Hi! Life has just been really crazy. Lots of weddings and big life events for me (Yay!). I'm still writing but just don't have the time I used to. I'll be back later in the fall but may occasionally post here and there:) - Writing for the fun of it. Requests Open. Works and Requests
Oh man I knew this day would come, I finally have to make seprate masterlists for some fandoms, this main post is too massive now! Masterlist's below the cut <3
If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up
some of u guys are literally porn addicts! iâm sorry but someone had to say it. itâs practically impossible to find fics that arenât smut, no matter which tag ur looking in, and itâs so fucking annoying. i donât mean this in a conservative way, but itâs not normal to have every single fic inside a tag be smut. unless ofc itâs in the smut tag itself.
edit: some of u guys are missing my point, I READ SMUT !!!! i donât mean that no one should write smut ever, but itâs getting to a very concerning point where EVERYTHING is smut, and some people donât read anything that doesnât have it. and itâs not just fics, just look at comments of any video that recommends a book, âis there spice?â âif there isnât spice i donât want it.â like WHAT??? and itâs also specially annoying when iâm looking for something to read inside the fluff/angst tag and all i find is smut smut smut
this is one of the reasons iâve been on a reading slump here on tumblr. because at this point i donât even bother to look at the tags, knowing most of them are just pure smut with no plot whatsoever. iâm sorry but writing is supposed to be a piece of creativity, not just straight up erotica. this is why i appreciate angst writers so much because there is at least some kind of plot in it.
Hi! I love love love love your work! So much! Aragorn is quite literally my fav character ever for so many reasons. If you donât see this donât worry at all, seriously zero pressure (I totally get it if you donât want to) but I was reading one of your others, and I was wondering if you could do Aragorn X reader, phobia comfort. Like claustrophobia, or thunderstorms, or loud, crowded spaces! Thank you so much for your time and consideration! Have a great day!!!
Aragorn my favorite Gondorian King!! I love this request so much :) I feel like reader is also a Ranger of the North and they are respected acquaintances prior to TLOTR. Gandalf needs them both and he quickly learns reader is more than capable (of course they are, they're a ranger hahah). But one night reader is freaked out by a lightning thunderstorm and begs legolas to trade shifts. Aragorn finds reader in a cave hiding etc... eek! could be so cute.
Hello! I'm wondering if you have any requests that you're currently working on?
I do not! I just got back from a family vacation so I'll probably go through some requests tonight and pick some out!! Hoping to write this weekend since it'll be cold and the garden will be miserable to work in lol
I love the fact that you write nice, feel good charming stories without feeling the need to fill them with porn all the time. So refreshing!
Awww thank you so much!! That means so much to me, truly! It's honestly why I started writing little one shots hahahah I was tired of reading smut (NOT that it's bad but sometimes it's nice to just have fluff or angst!)
Hi Wulfie! Thank you so much for writing my Aragorn request!! I have read âuntil the morning lightâ multiple times by now because I love it so much!
You and your work are amazing and wonderful, thank you!!!!!! â€ïž
Again, almost a year later but thank you SO much! I'm so so glad you liked it. I haven't been as active but such a joy to recieve such good feedback :)
Summary: Request - he reader and aragorn are in an established relationship before he leaves with the fellowship, and shortly after he's gone she finds out that she's pregnant. obviously she can't tell aragorn since she doesn't know where he is to send a letter or otherwise a message of some kind... Read Rest Here
A/N: Wow, I really love this one. It took me a while but I think it turned out really well. Let me know what you think :)
Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader
Word Count: 6.1k +
TW: War, talks of war, pregnancy, general LOTR
The fire crackled low in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows across the small space you and Strider had called home. It wasnât much. Just a small cottage nestled in the rolling hills not too far from the village of Bree. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill creeping into your bones. It wasnât from the cold, no, but instead from the unspoken truth that lingers between you.
Heâs leaving.
You knew the time was coming. You felt it in your bones. The way Middle Earth got darker through every day. And Strider was important in warding off whatever the hell was taking over your home. You knew that much by how often Gandalf had visited. You never asked how bad. He never told you the details other than you knew heâd be called to the front lines soon enough. And apparently that day was today.
Strider sat beside you. His rough, calloused fingers trailing along the back of your hand as if memorizing every ridge and line. He does that often, touching you like heâs afraid youâll slip through his fingers if he lets go. Tonight, though thereâs something different in his touch. A quiet desperation, a silent plea. Neither of you had spoken in a while. Thereâs nothing left to say that hasnât already been whispered in the dark, murmured against skin, carved into the sacred spaces between your heartbeats.
Gandalfâs call had finally come. The war is no longer a distant shadow on the horizon. Itâs here, looming over the world, threatening to tear everything apart. And Strider, the man you love, the man whose name is laced with destiny, cannot turn away.
âI would stay if I could,â he murmured at last breaking the heavy silence. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, lingering, like heâs afraid to let go. Because he is. âYou know that, donât you?â His eyes were pleading.
You swallow the ache rising in your throat and nod. âOf course, I know.â
His breath shuddered as he shifted closer, resting his forehead against yours. âGandalf needs me.â His voice is low, rough with regret. âThe world needs me.â
Your fingers tighten around his. âI know. Trust me⊠I know. But what of me? What am I to do?â The words slip out before you can stop them, raw and aching. You hadnât meant to say it. Hadnât meant to let the fear show.
Strider exhales sharply, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Thereâs something in his expression that steals the air from your lungs, something tender and fierce all at once. âYou must stay hidden. You are my world,â he says softly. âAnd I will return to you no matter what it takes.â
Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to smile. âYouâre lucky Iâm good at hiding. And that Iâm patient.â
A low, breathless chuckle escapes him before he cups your face in his hands. His thumb brushing along your cheek as if to chase away the sorrow settling there. His lips find yours in a kiss that is both a promise and a plea, slow and lingering, desperate, and aching. You pour every unspoken word into it, every prayer, every ounce of love you have for him. When he finally pulled away his forehead rests against yours once more. âI will come back to you,â he vows. âI will always come back to you. No matter how long it takes.â
And in the morning as you stand at the edge of the village watching him disappear into the rising sun you clung to those words like a lifeline. Because no matter how far he goes, no matter how long you have to wait, you know one thing with absolute certainty. He will always find his way back to you.
The days stretch long and quiet in his absence. The mornings are the hardest, waking to an empty bed and reaching for the warmth of him only to find cold sheets and silence. You find yourself lingering in doorways staring out toward the horizon as if you might catch a glimpse of him in the distance riding home to you. But he is gone so far beyond your reach swallowed by the road that calls him ever forward.
At first you distract yourself with routine. Chores, errands, tending to the home you built together. You keep busy because you must. Because if you stop the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. But not long after he leaves something feels different. At first it was subtle. A wave of dizziness when you stood too quickly. A lingering nausea in the mornings that you chalk up to restless sleep. You tried brushing it off but not long after the fatigue creeps in. An exhaustion that weighs heavier than heartache alone. You press on though, pushing through until the realization becomes impossible to ignore.
The healer didnât t need long to confirm what you already suspected. Her hands are gentle as they press against your abdomen with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. âYou are with child.â She said softly with a saddened smile. She knew, the whole village knew, that the babyâs father was long off fighting for the preservation of Middle Earth. The words crash over you like a wave, sweeping your breath away. For a long moment you can only stare trying to process what sheâs just said. A child. Striderâs child.
Your hands tremble as they settle over your stomach as if expecting to feel something different beneath your fingertips. A life, small and fragile, growing within you. A piece of him left behind. Joy, fear, and uncertainty twist together in your chest, tangling into something impossible to untangle. You should be happy, shouldnât you? And you are, in some quiet, awestruck way. But beneath that joy, fear lingers. A fear of what the future holds. Of what may come. Because Strider is not here. And there is no way to tell him.
You think of sending a letter, of finding a messenger, but you have no idea where he is. He could be anywhere beyond the mountains, lost in the wilds, deep in the heart of danger. You could write a thousand letters and never know if one would reach him. So, you had to wait.
The weeks pass and the weight of your secret grows heavier. Your body begins to change. The once loose fabric of your dresses stretching tighter over your stomach. You stand before the mirror some mornings pressing your hands against your belly whispering words only the child can hear. Your love. Your father will return to us. He will.
But as time drags on the world darkens. Rumors trickle in from travelers, whispers of war and death and an enemy who grows stronger by the day. Villages burned, men slaughtered, hope slipping through the cracks like sand in an hourglass. And with every passing day, your fear deepens. What if he does not return? What if he never knows? What if this child, his baby, enters the world without ever knowing the sound of his fatherâs voice?
You press your hands against your stomach, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. âI will wait for you,â you whisper into the quiet. Even if the waiting breaks you.
The world feels too quiet without him. Without the steady warmth of his presence. Without the way he would murmur soft words in the dark when he thought you were asleep. Without the way his fingers would brush over yours in quiet moment promising things he never said aloud.
Now, there is only the crackle of the dying fire and the steady whisper of wind against the wooden walls. You lay awake most nights staring at the ceiling one hand resting over the growing curve of your stomach. The weight of the secret you carry grows heavier with each passing day. With each reminder that you are alone.
Fear lurks in the corners of your mind. Not just for yourself, but for him. Where is he? Is he safe? Does he think of you as often as you think of him? You donât know. And itâs the not knowing that threatens to break you.
Then, one morning, the nausea hits harder than before. You barely make it outside in time, bracing yourself against the railing as your body trembles with the force of it. When the sickness passes you lean back against the post, breathless and exhausted. The sun is barely cresting over the horizon casting a golden glow across the fields and for a moment you let yourself pretend that Strider is still here. That he will step through the doorway and press a hand to your back, murmuring reassurances in that steady, quiet voice of his.
But he is not here. And he will not be, not for a long time. You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest flutter beneath your palm. A life. His life. A part of him, still here, still with you. The thought steels your resolve. You cannot continue waiting in silence hoping for answers that may never come. Strider once spoke of Rivendell, of Lord Elrondâs wisdom, of the sanctuary it provided. If anyone knew where he was it would be him. If anyone could offer guidance it would be him.
And so, before doubt can creep in you pull yourself upright and move inside settling at the worn wooden desk in the corner of the room. The parchment feels fragile beneath your fingertips as you dip the quill into ink, hesitating only for a breath before pressing the tip to the page. You do not know how to begin. But you begin anyway.
To Lord Elrond of Rivendell,
My name is Y/N, and I write to you not as a stranger, but as the one Strider left behind. Or as you know him, Aragorn.
I do not send this letter lightly, nor do I wish to burden you with matters that may seem small in the face of the darkness that looms over Middle Earth. But I have nowhere else to turn.
Aragorn spoke of you often, with the deepest respect. He once told me that if I were ever in need I might look to Rivendell for guidance. Now, I find myself in need of both guidance and news of him.
I do not know where he is. I do not know if he is safe, or if he will return. And I do not know if this letter will reach you in time. But I pray that it does because I am carrying his child.
I had no way of telling him before he left. I do not even know if I will ever have the chance. But I had to try. If there is any way to get word to him. If there is any hope that you might know where he is⊠please, I beg of you, let me know.
If nothing else, I ask for your wisdom. The world is changing, growing darker with each passing day and I fear for the safety of this child.
I will wait for your word.
You let the ink dry then fold the letter carefully sealing it before pressing it into the hands of a trusted traveler. âTake this to Rivendell,â you whisper. âPlease.â
The waiting is unbearable. Days turn into weeks. Each one stretching longer than the last. Your body changes with the passing time. A growing reminder of the life that will arrive whether Strider returns or not. You knew of his true lineage as Aragorn. He told you a long time ago but insisted on Strider. So, youâd always called him by what he wished.
Then, at last, a rider arrives at your doorstep, clad in elven robes. He does not speak at first but only presses a letter into your trembling hands. His expression solemn. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you break the seal, fingers tightening around the parchment as your eyes scan the elegant script.
Your letter reached me, but alas, not in time.
Aragorn has already departed from Rivendell. He travels now with the Fellowship, and I cannot say when or if he will return. He walks a path of great peril. His fate, like that of all free peoples, hangs in the balance.
I grieve that you must bear this burden alone. No lady should have to face such uncertainty without the comfort of her beloved by her side. And so, I offer you this: Come to Rivendell. You and the child will find sanctuary here. You will not be alone.
If you wish it come to Rivendell with the messenger who handed you this letter.
Elrond of Rivendell
Your vision blurred as you lower the letter, emotions warring within you. Relief that your words had not gone unheard, sorrow that your Strider is still lost to you, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the kindness offered in Elrondâs reply.
You press a hand to your stomach, exhaling a slow, steady breath. Strider may be gone. He may never know of the child you carry. But you will do whatever it takes to protect this life. To ensure that your child is safe even if it means leaving everything behind.
When the messenger asks what you will do, you lift your chin, heart heavy but resolute. âI will travel to Rivendell with you.â
The journey to Rivendell is long, stretching over days or weeks that bleed together in exhaustion and quiet reflection. You leave behind the familiar comforts of home. The place where Strider last stood before you and trade them for the uncertainty of the road ahead. The elves who guide you are patient, their presence a steady reassurance, but the solitude you carry remains unshaken. The nights now had become the hardest when the world is still and there is nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. You wonder where he is, if he is safe, if he is looking at the same stars you are.
By the time you reach Rivendell you are nearly at the end of this pregnancy. But you did have time to admire the elven lands. Rivendell is as beautiful as Strider had described. Untouched by war and time. A sanctuary wrapped in cascading waterfalls and golden trees. The very air feels different here, lighter, ancient, like a whisper of something beyond mortal comprehension. But for all its beauty it is not home. The ache in your chest does not fade nor does the silence in the space beside you. The absence of the man you love stretching wider with each passing day. The elves welcome you graciously, offering kindness without expectation, but their presence only reminds you that you are alone in a place meant for those with elven blood. You do not belong here.
At first you keep to yourself uncertain of what role you hold in this sanctuary. You spend the days walking through the stone corridors, the terraces that overlook the valley, your hands always finding their place over the growing curve of your stomach. The life inside you is the only tether you have to Strider now. The last piece of him you can hold onto when everything else is uncertain. You whisper to your baby, pressing soft words against your skin, hoping that somehow they can feel the love you already bear for them.
Elrond watches over you though you do not understand why at first. You know of his history with Strider. Of the weight he placed upon him for years, the expectations of a lineage long denied but never forgotten. There is an unspoken wariness when you first meet him. A quiet hesitation as you wonder if he sees you as a complication in Striders grand destiny. But Elrond never speaks of such things, nor does he treat you with anything less than patience and wisdom. He does not pry, does not press when he sees the lingering sorrow in your eyes. Instead, he offers quiet companionship. A presence steady enough to remind you that you do not have to bear this alone.
He is there on the mornings when the sickness leaves you pale and shaking, offering herbal remedies to ease the discomfort. He places books in your hands when the nights stretch too long knowing that distraction is sometimes the only way to keep the mind from spiraling. When you struggle beneath the weight of uncertainty he does not speak empty reassurances but instead reminds you of your own strength, of the resilience that has carried you this far.
"You are strong," he tells you one evening. His voice calm but firm. "Even when you do not feel it you are strong. And you will endure." You nod though you do not entirely believe it. Strength feels fleeting these days. A thing that wavers beneath the weight of the unknown. Some nights, you dream of Strider. Of his hands on yours, of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth fighting for. You wake with tears on your cheeks more often than not, and though Elrond never mentions it you know he sees. He does not press but his presence lingers just long enough to remind you that you are not truly alone.
Time moves forward even as you feel frozen in place. Your body changes wholly. Your baby growing stronger with each passing day. You begin to feel the childâs movements, soft at first, then stronger. Small kicks, reminders that you are not just waiting for Strider but for the baby who will need you no matter what happens in the world beyond Rivendell. You let yourself imagine what it would be like if Strider were here. If his hand could rest over your stomach the way yours does. If he could see the life you created together. The thought brings equal parts joy and sorrow because you do not know if he will ever return to see it.
And then, on a night bathed in silver moonlight, the first sharp pain lances through you.
It begins slowly. A dull ache that you try to dismiss as exhaustion but as the hours stretch on the pain intensifies. You clutch the edge of the bed, breathing through it, but when the next wave comes, you know. It is time.
The next hours pass in a blur of whispered voices and steady hands. Of soft reassurances in Elvish and the warmth of a hand pressed against yours when the pain becomes unbearable. The room swims in and out of focus, exhaustion threatening to pull you under, but you fight against it, gripping onto the knowledge that soon, so soon, you will meet you baby.
And then after what feels like an eternity, the weight of it all breaks. A sharp cry fills the room, piercing through the exhaustion, the haze of pain and uncertainty. The sound crashes over you, and everything else fades into nothing. âA boy.â You hear in your haze.
Your son.
Elrond lifts him carefully. His expression unreadable for a moment before he steps closer, placing the small, wriggling body into your waiting arms. The moment his weight settles against you, the world stills.
He is perfect.
Your breath hitches as you take him in. Your hands shaking as you press your fingers against his impossibly soft skin. Dark hair, still damp from birth, clings to his forehead. And when his eyes flutter open, they are deep and grey, piercing in a way that makes your heart stop.
Strider.
Itâs almost too much, the ache in your chest swelling until it feels unbearable. He is not here. He should be here. He should be the one holding his son. The one whispering reassurances. The one tracing the tiny fingers curled against your chest.
Tears spill over before you can stop them, dropping onto your sonâs forehead as you press a trembling kiss there, inhaling the scent of him, of new life, of something so fragile yet so incredibly strong. You hold him closer, whispering words against his skin, words meant for him but also for Strider. For the man who does not yet know the love waiting for him here.
"You are loved," you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. "You are so, so loved."
Even if Strider never returns. Even if the world takes him from you before he can ever know, this child will never have to doubt the depth of the love he was born into. Because Strider is here. Not in body, not yet, but in this life, in this perfect, tiny boy who carries his strength.
And so, you hold your son close, rocking him gently as his cries soften into small breaths against your chest. You do not know what the future holds but in this moment you do not need to.
Because no matter what happens next you will keep your promise. You will wait for Strider. And when he returns, if he returns, you will place his son in his arms, and he will know. He will know that even through all the darkness something bright and beautiful was waiting for him to come home.
The days in Rivendell are quiet, your son growing stronger with each passing week. He is your anchor. The only thing tethering you to the present when your thoughts so often drift to the past. To Strider, to the uncertainty of his fate. You wake in the night sometimes clutching your child close wondering if somewhere across the world Strider is still fighting if he is still alive. You have no idea how long it had been since he left your home. A year maybe? Elrond confirms it had been nearly that amount of time.
Then, one morning, the world shifts. The halls of Rivendell buzz with murmurs. Excitement threading through voices that have remained steady and somber for so long. The news arrives that Sauron was defeated. The war is over.
You clutch your son tighter as the words sink in. Middle Earth is free. The darkness that once threatened to consume everything has been vanquished. Hope fills the valley, but you are afraid to let it settle in your heart. You do not ask the one question burning inside you, not yet, not until you hear Elrondâs voice, quiet but certain, as he delivers the final truth.
Aragorn lives. Your Strider is alive. Alive.
The breath left your lungs in a sharp, shuddering gasp, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. Relief washed over you so violently that it leaves you dizzy. The weight of months of fear, of not knowing, crashing down all at once. He is alive. He is alive. He is coming back. Coming home!
But Elrondâs next words halt your thoughts in their tracks.
âHe is to be crowned King of Gondor.â
The statement rings in your ears, sending a different kind of tremor through you. The war is over. Strider is not just alive. He is victorious. He is stepping into the destiny he was always meant for, the one that has lingered over him like a shadow for as long as you have known him. He is no longer just the man who held you close and promised to return. He is to be king. King of Gondor.
Your heart clenches with a different fear taking root in your chest. What if everything has changed? What if he has changed? You had always known that this day would come. That Strider was never meant to remain in the wilds forever. But now, standing here with your son in your arms, the reality of it is suffocating.
Would he still want you? Would he still want this life that was built in his absence, a child he did not know existed? Or would his new station, his new responsibilities, demand something else entirely?
You press a trembling kiss to your sonâs forehead, inhaling the scent of him, grounding yourself. You should be celebrating, rejoicing in the knowledge that the man you love is alive. And yet, all you can do is stare down at the small boy in your arms, the one who carries Striders features so clearly, and wonder. Will he still choose us?
The journey to Minas Tirith stretches endlessly before you. Every step closer filling you with both anticipation and fear. You clutch your son tightly pressing a soft kiss to his dark hair, inhaling the sweet, warm scent of him as if it will steady the rapid beating of your heart. You had spent so many nights fearing this moment would never come. That Strider would never return. Now, the truth is almost too much to bear. He is alive, he has won, and he is waiting for you. Or so you hope. But what if he is no longer your Strider? What if he is now Aragorn alone?
The towering gates of Minas Tirith rise ahead after a month of travel. The banners of Gondor snapping in the wind. The city is alive with the hum of celebration. The people reveling in their freedom, in their new king. But you are blind to it all. Your world has shrunk to the only thing that matters. The man waiting at the top of those white stone steps.
And then you see him.
Strider stands at the entrance of the citadel clothed in the robes of a king, a silver circlet resting upon his brow. But none of it matters. Not the title. Not the crown. He could be standing in rags, and he would still be him. His grey eyes find yours and everything stops.
For a moment he does not move. Does not breathe as if the sight of you has struck him so deeply he cannot comprehend it. His gaze flickers from your face to the child in your arms and then back to you, something breaking, something raw and unguarded slipping through the carefully placed armor he has worn for so long.
And then he moves. Not with the controlled grace of a king. Not with the measured composure of a man who has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. No, he runs. He runs to you. To your son. To his home.
His legs nearly buckle as he reaches you. His breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as if he has forgotten how to breathe altogether. He stops just short. His entire body trembling. His hands reaching out but not quite touching as if he is afraid that if he does you might vanish like a cruel dream.
His voice when it comes is hoarse, cracked with emotion. âYouâŠâ His breath shudders. âYouâre real?â
Tears blur your vision as you nod, your arms tightening around your son. âIâm here.â
Strider, Aragorn, exhales sharply and before you can take another breath he drops to his knees before you. A strangled sound escapes him as he presses his hands to your skirts. His forehead resting against your legs in a gesture so utterly broken that it sends a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. His fingers grip the fabric of your cloak as if anchoring himself to you, his shoulders shaking under the weight of emotions too strong to contain.
âYou waited for me,â he whispers, the words a prayer, a reverence, a confession. His lips press against the fabric covering your knee, then your thigh, then lower, worshiping the very ground you stand on. âI thoughtâI fearedââ His breath is ragged as he shakes his head, pressing another kiss against your legs before tilting his head back to look up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Then, his gaze drops widens as he sees him. The baby in your arms. Not so much a newborn anymore but not a toddler yet. The small, sleeping boy nestled in your arms, so peaceful, so unaware of the storm his father is weathering before him. Striders entire body goes still. His hands slowly releasing their grip on your skirts. His breath catches, his fingers trembling as he hesitantly reaches forward, stopping just short of touching the child.
He looks up at you. His expression unraveling into something utterly undone. âIs heâŠâ His voice fails him, cracking beneath the weight of the question.
You nod, your own voice barely a whisper. âHe is yours, Strider.â
Something inside him broke. A choked, breathless sob escapes him as he lifts shaking hands. His fingers barely grazing the soft blanket wrapped around his son before he pulls back afraid that he is unworthy of touching something so pure. âI didnât knowâŠâ His voice fractures again and he looks back up at you with desperation in his eyes. âI didnât know.â
âI know,â you whisper before shifting closer, pressing the bundle into his waiting arms. âBut you do now.â The moment his son was in his arms Strider let out a sound so raw, so full of everything that he has held back for so long that it steals the air right from your lungs.
His hands, scarred and calloused from war, cradle the small boy with infinite tenderness. His thumb brushes along his sonâs cheek memorizing every inch of him. The curve of his tiny nose, the soft wisps of dark hair, the way his fingers twitch in sleep.
Strider swallowed hard, tears slipping down his face as he presses his forehead against his sonâs. âYou are so beautiful,â he whispers. His voice trembling. âYou areâŠâ His breath shudders. âYou are mine. The Prince of Gondorâ
The boy stirs then, blinking up at him with eyes that mirror his own. Grey and stormy, deep as the rivers that run through the land. The first glimpse of recognition dawns in those tiny features, and Strider let out a soft, broken laugh. His grip tightening ever so slightly knowing will never let go. Your heart feels like it might truly shatter as you witness your son and his father meeting for the first time.
He looks back up at you then with the tears now spilling freely down his face. âWhat is his name?â
You hesitate. âI never truly named him,â you admit. Your voice thick with emotion. âI only ever called him Aragorn.â
Something unreadable flickers across his face. Then, suddenly, he laughs. A soft, breathless sound, full of wonder, full of disbelief. He looks down at his son with a teary smile tugging at his lips. âThen he has a name worthy of him.â He presses a reverent kiss to his sonâs forehead before shifting his gaze back to you. And then before you can say anything else he reached for you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.
âI love you,â he murmurs as his lips pressed against your temple, your cheek, your lips. âI have always loved you.â His grip tightens as if he cannot bear to let go. âNo war, no kingdom, nothing could ever change that.â
Tears rolled down your face as you clutch at him, pressing your forehead against his. âI was so afraid,â you whisper. âThat you wouldnât want us. ThatâŠâ
Strider silences you with another kiss, deep and lingering, full of every promise he has ever made, full of everything he cannot put into words. When he pulls away his voice is fierce, unshaken. âNever,â he vows. âNever doubt that you are my heart. That he is my greatest joy.â He looks down at his son again, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over the boyâs tiny hands. âYou waited for me,â he murmurs before pressing another kiss to his sonâs head. âAnd now, I swear to you both, I will never leave again.â A quiet sob escapes you and you lean into him. Letting him hold both of you as if he can shield you from every sorrow you have ever known. You had waited. And now, finally you were home.
The White City gleams beneath the golden afternoon sun. Its towers stretching high into the heavens, banners of Gondor rippling in the wind. The throne room, once a place of war councils and endless worries, now holds something far greater. It holds peace, love, and a king who rules not just with wisdom but with a heart full of devotion.
And at the center of it all, Aragorn sits upon his throne, not just as the ruler of Gondor, but as a father, a husband, a man who has found his way back to the life he never dared to dream for himself.
His son sits in his lap with tiny fingers clutching at the silver detailing of his robes, wide grey eyes staring up at his father in open adoration. The boy is a mirror of him, with dark curls and a regal air that already hints at the leader he will one day become. Though for now he is simply his fatherâs son, wrapped in the safety of arms that would never let him go.
The court watches with quiet amusement as the toddler shifts in Aragornâs hold whispering something in that sweet, curious voice of his. Without hesitation, the King of Gondor leans down, his expression softening completely as he murmurs a response, pressing a kiss to the boyâs forehead before turning back to the matters of the realm.
And standing at his side, watching the scene unfold, is you. You rest a hand over the gentle swell of your stomach, your heart full with the life growing inside you. Your second child, a symbol of everything that had once felt so uncertain, now made real in the warmth of your husbandâs love. Your fingers trace over the fabric of your gown feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your touch. A quiet reminder that soon, your family would grow even more.
Aragornâs eyes find yours, his gaze lingering, full of a love that still leaves you breathless, even now. His lips curve into a soft, knowing smile, and without a word, he shifts, adjusting his son in his arms before extending a hand toward you. You step forward, placing your hand in his, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch, the strength in his fingers as he intertwines them with yours. He lifts your joined hands pressing a kiss to the back of yours, reverence in every movement.
âMy Queen,â he murmurs. His voice thick with affection. The title spoken not as a formality, but as something sacred.
Your breath falters for a moment, and though you have been by his side for months now, the weight of it still fills you with awe. He does not say it as if it is an obligation. He does not say it as if it is a role you were forced to accept. He says it like a man who has chosen you in every lifetime, in every battle, in every moment since the first time he laid eyes on you.
The small boy in his arms reaches for you then, his chubby fingers patting against your growing belly, a bright, innocent giggle spilling from his lips as if he already knows that soon he will have a sibling to protect. Aragorn chuckles, shifting the child slightly so you can press a kiss to his soft curls. Your fingers brushing against Aragornâs in the process. His hand tightens over yours, his thumb sweeping gently across your knuckles, grounding you in the warmth of him.
There had been so much fear once. So much uncertainty. But now, there is only this. Him, your son, your growing family, the home you have built together within the walls of a kingdom that now thrives under his reign.
âYou are happy?â he asks softly. His voice a quiet caress against your skin.
You smile, leaning in until your lips brush against his ear. Your voice warm with all the love you have ever held for him. âI have everything Iâve ever wanted.â
Aragorn exhales. His forehead pressing lightly against yours, the soft weight of your son nestled between you both. âThen I have fulfilled my greatest duty,â he murmurs, a quiet promise only for you to hear.
You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you, letting yourself breathe in the scent of him, the warmth of your son, the peace that now fills your life. You had waited. You had hoped. You had loved him even when the world tried to tear you apart. And now, standing at his side, with his hand in yours and his child in your arms, you know.
He had always, always, been coming home to you. He would always return to you.
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Summary: Request - I was thinking maybe Darry & fem reader have been together for a long time, all the boys consider them to be the Big Brother/Sister/Mom & Dad of the gang. But Darry saved up enough money to propose to his girl. So he gets the gang involved in the proposal too.
A/N: Thank you for the request @fanboyswhore9 !!! I loved writing this and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!
Pairing: Darrel "Darry" Curtis x Female Reader
Word Count: 4.3k +
TW: General The Outsiders
The Curtis house was never quiet. Not really. Even when Ponyboy was nose deep in a book, lost in some far-off world, the house still buzzed with life. Soda was always running his mouth, cracking jokes, and filling the space with laughter. While Steve and Two-Bit bickered over whatever nonsense they had cooked up that day. And there was Darry. He was always steady, always carrying the weight of it all. His shoulders squared under the responsibility of keeping a family together.
And then there was you.
You had been around since the beginning. Long before everything fell apart. You had been Darryâs best friend back when he was just a golden boy with big dreams before life had asked too much of him too soon. You had seen the way his parents adored him. How they looked at him like he was bound for something great. You had seen him at his best, laughing and reckless, a kid who thought the world had endless possibilities. And you had seen him at his worst, standing in the wreckage of his life after his parents were gone, exhausted and terribly scared but too damn proud to admit it.
You never left. Not when it got hard. Not when Darry had to trade in his college dreams for double shifts and sleepless nights. Somewhere along the way you started picking up the pieces alongside him. You helped him raise Ponyboy. Kept Soda from spiraling. Always made sure there was always food on the table even when it meant stretching meals too thin. You werenât just Darryâs best friend anymore. You were his family. Their family.
And the gang noticed.
At first it started as a joke. Something Steve tossed out casually when you made him an extra sandwich one afternoon. âThanks, Mom,â he said with a smirk before stuffing his face. You had rolled your eyes at the time thinking nothing of it.
But then Two-Bit picked it up and that was when the real trouble started. âHey, Dar, your wife says I gotta do the dishes,â heâd called out one night, grinning as he leaned against the counter. âYou really gonna let her boss me around like that?â
Darry while scrubbing the kitchen table down had barely looked up. âIf she says to do the dishes youâll do the damn dishes, Keith.â
That only made Two-Bit cackle. âAlright, alright.â He threw his hands up and got to work.
Even Ponyboy who was usually quiet and reserved had given Darry a rare, knowing smirk one day after dinner. âSheâs got more authority in this house than you do Darry.â
And that was when Soda decided to take it personally. âDar,â he sighed dramatically one night, kicking his feet up on the table. âYou do realize you already got yourself a wife, right?â
Darry shot him a look. âSoda.â
âNo, no,â Soda continued, waving a hand. âIâm just stating the obvious. You act like a married couple. You argue like a married couple. Hell, you even cook dinner together like a married couple.â
Ponyboy looked up from his book with an innocent expression. âYou should just ask her out already. You basically act married anyway.â Johnny nodding along with him.
Darry frowned, like the idea had never truly crossed his mind before. He scoffed, shaking his head. âIâI donâtââ
âYou do,â Soda cut in.
âYou absolutely do,â Steve added from the couch.
And then, as if this entire ordeal wasnât already a nightmare for Darry, Dallas Winston strolled into the room smirking like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. âOh, hell, finally,â Dally drawled, plopping down on the arm of the couch while flicking his lighter open and shut. âTook yâall long enough to say it. I was about ready to spell it out in the damn sky.â
Darry groaned, rubbing his temples. âNot you, too.â
Dally snorted, taking a drag from his cigarette. âYouâre real slow, man. Real slow. I mean, damn. Youâre playing house over here, takinâ care of Pony, makinâ sure Soda donât drink himself into a coma and then thereâs your girl, whoâs been stuck to your hip since before you had a damn mortgage on your shoulders. Youâre tellinâ me you just realized it?â
Darryâs scowl deepened, but the tips of his ears went pink.
Dally exhaled a cloud of smoke before shaking his head. âPathetic. You oughta be ashamed.â
Soda cracked up while Steve pounded the table. âOh man, Dallas is calling you pathetic. Thatâs gotta sting.â
âShut up,â Darry grumbled but at this point it didnât matter. Because maybe, just maybe, they were right.
Maybe when you leaned against the counter laughing at something Pony said Darry had a hard time looking away. Maybe when you patched him up after a rough shift, scolding him for pushing himself too hard, he liked hearing the worry in your voice. Maybe when he watched you sitting on the porch with Ponyboy quietly listening to him talk about nothing and everything, something in his chest ached in a way he didnât want to name. Soda was right. Dally was right. The whole damn gang was right. Darry had been in love with you for years. He had just been too damn stubborn to admit it.
It took him three days to work up the nerve to do anything about it.
He didnât plan anything grand. That wasnât your style. He just asked if you wanted to take a walk one night after dinner. His hands were shoved in his pockets. His shoulders tense in a way that had nothing to do with work. You didnât question it but instead just fell into step beside him. The two of you walking quietly under the flickering streetlights with the night air cool against your skin.
Darry had never been one for fancy words, never been one to spill his feelings easily. But he had spent enough time swallowing them down. He cleared his throat before glancing over at you. âI⊠uh⊠I think Iâve been in love with you for a long time.â He blurted out.
You stopped walking and looked at him with wide eyes. ââŠThink?â You asked as he took you completely off guard with that one.
His ears burned red. âFine,â he admitted. âI know.â
You let the silence stretch, dragging it out just to make him sweat a little longer, enjoying the rare sight of Darrel Curtis looking unsure of himself. Then after what felt like forever to him you grinned, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in close. âTook you long enough, Curtis.â
The gang lost their ever-loving minds when they found out.
Soda whooped so loudly he nearly fell off the porch, clutching his stomach as he gasped for breath. Two-Bit declared a national holiday and immediately started preparing for an imaginary wedding. Steve groaned, already complaining about how he was going to have to witness âgross couple behaviorâ for the rest of his life.
Dally, of course, took full credit. âI mean if it werenât for me heâd still be sittinâ there lookinâ confused.â
Pony just rolled his eyes and muttered, âGod help us all.â
And Johnny?
Johnny just smiled, shaking his head, because he had seen it coming long before Darry ever did.
Two years had passed since Darry finally pulled his head out of the sand and asked you to be his girl. Two years of late-night talks on the porch, of shared laughter over burned breakfasts, of feeling light in a way neither of you had since the world had come crashing down. Loving Darry wasnât always easy. He carried too much weight on his shoulders, worried too much, worked himself too hard. But you wouldnât trade a second of it. Because the truth was you had always been his, long before he ever admitted it.
But time hadnât stopped moving, hadnât let you stay frozen in those golden moments forever. Life had changed. It had hardened in ways you never could have predicted. Johnny was gone. Dallas, too. The grief still clung to the gang, settling into the spaces they once filled, but it didnât break you. Not completely anyway. You had all learned how to carry it. How to live with the loss without letting it consume you.
And somehow through it all Darry never let go of you.
You werenât just his best friend anymore. You werenât just his girl. You were his. And he was yours. The one he reached for at the end of a long day. The one he trusted to see the parts of him he hid from everyone else. And if there was one thing Darry Curtis knew with absolute certainty it was that he didnât want to spend another day without you.
Which was exactly why he had a ring stashed away in a place even Two-Bit couldnât find.
Darry Curtis was going to propose.
And unfortunately for him that meant getting the gang involved.
He knew it was a mistake. Knew it the second he opened his mouth. But Darry wasnât the kind of guy who did things halfway and if he was going to ask you to marry him he was going to make it something special. Nothing too grand because youâd hate that. Always had. But something special for the two of you.
Which is why, for better or worse, he found himself sitting in the Curtis living room watching as Soda, Pony, Two-Bit, and Steve absolutely butchered what was supposed to be a simple proposal plan.
âAlright, hear me out,â Two-Bit said, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye that immediately made Darry regret every life choice that led to this moment. âWhat if we set off fireworks?â
Pony sighed, already rubbing his temples. âTwo-Bit, you canât even light a match properly.â
âOkay, fine, but what aboutââ
Soda cut in with a grin. âWhat if we get a horse?â Darry groaned. This was going to be hell.
Darry leaned back in his chair rubbing a hand down his face as he listened to the absolute train wreck unfolding around him. He wasnât sure why he thought this would be a good idea. He knew these idiots had no sense of subtlety or reason. Here he was regretting everything as Steve pushed forward with what had to be the worst romantic advice he had ever heard.
"Listen, Dar," Steve started, crossing his arms like he was some expert on the subject. "The key to a solid proposal is shock value."
Darry raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Shock value?"
Steve nodded like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah, man. You gotta catch her off guard! Iâm talkinâ like bam! Just drop the question mid-conversation. Like, when she least expects it. Keeps things exciting."
Soda nearly fell out of his seat laughing. "Mid-conversation, Steve? What, you think Darryâs gonna be talkinâ about groceries and just throw in a âhey, wanna get hitchedâ in between tomatoes and bread?"
Steve shrugged. "Iâm just saying, girls love surprises."
"But she doesnât," Pony muttered, shaking his head. Steve just shot him a glare and shrugged.
"Now me," Two-Bit cut in, pointing to himself, "I got class. Darry, you should definitely propose at the drive-in."
Darry sighed regretting this entire conversation. "The drive-in."
Two-Bit grinned. "Yeah! During a horror movie." Silence filled the room.
Pony just stared at him, looking almost pained. "During a horror movie?"
"Yeah, picture it!" Two-Bit leaned forward, waving his hands dramatically. "You wait till the scariest part like when the monsterâs about to pop out then you drop down on one knee! Sheâll be so freaked out she wonât even think, sheâll just say yes!"
Steve snorted. "Or scream and knee him in the face."
Soda wiped tears from his eyes finding far too much enjoyment for Darryâs liking. "Oh man, I wanna see that."
Darry groaned. "There is no way Iâm proposing during a damn horror movie."
Two-Bit just shrugged. "Your loss. Couldâve been legendary."
Pony, ever the poet, sighed dramatically while slipping his notebook open. "You should do something meaningful, Darry. Something with depth. A real moment between you two."
"Not happening," Darry shot back immediately.
"You didnât even let me finish!" Pony huffed at his eldest brother.
"Because I already know whatever youâre about to say is gonna be too complicated."
"Itâs not complicated! I was just thinkingâ"
"No poems, Pony." Darry sat back in the couch, reeling.
"Butâ"
"No."
Pony scowled while muttering under his breath about how nobody in this family appreciated literature. Meanwhile, Soda was having the time of his life watching his usually cool, collected big brother flounder like a fish out of water. He was positively thriving in Darryâs misery.
"Damn, Dar," Soda chuckled, slapping a hand on his back. "Youâre really sweatinâ this, huh?"
Darry shot him a glare. "Of course, Iâm sweatinâ this, Soda. Iâm trying to propose to the woman I love."
Soda just grinned. "I know and itâs the funniest thing Iâve ever seen."
Darry sighed again, realizing that this was the moment he had officially lost control of the situation. But after what felt like hours of absolute nonsense, Darry had finally managed to wrangle the gang into something resembling a plan. It took a lot of patience, a lot of vetoing bad ideas (he was never letting Two-Bit near fireworks, and Steve was absolutely banned from giving further input), but somehow, against all odds, they had pulled it together.
The final decision? A simple, quiet dinner at the Curtis house. Nothing too fancy, nothing too showy, just something that felt right. The gang would help set it up, make sure everything was perfect, and then heâd finally ask the question that had been sitting on his tongue for months.
That was the plan.
Now all he had to do was actually go through with it.
Which, as he stood in the middle of the miraculously clean Curtis kitchen and adjusting the collar of his shirt for the hundredth time, suddenly felt a lot harder than he expected. His hands felt clammy, his stomach twisted up in knots, and for the first time in a long time Darry Curtis felt nervous.
Soda noticed immediately. "Would ya quit fidgeting?" his younger brother teased, nudging him with his elbow. "You look fine. Better than fine, actually. You sure youâre not the one gettinâ proposed to?"
Darry shot him a glare. "Not helping, Soda."
Soda just grinned, utterly unbothered. "What, you nervous?"
"No," Darry lied, adjusting his sleeves.
Steve snorted from across the room. "Yeah, okay, sure. Youâve been checking your watch every thirty seconds, Dar. If you get any more worked up youâre gonna pass out before she even walks through the door."
Darry groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I hate you guys."
Two-Bit clapped him on the shoulder, looking way too proud of himself. "Youâll thank us when she says yes, big guy. I mean if she says yesâ"
Steve smirked. "Oh yeah, she could say no."
Soda gasped dramatically. "Oh man, what if she laughs?"
"Yâall are the worst," Darry muttered, shaking his head.
Ponyboy took pity on him. "Relax, Darry. She loves you. You could probably propose with a burger and a milkshake, and sheâd still say yes."
Darry exhaled his shoulders dropping slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."
But even as he said it the nerves didnât fade. Not completely. Because this was it. The moment he was going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him. And then as if fate had been waiting for just the right second to make his heart damn near stop, there was a soft knock at the door.
Soda grinned. "Showtime."
The second the knock sounded at the door. Darry felt his stomach drop. He had faced down Socs in street fights, worked brutal shifts in the heat of summer, taken on the responsibility of raising two younger brothers before he even hit his twenties. But nothing had ever made his hands sweat like this.
Soda, grinning way too much, clapped him on the back. âAlright tough guy, donât choke.â
Darry shot him a glare before jerking his thumb toward the back door. âAll of you, out. Now.â
Steve scoffed. âAw, câmon, we canât even watch?â
âNo.â
Two-Bit groaned dramatically but he was already halfway to the back door, grabbing a roll off the table as he went. âFine, fine, weâll leave you to your romantic moment. But if you pass out, Iâm cominâ back to revive you.â
Pony smirked but gave Darry a reassuring nod before following the others outside. Soda, the last to leave, wagged his eyebrows and whispered, âYou got this.â Then he was gone, and the house was finally quiet.
Darry took a deep breath. This was it. No turning back now.
He opened the door, and there you were just back from your shift looking tired but beautiful as ever. Your brow furrowing slightly as you stepped inside.
Your eyes swept across the house taking in the shockingly spotless living room and the lack of boys sprawled across the furniture. The warm scent of something home-cooked lingering in the air. Your lips quirked as you turned back to Darry. âAlright, whatâs going on? Did you finally scare the boys into cleaning up after themselves?â
Darry smirked but the nerves in his stomach twisted tighter. âNot exactly.â You narrowed your eyes slightly about to ask another question, but then he stepped fully into the light, and your words caught in your throat.
Because damn. Darry was always handsome. Annoyingly so. But tonight? Tonight, he looked unfairly good. He was freshly shaven, dressed up in a button-down shirt that fit just right. His usually messy hair combed back neatly. Your gaze flicked over him, then back up to his face, and you arched a knowing eyebrow.
âWell, donât you look nice,â you teased, stepping closer. âWhatâs the occasion? Got a hot date?â
Darry exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. âSomething like that.â He took your hand, his grip warm and steady despite the fact that his heart was racing. âCome with me.â You let him lead you toward the kitchen, curiosity flickering in your expression. And when you stepped inside your breath caught.
The table was set for two. A candle flickering softly in the center with plates arranged neatly with a home-cooked meal that was definitely not thrown together at the last minute. The room was quiet, intimate, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of the Curtis household.
Your heart squeezed, warmth blooming in your chest. âDarryâŠâ
He swallowed hard, suddenly finding it a lot harder to breathe. His grip on your hand tightened as he turned to face you fully. âLook, IâI had a whole speech planned,â he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. âBut now that youâre here, Iââ He huffed out a nervous chuckle. âDamn. Iâm sweatinâ this.â
You grinned. Your voice soft. âTake your time, Dar.â
He looked at you then, really looked at you and suddenly, the nerves didnât matter so much. Because it was you. You had been there for everything. The good, the bad, the downright impossible. You had stood beside him when the world turned dark, made him laugh when he thought heâd forgotten how. You reminded him that he wasnât alone even when he tried to carry everything on his own shoulders. He had been in love with you for longer than he cared to admit. And now, he was going to make damn sure he never had to go a day without you.
So, before his hands could shake. Before his voice could waver, Darry dropped down on one knee.
Your breath hitched, eyes widening, hands flying to your mouth as you took a sharp step back. âOh my God.â
Darry let out a breathless laugh. âNot exactly what I was hopinâ for.â
You squeaked, actually squeaked, and Darry grinned despite the nerves rattling his chest. He pulled a small box from his pocket, flipping it open to reveal a simple but beautiful ring. His heart was pounding but his voice was steady.
âI love you,â he said with no hesitation. âIâve loved you since before I even knew what that meant. And I know I ainât always the best at sayinâ it, but youâre⊠youâre everything to me, darlinâ. You always have been.â He exhaled, steadying himself. âSo, what do you say? You wanna make it official? Would you marry me darlinâ?â
You stared at him for a long second. Your eyes glassy with emotion, your hands still pressed against your mouth. Then, suddenly, and rather violently, you nodded. âYes,â you gasped, dropping to your knees in front of him. âYes, Darry, of course yes.â
Relief and joy crashed over him in one overwhelming wave and before he could blink you were throwing your arms around his neck kissing him like you had been waiting for this moment your entire life. He laughed against your lips, one arm winding around your waist as he held you close while the other slipped the ring onto your finger.
It fit perfectly. Just like the two of you always had.
The gang had lasted all of two and a half hours before their patience ran out.
They had tried to keep busy. Soda had challenged Steve to a dumb arm-wrestling contest, Two-Bit had thrown rocks at a can for way too long, and Ponyboy had at least pretended to read. But in the end they all found themselves back on the Curtis porch sitting on the steps, leaning against the railing, restless and nosy as hell.
Soda huffed, drumming his fingers against his knee. âAlright, how long does it take to say yes?â
Steve snorted. âLong enough for Darry to pass out from nerves, apparently.â
Pony rolled his eyes. âShe said yes. Thereâs no way she didnât.â
âYeah, but what if she made him sweat first?â Two-Bit smirked. âI woulda dragged it out just to mess with him.â
âOh, no doubt,â Soda agreed, grinning. âBet he was sweatinâ bullets.â
Steve stretched out with a groan. âYâknow, we could just knock and pretend we left somethinâ inside.â
âOr,â Two-Bit said, wiggling his brows, âwe could just walk in.â
Soda shot up, hands on his hips. âYâknow what? Screw it, Iâm goinâ in...â
The door swung open. And there you were. The porch went dead silent like theyâd all been caught. Soda, frozen mid-step. Two-Bit, mouth still open from whatever nonsense he was about to say. Steve, looking like he had just been smacked upside the head. Ponyboy looking nervous as hell.
You took in the sight of them camped out like kids waiting for Christmas morning and sighed. âYou guysââ
Two-Bit threw his hands up. âAlright, enough suspense. Did he do it?â
Rolling your eyes, you held up your hand, letting the porch light catch the ring.
And just like that, all hell broke loose.
Soda whooped so loud the whole neighborhood probably heard. Two-Bit nearly knocked Steve off the railing in his excitement. Steve let out a long, low whistle and nodded approvingly. Ponyboy, though less dramatic, cracked a rare grin.
Then, the chaos really began.
âI knew it,â Two-Bit declared, shaking his head. âDarry Curtis, officially a taken man. Say goodbye to your freedom, big guy.â
Darry, who had just stepped up behind you, sighed. âTwo-Bit.â
âHey, itâs true!â Two-Bit grinned. âSpeakinâ of which, letâs get to the important stuff. I should be the Best Man.â
Darry blinked. âIâI havenât even thought that far aheadââ
âWell, think now!â Two-Bit pointed at himself. âI got all the qualifications. Iâm fun, I got style, and Iâll throw one hell of a speech at the wedding.â
Pony groaned. âGod, please no.â
âOh, like you wouldnât make it poetic and sappy,â Steve scoffed. âGuarantee Ponyâs already writing some tragic love poem about the engagement.â
Pony huffed, crossing his arms. âI am not.â
Soda squinted at the notebook tucked under his arm. âThen whatâs this, Mr. Shakespeare?â
Pony smacked him. âShut up.â
Meanwhile, Steve turned back to Darry, slinging an arm around his shoulders. âAlright, now that the proposalâs outta the way, letâs talk bachelor partyââ
âNo.â
Steve scoffed. âYou donât even know what I was gonna say.â
âYes, I do.â
âNo, you donât!â
âYes, I do,â Darry said firmly.
Steve clicked his tongue, sighing dramatically. âMan, you are no fun.â
âYou say that like itâs news.â
Amid all the teasing, the bickering, the relentless chaos, something settled deep in your chest. Warm and certain. The gang wasnât the same as it had been before. Some wounds never fully healed. Some people never came back. But this family you had built. This love that surrounded you, it was still here. And Darry with his steady hands and steady heart was yours.
You leaned into him, his arm wrapping around you instinctively, and grinned. âYou ready for this, Curtis?â
He looked down at you, eyes soft, and squeezed your hand. âYeah,â he murmured. âI am.â
The chaos eventually settled, eventually. The gang, satisfied with their relentless teasing, finally backed off leaving you and Darry standing together on the porch as the laughter and bickering faded into the night. Soda was still grinning like an idiot, Two-Bit was loudly arguing with Steve over something completely irrelevant, and Pony had already wandered off probably to scribble something poetic about love under the stars.
But none of that mattered. Not really. Because Darry was looking at you. His hand was still wrapped around yours. His thumb tracing small circles along your skin, his grip warm, steady and sure. For a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, right now, he looked lighter.
You turned toward him, tilting your head. âSo,â you murmured, voice softer now that the gangâs voices were fading. âYou really nervous, or was that just a trick to make me feel special?â
Darry huffed a quiet laugh while shaking his head. âNah,â he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. âI was nervous as hell.â
You grinned. âDidnât seem like it.â
âLiar,â he said, and you laughed because, okay, maybe you had seen the way his hands had trembled just a little when he opened the ring box.
He exhaled, looking down at your joined hands, at the ring now sitting on your finger. His voice dropped lower, softer. âI meant every word, yâknow.â
âI know,â you said, your chest aching in the best way.
He lifted his gaze. Those deep, stormy-blue eyes locking onto yours, something so full in them that it nearly stole your breath. âI love you.â
It wasnât the first time he had said it and it wouldnât be the last. But something about this moment with the porch light casting a soft glow over him, the gang still bickering in the background like nothing had changed, the quiet between you two stretching warm and safe, made it feel like the most important time he had ever said it.
You smiled, stepping closer, resting your forehead against his. âI love you, too, Dar.â
His arm slid around your waist, pulling you in close, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. One that held every promise he had ever made to you without needing to say a single word. And as you stood there, wrapped up in each other, the laughter of your family echoing behind you, you knew without a doubt that you had found your forever.
Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @nqobil3
Would you please write something with Dorian Havilliard? Iâm begging you, thereâs nothing out there đâ
Maybe an angst with fluff or whatever you want is ok
Thanksss!!! đ
King Dorian Havilliard will ALWAYS have my heart. The worst part of KOA is no closure between him and Manon like give me more!!!
But yes, I absolutely can do this for my fav King. I can come up with something or if you/anyone has anything more specific in mind please let me know :)
Hiiii! I wanted to request a Darry fic bc thereâs not enough of him and as a Darry girl, HES SO UNDERRATED! And take as much time as you need! No rush!â€ïž
I was thinking maybe Darry & fem reader have been together for a long time, all the boys consider them to be the Big Brother/Sister/Mom & Dad of the gang. But Darry saved up enough money to propose to his girl. So he gets the gang involved in the proposal too.
I love Daddy Darry SO much and so agree he doesn't get enough love!
I LOVE THIS sooooo much hahaha. Yes I can absolutely get this one out this week :)
Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here
A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader
Word Count: 3.3k+
T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in
Mornings at North Island always started the same way.
Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because thatâs what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didnât spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.
Jake Seresin knew it too.
âGood morning, sweetheart,â came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.
You didnât turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.
âHangman,â you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. âLooking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.â
His smirk deepened as he took you in. âIt is, actually darlinâ. But I manage.â
You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that youâd ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.
âGood thing Iâm here to keep you humble,â you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.
Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.
 âOh, sweetheart, you donât wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasnât around?â He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.
You arched a brow, lips curling. âOh, Iâd manage.â
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. âDamn shame sweetheart.â This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.
âSeresin, you done harassing my officer?â Maverickâs voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.
Jake straightened slightly but didnât look away from you. âJust making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.â
You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. âAw, how sweet of you Jake.â You cooed at him.
Jake hummed, tilting his head. âSweetâs not usually what they call me, darlinâ.â
The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didnât let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.
âGuess Iâm just special then,â you said with an easy grin.
His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.
âGuess you are,â he murmured. His voice softer this time.
And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.
Until last night.
Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.
Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.
Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.
Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.
The cops arrived minutes later but it didnât matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.
You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.
And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.
And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.
Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.
He tilted his head. âMorning, sweetheart,â he drawled, watching for a reaction.
Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadnât heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.
But then he really looked at you.
Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.
âYou sick or somethinâ?â Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.
You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. âIâm fine,â you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.
Jakeâs stomach twisted. Bullshit. You werenât fine. He knew fine, and this wasnât it. But what he didnât know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall youâd put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there shouldâve been fire, there was only silence.
Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.
But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasnât the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.
Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.
The rest of the day, he didnât leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.
You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasnât teasing, wasnât lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. âJake, Iââ
âSomethingâs wrong,â he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. âAnd I need you to tell me what it is.â
Your breath faltered. You didnât answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. âHey. Itâs me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.â
You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. âIââ You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. âSomeone broke into my house last night.â
Jake went still.
Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. âI woke up and he was just there. He had a knife⊠I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off butâŠâ You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. âHe ran before the cops got there. They havenât found him. They wonât find him most likely.â
Jakeâs fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.
Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.
âJesus, darlinâ,â he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. âYouâre safe now, okay? I promise you, youâre safe.â And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.
You werenât sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jakeâs arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.
He didnât say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadnât realized how much you needed it until now. âIâve got you,â he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. âYouâre safe. No oneâs scaring you again, I swear it.â You knew his words werenât empty promises, werenât meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.
Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. âYouâre not staying at your place alone tonight.â He said with such conviction.
You blinked up at him. âJakeââ
âNot a chance, sweetheart.â The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. âYou really think Iâm gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlinâ.â Your resolve wavered. You should tell him youâll be fine. That you donât need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you againâŠ
You swallowed hard and nodded. âI have a guest room,â you murmured. âYou can take the guest room.â
Jakeâs smirk deepened. âWhatever you say, darlinâ. Iâll sleep on the porch if you want.â You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.
Jake didnât waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.
âYou know,â you said while crossing your arms, âI couldâve called a locksmith for that.â
He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. âYeah, but then I wouldnât get to prove to you that Iâm useful outside the cockpit.â You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.
After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.
So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.
He made you laugh.
You werenât sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.
ââI swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, sheâs behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and Iâm dead in the water.â
You snorted, shaking your head. âI bet she lovedthat.â
âOh, she hasnât shut up about it since,â Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. âIâll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didnât even bother hiding the smug look.â
You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.
You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. âThanks, Jake.â
His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He shouldâve said something. Shouldâve teased. Shouldâve smirked and drawn out the moment. Shouldâve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didnât. Because this wasnât the game anymore.
His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasnât careful.
Your breath caught but you didnât move away. Didnât say a word. Couldnât say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.
His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.
Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadnât boiled over sooner.
Jakeâs breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.
His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. âDonât thank me, darlinâ.â
And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasnât sure if this was the first or the last time heâd get to do this. It wasnât playful. Wasnât teasing. It was real.
When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasnât awkward, wasnât tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.
âGet some sleep sweetheart,â he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. âIâll see you in the morning.â
The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadnât made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.
Jake.
You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.
Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like heâd done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but heâd changed into the sweatpants youâd tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.
He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.
At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. âMorninâ, sweetheart.â He held out a mug. âFigured you might need this.â
You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. âDidnât take you for a domestic type, Seresin,â you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.
Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. âYou saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?â
You hummed, taking another sip. âWouldnât have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.â
His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. âNot my style, sweetheart,â he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. âYou slept okay?â
The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.
âYeah,â you admitted. âI did. I slept more than okay.â Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.
Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. âGood. âCause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. Whatâs it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?â
You blinked. âYouâre making breakfast too?â
Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. âOh, darlinâ, you think Iâm lettinâ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but youâre really bad at getting rid of me.â
You scoffed while shaking your head. âUnbelievable.â
âCharming,â he corrected, winking.
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, âPancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.â
He gave you that devilish grin, âNoted darlinâ.â
And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.
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Not a request, just hoping everything is good and you are enjoying your time off from here <3
Thank youuuu! Life has been hectic. So much has been going on. Friends and family getting married. Friends having babies! The holidays! It's been chaotic but the best. I should be dropping stories here and there again. Probably not at the rate I used to but I'm hoping to get more consistent again :)
Hello! Hope you're well:) you already know I love your stories hehehe I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried but he doesn't realise that the night before someone broke into her house and tried to attack and assault her and she's just really shook up. And when he finds out he helps her catch the guy and comforts her. Maybe a lil kiss at the end? Sorry if it's too long. Have a fantastic week!
My bby Jakeeee <3 You got it! May make a few modifications but god do I love this request. A little possessive, a lot of protective!
A/N: I just love Paul. Thank you for the requests as always! @lunajay33
Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader
Word Count: 5.4k +
TW: Pregnancy
The warm scent of blueberry muffins filled Emilyâs kitchen mingling with the faint tang of sea air drifting in through the open window. You were slouched in one of the chairs at her table with your cheek resting in your palm as you watched her move about the kitchen. The quiet hum of her voice as she talked about Sam and the pack was comforting, but it was hard to focus. Your stomach rolled again. That new unease building in the back of your mind.
âYouâre quieter than usual,â Emily commented. Her voice cutting through the fog of your thoughts. She glanced at you over her shoulder, her sharp eyes softening when they landed on your face. âAre you feeling okay?â
You forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. âJust tired, I guess. Itâs been a stressful few weeks, you know? All the patrols, Jacob imprinting on⊠that situation. Itâs a lot.â You tried brushing her off.
Emily turned back to her muffins, humming as she pulled them from the oven and set them on the counter. âThatâs true. Itâs been hard on everyone.â She didnât say anything else for a moment, but you could feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye. âAre you sure thatâs all it is?â she asked gently not wanting to push too hard.
Your smile faltered. âOf course. What else would it be?â
Emily walked over and sat across from you. Her expression calm but concerned. âWell, youâve been tired a lot lately. And youâve barely eaten today. You wonât even touch my muffins like you always do. I also saw you push your plate away last week at dinner too.â She tilted her head, her tone as light as she could make it. âAnd I saw you make a face when I started the coffee earlier. You used to love coffee⊠I havenât seen you drink a cup in weeks now.â
You stiffened slightly, trying to brush her off with a laugh. âIâm just⊠off, thatâs all. Itâs probably just stress or maybe a stomach bug. Nothing to worry about.â That unease grew in the pit of your stomach though.
She didnât drop it. âMaybe,â she said slowly. Her dark eyes studying you. âBut⊠have you thought it might be something else?â
You blinked at her, frowning. âSomething else? Like what?â
She hesitated before she reached across the table to rest her hand on yours. âI donât want to assume anything, but⊠you and Paul are together all the time. Could there be⊠another reason why youâre feeling this way?â
Her words hit you like a freight train and you immediately shook your head. Your voice pitching higher than you intended. âNo. Absolutely not. Thereâs no way, Emily. Weâre careful! I mean, mostly. But⊠no. Thatâs impossible.â
Emily gave you a patient look but didnât pull her hand away. âI know youâre careful,â she said gently. âBut accidents happen. When was the last time you had your period?â She asked the dreaded question⊠when was it?
The question made your heart lurch, and you froze. âIâŠâ shit, you didnât know, âI donât know,â you stammered. âItâs been⊠I mean, Iâm not great at keeping track, butâŠâ Your voice trailed off as your mind began counting backward. The realization hitting you like a bucket of ice water on a freezing winter day. Your chest tightened. Your mouth suddenly ran dry.
Emily leaned forward slightly. Her voice soft but steady. âHow long has it been?â
You swallowed hard while staring at her as the truth sank in. âI.... A month? Maybe more?â You guessed as you kept counting further back. No, it was more than a month now. Itâd been nearly six weeks.
Emilyâs expression didnât change though there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes. âIt might not be what you think,â she said carefully. âBut maybe⊠maybe you should take a test. Just to be sure.â
Your stomach flipped at the thought, and you instinctively shook your head again. âI canât. What if itâs positive? What am I supposed to do? Whatâs Paul going to say? What about the pack or my parents? Shit! My parents Em!â Your voice cracked, panic bubbling up as the possibility became more real. Pregnant. You couldnât possibly be pregnant. No, it was just stress. Youâd been so stressed lately. Periods were often late when stress was abundant. Yeah, just stress.
Emily squeezed your hand. Her calm presence grounding you. âIf itâs positive, youâll figure it out like you always do. Youâre not alone in this, okay? You have me. You have Paul. And you have the while pack. Whatever happens, weâll all be here for you.â Her voice was low and soothing as it always was. Her reassurance should have been comforting, but your thoughts were spiraling. The only thing you could focus on was the quiet truth settling into the back of your mind. You might really be pregnant. She stood with you still trying to process what was likely true.
Emily slipped out the door after giving you a reassuring smile. Her keys jingling as she walked to the front door. âIâll be back in twenty minutes,â sheâd said. âAnd donât even think about panicking while Iâm gone. Just breathe. Iâm going to go buy one from the pharmacy. It wonât be a big deal if someone sees me buying one.â Easier said than done.
You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch with your knee bouncing restlessly as the minutes ticked by. Emily was right. If anyone saw her buying a pregnancy test, they wouldnât think twice about it. She and Sam were married, in their twenties, and settled. But you? At nineteen, unmarried, and still figuring out your life, the very idea of people finding out sent a wave of nausea through you.
When Emily returned, she came through the door with the same calm efficiency as before. She held a small paper bag like it contained something perfectly ordinary. She set it down on the table while brushing the rain from her hair as she gave you a steady look. âAlright,â she said. Her tone light but firm. âNo one saw me. Not that it wouldâve mattered. But I figured youâd want to hear that.â
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. âThank God. Iâd die right here if word got back to my mom. Or the whole reservation.â You peeked through your fingers, your voice dropping to a mutter. âThis place is like a fishbowl.â
Emily laughed softly and slid the bag toward you. âRelax. Itâs done. Now, the next part is up to you.â
You stared at the bag. Your palms suddenly very disgustingly sweaty. Your heart hammered as you reached out and pulled the slim box from inside, the pink lettering glaring up at you like a warning. âI feel like Iâm in one of those cheesy after-school specials,â you mumbled, your voice shaky as you tried to make light of the situation.
Emily gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. âYouâre not. Youâre just figuring out whatâs next. Go on. Iâll wait here.â With a long breath you stood and made your way to the bathroom, the box clutched tightly in your hands. The next few minutes felt like an eternity. You sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at the little plastic stick on the counter, its blank screen taunting you.
When your phone buzzed with the timer youâd set, your stomach flipped. You stood slowly, your hands trembling as you picked up the test. Two pink lines.
Positive.
Your knees felt weak as you gripped the counter for support as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you. A strange mix of fear, joy, and uncertainty swirled in your chest, leaving you utterly breathless. You stared at the test for a long moment trying to process what it meant. Your hand drifted to your abdomen as you gulped.
When you finally emerged from the bathroom, Emily was waiting on the couch. Her face was soft as ever with understanding. She looked up as you stepped into the room, the test still clutched in your hand. âWell?â she asked gently. Her brown eyes searching your face for any sign of what it said.
You held up the test. Your mouth dry. âI guess Iâm pregnant,â you said with your voice unsteady. Then in a weak attempt to lighten the mood you added with a shaky laugh, âStealing Bellaâs thunder, huh?â Bellaâs pregnancy had been the talk of the pack ever since the group found out what she was carrying. Then the vampire human baby decided to make its appearance after only 28 days. The thought sent a shiver down your spine as you thought of what carrying a werewolf baby would entail.
Emily blinked, then burst into laughter. Her head tilting back as she shook her head. âOh, youâve got to stop hanging out with Paul so much. Youâre picking up his sense of humor.â She grinned as she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze.
Despite your spinning thoughts her laughter pulled a smile from you. She wrapped you in a warm, steady hug. âItâs going to be okay,â she murmured, her voice firm. âPaul loves you so much. More than I ever thought heâd be capable of. Youâre not doing this alone.â You clung to her words like a lifeline as tears brimmed in your eyes. You werenât sad⊠no, not at all. You were simply overwhelmed as this had not been in your plans. You were going to get married to Paul in a few years and maybe have some kidâs years after that. Not now. But life had a funny way of throwing you completely off. First, being imprinted to a damned werewolf. Now this.
You sat at the kitchen table with the pregnancy test still in your hand. Emily had made you a cup of tea. The warm mug sitting untouched in front of you as your thoughts spiraled. Youâd stared at the little pink lines so long now that they were practically burned into your vision. A constant reminder of the new, terrifying reality that had just taken shape.
Emily leaned against the counter, watching you with a mixture of patience and quiet concern. âWhatâs going on in that head of yours?â she asked gently.
You let out a shaky breath, placing the test down on the table so gently as if it might explode. âEverything,â you said. Your voice barely above a whisper. âI mean⊠Paul and I are nineteen. This wasnât exactly in the plan. What if heâs not ready for this? What if he feels⊠trapped?â The thought made your stomach churn. You couldnât shake the image of his face falling when you told him.
Emily frowned, stepping closer and taking the chair across from you. âYes, you both are young, but you know heâs devoted to you. Heâd run through fire for you without thinking twice. Thatâs the bond. Itâs unshakable.â
You nodded slowly, but her reassurance only soothed one layer of your anxiety. âBut what about my parents?â you asked. Your voice cracking yet again. âIf they find out, theyâll never let me hear the end of it. Theyâll say Iâm ruining my life. That weâre not ready. And Paulâs parents⊠What if they think Iâm irresponsible or⊠God forbid, trying to trap him or something?â
Emily shook her head firmly. âNo one who knows you would think that. You and Paul have been through so much already and youâve come out stronger every time. His parents will see that. His parents love you. And as for your parentsâŠâ She gave you a small, wry smile. âTheyâll probably be shocked at first. Maybe even upset. But theyâll come around. They always do.â
You laughed bitterly, rubbing your temples. âItâs not just them. Itâs the pack, too. What are they going to think? Thereâs so much going on right now. Jacob imprinting on a half-vampire baby, the Cullen drama, all of it. This is the worst time for this to happen. What if they see it as a distraction? What if they resent me for pulling Paulâs attention away?â
Emily reached out grabbing for your hand. âFirst of all, no one in that pack would resent you. You know how they are. Theyâre family, even if they donât always show it the right way. And second, youâre not pulling Paulâs attention away. If anything, this will give him more to fight for. Plus, I think they all like you more than Paul anyway.â She added with a mischievous grin.
Your chest tightened at her words. A mix of hope and fear swirling inside you. âBut what if Iâm not enough?â you whispered. âWhat if I canât handle this? What if I ruin everything?â
Emilyâs grip on your hand tightened. Her scarred fingers warm and steady. âYouâre more than enough,â she said firmly. âYouâre strong and you have so many people who love and adore you. Youâre not doing this alone. Paulâs going to be over the moon, youâll see. And the pack? Theyâll probably throw a barbecue to celebrate.â
Despite the storm of emotions swirling in your chest that last comment drew a weak laugh from you. âYeah, and Embry will probably make a joke about Paul being the first one to âstart a litter,ââ you muttered.
Emily grinned. âProbably. But youâve got to admit, theyâd all step up to make sure you and that baby are safe. Itâs what they do.â
You took a shaky sip of tea. The warmth grounding you for a moment. Deep down you knew Emily was right. But the thought of telling Paul, and everyone else, still felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. âGuess Iâll find out soon enough,â you murmured while staring down at your tea. âI just hope youâre right.â
Emily smiled softly, giving your hand one last squeeze. âIâm always right,â she teased. Her voice light. âNow, letâs figure out how youâre going to tell Paul. Youâve got this.â
Just as you were going to ask her how in the hell youâd drop this bomb on him the front door opened loudly, followed by the familiar sound of Paulâs laugh, low and warm, rolling through the house. âWeâre back!â Quil called out, clearly in a good mood. Jared muttered something about food and within seconds all three of them were in the kitchen rummaging around for snacks.
You sat frozen at the kitchen table gripping your mug of now-cold tea. Your eyes were glued to the wall like it might have answers to the mess of thoughts tangling in your head. Emily shot you a look that practically screamed, you better handle this soon, before helping the hungry wolves to whatever snack she deemed acceptable.
âHey,â Paulâs voice broke through the fog. You looked up just as he walked over to you. His usual easy grin faltering slightly as he studied your face. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands resting on your knees. âYou okay? Youâve got that look.â
âWhat look?â you asked. Your voice faltering slightly as you tried to sound normal.
âThe one that says youâre either about to cry or punch someone.â He tilted his head. His grin returning. âHopefully not me.â
You forced a laugh but it came out weak and shaky. âIâm fine. Just tired. You know, the usual.â
Paul narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. His sharp instincts both as a wolf and your imprint meant there was no hiding anything from him for long. âUh-huh. Sure babe. Youâre totally not being weird. Not at all.â He teased lightly.
âI am not!â you shot back too quickly. His brows shot up.
âOkayâŠâ He dragged the word out, standing and looking toward the kitchen where Quil and Jared were now arguing over a loaf of bread. Paul glanced back at you. His concern deepening. âWanna take a walk? Fresh air might feel good.â
You hesitated. Your pulse roaring in your ears. You couldnât do this here. Not with Jared and Quilâs supernatural hearing and Emilyâs knowing looks. âYeah,â you muttered finally, standing abruptly. âLetâs go.â
Paul smiled softly and walked behind you as you made your way out of the house. He grabbed his jacket and followed you out the door. The crisp air hit your skin, grounding you slightly as you led him down the gravel path toward the edge of the forest. Paul stayed quiet. His hands stuffed in his pockets as he matched your pace. He didnât push but you could feel his eyes on you. His quiet presence making your nerves churn even more.
When you finally stopped, he turned to face you. His expression soft but cautious. âAlright then,â he said, leaning back against a tree. His arms crossing over his chest. âWhatâs going on? Youâve been acting⊠off since we got back. And donât tell me itâs nothing because I know you better than that love.â
You fidgeted. Your fingers twisting the hem of your sweater as you avoided his gaze. Your stomach was in knots and the words felt stuck in your throat. âPaul, I⊠I need to tell you something,â you started. Your voice barely above a whisper.
âOkay,â he said, his tone steady but laced with worry. âWhatever it is, just say it.â
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, you made a strange almost choking sound which made his eyes widen. âAre you okay? Itâs okay. Whatever it is, itâs okay.â he said while stepping closer.
âIâm fine!â you said too quickly yet again. Your voice pitching higher than you wanted. âItâs just⊠this is⊠ugh!â You threw your hands up while pacing a few steps before spinning back to face him. âYouâre going to freak out.â
Paul blinked slowly. His brows knitting together as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. âI donât think Iâve ever seen you this worked up before babe. Whatâs going on?â You just had to tell him. Just do it.
You stopped pacing. Your chest tightening as you blurted out, âIâm pregnant.â
The silence that followed was deafening. Paulâs face went blank, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at you. You felt the blood drain from your face. The panic rising as his lack of reaction stretched on. âPaul?â you whispered. Your voice trembling. âSay something. Please, say something.â
He blinked, his lips parting slightly. âYouâre serious?â he asked in a silky soft voice like he was trying to make sure heâd heard you right.
You nodded. Your throat tight. âYeah. I just found out today. Iâm sorry. I didnât want it to be like this. I wasnât even sure how I should tell you, because I know weâre young, and everythingâs crazy right now, andâŠâ
âShh,â he said cutting you off gently. He stepped forward completely closing the distance between you. His hands finding your arms as he looked down at you. Those chocolate brown eyes searching yours. âYouâre pregnant? Weâre⊠having a baby? Our baby?â
Your heart pounded as you nodded again with tears welling up in your eyes. âYeah.â
A slow grin spread across his face. It started small but grew until it lit up his whole expression. He laughed softly almost in disbelief and suddenly pulled you into his arms. He held you so tightly you could barely breathe. âYouâre serious?â he asked again. His voice muffled against your hair. âWeâre having a baby?â
You let out a watery laugh. Your hands clutching at his jacket. âYeah. Weâre having a baby.â You said softly.
Paul pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes shining with something you couldnât quite name. âYouâre amazing,â he said, his voice thick with emotion. âI mean it. I canât evenâŠâ He broke off, shaking his head like he couldnât find the words. âThis is crazy, but itâs⊠itâs amazing. Iâm so happy right now,â He grinned before pulling you in for a kiss, âWeâre having a baby!â
Tears spilled down your cheeks as a laugh bubbled out of you. âYouâre not scared? Or mad?â
âOf course, Iâm scared,â he admitted. His hands moving to cradle your face. âBut Iâm not mad. Never. Youâre my world, and now⊠now weâre building something together. How could I be anything but happy about that?â
You sniffled, leaning into his touch. âWell, Iâm glad one of us is confident. Because I was ready to fake my death and disappear into the woods.â
Paul laughed before kissing your forehead softly. âNot a chance. Youâre stuck with me, babe. And this kid? Theyâre going to have the best damn parents in the world.â His hand ran over your abdomen gently.
A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips as you rested your forehead against his neck. âI hope youâre ready to break the news to the pack, though. I can already hear Embryâs jokes.â
Paulâs grin only widened. A glimmer of excitement sparking in his eyes. âWeâve got to tell them.â
Your stomach dropped, and you blinked at him. âRight now?â
âYes, right now,â he said. His voice filled with conviction. âWhy wouldnât we? This is huge! Itâs amazing! Theyâre going to be so happy for us.â
âPaul,â you said slowly while trying to reel him back in. âWe just found out. Donât you think we should⊠I donât know, let it sink in first? Maybe figure out how weâre going to explain this before we say anything?â
But Paul shook his head. His hands framing your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. âThereâs nothing to explain, babe. This is good news. Theyâre family. Theyâll support us no matter what. And if anyone has anything negative to sayâŠâ His voice dropped slightly. A spark of protectiveness flaring in his tone. âTheyâll have to deal with me. But theyâre going to be so excited love. So damn excited.â
You hesitated. Your doubts lingering. âItâs not that simple, Paul. What if they think itâs irresponsible? Or too soon?â
He took your hands, his gaze steady and unwavering. âLook, I know things are messy right now. The timing might not be perfect. But then again, when is it ever? What matters is that this is ours. You, me, and this baby. Weâre going to be okay because we have each other.â His voice softened and the corners of his lips tugged into a smile. âI want to celebrate that with the people who care the most about us.â
His sincerity broke through your defenses, and you sighed, nodding reluctantly. âYouâre sure?â
âIâve never been so sure of anything,â he said. His smile warm and full of pride. âYouâre carrying our baby. How could I not want to shout it from the rooftops?â
A small laugh slipped out despite yourself. You shook your head at his antics. âFine. But if this goes sideways, youâre the one dealing with the fallout.â
Paul chuckled, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. âDeal. Now, letâs go tell them.â
As he led you back toward the house, his excitement practically radiating off him, you still felt a twinge of nerves. But the way he held your hand, so steady and unshakable, made you believe that somehow everything would work out.
The moment you and Paul stepped back into the house. Emilyâs eyes flicked to the two of you. Her lips curled into the smallest, most knowing smile. Her gaze lingered on Paul who was still vibrating with energy like he could barely contain himself. She exhaled softly, relief washing over her face.
âHe knows, doesnât he?â she asked you, her voice low enough that only you and Paul could hear.
âOf course, I know,â Paul cut in with his grin so wide it was practically smug. âYou really think she could keep something like this from me?â His arm wrapped protectively around your waist. His hand warm against your side as he glanced down at you. âShe tried, though. Gotta give her credit.â
Emilyâs smile grew. She stepped closer to squeeze your hand. âIâm glad you told him,â she said simply. Her calm steadiness grounded you in a way nothing else could.
Jared and Quil, however, were still oblivious. Quil frowned at Paul. His sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth. âWhatâs up with you? You look like you just hit the jackpot.â
âYeah,â Jared added, leaning back against the counter. âYouâve got that weird, smug thing going on. Like you know something we donât.â
Paul smirked, his fingers flexing slightly on your waist. âMaybe I do.â
Quil rolled his eyes. âYou gonna share with the class, orâŠ?â
Paul leaned against the back of the couch looking entirely too pleased with himself. âLetâs wait until everyoneâs here,â he said, glancing toward the door. âDonât wanna repeat myself.â
Jared groaned. âDude, seriously? Youâre such aâŠâ
âLater,â Paul interrupted. His grin growing wider. Jared muttered something under his breath, but Paul didnât seem to care. His attention stayed on you. His thumb brushing absently along your hip.
By the time Sam and the rest of the pack arrived the room was buzzing with conversation. The pack had settled in, tired but loud as usual, filling the space with their usual chaos. You could feel your nerves creeping back but Paulâs steady presence beside you kept them at bay.
Once the noise quieted enough for him to speak, Paul cleared his throat. All eyes turned toward him. The sudden intensity of his expression silencing even Quilâs usual chatter.
Emily, sipping her tea, shot Paul a look. Silently daring him to be subtle. But Paul being Paul had no plans for subtlety. He straightened while crossing his arms over his chest as he cleared his throat. âMe and Y/N⊠weâre not just us anymore. Weâre adding one.â
The room went silent. All eyes turning toward him. Jared frowned. âWhat does that even mean?â
Quil looked at you both, confused. âWait. Did you get a dog? Please tell me itâs a dog.â
Paul smirked, clearly reveling in the suspense. âNope. Not a dog.â
Embry tilted his head, his brows furrowed. âA cat? Fish? What?â
Paul chuckled, dragging it out just a little longer. âThink bigger.â
Quilâs eyes narrowed and then he gasped. His mouth dropping open. âOh my God! Youâre moving?! Are you leaving the rez?â
Paul groaned before dragging a hand down his face. âNo! Not moving, not a pet, not a damn secret stash of food.â He glanced at you. His grin softening slightly and nodded like it was your moment to take over.
And you couldnât help it. With all their clueless guesses and Paulâs smug antics a laugh bubbled out of you, warm and uncontrollable. Everyone froze, watching you with the most curious eyes and through your laughter, you managed to blurt, âWeâre having a baby!â
The room went completely still for a beat, Jaredâs apple frozen mid-air as his jaw dropped. Quil looked between you and Paul. His face blank before he finally sputtered, âWait⊠like an actual baby?â Even Sam looked a little shell shocked at that news.
âYes, Quil,â Paul said dryly though his grin betrayed his pride. âAn actual baby. Our baby.â
Jared blinked rapidly then burst out laughing, slapping the counter. âHoly shit. Youâre serious? Paul Lahoteâs gonna be a dad?â
Quil let out a strangled laugh while running a hand through his hair. âWow. This poor kidâs gonna have your temper, huh? Better hope they get your patience.â He looked at you with a knowing grin.
Sam, who had entered the room halfway through the chaos, finally stepped forward. His expression calm but full of warmth. âThatâs great news,â he said simply while clapping Paul on the shoulder before looking at you. âYouâre both going to be amazing parents.â
The pack didnât hold back after that. Quil and Jared immediately started throwing out ridiculous suggestions for baby names while Embry vowed to make the baby a tiny wolf plushie as a first gift. The teasing was relentless, but it was full of love. It was clear that they were genuinely happy for you both. Your earlier nerves vanishing in an instant at their exuberance.
Hours later when the house had quieted and everyone had left, you and Paul found yourselves alone in the dimly lit living room. You curled up against his side. Your head resting on his chest as his arm draped securely around you.
âYou know,â you murmured, smiling faintly, âyour announcement was terrible.â
Paul laughed. The sound rumbling through his chest. âTerrible? That was brilliant.â
âYou had everyone thinking we got a dog,â you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. âI think Quilâs still processing.â
Paul smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âHey, I had to keep them guessing. Besides, youâre the one who cracked under pressure.â
You rolled your eyes but the warmth in his gaze softened your retort. His hand moved to your stomach, resting there gently as he whispered, âWeâre really doing this, huh?â
âYeah,â you said softly. Your voice steady. âWe are.â
He pressed a kiss to your temple. His voice low and full of quiet conviction. âItâs gonna be perfect. You, me, and our little one. Weâve got this.â
Paulâs lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, grounding you for a fleeting moment. His hand, warm and steady on your stomach, reminded you of the little life youâd just announced to the pack. But the moment his forehead rested against yours the weight of what was coming next crept back in.
Your parents. His parents.
You pulled back slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as your heart pounded. âPaul,â you murmured, your voice trembling. âHow are we going to tell them? My mom is going to flip, and not in a good way. And your momâŠâ
âHey,â Paul interrupted softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. âLook at me.â
You hesitated but the steady warmth in his eyes drew you in. His grin was softer now, tempered with something deeper. âWeâll tell them the same way we told the pack, together. And if your mom flips, Iâll handle it. Iâll handle all of it. You donât have to worry about a thing.â
âI donât know if youâve met my mom,â you whispered. Your voice wavering as you tried to find humor in the situation. âSheâs going to think this is reckless. Sheâll probably yell. A lot.â
Paulâs grin widened, and he tipped your chin up with his knuckle before pressing a kiss to your forehead. âThen let her yell. Iâll stand there and take it because, at the end of the day, none of that matters. What matters is us and this baby.â
You swallowed hard trying to keep your emotions from bubbling over. âBut what if itâs too much? What if they think weâre too young, or not ready, orâŠâ
Paulâs grip on you tightened slightly. His voice cutting through your spiral. âThen Iâll marry you tomorrow,â he said. His tone firm but laced with tenderness. âIf thatâs what it takes to make them see how serious I am, Iâll do it. Hell, Iâll do it tonight if you want.â
Your breath caught as you stared at him, wide-eyed. âYouâre not serious.â
âIâm completely serious,â he said, his gaze unwavering. âI love you. I love this baby. And I donât care what anyone else thinks. Youâre my family now. Youâve always been my family and nothing, not your mom, not mine, not anyone, is going to change that.â
The conviction in his voice broke something loose in your chest. The fear and doubt unraveling as his words sank in. You let out a shaky laugh with tears pricking at your eyes. âYou canât just solve everything by offering to marry me, you know.â
Paul smirked, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. âMaybe not, but itâs a pretty damn good start, isnât it?â
You laughed again, softer this time, and leaned into him, letting his steady warmth anchor you. âWeâll figure it out,â you murmured more to yourself than him.
âWe already are,â he said, his voice low and sure. âOne step at a time. And Iâm not going anywhere, no matter what. You know that love.â
As his arms tightened around you, you felt it, the certainty he carried, the unwavering belief that you could face anything together. It didnât erase all your fears, but it made them feel a little smaller, a little more manageable.
And for now, and forever that would be enough.
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