Speak Now

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.

WC | 0.3k

WARNINGS | slight allusions to sexual content but nothing explicit, soft kissing, teasing

A/N | ok i’m not sure if this was a request lmao but i wanted to say a little bit about it anyways 😭😭 ahhh this would fix me too, literally when is it my turn 🗣️ (and to anyone else seeing this, my requests are open until july 16 if you want to send in an ask as well.) repost because my tags are being horrible with putting asks in tags ahhh :(

REQUEST! | EVENT MASTERLIST

no because this actually just awoke something in me… wth i need a pretty man in my lap right now!!

i feel like it’d start off as a joke, almost. he’d walk over to you, singing your name and poking you and trying to get your attention in any way possible. when that doesn’t get the reaction he wants, he drapes his legs across your lap, whining about how mean you are, how you’re not paying any attention to him—how dare you not? how could you resist your beautiful boy?

so you wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer, so that he’s fully seated in your lap. it’s not too hard—he’s light as a feather, shifting him easily. it’s quite easy for you to manhandle him, even if your stature is much shorter than his. it also helps that he’s halfway making the movements himself, not one to turn down any sort of affection from you now that he’s finally gotten your attention.

he fits a little awkwardly, his long limbs curling up and trying to get comfortable as you chuckle and place a hand on his thigh, looking up at him with a smirk.

he’s a little frazzled as he tries to get comfortable, reminding you a little of a cat that just can’t settle down. a light blush dusts across his cheeks—he’s embarrassed, something that doesn’t happen often.

“aw, is hannie embarrassed?” you coo playfully, pulling him closer and pressing your lips to his neck, eliciting a soft whimper from between his lips.

“no,” he drawls, gently tangling his fingers in your hair as you kiss his neck, “not embarrassed…” he mutters this under his breath, exhaling deeply as you start to nip at his neck. you can feel him squirming in your lap, trying his best to stifle his whines and whimpers. he doesn’t want to let you win—he simply won’t let you win.

it’s a playful, teasing battle of who will give in first—new territory for the both of you, as jeonghan shifts in your lap, enjoying the position much more than he initially thought he would.

© petrichor-han 2024, all rights reserved.

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.

Keep you close

Prompt: Tugging at the other's clothes to keep them close

Pairing: Kelly Severide x reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

You'd always had the awful habit of wandering off. As a kid you had been an absolute nightmare for your parents, silent footsteps trotting away at the smallest of things. A shirt you saw across the store, a street performer, or a cat in an alleyway. You were excitable with a short attention span and far too adept at unintentional escapes and as such had caused premature greying in your mother's hair.

As you grew older you'd managed to calm down some, you were still prone to wandering off with no warning, but you no longer straight up disappeared to chase a butterfly.

In fact, many of your now friends hadn't picked up on your habits due to how switched on you were at work. Paramedicine had no place for a lack of focus, and whenever you did wander it was for the job.

The habit had only really started to show its self when you frequented Molly’s. You fluttered between groups like a butterfly on crack, the overheard snippets of more interesting conversations sometime leading you to leave a conversation midway through. You didn’t intend to be rude but it was hard to keep talking to Cap when Otis was starting a debate on aliens.

Alcohol tended to only exacerbate your condition. Though the running away become purposeful instead of accidental. You had pulled a runner quite a few times before your friends learned to guard the door from your menacing ways. Apparently running away while drunk was a common enough phenomenon for many people so your actions weren’t overly questioned.

To almost everyone’s surprise, it is Severide that becomes your keeper 9 times out of 10. Always appearing just as you had stood to dash away and tugging at your clothes to force you back into a seat. He becomes so adept at the motion that most times you don’t even get to stand before one of his hands is lashing out to latch onto your shirt.

The first time it happens on shift you don’t think much of it, chalking it up to him protecting you from an aggressive patient. The second time it happens you are slightly mystified, glancing back at him for an explanation. All you get is a nod towards the encroaching crowd that is starting to crowd around your patients. You aren’t too happy, but still let it slide, a small part of you giddy that Kelly cared enough to stop you from being overwhelmed. The third time however, gives you pause, and even the squad members that had witnessed the interaction seemed shocked.

You had been walking past the table where squad 3 was engrossed in what seemed like a heated game of scrabble when Kelly’s hand had shot out to grab you. He had played it off as needing an objective judge to veto certain words. That would have been fine, except that his hand had remained clenched around your shirt well after he should have let go.

From there it becomes near constant, you always sit next to him for lunch now, his grabby hands not allowing you to wander far. Most times it doesn’t even seem like he realises what he’s doing, nor does he notice the perplexed looks the members of firehouse 51 shoot him at every confirmed instance. Eventually the tugged clothes evolves into, wrists and hands wherever possible and you can’t help but to feel you are dreaming everytime it happens.

It becomes somewhat of a game amongst you and your family, to see how long it takes upon you entering a room for Kelly to grab you. Or if you can ever manage to sneak past him without being thwarted. Nobody ever says anything directly to him though, your glares enough to warn them away. Because as much as you were confused, you found the whole thing incredibly cute. Especially when his hand moved like it had a mind of its own, reaching out to grab one of your own even if his eyes didn’t leave whatever he was focused on.

In a rare turn of events, it is a sober you escorting a slightly tipsy but still aware Kelly back home, fingers entwined from where he’d grabbed to pull you along. Looking down at how perfectly your hands seem to fit together you can’t stop yourself from asking anymore,

“Kelly, why are you always grabbing me? It’s not like I’m going to run away at work.” He stops at your words, turning to look at you with what you think is incredulity.

“I thought it was obvious” he replied, before leaning in with a flirty grin, “I just like having you close by, getting to hold your hand is just a bonus.”

Your heart stutters at the confession paired with the warmth that encompasses Kelly’s eyes when he looks at you. Your mouth moves before you can stop it,

“I’m going to kiss you now” your voice sounds foreign to your ears, as if you are underwater and you almost don’t realise you’ve said it. That is until Kelly positively beams in reply, leaning even closer to you as you throw caution to the wind and close the gap. The hand that isn’t wrapped in his comes up to the back of his neck, lightly hold him against you as you smile dumbly into the kiss.

Neither of you really discuss what the kids means for the future, but neither do you let go of each other. Not even when Kelly throws you the keys to his car, and not when he tugs your head down to lie against his chest, your hand clenched around his shirt as you sleep. The two of you continue like that as you find your groove, only Kelly is no longer the only one with a desire to keep someone close. Tugging against his short collar to demand kisses quickly becomes one of your favourite activities.

Otis and Cruz are the first to lay witness upon you tugging at the back of Kelly’s shirt as he tries to walk past where you are sat on the couch. The two stare with open mouths when the lieutenant actually does stop like nothing is wrong with the situation. Rushing over to demand an explanation when Kelly eventually takes his leave.

“I just like having him close” you shrug with an innocent smile, before standing and making your way to the chiefs office. A journey which you is quickly joined by said lieutenant, the slight tug on your shirt sleeve announcing his presence as the two of you enter the chief’s office. Boden took one look at the close proximity and matching grins and simply sighed, handing over what looked to be pre-prepared forms for HR.

The cat is very quickly let out of the bag to your friends when Kelly tugs you into his lap for all to see and you make no effort to escape, settling contently into him. An action that is almost immediately banned within the firehouse. Molly’s remains free game though, no matter how much Otis complains at the blatant affection.

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.

Your World [ Wolverine x Reader ]

Summary: your Wolverine was your whole world.

A/N: I like writing angsty stuff and this movie provided me with the best possible scenarios <3 hehehe I love wolverine

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of blood

Marvel MASTERLIST Link here

SPOILERS BELOW

-

It wasn’t an ideal love story that brought you back to Logan.

Being a mutant with incredible healing abilities and a broken heart made it so easy for Stryker to capture you. Your Wolverine had been the one to rescue you from the clutches of Stryker and the horrible fate that loomed over your head. All the days of experiments and cold rooms where you’d be injected with who knows what, it all lead to him.

But you always had to remind yourself that Logan had gotten you out, made you a X-Men, but found the brutal truth of how dangerous it was to be loved by you.

You loved deeply and endlessly, like a void waiting for eternity to be loved and to love. Logan was exactly what your heart desired for years.

Someone who could never die, never leave you.

Fighting alongside each other became a beautiful symphony. And God protect anyone who caused you harm, because Logan would only see red and slice them to pieces. It was a miracle none of the X-men had been torn to shreds, but Scott always came close.

The team would always joke about your relationship, saying how could an innocent soul be in love with such a brute like Wolverine.

But Logan knew the only way he could breathe was to be with you, to hold you, to kiss and love you.

He would always find his way to you no matter the circumstance.

Beast was holding you in the infirmary because he wanted to run tests? Logan was there.

Storm and Jean wanted to have a girls night? Logan was sitting outside the room in case anything happened.

Scott was training you in hand to hand combat? Logan was definitely there.

Your world consisted of him and him only.

And maybe that is why it hurt so much when he let your entire team die, because you had not made them your whole world.

You had been away on a mission by yourself when you received the news of their passing. You returned to a bloodied home, no sign of Wolverine to be found.

Life began to blur after what happened. You had to go into hiding, because people blamed you for what happened, too. And there was no one there to stop you from spiraling into a flurry of self hatred.

Hatred for what you had become. A love sick puppy so consumed with Logan only. Maybe if you had been there, maybe if you hadn’t put so much trust in him, maybe if you could have taken the hits for your team.

And the thought that stuck with you the most, if you had been there, screaming for help - would Logan had only saved you and left the rest to die?

Because the love you shared was slowly becoming so obvious to you that it was not pure or natural, but rather so simple it would have made you and Logan public enemy number one.

But you supposed that had already happened, too.

Your mutant abilities were the only thing you had left, so you consumed yourself in underground work. Becoming exactly what the X-men had fought against.

Shedding your uniform, you had to separate yourself from the X-men because people recognized you too easily. It was hard to find any work where people wanted a tainted mutant.

You tried your hardest to not let every moment be consumed by the thought of Logan. He had never reached out to you after the event, despite the grief between you so overwhelmingly strong. He couldn’t face you and love someone who would have stepped through hell and back for him.

He felt as if he didn’t deserve it.

So time continued to pass as the bond between the two of you was severed so deeply that it was suffocating to be apart.

But it wasn’t until Deadpool showed up to your apartment that you were finally addressing your past.

“Leave, now. I’m not hearing any of your bullshit.” You tried to close your door but he stopped it.

“Please, c’mon. I need you! Wolverine needs you!”

You tensed at the mere mention of him. “If he needed me so desperately, it is far too late for him to come back.”

“But you’re his one and only, for fuck’s sake! Every variant I’ve met of him has had a you stalking around like a lap dog. You know how many of you’s have beaten the shit out of me?” He rambled on, and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t care to understand what you’re saying, so goodbye, Wade!”

Deadpool sighed before kicking the door in and stabbing you through the chest with one of his blades. You stared at him in shock and couldn’t register anything as he flung you over his shoulder into an orange portal.

You landed on a hard ground that pushed the blade out of you. “Wade, you’re a dead man.”

He stepped through the portal and leaned over your body. “Sorry about that, but I can’t die so you’re stuck with not only me, but Wolverine!”

Deadpool giggled and ran off, making sure to rip the blade out of your stomach. You winced but felt your regeneration cells working to stitch you back together.

Slowly sitting up, you spat out blood.

“I tried to tell him not to bring you into this.”

You froze at the voice you fought to forget, willing calm into your fast beating heart.

Sitting up fully only made your legs wobble and your head spin. But you had to look up into the eyes of the man you still loved.

Logan looked different, healthier and happier. It only made you feel sick.

“I’ve been busy.” He said it so casually that it made you want to slap his chest for the lack of greeting. “Wade gave me a second chance. I helped save his world.”

“You haven’t seen me in years and you choose to brag?” You scoffed, removing your shirt to assess the damage Wade had done to your shirt.

Logan sucked in a breath as he took in your battle worn scars. Despite your healing factor, you still kept every scar from every wound you had endured.

He remembered the last time he saw you, you only adorned a few on your chest and stomach.

Now it was littered with them.

“You’ve been busy too, I gather?” Logan said with a hint of sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Why am I here?”

“Wade thought that I needed you.” He admitted it with such ease, like he knew it to be true in his heart.

“And? Do you need me?”

He hesitated before answering. “I’ve always needed you… and I think that’s why I let myself go for so many years. Because I knew that no matter what I did or said to you, you would never forgive me. I would always be the one who let our team die… let you go.”

“Well you’re right, because I never would forgive you. Not after abandoning all of us,” you choked out, the tears beginning to creep into the corners of your eyes. “I loved you fiercely, Logan. All it would have taken was one call during those first few days and I would have been there for you. We could’ve been healing together. But you chose this life of despair for both of us, Logan.”

“I know.” He said, his own eyes watering.

“I despise you.” You said, but your heart was breaking, letting out the true feelings. It was bleeding for him and for him only.

Logan stepped closer and you did not stop him.

“I want nothing to do with you.” You said, your voice cracking.

“I understand.” He said, five feet away from you now.

“I hate you.” You began to weep, the blood in your heart revealing what you wanted truly.

“I don’t blame you.” Logan closed the gap between the two of you, holding you close to his chest. You cried into his shoulder, holding on for dear life. “I’m never leaving you again.”

All you could muster was a small nod, your tears staining his shirt. His own were dripping onto the top of your head.

And in the empty apartment, you and Logan stood, holding onto each other.

Holding your world together.