventure. While you were trying to puzzle the truth regarding your identity, your partner felt needed and not at all annoyed. So relief yourself from that guilt. They are fine. FIND OUT, How your partner use their fingers in the bedroom ? on Ko-fi.

PILE 3

9 wands (reverse), 2 cups, Knight wands, Tower (reverse)

Y’all are going through it mentally. You are deep in a depression rut. Y’all are victime of sexual harassment and you are healing. Is not as bad as it was but you know… sometimes the voice gets loud all over again. I am sending all the love I can,your way. You and I know it is going to get better and that the worse will pass. You just need to hang in there until you find the pace and you power back again. You knew your ex before y’all became a couple. He was a good friend when the accident happened and he came back into your life. He did not mean to leave you, you know we get busy with life and distance gets created. Naturally the Divine opens a path for you to welcome them back into your life. Then you open up and it was good and got very bad again. So you decide to cut the relationship so you can heal some more without being a burden. They are going insane Pile 3. Don’t get me wrong, they are respecting your choice. But I have the vision of someone tearing up while doing their homework. Everytime they get back into their apartment at the end of the day, they literally get in a fetus position for a good 5 minutes reminiscing about you. They pray often which is ironic since they never believe in God or anything like that. Begging them to give them your pain and leaving you alone. That you suffer enough. The tears also are not something they do. Is not that they are emotionally available, they are just very masculine .

This section of the reading is from their POV .

They love making love to you. They love caressing you. They love your cellulite. They love your small boobs, they love your stomach, they love your thick tights ( I’m so sorry but I need to say that I am fucking rooting for them. Out here pushing through the tears to deliver the message. Ironic, I rarely get REALLY emotional. If only you could feel what I am feeling …) and they love your hair (another message came through, One of your ex told you he hurted you because you were ugly and that he cheated because he loved blond … your man (I know y’all are not together but I am FUCKING rooting fo them) is screaming : I LOVE YOUR BROWN HAIR !). They kissed every part of you because they wished to make all the bad memories go away. They wish they could erase any trace of your abuser away. Is not about lust, it is all about the true passion that goes straight to their dick when they see you. Is not about owning you or winning you over. Is about protecting you and giving you the love you always deserve. They love having sex with you. When y’all were together, you could not keep y’all hands off each other. In a fucked up way you brain twisted that damm information (swear I am not mad at your brain, she is a victim too. So she is doing anything in her power to protect herself) making you feel that they only want you because of sex. Because that’s all a man can ever want from you. That’s all you are good for. You are undeserving of love because you are broken good ( Yes… Is me … again … YOU ARE NOT FUCKING BROKEN GOOD ! YOU HEARD ME ! You better tell your brain to get her shit together real quick. Is going to take time but let’s start by dropping the concept that you are damaged goods. I don’t want you to EVER think that.) The reality is they love you so much they can’t resist you. The mere fact that they can indulge in your affection is their biggest blessing. They are so grateful (Going back to their prayers, they are grateful that the Divine kept you alive and safe until you came back to them) that they get to share intimate moments with you. That you even let them see you in that seductive light. There’s nothing you can, God can do, I can do that's going to stop them from going back to you. There’s nothing that happens to you no matter how bad it is, that’s going to disgust them . There's nothing you can do that’s going to make them run away. Ever since you came back into their life, the flowers bloom, the sun shines and the birds chip. You brought the color back into their life. You brought joy to the mundane. Sex with you is an explosion of good feelings, fireworks even. They love sliding into you, seeing your face twisting in pleasure not in pain. A pleasure they are giving you and a pain they are protecting you from, safe in his presence . They often push you to keep your eyes focused on them because they want you to see you are safe. You are loved and you choose a good one proving you it was never your fault. Nothing you could have done was worth that punishment.

***BONUS***

How can you cope with your sexual wound ?

Spirit has an extra message dedicated to you.

The ultimate problem of this relationship is the perception of yourself. Before we get any further, I am not here to hurt you (Trust me, I understand you more than you think). You need to contextualize what happened to you. Maybe you are not ready to get help, maybe you are not ready to talk about… fuck maybe you just not ready to deal with it but you need to realize that he is not him. I understand that your brain wants to protect you from all the ‘’him’’. Maybe repeat to yourself out loud, ‘’ (His name) is not my enemy. He is my true lover’’ everyday while you're taking a shower. When you are caressing your body with soap, remind her, she is ok with (his name). Is important that you precise the name for your body to understand that only him at least with him everything is alright. You need to find a way to make your brain and body understand that he is your protector and lover. Because your soul knows he is home. You may not know about the rest and you got hurt by the rest but him… never him … he is all love. I know you are suffering but keeping him away is killing y'all more than you think. I am not telling you to break your boundaries or get back with him, now. You can shoot him a text. Small text here and there, telling him, you are ok , you ate. It can even be random as you telling him you are watching your favorite TV show. Let your brain get used to craving intimacy at a healthy pace. Plus it will greatly ease his mind. Please stop dissociating while you are having sex (Bestie speaking from experience, don’t do it because it can become a habit … when that happens … you will try anything to go back to feeling something …), if you feel like you can’t do it, express it. I don’t care if you are in the middle of an act. I don’t care if you feel horny but you got triggered. I DON’T CARE … take a break, regulate your nervous system and come back. Last let yourself heal, there’s no race when it come to this fuck up mess. Stop comparing yourself to your past and let yourself discover the new you, who survive one of the most terrorizing situations. Much love Chérie d’Amour, you got this and I DO … love you.

💌 : FIND OUT, How your partner use their fingers in the bedroom ? on Ko-fi.

#tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot cards #pac #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #18+ tarot #future lover #love reading #kinktober

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faerie-remuslupinsversion · 5 days ago

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Hey so… fuck you jkr

Fuck you for making everyone in your book cis, straight, white, able bodied, English speaking and from England (and if they weren’t they were some kind of stereotype)

This is my personal middle finger to you.

Remus, welsh, trans ftm, gay, disabled, uses a cane, would definitely side with Luigi, definitely only married Tonks cause they both needed someone to support them, fuck you

Sirius, French, definitely got some gender fuckery going on, bi, beats the shit out of nazis/homophobes/transphobes, love of my life, fuck you

Peter, Australian, he doesn’t fucking know or care, he just likes people (sometimes), definitely joins Sirius in his violent conquests, fuck you

James, south Asian, pan, poly, bro just loves fucking everyone, he is incapable of hate (most of the time), would literally only hate you and Voldemort, fuck you

Lily, Scottish, bi, poly, angry as fuck, will whip ur ass for talking badly about any of her friends, she would eviscerate you online, twitter is her playground and she will make you her bitch, fuck you

Marlene, Aussie, lesbian, defo some gender fuckery too, one day she’s all girly pop, next she’s in knee length cargos, crew socks, a wifebeater and uggs, about to whack you over the head with her surfboard, fuck you

Mary, Swahili, bi, trans mtf, my goddess, is just genuinely, kinder, funnier and a better writer than you, omg I just decided Mary keeps these like rlly long diaries just full of stories she’s written, hol up while I write that down, fuck you

Pandora, god knows, she’s just turned up one day, pan, trans mtf (oh I’m not even done yet), speaks in tongues fluently, would defo shit talk you to Sybil, fuck you

Sybill, Czech, bi, ace, trans (she/they) (my knowledge only extends so far on the terms front) would calmly and incredibly gorely tell you how you are going to die, and then watch Barty carry it out, smiling, fuck you

Dorcas, where do we headcanon Dorcas is from? I think she grew up in London but that might just be because I need a token “grew up here” character, would beat you, don’t fight me, fight her, fuck you

Regulus, French, bi, poly, trans ftm, he is babygirl (this is a non gendered term to me) yeah sure he’s fucked up and makes mistakes and shit, he’s remorseful, he makes up for it, but still, he’s babygirl, because if he saw you, Hed spit on your shoes and tell you to turn to love, fuck you

Evan, German, he swears Dora just showed up one day, gay, bored, loml, I cried over him two days ago, he would also beat you up, or maybe just watch Barty do it, fuck you

Barty, English (wow look at that), trans ftm, gay, fucking crazy, I love him, would troll you on twitter, would call you John Rowling and ask how much you like it BITCHHH, fuck you

Is that everyone? It doesn’t feel like everyone. I am missing someone.

OHHHH LOVES OF MY LIFE WAIT

Bellatrix, French, lesbian, crazy bitch, I love her, defo dates Rita, would be a total misandrist except for when guys are useful to her, clung only Molly cause he reminded her of the people she loved (Cissy, Rita, Andy) and would hate you :), loves Peggy by ceechyna, fuck you

Narcissa, french, lesbian, swordfights, reads Sappho, is the fucking best, Queen of lavender marriages, would give you a mildly disgusted look and walk away, we are rather displeased with you

Andromeda, French, straight (whattt???), defo tops tho, don’t know much about her but I’d like to, give me fic recommendations, she seems fucking badass, she would kill you for her little gender fluid baby, fuck you

Rita, English, lesbian (it’s getting funny at this point), trans mtf (I’m shitting myself laughing with all my headcanons written out like this), dyslexic, fight me, that quick quotes quill was there for one reason and one reason only, so she could diss you with the spelling immaculate, fuck you

Alice, German, bi, genuinely a kind person, would get incredibly angry at you if you hurt anyone she likes feeling though, wouldn’t hurt you or anything, just go best red and start crying (tears of anger) while saying mean things about you, then cissy would come over, and then she’d punch you, only if cissy said to though, fuck you

Ted, English (Yorkshire, I just know it), cis het, he does bottom though, fight me, seems genuinely kind, we love to see it, just a nice guy, fuck yeah, still fuck you though

Behold them in all their glory, no particular order or reasons. Just vibes

If I forgot anyone, pls tell me, :))) I don’t want to tag this, it’s gonna be everywhere.

I reached 30 tags so quickly,

Damn

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 8 months ago

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

What do you need to know about lgbt+ history as a lgbt+ person?

Well, if you ask like that: nothing, actually. You do not disqualify from being lgbt+ if you know nothing about history whatsoever. There’s no exam to pass.

It also doesn’t make you a bad person or a disgrace to the community or an embarrassment if you haven’t heard about a specific chapter of lgbt+ history yet - saying so would be really unfair! Maybe you live in a situation in which you don’t feel safe to do a lot of research on lgbt+ related stuff. Maybe you are a young person growing up in hard times and you’re busy just surviving. Maybe your brain works in a way that makes it harder for you to learn or retain new information than for others. Or hey, maybe you already know lots - but your learning simply focused on a different chapter than the one that hypothetical exam would be on!

Of course there are many benefits to learning about lgbt+ history. You get the general benefits of learning new things (such as training your critical thinking skills, which will help you in your everyday life, and even supporting your brain health!) but there’s also specific benefits to learning about this specific subject.

History isn’t all “learning boring stuff about dead people” - learning about past events and their consequences also helps you understand present events and gauge their potential consequences for your future. This will for example empower you in your voting decisions (or help you understand how politics influence everyday life at all, if that’s your starting point!).

Knowledge about lgbt+ history also helps you to notice misinformation more easily and enables you to counteract homophobic myths with facts.

It may even help you on a more personal level: reading up on all the people who came before you can foster a sense of identity and belonging. It might make you feel more confident to know that people like you have been around forever and have achieved so many things!

So, rather than “what do I need to know”, I think the much better question is “where do I want to start?”.

Nobody knows everything about lgbt+ history (or about any given topic, really!) and unrealistic expectations will only set you up for disappointment. It’s best to let your curiosity lead you! You’re much more likely to actually read up on something you are genuinely excited to learn about than something you’ve only been told to read.

With that in mind: it can feel overwhelming to pick a topic to start with! Especially if you’re pretty new to lgbt+ history, you may not even know where to start. So I do want to make some suggestions here. Not as a “you need to research all these today or else I’m revoking your license to gay”, just to spark your curiosity! I will not add explanations right here in the post, I just want to give you some terms you can easily put in the search bar. (Important: these are in random order, not ranked by importance or anything like that!)

US-Centric lgbt+ History

1. Stonewall Riots

2. Harvey Milk

3. Marsha P. Johnson

4. Sylvia Rivera

5. The Lavender Scare

6. Obergefell v. Hodges

7. Don't Ask, Don't Tell

8. The Mattachine Society

9. The Daughters of Bilitis

11. The AIDS crisis

12. Bayard Rustin

13. Lawrence v. Texas

14. The Gay Liberation Front

15. The Human Rights Campaign

European lgbt+ History

1. Section 28 (UK)

2. Oscar Wilde

3. Alan Turing

4. Magnus Hirschfeld

5. Paragraph 175 (Germany)

6. The Homomonument (Netherlands)

7. EuroPride

8. James Barry

9. The decriminalization of homosexuality in the UK (1967)

10. ILGA-Europe

11. Homosexual Law Reform Act 1986 (New Zealand, part of the Commonwealth)

12. The Equality Act 2010 (UK)

13. Transgender Europe (TGEU)

14. The first same-sex marriage in the Netherlands (2001)

15. Dora Richter

Have fun learning!

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

P.S: You may wonder “But what about places other than the USA or Europe?” (or those of you who already know a lot about lgbt+ history, “but what about (topic I haven’t mentioned here)”) - and that’s actually a really great point! It highlights what we talked about above: nobody knows everything + lgbt+ history is way too rich of a topic to put it all into one short list! This isn’t meant to be a comprehensive list of everything important, just some potential starting points that hopefully lead you to topics beyond ones mentioned on this list.

#lgbt #lgbt+

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donutz · 1 year ago

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Catnap x reader fluff Alphabet[1/8]

—☆You are a smiling critter in this, if u want to know which one(but don't know what animal or insect to pick) you could start out as a sheep!

Affection(How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

— Before Catnap became the not so nice Catnap, he was very affectionate

— You would be by yourself and he would cuddle against you, he can get embarrassed but only when people(or toys) point it out

— He was an absolute sweetheart, and still somewhat is

— Before, he would rub his head against you, hold your hand, purr, y’know the way cats show affection

— Now, since he’s much bigger, he curls around you, he knocks over stuff right in front of you(to him that’s affection), he shows you the dead bodies of toys and humans, somehow that’s also how he shows it, it’s like a gift I guess??

— Like how cats bring their owners a dead mice

— He still purrs around you, but it’s a really distinct sound, you have to lean in a lot to hear it

Best friend(How would they be as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

— Before, he would approach you from time to time and just stare, it’s kinda his way of saying hi

— Now, uhm.. Depending on how you acted before ‘it’ happened you would, A) Be dead or B) Be nearly dead, or not, depending if you’re a heretic to him

— Before, he would BARELLYYY approach you, and this is before! You have to do it yourself, he’s a silent kitten

— After, as in when he was a lot more distant from the other critters, it would start from you approaching him, he wouldn’t ever approach you

Cuddles(Do they cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

—Yall, this a cat we’re talking about

— Of course he would! Not all cats like to cuddle but they do like resting on their owners lap for the rest of their life

— Especially when you’re sleeping!

— He would ask permission to, but that way is him just staring at you while you’re asleep

— It was happening so often that you had to just straight up tell him

— “Catnap”.

— “?”

— “If you ever want to cuddle up to me when I’m sleeping, you can do so. You don’t need to stare at me okay?”

— “Ok-ay”.

— You gave him a hug after that, no hard feelings!!

Domestic(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

— His name is Catnap, he loves settling down!

— While watching people!

— I wouldn’t recommend letting Catnap cook

— Especially since he’s flammable

— Some of you might get what I mean

— When it comes to cleaning? I’d say he’s decent. He kinda falls asleep or just stares at the floor and gets distracted

Ending(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

— Catnap is a little boy ^_^

— The only type of ‘break up’ is killing you or stop talking to you

Fiance(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

— I don’t know about the commitment part but!! ^_^

— In the, “Let’s get married when we’re older!” way, like child way, he would not mind having a child marriage

— Like little ring pops instead of rings that cost $1k!

Gentle(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

— Before, he would listen to anything you had to say! You’re sad? Tell him about it! If you want

— As gentle as possible physically, wouldn’t say it, but would do it, like he wouldn’t say he’d be as gentle with you as possible

— In front of others

— Now, he would listen, but if you’re riding on his back or something

— He needs to ‘take care’ of the place y’know?!

— Physically, he needs to try even harder to be gentle, like with his paws when he’s grabbing you

Hugs(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

— He gets a little confused, but he will 100% accept it!

— He will have a big smile on his face!

— He mainly does it when he’s tired, but if he does it randomly it will be a quick one, or a long one, but that’s pretty rare

— His hugs are very comforting! Especially when you’re sad

— His lavender scent is the best.

— One time it made you fall asleep when you guys were having a long hug

I love you(How fast do they say the L-word?)

— RARE, THAT IS SO RARE

— You try your hardest to record it

— Before, if someone said to say it to you, he’d get a little shy but say it quietly

— He says it out of nowhere!

— You’re never able to catch it :(

— Now? Uhh, It’d take a few minutes but he’d muster it out eventually

Jealousy(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

— I saw this headcanon in where he’d get jealous unless it was with DogDay and I HIGHLY agree with that(creds to lovelybee666, if you’re reading this on Wattpad, they’re on Tumblr ^_^)

— He can get jealous, depending on how the other person or toy interacts with you

— If they’re all touchy, he’ll drag you away when they’re not looking

— Then he just stares at you as if saying, “Explain. Now.”

— He’s not thattt possessive but he can get reallyyyy jealous

— Then you’ll ‘explain’ and he’ll just chill with you for an hour or so before you can go back to them

Kisses(What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

— Sooo since his mouth is permanently a smile I have no idea on how it happens

— But what I imagine is that he uses his top ‘lip’ and gives you a smooch like that

— He likes ‘kissing’ you on the cheek

— He sometimes ‘kisses’ you on the forehead but all you see(if you’re not closing your eyes) is just darkness

— He would like forehead kisses I think

— Makes him feel all special

— But after ‘it’, if you did do that he’d stand still for a sec then sit down and rub his gigantic head on you

Little ones(How are they around children?)

— Not in the ‘having kids way’ since it says little ones, but I don’t think he’d be very active with the kids

— Unless it’s time to sleep

— He’s like a night guard it’s kinda terrifying

Morning(How are mornings spent with them?)

— Catnap never knows if it’s morning.

— But there is kind of an alarm that ‘wakes him up’

— I know this isn’t morning like but he sleeps throughout the day

Night(How are nights spent with them?)

— Adding to what I said, he rarely sleeps at night

— But if he does, he’ll be so cuddly!

— It’s so cute

— He purrs in his sleep

Open(When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

— He wouldn’t

— If you asked?

— You’d have to ask a lot, before and after the incident

— It will take a long while for him to open up about everything

— It’s like how games slowly make certain parts to it so they can reveal more lore

Patience(How easily angered are they?)

— Can get angry if you actually ignored him

— He just stares at you if he gets angry, if he’s angry because of you

— You can kinda see it in his eyes

— Like you could be mad at him for killing nearly all the smiling critters and just ignore him

— He will follow you wherever you go, then you pick you up by the back of the neck with his mouth(somehow) and take you to the thing that he knows will make you happy

— After a while, he’ll take you to his sleeping area, y’know(unless you don’t) the one that’s on the right of you before you meet Dogday

— And then it’s time to sleep

Quizzes(How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

— Catnap will most likely remember everything about you

— His memory is very good

— You could mention your favorite color and he’ll remember it if you ask him, even 5 years later

— He'd rememeber every detail

Remember(What is their favorite moment in the relationship?)

— The time you still loved him even after the hour of joy.

Security(How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

— Very, he would see a tiny spike and use his paw to pry you away from it

— He’d pick you up from the back of your neck, use his paw, protect you with his body, or just absolutely destroy what would hurt you

— He wouldn’t mind you protecting him

— But please, he can do it himself

— I bet he won’t even get scared at a cucumber

Try(How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

— You guys don’t have dates

— But before, if you did, there would be a little table with a yarn knitted candle, with Catnap in a suit while you’re in whatever you wanna wear

— And then you start talking because Catnap is never the type to start conversations

— Anniversaries?

— “Ann-ver-sary..”

— “Huh?”

— He gave you a paper

— ‘Happy Aniversairy’

— His spelling was a little off but that was okay, plus he added little hearts!

— His gifts is dead stuff

— Or, your favorite objects!

— Like your favorite flowers, pencil, doll, anything he can find will be a gift!

Ugly(What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

— How he can just not interact with you for a whole day

— Having Dogday hung up even though you tell him everyday to stop having him there

— You’d do it yourself

— But both Catnap and Prototype won’t like that

— You don’t care about Prototype but you do for Catnap

— You’ve tried convincing Dogday to just side with the two

— Multiple times

— But Dogday always goes silent

Vanity(How concerned are they with their looks?)

— He does NOT care ^_^

Whole(Would they feel incomplete without you?)

— If he killed you, and you were someone really important to him, I’d think he’d be bummed for the longest time

— He’d even zone out when Prototype would be instructing him

Xtra(A random head cannon for them.)

— Love language is maybe slightly physical touch, but gift giving is his go to

Yuck(What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

— When you yell at him

— When you ignore him

— You going against Prototype

— How you ‘pester’ him about Dogday

Zzz(What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

— You know when he had his cardboard cutout? Yeah, he snores, loud.

— But it happens only sometimes

— Most of the time he’s purring

#poppy platime fanfic #poppy playtime headcannons #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #catnap x reader #catnap fluff alphabet #catnap headcanons #catnap #smiling critters #fluff alphabet

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elderwisp · 9 days ago

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◁ || ▷

Ares: Want one?

Theo: I’m alright, thank you though.

Ares: Theo, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pick up a cigarette, much less a drink.

Theo: Old habits.

Ares: Well now I’m curious.

Theo: [ small laugh ] I’ll tell you someday. For now, we’ve got company.

Gabriel: Sorry we’re late. Gum left her wallet and decided to tell me as we boarded the train.

Gum: We were already running late! You took forever to get ready-

Gabriel: Not even-

Gum: Liar.

Ares: Come, they’ll be at it for the rest of the night.

Theo: They remind me of a married couple.

Ares: [ chuckles ] Five happy years in their lavender marriage.

Gabriel: -We should settle this in poker.

Gum: I am not betting over this ya nut!

Gabriel: So you’re basically telling me I was right.

Gum: You piss me off.

Gabriel: Prove me wrong then.

Gum: You just want my money.

Gabriel: Ok, so I am right-

Gum: UGH. Go.

Gabriel: You guys wanna watch her lose?

Theo: Uh.

Ares: We’ll make our way back.

Theo: I didn’t take you for a gambling man.

Ares: You know… Neither did I but lately anything goes.

Ares: There goes twenty.

Theo: Try betting higher.

Ares: Dangerous.

Theo: I thought anything goes.

Ares: Fine. Let’s add some rules.

Theo: Oh?

Ares: I win, you buy drinks.

Theo: And if you lose?

Ares: It’s up to you. Wouldn’t be fair.

Theo: Can it be a surprise?

Ares: …

Theo: I’ll take that as a yes.

Ares: Well shit.

#feelin' lucky??#tessellate #tessellate: ares #tessellate: theo #tessellate: gabriel #tessellate: gum #ts4 #simblr #sims community

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bullet-prooflove · 3 months ago

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Scar Tissue: Beau Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @b-bradshaw @crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman

Companion piece to:

Nine Months - Beau comes home from his deployment to a surprise revelation.

Beau has his face buried in the pillow, his teeth biting down on the fabric as your hands smooth over his back, fingers digging into the knot in his right shoulder. It’s scar tissue from Syria, his doctor tells him. Every so often it stiffens, reducing the movement in his arm. He usually goes to chiropractor but he’s been cooped up on an aircraft carrier for the past few months and he needs the relief.

“I know.” You whisper reassuringly as your thumb presses even harder into the scar tissue. “I know it hurts but it’ll be over in a minute.”

He grunts his response as the muscle tightens before it gives way under you’re ministrations. The relief floods his senses, his body relaxing into the mattress.

“Better?” You ask and he shifts, his cheek pressing into the pillow as he nods his head. You lean over him, your lips lightly brushing over his temple before you clamber off him. He watches as you stride into the bathroom, that silk, floral kimono fluttering as you walk. You rinse the lavender oil off your hands before drying it with a hand towel he doesn’t recognise.

There’s been a few new changes to the house while he’s been away. A dark wood antique desk has appeared in the living room, tucked underneath the window that looks out into the backyard, an ergonomic chair goes with it. When he put his clothes away he noticed office attire in the wardrobe. Power dresses, blazers and high heels. It’s how he knows you’re serious about retiring from the military, that this isn’t just a knee jerk reaction to a deployment that was far too long for either one of you.

“Was the deployment the tipping point?” He asks you as you step back into the bedroom, rubbing lotion into your hands. “Or was it something else?”

You lean against the doorframe, toying with your wedding ring as Beau shifts into a sitting position against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his hips.

“I don’t have a choice.” You say finally. “My time with Victim’s Support is coming to an end and I found out my next posting is Naples.”

The air rushes out of Beau’s lungs, his chest constricts because a posting isn’t like a deployment. It’s longer, a hell of a lot longer. Three years to be exact. He can’t imagine going that long without you, seeing you in intervals, a couple of weeks at a time. He understands now, that you’re sacrificing your career for the marriage, that you’re giving up one of the most important things in your life so the two of you can be together.

It’s an echo back to that first time he was deployed to Germany. You’d had a choice of posting and you’d picked San Diego so you could be together but he was already shipping out.

“I had lunch with Mic last month when he came up from Washington.” You say quietly, your attention still focused on your wedding ring. “His firm is opening a new branch here in San Diego, they’ve offered me a job and I’m going to take it.”

“Is that what you want?” He asks you, his voice a little rough and you swallow hard against the emotion in your chest, your eyes stinging.

“I don’t see us surviving any other way.” You say softly, your gaze flicking up to meet his. “I can’t go three years without you Beau, no matter how much I may like Italy.”

“And you do like Italy…” He says with a mirthless smile as he stares down at his own wedding ring. “Ally… I don’t know if I can retire.”

You try to hide the hurt but he sees it, he sees everything when it comes to you.

“I understand Beau.” You say, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “You’ve got to do what’s best for you.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson #top gun maverick #top gun cyclone #jon hamm #cyclone simpson

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amethystarachnid · 20 days ago

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maybe a prequel to let you know how Tony and y/n ended up with four kids? 🤭, just wanna focus some more on the two of them before the kids

IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION???? OF COURSE YESSSSS!!!! 🥹😍 this family is so perfect!!!

CHRISTMAS MORNING - prequel

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: the story of how you and Tony ended up with four kids

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II | Part III

ᯓ★ Tony Taglist: @groovy-lady

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The private jet touches down in Paris just as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink, orange, and lavender. From your seat, you can already see the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance, its golden lights shimmering like a beacon. The sight takes your breath away, and Tony, seated next to you, notices immediately.

“Wait until you see it up close,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “The Maldives were nice, but Paris… Paris is the city of love. It’s going to ruin you for every other place.”

“You’re the one ruining me,” you tease, turning to face him. “This is over the top, even for you. Who takes a honeymoon after the honeymoon?”

He grins, that classic Stark smirk that’s equal parts confidence and mischief. “I do. And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong. From the moment you said “I do” just a few weeks ago, Tony has made it his mission to ensure that your life together starts with nothing short of pure magic. First, there was the extravagant wedding, an intimate yet elegant affair with just the right mix of family, friends, and glamour. Then came the Maldives—a week of turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, and lazy mornings spent in each other’s arms.

And now Paris.

By the time you’re whisked away in a sleek black car to the hotel, the city’s energy is already wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Tony is at your side, his hand resting on your thigh as he points out landmarks through the window, his excitement almost boyish.

The car pulls up in front of a building so grand it looks like it was plucked from a dream. The Hôtel Plaza Athénée, with its iconic red awnings and ornate façade, is breathtaking. But it’s not until you step inside the suite that you truly understand the extent of Tony’s planning.

The room is enormous, with high ceilings, opulent chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an uninterrupted view of the Eiffel Tower. A bottle of champagne sits chilling on the marble-topped bar, and a trail of rose petals leads from the entrance to the massive bed draped in silk sheets.

“Tony,” you breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

He watches you with a satisfied smile, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Too much?”

“It’s perfect,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. “Good. Because you deserve perfect.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. “You know, you’re setting the bar really high for the rest of our marriage.”

“Good,” he says, his lips brushing against yours. “Because I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

The next few hours pass in a blissful haze. You toast to your new life together with champagne, your glasses clinking softly as you sit on the plush sofa and watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance. Tony insists on feeding you strawberries dipped in chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at his exaggerated attempts to be suave.

Eventually, the city outside calls to you, and you find yourselves wandering hand in hand through the streets of Paris. The air is cool but not cold, and the city feels alive in a way that’s almost tangible. You stop at a small café for espresso and pastries, and Tony spends the entire time gazing at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the world.

“Stop staring,” you say, trying to fight back a smile.

“Can’t help it,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I married a goddess.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his tone makes your cheeks flush.

The night ends back at the hotel, where Tony pulls you onto the balcony. The Eiffel Tower looms large before you, its lights casting a golden glow over the city. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“This,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “This is exactly how I imagined it. You and me, in Paris, with the rest of the world fading into the background.”

You turn in his arms, your hands resting on his chest. “You’re such a romantic. I never would’ve guessed.”

He chuckles, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Your laughter is muffled by his kiss, slow and deep and filled with every unspoken promise you’ve made to each other.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of soft Parisian rain tapping against the windows. The room is still dim, the heavy curtains keeping the early light at bay. Tony is already awake, propped up on one elbow as he watches you with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stark,” he says, his voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply, your own smile matching his.

He leans down to kiss you, and you lose track of time, the rain outside becoming a soothing soundtrack to the soft, lazy morning you spend wrapped up in each other.

Eventually, hunger pulls you out of bed, and Tony insists on ordering room service. When the knock comes at the door, he’s shirtless and grinning as he wheels in a cart laden with croissants, fresh fruit, and enough coffee to keep you both buzzing for hours.

“Breakfast in bed,” he announces, setting the tray down on the bed between you. “Because I’m the perfect husband.”

“Perfect, huh?” you tease, taking a sip of coffee. “What happened to ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’?”

He smirks. “Retired the playboy title. I’ve upgraded to devoted husband.”

The day unfolds in a series of moments so perfect they feel almost unreal. You visit the Louvre, where Tony pretends to critique the art in exaggerated tones that have you laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You stroll along the Seine, stopping at little shops and buying ridiculous souvenirs, including a beret that Tony insists you wear for the rest of the day.

That evening, he surprises you with dinner at Le Jules Verne, the Michelin-starred restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower. The view is spectacular, but it’s the way Tony looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—that truly takes your breath away.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks, his voice low and sincere.

“Only about a hundred times,” you reply, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Not enough, then,” he says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

By the time you return to the hotel, Paris feels like it’s become a part of you—its magic, its beauty, and the love you’ve shared here all weaving themselves into the fabric of your story.

As you lie together in the dark, the Eiffel Tower’s lights casting a soft glow through the curtains, Tony pulls you close, his arms warm and strong around you.

“You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Someday, when we have kids, I’m going to tell them all about this trip.”

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That it was the start of everything,” he says softly. “The moment I realized there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

Your heart swells at his words, and as you drift off to sleep, you know without a doubt that this is the beginning of a love story for the ages.

The days in Paris seem to blur together in a dreamlike haze, each one more romantic and enchanting than the last. Tony insists on showing you everything—whether it’s the iconic landmarks or the hidden gems only locals seem to know about. He pulls out all the stops, making sure every moment feels like something out of a fairytale.

One afternoon, you visit the Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre, climbing the steps hand in hand as the city sprawls out beneath you in all its beauty. Tony stops halfway up to pull you into his arms and kiss you, not caring about the crowd around you. When you reach the top, he wraps an arm around your waist and points out landmarks in the distance, his voice filled with excitement as if he’s seeing it all for the first time too.

“You see that?” he says, pointing to a small café nestled in a nearby street. “We’ll grab a coffee there before heading back. Locals swear by it.”

“You’ve done your homework,” you tease, leaning into him.

“Only the best for Mrs. Stark,” he replies, kissing your temple.

From there, the two of you wander through the cobbled streets of Montmartre, stopping to admire street art and musicians performing on the corners. You share a crepe from a tiny stand, laughing as Tony tries (and fails) to eat it without getting powdered sugar all over his shirt.

“Worth it,” he says, brushing the sugar off with a grin.

That evening, you stroll along the Seine as the sun sets, painting the water in golden hues. Tony takes you to a bookshop filled with ancient, leather-bound tomes and buys you a vintage copy of a French poetry collection, insisting that you read it to him later even though your French is rusty at best.

“You’ll butcher the pronunciation,” he jokes, tucking the book under his arm. “But it’ll still be sexy.”

The laughter, the stolen kisses, the endless affection—it’s all a reminder of how much you love each other and how lucky you are to have found this kind of happiness.

On your fifth day in Paris, you return to the hotel suite after a long day of exploring, expecting to collapse onto the bed and rest your aching feet. But the moment you step inside, you freeze.

The room has been transformed.

Dozens of candles flicker softly, their golden light casting a warm glow over the space. Flowers are everywhere—roses, peonies, and lilies arranged in elegant bouquets on every surface. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket next to two crystal flutes, and soft music plays from hidden speakers.

You turn to Tony, your eyes wide. “What’s all this?”

He smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Just thought we’d end our Paris trip with a little extra magic.”

“Tony…”

“You deserve it,” he says simply, stepping closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Every candle, every flower, every second of happiness—I want you to have it all.”

Your chest tightens with emotion as you lean into him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, come on. Let’s toast to us.”

You sit together on the plush sofa, sipping champagne and letting the weight of the day melt away. Tony is as charming and witty as ever, making you laugh until your sides ache. But there’s also a softness to him tonight, a quiet vulnerability that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

As the champagne flows, the conversation grows quieter, more intimate. You talk about your future together, the life you’re building, the dreams you both have for the years to come.

“I can’t wait to see you as a dad,” you say softly, your head resting on his shoulder.

He chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “Oh, I’ll be the fun parent, no doubt about it. You’ll be the one who makes sure they eat their vegetables and do their homework.”

“And you’ll be the one teaching them how to hotwire a car,” you tease.

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “We’ll balance each other out.”

The night stretches on, and as the candles burn lower, you find yourselves tangled together on the bed, the rest of the world fading away. Tony is all soft whispers and gentle touches, his love for you shining in every movement, every kiss.

The next two days pass in a blissful haze, though the knowledge that your time in Paris is coming to an end lingers in the back of your mind. You make the most of every moment, revisiting your favorite spots and indulging in one last round of pastries and wine.

Finally, the day comes when you have to leave. The flight back to Miami is bittersweet—you’re excited to return to the villa, but saying goodbye to Paris feels like leaving a piece of your heart behind.

As the plane takes off, Tony reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. “We’ll come back,” he promises, his voice soft. “Maybe for an anniversary. Or just because. Paris will always be here for us.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, a contented smile on your lips. “I love you,” you whisper.

He turns to press a kiss to your hair. “I love you more.”

When you finally arrive back at the villa, the familiar warmth of home wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The memories of Paris stay with you, though, lingering in the air like the scent of roses and champagne.

And as you fall asleep that night, nestled in Tony’s arms, you can’t help but feel like this is just the beginning of a love story that will last a lifetime.

A month later, life in Miami has settled into a blissful rhythm. The villa feels alive with the love and laughter you and Tony share, the memories of Paris still fresh in your mind. You’ve spent the last few weeks unpacking souvenirs, teasing Tony for his over-the-top beret collection, and finding new ways to love each other in the quiet moments of daily life.

But lately, you’ve noticed something different. Subtle changes that make you stop and think. The fatigue you’ve been brushing off as jet lag doesn’t seem to fade, and you’ve had a few mornings where you’ve woken up feeling queasy. At first, you dismiss it—stress, the heat, maybe a stomach bug. But as the days pass, a quiet suspicion grows in the back of your mind.

It isn’t until one morning, when the smell of Tony’s coffee turns your stomach, that you realize you need answers.

With Tony busy in his workshop, you sneak out to the nearest pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test. The drive back feels surreal, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. Once home, you lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick as if it holds the key to your entire future.

And then it happens.

Two lines.

Your breath catches in your throat, and tears spring to your eyes as the realization washes over you. You’re pregnant.

The moment feels too big to contain, and you sit there for a while, holding the test and letting the joy sink in. When you finally compose yourself, your thoughts immediately turn to Tony. How will you tell him? He’s going to be thrilled—you know that much. But you want to make the moment as special as he’s made every moment for you.

An idea begins to form, and soon you’re rushing around the villa, gathering supplies and making calls. By the time Tony emerges from his workshop that evening, everything is ready.

He walks into the living room, his T-shirt smudged with grease and his hair a charming mess. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, glancing around. “What’s all this?”

The room is bathed in soft candlelight, with a trail of rose petals leading to the dining table. On the table sits a small box wrapped in gold paper, alongside a plate of Tony’s favorite dessert.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady as your heart races.

His eyebrows lift, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Another surprise? You’re spoiling me, Mrs. Stark.”

“Just sit,” you urge, gesturing to the chair.

He does as he’s told, his curiosity evident. “What’s the occasion?”

You smile, your hands trembling slightly as you hand him the box. “Open it and find out.”

He gives you a playful look but tears into the wrapping with childlike enthusiasm. Inside, he finds a tiny pair of baby booties—soft, white, and impossibly small. His hands freeze, and his eyes widen as he stares at the booties.

“Wait…” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at you, his expression a mixture of shock and awe. “Are you…?”

You nod, tears filling your eyes. “We’re having a baby, Tony.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to find the right words. And then he’s on his feet, pulling you into his arms with so much force you let out a surprised laugh.

“We’re having a baby,” he repeats, his voice full of wonder. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“You’re going to be a dad,” you confirm, your hands clutching the back of his shirt as he holds you close.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face. “You’re amazing. Do you know that? You’re absolutely amazing.”

You laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You had a little something to do with it.”

“Yeah, but you’re doing the hard part,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. He presses his hands gently to your stomach, even though it’s still flat. “Hey, little Stark. It’s your dad. Just wanted to say… I love you already.”

Your heart swells as you watch him, his usual bravado replaced by a tenderness that takes your breath away.

“Tony,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’m going to take care of you both. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Over the next few days, Tony’s excitement only grows. He dives headfirst into research, ordering books on pregnancy and parenting, and even designing a state-of-the-art baby monitor. He starts asking you a million questions—Are you eating enough? Are you getting enough rest? Do you need anything?

One evening, you catch him talking to your belly again, his voice soft and full of love.

“So, here’s the deal,” he says, his hand resting gently on your stomach. “You’re going to have the best mom in the world. Seriously, she’s amazing. And me? Well, I’ll do my best not to embarrass you too much. But I can’t make any promises.”

You watch from the doorway, your heart melting at the sight.

“Are you giving our baby a pep talk?” you ask, stepping into the room.

Tony looks up, grinning. “Just getting a head start. Never too early to bond, right?”

You laugh, sitting beside him on the couch. “You’re going to be an incredible dad, you know that?”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Only because I have you by my side.”

As the weeks pass, the reality of your pregnancy begins to sink in. You and Tony start making plans—converting one of the spare rooms into a nursery, discussing baby names, and dreaming about the future.

One night, as you lie in bed together, Tony traces lazy patterns on your arm, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply, smiling. “What do you think?”

He grins. “If it’s a girl, she’s going to have me wrapped around her little finger from day one. And if it’s a boy… well, I’ll teach him everything I know about being a genius billionaire.”

You laugh, resting your head on his chest. “Either way, they’re going to be loved beyond measure.”

Tony presses a kiss to your hair. “That’s a guarantee.”

In the quiet moments like this, you feel the weight of your happiness, the love you share with Tony expanding to make room for the new life you’re creating together. And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but think that this is the beginning of the greatest adventure yet.

The months of your pregnancy pass like a whirlwind, a beautiful blend of preparation, excitement, and moments of quiet connection between you and Tony. From the moment you told him the news, he’s been by your side for every step of the journey, making sure you feel loved, supported, and cared for in every possible way.

It starts with the nursery. One morning, Tony wakes you up with a mischievous grin and a blueprint in hand.

“Alright, future Stark,” he says, pointing to the paper. “Your nursery is going to be the coolest room in the house. Scratch that—the coolest room on the planet.”

You roll your eyes fondly, propping yourself up on the pillows. “Tony, it’s a baby, not a Stark Expo exhibit.”

“Details,” he says, waving a hand. “Look at this. Adjustable crib height. Temperature-controlled walls. And, of course, a soundproof system so I can build without waking the baby.”

“Let’s start with painting the walls,” you suggest, laughing.

He’s relentless in his enthusiasm, though, and over the weeks, you watch as the nursery transforms. The walls are painted in soft, neutral tones—gentle creams and grays, perfect for the baby whether it’s a boy or a girl. Tony can’t help but add some of his signature flair, installing a ceiling full of tiny twinkling lights to mimic the night sky.

“It’s so they’ll always have stars to look at,” he explains one night, pulling you into his arms as you both admire the room.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

The gender reveal happens a few months later, and true to your style, you decide to keep it intimate—just the two of you. You’ve both been careful to avoid finding out the baby’s sex during the ultrasounds, wanting to make the moment special.

One evening, you sit on the villa’s balcony, the ocean breeze ruffling your hair as the sun dips below the horizon. Tony has set up a simple cake with neutral frosting, and as he brings it over, you can’t help but feel a nervous excitement flutter in your chest.

“Are you ready?” he asks, holding the knife out to you.

You nod, your hand trembling slightly as you both cut into the cake together. As the first slice falls away, the inside reveals a soft pink color, and your breath catches in your throat.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, tears springing to your eyes.

Tony lets out a breathless laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. “We’re having a daughter.”

The rest of the evening is spent basking in the joy of the news. Tony pours a sparkling apple cider for the two of you, and you sit together under the stars, imagining what your little girl will be like.

“She’s going to be brilliant,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair. “Beautiful, like her mom. And probably a handful, like her dad.”

You laugh, placing a hand on your growing belly. “We’ll name her something strong. Something that fits her.”

Over the next few months, as your belly swells and your connection to the baby grows, the name “Cora” keeps coming up in conversation.

“It’s classic, but not too common,” you say one night, lying in bed as Tony traces lazy circles on your stomach.

“And it has a nice ring to it,” he agrees.

Eventually, it feels like the name was always meant for her. Cora Stark.

Tony talks to your belly every chance he gets, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Hey, Cora,” he says one evening, resting his head on your bump. “It’s your dad. I can’t wait to meet you. Just so you know, you’ve already got me wrapped around your little finger. And your mom? She’s a superhero, so you’re in good hands.”

The sweetness of his words never fails to make you smile. He’s even more protective than usual, refusing to let you lift a finger. You catch him researching everything from the best prenatal vitamins to baby-proofing techniques, and his dedication warms your heart.

As your due date approaches, the anticipation becomes almost unbearable. The nursery is ready, filled with soft blankets, tiny clothes, and toys Tony couldn’t resist buying. You spend your days nesting, organizing and reorganizing the drawers, while Tony hovers nearby, insisting on carrying anything heavier than a feather.

Then, one warm evening, it happens.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, when a sharp pain shoots through your abdomen. You freeze, your hand going to your belly as the knife clatters onto the counter.

“Tony,” you call out, your voice trembling.

He’s at your side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think it’s time,” you say, clutching his arm as another contraction hits.

The next few hours are a blur of activity. Tony keeps his cool—barely—helping you to the car and driving to the hospital while simultaneously calling the doctor, Pepper, and every other person he thinks might need to know.

When you finally reach the delivery room, he’s by your side the entire time, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this,” he says, his voice steady even though his eyes are filled with emotion. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cries of your baby girl.

“She’s here,” Tony whispers, his voice breaking as the doctor places the tiny bundle in your arms.

You look down at her, tears streaming down your face as you take in her tiny features—the soft tuft of hair, the little fingers that curl around yours.

“She’s perfect,” you whisper, your voice full of awe.

Tony leans over, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gazing at his daughter with a look of pure adoration.

“Hi, Cora,” he says softly, his finger brushing her cheek. “I’m your dad. And I love you more than anything.”

In that moment, with Cora in your arms and Tony by your side, the world feels complete. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of is right here, wrapped in the love you share as a family. And as you hold your daughter close, you know this is only the beginning of a beautiful new chapter.

Bringing Cora home for the first time is a surreal experience. The nursery, once so pristine and untouched, now feels alive with her presence. You carry her into the house, cradled in your arms, while Tony hovers beside you, holding the diaper bag as if it contains fragile glass. He’s been unusually quiet since leaving the hospital, his eyes never leaving Cora’s tiny face.

When you step into the nursery, the soft twinkling lights on the ceiling cast a warm glow over the room. You place her in the crib, a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a pink blanket, and just stand there for a moment, your heart swelling with love.

“She’s really here,” you whisper, brushing a hand over her downy hair.

Tony leans over the crib, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “She’s so small,” he murmurs. “How is she even real?”

“She’s half you,” you tease, looking up at him. “Of course she’s perfect.”

He smirks, though his voice softens as he says, “She’s more you. That’s why she’s perfect.”

From the very first night, it’s clear that Cora has Tony wrapped firmly around her tiny, delicate fingers. She lets out the smallest whimper, and Tony is already out of bed, rushing to her side.

“Tony,” you murmur sleepily, watching him through half-closed eyes as he leans over the crib, gently picking her up.

“She needs me,” he insists, rocking her gently in his arms.

“She’s probably just fussing in her sleep.”

He shakes his head, looking down at her with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “She needs her dad.”

And that’s how the nights go. While you’re the one feeding her, Tony is always right there, handing you bottles, adjusting her blanket, or just staring at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

By the end of the first week, you’re both running on very little sleep, but Tony seems to have developed a superhuman ability to function despite it. You, on the other hand, aren’t quite as lucky. One morning, you’re sitting on the couch with Cora in your arms, trying to keep your eyes open, when Tony appears with a tray of breakfast.

“Eat,” he commands, setting the tray in front of you. “I’ve got her.”

You blink up at him, too exhausted to argue. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he says, carefully scooping Cora into his arms.

You watch as he starts pacing the room, humming softly to her. It’s a completely different side of Tony than the one the world knows—the billionaire playboy, the genius inventor. Here, he’s just a dad, utterly devoted to his little girl.

Over the next few weeks, his devotion only deepens. He insists on being part of everything, from diaper changes to bath time. At first, he’s all thumbs, fumbling with the snaps on her onesies and nearly dropping a bottle during one of her feedings.

“You’re a genius, and you can’t figure out baby clothes?” you tease, watching as he wrestles with a stubborn button.

“Hey,” he shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “This is complicated engineering.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. Soon, he’s a pro at changing diapers, even inventing a gadget to make the process faster.

“See?” he says proudly one afternoon, holding up the contraption. “Efficiency is key.”

“Tony,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Sometimes you just have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

“Not in this house,” he declares, grinning.

Cora, for her part, seems to adore her dad. She has a way of calming down the moment she’s in his arms, her tiny hand clutching his shirt or his finger. Tony takes every little coo and gurgle as a sign of her brilliance.

“She’s communicating,” he tells you one evening as she babbles happily in his lap.

“She’s just making baby noises,” you reply, amused.

“No, she’s trying to say something. I think she’s trying to say ‘Dad.’”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tony, she’s three weeks old.”

“Genius genes,” he counters, grinning.

Despite his confidence, there are moments when you catch him looking a little overwhelmed. One night, as you’re getting ready for bed, you find him sitting in the nursery, holding Cora close to his chest.

“Hey,” you say softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He looks up, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just… I want to get everything right, you know? I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you assure him, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. “You already love her more than anything. That’s what matters.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around both you and Cora. “She’s going to be amazing,” he murmurs. “Just like her mom.”

As the weeks turn into months, you start to settle into a routine. Cora’s personality begins to shine through—she’s curious, always wide-eyed and alert, and she has a smile that could light up the entire villa.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting in the living room, Tony pulls out a small black notebook and starts scribbling furiously.

“What are you doing?” you ask, cradling Cora in your arms.

“Baby Stark’s first invention ideas,” he says without looking up.

You laugh. “Tony, she’s not even sitting up yet.”

“Exactly. I’m getting ahead of the game.”

Moments like these make you realize how deeply in love you are—not just with Tony, but with the life you’ve built together. Watching him with Cora, seeing the way he lights up when she’s in the room, fills you with a sense of peace you’ve never known before.

And when Cora falls asleep at night, nestled in her crib under the twinkling lights, you and Tony steal moments for yourselves.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony wraps an arm around you and pulls you close.

“Can you believe we made her?” he asks, his voice soft with wonder.

You smile, resting your head on his chest. “It’s hard to believe sometimes. She’s so perfect.”

“She is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. “And so are you.”

You fall asleep that night with his arms around you, your heart full of love for the little family you’ve created. It’s not always easy—there are sleepless nights and moments of exhaustion—but through it all, one thing remains constant: the love that binds you, Tony, and Cora together.

Cora as a toddler is an absolute whirlwind of energy and discovery, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s just beginning to babble actual words, and while most of them are jumbled sounds only you and Tony can interpret, she’s already mastered a few favorites: “Mama,” “Dada,” and, of course, “No.”

Tony is hopelessly, utterly smitten with her. If she had him wrapped around her finger as a newborn, she now has him tied up in a full bow, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

One morning, you find him sprawled out on the nursery floor, Cora perched on his chest like she owns him. She’s giggling uncontrollably, her tiny hands patting his face as he makes exaggerated silly noises.

“Stark Industries meeting canceled, I assume?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe with a cup of coffee in hand.

Tony tilts his head to look at you, his face smeared with what looks suspiciously like mashed banana. “This is more important,” he declares, grinning. “I’m raising the next CEO.”

Cora claps her hands at the sound of his voice. “Dada!” she exclaims, the word coming out loud and clear.

“That’s right,” Tony says, beaming. “Say it again. Come on, kid, show your mom who your favorite is.”

You laugh, setting your coffee down and crossing the room to join them. “She loves us equally,” you point out, scooping Cora into your arms.

Cora doesn’t seem to care about the argument, instead turning her attention to your hair, which she grabs with surprising force.

“She’s got your strength,” Tony says, sitting up and brushing banana off his shirt.

“And your flair for chaos,” you counter, wincing as you gently pry her fingers away from your hair.

Despite her mischievous streak, Cora is endlessly sweet. She loves to hand you things—blocks, books, occasionally random objects she’s found on the floor—and say “Here!” in her high-pitched little voice. Tony, of course, takes every offering as a priceless treasure.

“Thank you, princess,” he says one afternoon when she toddles up to him with a crumpled napkin. He acts like she’s just handed him a gold bar, holding it up to the light and examining it with mock seriousness.

“Tony,” you say, laughing, “it’s trash.”

“Not to her, it’s not,” he says, slipping the napkin into his pocket as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Cora’s curiosity knows no bounds. She loves exploring every corner of the villa, her little feet pattering on the marble floors as she goes from room to room. Tony has taken it upon himself to baby-proof everything, but he still follows her around like a hawk, ready to scoop her up at the first sign of trouble.

One day, you find the two of them in Tony’s workshop, Cora sitting on the floor with a pile of colorful wires in front of her.

“Tony,” you say, raising an eyebrow, “is that… safe?”

“They’re not plugged into anything,” he assures you, crouching down next to her. “See? Harmless.”

Cora picks up a wire and holds it out to him. “Here!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, taking it with a grin. “You’re a natural.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. The two of them are thick as thieves, and it’s clear that Tony treasures every moment he spends with her.

Cora’s vocabulary grows quickly, and every new word is cause for celebration. When she says “love you” for the first time, you both nearly melt on the spot.

It happens one evening as you’re sitting on the couch, Cora snuggled between you with her favorite plush bunny clutched in her arms.

“Cora,” Tony says, leaning close to her, “do you know how much Dada loves you?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes, then tilts her head. “Love you!” she chirps.

You gasp, your hand flying to your mouth. “Did she just—?”

“She did,” Tony says, his voice thick with emotion. “She said it!”

“Love you!” Cora repeats, this time reaching out to pat his cheek.

Tony pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, princess,” he says softly.

Watching the two of them together fills you with a sense of joy that’s hard to put into words. Tony has always been larger than life, but with Cora, he’s different—softer, more grounded. He’s still the genius billionaire you fell in love with, but now he’s also a dad, and he takes that role just as seriously as he takes everything else in his life.

There are countless little moments that make your heart swell. Like the time Tony taught Cora to say “yes” by offering her cookies every time she got it right. Or the time he built her a tiny rideable car, complete with her name painted on the side.

“She’s one,” you pointed out as he presented the car to her. “She can barely walk, let alone drive.”

“Early start,” he said, unbothered.

And then there’s bedtime, which has become a ritual of its own. Tony insists on reading her a story every night, even when he’s exhausted from work. Cora’s favorite book is one about a bunny who goes on adventures, and she lights up every time Tony does the voices.

“One day, you’ll go on adventures too,” he tells her as he tucks her in. “But for now, your only job is to sleep and dream big, okay?”

“Dada,” she says sleepily, reaching out for him.

He stays by her side until she drifts off, his hand resting gently on her back.

Afterward, you find him standing in the nursery, looking down at her with a look of pure love on his face.

“She’s everything,” he says quietly, turning to you. “How did we get so lucky?”

You smile, wrapping your arms around him. “I ask myself that every day.”

Life with Cora is a constant adventure, filled with laughter, love, and moments of pure magic. And as you watch her grow, you can’t help but feel grateful for the beautiful family you’ve built together. Tony may have the world at his feet, but it’s clear that to him, Cora is his entire universe—and she always will be.

The first day of school for Cora feels like a milestone for both her and Tony. She’s five years old and practically vibrating with excitement, her tiny backpack filled with everything she carefully picked out for the occasion: pencils, crayons, and a little notebook with bunnies on the cover.

Tony, on the other hand, is vibrating with nerves.

“She’ll be fine,” you assure him for the tenth time that morning as Cora spins in circles by the door, already dressed in her new outfit.

“But what if she’s not?” Tony protests, watching her like she’s about to walk into battle. “What if some kid’s a jerk to her? Or what if she doesn’t like her teacher? Or—”

“Dada!” Cora calls, cutting off his spiral. “Let’s go!”

Tony sighs, giving you a helpless look. “She’s so little,” he says quietly.

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “She’s ready. And so are we.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he manages to pull himself together as you drive her to the school. When it’s finally time to say goodbye, Cora gives each of you a kiss on the cheek and marches into the building like she owns it.

“She’s going to be a CEO one day,” Tony mutters as he watches her go.

“Just like her dad,” you reply, smiling.

Time flies after that. Cora thrives at school, coming home every day with stories about her friends and the things she’s learned. Tony makes it a point to be there for every milestone, from her first science fair to her first school play, where she confidently announces to the entire audience that her dad “builds robots that save the world.”

By the time she’s ten, Cora is a perfect mix of you and Tony: sharp, curious, and endlessly confident. She has her dad’s knack for problem-solving and your steady kindness, and you couldn’t be prouder of the person she’s becoming.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at the little test in your hand, your heart racing. Two lines.

“Tony?” you call, your voice trembling slightly.

He appears in the doorway a moment later, his face immediately shifting to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You hold up the test, your lips curving into a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing the words. Then his face lights up, and he pulls you into his arms, laughing in that carefree way that makes your heart swell.

“We’re having another baby,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it.

Cora takes the news better than either of you expected. When you sit her down to tell her, she gasps, her eyes going wide.

“I’m going to be a big sister?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

“That’s right,” you say, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Are you ready for the job?”

She nods vigorously. “Yes! I’ll teach them everything I know!”

It’s not until the ultrasound that you discover the truth: you’re having twins.

Tony’s jaw drops when the doctor says the words, and for a moment, he’s uncharacteristically silent.

“Twins,” he finally says. “As in… two babies?”

“That’s usually what it means,” you tease, though you’re just as stunned as he is.

From that moment on, the chaos begins. Tony throws himself into preparing for the arrival of the twins, turning one of the spare rooms into a nursery with military precision. He builds matching cribs, installs baby monitors, and even designs a twin stroller that’s sleeker and more high-tech than anything on the market.

Cora, meanwhile, is fully invested in her role as a big sister. She helps you pick out baby clothes, suggesting everything from tiny bow ties to onesies with rocket ships on them.

“You know they’ll be babies, right?” you say one afternoon as she holds up a miniature suit.

“I know,” she replies confidently. “But they’ll grow into it.”

The day the twins are born is nothing short of extraordinary. You’ve never seen Tony more nervous—or more excited. When Alex and Howard finally arrive, tiny and perfect, Tony is instantly smitten. He holds each of them like they’re the most precious things in the world, his voice soft as he murmurs words of love and promises to protect them.

Cora is equally enchanted. She insists on being the first to hold them, her eyes wide as she cradles Alex in her arms.

“He’s so small,” she whispers, her voice filled with wonder.

“That’s because he’s a baby,” Tony says, smiling at her.

She rolls her eyes, already slipping into her role as the older sibling. “I know that, Dada.”

The first days at home are a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. Tony is a natural, juggling the demands of two newborns with the same ease he handles billion-dollar deals. Cora does her best to help, fetching bottles and rocking the twins when they cry.

“They like me,” she says proudly one afternoon as she sits between their bassinets, singing softly.

“Of course they do,” you say, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re their big sister.”

Life with twins is chaotic, but it’s also filled with moments of pure joy. Like the way Tony lights up every time one of them coos or how Cora insists on reading them bedtime stories, even though they’re too young to understand the words.

“They’re going to be geniuses,” Tony declares one evening as he holds Alex in one arm and Howard in the other. “Just like their dad.”

“And their mom,” you add, smiling as you watch him with the boys.

Cora, sitting nearby with her favorite book, looks up and grins. “And their big sister!”

The event is one of Stark Industries’ annual galas, and this year, Tony insists on making it a full-family affair. It’s the first time you’ve attended one of these with the kids in tow—until now, events like this were reserved for just you and Tony while the children stayed home with their trusted nanny. But the twins are four now, and Tony seems to think they’re ready.

“They’re not ready,” you say as you adjust the hem of your dress, already picturing Alex and Howard tearing through the banquet hall like twin hurricanes.

“They’ll be fine,” Tony says with his signature confidence. He’s seated on the edge of the bed, fixing his cufflinks. “It’s good PR. The Stark family, united. The kids will charm everyone.”

“Howard bit Alex yesterday because he didn’t want to share a crayon,” you remind him.

Tony waves you off. “It’s a gala, not an art class. No crayons, no problem.”

Meanwhile, Cora, now 14 and perpetually exasperated by her younger brothers, is leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. She’s dressed in a sleek black dress that makes her look far older than she is, her hair pulled back in a way that Tony has already called “unnecessarily mature” twice.

“They’re going to ruin it,” she says, crossing her arms.

“You’re not helping,” you tell her with a pointed look.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” she replies, smirking.

Getting everyone ready for the event is an ordeal in itself. The twins are surprisingly cooperative during bath time, but when it comes to getting dressed, it’s chaos. Howard refuses to wear the tiny bow tie you picked out for him, while Alex insists on wearing mismatched socks.

“You can’t see the socks under his shoes,” Tony says, clearly taking Alex’s side as he kneels down to help him into his little suit jacket.

“It’s not about the socks,” you reply, exasperated. “It’s about setting a tone. If we let them win now, they’ll think they can get away with anything.”

“They already think that,” Cora mutters under her breath, earning a sharp glance from you.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle everyone into their outfits. The twins look adorable despite their protests, and Cora looks effortlessly elegant in a way that makes you realize just how quickly she’s growing up.

“Alright, team,” Tony says as you all pile into the car. “Here’s the plan: we walk in, smile, mingle, and don’t touch anything breakable. Got it?”

“Got it,” Alex says, but you can already see the mischievous glint in his eyes.

The gala is held at a luxurious hotel downtown, the kind of place with chandeliers that probably cost more than your car. As you step into the grand hall, you’re immediately greeted by a sea of familiar faces—board members, investors, and socialites, all eager to shake Tony’s hand and coo over the children.

Cora stays close to your side, her expression polite but bored. The twins, on the other hand, are a bundle of energy, bouncing between you and Tony as they take in the glittering surroundings.

“Look at the big lights!” Alex exclaims, pointing at the chandelier above.

“Don’t climb it,” you say automatically, earning a laugh from Tony.

The first hour goes surprisingly well. The twins stick close, charmed by the endless parade of hors d’oeuvres and the fact that everyone keeps calling them “little gentlemen.” Howard even manages to say “thank you” without prompting when a waiter hands him a tiny plate of macarons, and you catch Tony beaming with pride.

But then the novelty starts to wear off.

“I’m bored,” Alex announces, tugging on Tony’s jacket.

“Me too,” Howard adds, his voice edging toward a whine.

“Okay,” you say, crouching down to their level. “What if we play a game? You two are spies, and your mission is to stay as quiet and sneaky as possible. Can you do that?”

They nod enthusiastically, though you’re not entirely convinced.

Meanwhile, Cora has found a corner to sit in, her phone in hand.

“Cora,” Tony says, frowning. “You’re at a gala, not a texting marathon. Put the phone away.”

She rolls her eyes but complies, slipping the phone into her clutch. “Fine. But if they break something, it’s not my fault.”

It doesn’t take long for the twins to push the boundaries of their “spy mission.” You catch Alex attempting to sneak a second macaron off a waiter’s tray, and Howard is dangerously close to climbing onto the stage where the band is playing.

“Alright,” Tony says, swooping in to scoop Howard up before he can make it past the first step. “Time for a Stark family meeting.”

He gathers everyone in a quiet corner, crouching down to look the twins in the eye. “Listen, guys, I know this isn’t as exciting as, say, Disneyland, but this is important to your mom and me. Can you stick with us for a little longer?”

“Okay, Dada,” Howard says, his small voice earnest.

Tony ruffles his hair. “That’s my boy.”

The evening continues with only minor hiccups. Alex spills a glass of water on a chair, and Howard tries to play hide-and-seek under one of the tables, but overall, it’s manageable. Cora even manages to crack a smile when one of Tony’s colleagues tells her she looks just like him.

“Poor kid,” Tony says later, his voice low as he leans toward you.

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

By the time the event starts winding down, the twins are visibly tired, their earlier mischief replaced by yawns and sleepy eyes. Cora looks ready to leave too, though she’s done an admirable job of keeping her brothers in check.

As you gather your things and prepare to head out, Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“See?” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We survived.”

“Barely,” you reply, though you can’t help but smile.

On the drive home, Alex and Howard fall asleep almost immediately, their heads resting against each other. Cora sits quietly, her phone back in hand but her expression content.

Tony looks over at you, his eyes soft. “We did good, didn’t we?”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Yeah, we did.”

As chaotic as the evening was, it’s moments like these—together as a family—that make it all worthwhile.

The night Estelle is conceived feels like something out of a rom-com that turns unexpectedly steamy. Cora is 16 and fully immersed in her own teenage world, juggling her social life, school, and extracurriculars like a pro. The twins, at six years old, are finally at a stage where they’re not constantly climbing the furniture or attempting to build rocket ships out of household appliances.

That night, the twins are having a rare sleepover at a friend’s house, and Cora has locked herself in her room with her homework and noise-canceling headphones. The house feels unusually quiet—peaceful, even—which is an anomaly in the Stark household.

Tony takes full advantage of it.

You’re in the kitchen, finishing the dishes after dinner, when Tony sneaks up behind you. His hands slide around your waist, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“What are you doing?” you ask, though you’re already smiling.

“Enjoying the silence,” he murmurs, his lips trailing along your skin. “And my incredibly hot wife.”

You laugh, swatting at him with the dish towel. “Tony, I’m doing dishes.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” he says, turning you around to face him. There’s that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that still makes your heart skip a beat after all these years. “But this moment? It’s fleeting.”

Before you can respond, he picks you up and carries you—dish towel and all—upstairs to your bedroom, where the evening takes a decidedly romantic turn.

A few weeks later, you start noticing the signs. You’re more tired than usual, food smells are suddenly a little too strong, and Tony catches you crying over a commercial for baby diapers.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned, as you wipe at your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you say, though the realization is starting to dawn on you.

The next morning, you take a pregnancy test. And then a second. And a third, just to be sure.

“Holy crap,” you whisper, staring at the two pink lines.

You decide to tell Tony that evening. He’s tinkering in his workshop when you walk in, holding a tiny pair of baby socks you picked up earlier that day.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking up from his project.

“You’re going to be a dad again,” you say softly, holding out the socks.

Tony’s reaction is immediate—he stands so quickly that his chair nearly topples over. “Wait, are you serious?”

You nod, tears in your eyes.

His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh my God,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “We’re having another baby?”

“Yes,” you laugh, overwhelmed by his enthusiasm.

He drops to his knees in front of you, pressing his hands gently to your stomach—even though there’s no bump yet. “Hey, little one,” he says softly. “It’s me, your dad. You’re going to love it here, I promise. Just wait until you meet your mom—she’s the best.”

When you tell the kids, their reactions are predictably chaotic.

Cora is thrilled. At 16, she’s mature enough to appreciate the idea of a new sibling without feeling jealous. “Oh my God, another one?” she says, laughing. “Are you guys trying to build a basketball team or something?”

The twins, however, are a different story.

“What?” Alex says, his eyes wide. “A baby?”

“Where’s it gonna sleep?” Howard demands. “In our room?”

You kneel down in front of them, trying to explain. “The baby will have its own room, just like you guys do. And you’ll still have plenty of time with me and Daddy.”

“But babies cry,” Alex points out, looking skeptical.

“And poop,” Howard adds, wrinkling his nose.

Tony steps in, crouching down beside you. “True,” he says, nodding seriously. “But babies also think their big brothers are the coolest people on the planet. This baby is going to look up to you two like superheroes.”

That seems to win them over—at least for now.

As the months go by, the pregnancy becomes a family affair. The twins take their role as big brothers-in-training very seriously, often offering to help carry things or pat your belly to “say hi to the baby.” Cora is your right-hand girl, stepping in to help whenever the boys get too rowdy or you need a moment to yourself.

The gender reveal is a quiet, intimate moment at home. You and Tony decide to keep it simple, opting for a cake that reveals the gender when you cut into it.

When the knife slices through the frosting and you see pink inside, you both freeze.

“A girl,” Tony says, his voice soft with wonder.

“A girl,” you repeat, tears welling up.

The twins cheer because cake is involved, and Cora just smirks. “Called it,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Cora,” Tony says later that evening, as the two of you are lying in bed. “What do you think of the name Cora?”

“What?” you ask, laughing.

“Just kidding,” he says, grinning. “But seriously, do we have a name yet?”

It takes weeks of brainstorming, vetoing each other’s suggestions, and poring over baby name books, but eventually, you both land on a name you love: Estelle.

“It means star,” Tony says one night as he presses a hand to your now-round belly. “And that’s what she’ll be. Our little star.”

The day Estelle is born is as chaotic and beautiful as you’d expect. Tony is a nervous wreck during labor, pacing the room and muttering to himself about whether the hospital’s equipment is up to Stark standards.

But the moment he holds her for the first time, everything shifts.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion as he looks down at the tiny bundle in his arms.

When the kids come to visit the hospital, Cora is smitten immediately, cooing over Estelle like a proud big sister. The twins, however, are a bit more cautious.

“She’s so small,” Alex whispers, peering at her from a safe distance.

“Can we keep her?” Howard asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“Definitely,” Tony says, grinning.

Bringing Estelle home is a new kind of adventure. The twins are constantly vying for a turn to hold her, Cora is your go-to babysitter when you need a break, and Tony is completely wrapped around her tiny finger from day one.

“She’s our last, right?” you ask one night as you watch him rock her to sleep.

“Definitely,” he says, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You give him a look, and he laughs softly. “Alright, alright. She’s our last. I’m good with this chaos level.”

And as you sit there, surrounded by the beautiful, chaotic family you’ve built together, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world.

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lilmisshellfireswritingblog · 3 months ago

Text

Last Christmas

A/N: This was inspired by a video my husband sent to me where this kid just starts screaming while performing a hymn or something and I just had to write it. Also, I wanted to try my hand at a Christmas fic because I was feeling dad!Eddie and mom!reader. This takes place in the Lavender Haze universe, many years after the events in London but honestly, it could be a stand alone too. This is purely self indulgent, a procrastination tool, and fluff around the fireplace sort of thing so, this isn’t necessarily edited or beta read. This is just for fun and to scratch an itch I had in my brain. Warnings: dad!eddie, mom!reader, four year old child, happy christmas, fluff, christmas songs, Last Christmas, school concert, established marriage (spoilers for The Lavender Haze universe but come on, you knew it was bound to happen; I like happy endings). Word Count: 5K Summary: Eddie and reader attend their son’s Christmas school concert only to find out that he is 100% Eddie’s child. Eddie also asks the reader an important question.

December 2001

The house was alive with the hum of holiday cheer, the soft glow of Christmas lights twinkling in the living room, and the smell of cinnamon and pine from the tree. Eddie was crouched down, trying to wrestle Halen into his tiny red sweater vest, the one with little reindeer on it that he loved (and, of course, insisted on wearing for every “special occasion” now).

“Buddy, please,” Eddie said, tugging gently at the sleeve of the vest on his son. “I swear, this thing was way bigger last year.”

Halen, who was currently wiggling on the floor with the speed of a tornado, let out a loud, indignant noise. “It’s itchy!”

“It’s a Christmas sweater, Halen,” Eddie said, ruffling his hair. “They’re supposed to be itchy. It’s part of the magic.”

You were standing by the front door, checking the time on your watch as you grabbed your jacket. “Eddie, please don’t make it worse,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “We’ll be late for the concert if you don’t get him dressed—”

“I’m trying!” Eddie interjected with mock indignation. “But this tiny human is currently the most squirmy person I know.”

“Daddy, I want to wear my truck shirt,” Halen said, now lying flat on the floor, kicking his legs in protest.

Eddie sighed dramatically. “You’ve worn the truck shirt for three days straight, kid. People are going to think you’ve got a thing for construction vehicles and that we don’t do the laundry.”

“I do!” Halen shot back, his little face scrunched up. “Trucks are my favorite!”

You chuckled, walking over and crouching down to his level. “Alright, buddy,” you said gently. “How about this? You wear the reindeer sweater just for the concert, and then when we get home, we’ll let you change into your truck shirt for the rest of the evening. Deal?”

Halen looked at you for a long moment, considering the offer. “Promise?” he asked, his voice serious.

“I promise,” you replied with a smile. “But only if you let Daddy finish getting you dressed.”

Halen gave a dramatic sigh but relented, finally allowing Eddie to finish pulling the sweater vest down over his head. The second it was on, he stood up, brushing himself off like he had just completed a mission. “I’m ready!”

Eddie grinned, pushing himself to his feet. “Look at that. All that for nothing. You’re a handsome little man, Halen.”

Halen puffed out his chest proudly, clearly pleased with the compliment. “I look like a reindeer!” he declared, staring down at his vest.

You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look perfect,” you said, walking over to the coat rack to grab your son’s jacket. Eddie had already slid into his favorite leather coat—something he always wore, even in the hot LA summers. It was a little worn now, but it still fit him like a glove.

“You ready to go, love?” Eddie asked, moving toward the front door. You could see the excitement on his face. He might act like he was always cool and collected, but you knew the truth—he was as excited about this concert as you were. He never got tired of seeing Halen’s face light up when he performed or when he was a part of something that made him feel like a star.

“Yep,” you said, grabbing Halen’s little coat and helping him slip it on. “Let’s make sure we’re on time for our star’s big debut.”

“I’m not a star,” Halen said, shaking his head seriously. “I’m just a reindeer!”

You laughed, giving him a hug before standing up and adjusting your own coat. “A very special reindeer, then.”

Eddie grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to the living room where the Christmas tree stood, the soft golden glow of the lights flickering as a faint song played in the background. You both had spent the last few days decorating the tree together as a family—Halen had insisted on hanging a disproportionate amount of ornaments on the lower branches, making the tree look like it was about to tip over, but you didn’t mind. It was perfect.

With the keys in hand, Eddie took a step toward the door, holding it open for you. “After the concert, we should grab some hot cocoa and drive around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights. What do you think, kiddo?”

Halen nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And we can listen to jingle bells in the car! Really loud!”

“Of course,” you said with a smile, glancing at Eddie. “We’ll make it a full holiday evening. We can stop by the bakery after and get those gingerbread cookies you love, too.”

Halen bounced on the spot, his little legs practically vibrating with excitement. “Yay!” he cheered. “I’m gonna eat all the cookies!”

“I bet you will,” Eddie said with a wink, looking over at you as you grabbed your purse. “And I’ll probably eat my weight in gingerbread too.”

“You’re a big kid at heart, Munson,” you teased, slipping on your boots as you turned toward the door.

“Hey, I’m proud of my gingerbread-eating abilities.” He shot you a playful grin. “Someone’s gotta set the example for Halen here.”

As you all walked out of the house the excitement in the air was palpable. Halen was bouncing ahead of you, practically skipping down the front steps with the energy of a Christmas elf. Eddie had his arm around your shoulders, and you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence.

The neighborhood was already alive with holiday lights making everything feel like a scene from a holiday movie as Eddie drove down the road to head to Halen’s pre-school. The Christmas concert at Halen’s school was a small thing, just a few kids singing and playing instruments, but to you and Eddie, it was everything. Every moment spent together—every small tradition you were building as a family—was something to cherish.

Both you and Eddie were determined to give Halen a good family.

“I can’t believe our little guy is old enough to be in this,” you said softly, your eyes drifting over to Eddie.

Eddie’s smile was soft, and there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “I know. Feels like just yesterday we were teaching him how to walk.”

You both laughed as you followed Halen down the sidewalk, his voice calling out to you from the doors of his school. He was jumping up and down, holding onto the handle of the door as he tried to get both you and Eddie to hurry up.

“I’m ready, Daddy! I’m ready to sing!”

“We’re coming, buddy!” Eddie shouted, his grin spreading. “Don’t steal the spotlight just yet!”

The school gymnasium was buzzing with the kind of excited energy you could only find at a Christmas concert. The walls were decked out in glittering tinsel and paper snowflakes, the floor crowded with families from the preschool, all eagerly awaiting the performance. There was a soft murmur of chatter as parents shifted in their seats, some holding up cameras, some glancing at the clock.

You and Eddie were front and center, perched on the edge of your seats, trying not to show how ridiculously excited you were. The stage was small but brightly lit, with a dozen little kids lined up, their tiny faces barely visible over the top of the risers.

Right in the middle of the group, was Halen. His little red sweater with the reindeer on it was pulled tight, his brown curly hair sticking up a little from the excitement. His tiny hands were clasped in front of him like he was ready to take on the world. He kept bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating with energy, his bright eyes scanning the crowd—he was ready. You could tell.

Eddie leaned over to you, grinning. “This is it. Our little rockstar is about to make his debut. I swear, this kid’s got more stage presence than I ever did.”

You laughed, reaching out and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I can already tell. He’s been practicing that loud voice of his for weeks.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “I can already feel my eardrums vibrating.”

The teacher at the front, her smile sweet but a little frazzled from the chaos of wrangling small children, raised her hands and signaled the start of the song. The band of elementary school musicians behind the kids started playing softly—Jingle Bells, classic, cheerful. The kids opened their mouths to sing, their voices soft and sweet as they harmonized. It was adorable, pure holiday magic, every parent in the room smiling fondly at their little performers.

And then… there was Halen.

As the music swelled, his eyes suddenly went wide. His little hands, which had been clasped so carefully in front of him, shot out to the sides like he was preparing to dive into a guitar solo. His body swayed, his chest puffed out, and then—

“YEEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!” Halen screamed, the shrill, guttural scream of a metal vocalist who’d just discovered his inner power chord.

The other kids, still trying their best to sing the simple, happy words of Jingle Bells, froze for a moment, their eyes darting to Halen. His voice pierced through the crowd like a sonic boom, all gravelly and full of unrestrained excitement. His little face was scrunched up in what could only be described as a metalhead’s version of pure ecstasy.

You and Eddie froze, eyes wide in disbelief, but then—then you both burst out laughing. It was like someone had hit play on a live concert video of a tiny rockstar performing at a packed stadium.

“JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE ALL THE WAAAYYYY!!!!” Halen screamed, his arms wide and his voice growing louder, as though he was singing in front of thousands of fans at a Metallica concert. His tiny body was practically vibrating with excitement, his face red from the effort of belting out his “solo.” The rest of the class tried to keep going, but at this point, Halen was clearly the star of the show.

Eddie was shaking his head, biting his lip to keep from laughing too loudly, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. “Well, you can say he’s a Munson.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your laughter, glancing at the parents around you, most of whom were staring in stunned silence. A few parents behind you whispered, “Did… did he just scream like that?”

Some of the other kids were looking at Halen like he’d just summoned a demon, but the teacher, still smiling awkwardly, tried to keep the song going, raising her hands as though she were conducting a frantic orchestra. Halen didn’t seem to notice—he was too busy throwing his head back, his little legs bouncing in rhythm with his screeching.

“OH, WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIIIIDE IN A ONE-HORSE OPEN SLEEEEIGHHHH!!!” Halen screamed again, his voice somehow even louder, more intense than before. It was full-on death metal now, and you were absolutely dying with laughter, trying to keep it together.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie whispered, wiping a tear from his eye. “Our kid just turned Jingle Bells into a metal anthem.”

You looked at him, shaking your head. “I can’t even. But he’s so into it.”

“I love this kid,” Eddie said, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s a natural. Maybe I should ask him to join Corroded Coffin.”

Just as the song reached its “Jingle Bells” chorus, Halen screamed again, this time with what could only be described as a powerful thrash metal growl: “JIIIIINGLE BEEEELLS, JIIIIINGLE BEEEELLS, JIIIIINGLE ALL THE WAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!”

The other kids finally gave up trying to continue the song. A couple of them giggled nervously, one of them still trying to hold up their sheet music, but Halen was in his element now, fully headbanging to an imaginary guitar riff, his hair flying everywhere. It was pure chaos. It was glorious.

It was metal. And he looked just like his father. That alone made your heart swell.

When the song finally ended, there was a brief moment of stunned silence from the audience. The teacher tried to maintain some composure, raising her hands and giving an awkward clap as she led the kids offstage.

And then—after a long beat—the entire gymnasium burst into applause. It wasn’t just the usual polite clapping. No, this was full-blown, uncontrollable laughter mixed with sincere applause for Halen’s wild rendition of a Christmas classic.

As the kids filed offstage, Halen came running down to you and Eddie, his little face glowing, still riding high from his impromptu metal concert. His eyes locked onto yours, his excitement palpable.

“Did you hear me, Mom? Dad? Did you hear how loud I was?! I’m like a rockstar!”

Eddie couldn’t contain his grin, reaching down to scoop Halen up into a big hug. “Buddy, you were amazing,” he said, laughing. “You absolutely shredded that performance.”

“I told you I could scream like you!” Halen said, beaming. “I was like you at a concert, Dad! I even did the growl!”

You wrapped your arms around them both, laughing. “Halen, you were incredible. Maybe you’ll start your own band or join your Daddy’s. Metal Christmas music could be the next big thing.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie said, looking at Halen like he had just witnessed the birth of a legend. “Who knew Jingle Bells could sound so intense?”

“Right?” You said, smiling at your tiny rockstar. “Our little metalhead. The concert was supposed to be cute, but you turned it into something else.”

Halen grinned and looked up at his dad. “Maybe next time, we can do Rudolph in a growl. And you can play your guitar, Daddy!”

Eddie’s grin widened, and he threw an arm around you and Halen. “Next Christmas, kid. Next Christmas. We’ll make it metal.”

----

Returning home, the house was warm and cozy - the kind of warmth that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket, and the scent of gingerbread cookies filled the air. Christmas lights twinkled on the tree in the corner of the living room, and soft holiday music played in the background, adding to the cozy atmosphere.

You were sitting on the couch with a plate of gingerbread cookies, still smiling at the chaos that had been Halen’s Christmas concert. A couple of bites in and you were already feeling like you had no regrets about the sugar high you’d promised yourself you'd indulge in tonight. The house was quiet for a brief moment—until you heard it.

From the kitchen, Eddie’s voice, low and warm, carried through the air: “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…” His guitar strummed the first few chords of the song, each note crisp and clear.

You looked up just in time to see Eddie sitting on the kitchen counter, his guitar in hand, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Halen was sitting on the floor in front of him, his little face bright with excitement. He had one hand holding his toy guitar—an electric one just like his dad’s of course—and he was strumming along as best as his tiny hands could manage.

“But the very next day, you gave it awayyyy...” Eddie continued to sing, his voice a little huskier than usual, but full of affection for the tiny audience in front of him. Halen, his eyes wide and totally caught up in the magic of the moment, attempted to mimic the words, his voice high-pitched and off-key in the most adorable way possible.

“This year, to save me from tears...” Eddie sang, his hand on Halen’s back, gently guiding him to follow along. “I’ll give it to someone special.”

“SOMEEEEONE SPECIAL!” Halen yelled, suddenly abandoning any attempt at the melody in favor of his own dramatic rendition, flailing his arms as if he were about to stage-dive into an invisible crowd.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The scene was like something out of a holiday movie, but real and chaotic and perfect.

“Alright, alright,” Eddie said, laughing and shaking his head. “Let’s try it again. Nice and easy, kiddo. Sometimes songs aren’t so loud and we have to save our growls for special effects.”

Halen nodded enthusiastically, then whispered to himself as if giving himself a pep talk: “Nice and easy. Got it.”

Eddie gently picked up his guitar, playing a soft riff to ease into the next verse. “Okay, little rockstar, we got this. Last Christmas...”

Halen, taking it a little more seriously this time, squinted at his father’s fingers as he strummed, and then joined in, matching Eddie’s effort to follow the lyrics—at least the first part. But it was still full of his usual Halen flair.

“I gave you my heart...” Halen sang, a bit out of tune but with such earnestness it made your heart swell.

“But the very next day...” Eddie sang along, smiling at his son, his voice blending with Halen’s as they laughed their way through the chorus.

You, still sitting on the couch with your plate of cookies, leaned back and closed your eyes for a moment, just letting the sound of your two favorite people fill the room. Eddie’s deep voice, Halen’s bright, enthusiastic one, and the soft strum of his guitar—it felt like the perfect version of Christmas, the one you’d always dreamed of, full of laughter, love, and the occasional chaotic moment that made it even more special.

Halen, a little distracted now by his own excitement, stood up and started dancing around in circles. “And I’ll give it to someone special...” he belted, twirling in place as if he were on a stage of his own. His toy guitar banged against his knee with every spin but he didn’t seem to care. He was on top of the world, and he was going to sing—loudly—while he was at it.

Eddie gave him an affectionate look and strummed a little louder, picking up the tempo. “There we go! You’re a rockstar, buddy!”

Halen gave a little triumphant shout. “I’m a rockstar!!”

“And what do rockstars do?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow, giving Halen the chance to answer.

“SING, DAD!” Halen shouted back, grinning from ear to ear.

You set your gingerbread cookies down on the coffee table, leaning back against the cushions and watching the scene unfold in front of you, utterly content. “You two are unbelievable,” you said, smiling. “I don’t know whether I should be clapping or covering my ears.”

Halen stopped dancing for a moment, looking at you seriously. “You can clap, Mom. I’m a rockstar. It’s what you do for rockstars.”

Eddie looked at you with an exaggerated nod. “You heard him, babe. We’ve got a rockstar in the house.”

You chuckled, reaching for a cookie. “Oh, I know. It’s hard to miss both of my rockstars.”

You watched as Halen took his little toy guitar and pretended to tune it like Eddie did with his own. He looked so serious doing it, poking at the knobs with intense concentration.

“So, uh, what’s next in your set, Halen?” you asked, biting into a gingerbread cookie.

Halen gave you a confident thumbs-up. “I got this,” he said seriously. “Now it’s time for Jingle Bells!” He launched back into the chorus of the classic song, adding his own “WOOO!!” at the end as he spun around the living room like a maniac.

Eddie chuckled and strummed along, singing with his son. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...” he sang, his voice smooth and warm, totally in sync with Halen’s chaotic energy.

The two of them were in their own little world now, the rest of the house melting away. You leaned back against the couch, watching them, savoring your gingerbread cookies, feeling the warmth of the holiday around you. The laughter, the music, and the overwhelming joy of having your family together—it was everything.

A few moments later, Eddie paused, his hand resting gently on Halen’s shoulder. “Alright, kiddo, last verse. You ready?” he asked, his voice playful.

Halen nodded fiercely, his eyes wide. “Ready! Let’s do this, Dad!”

You let them finish the song, their voices filling the room as they belted out the last few lines. When the song ended, Halen, breathless from all the dancing and singing, ran to you with a giant grin.

“I’m the best rockstar, right, Mom?” he asked, his face flushed with excitement. “But not better than daddy.”

“You sure are, kiddo,” you said, pulling him into a big hug. “You were amazing. Maybe even better than daddy.”

Eddie grinned from behind his guitar. “Next year, we’ll have a full concert, with actual backup dancers. We can invite Uncle Gareth over too. What do you think, Halen?”

“I’m in!” Halen shouted, throwing his little arms up in the air. “I’m ready to rock!”

“Okay but little rockstars have a bedtime and that’s now.” You say, giving your son a small kiss on the forehead. “We’re leaving to visit Grandpa Wayne tomorrow for Christmas Eve dinner so you should save your voice for him!”

“You’re right! I think he’ll want to hear Silent Night.” Halen contemplates but then pouts as Eddie scoops him off the ground to carry him to his room. “Hey! I was still trying to decide on a setlist for tomorrow.”

“Real rock stars sleep on a good set list, buddy. Let’s get you ready for bed.” Eddie rustles his son’s hair, soon disappearing into his bedroom. “And while I get our future star ready, maybe mommy can write down some options for some songs.”

“Yeah, okay sure.” You sigh, shaking your head before biting into another cookie.

------

The house was wrapped in the quiet stillness that only came after a long, fun-filled day. Halen had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the excitement of the Christmas concert and the festive chaos that had followed. You could still hear the soft hum of holiday music in the background, and the Christmas lights twinkled softly across the room, casting a warm, gentle glow.

You were curled up on the couch, a plate of half-eaten gingerbread cookies beside you, savoring the peace of the moment. Eddie had just finished playing his guitar in the living room, humming sweet little melodies. Now, he sat across from you, kicking back with his feet up on the coffee table, his eyes following the flicker of the fire in the fireplace.

It was one of those rare moments when the world felt like it was slowing down—a precious space between the chaos of life and the peace that only came with being fully present. You smiled contentedly, leaning back against the couch, when Eddie’s voice cut through the silence.

“You ever think about having another kid?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with something deeper. “I do. A lot, really.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. You set your gingerbread cookie down on the plate, the sudden shift in conversation pulling you from your cozy reverie.

“Wait, what?” you said, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Are you serious? Halen is already such a handful. I don’t know if having another Munson minion running around here would be the wisest idea, Eds.”

Eddie chuckled, shifting in his seat to face you more directly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. You know, Halen’s four and I’m starting to wonder what it’d be like having another little one around.”

You leaned forward, your heart skipping a beat. The idea had crossed your mind before, but you hadn’t really brought it up, unsure of where Eddie stood. Hearing him speak so casually about it stirred something inside you. You glanced at him, trying to process what he was saying.

“You’re starting to sound like Harrington. Should I be concerned that you deep down want an entire brood of Munsons?” You joke, smiling at the ground. “I’m not having six kids.”

“I mean,” Eddie continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve got Halen, our amazing little guy, right? And don’t get me wrong, I love the rhythm we’ve got with Halen. We've done good with him. But I don’t know… I guess I’ve been feeling like it’s not done yet. Like we’ve got room and more love for more. More chaos, more mess, more love. I just… I love being a dad and I never thought I’d even be a dad, nonetheless a good dad.”

You smiled, that familiar warmth in your chest expanding. Eddie’s words, though simple, resonated with you. You could see it in his eyes—this quiet, earnest desire for more. Maybe it wasn’t just about having another baby. It was about expanding their world, growing their family, and embracing the next chapter together.

“You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?” you asked, your voice soft as you leaned back again, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“Yeah,” Eddie said with a slow nod, his gaze steady but gentle. “I mean, Halen’s getting older, right? He’s independent now, and it’s amazing, but… I don’t know. I just can’t shake the feeling that I want to go through that baby stage again. The late-night feedings, the little giggles, the first steps…The newborn scrunch… The way you looked pregnant. I kind of miss all that.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re crazy. You’re talking about dirty diapers and sleepless nights again, you know? I know it's been four years but, I remember how grumpy you were at three AM when Halen woke up every single night.”

Eddie smiled, a little sheepishly. “I know. I know it’s gonna be a lot but I think I’m ready for it. Ready for us to be ready for it. We’ve got a good thing going, you and me. Halen’s gonna be the best big brother. I think we could handle it.”

You sat there in the quiet for a few seconds, the weight of his words settling in your mind. Eddie had always been the kind of person who dived headfirst into things, whether it was a new band or a new idea. But this? This felt different. This felt like a deep, heartfelt desire to grow the family, to build more memories with the people he loved most.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth bubble up inside you. “I guess you’re right,” you said, your voice soft and thoughtful. “I think Halen would love being a big brother. He’s already so good with little kids. Thanksgiving at the Harrington’s proved that.”

Eddie’s face lit up at that, and he leaned forward, his excitement palpable. “Exactly! He’d be the best big brother. Can you imagine him showing a little sibling how to play ‘air guitar’ when they’re old enough? Or even them performing metal versions of the cheesiest Christmas songs for us?"

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can already see it. The next Munson family band. Halen’s gonna be the frontman and the baby can be the drummer.”

Eddie grinned, the idea clearly sparking something playful in him. “Hell yeah. We can start ‘em young. Who knows, maybe they’ll be the next Metallica if we play our cards right.”

His grin softened, his voice took on a more sincere tone. “But really, though, I just want to have more of these moments. You, me, Halen—our little family. I think we could make room for another. We can convert the office into the baby’s room and we can store all the office shit at the shop…”

You couldn’t help but feel a little teary-eyed at the thought. It wasn’t just about the baby—it was about the life you and Eddie had built together. The house, the music, the laughter, the tiny moments that made up your days. You didn’t know what the future held but you did know that with Eddie by your side, anything was possible.

“You're awfully persuasive, Eds,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I’m a little nervous, but I think… I want more of this—more of us. Halen being the big brother…more of you being the best father to your kids….”

Eddie’s eyes softened, his smile genuine and full of affection. He reached over, taking your hand in his. “We’ll figure it out, babe. We always do. One day at a time. But… if we do have another baby, it’ll just mean we get to experience all the best parts of this crazy life again.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “I think we’d be amazing at it. All of it. Just like we are with Halen.”

Eddie’s grin widened, and he leaned in, kissing you softly on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re with me on this.”

You leaned back into the couch, the weight of the decision settling in but feeling lighter than you expected. You and Eddie had already built so much together, and the thought of building a little more—a little bigger—with him, filled you with a sense of excitement.

After all, if anyone could handle the chaos, the noise, the mess of another kid, fake dating, it was you and Eddie. Together, you were unstoppable.

“Okay, okay,” you said, your voice full of love. “Let’s do it.”

#christmas #eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie x mom!reader #Eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #reader x eddie munson #reader insert #x reader #fanfiction #stranger things fan fiction

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almondmilkcleanser · 2 months ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐇. 𝟑

𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋. You're a fox youkai who's just been betrothed to be married to this anonymous demon. But is he really that anonymous? He looks.. familiar.

✥ ` ■ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. f!reader x sesshomaru ✥ ` ■ 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. Arranged marriage; opposites attract; ✥ ` ■ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. my perfectionism don't like det. ✥ ` ■ 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎. Teresa - moments x where roses bloom ✥ ` ■* 𝐀/𝐍. — Happy holidays <3 Leave a comment to be added to the update list! ✥ ` ■ 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐊𝐀𝐈 - @hisokaswaifu32 all-the-thngz-i-nvr-said traumatizedgirly meontheblock002 tcapter luv-for-fictional-characters rlurvey obsessedalpaca bontensbabygirl bunniotomia

“Explain this “arrangement” to me right now!” the castle consorts hid their faces in their palm. Your brash mannerisms were nothing new. They were encouraged even by your father despite your mother’s attempt at teaching you to be a studious, demure, quiet lady.

“Oh, Y/N. This arrangement was long arranged since before you were born. You see, Sesshomaru’s father, the great Inu Taisho-” Sesshomaru nodded his head slightly at your father, giving him the OK to continue.

“Him and I would meet during the seasons. “Oh, my daughter!” your father clapped his hands together. A triumphant smile plastered across his face. You stood next to Sesshomaru, your face flustered, grimacing and grumbling under your breath.

“Daddy! Explain the meaning of this!” you stomped your feet against the wisteria covered steps. Your father met the two of you outside of the castle gates inside the garden. Speckles of violets and morning glories danced in the air around the two of you; bright pigments of lavender, green, sage and yellow in preparation for the spring. It was going to be a beautiful spring according to the season oracle. But none of that mattered right now-

And its through his skilled knowledge of the land that we were able to expand our kingdom into such a beautiful creation that it is today. No war. No famine. Our kingdom has been designated to aide in a kingdom’s beautification from near and far. Sesshomaru was but a child then, but we agreed that if and when i have a daughter, she would be his bride.

“Well, what if I don’t want to be his bride!” you protested, glaring at him from the side of your eye. Sesshomaru returned your stare with a his own. Letting off a short chuckle as he looked away.

“You see, daddy! He doesn’t even want to proceed with the arrangement. And besides, he’s too soft-looking. You said it yourself that my husband needs to be a warrior!”

“Y/N, don’t be so crude, sweetheart.” your mother looked over at Sesshomaru apologetically. His expression remained neutral. “You can’t outwardly judge someone so harsh-”

“I’m assuming you’re going to blindly negate from the fact that I saved you from that large demon outside in the fields.” your father’s eyebrows shot up. “Your life was nearly over if I didn’t find you when I di-”

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” you huffed, crossing your arms as you looked away. “I would have figured out a way to take him down.”

“With a measly hand blade? I would have enjoyed watching that happen.”

“Tsk! Daddy!”

Your father pressed his fingers on both sides of his nose. He knew this wasn’t going to be an easy 1-2 process.

“How’s this. Get to know him till the end of summer. By the time the last hydrangeas fall to the ground to welcome the winter and you still have your apprehensions, we will cancel the arrangement. And in exchange, I will let you choose whether to stay or go. Whichever you

decide.”

Your face softened. Your father must have really respected this Inu Taisho person. With a brattish glance at Sesshomaru, you took a deep breath and dropped your arms.

“Fine. But if this doesn’t work. I want that jade necklace you promised me and 2 horses for myself.” you walked off to the right towards your chambers, leaving your handmaidens no choice but to follow you.

“And he’s not staying in my room!” was the last thing you said before disappearing into the distance.

Your father looked at Sesshomaru with the deepest, most silent apology. “I promise you she’s not normally like this..”

Sesshomaru grunted in response. “If its alright with you I’ll take my stay outside of the castle. I suspect if that one demon was so close its best I linger around for a little while longer.”

“Ah! Yes! A-are there any other acquaintances of yours that we should accomoda-”

“Lord Sesshomaruuuuuuu! Wait for me!!!!!” Sesshomaru’s face showed its first expression this whole time; annoyance. A small green creature with buggy eyes and a large stick sprinted through the garden, his breath ragged and fumbled.

“Ah! My Lord! You ran away so suddenly and I- Hm? What is this place?” the creature looked around frantically, his eyes both in wonder but also in.. permanent worry?

“This is my wife’s kingdom, Jaken.”

“Your wife.” Jaken repeated. He looked around at your father and mother, the servants, and the flowers until it hit him,

“Your wife!?”

“This simply has to be a mistake. No women is worthy enough of the Great Lord Sesshomaru! Just what kind of bribery must have- OOF!” In a blink, Jaken’s face was to the floor with a large knot to his head. Sesshomaru pivoted on his heel, walking out of the castle, leaving Jaken on the floor to catch up to him.. Eventually.

—

“Y/N! Are you crazy! You have to marry him. Do you not see him? He’s incredibly handsome.”

You crossed your arms, eyes darting bullets at your friend, Saya. Saya put her hands to her cheeks, her bright brown eyes glimmering at the inert fantasy playing in her head.

“To have such a strong demon under your arm and bear his children must be a dream come true!”

“Not for me! I don’t even know this man. He could be an absolute psycho.”

“Or a dream!” your other friend, Miko, piped up alongside Saya. You could see the soft envy in their eyes, but it wasn’t harmful. Your own friends didn’t even understand why you were so apprehensive.

“I don’t know…” Miko sighed, rubbing her temples. “I just feel like I’m still young. Still wanting to explore the world. Or-”

“Still wanting to pickle yourself for that fool Hachiko. I’m telling you, Y/N. You’re going to get yourself hurt all over again and this time its going to stick.” Saya looked at you and Miko, who you felt was more of an older sister type of friend, with curious eyes.

“Who’s Hachiko?” Saya asked.

“Oh he’s some soldier in training in the neighboring kingdom that Y/N is head over heels about. But he’s just a peasant boy, no grounds for a pri-”

“Peasant boy or not, I love him. And no Sesshomaru is going to stand between us.” You stood to your feet to escape back into the garden.

“Y/N.” Miko piped up, her eyebrows scrunched in concern. “Just- think it over. Opportunities like this don’t come around often for women like us.”

You looked back, your mouth pressed together. Without saying much else, you walked out of your room, into your personal garden.

#sesshomaru x reader #sesshomaru x y/n #sesshomaru x you #sesshomaru drabble #sesshomaru blurb #sesshomaru imagine #sesshomaru one shot #sesshomaru fanfiction #sesshomaru #inuyasha #wisteria dipped in gold #wdig #Sesshomaru fluff #almondwrites

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red-doll-face · 2 months ago

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Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway.

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you.

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it.

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw.

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously.

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge.

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface.

He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you.

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away.

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away.

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little.

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever.

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before.

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are.

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out.

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too.

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone.

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you.

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve.

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk.

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances.

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words.

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry.

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face.

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel.

“Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,”

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to.

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you.

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else.

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind.

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head.

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse.

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you.

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur.

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything.

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home.

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw.

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be.

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin.

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.”

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

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