I Got Teary Eyed While Reading This. Azriel Deserves This And So Much More.

I got teary eyed while reading this. Azriel deserves this and so much more.

He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now. 

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor. 

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep. 

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it. 

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object. 

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke. 

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence. 

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down. 

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes. 

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful. 

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home. 

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you. 

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter. 

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out. 

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.” 

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—” 

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—” 

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant. 

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow. 

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud. 

“Long day?” 

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.” 

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.” 

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop. 

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?” 

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers. 

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.” 

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.” 

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands. 

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I…” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.” 

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.” 

You blinked once. Twice. 

“Pardon?” 

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.” 

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.” 

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon. 

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked. 

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.” 

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey. 

“What?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.” 

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him. 

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses. 

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early. 

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart. 

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz. 

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Do you feel safe with me?” 

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside. 

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.” 

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips it's turn.

Summary: Reader has insomnia, Finnick has nightmares. Both have a little comfort to share in District 13's grey little compartments as the winters approach and an impending doom settles itself in their chests.

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Male Reader (requested)

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of non graphic torture, mentioned past drug use, implied forced prostitution, insomnia.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I'm so terrible sorry about how rambly this is and how long it took me to finish this. Exam season is kicking my ass but at least it's out now. Hope you all like this. I did my best <3

𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟

You spent far too much time awake for your liking.

Far too much time left alone in thoughts that plagued your peace, left your chest aching from panic that made you struggle to breathe and far too much time aware of everything.

Worst of all though, it gave far too much time to let insomnia induced migraines develop and make the next day worse than the one before. District 13 was not known for giving painkillers or treatments for things they didn't classify as life threatening with a generous heart.

Days underneath layers of earth, surrounded by metal and blanketed by the condescension of those that boasted surviving as frugally as humanly possible, made you wish you still had access to those little lilac pills that were passed around on marble trays at Capitol parties, the little butterfly embed in it's centre your last thought and the taste of cherry lip gloss still on your tongue as you passed out cold for long enough for the sun to rise twice.

But the wistful longing for Capitol drugs and the relief they brought were interrupted by a long arm wrapping itself around your chest and a puff of warmth washing over your skin as Finnick pushed his face into your neck in his sleep, his golden hair in your mouth and soft snores in your ear. You sighed, wrapping your own arm around his shoulder as you closed your eyes. Not for the first and more than likely not your last either, you envied your husband's ability to sleep through just about anything.

Husband.

The thought of associating that word with the man in your arms with his pouting lips pressed against the underside of your jaw made your cheeks burn a little red and a giddy smile cross your lips as you watched your breath fog in front you.

Years spent yearning for little more than slaps on the back given as a token of boyhood to months spent waiting on a victim who was haunted by the graves that lined to salute his victory. Years spent waiting for green eyes to meet yours with the devotion that you knew he could feel to hours spent with hands begging for relief on skin stained red from need before the march to your own funeral. Years spent in hidden peace as the world corrupted you too and then months spent apart where his screams for help, the smell of your own blood and beady eyes that imitated them became your only company.

Years. Yet again you spent far too many years yearning for something. Yearning for relief. And it came in the form of a wedding underneath layers of earth and metal, surrounded by people a little less stoic and a boy who's smile resembled the very sun that your skin craved, far too spoiled with kisses from its rays and his pillow lips.

You both were clad in identical, standard grey '13 haute couture boxer briefs, your skin cold to touch from sweat that had dried in the chill of approaching winter and Finnick's as warm as the sand on District 4's beaches in summer. Sunshine, you breathed into golden hair, a small smile pressed into the top of your husband's head.

Your heart still sang as you felt the little bruises he had kissed into your skin ache slightly and you sighed, blinking up at the dark ceiling in exhaustion. This was the most exhausted and comfortable and loved and sleep deprived you had been in a while.

Sleep. You needed sleep. This was getting ridiculous.

You huffed, gently manoeuvring out of Finnick's octopus grip as you tried to wiggle out of bed until you were standing next to the bed, your heart breaking a little as Finnick immediately starts searching for you in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and you put your pillow into his grasp to let your scent pull him into the safety of sleep long enough for you to take a short shower.

The compartment you both had been assigned didn't hold much besides a bed just big enough to fit two adult men and a small bathroom cubicle that didn't have a warm water supply, that was only in the communal bathrooms. Still, you didn't complain, knowing the only way you would less tired was if you shocked your body out of its sleepy state, even if it meant staying awake for the rest of the night.

You washed yourself down slowly, taking time to run the scentless soap into your skin and washing away your earlier activities. Finnick had never been one to constantly crave sex, far too scarred from what he was made to do and what he had to watch you do, but ever since you both had been married, he was insatiable, his hands wandering the length of your body every night and your need for the intimacy making you crave his too.

Finnick's sitting up in bed, wrapped in the duvet and sniffling softly. His hair sticks in every which direction and the bright light of the bathroom makes his green eyes look wider and, with a painful tug at your heart, you realise they're stained with tears and red rimmed.

You pushed the thoughts of your earlier activities away, your cheeks burning as you shiver under the cold water shower. You stand there long enough to have your teeth chattering before stepping out of the shower and drying yourself quickly. You pull on the first thing your fingers touch — a thin, grey sweater that's too big for your lithe frame — and a pair of sweatpants before stepping out of the bathroom and jumping a foot in the air.

You close the bathroom door behind you before quickly making your back to the bed, gently cradling his face in your palms, a part of you melting when he leans into your touch immediately, keeping your voice low as to not startle him.

"Love, what's wro—"

"You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking with your heart at how desperate he sounded. "You were gone a-and the room was dark and I thought...I thought I heard you screaming—"

"Shhh," you whispered gently, tugging him close until he rested his head against your chest, muffling a sob in the sweater as you gently kissed the top of his head, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. Finnick had far, far too many nightmares about the time you were taken by the Capitol, the months he spent alone, waiting for District 13 to rescue you. While your mind actively blocked those days spent away from him, his was hell bent on tormenting him through his dreams. You sighed, gently whispering to him.

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here. I just needed to clean up a little because I couldn't sleep. You just had a bad nightmare. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay." He sniffled softly as you wiped his tears away and peppered his face with kisses. You sit there with him in your arms, humming softly to him as you wait for your racing hearts to slow down. It was an old, old sea shanty, sung on boats by sailors with voices too rough.

He eventually calmed down and you sighed, tugging him until he lay down with you on the bed, his face burrowed into your chest. The silence of the room is less suffocating now that you both managed to shred last dregs of fear from your limbs, leaving behind exhaustion and something you weren't very familiar with — sleepiness.

You almost doze off, Finnick's warm breath against your throat too comforting when you hear his small, sleep laden voice whisper softly into the silence.

"I want to move out of The Victor's Village when we get back."

You blink into the darkness, tightening your arms around him. You weren't exactly surprised by his statement but the randomness of it still catches you off-guard. "Oh? And go where, baby?"

Finnick shifts against you to look up at you, his wide, green eyes and pink dusted cheeks making him look so adorable that you can't resist kissing the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it as he continues. "A small cottage on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We'll decorate it with seashells and get a dog."

You chuckle softly at his enthusiastic future planning, running your fingers through his hair as you nod. "And a cat. And hydrangeas to decorate the front porch. And you could knit us all cute little sweaters to wear around the house."

Finnick beams up at you, his dimples making your heart ache with affection. This is what you fought through hell for, making sure he could lay in your arms like this and smile softly up at you as you both daydreamed of a future that looked so distant but felt just as real as the present.

He snuggles impossibly closer to you as he whispers, his voice serene. "I will. I'll knit you a pink one. And we'll make sure the yard looks like a little meadow where our kids can play."

You press gently kisses to the top of his head, rubbing his back gently as you smile. "Of course. We'll get a swing set too."

You feel him press a kiss to the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you fall silent again. You could feel his breathing slow down, his lashes fluttering against your skin and just as you think he's falling asleep again, you hear him whisper softly, all the wistful longing for a peaceful happy ending with you bleeding out to leave behind a familiar anxiety, anxiety that he only let you see.

"We'll be okay, right?"

He sounds so afraid that it breaks your heart, leaving you to close your eyes as you try to breathe past the pain of seeing him struggle to hold onto happiness. You tilt his head up and gently kiss his lips, his sigh of relief giving you the strength to summon all the confidence you could as you whispered back.

"Of course, baby. We'll be perfectly fine."

Finnick breathed out softly in relief before kissing you again, pushing you onto your back before straddling you. Your hands immediately reach for his hips as you sit up, pulling him impossibly close, desperate to feel him, to know he was right here and yours to love.

You didn't like lying to him, didn't like not feeling confident in your own words, didn't like the uncertainty that came with a promise like this. But if it gave his mind the temporary relief to shed the worries and leftover tears and breathe a sigh of relief, then so be it.

speak now

"i hear the preacher say, ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’" "there's the silence, there's my last chance" "i stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me" "horrified looks from everyone in the room" "but i'm only looking at you"

pairings: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with fluff at the end. you fell first, anthony fell harder. the reader is daphne’s best friend.

summary: anthony comes to a realization the night before your wedding— the wedding where you’re supposed to be marrying someone else.

the moonlight cast a soft glow over the elegant drawing-room of bridgerton house. anthony stood by the window, lost in thought, as daphne entered the room. she had just returned to london, bringing with her news that had unsettled him to the core.

"why have i not heard of this in lady whistledown’s columns?" he had demanded, pacing the room.

"it was kept private," daphne replied, her voice calm but tinged with sadness. "y/n did not wish for any undue attention. the wedding is tomorrow, anthony."

"tomorrow?" he stopped in his tracks, a look of determination hardening his features. without another word, he grabbed his coat and left the house, ignoring daphne’s calls after him.

the night was deep when anthony arrived at your family home. the world around him was silent, the only sound his hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. he knocked on the door with a sense of urgency, his heart pounding in his chest. when you opened the door, your eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

"anthony? what are you doing here?" you whispered urgently, glancing around to ensure no one else saw. "it is improper for you to be here at this hour."

"i had to see you," he replied, his voice a fervent plea. "you cannot marry him."

you shook her head, "anthony, this is madness. you should not be here. think of our families’ reputations.”

“i do not care about reputations," he insisted, stepping closer. "i care about you, y/n. i cannot stand by and watch you marry a man you do not love."

your eyes filled with tears, but you quickly blinked them away. "you do not love me, anthony. you only say this because i am soon to be wed. please, leave before someone sees you."

his heart ached at your words, but he pressed on. "y/n, i have always loved you. even when you were merely daphne’s bothersome friend. my feelings are not sudden. they have always been there, growing stronger with each passing day."

you shook your head again, more vehemently this time. "no, anthony. this is not right. you must go."

with that, you turned and fled up the stairs, leaving him standing in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of his confession hanging heavily in the air.

returning to bridgerton house, anthony found daphne waiting for him, a knowing look in her eyes. "where have you been?" she asked, though it was clear she already knew the answer.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i went to see y/n. i professed my love to her, but she does not believe me."

daphne’s expression softened. "anthony, she has loved you since the moment she stepped into our home. you must show her that your feelings are genuine. if you truly love her, you must fight for her."

her words resonated deeply with him, and he resolved to do whatever it took to prevent the marriage.

the morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, the air filled with a sense of anticipation. the church was adorned with flowers, the pews filled with friends and family. anthony took his seat, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he was about to do. as the ceremony commenced, he watched you walk down the aisle, your face a mask of composure. when the bishop inquired if there were any objections, anthony rose to his feet.

"i do," he declared, his voice ringing out in the silence.

gasps echoed through the congregation. your parents exchanged shocked glances, and the groom’s face darkened with anger.

his mother, seated next to him, grasped his arm with urgency.

"anthony, what in heaven’s name are you doing?” she whispered, her voice filled with concern.

ignoring her, anthony kept his gaze fixed on you, your face had turned pale with shock. he moved his arm away from his mother’s touch, his resolve unshaken.

"i cannot let this happen," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

your eyes were wide with a mix of emotions. without a word, you fled the church, the weight of anthony’s declaration heavy on your heart. you ran to the one place where you could find solace—the apple tree in your family’s garden.

you stood beneath the apple tree, your breaths coming in ragged bursts. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the garden as anthony approached you. your eyes, still red from crying, met his with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

"go away, anthony," you whispered, turning away from him. "you have humiliated me enough. no man will want to marry me now."

"how did you even find me?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

anthony, catching his breath, gave a soft, sad smile. "i have seen you come here before. when the demands of society became too much at the balls held at your family home, you would retreat here to find solace."

your brow furrowed in surprise, you turned to face him. "you have been watching me?"

he nodded, his gaze tender. "i have always kept an eye on you, even if you did not know it. i wanted to ensure that you were safe and that you had a place to escape when you needed it."

your heart ached with the realization of his quiet vigilance. "you knew?"

"yes," anthony replied softly. "i knew. and i could not let you marry someone who did not see you as you truly are. you deserve to be loved fully, and i have always felt that love for you."

he knelt beside you, gently taking your hands. reluctantly, you met his gaze, and in his eyes, you saw an intensity you had never witnessed before. "i am terribly sorry for ruining your ceremony, but i simply could not bear to see you marry another. alas, i am a gentleman. if you do not feel the same, i will leave and never bother you again."

your heart ached with the depth of your feelings. "i desire no one else. i have always wanted you, but i never believed you could feel the same. i think you have ruined me for everyone else."

anthony’s grip on your hands tightened. "it is you who have ruined me, y/n. my heart is so full of you that i can hardly call it my own."

with a sob, you threw your arms around him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss filled with years of longing and unspoken love.

anthony held you close, your heart swelling with joy and relief. "i am yours, y/n. nothing will ever change that."

in the quiet of the garden, beneath the shade of the apple tree, your love found its voice, a love that had always been destined to be.

Seeing a lot of talks about finnick as a dad/doting husband during pregnancy on the fyp and I must contribute to the conversation 🌱 (warnings: it's long and so fluffy you're gonna die). Part 1.

Part 2 ☁︎

The thing about Finnick is that he has a lot of love to give to anyone who would take it. His heart is overflowing with it, shining cerulean with it. So of course fatherhood came to him as easily as breathing—

Wrong. Have you seen that walking talking ball of anxiety, love and autism?

The day you tell him you're pregnant he passes the fuck out. On the floor. And when he wakes up he cries for an hour straight, thanking you enough times with kisses pressed into every inch of your skin he could reach that the words don't even sound like English anymore. He's so grateful, so fucking grateful and terrified but above all, completely and irrevocably in love with you.

Throughout the pregnancy, he's as paranoid as it gets to the point you have to beg him to please leave you alone and no, Finnick the baby won't be hurt if i eat too fast please breathe and let me breathe but it's all from a place of love. He's lost too much, almost everything in his life. The few people he could still keep were precious to him and he was not going to let any of them forget that least of all his babies. Or baby.

Finnick talks to the baby a lot. Asking the most bizarre question to your bump as if he actually expected a tiny, baby's voice to answer him. He was constantly on about something new and his favourite topic to talk about was whatever his new hyperfixation was and you just nodded and smiled because of course the baby wants to know how to do an alpine stitch! But it was so endearing and relieving to see him finally be happy, finally find a purpose, even if it was to just talk nonstop to your belly. He deserves this, these little pockets of happiness.

And one of his greatest happiness was taking care of you. Circling back to the fact that he starts hyperventilating when his lover so much as sneezes too hard, the hellscape that was pregnancy scared him. No, fuck it, it terrified him. So he did what he always did and loved to do and banned you from anything and everything that needed physical exertion. Chores of any kind were out of order. You were on a healthy diet of four meals a day and of course they included all your cravings that he always presented to you no questions asked thank you very much and you had to take naps, multiple of them, all with his presence as a requirement (you were sure those were just an excuse to cuddle you but you would rather take up another round of hunger games than call him out on it). He attended every appointment, had an alarm set for all the prenatal meds, and always a kiss for the belly and your lips just so you knew that this was it for him. You and your baby were the very centre of his universe and this was him orbiting you both. And you couldn't help but be grateful that you had him to love and cherish just as he did you.

And your favourite way of telling him you loved him was letting him take control over the one thing you knew he loved: baby shopping. With all due respect, this is the type of guy who bought baby shoes when he was eighteen with no baby in sight because look at how tiny this is it's so cute *big sparkly green eyes.* But it's particularly endearing watching him waltz around the store, arms full of onesies and plushies and you kind of just stand there, unable to do anything because what the fuck were you supposed to do at nine months pregnant and married to a man who you *checks notes* gifted a day where he could buy anything he wanted as a birthday present?

I promise you the answer was not 'go into an early labour the second he dumped the shopping bags in the living room' but who am I to say anything?

The baby coming two whole weeks early did not sit well with his anxiety. He was a mess, a complete and utter mess but he was also the most precious angel on this planet so seeing him holding back tears of fear so he could be there for you and hold you tight, so tight, because he was scared he would lose you broke your heart too. While the pain of the labour was bad, knowing he was close, holding you tight as he pressed gentle kisses everywhere, to cater to everything you needed, was enough to realise, he was the one. And you were going to fight through hell for him.

Such a wretched thing, love, you thought to yourself as you felt him shake beside you through the pain and haze, to ask you to hope against hope that the strain on your strength and your fading string of fate would persevere despite it all.

But you did. You survived and so did your precious little baby girl, and so did the last pieces of Finnick's soul, despite it all.

The first time he holds his tiny, tiny baby in his arms, something in his brain just clicks (or maybe his frontal lobe was finally fully developed because of course his baby picked the day before his birthday to make her own entry on planet earth) but whatever it was, it was perfect. His entire world narrowed down to the squirming little angel in his arms and he couldn't help but feel his heart leave his chest for the second time in his life to become hers. She fit right into the crook of his arms, the space in his neck. She fit into his life like another piece of puzzle that he never knew he was look for.

She was his little angel, his little girl. The person he never knew he fought through whole wars for but now, holding her against his chest as he watched you both sleep, he knew this is what he was meant to do. To love, to love, to love. For the sake of it. Simply because he could. Simply because he was alive and it was good enough reason to love with his entire being.

Part 1 because I don't exactly know if you people will like it enough to want more.

Across the Universe (Fenrys x Reader) series masterlist

Warnings: mentions of trauma, mentions of abuse, violence, smut (yeah that is all for now)

Chapter one Chapter ten

Chapter two Chapter eleven

Chapter three Chapter twelve

Chapter four Chapter thirteen

Chapter five Chapter fourteen

Chapter six Chapter fifteen

Chapter seven Chapter sixteen

Chapter eight Final chapter

Chapter nine

calming

regulus black x gn!reader

500 words

description: regulus gets anxious in a hectic environment and your presence calms him + sirius finds it baffling

You and your friends are all sitting around the Gryffindor common room, James and Peter are on the ground in front of the fireplace playing a game of magic chess.

Remus is sitting on the couch across from you reading, Sirius is laying against the arm of the same couch with his legs draped across Remus’ lap while loudly announcing every move Peter and James make in their game. 

Lily is sitting in an armchair working on an upcoming essay, while Mary is sitting on the floor leaning against Lily’s legs drawing in a sketchbook. 

Marlene is passed out in the lap of her girlfriend Dorcas, who after sneaking into the common room took up one of the other armchairs.

Also having been snuck in, is your boyfriend Regulus, who is currently sitting next to you on the couch while you read.

-

You're deeply enthralled in the story completely used to the noisiness of your common room. Unlike you, Regulus is not used to the environment, as he has just recently rekindled his relationship with his brother to be hanging out in there with you all.

You are observant of your boyfriend though and take notice when his breathing begins to get heavier and his body language gets tenser.

Carefully and slowly, as to not draw much attention from your friends around the room, you move your hand closest to Regulus off your book and gently place it on his leg and begin to rub your thumb slowly against it.

You can physically feel the muscles in his thigh relax under your touch which makes you smile softly at the book in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Regulus glance over at you which makes you look up at him and smile at him.

"What're you doing, love?" He questions you.

You lift your book slightly and wiggle it before you speak. "Reading, obviously. Do we need to borrow James' glasses?"

The corners of Regulus's lips turn up ever so slightly at your comment, before he shakes his head lightly and huffs out a small laugh.

"No, I think my eyesight is just fine,"

He takes your hand on his leg in his own and starts to twist and pull the rings adorning your fingers - most of which are gifts from him.

You smile and lean into his side more before returning to your book allowing him to mess with your rings as much as he likes.

You'd let him do whatever if he asked, if you're being honest.

-

Across the room from you on the other couch sits another couple consisting of one flabbergasted Sirius Black.

"What. The. Fuck. Moony look." Sirius nudges the boy next to him.

Remus looks up at the couple before them before turning to look at his boyfriend.

"What about it Sirius?"

"They just put their hand on his leg and he immediately calmed down!"

Remus continues to just stare at the raven-haired male, unimpressed. So Sirius continues speaking "He hasn't so much as let me poke him since he was 10!"

With a simple roll of his eyes Remus returns to his book after saying "You should just be happy your little brother has someone who makes him feel comfortable, Pads."

Sirius glances back and forth between his brother and his boyfriend for a moment before he huffs dramatically and flops down to rest his head on Remus's lap.

-