Violett!

22/all pronouns.:3 pls respect my pronouns. non binary/asexual,lesbian,pansexual and genderfluid !!;3 Italian but I can speak English looking for a gf. if you want dm me:3 Main fandoms: Deltarune / Undertale/ TLOU(Joel my baby he didn't deserve it) Silent Hill,COD,Avatar,etc

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Request! Wondering if you could do steve rogers/reader where reader is his gf/wife that none of the avengers know about but end up finding out?? (Like Clint hiding his family) thank you!!

Not A Secret Anymore » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Husband!Steve Rogers x Wife/Pregnant!Reader with the Avengers

Summary: Steve kept you and yours and his unborn child a secret to protect you guy, but the Avengers end up finding out about you and the baby.

Warnings: Fluff, language, secret relationship, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: Italic text is Steve’s vision when Wanda manipulates his mind.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“When do you think you’re coming home?” You asked Steve on the phone.

“Hopefully tomorrow. I’ll text you before I come home.” Steve tells you. “Make sure our little one protects you till then.” He smiles.

“We love you, Stevie.” You smiled, putting your free hand on your 2 month pregnant belly.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He says.

Clint happened to be walking by Steve when he said “I love you” to you before he hung up the phone.

“Who did you say “I love you” to?” Clint asks curiously.

“Oh- uhh- my girlfriend.” Steve says.

You and Steve are actually married. You two have been married for almost 2 years. You two also have a baby on the way. Yours and his first child. The Avengers don’t know about you and yours and Steve’s unborn child. The only reason why he’s keeping you and the baby a secret is to protect you two. He hates keeping this a secret from his team- his friends.

Steve was sitting on the quinjet, staring at a picture. He smiles at it. He kisses the picture before putting it in his pocket. He sighs before exiting the quinjet with the Avengers.

———

“We need someplace safe to stay after that.” Clint says.

“I know a place.” Steve says.

The Avengers made their way to yours and Steve’s house. Steve texted you, telling you that he’s coming home and some of his friends are coming with him. You were completely fine with that. You straightened up the house just enough so it was nice for Steve’s friends.

The quinjet landed in the grassy area around yours and his house. They got off the quinjet and followed Steve up to the house. He walked inside with the Avengers following him inside. The Avengers stopped in the living room while Steve greeted you. They stared at Steve in confusion when he kissed you. Steve then moved to your side and wrapped his arm around your waist protectively. The Avengers’ eyes zeroed in on your stomach, seeing your pregnant belly. Even though, you’re 2 months pregnant, your pregnant is small, but started to become a little noticeable.

“This is Y/N. She’s my wife.” Steve introduces the Avengers to you.

Their eyes went wide when Steve said wife.

“Wife?” Tony asks.

Steve nods.

“How long have you two been married?” Bruce asks.

“Almost 2 years.” You say, smiling up at your husband.

“Are you- you know?” Clint asks, referring to your pregnant belly.

“If you’re asking if I’m pregnant, yes I am. I’m 2 months pregnant.” You say happily.

The Avengers stared at you in surprise. This is something they would’ve never expected. They’re also wondering why Steve never told them about you and the baby.

“I know you guys are surprised to be hearing this for the first time, but please don’t be mad at me. I kept her and our baby a secret, because I wanted to protect her. I lost a lot over the years. I didn’t want to lose my wife and baby too.” Steve says.

The Avengers were going to question him why he kept something as important as you and the baby a secret, but hearing his reasoning behind it made those questions fade away. The Avengers were silent for a small moment before Thor spoke up.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Rogers.” Thor says.

“It’s nice to meet you guys too.” You smiled at them. “I can show you guys to your rooms if you’d like.” You suggested softly.

“That would be nice.” Natasha smiles.

Natasha followed you upstairs while the guys stayed in the living room with Steve. Natasha caught a glimpse of the baby’s nursery when you guys walked past it.

“Is this the baby’s nursery?” Natasha asks curiously.

“It is.” You replied. “Would you like to see it?” You asked.

Natasha nods. You walked in the nursery with Natasha following behind you.

“Everything is unorganized at the moment and Steve and I are still trying to figure out where we want to put everything.” You tell her.

Natasha looked around the nursery with the look of interest on her face.

“If you want, I can help you guys set it up.” She politely suggests.

“Really?” You asked with a smile.

“Of course.” She nods and smiles.

“That would be nice. Thank you.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles back.

While you and Natasha were talking in the nursery, Steve was talking to Tony, Bruce, Clint, and Thor in the living room.

“What do you guys think of Y/N?” Steve asks.

“She’s cool. I like her.” Clint says.

“I like her too.” Bruce says.

“Me too.” Thor says.

“Me three.” Tony says.

Steve smiles at them, loving their responses. You and Natasha went downstairs a moment later.

“We were just talking about you, sweetheart.” Steve says.

“All good things I hope.” You say.

“All good things. They like you.” He smiles.

“I like her too!” Natasha chimes in.

“I like you guys too.” You say with a smile.

———

It’s been a few days since the Avengers stayed at yours and Steve’s house and found out about you and the baby. It went way better than both of you expected.

“I’m sorry for springing the team on you with little notice a few days ago.” Steve says.

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetie. I understand.” You say softly.

Steve put his hands on the sides of your pregnant belly and kisses you softly and passionately.

“Oh and Natasha offered to help with the nursery.” You say.

“The more help the better.” Steve smiles. “Did she suggest naming the baby after her if we’re having a girl?” He jokingly asks.

“No.” You giggled. “We’re still naming her after your mom.” You say with a smile.

“Or we’re naming him after my friend Bucky if we’re having a boy.” He says with a smile.

“That sounds great, honey.” You smiled. “I love you so much.” You say softly.

“I love you more, darling.” He almost whispers, kissing you softly.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[shirefantasies]

The Hobbit Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader)

I just love fluff ok and, say it with me, I did this for LoTR 😁 (you can think of the older characters’ as being set when you guys are younger, not during book/film events 😊)

Warnings: conception mentions, some implications of infertility, pregnancy-related illness and symptoms, very long post 😂

Balin

✧ Five years. For five years you had tried. Six you and Balin had been married, happily as anything, but children never came. Your struggles had broken you down, leading you to try all the remedies well-meaning elders and healers alike recommended. Eat more good, strong foods, less of that greasy stuff. Drink this tea, it’s great for women! It’s only a bunch of tiny needles- the pain of birth will be worse anyway. Don’t be so active, let yourself relax for Mahal’s sake, girl! Remedy after remedy, you put your body through it all and put your hands up and prayed. Weeks passed and you had taken ill, attending the healers’ just to get something to ease your nausea, and that was when the questions began. Illness forgotten, you wandered in a grinning daze out of that hall and straight into your husband’s arms. When he chuckled and asked what this was all about, all you could do was snuggle into his chest deeper and whisper “It’s finally happened.”

✧ Such years leant of course to Balin being a bit extra protective of you. You often chastised him, good-naturedly of course, that he hovered so over you, and every time he would simply kiss you and say "That's right".

✧ It brought you both to tears when you began showing, when your condition had persisted long enough to be real, to last beyond the known months of danger. Forehead pressed against yours, your husband held you tightly and warmly for some amount of minutes you did not know, but minded not at all. Balin's words of love and reassurance were as music to your ears.

✧ Hormones confound you some days, pulling you from peace to ruin in mere moments, but Balin is always there with warm arms and wise words, reminding you that whatever you may think, you will never be alone.

✧ The one time during your entire pregnancy that you saw Balin cry was the day you brought home a tiny red coat that looked just like his and showed it to him with pride glowing in your eyes.

✧ He is so calm during all the worst sides of your condition, standing right by you through the good, the bad, and the ugly and dusting and cleaning you off each and every time. "We fought hard for this," he reminds you, "And I'll keep fighting with you every step of the way."

Dwalin

✧ You had wanted children all your life, certainly, and you'd seen Dwalin around them a few times, but what would he say? Your husband was a renowned warrior, hardened in the face of blood and steel and tolerant of no foolishness. But still he went soft as clay when his beloved wife fell into his arms. Thus that night you softened him up but good with all the great food and affection you could muster, so much that you had him remarking what a wonderful home he'd been blessed with. "And would you be willing to share it?" At that, your husband rose from his chair, hands tensing at his sides. "You don't mean-" "I do," you nodded. Without warning, you were swept up into Dwalin's arms, hoisted gently into the air with a giggle. "Just when I thought Mahal couldn't bless me any more! My beautiful wife, with child."

✧ Cue the two of you bickering back and forth like, well, a married couple, about who the child is going to look like. "I'll have 'em look just like you, thanks." "I for one relish in the thought of toting around a miniature Dwalin." "Come now," your husband teases back, running a hand over his shaven, tattooed head, "If they look like you they'll have better hair!"

✧ Dwalin has tiny wooden swords and axes made in time for your little arrivals, ensuring the axes match his to a tee.

✧ He sleeps flush against you now, head leaned against your growing belly and one hand firmly atop it like a lovely little line of defense.

✧ You have him absolutely wrapped around your finger, even more so now. Bat your eyelashes at him and make any request and he melts like butter. You’ll never want long for anything you crave!

✧ Admittedly he knows very little of a woman’s workings, but the moment he hears all your explanations he dubs you as great a warrior as he! “Beautiful as the stars and strong as the mountains to boot! That’s my girl.”

Thorin

✧ He has waited so long for this. So many years of this hanging pressure and yet when he has you by his side, all the feeling of necessity behind trying fades away. You two can simply enjoy life. So when you return to Thorin's side one day, eyes brimming with tears, all you say to him is "It's happened". And with that you see your king, your husband, collapse as if his whole body is sighing, pulling you into him like he needs you to breathe. One hand reaches up to hold the back of your head, gently caressing your hair.

✧ Vows every day that he will protect you both, be the father and husband you deserve, taking your hands in his and then leaning down to address both his queen and your child.

✧ Thorin also assures you that despite what any members of the court say, your new addition will be equally loved and equally worthy of the throne whether you welcome a son or a daughter. "All I wish is a healthy child with their mother's heart." "And their father's good looks," you tease in response, pulling your husband in for a kiss.

✧ You begin stealing his clothes, stating that his tunics are so much more comfortable than your dresses with an innocent bat of your eyelashes that has Thorin relenting every single time, heart rent at the way they begin fitting you tighter.

✧ You see a different side of Thorin in this stage of your marriage, one you’ll never complain about, not when he softens so, gazes down upon you with such love as he hovers over you, kissing your lips, your neck, your belly.

✧ There is no denying that you both glow during this time, pride and joy illuminating Thorin’s features right alongside the radiance of your childbearing state. Everyone stops you to say what a beautiful couple you are and you cannot help the flush of heat that rises to your face as Thorin thanks them and guides you away from the crowd, a protective hand on the small of your back

Oin

✧ Predicts it before you even realize because you’re exhibiting all the telltale symptoms; annoyed as you may be by his insistence that you are with child, what do you know? Oin is right. Oin is, unfortunately, also quite smug about this. Once the initial triumph wears off, though, he’s shouting for joy and crushing you with a hug!

✧ The absolute dream husband to have when you're with child, for he has worked taking care of countless dwarrowdams in your condition. He knows what you need. He understands. And most importantly, he does not judge.

✧ In fact, you two get a kick out of poking fun at the other husbands who roll their eyes at their wives' demands or take shots at their cravings because, frankly, that could never be you. "He doesn't know her body needs more iron!" "I bet he moans and groans about grabbing her a pillow, too."

✧ Having married such a well-known dwarrow, you’ll have all manner of strangers approaching you with congratulations that you reluctantly just accept, correctly assuming they’re patients of Oin’s that he’s proudly blabbed to.

✧ He’s always asking you to guess if you’re having a boy or a girl, insisting that “‘tis the mother’s intuition, after all.”

✧ You insist on remaining on your feet as long as possible, and your husband does not protest, knowing that exercise is good for the baby. That doesn’t mean he won’t be right behind you to catch you if you fall or check on your precious little bump, though, of course.

Gloin

✧ Not so subtle in his so-called 'baby fever', your husband has been going on and on about how his child will be his little flame, the apple of his eye, his world. You have no fear, then, sharing the news, in fact you amuse yourself by dropping your state in conversation like the plainest fact. "I'm glad you've got those new blankets, dear, what with the baby coming in winter and all," you told Gloin, taking a sip of your tea. Deafening is the only word you can use to describe the roar of celebration he gives, wonderfully bone-crushing and teeth-rattling your embrace and kiss.

✧ Tackles you to bed almost every night the first week, covering your cheeks and belly alike with kisses.

✧ Spends that very same time period sharing with absolutely any soul who even remotely listens that he’s going to be a father!

✧ Gloin is very insistent upon your care, even taking it upon himself to make your meals by hand. Which, suffice it to say, is a bit disastrous the first few times but he emerges triumphant in the end and succeeds in filling you with all the hearty things your budding dwarrowling needs!

✧ Being married to a dwarf means you have a husband who absolutely adores the extra pounds you put on and has no qualms about showing you in and out of the bedroom! Even just stopping by the market he’ll be wrapped around you.

✧ Encourages the baby every time they kick, shouting out praise of their strength while you tell him to cool it, all those kicks are going to you!

Bifur

✧ A large part of him thought that he would never be able to experience fatherhood. Not since the injury, and that had happened at such a young age. You cut right through that fear, assured Bifur that he would be an amazing father regardless of if he did some things differently. And that he would soon see, for your family would be growing early the next year.

✧ In all honesty, you feel blessed to have a husband who signs, for your baby will likely be able to communicate early! When you tell Bifur this he breaks out into tears, for what an angel you are to see the beauty in him. Every side of him. He promises to do the same.

✧ And make good on that does he! You will never want for love for even on your illest days Bifur is right by your side, his caresses gentle and speaking volumes of adoration.

✧ Absolutely adores jumping into the bath with you! His excuse being he has to help you and may as well rinse his beard off, but you can see how eager he is to run his hands over your hair and see the way your body relaxes at his cleansing touch. He wants nothing more than to feel useful, needed, and you assure him you cannot do this without him.

✧ Again and again, in fact, on the days when he stands behind you, holding up your burden and cheering you with little jokes and flirtation in Khuzdul even as you are overcome with exhaustion.

✧ Proudly tells everyone who will listen that he’s got a little warrior in there whenever the baby kicks!

Bofur

✧ You hadn’t exactly been trying. You hadn’t exactly been not trying, either. The news comes to you through a haze, muffled by the great rush of other thoughts bombarding your mind and sending your heart beating, but at their heart comes the image of Bofur holding a little one and bouncing them upon his knee and your chest flutters and soars. Your visit is completed all in smiles, and upon returning him to your husband’s questioning about the flu you’ve gone in for, you tell him it likely will not go away until the end of the year. “The end of the year? Why ever that long? I’ve never heard of a flu like that, not even-” “‘tisn’t a flu, my darling,” you smirk at him, “it’s a baby.” “A- you’re- we’re gonna have a-” Bofur is all agape, stepping closer and hovering his hands over your middle like he doesn’t want to grip you in a way that breaks you. “That all right?” You ask, half-teasing, for he has recently confided in you his envy of Bombur’s family. “All right? Song of my heart, I could kiss you!” “Well, what’s stopping you?”

✧ If you thought Bofur was affectionate before, well Mahal be with you, for you haven't seen anything yet! He falls even more in love with your body knowing it's carrying his and your child, hands nearly always holding or roaming you. When you're out and about, your husband usually has a hand at the small of your back, supporting the weight you carry as you walk and running soothingly up and down. Kisses all over your belly in private.

✧ This lends to how quick your husband is to reassure you on days you don't feel so friendly with your body, those times when you'd like nothing more than to shatter the looking-glass. "All I see," Bofur tells you one day, a hand on each of your shoulders as you peer together, "Is the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my lucky eyes upon, and she's not got an easy job. If I were her, I'd be proud of myself. Proud of making a comfortable home for our little one. And if I was her husband, why, I'd take her as she is right here and now! Right nice for me I am her husband, eh?"

✧ “Imagine havin’ a little girl.” Lying side by side, you heard Bofur’s wistful tone and felt a small smile creep onto your lips. “I’ll do her hair up in braids and tie them with ribbons. She’ll have all the pretty things she wants, because I have mine right here,” he adds, turning over to caress your belly and pull your lips into his.

✧ Marrying a toymaker comes with distinct perks: your husband crafts the most magnificent little wheeled contraptions and carven animals for your new addition! He spends hours carving and glazing them, and sometimes you catch him having fallen asleep at his workbench when you struggle to stay in dreamland, covering him up with a spare blanket.

✧ You worry because the baby doesn’t seem to move much, but Oin confirms everything seems to be going fine. “Your wee bairn just got this one’s personality, it seems!” He jokes, stabbing a mock-accusatory finger Bofur’s way.

Bombur

✧ A baker's dozen. For as long as you've known him, that's how many wee ones Bombur purported wanting. Thirteen more than most dwarves have, you always tease him, but in reality every time you see your sweet husband with children and hear him dream of a family your heart leaps. That is why the moment you take his hands and tell him it's come true is special, intimate, a quiet draw in and out of breath that has him sobbing joyously and nuzzling into your embrace with so much love your chest bursts from the flight of it.

✧ Sixth senses never seemed real to you until you became pregnant and it was like Bombur knew what you were craving and was making it before you could even say anything!

✧ Cannot keep away from you. Always wants to be kissing you and cupping your cheeks and holding your hands, just so so sweet!

✧ Bombur is so much more good-natured than you, for all the jokes about how you'll be as big as him soon have you swinging, but he just holds you back and laughs alongside them, saying he's looking forward to it with a twinkle in his eye.

✧ Literally baffled if you ever feel bad about your body; his legitimate confusion alone halfway snaps you out of the sad reverie, and all the following words about your beauty and your husband's appreciation of every inch does the rest.

✧ "You know I'll keep you safe, right? Both of you," he tells you one day, a hand resting upon your bump, "I may not be some great warrior, but Mahal help anyone who comes between us."

Dori

✧ From even before you were actually wed you knew that Dori would be an excellent father. Having taken care of his younger brothers from quite an early age, he had knowledge atop a naturally caring personality you fell for. Gentlemanly Dori waited with you, keeping chaste until after your wedding, but once it is official you know your news could come at any time and you accept that. On your one-year anniversary, in fact, your first gift to Dori is the tiniest bracelet of fine amber beads. “Does this mean…?” As soon as he sees you nod, Dori is taking you in his arms, cradling you gently as if you were made of fine porcelain and thrice as precious.

✧ Caring father-to-be. A little too caring. "If those are too heavy for you, I can carry them!" "They're just books, I'll be alright, Dori." "Oh, don't eat that, you got sick last time." "I haven't been sick in a month!" "That's a lot of steps, should I carry you?" "...Actually, sure."

✧ Always sleeps with his arm wrapped around your middle. No exceptions.

✧ Has every manner of tea and remedy you could desire on hand or otherwise purchases it. Same goes for supplies- Dori even found a ring-shaped cushion for you to lay on! He has your back for any ailment and is often there to make or apply your cure himself. After all, he wouldn't trust anyone else to do it!

✧ You love this dwarf with all your heart. He takes it upon himself to find dwarrowdams willing to let him practice changing diapers on their wee bairns and surprises you with this newfound skill when you return home one day!

✧ Dori’s love of the finer things absolutely carries over into his future fatherhood, as he has the loveliest little velvet clothes made and procures the dearest little bejeweled hairbrush. All in all, both of you amass far more than you need because any time you go out it inevitably devolves into you two clasping your joined hands between each other, gushing over all the wee things, and taking them home!

Nori

✧ He never thought he would get married at all, let alone have a family, but as time goes on the desire to continue his lineage and finally settle down takes hold. Then suddenly there he is desperately trying to seduce you into trying for a little one! It doesn't take long, not with his charm, until the day comes when you teasingly tell him that he got his way. Smirking until the realization takes hold of him, his arms are then snaking around your waist to pull you close.

✧ Always talking about how he's going to teach his little one everything he knows. When pressed about it, responds with such things as fighting and picking locks. His defense? "What if 'e gets stuck somewhere, or-"

✧ Impatient! "When am I gonna be able to feel 'em?" He asks, a hand upon your belly, which has yet to display any changes. "Not for another few months, Nori! I haven't even begun to show!"

✧ Hides things sometimes or puts them up places you can't go just so he can swoop in and help you, saving your day and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he tells you he can handle it, don't you worry your pretty little head.

✧ Nori always teases you when he pours himself a drink. "Bet you'd like some of this, huh? Not for three more months!" He chuckles. Your brows furrow. "Three months? What about when I'm feeding?" "What does tha- oh. Does that really-" "Yes, yes it does." "By the stars, I could have got my baby drunk!"

✧ Talks to the baby quite a bit, especially when he finally can feel the kicks. "Where you running off to, huh?" He chuckles, feeling the flutters against his hand pick up. "That's 'cause of me, isn't it? You hear me? That's right, it's your da. Can you believe it? Me, your da! I'll take good care of you, you hear?"

Ori

✧ "Ori, dear," you implored your husband, "Might you knit something for me?" Looking up from the scarf he'd just finished, Ori's eyes fell upon you and he gave that smile, the special one reserved just for you. "Of course. What would you like?" "A wee pair of booties," you replied, hands clasped and expression dreamy. "Who needs booties?" He asked, head cocked. "We will in the fall," you answered, stepping closer and resting a hand upon his. Ori's jaw dropped. "You... I... We-" Smile widening, you nodded. "I. You. We," you agreed.

✧ Nearly from the first day you know you are with child, Ori is rattling off names. After tossing out a great deal, he finally pauses and gives a sheepish apology. "I'm sorry, I suppose I've thought about this a lot," he confesses with a grin, "I just can't believe it's happening." Your hand joins with his, resting over your little bump. "Neither can I. It's like a dream."

✧ "So," you ask Ori one day, leaning your chin upon the couch where you'd lain, "What should our plan be for when my water breaks?" Your husband's brows furrow. "When your what?" "Oh, no," you mutter. Cue Ori spending his afternoon receiving a great multitude of lessons. What he got for being raised by other dwarf men, you suppose. "That really all happens to you?" He asks, gaping at you as though you came of the Valar themselves. "Yes, it does. Birth is a great deal of work. They don't just run on out, you know!" "Yes, I know. Of course I know." Ori's voice is faint; he excuses himself and you assume it's to faint or be sick, but about an hour later he returns bearing gifts. "I'm sorry I'm putting you through all that." "Sweetheart," you chuckle, cupping his cheek, "You know it takes two, right?" Your sweet husband reddened, but he nodded.

✧ Ori takes on almost all the cleaning himself- you haven't even asked! Finally curiosity gets the better of you and you inquire as to why he's gotten so into housekeeping. "Well, aren't you tired?" He asks simply, innocently, and you wonder how you got so lucky.

✧ He also knits far more than that pair of booties you requested- all three of you will have matching sweaters before your little one has arrived!

✧ Ori's favorite thing in the world is sitting with you in his lap, one hand cradling your growing bump and the other holding a book as you two take turns reading aloud, filling your cozy hollow with the sounds of voices your little one will come to love. The books are hand-drawn, written, and bound by him, of course!

Fili

✧ You two speak of little ones so much it borderline infuriates the others, Kili himself even bursting out in frustration one day at yet another interruption about tiny clothes, "Just get her pregnant already!" "Good idea. See you later," Fili replies, scooping you up and carrying you off bridal-style. "Wait, I- Damn, brother..." In reality, Fili just carried you around the corner and set you down while you two burst out laughing, but about a month later your tries were in fact successful!

✧ Honeyed words were no trouble for your husband before, but now? Praise falls endlessly from his lips. "Never did I think you could get more beautiful, and yet each day you succeed beyond my wildest dreams."

✧ Fili has a near-magical sense for your new struggles of coordination, all but flying to your side to catch your hand or waist whenever you trip or even whenever you must rise up again from your seat!

✧ He loves to tease you, asking what disgusting thing you'll think of him to fix next or joke that he can finally beat you in a fight in this state, but every joke is punctuated by the most loving eyes and gestures that they cannot do a thing but warm your heart and make you chuckle.

✧ Your baby is very active, kicking all the time! "We've definitely got a little Fili in here!" Your husband exclaims with a grin, hand resting atop your belly to feel your little one's exuberant motions. "A strong babe for sure," you sigh, "Much to the pity of my ribs!" "Too bad we aren't having a Kili. Nice and lazy for you." "Hey, I heard that!"

✧ He turns his head, peering over his shoulder at you as you waddle after him, golden hair cascading down. "Care for me to slow down a little?" "I care for you to shut up," you shoot back, crossing your arms and fighting your smile.

Kili

✧ The thought crossed your mind far before it did your husband's. Not that Kili had no desire for children, it was simply that the possibility was all the more yours to consider. It took a visit from your young cousin, who had Kili wrapped around your finger, for the fire to light in your husband's head as well, a smile lighting up his face. "We- we could..." "I know, Kili." You could and you certainly did but a few months later.

✧ "I hope they look just like you." "Me too." Kili pulls his head out of the crook of your neck. "Hey, that is the part where you say 'no, I hope they look like you'!" "I'm doing the work of carrying for how long again? Nine, ten months? Least they can do is resemble me a little," you shoot back with a smirk.

✧ It was Oin who brought the news: "Both babies seem healthy as far as I can tell!" "Both?" You gape. "Both babies?" "'s right," Oin replies, "I know I can't always hear the best, but I haven't been wrong on a heartbeat yet. You can feel 'em." "Guess we did pretty good, eh love?" Kili teases, earning him an elbow to the ribs, but he just shakes his head and tugs you closer against his chest. "Should we make their names confusing as well?" "Don't you think it might get old for them?" "Fili and I switched names plenty of times and we aren't even identical!" You should have known.

✧ Kili takes to sleeping facing you, close enough that sometimes your cheeks brush. Others he slips down lower and you awake with your husband cuddled up to the bump of your belly.

✧ Will come running from any room, anywhere, to feel the babies kick, and also loves tugging along any of his family he can take, too. Childlike wonder fills your husband's eyes every time and pride glistens in his dark eyes when he's brought along his mother, his brother, even his uncle the king!

✧ Never once do you doubt yourself or have one moment of room for insecurity, for Kili still flirts with you as if you were tweens and sneaks all sorts of touches, pecks, and affectionate hands in your hair wherever he can find it! The notion of a baby destroying the romance of your relationship is laughable to you, who married a dwarf that has no shame telling you you're the most gorgeous creature to walk the earth and warm his-and the baby's in a different way-body.

Bilbo

✧ Bilbo's a perceptive hobbit. He knows something's off with you. You don't usually scurry around the way you are like everything has to be perfect. That's his job. "Something the matter? Are you... expecting someone?" Your husband follows you down Bag End's hall as he gives his inquiry, eyebrows shooting up at the look on your face when you turn around. Consternation, resignation, finally a smile. "I was going to tell you after dinner," you answered, "But since you asked it like that, yes I am expecting someone. Our child this spring." At that, it was Bilbo's turn to shift through expressions. Shock, realization, finally a smile.

✧ Nursery shopping has become Bilbo's favorite pastime. Baby Baggins isn't arriving for months and yet your husband is returning from market with all manner of trinkets for the shelves and paper for the walls. You cannot help giggling at his armfuls of supplies and kissing his cheek as you relieve as much of his burden as he allows you to.

✧ So sweet, always helping you dress, pulling on every garment with the utmost of care and even avoiding your reflection on days you feel bad. Quickly kissing each part of your body before he covers it with something he knows will be comfortable.

✧ You'll be eating well whether you like it or not! Bilbo will make you anything under the sun if it means you and Baby Baggins are getting nourishment and he certainly will not have you skimping! Anything that makes you sick simply is not allowed in Bag End at all, end of discussion.

✧ One night, you awake to soft whispers and your heart melts at the sight of Bilbo resting his chin on your growing bump talking to the baby. Not uttering a word, you simply watch, taking in the moment beneath the sheen of tears in your eyes.

✧ "Careful, careful," Bilbo is always telling you, holding your hand and guiding you over the smallest of obstacles, even little puddles and rocks.

Thranduil

✧ He has talked about getting you pregnant before, but speaking of it and doing it are two entirely different things, especially with...well, words of such nature. Thus, you find yourself nervously wringing your hands before your husband as he strokes your face, asking whatever is the matter. At Thranduil's touch, his intense gaze, you fin yourself melting and admitting all, confessing that you are expecting his child. You are certainly not expecting the way his confident smile utterly falters, dissipating in favor of the look of a man near tears. "Truly? A little one of our own?" "Yes," you whisper, finally able to smile as the tension melts from your body, which is soon pulled against the Woodland King's. "Long have I dreamed of this day, my love."

✧ One of his favorite new activities is commissioning you new maternity dresses; you will certainly have plenty to wear if Thranduil has any say about it! In addition, when the time comes of course he requests that you model them for him.

✧ Thranduil loves to sneak up behind you, lightly wrapping his hands about your waist and laying them atop yours, his head resting in the crook of your neck and breathy, pleased laughter warming the skin there.

✧ When you start showing, oh, he loves it. One more sign that you are his, utterly and truly his queen, his beloved, claimed by Thranduil in every sense. He follows your lead, a hand around your waist, letting you shine like the gem he knows you to be. Rarely will you two be seen apart, not when the king can bask in your glow, relish the eyes upon your beautiful form, heavy with his child.

✧ There is one day he catches you in tears and heart tearing he steps to scoop you up against him, cheeks held gently in his elegant hands, which begin to glitter with your tears. "My rings no longer fit," you sob, head falling to his chest. Thranduil holds you close, grip loose as though you might break. "That is not your fault, meleth nîn." "I feel so... so massive." "Who wishes a small dwelling, hm? Piteous thing not to have any comforts. Your body is a host of life, the vessel of a bloodline. Beautiful in all its forms. Never forget that, oh dearest one."

✧ Thranduil is experienced; he knows many little tricks to help you feel better, be they massages or ways to bear your weight. He impresses you with the knowledge he has of the ways of women, understanding your water breaking, dilation, and every complication the healers warn you about and telling you before they even do!

Feren

✧ First to know was neither you nor your husband, but rather your cat, for she had suddenly become your little shadow, following you about your home and taking rest upon your lap as often as she could. "I wonder what it is that got into her," you commented one afternoon, smiling and stroking her back. "Growing up, ours got like this when my mother was carrying my younger sisters. Both times. It was like he could sense it," Feren replied. You both sat in smiling silence for a moment longer before simultaneously straightening, looking each other right in the widening eyes.

✧ Gets a little flustered, frankly. Not so much at your news itself, simply the realization sinking in that he is to be a father. He, Feren, will have a child. He says this out loud several times before suddenly breaking out into a smile. You tease him for going through half his emotions at once, but now the wave of joy has swept him up!

✧ Playfully rolls his eyes and mock-complains every time you remind him that he has to clean up after the cat now! Subsequently adds that he would fetch you the moon if you asked it.

✧ Loves helping you bathe the more difficult your condition makes it, scrubbing your hair with such care and gently massaging your sore feet and ankles as you wash up. Despite your husband's skill in battle, Feren's hands are the most loving and delicate you could ask for.

✧ Your husband has a natural tendency to rise early, so now that your sleep has become more fitful you do find that you have more time to spend together. Your head falling to his shoulder as you whisper to each other, seated as you are upon your bed with blankets draped over your shoulders.

✧ Feren wins your heart time and time again, like the day he lowered you down gently onto the grass of a sunny meadow, basking with you and weaving flowers. He made you a ring, crowned you with a wreath of flowers atop your head, and made another little one to place gently on the curve of your belly, bringing your heart to soar.

Bard

✧ Uncertainty wracks your heart and wrings your hands at the would-be-cheerful news. In fact, you yourself do feel joy, have since your suspicions were confirmed, but would Bard see it the same way? He already has three mouths to feed, three children all old enough to take care of themselves. Will he wish to start it all over so? "What's wrong, love? Your lip is bleeding." So it is. You've practically gnawed the poor thing off in all your stewing. A sigh escapes you. Bard is your husband. No sense in delaying a very necessary conversation. "I know we should have spoken more about it..." You begin, trailing off. At once, Bard senses your reservation and rises to your side, taking hold of your arms; the love in his dark eyes brings a small smile to your lips and relaxes you slightly. "I'm with child, Bard." Almost childlike is the wonder and joy spreading across your face, and before you can say another word you are being pulled into Bard's chest, face snuggling into the fur of his coat.

✧ He knows what to expect, naturally, so Bard is definitely not the type of husband to gripe about your requests, though he does smirk and poke fun if you’re especially outrageous with it or have a funny enough delivery. Then kisses you if you pout about it before fetching what you seek.

✧ Caution overtakes you and your husband as you make to tell his older children the news, particularly you, but your wringing hands relax when you can see the joy in their eyes, particularly the girls! They hope the baby is another girl, hugging you so tight you almost cannot breathe, but you complain not.

✧ Happy is Bard to take on assistance cooking; he knows it can make you sick sometimes and besides, it's a nice excuse to make sure you get all the nutrients you need! You are certainly very lucky in the skill and domesticity of your spouse.

✧ Stands behind you and reaches his arms around you, lifting up the weight you carry and smiling, kissing your neck and cheeks as you relax from your burden.

✧ He also has no qualms about making you rest, down even to physically lifting you up and carrying you to bed if he must!

Beorn

✧ Hesitant as he always would have claimed to be about bringing more Skin-Changers into a world so cruel to them, Beorn feels his nesting instincts kick in very quickly after you become his wife. You see it in the things he gathers, the way your husband moves things such as your blades to higher, safer locations. He is anticipating something. Something you cannot help pulling him aside and asking about, and when your feelings on the subject are made known, well, it is entirely possible you conceived that very night.

✧ Beorn has an almost eerie sense for all the changes taking place in your body. You feel a sharp pain in your back, and without a word your husband is behind you, ushering you down for a massage with some of the oils he's pressed.

✧ The aforementioned nesting instincts manifest early on, your husband carefully blunting corners and tucking away the best blankets so the little one-or ones!- will be nothing but safe and comfortable.

✧ Withdrawn as he could be, Beorn's affection is drawn out by your condition, his big brown eyes soft upon you as he pulls you into his lap, large hands secure about your waist and sliding gently up and down your growing belly.

✧ And grow it does! It seems to get heavier by the day, but that is explained thanks to your husband's exceptional hearing. "Four heartbeats. One is yours. A litter- three are coming!" Spots dance in your vision at that news, but Beorn's smile as he grips your hand brings you back to the light. You could do it with him by your side. "Our little litter."

✧ He attempts to reassure you anytime your anxiety grows. "My dearest flower, I have delivered hundreds of calves and piglets in my day! You will see this through." Reassuring? Perhaps not so much. But in your heightened emotion, that does break you into a wild laughter that does indeed relax you nonetheless.

Want to meet the little ones? Perhaps there will be a Part 2 😉

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[petalsandplots]

The Craving Cure

Summary: Late into pregnancy, strange cravings take hold of you, leaving Fred Weasley scrambling to make sense of your ever-changing appetite. Determined to be the best husband in the world, Fred throws himself into the challenge with humor, chaos, and unconditional love. From mismatched midnight feasts to heartfelt reassurances, Fred proves that no matter how bizarre the craving, he’ll always find a way to make you feel cared for.

You were curled up on the couch at the Burrow, a blanket draped over your swollen belly. The baby kicked again and with it came that familiar, unstoppable urge. You groaned and pressed your face into the pillow.

Fred, who had been tinkering with a small prototype for one of his joke shop inventions, immediately looked up.

“What’s wrong, love? Is it the baby? Or, Merlin forbid, did Mum try to sneak you another one of her vitamin potions?”

You shook your head dramatically. “No. It’s worse.”

Fred dropped everything and hurried over, crouching beside you, concern etched on his freckled face.

“Worse than my mother’s potions? That’s dire. Tell me, what is it?”

You let out a mournful sigh. “I need… something. Something salty… but also sweet… but also crunchy. But soft, too. And cold. But warm.”

Fred blinked, utterly lost. “Right. So… basically, you want every food group known to wizardkind?”

You gave him the look, the one that said if he didn’t understand immediately, you might cry. He panicked slightly but masked it with his usual grin.

“Not to worry! Fred Weasley is on the case.”

He dashed about the kitchen like a madman. A jar of treacle, a bag of crisps, leftover shepherd’s pie, a bowl of ice cream. He attempted to arrange them like a gourmet platter, even pulling out a handful of Fizzing Whizbees to sprinkle over the top.

When he set it in front of you proudly, you squinted at the chaos.

“What… exactly is this?”

Fred puffed out his chest. “The finest pregnancy craving platter in Britain. Salty, sweet, crunchy, soft, hot, cold, and a touch of chaos, because, darling, that’s us.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the baby’s soft kicks. Tentatively, you scooped a bit of ice cream onto a crisp, added a crumble of pie, and… surprisingly, it wasn’t terrible. In fact, it hit the spot.

Your eyes lit up. “Fred… this is perfect.”

He slumped with exaggerated relief, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow.

“Merlin’s beard, I thought I was about to fail as a husband. But clearly, I’ve still got it.”

You tugged him down beside you, resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm carefully around you and your bump, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“You’ll always be the best husband in the world,” you murmured.

Fred grinned, but his voice dropped softer, tenderer than usual.

“And you’ll always be the bravest, most beautiful mum in the world. Even if you do make me invent bizarre snacks at two in the morning.”

The two of you sat there, laughing quietly, the strange feast between you. And somehow, with Fred by your side, the cravings didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

[shirefantasies]

ok ok because all the parent au’s are so cute😭

so can I please request the fellowship’s reaction to finding out their s/o is pregnant?🥺

tysm!

I love my parent au hell yeah 😎 Warnings: Some mentions of infertility, implication of miscarriages (NO graphic detail), suggestive jokes

The Fellowship Finding Out You're Pregnant (Wife!Reader)

Aragorn

"Sleep."

"I don't need to—"

Much as you attempted to protest, fatigue had been taking you of late, and your husband’s gentle but firm grip was easy to succumb to. Relenting, you allowed him to guide you onto your back and drape you onto your shared bed, a sigh of relief escaping you as your back was cradled, too. In his murmurings to you before you drifted off, Aragorn expressed concern for your health. Far be it from you to deny a ranger’s intuition, so as sleep overtook you you agreed to see a healer the next day.

When morning came, there was naught to do but heed your own word and make way for an older, wiser woman’s aid. And aid she did: with a needle-sharp eye she deduced nearly all your symptoms before you could even speak them yourself, and she barely needed to look you over to make her judgement.

~

“A child?”

Grinning, you nodded up at your husband and repeated his words, uncaring at the dreaminess in your tone. “A child.”

As was his wont, Aragorn spoke no more words, but his stoicism dropped in favor of a wide smile as he swept you into his arms.

Legolas

“Something is different,” you heard Legolas comment.

“Some sign borne to you on the wind?” Your husband had sharp senses, senses you trusted with your very life. That did not mean you were above teasing him, though.

"No," he replied, "Your condition. A certain weakness has befallen you. I've noticed how exhausted you've been. When was your last cycle?"

Legolas's words summoned a single hearty laugh from you, who wondered how many wives were asked such things by their husbands. Quick as the irony struck, however, it waned. Your eyes widened as you counted.

"You certainly remember your teachings," you breathed, shaking your head lightly, "I suspect you, my love, are onto something."

"You are with child?"

Legolas finally vocalized your shared suspicions, the phrase carried soft and sweet and sure upon his voice where your own would have faltered. As he spoke, he drew nearer to you, reaching down to take your hand, his thumb running over the back of it.

"We did it?" That teasing little prince you got the privilege of seeing emerged in the form of one of Legolas's rare grins.

"I think we did," you answered, leaning into his touch until your chests were close as could be, your hearts beating one atop the other as your lips too joined.

Boromir

“Go on, go on, don’t keep me waiting!”

Grinning, you waved a dismissive hand before grabbing up your skirts and running off as fast as your off-kilter legs could. Your whole body felt heavy of late, your gait ever so shifted. Sickly tendencies had taken you, but you and Boromir had no fear, only suspected cause for celebration. Your husband practically yanked you out of bed that morning and shoved you out the door in his excitement. Annoyance hardly ticked its way across your head at the grin splitting Boromir’s face, the lovestruck look in his green eyes as he waved his goodbyes.

Your heart fluttered and the sight and jumped into your throat as you answered questions, gave what was asked of you for the midwife’s test. It all added up. Bolting upright, you barely had your dress back on before barreling out the door, which she joked you’d sent snapping off its hinges as you ran. Lack of balance was an utterly inconsequential trial in such a moment, your heart thrumming in tune with the beat of your feet upon Minas Tirith’s white stone.

Boromir awaiting you cut such a mental image it elicited a giggle from you as you shuffled down the lane. In your mind’s eye he was standing there in the doorway with wide eyes and hands on his hips asking what the midwife said.

Reality elicited a full-blown bark of laughter at how well you knew your husband. There Boromir stood, the only difference being his posture, which instead leaned in an attempt at a casual stance against the doorway but straightened in a hurry like your news didn’t have eight or nine more months to sit.

“Well, my love? What did she say?”

“She said you’ve got an excuse not to ship off to any battles anytime soon.” You replied, falling against him as he clasped one of your hands against his chest, his heartbeat rapid beneath your palm. Your other hand reached out a finger to poke at his chest in mock accusation.

His only reply was the triumphant whoop of a knight victorious, a sound loud enough to drown out your squeak of surprise when he lifted you in the air and twirled you.

Gimli

How many months had it been? Too many to count, at least from the top of your head, had you been making attempts. Attempts which had occasionally culminated in tragic failure, attempts which sometimes amounted to a great nothing. Through it all, Gimli was your rock. For all he bellowed and grieved, gripped your hand tight and cried right alongside you, he was there to lift your spirits, too. Nudge you and joke about how you'll have to try harder with a saucy little wink only a dwarf could summon.

Gimli was not there when you received the sign— propriety and all. Not even the healer was there, for you had requested to be alone and she immediately obliged, disappearing back between the folds of her tent as you looked down into the next omen of your future, chest slamming. Your urine bore the exact signs you had been told of, even seen in the past. This time, though? You felt different. Better in some ways, worse in others. Less sick, but…heavier. Less steady.

The vessel bore the signs. Stronger signs than you’d had before. Could it be…

“You’ve been in this state longer than most,” the healer’s voice emerged as a hand clapped your shoulder, “Getting used to it, eh?”

For once, your tears were accompanied by a smile.

The task ahead deserved the proportions Gimli’s people may not have stood by, but lived by. It had to be something he’d be alright with not doing himself, though. You thought and thought, and in the end your answer came.

“Why the sudden fascination with all these old toys, hm, my dear?” One auburn brow arched, your husband sauntered into the room in a perfect tone of teasing skepticism. “Not— not that I mind, of course, but they are…everywhere.”

So you’d gotten a little carried away. The pull ram on wheels was so cute, but so were the little pecking birds and the tiny warrior looked just like Gimli! And the wee cat reminded you of your dear friend Legolas, not to mention—

Your name startled you back from your reverie. “Love? Any particular reason you’ve made a playhouse of us?”

“The baby will love it,” you replied with a shrug, waiting for his response.

Didn’t take long. Lips forming an O, Gimli sputtered, gaze wildly swinging between every toy, your eyes, down lower, back to the toys…

“Baby? Baby?!”

“I am pregnant. Much farther along than we’ve ever gotten before. You’re going to be a father, Gimli,” you barely managed to breathe beneath his warm, fuzzy, and a little bit bone-crushing hug.

“I knew we had it in us,” you heard your husband whisper, “You’ve got a fight in you, lass, and so does our little one. It’s one of the many reasons I love you both.”

Frodo

Would your husband be happy? The last thing you would want to be to a soul who had endured so much was another burden. A regret. Hands wringing, you blinked back a hot rush of tears from your rapidly fluttering lids. Joy rang against the back of your skull, muted by the bang of your heart. How would you go about this?

The sound of your name, soft and sweet, lifted you gently from your spiral and back into the arms of reality. The light touch of Frodo’s hand upon your shoulder and the pressure of his head lying against you. Warmth swelled from the points of contact, giving joy its volume back. A smile tiptoed its way back onto your face, stepping lightly as your eyes met Frodo’s deep seas. How you loved staring into them. Would your child inherit them? You hoped so.

That thought alone alongside Frodo’s quiet inquiry as to what was wrong spurred you forward. It was now or never.

“Frodo,” you answered in a faltering breath, standing to face him and take his hands in yours, “I— I wanted to be sure first, but it has been long enough. I’m with child, Frodo.”

Sometimes it seemed impossible that your husband’s wonder-filled eyes could grow any wider, but they’d just done so. “We’re having a child?”

His expression was one of surprise, but what else? All you could do was nod, heat prodding the corners of your eyes again. Until, that was, more warmth caresses you in the form of Frodo’s hands gently pulling your head down as he kissed the crown of it.

“You’ve given me a gift I never thought possible. A new life. Happiness I once thought denied to us. I could not ask for a better mother to my child and I will be the best father I can. There’s no one I’d rather be doing this with than you.”

Sam

For a time you'd wondered if it was even possible. Nothing had happened yet and not for lack of trying. Half the time it seemed like every other thought in yours and Sam's mind were about a baby, especially knowing what a large family your husband wanted. Oh, and how you wanted to give it to him! What would it feel like? Would you know?

You'd felt ill enough to ask your neighbor Cedrella for a bit of advice, maybe a mite of one of her herbal teas, when realization struck.

"Has your chest been a bit sore?"

"Yes," you answered.

"You already said fatigue. Ever felt nauseous?"

"Yes," you repeated, "In fact, that was the thing I was hoping to cure the most. I figured my soreness might've been telling me my cycle was coming."

"And when were you supposed to have that?"

A mental map of the month papered the walls of your head. Last month it had been the fourth, so this month... You gaped. How had you lost track so badly? ...You grinned. How had you lost track indeed.

"Three weeks ago."

At that Cedrella beamed, swishing some of her dark brown curls off her shoulder. "I don't think you'll be having it anytime soon. Lucky for you, though, I have just the tea. May sound like an odd blend, but ginger root and raspberry leaf are miracle workers for all you young ladies’ symptoms.” She was off in an instant, unscrewing a jar and scooping bags for you.

As much as you thanked her, you didn’t stay long after that. After all, she was right next door. You could always come back.

Your name rang through the halls of your home the moment the door scraped gently open. “Did Cedrella get you fixed up with something, love?” Sam was in the kitchen when you found him, straightening the potted herbs you had sunning in the windowsill.

Why not have a little fun with it? Smiling widely, you held up the little box of bags you’d been given. “She did indeed. Best mix she had for cramps and morning sickness.”

“Morning sickness?” Sam tilted his head, looking for all the world like those golden puppies the Proudfoot grandchildren had recently welcomed a litter of. “Isn’t that only if you’re…”

“Expecting,” you finished for him.

“We are? …You are?” Sam corrected, bounding across the wood floor with great clumsy strides and all but falling into your arms.

“We are,” you agreed, tension melting from your body as it sank into Sam’s, “Our little dream is coming true.”

Merry

“Have a drink, won’t ya?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” you answered the elder hobbit, waving a hand.

“Why not?” Your husband chimed in with a grin, an arm around you. “We’ve been dancing up a storm! Gotta wet your whistle every now and again!”

How you loved that impish grin of Merry’s, but right then you were feeling anything but; tension stiffened your muscles as you shook your head again.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Merry’s grin faded as he rested the back of his hand against your forehead, uncaring of the sweat you’d worked up dancing or any hair that fell atop it. “Will you at least have some water?”

Your already warm body spiked with his touch against your slick forehead, but a sense of comfort spread across you with his endearing care. Merry led you from the whirling hobbit pairs in the center of the inn, away from the many stomping feet and to a pair of chairs. He waved Rosie down to bring you a mug of water, which you gratefully sipped. The sides of the pottery were cool against your hands, refreshingly contrasting your pounding head and pulsing cheeks.

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked Master Bolger’s mead. Or,” Merry’s brow immediately crinkled, “Did he say something to upset you? Believe you me, I’ll have him straightened out in a moment.”

With one hand, you restrained your rising husband from springing fully out of his seat. Bobbing back down from the shoulder, Merry looked at you with a mix of confusion and awe dancing in his dark blue eyes.

“He didn’t offend me, Merry,” you assured him, inhaling and exhaling in a sigh, “I just didn’t want to tell you like this.”

His eyes flashed to storms of pure worry. “Tell me what?”

“I’m pregnant. Some of the old wives told me it’s not good for the baby to keep drinking, so I didn’t want to take any chances. I’ll be teetotaling for quite some time.”

Drink was the furthest thing on your husband’s mind, you could tell. For all it was worth, you could’ve just told him you’d only be drinking bog water. The mad, besotted smile on his face brought one to your lips, for clearly he hadn’t heard a word you said after ‘pregnant’.

“You’re having a baby?”

“That’s what being pregnant means,” you teased, lips forming a smirk, “Yes.”

“Oh! Oh, my dear!” This time, you did not stop Merry’s rise, the way his hands took yours and pulled you in for an embrace, the warm buzz of his whisper into your ear. “Can we have one more dance? I’ve got to show you off a little more now. Celebrate with you in my arms.”

How could you say no to that?

Pippin

You should’ve expected this. After all, you could hardly keep your hands off each other. Still, though, your mind blanked with the shock of your great-aunt’s words.

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling and tutting, she nodded, grin smug with satisfaction. “I don’t even need to look at you. We all felt the exact same way, me, your gran, and our little sister. Your mother, too. You’re in luck, m’dear— morning sickness doesn’t run in the family, you’ll likely not cast a mite!”

Sarcasm reared its mental head, but you shushed it, aware what she’d shared was ultimately good news. Thanking her, you made your excuses—quite easy ones, all things considered—and shuffled off to Tuckborough. Your only regret was your family finding out before your husband, but of all of them you trusted that particular set of great-aunts not to spill.

But spill you would. En route you all but crashed into a procession of pigs, stumbling Farmer Mosco more amused than annoyed as he asked your mess of skirts where you were off to in such a hurry.

"I've got a surprise for Pippin!" You called behind your back, not stopping for another moment.

“Well,” you heard the farmer call back, “If it’s anything like mine, it’ll have him off his feet!”

Off his feet indeed. Pippin was home when you got there, already sitting outside and lowering his pipe and furrowing his brows when he caught sight of you barreling his way.

You could have done this eloquently, made a surprise or a clever little gift or pulled him inside for some solemn whisperings, but that was never yours or Pippin’s style.

“What’s wrong?” Your husband asked, rising fully from his seat, pipe long forgotten and smoldering at his side.

“I’m pregnant, Pip!”

“You’re what?”

“Remember how I was feeling a bit under the weather? Turns out I’m not sick at all!” You added, meeting him and smiling as his hands immediately latched around your waist. “We’re having a baby.”

Pippin’s smile grew bigger than you’d thought possible, tears shining in those lovely green eyes of his. He peered at you for a moment of silence, gently caressing your waist and staring into your eyes like he could see the light of the Valar themselves therein. And then all at once it broke, a massive grin spreading across his face as he whooped and spun you around.

"We're having a baby!" He shouted even louder, neither of you caring who heard you cheer.

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[celuere]

Domesticated Arlecchino.

The concept of Arle coming home to you on a snowy evening, the weather‘s remnants melting away on her coat as she hangs it up before the smell of a homecooked meal hits her and at the stove is standing none other than you. Humming a soft melody as you test if the goulash needs more seasoning AND heavy with child. Apron and face all with flour from when you were trying to bake some bread for the first time (though you gave up midway) and the wedding ring on your finger glistening gently in the warm light… the sight so beautifully your Husband she feels her heart painfully squeeze behind her sternum oh she LOVES you.

You don’t get startled as two strong but protective arms wraps themselves around you from behind with a nose being buried into your hand as a hand gently caresses the underside of your baby belly ough I‘m so sick… you‘ll still get sentenced to the table where you‘d watch her finish the meal with your instructions because not even in hell would she want her wife to lift a finger when she‘s there to prevent it.

And letting her rub the belly oil over your sweet bump every time before bed, her cursed hands holding something so sacred beneath their touch as she feels her stomach growing all fuzzy at a gentle kick hits her palm qldnwlflwlw or taking her hand and carefully guiding it to the place where you‘ve had to endure the kicks for entire day and she‘s so incredibly charmed by this little life you’re nurturing in there it almost knocks her out cold…

[celuere]

„Perueeeere…“, you mewl softly, nuzzling into your Husband‘s neck as you fish out the reports she‘s been so fixated on out of her hands when you feel her pulse increasing as you press your nose against her jugular vein, mixed with the soft aroma of her shampoo and an ordinary soap. Of course she does, she just recently came back from the shower after all.

cw: pregnant!reader, arle is so smitten fy ugh hate her, mentions of pussy eating

She tenses at your boldness before looking over, the blanket draped lazily over your baby belly as your hand tries to go unnoticed into her boxers, „What… did I tell you about-”

„I shouldn’t disrupt you during your thirty minutes of mandatory report reviewing, I know… but it‘s so hard when you are laying next to me like… that…“, you coo and kiss the pulse on her neck as you trace the hairy stripe leading underneath her underwear, noticing a slight tick in her jaw from pressing her teeth together. 

„Like what…“, she asks, still not daring to move the slightest bit even when you slip your hand past the hem of her boxers, the warmth of her crotch making you hum in satisfaction as you gently engulf her soft dick in your hand, letting your index finger swipe over her cockhead as your thumb rubs agonizing circles over the sensitive shaft. You hear her breath shaking in kind before her hips buck into your hand all on their own. 

„Don’t know… it’s the hormones, my love…“, you whisper against her skin before sitting up to reach her jawline with your lips, „Been torturing me for the entire day…“, you mumble against her skin, so eager to make her forget about the diplomatic matters she needs to attend to.

Her dick started reacting almost immediately to your hot touch, growing in size as her fingers twitch slightly at the suppressed reflex to just pin you down like a prey being caught, yet on days like these she‘s rather feeling like the one getting preyed on whenever hormones seemed to get the better of you.

„Oh… you… gulps poor thing…“, tormented by your hand stroking her under the covers she takes off those awfully good-looking glasses from her nose, placing them on her nightstand before finally turning to her side to face you, her own hand immediately fidgeting the fabric over your swollen belly as you smile to yourself at your silent victory over her. At the end of the day she is still so incredibly enamored by you.

„How do you want me, dearest…?“, she mumbles against your forehead, her other hand playing with the strands of your hair as you feel her warm hand roaming over your tummy, her paperwork already a long forgotten afterthought.

„On top… just on top…“, you sigh and let her carefully reposition you into a slouching posture on your own pillow as you feel the weight next to you shifting between your legs. Her bulge suddenly now significantly bigger as she sat before you on her spread knees with the tips of her happy trail slightly sticking out from beneath the shirt. That sight alone was enough to get a deep, longing exhale from you as you fight the urge to ask her for a shirtless view on her trained body. 

„Is this to your comfort, ma cherié…?“, Arlecchino bends slowly over your figure, her open hair falling down in a white cascade onto your pillow as you nod, completely smitten by the beautiful view in front of you and suddenly that wedding ring felt a lot heavier on your finger than usual. At your confirmation she leans down, letting her lips softly brush over your temple as she starts to press kiss after kiss to your flushed face from your cheeks to your nose up to your forehead and down to your lips which she captures in a kiss that could be described in a way the moon‘s reflection hits the water surface of a lake in the silent hours of the night. Breathtaking, gentle and sadly not everlasting when she starts to coo and praise you between kisses.

„My wonderful Wife…“

„So enamoring…“

She just couldn’t stop herself with this view on you, lips parted, cheeks flushed in a traitorous red with your sleep gown shoved over your baby belly that she felt a tight squeeze behind her sternum whenever she looked at you a little too long. 

Her Wife is pregnant. From her. With her child. Pregnant as in you will give birth in a little over two months to a living being. A living being she helped create with her own cursed existence.

„P-Peruere…?“, you mumbled as your hand came down on her cheek to which she immediately places her own over yours, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. „Hm…?“

„Nothing… You were staring just now…“ 

„Am I not allowed to admire the beauty of my Wife anymore…?“, she almost sounded a little insulted when her fingers shoved aside the soaked cloth of your panties, making you gasp when the cold hair hit your wet folds, the slick sticking to your brush like an invitation for Arlecchino to delve between your legs head first.

„S-Staring again- I can’t really shave with a baby in the way, I‘m sorry-”

„I‘m as scared of a bit of hair as a forest ranger in Sumeru is scared of their jungle, darling.“

„If you‘d now excuse me. It has come to my attention that I must have skipped dinner this evening.“

[legacygirlingreen]

Beautiful Boy || Eddie Munson x Reader

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female! neighbor reader (No use of y/n)

Summary: Years into raising their son Eldarion, Eddie and his wife take their kiddo to the  Fellowship of the Ring premiere, where events of the evening sparkthoughts of another baby in the house. One thing leads to another, and the night takes on a pleasant turn... (alt. summary: Eddie has a breeding kink and really loves seeing his wife be maternal to their 7 year old)

Series Warnings: Mention of children/having kids/wanting to be pregnant; short hair Eddie (if you are a long hair purist I'd scoot), breeding kink, mentions of bodies changing during motherhood, breastfeeding mentioned not a kink, hair pulling, bit of exhibitionism, dom/sub, creampie

Rating: NSFW (18+) no minors allowed!

Word Count: 11, 996 

Author's Note: This is a continuation of my short series "In Your Own Sweet Time", however it can be read independently! This picks up a few years following the epilogue! I just... couldn't leave them alone! I understand this may not be everyone's particular cup of tea, but I hope people like this unplanned glimpse into the future... Peace and Love ~ Mae

In Your Own Sweet Time Series Masterlist | Previous

Life had a cruel sense of humor. It could make you late for work even when you left early, throw your favorite shirt into a heat cycle it wouldn’t survive, and, in its grandest joke yet, make you carry a child for nine long months of nausea, cravings, and bone-deep fatigue, only for that child to come out looking exactly like your husband. Not a hint of you. Not even a token gesture. And of course, the world noticed. Distant relatives. Cashiers. Strangers on the street. “He’s the spitting image of his daddy,” they’d say, like it was some cosmic gift.

Because let’s be honest: Eldarion Munson was Eddie’s mirror. Those wild curls. The soft but mischievous tilt of his grin. Moonpie eyes. Eddie tried to argue, of course. “That’s your smile,” he’d insist. “Those dimples? Yours. No contest.” But all she could see was Eddie. Head to toe, inside and out.

It felt like just yesterday she’d stood in that shop’s fluorescent light, pregnancy test in hand, while Eddie cycled through the entire human emotional spectrum in under two minutes. Ecstasy. Terror. Reverence. And then joy again, deeper this time, and with both feet on the ground. From that moment on, he was all in. Gentle hands through every wave of sickness. Steady voice through every pang of doubt. The kind of man who rubbed aching feet, learned every brand of prenatal vitamin, and read aloud from baby books even when he didn’t understand half the terminology.

And when labor came, he held her hand until she nearly broke his fingers. Called her a goddess. Never once made her feel small or messy or anything but powerful. After, in the blur of sleepless nights and spit-up-stained shirts, he remained her anchor. Let every compliment about their son loop back to her. “She’s the reason he’s here. She did the hard part.” He’d say it every time. 

The only thing he truly asked for was the name. No rock stars. No metal legends. No middle names that would make future teachers cringe. Just a soft plea one night, book in hand, voice trembling with nerves: Eldarion. From Tolkien. A child born of hope and impossible love. She couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to frankly. They shortened it to Darion for the everyday. Same initials as Eddie. EM. As well as a nod to old nicknames from their younger days: Evenstar and Strider. It fit too damn well.

And now, seven years later, that same kid was practically levitating in his seat at the movie theater, plastic sword slung across his lap, ears slightly crooked from the elf costume he’d insisted on wearing. His whole body buzzing with anticipation as the lights dimmed. She couldn’t tell who was more excited: Eddie or Darion. Probably Eddie. They’d gone full send. Capes, props, the works. Nothing done halfway in the Munson household. Nothing ever had been. The only thing missing…

“Hey, sweetheart?” Eddie said around a mouthful of popcorn, tilting toward her with that familiar look. The one that usually meant he’d forgotten something obvious. She was already reaching into her purse. Of course she brought them. Years with Eddie taught her to stay three steps ahead of his memory. He blinked down at the glasses in her hand like they were magic. Took them gently, slid them on, and leaned close enough for her to feel his breath warm against her jaw.

"You," he murmured, brushing a kiss just beneath her ear, voice warm with awe, "are the most amazing woman I know. Got some kind of sixth sense for me and our little man."

"I'm a seasoned veteran at this point," she replied with a quiet laugh, fingers slipping into his like it was second nature. Because it was. Years of knowing him had made her fluent in Eddie Munson. Every sigh, every grin, every moment he lost something only to find it again in her hands.

Eldarion had grown up wrapped in the kind of love people wrote off as excessive. The kind that made other parents raise their brows at PTA meetings or side-eye them during school pick-up. But neither she nor Eddie ever cared for appearances. Love, to them, wasn’t a quiet thing. It was made known. A kiss pressed to a temple. A hand held without reason. A gentle tug toward the safety of a familiar embrace. Their son never had to guess whether he was loved. It was spoken, shown, repeated in the small ways that mattered most.

She turned to Eddie then, drawn in by the weight of the moment more than the motion picture still waiting to start. His eyes – those soft, soulful browns Eldarion had inherited – looked just a little too big behind the black frames perched on his nose. The glasses were a recent addition. His vision wasn’t terrible. Not yet, anyway. But time had done what it always did, gently pulling things out of focus: road signs at night, fine print on record sleeves, her body in the half-light of early morning. Not that she minded. He only wore them when he needed to. Driving. Watching cartoons too early on Saturdays. Reading fantasy novels aloud while their son fell asleep. And sometimes, at her request, in bed… Because, admittedly, she found the look entirely too attractive to waste. Now, though, they sat squarely on his face as he grinned toward the glowing screen. A man on the verge of something transcendent.

Eddie Munson had waited for this moment since he was about the age of their son, when he’d first cracked open The Fellowship of the Ring in the library and discovered a world that gave his misfit heart a home. For decades, he’d imagined what it might look like if someone tried to put Middle-earth to film. Dreamed about seeing Rivendell made real, hearing the Shire’s music come to life. He’d even sketched art in the margins of his notebooks back in high school. And now here he was. Thirty-something, foam sword across his lap, child bouncing beside him, wife at his side. His breath caught as the New Line logo shimmered onto the screen, and he squeezed her hand. "This is it," he whispered, "It’s really happening."

She watched him more than the screen in those first few minutes. The way his expression flickered with boyish wonder. The way he glanced at Darion as if to say do you see it? He looked younger, somehow. Not in the way that denied time, but in the way that made it meaningful. He had lived long enough to get here. To sit between the two people he loved most in the world and watch the magic of his adolescence unfold in real-time.

Eldarion was transfixed. Eddie was near tears. And she was simply full.

Not just of love, but of a quiet kind of pride. For the life they had built. For the boy they made, who saw his father not just as a man, but as a kind of legend. For the man beside her. Still the same chaotic, tender-hearted soul who once claimed she was the Evenstar to his Strider, now staring in awe at a world he never thought he’d live to see in motion.

The film unspooled like a dream. Familiar lines spoken aloud for the first time, landscapes larger than life, music that felt pulled from Eddie’s bloodstream. He didn’t blink much. Barely breathed during the Council of Elrond. Whispered a reverent yes when Aragorn stepped out of the shadows and swore his loyalty to Frodo. Her eyes drifted, now and then, from the screen to the man beside her. His fingers were still loosely curled around hers, but he’d forgotten everything else. The world had narrowed to the size of the screen, and for Eddie, that was enough. This was his childhood on display, made real by actors and CGI and Peter Jackson’s impossible commitment to authenticity.

Darion had been just as wired in the beginning, legs bouncing through the shire and gasping at the riders, but as the runtime pushed into its second hour, his energy began to wane. Sugar crash, most likely. Or just the quiet weight of being seven, out past bedtime, in a dark theater.

She felt it before she saw it. A small shift in the seats, the faintest lean. Darion padded the distance between her and him, sidestepping Eddie’s legs as he crawled into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation, just instinct. His arms looped around her neck, his cheek resting soft against her chest.

Her breath caught.

He hadn’t done this in years. Not since kindergarten, maybe early first grade. Somewhere around the age kids decide they’re too big to be small anymore, when affection becomes something private, when independence is currency in the world of lunch tables and recess rules. He still hugged her, of course. Still held her hand when they crossed streets or when movies got too intense. But this was something else.

She folded her arms around him without a word, holding him gently, as if any sudden move might disturb him. His body was warm and boneless in that way only half-asleep children could manage, head tucked beneath her chin, curls tickling her collarbone. His breath slowed as the battle of Amon Hen lit up the screen.

For a few moments, she didn’t watch the film. She watched him. Felt the soft rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him, the quiet sigh he let out as he drifted in and out. A little older every day, a little taller every week. But right now, he was her baby. Just for a little while. She glanced sideways at Eddie, who noticed. His eyes softened, and he leaned in.

“You’re the whole damn world, you know that?” he whispered. “For both of us.” Eddie reached down and flipped the armrest up between their seats without looking. Then his arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her, and Darion, with him. All three of them folded into one soft shape in the dark, like they were trying to melt into each other. He kissed her temple once before brushing their son’s curls back from his forehead with the palm of his hand. 

The movie played on, but the world narrowed to the warm weight of her son in her arms, the smell of Eddie’s cologne, and the gentle thumb that traced idle circles over her shoulder. The screen flickered gold and green and deep shadow, and her head rested lightly against Eddie’s collarbone. The soundtrack swelled. Flutes, strings, voices that sounded like wind and water as it all blurred together.

By the time the credits began to roll, Darion was fully asleep, mouth slightly open, a tiny smear of chocolate at the corner of his lip. She brushed it away with her thumb, and Eddie chuckled softly beside her. “I’ve got him,” he said, already shifting forward.

She hesitated. “Are you sure? He’s getting big–”

“Not too big.” Eddie gave her that crooked, sincere grin. The one that still made her stomach flip, even now. 

He stood with a groan, more dramatic than necessary, and stretched his back like he was lifting a sack of bricks instead of the slight, sleepy body of their son. Then he leaned down and scooped Darion up with practiced ease, adjusting his foam sword so it didn’t get crushed between them. The boy stirred a little, murmuring something incoherent, but didn’t wake. His cheek pressed against Eddie’s shoulder, arms loosely dangling around his dad’s neck.

“Gotcha, little warrior,” Eddie whispered. They made their way out of the theater slowly, walking through the soft hush of other moviegoers murmuring about hobbits and elves, the smell of stale popcorn and carpet cleaner following them into the hallway. Outside, the night was cool and quiet. The parking lot lights flickered above them like stars. She walked beside Eddie, one hand resting lightly on Darion’s back where he slept against his father’s shoulder.

At that moment, everything felt far away. The chaos of the world, the passage of time, even the weight of growing older. All that existed was this: their boy asleep, the lingering music of Middle-earth still echoing in their minds, and Eddie, who looked at her like the magic hadn’t stopped when the credits rolled. As if it just changed shape from fictional into his real life fantasy.

The drive home passed quickly. Streetlights drifted past in golden arcs, casting their little car in shifting shadows. Darion slept soundly in the back seat, strapped in with his head tilted awkwardly to one side, foam sword tucked beside him like a beloved teddy bear. Eddie kept one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to find hers in the dark. She held it easily, thumb tracing lazy lines across the back of his knuckles as they drove in silence. There was no need to speak. The air was full enough with contentment.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Darion hadn’t stirred. Eddie glanced in the rearview mirror, then at her, and smiled in that way that said, let me. He carried their son inside with that same theatrical groan, whispering a raspy, “Heavy as a cave troll,” as he kicked the front door closed with his sneakers. She followed behind, flicking on lights as they passed through the quiet hum of their home. The warmth of the evening clung to the rooms, that post-movie, post-magic stillness settling in.

Upstairs, Eddie moved like muscle memory. One knee on the floor as he pulled off little sneakers, placing them gently beside the bed. Darion mumbled something about hobbits and lembas bread, still not fully awake, and Eddie chuckled low under his breath.

“Make sure he brushes his teeth,” she whispered from the doorway, slipping into the closet and returning with the soft cotton pajamas with tiny stars on them. One of the last pairs that still fit him right. They worked quietly in tandem, wordless in the way only two people long used to shared routines could be. Eddie coaxed Darion’s arms into his pajama top, smoothing down wild curls as he went. Their son barely blinked, caught in that half-dream, half-awareness only children seemed to master.

“Alright, Pip,” Eddie whispered, tucking the blanket up to his chin. “You made it through the Mines of Moria. Sleep now, yeah?”

Darion gave the faintest nod, already gone again, face soft in the amber light of his bedside lamp. Eddie leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then stood. She did the same, pausing just a beat longer, letting her hand rest on his small chest, feeling it rise and fall. Then she turned off the light and pulled the door shut.

Their bedroom was quiet when they stepped in. Eddie peeled off his hoodie and dropped it onto the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. Even in the dimly lit room she could see the way the short bristles of hair were retaking the nape of his neck in a chaotic pattern. She moved slower, her heart still somewhere back in that theater seat, with the memory of arms still wrapped around the weight of a boy who hadn’t crawled into her lap like that in some time.

Eddie noticed. He always did. “You okay?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused for a moment. “I miss it.”

He crossed the space to her. “Miss what?”

She looked up at him, “Being able to hold him like that. Him wanting to be held like that. He used to do it all the time, remember? At the shop, before bed. Like clockwork.”

Eddie’s expression gentled, something thoughtful slipping in behind his eyes. “Yeah. He’d curl up in your lap and fall asleep before I could even finish the second page.”

She gave a soft laugh, then looked down at her hands. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until tonight. It just… goes fast.”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he crouched down in front of her, resting his arms across her knees, chin tilted so she’d look at him. “Well,” he said, voice low, careful, “we could always have another.” Her breath caught. His face was steady, unreadable except for the way he searched her eyes like he meant every word. Like he hadn’t said it as a joke, but a quiet truth he’d carried for a while. “We don’t have to,” he added after a beat. “Only if you wanted to. But… I wouldn’t mind it. The stories again. The sleepy snuggles. Watching you rock them to sleep, the way you always hum without realizing it.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Getting to be that kind of tired again, for something that is ours.”

She didn’t respond at first. Just reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair, still thick but softer now, streaked with one or two strands of silver over one ear that he swore wasn’t there. He leaned into her touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut.

“I thought maybe you were happy being out of the baby stage,” she said, her voice more curious than cautious. “I mean, Darion’s almost eight. Feels like we just got our evenings back.”

Eddie grinned, “I like our evenings. But I also liked falling asleep with a baby drooling on my chest watching Seinfeld trying my absolute hardest not to laugh too loud.”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “God, I forgot about the drool.”

“Character-building.”

“And the teething.”

“I’ve survived worse. High school comes to mind.”

She rolled her eyes and gently traced the stubble along his jawline, feeling the shape of his smile beneath her fingertips. “You really mean it?”

He opened his eyes again, all warmth. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. I mean… look, we’ve been playing fast and loose with timing for a while. Condoms when we remember, prayers when we don’t. Basically a week mid-month of pretending to be responsible and being worse than we were in the back of my old GMC Gaucho.”

She huffed a laugh through her nose. “That is about the system at this point.”

“Exactly. We’re already halfway there.” He shifted slightly, growing a little more serious. “But I’m not saying that to pressure you. Just… if you’ve been thinking about it, I’m just floating the idea too.”

She was quiet. Her fingers kept moving along his jaw. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until tonight,” she admitted. “Him curled up in my lap like that. Now he’s all huffy and ‘Mom, I got it.’ And don’t me wrong, I’m proud of that. Of him growing up… but I don’t know. I just kept thinking about how fast it’s all going.”

Eddie nodded, not saying anything right away. Then, with a confident look in his eye, “Maybe we don’t have to be done.”

She searched his eyes for hesitation. Found none. “And you’d be okay,” she asked softly, “with the diapers again? The sleepless nights?”

He smiled, then leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “If it’s us? Hell yeah. I’d do it all again. In a heartbeat.”

A beat passed, then she exhaled, an accompanying smile tugging at her lips. “You know we’re not that old for another one. Most of our friends are just starting out.”

“Exactly. Thirty-five is hot young parent territory. We’ve got energy. We’re not quite at thrown-out-back territory. We’ve got swaddles in storage and a coffee maker that works.”

She let out a laugh, and Eddie grinned, triumphant. They stood together slowly, her hands sliding down to hold his. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles, lingering like he didn’t quite want to let go. “I mean,” she said, voice quiet as her gaze dropped to his mouth, “the glasses alone were likely going to get you laid tonight anyways.”

Eddie barked a laugh, head tipping back just slightly before he fixed those dark, glinting eyes on her again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She stepped closer, fingers bunching lightly in the front of his shirt. “You looked good, Munson. Dangerously good. Like, ‘shouldn’t-be-trusted-alone-in-your-dorky-glasses’ good.”

His grin curled, entirely too self-assured. It was the kind that used to get him detention in high school and got her flushed in the back of his van. “Didn’t know that astigmatisms were your thing.”

“They aren’t. But you are.” 

That made his expression falter, just slightly. That vulnerable kind of pride that came when she caught him off-guard with honesty. He leaned in, letting his nose nudge against hers, “You’ve got no idea how much I love you, do you?”

“I think I’ve got a decent guess.” She whispered it against his lips before finally closing the space between them. The kiss started soft. Familiar. The kind that said home, and always, and I still choose you even after two decades of loving you. But Eddie, ever the man of extremes, never could leave anything halfway. One hand slid around her waist, the other up to her jaw, tilting her deeper into it until her knees went a little weak. He tasted like buttered popcorn and something sweet she wanted more of. His mouth moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t come from novelty, but from knowing exactly how to make her gasp. Where to press, how to pull her flush against him like he wanted to crawl under her skin and stay there.

When they finally broke apart, it was only because she needed air. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder, breath shallow. “God, I forgot how good you are at that.”

He huffed a laugh, fingers trailing up under the hem of her shirt, palm resting against the bare skin at her lower back. “That’s concerning if your memory is getting that bad.”

She swatted at his chest. “Shut up.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Eddie laughed again, but there was something softer underneath it. He was still holding her like he didn’t want to let go. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear. “We doing this for real?” There was something in the way he said it. Not urgent, but certainly hopeful. Like a door being slightly parted, not kicked down. And behind it, that same mix of tenderness and longing he’d always carried for her.  She kissed him again. Slow as she let it build. And when his hands found her hips and held tight, when he breathed her name like it was a secret only he got to say, she let herself want it. All of it. The possibility. The mess. The sleepless nights. The impossible tenderness. The prospect of it all. 

The kiss deepened with a kind of stirring that only could be found in moments like this. His hands moved, slipping beneath her shirt. She arched into him instinctively, a soft sound caught in the back of her throat as his thumbs dragged slow lines along her waist. The fabric rose with each pass, until her shirt was bunched somewhere around her ribs and his mouth had found that familiar spot just below her jaw. The one that made her breath stutter and her fingers twist in the hem of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Eddie…” she whispered.

He hummed against her throat, lips brushing just beneath her ear. “I still got it.”

“Cocky bastard,” she breathed, but she was already pulling his shirt over his head.

He helped her, arms lifting without hesitation, his hair left wild and tousled in the aftermath. He didn’t care to fix it. She was already pulling her top over her head, movements instinctive, and then his hands were on her again. Broad and warm, sliding over the curve of her ribs. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, not like it was the first time, but like it was truer now than it had ever been. Because he knew, it had always been true, even when she didn’t believe it herself.

Motherhood had changed her body. That was just a fact. He’d known her form since they were reckless teenagers fumbling through desire in the walls of his trailer, in the back of his van, the woods behind school. Basically, anywhere they could steal a private moment and had a condom in his wallet. Those days bled into their first apartment in Boston, into late-night discoveries on secondhand furniture, into soft gasps behind the door of the record shop office. Her body had grown with her. Shifted. Matured. But after Eldarion… everything changed. She was softer now, fuller in places, marked in ways that only came from carrying life inside you. And Eddie, if he’d been obsessed before, hopelessly lovesick and unable to keep his hands to himself, now? After watching her become a mother? He was feral.

There wasn’t a single part of her he didn’t adore. Worship, even. And she knew it. Felt it in the way he touched her, the way his gaze lingered. Her smile was shy, “You’re biased.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, without hesitation. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

She shifted, her hands drifting across his chest, fingers trailing familiar lines like she was tracing a map only she could read. The years had rewritten Eddie Munson in quiet, beautiful ways. All at once, she was seeing him with the kind of clarity that comes only from loving someone for most of your life. Once, he’d been all sharp edges and frantic energy. Seventeen, with stringy hair that always smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke and cheap shampoo, a body still half-boy beneath layers of denim. She remembered the way his jeans always hung just a little too loose on his hips, how his gangly limbs felt when wrapped around her in the back of his van. Baby-faced, wild-eyed, too skinny for his own good.

But now he was thirty-five. A man in every sense of the word.

The hair was shorter now, mussed from her fingers, a little silver threading at his temples in ways that made her stomach flutter. The baby fat was long gone, replaced by muscle built over years of lifting gear, hauling crates of records, chasing their son around parks. He’d filled out, too. Broader in the shoulders, thicker through the middle in a way that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with years of shared meals and second helpings in domestic contentment.

God, he looked good like this. Her palms smoothed down his sides, over the soft give of his waist, and he tensed slightly. She always did that, touched the parts of him that were soft, scarred, slightly insecure, like she was claiming them. Loving them out loud. And then, her mouth followed. She pressed a kiss to the swell of his chest, just right of center, over the inked sunflower where her name curled in elegant script along the stem. It had been a teenage decision that was probably ill advised but she didn’t care. It was still her favorite. Still the one that made her chest ache when she looked at it too long, even as the ink bled with time and faded.

He sucked in a breath as her lips brushed the petals. “You still like that one?” he asked, voice rough.

“I love this one,” she murmured, kissing it again. 

He made a noise in the back of his throat and dipped his head to watch her. The curve of her lips against his chest, the soft fire in her eyes as she looked up at him. “That why you always kiss it first?” he asked, teasing, brushing her hair back from her face.

“I’m just claiming the one that belongs to me,” she whispered against his skin.

Eddie’s smile turned slow and a little wicked, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her. “Yeah?” he murmured, reaching up to cup her chest with both hands, thumbs brushing just beneath the swell like he already knew every inch of her. “Pretty sure these belong to me, so...” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes, but didn’t move away. Not when his touch was so warm, so sure of her. His palms were calloused in places from years of guitar strings and manual work, but he was always gentle with her. He gave an appreciative squeeze, then let his thumbs circle again, slower this time, and his voice dropped just a little. “If we do this… if we have another one…” He trailed off, watching her reaction carefully. His gaze flicked to where his hands rested against her. “I won’t lie, I’m kind of looking forward to when these get big again.”

She let out a startled laugh, half-embarrassed “Eddie–”

“What?” he said, completely unrepentant. “It was a beautiful time. You were glowing. You looked adorable in my shirts with that bump. Your boobs were huge. I was living the dream.”

She smacked his arm lightly even as her grin spread, “You are such a perv.”

“And you married me anyway.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her sternum, then lower, trailing his mouth just along the edge of his own words. “I’m just saying. You were radiant. I loved it. All of it. Every stage. Every version of you.” His lips brushed lower, then rose again to meet her mouth, “And if you ever wanted to do it again,” he murmured, breath hot against hers, “I’d be right there. Holding your hair back when the nausea hits. Rubbing your feet. Talking to your belly like a lunatic. I’d be all in again.”

She kissed him before she could cry. Before the tenderness in his voice could split her wide open. “You were perfect last time,” she said against his mouth. 

Eddie smiled into the kiss, and then with a groan that was more playful than anything, as he let his head fall to her shoulder. “Still,” he mumbled, voice muffled against her skin. “The boobs were insane.”

She laughed, full-throated now, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss that followed was hungrier, but no less careful. Hands moved. Her back hit the mattress in a tangle of limbs and laughter and breathless gasps, and Eddie followed, settling over her with the kind of ease that came from years of knowing her body like his own. He braced himself on his forearms, caging her in without ever pressing too much weight, but still grounding her in the reality of him: the warmth, the solidness, the quiet devotion in the way he looked down at her.

His gaze dragged slowly over her face like he was trying to memorize her all over again. The flush on her cheeks. The curve of her mouth. The way her eyes shone even in the dim light of their bedroom. “God,” he breathed, like it slipped out without permission. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

She touched his face like she always did. Fingertips brushing his jaw, the faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, the fullness of his top lip, with slight bits of his facial hair trailing over the edge. “So are you,” she said, voice low and steady.

Eddie huffed a soft laugh. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” She slid one hand down to rest over his heart. “You have no idea what you look like to me, do you?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed her, and when it broke, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I feel like a fuckin’ teenager when I’m with you,” he whispered. “Still.”

She smiled, one of those soft, private ones she only ever gave him. “You’re stronger now, than you were back then. And thicker in the middle.”

He groaned, half-dramatic. “Thanks, babe. I’ll be hitting the gym Monday."

“No,” she said, dragging her nails lightly down his back, making him shiver. “I mean it. You’re… grown. All filled out and solid. You look like a man now. My man.”

Eddie lowered his head to her neck, biting back a grin against her skin. “Keep talking like that and I won’t take it slow.”

She arched under him slightly, teasing, voice barely above a whisper. “Who said I wanted you to take it slow?”

His breath hitched. The temperature between them shifted. And then his mouth was back on hers. He kissed down her neck, over her collarbone, pausing just long enough to whisper, “Still can’t believe you’re mine,” before his mouth closed over the swell of her breast, making her breath catch in a way he knew damn well by now.

“You always say that,” she managed, tugging at the button of his pants, needing more skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured, helping her out of her jeans, “Because I still don’t believe it.” His voice was reverent, but his hands were anything but. A little clumsy in his urgency, shaking just enough to betray how wrecked she already had him. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and tugged them down with barely a warning, the move so fast and unceremonious it made her laugh.

God, he was trying.

That was the thing about them, post-parenthood: timing was everything. The days of slow-burn build-ups and lazy mornings tangled in sheets had been traded for windows of opportunity. Nap time. School hours. Locked doors and muffled laughter. They’d become experts at reading the room, not to mention each other, and moving with the kind of precision only forged in the chaos of raising a child.

Eddie had long since mastered the art of the strategic quickie. In the shower. Five minutes flat, both of them smiling like idiots and reaching for the shampoo. Before the school drop-off. Two alarms, one for waking up and one for reminding him to stop. He swore he could feel it in his bones. That internal switch that flipped on before the sun did. My body just wakes up thinking, I gotta be inside my wife before the day starts, he’d said once, shamelessly, and she hadn’t stopped laughing for ten minutes. Even now, caught up in something slower, something deeper, that instinct hadn’t left him. She could feel it in the way he moved. The want in him was wildfire.

“Jesus, Munson,” she teased, as he pressed her back into the mattress. “What’s the rush?”

He paused just long enough to look at her, breath unsteady but grin intact. “I’m trying to fit in as many rounds as possible before the sun comes up. You gonna stop me?”

She arched an eyebrow, hand threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “That depends. You planning to make it to sunrise?”

He grinned like a man who’d been handed a challenge. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice dark with promise, “I’ve got stamina and a deeply unhealthy want to see you carrying my spawn again.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, mouth already finding her collarbone again. “Might need snacks between rounds. And a Gatorade. But I’m in this for the long haul.”

She laughed, legs curling around his waist, heart thudding somewhere between hilarity and heat. “You're ridiculous.”

He nipped gently at the place just beneath her ear, then whispered, “Damn right I am, and you love it.” She did. God, she did. And with the way he moved then, all practiced hands and hunger, made her suddenly very, very glad the door was locked.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His lips descended with fire, capturing hers in a kiss that was no longer gentle teasing but full-throttle hunger. His hands roamed with a possessive urgency. Her body responded in kind, arching into him, every nerve ending alive and screaming. The way his fingers tangled in her hair, the low growl vibrating through his chest as he pressed closer. It was a language they’d spoken a thousand times, but it never lost its meaning.

She traced the lines of his jaw, felt the rough scrape of his short beard against her palm, still marveling at how much he’d changed. The gangly kid from Hawkins, wild hair and all, now a man who could set her soul on fire with a single touch. The strength in his arms, the solid weight of his body against hers, the way his short hair brushed her skin. It was intoxicating. His mouth left hers only to travel lower, nipping at her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast, where his teeth grazed softly before sucking gently, making her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. “God, you drive me crazy,” she breathed, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, eager to touch what had been teasing her all night.

Eddie groaned low in his throat, shifting so that the heat of him pressed fully against her. “You’re mine,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Every damn inch.”

She smiled against his skin, heart pounding like a drum. “Mhm why don’t you remind me of what that all means Mr. Munson.”

His fingers curled around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His voice dropped to a low growl, raw and possessive. “It means only I get to touch you like this. Only I get to see you unravel, to watch every shiver and every gasp come from me.”

He pressed a fierce kiss to the hollow of her throat, teeth grazing the tender skin. “And… only I get to put another kid in you.” Her breath hitched, and she tilted her head back, offering herself to him completely. Eddie’s hands slid lower, fingers tracing the curves he knew by heart, “God do I miss that feeling…” She fell silent, eyes locked on his with a silent plea: hurry it along. Eddie chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her earlobe in a teasing nip. “If I didn’t know better…” His hand slid slowly down her body until it came to rest where she needed him most. His fingers danced lightly, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I recall how wet you’d get back then whenever I’d mention knocking you up…” 

Eddie pulled back just enough to let his fingers trail teasingly across her cheek, eyes dark and smoldering in the soft glow spilling through the window. Even in the low light, she could see the slick sheen coating his skin. “Glad to know it still works like a fucking charm,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. Then, without ceremony, he shoved his index and middle finger in his mouth, not breaking eye contact until his eyes rolled back in his head. 

“If I wasn’t on a mission to fulfill other, more important, obligations,” he murmured against her skin, breath hot, “I’d spend all damn night with my face buried between these thighs.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his voice rough and reverent. “But I’ve got other things that need my attention right now.”

Her breath caught, pulse thudding in her ears as she looked up at him. Eddie’s mouth curved into that familiar smirk, and he dragged his thumb slowly across her lower lip, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that always seemed to melt her. “I’ll come back to that. You got so much sweeter last time when you were carrying Eldarion. So just a heads-up, once it takes, I’m moving in between your thighs for the next nine months.”

“Eddie,” she hissed. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to him being crass. God knows he had a mouth on him, and an imagination to match. But hearing it out loud, especially when he was looking at her like that, still made her pulse trip.

“Don’t get all bashful on me, sweetheart.” His smirk deepened. “I like hearing you.”

“I really don’t want to wake up Dar–”

“We won’t.”

“How do you know?” she whispered, even as his fingers traced idle patterns at her hip.

Eddie leaned in close enough that she could feel his grin against her skin. “Because,” he breathed, “he sleeps like his old man. Out cold through everything.”

Her protest faltered when his nose brushed the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath scattering what was left of her composure. She wanted to stay annoyed, to remind him they’d promised each other quiet nights now, but Eddie had always been impossible to resist once he decided to test her resolve. “Eds…” she tried again, but it came out softer this time, a sigh tangled in his name.

He chuckled low, the sound rumbling against her chest. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

She rolled her eyes, even as her fingers found his curls and tugged gently. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm,” he hummed, lips ghosting over her collarbone. “You love me for it.”

And damn it, she did.

He pulled back just enough to admire his handiwork. A faint mark blooming at the curve of her neck. His thumb brushed over it once, almost reverently, before his eyes found hers through the soft wash of moonlight and streetlights spilling in from their bedroom window. For a second, his gaze softened. Everything this moment held – warmth, longing, the quiet promise of building something beautiful together – lingered there between them. Then his focus shifted, drifting past her head toward the window. She could practically feel the gears turning. “It’s snowing,” he said, nodding toward it.

“And?” she teased, fingers hooking playfully into the waistband of his boxers. Eddie didn’t answer. Instead, he scooped her up before she could protest. “Eddie!” she squealed, smacking his shoulder as he carried her toward the window.

“I just think,” he said, grin spreading wide, “we oughta take a look.”

He set her down in front of the frosted glass, his hands warm and steady at her waist. Outside, fat snowflakes drifted lazily from the night sky, catching the faint glow of the streetlight. The world beyond their little townhouse looked still, muffled, almost enchanted. She leaned back against him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her spine. “You dragged me out of bed for this?” she asked, though her voice had softened.

Eddie hummed, chin coming to rest on her shoulder. “What, you don’t think it’s romantic? Seems like a sign.”

She tilted her head slightly toward him. “A sign of what?”

He smiled against her skin. “That maybe we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, doing exactly what we are meant to be doing...”

Her lips curved. “You’re getting sappy on me, Munson.”

“Yeah, well…” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her ear, “don’t tell anyone. I got a reputation to keep.”

She felt him lean away, the accompanying faint rustle of fabric moving against the floor and then his warmth returned. His bare chest pressed to her back. His breath found her ear, rough and low enough to curl through her spine. “I want you just like this… right here… what do you say babygirl?”  He punctuated his statement with a slight rut into her behind, at which point she could feel just how worked up the conversation had led him to be.  Her lips parted before she could stop them, a small sound escaping as his fingers brushed along her waist, steady, knowing. “Eddie…” she whispered.

He only smiled against her skin, his breath warm where it met her neck. “I said, what I said,” he murmured.

For a moment, she forgot about the world outside. The falling snow, the quiet house, the promises they’d made to be good, to be quiet. There was only this: the heat of him, the gravity of that word still pulsing in the space between them. Eddie’s hand came up beside hers, the silver of his battered wedding band catching the pale glow from the window. The reflection trembled against the glass as he pressed his palm flat. The other hand found her waist, fingers curling with quiet intent. His breath touched her ear, a whisper meant only for her. “You feel that?” he murmured. Her eyes fluttered shut. He rolled his hips once into her, making it known. 

She didn’t speak, just nodded, breath shallow, eyes finding his in the faint reflection of the glass. The snowlight caught the sharp edges of his grin, the dark glint of his gaze fixed on their blurred outline in the window. “Look so damn pretty like this, you know?” he murmured, voice rough with admiration and intent. “Anyone could look up off the street and see…”

His fingers traced a slow path up her side, the faintest touch, stopping just short of her chest. She could feel his hesitation there, a pause full of everything he wasn’t saying. The air between them seemed to hum, fragile and alive. Her lips parted, a soundless breath escaping as she whispered, “You like that don’t you.” Eddie’s smile deepened against her neck, a soft chuckle vibrating through her. “Sweetheart…” he said, his tone dropping into something low and sure. “Be a good girl and answer me…”

The words weren’t a demand, so much as a promise, one that made her spine straighten and her pulse stutter. He tilted his head until his lips brushed her temple. “Or do you think we should’ve stayed in bed?”

She turned her head just enough for their eyes to meet, her smile faint but certain. “You’re the one who said he wanted to go all night, so what’s the rush?”

That was all the permission he needed. His touch guided her gently. His foot nudging hers apart, his hands steady at her hips, as he pressed her closer to the cool glass. Her breath fogged the window. From this angle, she could see everything. The park below, the faint shimmer of Boston’s skyline, the soft tumble of snowflakes catching the streetlights before vanishing into the quiet streets.

It was a strange, suspended kind of moment. Intimate and vast all at once. The world outside moved on in silence while, here, time seemed to slow to the rhythm of her pulse and his breath at her shoulder. Eddie’s voice came low, right at her ear, the rough edge of it wrapping around her name. “Still with me?” She nodded, though the answer came out as more of a sigh than a sound. “Good,” he whispered. “Then don’t look away.”

And she didn’t. Her eyes stayed on their reflection. The blur of two bodies, the quiet pulse of city lights, the snowfall painting the night in silver. His movements were sure, practiced. Born from years of knowing exactly how they fit together, how to find her without a word. Every breath, every shift, felt inevitable, as though their bodies remembered before their minds did.

She felt his head resting against her entrance for only a moment before he pushed in. A rough sound escaped him, his palm flexing for a moment against the window beside her head. “Jesus…” he groaned. 

His eyes caught hers in the reflection, dark and smoldering. “Feels so good,” he murmured, voice gravely as he thrust in harshly, bottoming out. The movement was urgent, sure, and she gasped, lips parting, but no sound escaped.

Eddie leaned closer, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. “You feel that? The way I’m stretching you out…” She shivered under him, unable to respond, and he chuckled softly, almost tenderly, a low sound that vibrated through her. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice dropping. “Just like that… stay with me.”

She felt his fingers glide up the side of her neck, pausing at the nape before weaving gently through her hair. There was a softness there, a deliberate contrast to the fire of his presence elsewhere, a touch that made her pulse skip. “Always been so pretty,” he hummed, voice low and fond, a slight tug in his fingers making it clear he meant her hair.

Then his eyes caught hers in the reflection, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The gentleness shifted as he tightened his fist just enough to pull her head back, a reminder of the quiet power he held, and the sharp thrill it sent through her. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice husky as she let out a squeak, “still letting me do this.”

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into him without thinking, letting herself melt against the weight of his presence. He tugged once more, this time harsher as his hips moved faster. “You like it when I pull your hair,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Like when I get… like this.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement that left no room for denial. She nodded, careful of the tight grip he still held, every fiber of her alert to him, to the way he seemed to take up the whole space behind her. His smirk softened, “Damn, mama… you always make it too easy for me,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that made her pulse flutter.

She shivered under his gaze, the tension coiling in her chest. “Eddie…” she breathed, half warning, half surrender.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning closer, lips brushing her temple, his hand still resting possessively against the curve of her waist. “Don’t think. Don’t move. Just let me get you there.”

Eddie moved his hand from her waist, down until he could reach her center. She initially expected him to just rub those tight, delicate circles on her until she was a whimpering mess. But something about the raw energy of it all, made him bypass that all together, as he pinched her clit between his forefinger and thumb harshly. 

Then all she saw was white. He didn’t stop moving until she slumped lightly against the glass, her breath coming in shallow gasps. His other hand, the one that had been entwined in her hair, flexed once, a quiet punctuation, before releasing her to catch her weight. “I gotchu,” he murmured, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her shoulder as he eased them back from the window. 

She leaned into him, eyes closing for a moment, letting herself just be. “Eddie…” she whispered, a mix of awe and surrender threading through the word. 

He tilted his head, letting his forehead rest against hers, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “Evenstar,” he murmured, a boyish smile tugging at his lips.

“Strider,” she hummed contentedly, leaning a little closer as he settled against the edge of their bed, the warmth of him grounding her.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice low but teasing.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, a soft chuckle escaping her. “Just gearing up for round two…”

“Ah, I see,” he said, brushing her hair back gently, letting his fingers linger. “Want to fill me in on your plan for that?”

She tapped a finger to her lips, feigning thought. “I was thinking…” she whispered, letting her gaze roam over him, letting the pause stretch just long enough to make him curious. “…maybe we revisit what worked last time.”

“Yeah?” he asked, one eyebrow arching, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I mean,” she continued, leaning in slightly, “we can’t be 100% sure, but I definitely think that night…”

“You mean…” His voice was low, “You. Ass up. Face down,” 

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” she said with mock authority, a playful grin spreading across her face.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “Oh, is that so, babygirl?” he murmured, leaning closer, thumb brushing along her jaw. “You think you can boss me around like that? Because I think our track record proves otherwise… Remember that first time–” 

And God, how could she forget? Those ridiculous handcuffs in his bedroom, originally a joke from his Hellfire Club days, had turned out to be far more useful than either of them had anticipated. That night had been the first time she’d seen him come completely alive.

Beforehand, after that first nervous, tender time in his room and the cautious months that followed, Eddie had treated every touch like a fragile thing. Like she was something to be protected. It was sweet. Heart-melting, even. But then, slowly, something changed. It hadn’t been all at once. Just small shifts. The first time his hand circled her wrist instead of lacing their fingers together. The way he’d held it above her head and paused, checking, until he realized her breath had only hitched from want. After that, things evolved.

There was that night in his van, parked by the lake on a Friday, the air thick with pot smoke and summer heat. He’d dared to take her ponytail, guiding it gently away from her neck so he could press his mouth there instead. The faint scrape of his rings against her hair had pulled a sound from her throat she hadn’t even known she could make and it changed everything.

Then came the evening in her bedroom, her mom out of town, a record spinning low and slow on the turntable. She’d laughed, carefree, moving to the beat until she ended up straddling his lap, his hands trembling against her hips as she swayed. When she finally settled there for good, his jeans tangled around his ankles, the world had gone quiet except for the creak of the desk chair and the sound of her breath. He remembered the sight of her in the mirror. His hands gripping her thighs, her head thrown back, and the moment his fingers slid instinctively from her shoulders to her throat. Her eyes had found his in the reflection, wide and unafraid.

That moment had stayed with him for years. The exact second he’d realized how much trust she’d placed in him. He never forgot that. Time passed, and life shifted. There were years when softness was what she needed. Quiet words murmured into pillows, slow mornings spent wrapped in sheets, laughter breaking between kisses. Other times, she wanted something rougher, grounding, a reminder of the fire that had always burned between them. No matter the shape it took, he was always there, steady and sure, the same hands that once trembled now confident in the language of her body.

Because they’d built something on more than passion. They talked, explored, learned. He knew what made her shiver, what made her laugh, what didn’t sit right. He’d always made it clear: she was the one in charge of her own pleasure. That was their rule. Their rhythm. Their way.

Now, years later, as she laid out on her side on their comforter, the memories flickered through her mind like an old film reel. Gritty, dirty, sweet, raunchy, beautiful, and wholly alive. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured.

She smiled, tilting her head back to look at him. “Well why don’t you give me something else to think about…”

“Not a chance,” he smirked, tugging her by the hips until she was pressed against him, “I like you all cock drunk and without a single thought in this pretty head.” 

The position she’d mentioned earlier – the one she’d learned, refined, and claimed as theirs over the years – must’ve still been running through his mind, because he was moving her again. Guiding her with that familiar mix of confidence and care. His hands were sure, patient, coaxing her onto her knees until she softened beneath him. His palm found the spot between her shoulder blades, pressing over the ink etched into her skin years ago. His touch lingered there, tracing its edges as though reacquainting himself with the memory it held, before guiding her gently down toward the mattress.

Her gaze shifted to the mirror on the back of their bedroom door. A “practical” addition, they’d said. Limited floorspace, nowhere else to put it. They both knew better. It was a quiet homage, a callback to that first time he’d really come alive in his own skin with her, when he’d watched her in the mirror like she was something holy. That same look was there now, older but just as intense, the devotion tempered with years of knowing rather than guessing.

She met his eyes in the reflection, everything else fell away. The house, the years, their kid asleep down the hallway, the stretch marks and anxiety that life brought. Just them, exactly as they’d always been. Eddie’s thumb brushed the side of her neck, tracing the line of her pulse. “You still don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, voice low, threaded with awe rather than hunger.

She smiled faintly, breath catching as she arched her back up into his frame. “Pretty sure I do.”

He leaned forward until his lips ghosted her ear, “Not even close.”

Eddie slammed into her without much warning. Her back continuing to curve from the shock of it all. His eyes caught hers for the briefest moment in the mirror across the room, the reflection flickering with something unspoken. His brows drew together as he glanced toward the nightstand, still moving with that quiet, deliberate rhythm.

She felt his hands slide to her waist, firm and sure, guiding her closer toward the pillows without breaking their connection. In the mirror, she caught the small, almost domestic gesture. His fingers reaching out, finding the glasses he’d tossed aside earlier, the same ones that always ended up askew on the nightstand by morning. He slipped them back on, the motion so casual it made her laugh under her breath. When his gaze returned to hers through the glass, the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth.

“There,” he murmured, his voice rough and warm, “now I can actually see my gorgeous wife.”

His hand traced a slow path down her side, fingertips catching on the curve of her hip. She shivered but didn’t look away, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Still don’t know why they do something for you,” he said, a crooked grin breaking through. “I look like a fucking dork.”

She laughed softly, breathless. “That’s kind of the point.”

He huffed a low chuckle, leaning down to press his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “You have a thing for dorks?”

“Eddie, I married one. Do I need to remind you what we did tonight?”

He smiled against her skin, “Guess that makes you the coolest girl alive.”

Her reply caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Guess it does.”

The tenderness of the moment lingered as she turned her face from the reflection to catch a glimpse of him up close over her shoulder. Then his expression shifted behind those black frames. “I’m going to–” he started but she didn’t let him finish. Pressing her cheek back into the comforter as she pressed herself up enough that it gave him a lovely visual no matter the angle. 

She heard the throaty whispered fuck before his hands returned to being rough. Hoisting her hips up, resuming that pace that got so rudely interrupted by his declining vision. But man, did Eddie make that momentary reprieve worth it.  Bruising pace. Fifthly words from that creative mind to match: 

“That’s it baby girl… take it… look so pretty like this… I want to fill this hole over and over again… not going to let any of it slip out… just going to keep you plugged with my hand until I’m ready to fuck it all back inside… and when you are finally tapped out and you can’t handle anymore, we are going to lay here all night, with me between your legs until it takes…” 

Eddie’s hand pushed her face further into the pillow, obstructing her view of the way he was pounding in and out of her at a relentless pace. But she didn’t need to see it to know what was going on. He rarely got this far gone, to the point he was absolutely babbling pure unadulterated filth. 

“Just want to walk around with everyone knowing what I did to you again…” he grunted. She could feel his thighs shaking from where they were pressed against her. His hold loosened ever so slightly as she got another glimpse at him. Head thrown back, face flushed, chest heaving as he continued to thrust. 

“Eddie–” she squeaked and he slapped a hand down over her bare asscheek without warning. 

“Beg me for it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Beg me to fill you up,” he hissed. 

“Ed–” she started only for him to smack her again, this time on the other cheek. 

“Don’t test my patience,” he said, leaning his chest down across her back until his mouth was closer to her ear. “You want it princess? Want me to fill you up? Make you all round again with another one of my kids?” 

“Yes,” she huffed into the comforter. Eddie’s fingers wrapped around her hair once more, pulling her back as he murmured something rough about louder. “Yes!” she repeated so he could hear her. 

Eddie’s rhythm picked up, his breath turning rougher as he spoke between low, teasing laughs. “You know, even my looks took over,” he said, voice breaking with amusement that didn’t match the rough trusting of his hips. “You didn’t stand a chance with the last one. He came out looking just like me. Probably will happen this time too.”

She would’ve laughed if he hadn’t tugged her hair, teeth settling over her neck before he continued by saying, “Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured. “I love it. Walking around with a kid who’s basically my twin. Everyone takes one look and just knows he’s mine. Which makes everyone know you are mine.”

Her body flooded with warmth at the notion. If she hadn’t been so distracted by that glorious stretching around his cock she would’ve had time to unpack it. But with the feeling of him sliding in and out, talking like that, it was hard to think. “Come on. Be a good girl. Come for me again so I can fill you up,” he said, fingers relaxing in her hair as they wound around against her chest. Palm flexing against her right breast. 

She felt the sharp press of his wrist bone sticking into sternum for a moment but didn’t have long to dwell on it as his other hand snaked around to toy with her clit once more. “Oh Eddie…” she whinned. 

“That’s it baby, keep squeezing me like that,” he groaned, “Jesus you have a death grip on me like that,” he dropped a wet open mouth kiss to her shoulder as he kept going. 

It was all overwhelming. His words. The weight behind them. The feeling of being filled and having every nerve ending set on fire. But what finally undid her was the glance in the mirror when she lifted her head just enough to catch sight of brown eyes staring at the ravenous picture of their bodies wound together. 

She came harshly, eyes screwing shut as she collapsed to the bed. Eddie only pulled her hips tight to his own, keeping them elevated with her back curved before he started praising her with incoherent phrases about milking him dry and about doing such a good job. She didn’t come down from the high until she felt his lips tracing lazy kisses along her back, each one gentler than the last. His fingertips followed, brushing sweat from her skin in slow, absentminded strokes. “Still with me?” he whispered against her shoulder, his voice tender now, all the earlier bravado gone. He shifted a little, leaning more of his weight into her, reluctant to move away.

“Mhm,” she managed, eyes still closed, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond. “You sound fucked out, sweetheart.”

“Wonder why,” she mumbled into the bed.

“Hey,” he murmured, lips grazing her temple, “Worth it, right?”

She laughed softly, too tired to answer with words, just reaching back to thread her fingers through his hair. For a while, neither of them spoke. The house had gone quiet again, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of their son’s nightlight projector spinning stars across his bedroom wall down the hall.

Eddie finally sighed, the warmth of it brushing her shoulder. “You know, I’m not sure we’re supposed to still feel like this after all these years.”

She smiled faintly, turning her head toward him. “Guess we never got the memo.”

He grinned, lazy and proud. “Figures.”

She dragged her face from the blanket, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Did you mean it about going all night?”

“Oh, that was a load of shit, and we both know it,” he laughed, slipping off his glasses and tossing them atop the covers a few feet away. “Unless you really got it in you–”

“Hell no,” she cut him off, laughing as he shifted his full weight against her from behind.

“Alright,” he murmured, tilting her face gently to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. “Let me get you, and this bed, cleaned up.”

“But what about–” she began, then stopped, unsure how to phrase the desire she had, even though they had always been candid with each other.

“If it was going to happen, babe, lying here in a mess won’t do it. Either it’s already done its thing, or it hasn’t. And if that’s the case, I just get to keep trying,” he said with a crooked grin. He finally pulled away, giving her space as she rolled onto her side to stare up at him. “But fuck if I don’t love that sight…” he added, eyes drinking her in, the corners crinkling with affection and mischief as he saw the mess leak out of her. 

“I just washed the damn duvet,” she groaned.

“And I’ll wash it again in the morning,” he hummed, slipping his hands under her legs and lifting her effortlessly. She let out a little laugh, half-exasperated, half-melting at the familiar weight of him holding her. He carried her into the bathroom, setting her down with the same tenderness he always did. He gave her space to clean up and brush her teeth. The soft rustle of fabric was a sign that he was tidying the bed behind her. She could hear him humming a low, lazy tune as he worked.

As much as she wanted to stay awake, fulfilling the reckless promises of earlier, of hands on one another, laughter and whispers echoing late into the night, parenthood had a way of demanding its due. Especially after dragging their kid to a three-hour fantasy movie after a long day at work. By the time she emerged, face washed and teeth brushed, Eddie was already waiting by the bed. He took her hand with a soft smile, eyes warm, and helped her slip under the covers. 

She smiled, watching him disappear into the bathroom. The sound of running water followed a few moments later, then the familiar sounds of him brushing his teeth. She lay back against the pillows, listening to him, feeling the quiet intimacy of the house settling around them. A few minutes later, he returned and slipped under the covers without fanfare. “Come closer,” he murmured, voice low. Before she could protest, he tugged her gently into his frame, curling around her so that she rested against his chest. His arm draped over her, pulling her snug.

“Better?” he asked, lips brushing the top of her head.

“Much better,” she murmured, nuzzling into him. The warmth of his body, steady and familiar, felt like home.

He let out a long, contented sigh, one hand tracing lazy circles along her side. “You know…” he murmured, voice low and warm, “even if tonight doesn’t work out… or if it takes a while… or hell, even if it never works for another…” He paused, brushing a kiss across her temple. “…I’m already so damn happy. With you. With our little family. With this life we’ve built. I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him, eyes soft. “Eddie…”

He pressed his forehead to hers, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “I mean it. We’ve got everything I could ever want right here. And… I do hope it works out. I’d love to have another kid in the house. But if it takes time, or if it’s not meant to be… I’m already lucky enough just having you here with me.”

She let a smile spread across her face, nuzzling back into him. “I feel the same way,” she murmured. “Being with you… it’s more than enough. Everything else is just icing.”

“Exactly,” he said, tightening his hold around her. “I just… I can’t help hoping we get another one someday. But no matter what, I’m happy. So happy.”

She sighed, letting herself melt into him, her hand resting over his heart. “Me too,” she whispered. “Completely happy.”

“And Darion is pretty fucking awesome,” Eddie said with a grin. “Sure, he’d probably be a rock’n older brother, but he’d also be fine on his own.”

She laughed into his chest, shaking her head. “God, I swear… There are moments with him that feel like a time machine. I blink, and I’m back in Forest Hills with you. Then I blink again, and nope. That’s our boy. One we made together. But man… he looks and acts so much like you, Eds.”

“He’s perfect,” Eddie murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She smiled, eyes soft. “I remember that first night back from the hospital. I don’t think I’d ever been more in love with you.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, curiosity tugging at his voice as he reached for her left hand, sliding her wedding band off before removing his own and setting them gently on the nightstand.

“You got up to check on him in the cradle,” she said, voice quiet. “I was so exhausted. Couldn’t get him to latch, and I must’ve dosed off. But then I woke up when I heard your voice. You were just singing Lennon to him.”

Eddie’s expression softened, eyes darkening with memory. “Well,” he said slowly, “how could I not? That song always sounded distant to me before. But looking at him. Those little brown eyes catching the streetlights, realizing that, despite all odds, all the shit I never got from Al… I’d made it. I was holding my own little world in my hands. Never seen anything so beautiful.”

She pressed a hand to his chest, right over the sunflower on his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. “You always made it feel like magic,” she whispered. 

He wrapped his arm tighter around her, drawing her flush against him. “It still is,” he said, voice low, full of conviction. “Even if we have to try for a while, even if it takes longer than we hope, even if it never works for another. I’m so incredibly happy. With you. With Darion. With this life we’ve built. But damn it, I hope it works out. I want another little one running around here someday.”

She tilted her head, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “I want that too,” she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head, letting his fingers drift lazily through her hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. She smiled, closing her eyes, letting the warmth of him and the quiet of the night wrap around her. Eddie’s steady heartbeat, the gentle weight of him holding her close, and the unspoken promise of everything to come lulled her toward sleep. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Just the two of them, perfectly tangled together, utterly content in their world, with their beautiful boy sleeping down the hall.

Tag List? Just ask Babes

@strawberrypinky @stefani-topaz @cowboylikemunson @vajjaa @micheledawn1975 @littlemissholy @bellalillyrose @alyssaaaaa-r @bl0ssomanddie @simplemelancholicstar @ratsematary @yujyujj @simsteo @elodiebeau @amadryth @hsdcmmjune @walleloveseve @sheneedsrocknroll92 @mcqueenster @mayal0pez @vinecstasy @beansboop @spagheddieohs

[verstappenpiastrif1leclercc]

The Things They’ll Never Know

I’m sorry but this picture of lando makes him look so soft and husband like it’s giving “oh you taking a picture okay lemme just look madly in love real quick”

The world thought they knew your husband.

Playboy. Immature. Reckless.

The labels clung to him like shadows, whispered behind hands at race weekends, plastered across tabloids with grainy paparazzi shots. They painted him as a boy who refused to grow up, who laughed too loud, partied too hard, cared too little.

And sometimes when you caught a headline suggesting he was trapped by your pregnancy, or a smug whisper that he’d “never last” as a husband you felt those words like bruises.

But they didn’t live in your home.

They didn’t see him when the cameras were gone.

Lando moved through your life like a shadow and a shield.

You woke one morning and noticed the coffee table’s sharp corners padded with soft foam.

You hadn’t seen him do it, but the roll of tape in the bin gave him away.

A week later, he shifted rugs so edges lay flat against the floor, muttering about how “you could trip if they’re not lined up.”

When you laughed at the fussing, he only frowned, kissed your forehead, and mumbled,

“Better me being ridiculous than you getting hurt.”

At first you thought it was just nerves, but then you started noticing it everywhere.

He changed your glass water bottle to plastic, swapped out cleaning products for gentler ones because “what if you breathe that in,” rearranged shelves so nothing heavy sat high enough to fall.

At night, when you finally drifted off, he never truly slept. Every sigh you made, every restless toss, his eyes would flick open instantly.

Sometimes you woke to find him watching you with quiet intensity, his arm curved around you, hand splayed protectively over your stomach like a promise.

“You’re staring again,” you mumbled once, groggy.

“Just making sure,” he whispered. He never clarified what he was making sure of

Making sure the baby kicked?

Making sure nothing bad could touch you?

Making sure you were safe and loved?

Maybe all of it.

They didn’t see the notebook.

It lived in the kitchen drawer, messy handwriting filling every page:

• Week 14 → strawberry milk, 2 a.m. run to the corner shop.

• Week 17 → blueberry muffins from the bakery across town, only those ones.

• Week 20 → pretzels, lightly salted, not too greasy.

• Week 23 → the one salad you swore was the only one you could stomach.

He tracked it all like a race strategy plan, only this was one he couldn’t afford to lose.

One night, you padded into the kitchen, sleepy, only to find him at the stove. He was barefoot, hoodie hanging loose on his shoulders, stirring chocolate into warm milk.

“Lando,” you whispered, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s three in the morning.”

“You said yesterday you wanted this.” His voice was soft, matter-of-fact. “I figured if you woke up craving it, it’d already be ready.”

Your throat tightened.

“You can’t keep doing this for me.”

He turned, eyes steady, serious in a way that always unspooled you.

“Yes, I can. And I will. Always.”

And they certainly didn’t see the fight.

It was at a sponsor dinner, one of those endless obligations.

You were doing your best to smile through exhaustion, the fabric of your dress stretched over your growing stomach.

Lando hadn’t left your side once, his hand resting at your back, fingers tracing small protective circles.

Then someone half-drunk, too loud leaned in and muttered something crude.

About your body.

About how you were just a placeholder only a matter of time before you’d get too loose for Lando.

The words hit you like ice.

Your stomach churned.

Before you could respond, before you could even process, Lando’s voice cut through, low and sharp:

“Say that again.”

The man smirked, clearly thinking he’d won some twisted game. “I said—”

He didn’t finish.

Lando’s fist connected with his jaw before you had time to breathe.

The sound was sickening, the room erupting shouts, gasps, someone trying to pull him back but he was trembling with rage, chest heaving, eyes burning with something lethal.

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that,” he spat, voice shaking.

“Ever.”

It took two men to drag him away.

Later, at home, you sat on the couch icing his split knuckles.

The room was quiet except for his uneven breathing.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered.

“Yes, I did.” His voice was raw. “You think I’m going to sit there while someone just openly degrades you??”

He broke off, jaw tight, eyes glassy.

“No one talks about you like that. Not while I’m breathing.”

And you realized it wasn’t anger anymore.

It was fear.

Fear that anyone, anywhere, could look at you the woman he adored and try to reduce you.

The scare came weeks later.

You’d been pushing yourself too hard, ignoring the way your body begged for rest.

You were in the kitchen when the world tilted.

Black spots filled your vision.

The next thing you knew, you were on the floor.

When you came to, Lando was crouched beside you, pale, frantic, his hands trembling as they cradled your face.

“Stay with me, baby, please—please, you’re okay, it’s okay—”

His voice cracked, breaking into a sound you’d never heard before.

The ambulance ride blurred, but what you remembered vividly was his grip on your hand, white-knuckled, as though letting go would mean losing everything.

He kept whispering, over and over: I love you, I love you, please don’t leave me, please.

At the hospital, the doctors reassured you both it was a fainting spell, exhaustion, nothing more sinister but Lando couldn’t calm down.

He hovered at your bedside, hands restless, eyes red.

“You scared me,” he whispered when you were finally alone.

His voice was shredded, like he’d been holding back a scream.

“I thought—I thought I was losing you. Both of you.”

“Lando—”

“No.” He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his head pressed against your stomach, shoulders shaking.

“I can’t—I can’t live in a world without you.

You don’t understand.

You are my world.

You first and then the baby.

If something happened” His voice broke completely.

“I’d rather it be me. Every time. I’d take it all if I could.”

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

“Look at me,” you whispered, tugging gently until he raised his head.

His eyes were glassy, desperate, terrified.

“You’re not going to lose us,” you said softly, fiercely.

“We’re right here and we’re not going anywhere.”

He collapsed into your arms, clinging like a man starved, like if he held you tight enough, nothing could take you away.

The world would never see this.

They wouldn’t see him padding corners in the middle of the night.

They wouldn’t see him memorizing every craving, driving across the city because you wanted muffins.

They wouldn’t see him throw a punch for your honor, or cry into your stomach in a hospital room, begging the universe not to take you away.

They’d never know the truth.

But you did.

And that was enough.

Because Lando Norris wasn’t a playboy.

He wasn’t careless.

He wasn’t immature.

He was yours.

Utterly, desperately, obsessively yours.

And he proved it, every single day.

[thepreciouspurrsian]

AC Mirage & Valhalla textposts 14/?

Ubisoft… hello?? Where’s Sleipnir’s story?? 👀🐎🫃🏻

[felignis]

why do people say frecklewish doesn't deserve to be in the dark forest. SHE WATCHED CHILDREN DROWN. SHE WANTED INNOCENT CHILDREN SHE PROJECTED ONTO TO BE EXILED FROM THE FCUKING CLAN BECAUSE SHE PERSONALLY FELT BETRAYED BY THEM NOT BEING RELATED TO THE GUY SHE BROUGHT UP THE CONCEPT OF THEM BEING RELATED TO!!!!

she called them "half-clan creatures" and said they didn't deserve to be called warriors. she dehumanized children for not being related to her dead brother when their mother never even brought up that idea in the first place and just didn't correct her for her own safety.

and then when she found out the truth about her idealized fantasy and didn't like it she attacked their mother, encouraged her to be driven out of the clan (DIRECTLY TO THE LEADER WHO IS HER FATHER WHO WILL LISTEN TO HER) and watched them drown.

do you guys seriously think the woman who dehumanized innocent children for 1. not being the children of her brother and 2. being the children of the person who ACCIDENTALLY caused his death and said they deserved to be driven out didn't let them die on purpose??

frecklewish shouldn't be in starclan. she let children die because they didn't fit into her idealized fantasy that she came up with to cope with her brother's death.

also for the record ravenwing and oakstar should be in there too. maybe not appledusk because he didn't exactly do anything malicious

read tags for more analysis

[drunkenlionwrites]

I KNOW james pants like an animal during sex I KNOW IT!!

Warnings: smut, g/n reader, no descriptions of reader's physiology

James in general doesn’t enjoy being too vocal in bed, so he usually tries to control himself to some degree. When he’s pent up and overstimulated or experiencing too much pleasure, he is letting go of that control and switches to moans and quiet whimpers, and mindless little praises, and whispers of your name. Other than that, yeah, he starts with deep breaths, which quickly turn into him panting louder and louder, his chest pressing to yours making you feel just how labored his breathing is. The fact that he’s borderline a middle-aged man, and an office worker at that doesn’t help his stamina. You enjoy it however, the back of your mind registering how yours and his noises and breathing synchronize, especially when James fucks into you purposefully, deep and hard, pulling his dick out almost entirely, just to plunge back with some added force, both your breathing patters following the same rhythm. Each his exhale accompanied by a moan of yours up until the point either one of you reach the peak.

[kathy-ifnt]

My hand slipped 😭

PATREON | TWITTER

[amendoim-world]

That's my first attempt at drawing Noelle

[rudyrgb]

Despite everything, it's still you.

[triptrippy]

fun gang in my human au

[manglestar]

holidayz

[chubbidust]

her little snowball...her little slushy