#Coping with childbirth

[unknownmusing]

The Witcher Fanstory - Ioroche Fic: ‘When Something Between Two People Becomes Something More' (Revised Version)- (Parts 1 to 4)

Summary:

After Vernon Roche and Iorveth share a drunken moment together, Iorveth doesn't know that Vernon is hiding the fact he has become pregnant with the elf's child/children so both them have to learn how to cope with the fact it is time to raise a baby when Iorveth discovers that Vernon is bearing his child/children when is told by Vernon's closest second-in-command Ves - who is concerned about Roche - that her commander has been acting extremely odd ever since coming back from Flotsam.

So what is going on with Vernon Roche? And can Iorveth discover what his sworn enemy is hiding from him?

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PART 1 -  Prologue - "It all starts with...some words"

Location - Flotsam, Cáelmewedd - Approaching Late Evening

"You are a bastard....Pointy eared bastards...."

Vernon Roche - Commander of the Blue Stripes and King Foltest's lackey - mutters under his breath, speech slurring so much it indicates to Iorveth - Leader of the Scoia'tael - who sits next to the man - who's face is flushed with a distinct blush on his cheeks - holding in one hand a bottle of wine, while the other rests on his thigh holding his kneecap.

"Old man...."

Hearing this comment, makes his cheek twitch slightly at the audacity of being called 'Old man' by a drunken Dh'oine who is also his closest enemy and long-term rival in life, but here the both of them are seating together in the Elvish ruins of Cáelmewedd - drinking over bottle of very strong Elvish wine which to any human could easily make them drunk - close by to a statue of the Elvish male and his female Human lover, covered in what were called the Roses of Remembrance.

"Iorveth...." He hears Vernon starting to say to him, making him look down still irritated though at being called by Vernon 'Old man' because he resented being called it by anyone, it was one thing which irked him and reminded him of conservations which he would have with his men who would ask him why hadn't he found a...Mate...yet - because in Elvish Culture, a male produced eggs - actual eggs - which a female elf would take and fertilise over time through continuous mating with their bonded Mate, until finally a child or children was born.

But sometimes the rare case would happen where an elven male would impregnate a male human, sadly Iorveth though knew that those elves who had mated with the male humans were soon harshly murdered or made to disappear or become banished by the Elder Elvish Council who  decreed that Elf had in their own fault violated the Elvish Culture Rules - that any Elvish male would be punished if caught mating with human male.

"Huh?"

Looking down at the other man, he sees that the Dh'oine has decided to slip half of his body onto his lap, a strange smile on his face and such a cute blush it makes Iorveth's heart skip a beat at it then says the next words which nearly short-circuit or feel like it does his brain-cells.

"I really want to be pregnant with an elf baby.....Would you want it too?"

Iorveth finds himself starting to internally panic, the situation them just sharing a mutual drink before going back being enemies is getting out of hand and goes to bring up the bottle of nearly finished wine to his lips, hoping Vernon Roche will realise what he is saying and what he is wanting Iorveth to do and go back to his normal self - them avoiding each-other, before clashing again with swords or fists, while their men confronted each-other around them.

This man was his enemy - a Dh'oine - who he hated for killing quite a lot of his men, including other Elvish groups who been fighting the humans who had encroached on their territories.

"Fuck.....you are a handsome...elf....Iorveth..."

The man continues, making Iorveth lower the bottle back down from touching his lips when he hears this - maybe it was a good thing he was hearing this, because if were someone else they might just wave it off and tell Roche he was drunk and should go and sober up.

"If your cock would be inside of me.....should be...great..."

Placing the bottle of the unfinished wine down onto the ground, Iorveth turns slightly to face Vernon Roche taking hold of the other man's chin to tilt it up so he can stare into the gentle hazel-brown eyes, stroking a thumb over those fine, kissable lips seeing how they quiver under the touch with quite, yet audible to his hearing a small breathless gasp escaping from the other man.

He knew that the both of them may regret this decision, but part of him had always wanted Vernon Roche - have him as a Mate, someone to kiss, hug and laugh with at mundane things - and before he even is having second thoughts about maybe he should pull back - tell Roche it is time to sober up and go their separate ways - he bends his head down to cover the other man's lips with his.

Not knowing at the time, he is setting something in motion between them both.

Something which would change both their lives forever.

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PART 2  - 'Memory of an Intimate Moment, First Signs and Tension in the Camp'

Past: Location - Flotsam, Cáelmewedd - Late Evening

The ruined Elvish baths, which are hidden underground beneath the statue of Eldan and Cymoril - a male elf and his human female lover - have never had for generations any disturbance, until now.

Clothing lays close to a stone-carved bench, while close to what had been a blocked of entrance to the baths there is rock-face where a large bunch of crimson roses grows on it and water trickles down into large half arch-way shaped bath where placed up against the rim of the bath, Vernon Roche without his chaperon on mewls and moans breathlessly when the other person - he doesn't know who it is, the wine he had having been strong it is difficult to concentrate fully - undulates their hips back and forth into his from behind.

One of their hands rest on his abdomen and their free hand on his hip gripping it tightly, with the water of the Elvish bath sloshing around both their bodies, while he feels them slip in and out of his moist, wet petals of his flower.

He never called it 'cunt' or 'pussy' like some people would call it, when he had a brief fumble with them - but never allow them to penetrate him at all - because it felt degrading to even call it that.

Turning his head he looks over his shoulder at the person pounding into him, seeing the smirking grin showing on their face when he starts to undulate his own hips back into their thrusts spreading pleasure sparking throughout his body each-time they give a intense thrust.

Never has he felt this way before, not even with his own toys he would use to satisfy himself when alone. It is so intense, wonderful and tempting to just have it not stop.

They soon lift him to hold against their chest, their hand which been resting on his hip to come up to cup his chin where they bend down to cover his lips in a devouring kiss it makes him respond back with equal enthusiasm and other moving down to between his thighs to rub his flower's petals in such a way it makes him release a spurt of his dew onto the fingers pleasuring him.

They continue to move within him, pleasuring him now from both ends sliding their cock harder and faster in and out of his wet, moist petals and sliding their fingers up and down his petals from the front.

Slapping of skin against skin, the slick squelch each-time his dew from his petals continuously - never has ever Vernon been this wet before for anyone, even when they touched him - and the breathless mewls, gasp and pants begin to fill the Elvish bath ruins.

"Haa haaa.....Don't stop.....please don't stop....haa haa."

He pants out to them, knowing he is coming close to a climax which has started to build up when he pulls his lips back to rest his forehead against their own.

Only just before it hits, they pull away from him turning him around to face them pushing him to lay half on the pattern tiled floor with his legs hanging over the edge into the water then they push back into him in one single thrust.

Hands grab hold of his legs to hold in the crook of their elbows, spreading him apart as they continue to pound into him shoving his body up and down he finds himself writhing heavily, hands unclenching and clenching and head turned to one side with his mouth agape.

The climax builds up again, finally reaching in blinding whiteness which blossoms outwards all over his body at the sametime hearing a grunt above him, a rush of something round-shaped filling him, alongside a gush of his dew spurting between their conjoined bodies.

"Vernon....."

He hears a breathless whisper, a large hand reaching up to cup his cheek - a thumb stroking his cheekbone lightly - and a single, emerald eye coloured like the leaves of the forest looking down at him.

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Present: Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - Early Morning

Ves - second-in-command of the Blue Stripes - finds her stopping on the crest of hill close by to where the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia, who she been introduced through a series of events after the death of King Foltest - lived, seeing down below the workers going about doing their daily jobs in the vegetable and herb patch; the vineyard and the stable where she knew Roach - Geralt's faithful horse was housed.

Soon spotting coming up from the wine cellar, which also housed an laboratory for Witcher Potions, is the white-haired man closely followed by another man with silvery-white hair, a satchel over their shoulder and fingerless gloves laughing at something Geralt tells them.

Deciding to head down the path which leads down to Corvo Bianco, she wonders if her Commander - Vernon Roche - has come back from Flotsam - where he told Ves that he needed to wrap up some things before coming to Toussaint which she knew involved trying to find out whether the rebel Scoia'tael leader Iorveth - no last name as far as she knew - had arrived yet.

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Vernon Roche finds himself splashing his face with water, trying to calm his heart which pounds against his rib-cage the conversation which him and Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy  - or Regis as he was known by closest friends and Geralt, who he had noticed seemed to more than friends with the man but he was not going to pry into Geralt's private life as it was none of his business - had, after he been found by the man being violently sick in way which reminded him of morning sickness.

"Have you realised you are pregnant."

"You're.....lying....I'm.....just sick.."

"Look at me, you know.....that not to be true, Vernon Roche."

"I....can't....can't.....be..."

At the time during their conversation, Vernon had realisation that ultimately he must have become pregnant during what he began to remember what had been a strange, drunken and intimate moment with his sworn enemy - the Scoia'tael leader Iorveth.

Followed by  few days, feeling feverishly sick and extremely drained of all energy to move, that he had huddled up in a Nest of blankets trying to keep warm.

Coming out the memory of it, he raises himself up to look in the bath-chamber mirror, embarrassment flooding onto his face when he remembers the drunken words he said to the Aen Seidhe elf:

"I really want to be pregnant with an elf baby.....Would you want it too?......Fuck.....you are a handsome...elf....Iorveth.........If your cock would be inside of me.....should be...great."

Moving his hand down to his slightly swollen abdomen - which is starting to show through his clothing - he rests it where a child or children are starting to grow within his womb - like the seed of a flower starting to grow in the ground - making him happy, pleased and yet, very afraid he was bearing for the very first time.

He always wanted a child or children, but knew would be ostracized because of that fact he was male with a female sex if had asked his past partners that wanted to start a family so never revealed that to them, just allowed them to pleasure him - though no penetration ever would happen.

"....Fuck it...." He swears under his breath, realising he has done something his mother before she had disappeared that he should never allow to happen - which was become pregnant. "...What do I do?"

The thought even aborting the child or children makes Vernon sick at the thought, having been told of cases of poor women who not being able to cope with having another child or had been forced to have another by husband who they been married off to by their family would go somewhere - an island or forest or a abandoned hut - to abort the child.

But would Iorveth want the child or children?

How far could he go without telling other people before it was too late?

Hearing voices speaking coming from downstairs, he walks over to the  balcony of the bed-chamber to look down into the main hallway where he sees it is Ves - his second-in-command - standing with Regis and Geralt nearby the open front door, until finally she spots him looking down at them all.

"There you are. Was wondering if you had fallen asleep or something else." Ves says up to him, indicating he is not wearing is chaperon and his hair all untidy and mussed up. His clothing looks rumpled like he had slepted in it.

"Vernon, come on down and get something to eat." Geralt indicates to him, making him move to head down the stair, briefly sorting his clothes - which were starting to fray in certain areas, the dull white and blue colour fading and the fingerless gloves needing to be changed - before he does so.

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Location - Toussaint, Caed Myrkvid - still Early Morning

The mist-shrouded forest of Caed Myrkvid which is located within the borders of Toussaint reminds Iorveth, while he walks to the makeshift Scoia'tael camp which had been set up in clearing in the middle of the forest by remnants of his men - most of them having come from Flotsam, after what had happened there.

Isengrim Faoiltiarna - another Aen Seidhe, who was known as the Iron Wolf and known as one of the most experienced members of the Scoia'tael commanders - is standing talking to his own group of men - so different from Iorveth's men, being more violent towards any humans they confronted who were against non-humans - then having must have sensed him approaching the camp, the scarred elf commander turns to look over his shoulder at him.

He knew the look he is being given is a familiar one - one which implied Isengrim was angry about something that had happened and wanted him to come over. Willing his heart to thudding against his rib-cage, he walks up to the other Aen Seidhe placing the deer which he hunted down on the ground close to the fire.

"I heard a very interesting rumour...Iorveth....which would like you to confirm for me." Isengrim says, shooting out a hand to jerk him flush against the other elf's chest it makes Iorveth try to get free from the strong grip, only for sharp Elven fangs to bite down into his neck - where his intricate leaf tattoo spread downwards under his makeshift armour - forcing to his shame and horror a whimper to escape him.

This stops his struggling, followed by one his hands which he been gripping tightly the other elf's arm loosening to fall to his side limp, feeling the venom - as all elf's had in in the fangs which was used for either biting or used in the Bonding Process between Mates - starting to make him feel sluggish, that when Isengrim pulls off his neck all he can do his moan weakly at it.

"Fuck....you...." He grunts out, hearing his own men behind him begin to confront Isengrim's men managing to get free to stumble into the arms of his men, who catch him when his legs nearly collapse from underneath him. "....I told you....I don't belong to you, Isengrim. What we had is over between us and I meant it at the time and still mean it."

"Oh, you....really think that." Isengrim purrs out, coming up to pull him out of his men arms and flings him to his own men who grab hold of Iorveth - chuckling among themselves - to hold back, while Isengrim looks at him then grabs the youngest of Iorveth's men - a young elf who had joined him after losing his family to the Witch Hunters, who also in the spare time hunted elves for sport - to bring him front of Iorveth, who is now being forced to kneel on the ground.

"What is your name, young'un?" He hears Isengrim asking them, seeing how the young elf is starting to quiver with fear at the intimidation of the elder elf and tries to communicate silently to them not to reveal their name but it is to no avail.

"Isi.." they shakily reply, watching Isengrim walk around them - inspecting them - and back around to stand in front of them, flicking his gaze to Iorveth who sees the other elf has moved his hand to place on his sheathed knife.

"Isengrim, don't...please..." Iorveth says, trying in vain to stop Isengrim from doing what he is about to do. "He's....not part of this. He doesn't know anything."

"Oh...are you saying something, Iorveth." Isengrim mocks him, bringing out the knife from the sheathe starting to play with it, the sunlight glinting off of it. "Should we see what, Isi, knows then."

Iorveth cannot let this happen. Bringing one elbow up, he slams it into the face of one of the elf's - breaking their nose in the process, hearing the crunch of bone under his elbow and their pained cry - and kicking the other one away in the stomach, scrambling upwards onto his feet.

Isengrim has not been fazed by this, just grabs hold of the young elf placing them in front of him to face Iorveth immediately slashing the throat in one single fluid movement, sending crimson petals up into the air.

"Isi..." Iorveth cries out, taking hold of him when Isengrim pushes the young elf with the bleeding neck wound into his arms and lowering him to the ground gets a piece of fabric - ripping it to make two pieces  - then wraps it around the young elf's neck tightly to staunch the flow of blood, only for Isengrim to come up behind placing the bloodied knife against his throat.

Flicking his single gaze to the other elf, he removes his hands from finishing tying the makeshift bandage - which thankfully has staunched the flow of blood - and getting up, allows him to be lead away to Isengrim's large tent.

Behind him, his men pick up their fallen comrade to take him their side of the camp making Iorveth pray to Melitele that Isi will survive.

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Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - still Early Morning

Marlene de Trastamara - a former baroness - or Marlene as she was called by Geralt is busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast, while Roche sits outside on a bench - one hand resting on his abdomen - watching Ves doing some sword-fighting training with Geralt in the courtyard, while Regis sits beside him quietly reading a book flipping the pages silently.

"Regis, do you happen to know of any good tailors in Toussaint?" Roche asks the other man, seeing Regis flick his gaze to him still in reading the Horticultural chapter on very important medicinal herbs. "One....who can be discrete enough not to talk about their customers to other people."

"Hmm, I know of an elf called Elihal who lives actually relatively close by to Corvo Bianco. They moved here after things started to get a bit intense in Novigrad." Regis replies, bringing a hand up to tap his chin in thought. "I can take you to see them if you wish."

Roche at first wonders if it is good idea - knowing of course among the Elvish community Vernon Roche was known as the killer of elves; Foltest's Lackey and other names which were just as damming and slanderous - and second, the possibility this elf Elihal may not know of his dark past could be to his advantage.

"When do we leave?"

"Now if you want to."

"I think that's....a good idea."

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PART 3 -  Questions Answered, Finding Out One is a Father and Sharing an Intimate Moment

Location - Toussaint, Elihal's New Residence - Approaching Mid-Morning

"Regis....my friend. What brings you here?"

"I brought with me a friend who is in need of some discretion, while their clothes are tailored."

"I see. May I ask who they are?"

Standing behind the lattice arched doorframe, Roche, takes into account the area which leads into main area of Elihal's Residence where the elf show-cases their designs - tailored to all needs - with the other portion of the shop, been created into living quarters with a large sitting area, kitchen and double doors allowing access to a substantial garden.

The former abandoned cottage feels almost homely, comfortable and filled with warmth thanks to it's new owner bringing life into it: there are various coloured flowers placed in the vases, mixed with some types of grasses and herbs giving an aesthetic style to them; fine-woven carpets with such intricate details they are feat in themselves and finally above there is an alcove where some makeshift wooden steps lead to the sleeping quarters.

Regis - the other man - finishes talking with the effeminate male elf, before coming around the lattice arched doorframe to collect Roche, gently taking hold his arm to lead him into the main area where most of the tailoring happened.

"Vernon Roche, scourge of the Scoia'tael and slayer of Elves." they state when seeing him, while Roche keeps his head down to stare at the carpet when a delicate hand reaches to his chin to tilt it up gently so he looks at the elf. "Don't worry, that is your past and something to move on from. What your concern was you need a tailor with discretion, sweetie, and I'm always discrete about my customers."

"I was afraid....because of..." Roche begins to say, only for finger to placed on lips shushing him indicating for him to speak no more and let Elihal get on with the task of tailoring to his needs.

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Standing in front of the four mirrors angled at certain degrees, so that Elihal can see what they are doing Roche in his white undershirt and braies allows himself to be quietly measured.

Regis has left, after stating he needed to run some errands and will be back to come and collect him by mid-morning. This was so, both of them could walk back together to Corvo Bianco for lunch which Marlene - Geralt's cook - would be preparing right at this very moment.

"You seem lost in thought. Is something troubling you?" Elihal asks him, standing up to go other to where his clothing lays and a notepad where they jot down his measurements into it.

"I....Is it wrong to have been intimate with an elf if their part of a certain group?" Roche asks, forcing Elihal to still in finishing off jotting down the notes and turn to face him, flicking their gaze to his abdomen making him consciously put his both his hands over it to cover it from their gaze.

"Among the Scoia'tael, if your asking about that particular group, they have rules which decree that any elf who lays with human will be banished or made to disappear or the worse scenario murdered by order of the Elvish Elders." Elihal replies, going over where the fabrics and other necessary equipment are stored to choose what they need.

"And....if the human is male?" Roche asks, his mind flashing back to when after the intimate moment which had happened, Iorveth had cupped his cheek stroking his cheekbone lightly whispering something in Elvish which sounded like 'My darling, Mate' but at the time had been difficult to tell.

"Then....this may complicate matters." Elihal replies, setting up their sewing machine and getting spool of thread from a drawer. "You....might want to confer with them if they wish to keep the child or children starting to grow within you."

Looking down at his slightly swollen abdomen covered by his white undershirt still finds himself silently agreeing that at some point he would have to tell the Scoia'tael leader about the pregnancy.

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Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - Approaching Mid-Morning

Iorveth can feel the looks of the workers among the vineyards, vegetable and herb and in the courtyard of Corvo Bianco when he approaches the residence of Gwynbleidd - or Geralt of Rivia - seeing the white-haired man is finishing off some sword-fighting training with short-haired blonde female, who he recognises as Vernon Roche's second-in-command called Ves.

"Gwynbleidd." He calls out, making Geralt who had been going to head up to the home turn to see who had called him followed by smile appearing on the Witcher's face.

"Iorveth, I didn't know you were in the area." Geralt says, pulling him into a greeting embrace seeing over the Witcher's shoulder Ves is giving a particular look to him "I would like to talk to you in private." which makes Iorveth wonder what the human female was wanted to say to him that she didn't want Gwynbleidd overhearing.

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Ves admits to herself that she feels only slightly intimidated by the presence of the Scoia'tael Leader Iorveth who has arrived at Corvo Bianco, surprising Geralt's own workers - who probably never seen an elf being so brazen to approach their own Master who had given them jobs, when other richer Lords or Ladies would shun them due to their disabilities; sexuality or their mental state wasn't to their par.

"You wished to talk, female Dh'oine." the elf says, walking up to a viewing area which overlooked Corvo Bianco and going up to large oak tree to lean against it, while getting out a pipe from his pouch to quietly smoke.

"It's about....my Commander - Roche." Ves tells Iorveth, who raises an eyebrow at her, probably expecting the conversation to be about someone they both know. "Ever since he came back from....Flotsam....he's been well acting odd."

"How....odd....precisely?" Iorveth asks her, taking a drag of his pipe and blowing out wreathes of smoke up into the air where spirals upwards until dissipating away.

Ves, finds herself thinking back to after Roche had returned from Flotsam he started acting self-conscious around even the rest of the Blue Stripes - or even different types of people in places they stopped by before heading onto Toussaint - flinching when someone brushed up against him or tried to flirt with him, their hand reaching to his hip or close to his lower half making him push them away with the words "I'm not in the mood."

"Flinching at touch, is avoiding talking to me and the rest of the Blue Stripes then of course, he was very sick this morning." She replies to Iorveth, then continues. "Strange, though it reminded me of when a woman realises she is...No...he probably is just not feeling well."

Lifting her head, she notices the Scoia'tael Leader has gone very pale in the face - like they have just realised something which she didn't know about - and a faint blush is showing - implying it was an intimate moment he was remembering.

"Well, that's.....thank you for telling me, Ves." Iorveth says to her, indicating he needs to have some time alone to think.

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Iorveth feels like his mind is whirling at what he has just been told by Roche's second-in-command leaning his head back against the tree-trunk of the large oak tree realising there was only one thing which was why Roche would be acting odd.

His enemy, now permanent mate was bearing his child or children.

"I'm a...Father.....a Father...." He mutters under his breath, happy and elated at the thought of it, but at the sametime if Isengrim - his jealous ex-lover - got wind that he managed to impregnate a human male Dh'oine then Roche and their unborn child or children could be slaughtered by the other elf.

His body still ached from when Isengrim had forced himself on him, fangs sinking into his nape to subdue him and bruises on his hips where he had been gripped tightly while he had been shoved back and forth over the sleeping bed in Isengrim's tent, until finally he had felt the sickly warmth of the other's elf seed being released within him.

It taken using a waterfall to scrub the feeling away afterwards, the evidence of what had transpired.

Iorveth decides not to dwell on that particular memory, taking another drag of his pipe to calm himself - the herbs in the pipe batch being ones which gave a relaxing feeling to one - and blowing it into the air, when he senses something behind him.

Flicking his gaze up, he sees a person wearing black with well-manicured hands and intense blues, before they silently indicate to him to look at the courtyard which does so, seeing down below Roche arriving with another person - their strange scent making Iorveth curious about them - then goes to look back to see about the other person who had been behind him, only seeing no-one is now there.

Muttering an Elvish swear under his breath he heads down to the courtyard, deciding to greet Roche and this mysterious person who may know who he had briefly just seen before they had vanished into thin air.

Returning back to Corvo Bianco, Roche feels far more comfortable in his altered clothing - the blue more distinct with he had noticed had faint emerald ferns sewn into it which only showed when he turned a certain way in the light, while the white was no longer dirty looking but clean white and the red laces re-threaded.

His fingerless gloves had been fixed as well, while he finds himself stopping by the archway which lead into the courtyard of Corvo Bianco to just take a breather, seeing Regis has gone up ahead to greet Geralt and another male with short-cut black hair.

"Vernon...." someone says from behind him, making him look over his shoulder to see that who is standing close behind him is Iorveth. "....May we talk?"

"About what?" Roche asks, evading the question when he fully turns to face the elf - the elf he had laid with during a drunken moment, which part of him regretted shouldn't had happened but the other side - a motherly side of him - had wanted it - who steps up to him, taking hold of his arm flicking his gaze to up to where Geralt and Regis, plus the third person are.

"Not here. I rather talk where we not be overheard." Iorveth says, placing a hand around his hip to lead him away from Corvo Bianco to somewhere the elf wishes to discusses something of importance.

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Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - Abandoned Farmstead - Approaching Mid-Morning

"How did you find out?"

"Ves, gave subtle hints you were acting odd."

"Dammit, I....should have known she would notice."

"Vernon, look at me..."

Lifting his head up to look into the single emerald eye, he feels Iorveth, who has pushed him back to place up against the brick-wall of a abandoned farmstead, slipping a flower behind his ear, covered by his chaperon.

The gentle act of the action, makes him lean up pressing a kiss to Iorveth's lips to test the elf's reaction - finding none, not pulling away from him or even shoving him off - where Iorveth moves a hand around his waist to pull him flush against his chest starting to kiss him back.

Bringing his hand up he rests it lightly on Iorveth's arm, melting into the kissing where their lips move against each-other's until a tongue flicks over them begging admittance which he allows.

This sparks something, where he is lifted up away from the wall and laid down on a bed of moss close by to some small white flowers, ferns and tall grasses with Iorveth, devouring his lips as their tongues entwine with his now lover changing position each-time to deepen it.

Until finally both of them release their lips to look at each-other, both their chests rising and falling heavily under their armour with a strand of glistening saliva connecting their swollen lips, while Roche lifts his hand up to reach for the bandanna which covers Iorveth's right eye.

Only for a gloved hand taking hold of his wrist, before his fingers even touch the bandanna, pinning it down onto the ground, moving to interlace their fingers together when Iorveth bends his head back down to kiss him on the neck - trailing his lips up and down, giving soft kitten licks and nips.

Tilting his head backwards to expose his throat more, Roche finds himself gasping breathlessly, squeezing back with his own fingers when his lover finds a sensitive spot on his neck which when his past flings would caress it with their lips it made his body melt into mind-numbing pleasure - but here with Iorveth now, it is wave after wave of it.

"Haaa....I want you."

"Patience.....let me savour this. I wish to get to know your body before becoming fully intimate with you, Vernon."

"Then your a first....previous flings..."

"Don't mention them...I'm here now."

                                                      ----------------

Unlacing his fingers from Vernon's, Iorveth begins to peel of his lover's gambeson taking great care not to ruin it - seeing it has been adjusted and re-tailored since he last saw it, followed by when moving the outer layer the emerald ferns which glint briefly in the sunlight - a signature he recognised that of which Elihal, who was considered an outcast by the Elvish Elders, created only for people they considered special costumers - to place to one side.

Underneath the white tunic, he sees the slightly swollen abdomen where his child or children are starting to grow within making him bunch up the tunic to kiss it lightly with his lips noticing Vernon biting his bottom lip with a full blush forming on his cheeks when he does so and covering his face with one arm.

It is adorable.

"Don't hide your face from me." Iorveth says, slipping up to look down at the man who has rolled onto his side and taking hold of Vernon's chin to turn his face so the other man looks at him. "If your afraid, we can stop now and....continue some other time."

"I....No....I don't want you to stop. I....want you now. Not later or another time." Vernon tells him, one hand reaching up to take hold of the back of his head, fisting into his bandanna and lips pressing up against his.

Reassured he moves his hand to slip it down Vernon's waist to slip the black braies down that the other man takes hold of his hand to slip it between his thighs where Iorveth feels the petals covered in dew which is starting to trickle down the inside of his lover's thighs.

--------

Being touched intimately by Iorveth was something Roche would never imagined happening even though he fantasised what it would be like to have the elf kiss, hold or caress him in such a way he would be physically sated afterwards.

Now it was happening, with a hand between his thighs moving in such a way he breathlessly mewls at the feeling of Iorveth's fingers which been caressing his outer petals delve into his inner petals to slide in and out Roche begins to rock his hips into it.

Licking his lips to wet them, when he pulls back to look at Iorveth  noticing the elf's face has become intensely flushed with his lips  swollen from their kissing and watches when his lover brings the hand which between up to his lips, lapping the dew coating them.

                                                       --------------

"Fuck.....Vernon.....you....your taste.." Iorveth pants out, placing his hand back down between his lover thighs to thoroughly feel Vernon's gushing flower sliding his fingers in and out as between his own thighs his arousal is becoming so painful and persistent he removes his hand to start to remove his armour.

Once he has done so, he sees Vernon has slipped off a boot to slip one leg out of his braies allowing him to hook his lover's thigh up in the crook of his elbow indicating to the other man to keep it up then pushes his hips upwards, sliding his cock into the moist petals of Vernon's flower in one single thrust.

A soft breathless cry reaches his ears, causing a hand shooting to grip his hip tightly until relaxing when both of them take in being intimate after so long.

"Vernon..."

"Iorveth....kiss me."

A kiss is given, followed by a scarlet bandanna joining a black chaperon on top of the piles of clothes, a mixture of gasps, moans and mewling filling the abandoned farmstead until finally both of them lay there beside eachother catching their breaths, sweat which had formed trickling down both their bodies and foreheads resting against each-other's.

                                                        ---------------

PART 4 -  Aftermath of Intimate Moment, Alone Once More, Captured Ves and Concern arising for the Safety of One's Unborn Child or Children

Location - Toussaint - Abandoned Farmstead close to Corvo Bianco - after Mid-Morning

"How does it feel to be pregnant with an elf child, Vernon?"

Feeling Iorveth who stands just beside him slip a hand around his waist to rest on his slightly swollen abdomen, Roche finds himself pausing in lacing up his unlaced white tunic and gambeson with his black braies hanging around his thighs waiting to be pulled up, making him place a hand on the elf's shoulder.

"S...Screw...you...Haa.."

He pants out, not meaning to say it, still himself recovering from the aftershock of multiple orgasms which Iorveth made him experience, until finally overstimulation had made him indicate to his elf lover they needed to stop which they had done so.

There was also the fact the elf had released so much into him, it is beginning to trickle down the inside of his thighs and dripping into the inside of his black braies alongside the fact he been filled with what Iorveth had stated during their Mating  were some more 'eggs' to help with the fertilisation process causing his already slightly swollen abdomen to swell more because of it.

Part of him feels embaressed at feel of the elf's seed trickling down the inside of his thighs, while the other half a perverse joy at being filled or claimed by his...lover....in this way.

"Don't deny you thought of being filled by me this way." Iorveth says, breath hot against Roche's ear it makes his cheeks flush again at the words. "Feel....me release into you, until finally pulling out to..."

"I need to get back to Corvo Bianco. The others will be wondering where we are and..." Roche says, evading in even saying something which admits to Iorveth that he had thought what it would be like and slipping away from the man, shrugs his black braies back up where sorting them goes to lace his white tunic and gambeson when Iorveth does it for him.

"I know..." Iorveth tells him, turning Roche around so he faces the elf helping him to lace up the gambeson stilling though when he goes to the final laces giving a heavy sigh which means he wishes to say something else but doesn't know if it is a good idea or not. "....I cannot return with you. I need to get back to...the camp."

"Iorveth...this....if we're discovered..." Roche begins to say, trying not think of the consequences if they are both found out. "I could be banished and you alongside our unborn child or children could be slaughtered." Iorveth continues for him, cupping both of his cheeks with both of his hands to kiss him on the forehead lightly it makes him close his eyes at the gentleness of it.

When he re-opens them Iorveth is gone, leaving him standing there in the abandoned farmstead.

                                                         --------------

Location - Toussaint - Forest Path back to Corvo Bianco - still after Mid-Morning

Sunlight is filtering through the canopy of trees, illuminating different spots in the small forest which is close by to Corvo Bianco where Roche stops to lean against a tree, where he finds himself shifting his thighs in discomfort due to his soaked braies making themselves known.

He not expected Iorveth to release so much....seed...within him, it would gush down the inside of his thighs afterwards, while biting his bottom lip moves his gambeson to one side and reaching his black braies unlaces them to push slightly down to expose himself.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he slides a hand between his thighs. His breath hitches slightly when he touches himself - rubbing at first one finger over his moist, wet petals still coated in his elf's lover seed, until pushing it slowly within it makes him place one hand over his mouth to silence himself as he does so.

He is still wet within himself with his Iorveth's release, forcing him to spread his legs apart more in his black braies when he begins to finger himself - sliding the finger in and out of his moist, wet petals rubbing up the against the wee bud - until finally he can feel the tingling feeling begin to sneak it's way up his thighs.

Roche wants to be able to continue, but he pulls his hand away denying his climax knowing he must really get back to Corvo Bianco and slipping his black braies back up re-laces them.

Not knowing hidden the shadows a figure who been watching him, give a subtle smirk and their eyes gleam briefly with otherworldly light before heading off on their own way.

                                                        -------------

Location - Toussaint, Caed Myrkvid - still after Mid-Morning

"How's Isi?"

"He's....slowly recovering. Where have you been?"

Ciaran aep Easnillen - Iorveth's second-on-command - asks him, when Iorveth pours some water into the wash-basin from a jug placed beside it then slipping his scarlet bandanna off, cups the water in his hands to splash his face noticing when he lowers his hands reflected in the mirror is Isengrim who immediately comes up to him.

This makes him turn, only to be harshly pinned up against the dresser by the other elf who looks at him with a glare which he responds with his own, while Isengrim bends his head down to his inhaling deeply.

Iorveth just prays he doesn't pick up the scent of Vernon on his skin, but it seems there is enough for the other elf to bare his fangs in displeasure he is coated in another scent - and not his own.

"Why do you smell of a human Dh'oine, Iorveth?!!" Isengrim asks, growling out the words - which tells Iorveth he only picked up that, but not who it is which is a good sign.

"Why would I want to smell like a filthy Dh'oine." Iorveth evades the question, managing to slip away, only for a hand to grab hold of him by his hair giving opportunity for the other elf to smash his lips into his or would have if weren't for Iorveth shouting at him. "NO!!!"

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he shoves Isengrim off of him hissing with fangs bared and claws lengthening to indicate to the other elf leader he will not be controlled this way.

"So, that's your answer." Isengrim says, just as one of his men steps within the tent, handing over to Isengrim what Iorveth sees is Vernon's Temerian Lilies badge which means Vernon had either dropped it or had come off his gambeson. "Well....here is mine."

Isengrim steps out of the tent, closely followed by muffled shouting when he comes back in dragging in the tied up figure of Vernon's second-in-command - Ves - who hissing and spitting every curse she knows at Isengrim, until she is flung down in front of Iorveth.

A pained cry comes from the female Dh'oine, making Iorveth heavily resist in moving to help her up, knowing it is just what Isengrim wants him to do - to acknowledge she was the one he had lain with - seeing Ves, sit up glaring at everyone in the tent.

                                                       -----------------

Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - still after Mid-Morning

"Sir...Sir!!!?"

"Easy....calm down, what's happened?"

One of the many Vineyard workers who Roche, before Iorveth had led him away to the abandoned farmstead, had seen working away in the vineyards comes running up to Roche as soon as they see him, heading to the front door which opens to reveal Geralt - all kitted out in his Witcher gear, busy sorting the sword straps before - who lifts his head up to see what the fuss is all about.

"Roche, your just in time." Geralt says, confusing Roche even further when the Witcher heads down to the stables where his trusted mare Roach is housed. " Ves, went to go and look for you and Iorveth when you didn't return at mid-morning. She's not come back and rumours have spread about in the rural areas among farmers and travelling merchants a rogue band of Scoia'tael are attacking humans - not giving any mercy."

"I....didn't mean to be gone so long." Roche says, swearing heavily that his second-in-command would of course get suspicious in why he was not back yet and the fact Iorveth had been the one to take him elsewhere. "I'm coming with you. Who knows what mess she has gotten into."

"I would advise against that." He hears the soothing, calm dulcet tones of Regis making him turn to glare at the other man, who somehow has silently sneaked up behind him without Roche even hearing any sound of his footfalls, who has joined them.

"Dammit to hell, Regis!!! She's my second-in-command and the best of the Blue Stripes who has been with me since the beginning!!! I cannot just abandon her to...being....killed!!!" Roche finds himself shouting, nearly swaying when light-headedness settles in because of his shouting, he feels Regis taking hold of him.

"Vernon, let me deal with this." Geralt tells him, making him shake his head - even though part of him knows he is being irrational in the situation. "Think, would Ves want you to get hurt saving her."

"I....She....No, of course not." He tells Geralt, turning his face to one side - embaressed he is acting rashly in front of his friend. "She's.....always held her ground even when the worst has happened to myself or any other member of the Blue Stripes."

"You do know she thinks of you as almost motherly-figure, Vernon." Regis tells him, letting go of his arms and come around to stand close to Geralt, who is busy getting Roach ready. "Sometimes....you just got to learn to let yourself have others help you."

Roche doesn't know how to respond to that, but knows he in the past kept others who wished to help away from him and only allowed Ves to give help, risking in the process nearly both their lives more than once.

"Just....bring her back safely."

"Of course, Vernon. Friends never abandon their allies."

Regis must have sensed he is getting tired because the other man - after quietly whispering something to Geralt, his hand squeezing the Witcher's arm lightly to reassure the white-haired man about something - comes up to lead Roche up into the house, where inside just near the stairs leading up to the quest bedroom he indicates to the other man he can head up himself.

"I'm fine. I...just to be alone for wee while if you don't mind, Regis." Roche says, heading upstairs when he nearly slumps against the wall just before reaching the landing feeling like his chest has become tight - like it is difficult to breathe all of a sudden - making him fist his hand into his gambeson.

"You overexerted yourself, Vernon." Regis says, catching him when Roche nearly slides down the wall and lifts him up - so easily, it is surprise the other man hides this kind of hidden strength - to carry him further up the stairs to the quest bedroom, where he is laid down on the bed.

Rolling to lay on his side, he listens to Regis pottering about in getting stuff out of his satchel, followed by the clinking of flasks, until finally a soft exclamation of "Ahh, there is it."  comes from the other man, meaning he found what he been looking for.

"What is that?" He asks Regis, eyes flicking to the flask being held by the other man who comes around the bed placing it down on the bedside table.

"A herbal remedy to help pregnant women." Regis replies, taking out the stopper. "My own concoction though, due to the original remedy which had been created by a very unscrupulous un-named fake-herbalist doing far more harm than good from what I have gleaned from records on them."

"Regis, will it harm..." Roche begins to ask, placing a hand to his slightly swollen abdomen where Iorveth's eggs rest within forming their child or children - part of him hoped it wasn't just one child, because then she or he would have siblings to play with when older. "...Will it harm the....eggs?"

"I see." Regis complements this information, going back over to his satchel placed on the edge of the bed to get a leather-bound notebook - dog-eared and pages looking like have been re-sewed back into the binding so they don't fall apart or become loose - opening it, flicking through the pages until he comes to a paragraph which must be connected to another page in the notebook. "I had not thought about how the Elvish species mate and have their young."

Roche flushes heavily at the memory of the feel of Iorveth when he been within him - the steady throb and pulsating, followed by rush of warmth and the eggs filling him - with the elf, trembling over him with his tattooed chest rising and falling heavily, until kissing him before Roche could ask if he was alright.

"I....don't much about it either. Only what Iorveth has told me, but even that is sparse in details." He says, lying back down to place his head on the pillow, resting one hand on his slightly swollen abdomen. "Would you mind? I like to...."

"...Sleep. I perfectly understand." Regis says, placing the flask and notebook back into the satchel and coming over to slip a blanket over him before heading to the flight of steps. "I will see if can find any Elvish tomes, which may help us both."

He goes to thank the other man, only to see Regis has already headed off so settles back down even though deep concern is rising with him - the fact there might be a point where Iorveth might not be able to protect him and their unborn child or children.

At some point he was probably going be called to the court of Emperor Emhyr vat Emreis - *Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd - to discuss about events of what had happened at Loc Muinne where a peace summit of the Northern Kingdoms had meant to take place.

He also knew how powerful the man was - having spread over the lands of his enemies, swallowing everything up but leaving only certain regions to fight amongst themselves.

The problem was Nilfgaardian's views on certain things, meant if Iorveth ever followed him to the palace they would have to be careful they weren't found out.

He didn't know what they thought about the Elvish community, whether they hated them or lived in equal truce with them.

Plus if the Emperor got wind about his 'condition' he could find himself locked away in the deepest dungeon never to see the light of day again or Iorveth for that matter.

For the safety of their unborn child or children he prays deeply to Melitele it will never happen, before tiredness overcomes him pulling him soon into deep restful and undisturbed sleep.

                                                        --------------

Notes: 

Inspired by fan-art of the characters Vernon Roche and Iorveth by the artist  @chamotea , who has such wonderful pieces of fan-art in their collection of posts that just love the design of them.

Sequel to the fic will deal fully with a Geralt/Regis/Dettlaff relationship, set after Blood and Wine DLC while there is brief reference to it in this fic hence the relationship tag.

Ves, second-in-command of the Blue Stripes begins to realise while visiting Toussaint to meet Geralt of Rivia at his home of Corvo Bianco (Elder Speech: Gwyn Cerbin) that something is wrong with Vernon Roche, who has arrived back from sorting out things in Flotsam. - 'Memory of an Intimate Moment and First Signs refer to Vernon, while 'Tension in the Camp' refers to Iorveth and Isengrim - Vernon doesn't want to reveal he is with child to those closest to him, after being told by Regis he is pregnant and swears the man into secrecy - CW: References to thoughts about abortion and mentions of abortion and mild Isengrim Faoiltiarna/Iorveth relationship which involves a possessive Isengrim not wanting to let go of Iorveth and elf interracial moments involving Isengrim and Iorveth's group fighting due to tension among both groups not liking each-other

Cáelmewedd (meaning Quiet Child in Elder Speech) - Caed Myrkvid is Elder Speech: Myrkvid Forest or Grove ("Myrkvid" itself deriving from Old Norse "myrkviðr" and meaning "dark wood", while "caed" comes from Welsh "coed" which means forest). - "Faoiltiarna" is broken Irish for "Wolf Lord", while "Isegrimm" (without the n) is a German poetic word for "Wolf".- Vernon's genitalia is considered as flower and petals, instead of cunt or pussy in this fic - Mention of Vernon having relationships in the past before he met Iorveth - Vernon doesn't know Regis is a vampire

They/Them/Their pronouns for Elihal - Roche asks about the Elvish Culture and Rules on being intimate with a Human - Iorveth meets with Ves when visiting Geralt at Corvo Bianco, where they discuss Roche and why the man is acting so odd- In Elder Speech Geralt is called "Gwynbleidd" (close to the Welsh translation "Blaidd Gwyn"), meaning the White Wolf - CW: References to non-consensual sex between Isengrim and Iorveth - Iorveth briefly meets Dettlaff - Chapter titles refer to 'Questions Answered' is Roche and 'Finding out One is a Father' is Iorveth, followed 'Sharing an Intimate Moment' is both Iorveth and Roche

Chapter titles refer to 'Aftermath of an Intimate Moment' is Iorveth and Roche, 'Alone Once More' is Roche and 'Captured Ves' is Iorveth, Ves and Roche and 'Concern arising for the Safety of One's Unborn Child or Children' is Regis and Roche- Vernon nearly overexerts himself when shouting at Regis - Isengrim thinks Ves is the human Iorveth mated with, so has captured her to try and force Iorveth to confess - Vernon is concerned about Ves and her safety - Regis is interested in Elvish Mating Rituals, only because he wishes to learn about other species and not for nefarious purposes- Definition of potter around/about: to spend time in a relaxed way doing small jobs and other things that are not very important

Emhyr var Emries also called in the Nilfgaardian language: *The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies), while known to a few under his alias as Duny, the Urcheon of Erlenwald (Polish: Jeż z Erlenwaldu)

Rest of chapters on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/40704318/chapters/101991279 if readers want to read ahead

Parts 1 to 4

Parts 5 to ? will be posted soon

For @chamotea, @apastandfuturenerd and other Ioroche Shippers out there

---------------------------------

[wellhealthhub]

Comprehending the Nuances of the Postpartum Phase

The postpartum period, often regarded as a pivotal phase following childbirth, encapsulates a realm of intricate adjustments that encompass not only the physical realm but also the profound emotional and lifestyle shifts as individuals transition into the uncharted waters of parenthood. Unveiling the Essence of Postpartum The term “postpartum” unravels the temporal sphere immediately succeeding…

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Negligence.

Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation of Nursle.

Word Count: 9.0k.

TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.

You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.

Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.

You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.

It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”

“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”

You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.

Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.  

Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”

You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.

“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.

Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”

It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.

Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.

You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”

You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”

“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”

His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”

For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.

Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.

He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—

But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”

His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.

Suguru was crying.

Huh.

He’d never done that, before.

Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.

You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”

“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”

“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

You didn’t try to answer.

~

Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.

Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.

“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”

Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

The girls.

You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.

You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”

“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”

It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.

Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—

Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.

Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.

It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.

Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.

Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”

It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”

Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.

The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—

You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.

Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”

You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.

~

Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.

His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.

His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.

You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”

You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”

“Are you going to kill Himari?”

He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.

He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”

At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”

A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.

“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”

You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.

This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.

This was about control.

Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.

He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.

Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—

Oh.

He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.

He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.

He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.

If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.

At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—

Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.

Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?

You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.

Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”

“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”

Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”

“You fucked my wife.”

At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”

Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”

Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.

“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”

Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”

“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”  

Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”

The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.

Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.

 Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”

Suguru���s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”

Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”

No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”

There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”

Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”

Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”

He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.

You must’ve hurt him.

Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—

Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.

It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”

Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.

“I love you.”

If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.

At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.

Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.”  Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”

You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”

“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”

Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.

It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.

~

Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.

Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.

Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.

You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.

“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”

“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”

Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.

You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.

[crippledanarchy]

How's my mental health?

I'm rewatching the walking dead for the millionth time

[what-shitfuckery-is-this-ew]

All of Batman's kids

For those who still haven't realised how big Bruce's problem is

(Note: some of these are in alternate universes)

Biological

Damian Wayne

Athanasia Al Ghul

Helena Wayne

Ryan Wayne

Bruce Wayne Jr

Terry McGinnis (These guys are weird cause it's technically his DNA but like)

Matt McGinnis

Tallant Wayne

Kull

Echo Wayne-Kyke

Janan Al-Ghul

Saif Al-Ghul

Taj Al-Ghul

May Wayne

Robin the Toy Wonder (no clue where to put him under because he's one of the robots, but batsy programmed him so that counts as childbirth)

Adopted:

Dick Grayson

Lance Burner

Cassandra Cain

Jason Todd

Tim Drake (Technically he refuses to be adopted and is a ward)

Duke Thomas (Technically his uncle has custody of him but people keep telling me he’s adopted so maybe i missed something)

Jarro

Alina Wayne

Turner Hayes

Mentored (aka basically his kids)

Stephanie Brown

Barbara Gordon

Carrie Kelley

Jean-Paul Valley

Claire Clover

Henry Clover

Maps Mizoguchi

Harper Row

Cullen Row

Joker's Son (unnamed)

Anita Jean/Jenny Wren

The Kid count: 35

otherwise known as Bruce's coping method is "become father"

[twola]

Defying Conventions II

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI, A/B/O

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Previous Please be warned -cw: omegaverse, breeding kink, impregnation, pregnant sex, graphic birth. If those things bother you, then this is not the fic for you.

I feel like I am taking a big risk with this one. As someone who has recently gone through childbirth, it is definitely a traumatic thing, even when things go well. I write as a coping mechanism for trauma - so here it is.

It’s all going to shit.

Hosea. Lenny. Dead. John just busted out of Sisika. The bank robbery in Lemoyne gone completely south - and being marooned on that godforsaken island.

Not to mention Dutch and his behavior. Seems like Micah is in the man’s ear more than anyone else nowadays.

Beaver Hollow is miserable - damp, in these dark, dusty hills of Roanoke. It's stifling, the misery this place exudes.

“Arthur-” 

Arthur whips around, ready to snap at yet another person asking him to do something-

It’s you. Your cheeks are the slightest bit flushed. His hackles settle, temper calmed by the nearness of his other half.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” He smiles as he raises his hand to welcome you into an embrace.

You don’t move, causing him to frown.

“I… uhm, I-” You stumble slightly, your hand unconsciously moving to your neck, where you have pinned a shawl to cover your skin.

Realization dawns on him, and a low, dull ache begins to burn in his gut.

“Y’ sayin’ we need to get away for a few days?”

You sheepishly shake your head, cheeks flushed. His smile returns and he takes the step to move closer. He wraps his arms around you, clutching you to him. You sigh and melt into his strong embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, shuddering slightly as you can feel your heat closing in on you. Tomorrow you’d be a blithering mess.

Arthur presses his lips to your forehead.

“Reckon that’s the best thing anyone’s asked me to do in a while.”

“You ain’t mad?” You look up at him, incredulous.

“Am I mad about my mate askin’ me to get away from this shithole for a few days and spend the hours ruttin’ away?” 

“I just hate being so… needy. Dumb omega shit.” You sigh, burying your head in his chest again. 

Arthur sighs knowingly, then grins as he pulls the shawl down to expose your neck and immediately buries his head against your clammy skin.

You yelp in surprise and arousal as you feel his tongue press against your mating gland - it’s a good thing that he has one arm strong around your waist, or else you would be stumbling to the ground.

Arthur groans quietly, squeezing you gently. “I’m yer alpha. Y’know what I need? I need to satisfy you.”

You try to push him back, afraid that you’re going to go into heat standing here in the middle of camp as he nuzzles at your neck. Alas, your lover is built like a brick wall, and it is only after quite a bit of fidgeting and you trying to yank your shawl back up that he takes the hint.

“Annesburg? Or d’ya want to go further?” He drawls as you try to collect yourself. 

You scowl up at him, “After that, we’ll need to go to Annesburg. Now.”

Arthur smirks, his eyes hidden under the rim of that old gambler’s hat. “Say less, darlin’ girl. Say less.” 

-

It’s a miracle that you can stand upright, there in the gunsmith’s shop as Arthur leans on the counter. While he had been in the foulest of moods earlier in the day, he’d found a second wind the moment you told him you needed him - suddenly acting full alpha - cocky and possessive and hell-bent on getting you desperate for him.

Christ, the whole ride down from Beaver Hollow was near excruciating - Arthur having dragged you onto the saddle in front of him, pressed against him completely, instead of pulling you up on his horse’s rump. Leaning over every so often and nipping at your neck. Groping your breast after passing another rider on the road. By the time the two of you had ridden into the dusty mine town, the flush that had dusted your cheeks before extended down your neck and chest.

“One room. ‘nd here’s extra to not bother us for a few days.”

The poor gunsmith blanches, completely understanding the threatening tone in Arthur’s voice. He nods, handing the alpha a key, muttering directions to the room, in the building next to the shop.

Arthur smirks, turning around and grabbing your arm, guiding you quickly to the room. Punching the key into the lock, he opens the door and watches as you stumble inside. A rumble, all alpha, punches out of his chest as you wipe at your brow, leaning against the wardrobe in the room.

“I’m just gonna get the horse straight. Be back in a minute.” Arthur calls back as he steps out of the room, leaving you to pant wearily as you survey the room that you’re going to lock the two of you in for the next couple of days.

You whine as you paw at the shawl hiding your neck, finally unlatching it and throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. Feverishly unbuttoning your blouse, you pull your arms out of it and toss it aside as well. You’re yanking the straps of your chemise down your arms and baring your breasts as Arthur re-enters the room. Your chemise hangs around your waist as your hands cup your breasts, your breath coming in short, fast pants.

“Need it that bad, omega?” Arthur purrs, pushing your hands away from your chest and placing his own atop your breasts, squeezing gently as you moan.

“Don’t - don’t be cruel- I’m…shit, I’m in heat.” You gasp out as his thumb traces over your nipple. Your knees shake as your hands grasp at him, and you feel your bloomers dampen as your slick begins to come.

One of Arthur’s hands moves from your breast to your waist and immediately starts yanking at your skirts, loosening the waist and pushing them down, along with your bloomers, to pool on the floor at your ankles, leaving you completely bare.

“I’ve got you, darlin’ girl,” Arthur grasps one of your hands and presses it against his massive erection in his pants, and you mewl desperately, craving the way he fills you.

“Go on, get on the bed.” He nods to you and you shakily follow his order, laying down on the bed and opening your legs, rubbing at your throbbing core, watching as your alpha undresses himself. Jacket and work shirt, denim and union suit, they are all shed as you watch, touching yourself all the while.

He goes to climb into the bed with you as you catch a glimpse of his eyes - the faintest red rim around those blue pools.

You groan, a pained cry from your chest, and he stops immediately. Your heat has fully set in, and your body jolts in furious need. You sit up rapidly, trying to gain some semblance of control over yourself.

“I.. you… you begin to rut, there’s a chance-” you suck in a breath against the cramping pain, “I’ll take.”

Arthur hovers over you. “Is that what you want?”

A pained gasp is all you can reply.

“It hurts-” you moan, crumbling forward in the bed, clutching at your lower abdomen. Arthur’s large, warm hands find your sides immediately and gently push you to lay fully on your stomach.

“Hands and knees, let me take care of you.”

You breathe heavily, labored, through your mouth, your fever making you weak. You let him maneuver you however he wants, having lost the strength to do anything else. Your limbs are drawn under you, and your head presses heavily into the old pillow. He positions himself behind you, grabbing your hips and hoisting them up. You moan throatily into that pillow as he takes one hand to stroke his cock into full rigidity.

Before he presses inside, it hits you. You push up on your elbows and he stops, rubbing your lower back. You breathe out against another cramp that shudders through your body. “You… you’re gonna…”

All of the hotheadedness of being an alpha vanishes.

“Honey we don’t have to - it’s what you want.”

You swallow. He’s in position to mount you, the most base and primal of ways to slake this biological need. The complete and utter submission of an omega to their alpha.  Some say it’s an old wives tale, but omegas know - they are taught very early on, that being mounted was supposedly the best way to breed - the surest way to conceive a child. That if they were caught out in the world by an alpha, to fight like hell to not be mounted.

“What do you want, Arthur?”

He leans over you and you feel his lips on your shoulder as one of his hands gently grasps the crest of your hip.

“I wanna spend my days wit’ you.”

“That don’t answer the question.” You suck in another breath against the pain.

He pets your cunt gently, making you shiver as his knuckle parts your folds. “I’ll be happy either way. If you wanna spend our days ridin’ as partners or raisin’ children - I’ll be there as your mate.”

“And… and if I want…?” You gasp out against the pain, your slick starting to run down his knuckle all the way to his wrist, “If I want to have your child?”

He groans loudly and removes his hand from your cunt, immediately smearing your slick all over his cock and he pumps it vigorously. His opposite hand clamps hard on your hip, yanking you up to align with his swaying pelvis.

“Omega-” he growls, all predator, with the blunt head of his cock pressed against the seam of you, probing against the rim of your cunt, raring to plunge into your body, “I’ll breed you right, girl.”

His voice is rough, his tone warning. Another sway of his hips and his cockhead slips in, you do your part and press your hips back to take him, to urge him forward. You moan throatily into the pillow as he presses inside - somehow his cock feels bigger, thicker in this position than at any other time. 

“Fuck, darlin’.” Arthur curses when he’s fully sheathed inside you, hands strong on your hips. On his knees behind you, he guides you on and off of his cock as he thrusts his hips in tandem. The bed squeaks with the movement of your bodies. You clench the pillow hard as your lover picks up the pace, fucking into you frantically.

With each powerful thrust of him into you, you feel his knot start to grow, stretching you with a pain that you crave. If you were able to turn around and look up at him, you’d see his eyes rimmed in red. But you could tell, with the way his hands clamp on your hips, the hardness of his cock - you know he’s gone into rut.

He slows, breathing heavily through his nose, reminiscent of a beast of burden.

“Darlin’-” his voice is rough and thick with arousal, “Last chance, omega. D’ya want me to put a baby in you?”

You shudder, hissing at the finality of his implication as you feel the trickle down your neck from your mating gland of that sweet, pheromone-filled oil. 

“Yes.” You whine, “Yes, Arthur, let me - give me, ngh-” you throw your hips backward to spear yourself on his hard cock, “Breed me.”

“Fuck-” Arthur groans, and almost immediately, his knot swells, stretching the rim of your cunt as he locks himself into you. You whine against the pain-pleasure of it all.

Here you are, on your hands and knees, alpha mounting you, waiting for him to breed you - oh, what a place to be in - what a situation you thought you would never be in. Arthur quickly leans over you, plastering his chest over your back, his strong arms caging you in on either side of your own. It’s terrifyingly intimate as he breathes loudly through his nose, nipping at the gland on your neck.

The world slows. 

“I love you,” he rumbles into your ear, and gives one more thrust into you, knot keeping him snugly in your cunt, “I love you - I love you -” He babbles before sucking one final breath in.

Every nerve of yours is alight. You’ve never felt so in tune with your body. For one final instant, you shiver, your womb ready to accept. One final cramp of need, lower than ever, and you know it is the way your body sings for your mate. Your heart stops. Your cunt clenches at Arthur’s cock, as if it were begging for him the same way you shamelessly are.

Splayed over you, his lips quickly find your gland and he sucks, you gasp, and then you can feel it - deep in your body, you feel the warmth of his seed, his cock pulsing in your cunt as he fills you. 

The sound he makes is beautiful, a moan that transcends physical need. No, this was more. This was your mate, this was breeding, this was the pinnacle of what you were born for. This was creation. The swell of emotion overflows as tears burst from your eyes. You let out a crooning moan of your own as you take him, you take all of him, every pulse of him into your womb. 

The moment seems to last forever. Heaving, panting, groaning, Arthur empties himself into you, locked at the hilt, your body shaking at the sheer implication of it all. For once in your life, your omegahood was not a curse. Your alpha, bent over you, mounted and pumping his hot spend into you.

Arthur gasps like a fish out of water once he’s done. The roaring of your heart in your chest seems to overpower everything. You sob loudly and he immediately sobers and moves the two of you to lay on your sides on the bed, still locked at the hips. He brushes back a lock of your hair, “Honey, are you alri-?”

“I love you,” you cry out, taking his hand and pulling it to your breast, over your heart. “Arthur I love you, I need you - you’re everything-”

He settles in behind you, his knot still locked strong within your body.

“Honey darlin’ girl…” You can feel him smile into your hair, “Mate.”

All of the fierceness, the rough possession, it all has faded as Arthur gently nuzzles the back of your head.  You pull his hand down to your belly, right to the cradle of your hips, to splay out over your womb. “Our child - Arthur.”

He presses against your hot skin, arms wrapped tightly around you, and the next thing you know, that overwhelming warmth shoots through your cunt again as he breathes out heavily.

“Gonna make sure I give you one.” He groans, voice rough as he shallowly pumps his hips against your rear, another round of spend coating your insides.

You mewl, accepting him, rolling your hips as you make another noise of desperation.

“Y‘okay?” He asks, his arm tightening around you.

You whine, wiggling your hips, testing the strength of his knot. He growls in your ear, one of his hands shooting down to your cunt and forcing your legs apart and the other wound under your ribcage, engulfing and squeezing one of your breasts.

Arthur sucks in a breath and nuzzles the back of your neck. His hips jut forward once again, and his cock swells within you.

“Got one last one in me - gonna, gonna g-give you-“

Your entire body quivers in anticipation, and you grab Arthur’s hand from your breast and spread it over your lower belly, holding your hand over his. Over where you will grow and create and swell with child, his child.

“Give me a baby, Arthur-”

Arthur grunts, cock pulsing, and you mewl as you feel the bleeding warmness of him exit his body and enter yours. Gentle waves of him, dripping down and over his knot, smearing across both his and your thighs. A physical sign that he’s filled your cunt to the brim with his seed.

Finally, as the two of you breathe heavily from near-exhaustion, Arthur’s knot recedes enough that he is able to pull himself from you. Arthur slides himself from your body gently, and you whine as his inches leave you. He leans over you and kisses your temple. “I’ll get us some food. Get some rest.”

You turn over in the bed to face him, rubbing gently at your belly. You smile, mischievously.

“I like you mountin’ me.”

Arthur scowls at you, “Jesus Christ, you can’t just say that. We’ll never leave this bed if you keep acting like that.”

You simply smile, leaning in and taking his lips with yours, throwing your leg over his hip, preventing him from leaving the sanctity of the bed. One of his hands rounds your hip to cup your ass.

Shivering slightly, you involuntarily clench as you feel another trickle of his essence leak from your cunt. You look down between you, Arthur’s eyes following yours. You unwind your leg from his hip and turn to lie on your back. 

Your dark hair has lovely drips of white coursing through it, and Arthur groans quietly when he sees it. He reaches, collecting that viscous rivulet on his finger, and you watch intently as he looks back at you, raising his brow as he trails his finger through your thatch of hair.

He lovingly, gently presses it back in, and you whine with oversensitivity at the feeling of his thick trigger finger slipping through the sore rim of your cunt. Arthur takes your lips with his, smothering your complaint.

After several moments, he extracts his hand, leaning back on his elbow. He nuzzles against your neck, the now-faded ring left by his teeth those weeks ago.  “When will you know if you took?”

You shrug, “I guess when my heat ends. Never really paid attention much to them omega lessons…What happens now?”

Arthur rolls onto his back, stretching himself out in the bed, looking up at the moisture-stained ceiling of the rented room. “Things are endin’ with the gang. As much as it kills me to say it…”

You move closer to him, laying your head upon his chest. “And us…?”

“You’re my mate. You’re hopefully carrying my child. Ain't gonna make the mistakes I’ve made in the past.”

You fiddle with a strand of your long, messy hair. “I know we’re mates and all but…” you trail off, eyes trained on the strand of hair instead of him.

“Let’s get Swanson to marry us,” Arthur says, winding his arm around you again.

A smile blooms across your face and you immediately sit up and kiss him, hard, dragging him back down to the bed.

You awaken the next day in the mid-morning, when the sun is already high in the sky.  Arthur’s already up, sitting on the side of the bed, half-dressed. He looks back at you as you stretch your arms overhead. Yawning, you run your hands down your body to rest at the cradle of your hips.

A warmth blooms under your hand. You don’t know how to explain it, but you’re sure you took.

His large hand covers yours.

“Thinkin’ so?”

You nod, looking back at him, unable to stop yourself from smiling. You push yourself up and crash into his embrace.

“But you know, can never be too sure.” You giggle.

A spark of amusement shoots through those river-blue eyes of his.

“Get on your knees, omega. Let’s make sure.”

-

Months Later…

“Absolutely not.”

You frown, pouting reminiscent of a petulant child. You have to stop yourself from stomping your foot on the old wooden floor.

“Ain’t no way in hell am I mountin’ you when you're this close to giving birth.” Arthur scowls at you, looking you up and down with a set jaw and exasperated tone.

“C’monnn…” You tease, taking your hands and running them down your ribcage to highlight your quite large belly under the fabric of your dress.

“No. Christ, it’s hard enough not to go into rut when you’re just sleeping next to me.” Arthur shakes his head, turning away from you, trying to distract himself.

“Gentle?” You wind your way around him, your hand tracing up his back.

“Woman….” He gives a warning tone, but you can tell that you are wearing him down.

“Please, alpha.” You press yourself against him suggestively, taking one of his hands and placing it over the swell of your belly, “You need to take care of your omega.”

His fingers pulse over your skin, and with a sigh, he gives in, “I ain’t knotting you, no matter how much you beg. Christ, I shouldn’t even be entertainin’ this.”

With a giggle, your fingers fly to where his suspenders are fastened to his black work pants, and before he can even react, you have one unclipped. He snatches your hands away from his waist and holds them up above your head.

“You are the most troublesome-”

You lean up on your and kiss him, effectively silencing his retort. When you pull away, you smile up at him, and he cannot help but give the smallest smile back.

“Like I was sayin’, troublesome. C’mon now, get in bed.” Arthur playfully swats at your hip as you grab his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom.

The small cabin could use some updating - but for the soon-to-be three of you, the small homestead tucked away in the hills of Ambarino is exactly what you never knew you needed. A small bedroom, a bed tucked over in the corner, a fireplace, and an old, beaten-up dresser - for all the time you’d spent running, sleeping in tents and on bedrolls - having a home with your husband was something you’d never think you’d have.

As you reach the bed, he stops you and spins you around, holding you upright all the while. Arthur leans down and presses his lips against yours, one hand pulling at your dress, gathering up the skirts, bunching them up, raising them up, up to your hips. With an awkward shimmy with your belly hanging low, your bloomers pool to the floor with a quick tug from Arthur’s fingers.

“C’mon - lay down,” Arthur taps your hip and motions to the bed.

You raise your eyebrows as he undoes his other suspender, about to comment on how dressed the two of you still are.

“No-” he warns, “You take everythin’ off and I’m definitely knotting you. And we aren’t doin’ that.”

You’re about to complain again but are cut off as he pushes you, gently, down onto the bed before shoving his pants and short drawers down his saddle-hewn thighs.

At that sight, you quickly lay down, rolling onto your side as you hike your skirts up to bare your cunt.

“Thought so, troublesome.” Arthur jokes as he slides himself into bed behind you, the skin of his pelvis and cock warm against your rear. 

It takes some awkward maneuvering - everything is awkward when you are this far gone, but finally, he slowly presses himself into you, and you sigh in contentment.

It’s everything he is not to slam his hips into you, to knot you, to claim claim claim. But he needs to be soft, to be gentle, to be careful. 

You moan appreciatively when he gives a shallow pulse of his hips. The sheath of your body feels like a live wire - primed and ready to snap at any time. The pace he finds is slow, but full and heady. You mewl, your body shuddering as you come, and Arthur is forced to pull himself from you and wrap his hand around his cock, hissing as he feels his knot expand around nothing.

You struggle to turn yourself over, but finally do so and wrap your hand around his knot, joining his hand around that swollen base of him. He unclenches his jaw and looks down at you as you squeeze at him, moving your fingers from his hard knot up his shaft, and downward again.

“Sweetheart you don’t-” he grits out as you begin to pump him.

“Hush-” you interrupt as you lay your head upon his chest, twisting your hand around him as you stroke up and down. It doesn’t take long for him to find his own end. Arthur growls, thrusting his hips upward as he comes, spurting white out of the head of his cock over both of your hands.

After catching his breath, he kisses the crown of your head, “You okay?”

You look up and smile at him, satiated.

-

Arthur tosses the last of the firewood he’d been chopping all afternoon in the pile under the overhang, wiping the sweat from his brow as he lays the ax against the outside of the cabin. Grabbing the carbine that he had been cleaning earlier, he shoulders it as he pushes through the front door.

“Darl-”

The bedroom door is closed. Warily, he grabs the door handle and slowly opens it. Arthur stops completely, eyes widening as he scans the room. The whole atmosphere has changed from even this morning, and he slides the carbine from his shoulder and props it against the wall. 

It’s dark, the curtains drawn against the midafternoon sun. Before his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can just barely make out your form, leaning against the mantle, your head on your forearms.

He closes the door again, recreating the safety of the nest. He realizes that’s what it is only after shutting the door. A nest. 

“Is it-?”

You nod as pain rips through you and you groan, clutching your belly. Arthur is on you in an instant, holding you upright. 

Immediately, a fierce agitation in his blood sings. Protect, protect, protect.

You breathe out heavily through your nose as you stand up to full height again. “C’n you make a fire? I need… I need-”

“Anythin’, darlin’. Here, how about you sit down-”

“No, no I need to walk.”

For the next hours, you pace back and forth in the room, wincing every so often, one hand supporting your belly. You’ve kicked your shoes off, and Arthur has as well, sitting in a chair next to the fire, knee bouncing as he watches you intently. The warmth of the room is nearly suffocating to him, but he would never dream of asking to open the window or put out the fire. He simply rolls up the sleeves of his faded blue work shirt.

You suck in a pained breath and a groan echoes through the room as you double over, trying to assuage the overwhelming feeling in your hips.

“I- I think it’s time… h-help me get undressed and onto the bed.”

Arthur nods, stepping closer to you and reaching for the laces of your dress, pulling them apart and helping you step out of the fabric. He continues, solemnly, pushing the straps of your chemise down your shoulders. Gently, your chemise falls away, your bloomers puddle at your feet. Arthur’s blood is on fire as he can see the rivulet of liquid trail down your legs. Your breasts heavy and full, nipples darkened, your belly low. Your body heaving.

He is in awe. Not carnally - though he always wants you - he is in awe of you gritting your teeth against a wave of pain. He is in awe at the movement he sees in your belly. He is in awe of what is about to come, what you are about to do. You groan and reach for him. He immediately places his hands around your waist to steady you. You murmur softly as you lean into his embrace.

“Let’s get you to bed, darlin’ girl.” Arthur gently leads you to the bed and helps you lie down in it. You groan, trying to get comfortable, but it is a lost cause.

The hours continue to roll by, punctuated by your body seizing in agonizing pain every few minutes. You whimper to the ceiling, jumbled syllables of prayers, of curses, of his name.

He wants to growl, he wants to go outside and tear something to pieces. There is an overwhelming need to destroy as he watches you writhe in pain trying to bring his child into the world. He wants to fight another alpha - to dominate - to provide some kind of placation to the inferno in his chest.

Another pained, agonized whimper from you brings him back to reality.

“Si-sit me up,” You grit your teeth as Arthur helps you up, he sits at the head of the bed behind you and you lean back on him for strength. He will give you it all, he would give you anything to take this pain away, if only he could shoulder this task for you. You spread your legs a little further as your head falls back upon his shoulder, a wail crawling out of your throat. Slick trails down your neck from your mating gland as Arthur helps to hold you in a reclined position.

Spiced, warm, rich- with just a hint of the sweetness you usually smell like. It’s different, and instead of driving him wild with the need to rut, it’s making his heart pound with anxiousness and protectiveness. He’s sure if someone were to encroach on the area he would tear them to shreds with his bare hands right now.

“Doin’ so good.” He murmurs against your temple and you moan again in response, your head lolling forward as you hoarsely cry out.

“A-Arthur, its- it’s comin’, the baby-” You pant, and your hands move from clutching the bed sheets hanging between your legs.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Assurance is all he can do at the moment.  Blood begins to stain the sheet underneath you as you breathe heavily out your nose. Red smears your thighs as the end draws near. Your back tenses and your fingers clutch at his. Your nails dig into the back of his hand, but his pain be damned. Your head turns into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut, searching for some sort of comfort.

A rumble, deep and strong, claws up from his chest. His free hand spreads out over your belly, pulsing, cramping, hard - he can feel the ordeal your body is going through beneath his fingertips. Moments drag on as you breathe heavily through your nose.

With a gasp, you grab his hand from your belly and draw it down between your legs, against your cunt. Tears stream from your eyes as you wail loudly, the final moments having arrived. 

“Y’can do this, sweetheart, you’re doin’ so good-” He murmurs into your temple as you pant, another cry clawing up from your throat.

“Arthur-!”

Taking in a measured breath, you shudder in against him, a hoarse shout filling the room as you deliver the child. In a rush of blood and fluid, Arthur finds himself cupping the baby’s head as it slides into the world. A final scream pierces the room as you push again, the child’s shoulders and the rest of its body leaving you and into the waiting hands of its parents.

You immediately are lucid, and bring the child up to your chest, and the newborn’s piercing cry fills the room. The white-blue cord from the child’s belly pulses against your own, the blood connection between the two of you still strong. 

Arthur is struck dumb. He can barely comprehend what has just happened as you coo gently at the wailing babe, sticky and bloody. 

“L-lie us down, and get that linen blanket o’er there.” You whisper as you rub the child’s back, and its cries slowly quiet. He is jolted back to reality, and slowly, gently lies you down in the bed, standing up and grabbing the aforementioned blanket and bringing it back to you.

You’re able to wrap the babe loosely upon your chest and belly. You look up at Arthur, but his gaze is trained on the rough swaddled babe. The tufts of dark honeyed hair peaking out from the linen. Those blotchy red cheeks.

“Your son, my alpha.” You whisper.

Arthur gapes up at you, seemingly unable to comprehend your words, until something clicks and he immediately leans over and places his lips upon yours in a desperate, emotional kiss.

“Oh, sweetheart - you - you-”

You chuckle softly.

“You’re perfect, he’s perfect - my darlin’ omega girl.”

The child latches to your breast and begins to slowly suckle. The warm spice of your scent from giving birth recedes, and a sweetness replaces it. It’s new, this scent, the tang of milk and notes of comforting vanilla. Arthur breathes in deeply, resonating deep in his bones that you are no longer just his mate; you are mother to his child.

The boy’s scent - a combination of yours and his, invades his nostrils. Of sweet vanilla and leather. Of that tang of milk. He wants to nuzzle against the child and breathe in deep. The only scent he wants to be bathed in forevermore.

In those quiet moments after the ordeal of birth, you open the swaddled linen to give him access to cut the cord between you and the child, a quick flick of his hunting knife above the child’s abdomen. He holds you, kissing your temple and murmuring sweet nothings as you clutch at the child, delivering the afterbirth with a soft, stifled whine of pain.

Things start to slow. He’s got a new purpose now. As you drift to sleep, cleaned and in a new chemise, upon fresh sheets, his gaze moves to the basket next to the bed, where in a fresh swaddle of linen, his son also sleeps.

It's murderous, the things he would do to protect the two of you. This nest, the newborn child, and you recovering from birth. His blood sings- not in the need to fuck, but in the solemn duty he now has - as alpha, as husband, as father. It's fierce, the protectiveness he now feels. Like a snarling wolf defending territory. Alpha, protector. Head of the family.

He sits down in the chair opposite the bed, carbine in reach, beginning his watch.  The watch that would consume him for the rest of his life. 

But he’s content with this new calling. 

[temis-de-leon]

Demon Brothers as Single Fathers

What if the brothers already had a kid when MC first appeared in the Devildom?

Characters: demon brothers, gn! kid and gn! MC

Part 2

Masterlist

CW: lesson 16, death during childbirth mentioned, but there's nothing explicit. Some brothers are better fathers than others, but they all love their kid with a passion. Romantic interest towards MC at the end

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Lucifer

There´s no way he’s having a kid with a random woman. I already posted a headcanon regarding demonic pregnancies, stating them as difficult, so my guess here is that he had a long-term relationship and his partner died during childbirth.

Of course, he’d cope with her death just like he coped with Lilith’s: hiding his feelings. He had his sister’s room hidden in the House of Lamentation without any of his brothers knowing, so it makes sense that he’d hide everything regarding his former partner from everyone, including his child.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he loves that kid, but he is who he is. A strict parent that wants his family to be perfect, obedient and loyal to Lord Diavolo. His child might get an obvious special treatment, but they still have to reach their father’s standards.

All of that, mixed with the load of paperwork he has to take care of on the daily, makes bonding time very limited.

When MC arrives, he makes sure they know not to bother the kid, his threats visible to anyone with eyes.

We know MC, however. They meddle and they become friends with most of the brothers very easily, so it’s understandable that the kid wants to get close to them too.

Lucifer tries really hard to break that friendship, not trusting MC at all, but the more effort he puts in that task, the more effort his kid puts in disobeying him. And we all know Satan is helping them just to anger Lucifer.

It all reaches an end when MC frees Belphie from the attic.

The kid doesn’t understand the situation, why their new friend is all bruised and bloody on the floor and why their uncle is laughing in such evil way.

Lucifer only gets how much his kid loves the human when he sees their distraught over MC’s death and their tears of relief when MC reappears in perfect conditions.

Time passes and the family is whole again, granting the kid a new feeling of happiness and comfort they’ve never felt before. Lucifer feels obligated to rethink the situation when he sees that.

Then comes the last day of MC’s stay at the Devildom and he knows he’ll regret not showing his desire of deepening their relationship before they leave.

His kid and his brothers are not the only ones that need MC anymore.

Mammon

I kind of imagine him having a child with a one-night stand, to be honest. For the sake of this fic, the other parent is not in the picture, but Mammon loves kids, so there’s no doubt he’d keep his own.

And oh, how much he spoils them. He saves money just for them. Does he go right back into bankruptcy after that? Yes, but the intention is there, you know.

I also think the brothers would use the child to blackmail him, like “you’re such a scumbag, Mammon, you’re going to disappoint the kid”. A dick move, but they are assholes to Mammon most of the time.

And then comes MC, rocking Mammon’s world and, by extent, the child’s.

No matter how old the kid is, they can sense their father’s love towards the human. It’s almost painful to see and it brings so much second hand embarrassment, but Mammon’s happiness makes everything worth it.

Especially when MC starts to defend Mammon from his brothers’ insults.

The kid promotes themselves from child to matchmaker. 

They spoil their uncles' plans with MC so they can spend time with their father, boasting Mammon’s confidence and telling MC how good he is and how good of a couple they’d make.

At first MC thinks it’s pure childhood innocence, not suspecting the kid is acting on ulterior motives, but Mammon knows what his kid is doing.

He tries to defend his status as too good to be interested in a mere human, let alone date them. Of course, the child sees right through his bullshit.

No one stands a chance against his little hellspawn, not even him.

Suffice to say, MC and Mammon establish their relationship long before the year ends.

Leviathan

I love Levi, I truly do, but c’mon guys. I doubt he has any friends outside the online world, let alone a partner; we can all agree he’s a virgin. So, for him to have a child, I think he would’ve had to be either really lucky or unlucky (depending on how you see it), meaning that his brothers took him out of his comfort zone so he could lose his virginity and he left that one girl pregnant.

I think the mother wouldn’t have wanted to be in a relationship with him, leaving him more reclusive than ever. He needed his brothers’ help to lose his virginity and now not even the mother of his child wanted to stay with him? Yeah, he’s not leaving his room ever again.

It’s difficult for him to bond with the kid at the beginning due to the lack of knowledge on how to take care of a child and the kid being born out of a loveless meaningless one-night stand.

He watches and buys anything family-related, finally understanding that the way he became a father doesn’t have to influence their relationship, so he steps up really quick.

Don’t worry, the brothers offer their help the whole time.

They spend most of the time in his room, bonding over anime, manga, videogames and cosplay, especially about TSL. He also forces himself to get out of his room more often for the sake of his kid, even if it’s minimal.

He still distrusts MC when they arrive, not paying them any attention, but he has to reconsider a little bit when he sees the kid so interested in them.

The whole TSL quiz happens and he’s surprised to see not only Mammon and Beel helped MC, but his child too. He feels betrayed and irrationally mad at all of them for an hour or less, just until the kid insists on MC’s genuine interest on TSL and convinces him to give them a chance.

After that, their friendship develops quicker than anyone could've ever anticipated, as well as Levi’s crush on MC.

Another kid that evolves into a matchmaker, although their methods are more dramatic due to being based on anime and manga.

The rest of the brothers have a lot of fun witnessing the whole thing.

Satan

My man has contacts, he knows people all around the kingdom, he fucks. I’m not sure if the child came out of a long-term relationship or a one-night stand, but his contacts definitely have something to do with it.

His whole mission is to treat his child better than Lucifer ever treated him.

No baby voice at all, what nonsense is that? When he reads to them at night he uses different voices according to each character, same as when they play.

The type of parent that wants to respect his kid so much he kind of treats them like an adult. Full conversations and everything. More like monologues, actually, but Satan is patient enough to wait for his kid’s answer, even if it’s a babble.

Cats everywhere. Toys, clothes, bedsheets… You know the drill.

Overall, Satan puts his whole heart into his child’s development.

And when MC arrives, he’s only curious about them because Lucifer is on edge. He’d prefer if his child was left to their own devices, living their life in peace with no human bothering them for no reason.

Then he swaps bodies with Lucifer.

Boy oh boy.

The moment he sees his child running to his brother instead of him, he’s spitting fire. MC intervenes just when the kid starts to get scared, something he’s extremely grateful for.

After the pact is made, both him and the kid see MC in a completely different light, but he doesn’t think about taking them out on a date until his child trips and falls while playing in the garden.

MC tends to them, dries their tears and cleans their bloody knees before using some cute bandaids on them. Cat-themed bandaids.

How could he say no to that?

Asmodeus

One-night stand one-night stand one-night stand one-night stand.

One-night stand? YES.

I’m surprise he doesn’t have a legion of children, Hercules style, but oh well, what do I know.

I like to think the mother tried to stay, but Asmo is a certified narcissist who loves spending time with himself and who’d also love the idea of having a mini him running around, ready to try new clothes on every opportunity and match him.

It’d be difficult to stay in a family like that, with a partner that monopolizes the child’s time so selfishly. It’s bad, but I could understand if the mother chose to leave. I don’t even know if Asmo would care, given that it was a one-night stand with no feelings involved, and he’d probably believe himself to be enough.

Asmo is as dirty minded as ever and he still has various relationships, but he tries to tone down really hard, at least in front of his kid.

They’re partners in crime above all, their chemistry is insane. ‘Don’t talk to me or my son ever again’ type of relationship.

Although the kid doesn’t have Asmo’s charming powers, they’re cunning. Doe eyed with a shiny glare and a brilliant smile, who could say no to them? Sometimes they even fool their own father.

Both of them are pretty superficial, but kind-hearted at the bottom of their hearts. It just takes some time and effort to see that.

The kid treats MC the same way Asmo does, although they have no ill intent, they just want to be like their father. So when Asmo starts to show some interest in MC, pursuing a friendship, so does his child.

Partners in crime, remember? It doesn’t take long for the child to act coy and cute, turning MC’s interest to Asmo. Again, no charm nor manipulation, but a little help from an innocent hand never hurts anyone, does it?

Beelzebub

I don’t have a single idea where the child came from, but if there’s something I’m sure of it’s that they’re each other’s best friend.

Beel takes them everywhere, in his arms, strapped to his chest or sitting on his shoulders, he doesn’t care, but they’re together all the time.

Scared to his very core of losing them, but tries not to be overbearing, trusting his brothers to take care of them when he can’t, mostly Lucifer and Belphie.

They're the most important reason to control himself, Beel feels guilty when he lets loose and scares his child. Seeing your father eat a column can’t be pleasant, after all.

Another one that ignores MC when they get there, preferring spending time with his child. Now more than ever, since Belphie apparently went to the human realm as an exchange student.

When he breaks MC’s wall and they’re forced to share his room, he’s introduced to the dilemma of whether letting them sleep in Belphie’s bed while he shares his own with his kid or letting them sleep in his bed, with his kid in Belphie’s and him on the floor.

He’s very reluctant to let anyone but his twin sleep in the other bed. His nightmares lessen when he shares his space with the child as well, so Beel’s very conflicted.

MC offers to be the one sleeping on the floor, something he immediately refuses, so he finally agrees to let them both sleep in his bed while he’s on the floor.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

It isn’t until MC defends him from his own brother that he starts to think of them as a true friend. He trusts them with his kid and he even feels okay leaving them alone while he’s out doing his own things.

Days after MC goes back to sleeping in their room, his child confides in him how much they miss having the human with them and Beel can’t help but agree.

He asks for his child’s permission before taking MC out on a date.

Belphegor

Had the child with a situationship, but the mother thought he would be too absent to be a good father. She tried to leave with the kid, but Belphie insisted on keeping them. Being one of the Avatars of the Devildom, he had the upper hand.

As much as he tries to be present, he can’t help but fall asleep most of the day, so Beel takes the role of second father. Still, Belphie wants to be in the same room as his kid all the time, even when unconscious.

He’s able to enter other people’s dreams, so his favourite way of bonding is at night, interrupting his child’s nightmares and transforming them into beautiful dreams where they can do whatever they want to do.

He even made versions of Lilith and Beel for them to be together during those dreams.

Kind of entitled, to be honest.

Belphie is a brat and so is his kid, but the child at least has the benefit of the doubt.

When Lucifer imprisons him he’s ready to destroy the house. The only way he can talk to his kid now is through dreams and even then he isn’t sure what to tell them. In the end he decides to let the kid be, but he’s always on edge, trapped, not knowing what’s happening until everyone goes to bed.

MC’s presence feels like a gift. A pathetic gift, but a gift nonetheless.

He asks about his kid and he seethes when MC tells him they’re becoming friends, how much they like spending time with the child.

He focuses so much on revenge that he doesn’t even realize what the kid could think of him if he carried along with his plans; how they could feel when all of it is done.

Killing MC is satisfying and leaves him wanting so much more.

That look from his child, his own blood, takes it all away.

Why are they crying? Why are they hiding away from him? Trying to reach MC’s corpse despite Lucifer’s words or Beel’s grabbing hands, screaming in terror when uncle Mammon doesn’t answer their questions.

Then MC reappears, looking as perfect as ever, and Belphie is overwhelmed with relief, convinced that maybe his kid will stop looking at him that way.

But that doesn’t happen.

He sleeps with Beel that night, feeling lonelier than ever, hands aching and reaching for a smaller body that isn't there. He can’t find them in their dreams when he falls asleep and when morning arrives and he goes to the bathroom, he makes sure there’s no blood under his fingernails.

It takes days before his kid can even look at him without that angry pout on their face. They tell him they’ve been sleeping with MC, listening to their advice so they can mend their relationship with him.

Ever since then, Belphie can’t help but blush whenever MC is in the room.

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Tagging: @deepestartisanhumanoidshark

[sleepw-me]

DAD!SUKUNA HEADCANON𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚── .✦

Jujutsu Kaisen SFW

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, previously he was in prison probably for some robberies and illegal business, when he finally got out he was completely alone. He spent his days in cheap places with food, wandered around the city scaring people with his big build and tattoos all over his body and making little children who looked at him start crying. He only worked in odd jobs because nowhere would take him for his past, so he never had much money and sometimes it led to him not paying the rent promising that he would pay next month.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who finally met a girl who could truly love him no matter what his past was. They wanted to build a good future and create a family, they decided to have a child. Sukuna's beloved died in childbirth, leaving him alone with the newborn child.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, was so distraught by the whole situation, he felt alone in this world again. At first he wanted to give the child away because he knew he wouldn't be able to cope on his own, especially since he was poor and didn't have the perfect conditions to support a small child.

dad!sukuna⭑.ᐟ, he was confused and didn't know what to do anymore because everything he had built was ruined, but when he looked into your big round eyes smiling at him radiantly as if you had taken away all the evil and sadness from his soul, it made his heart melt and he wanted to kill himself at the thought of giving up his one and only child.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who promised himself that he would never leave you and will finish what he planned with his beloved. The home that his child deserves.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who at first left you to his neighbor, an older woman who had a kind heart who agreed to look after you while he went to work. After you were born, he became a bit more responsible. He looked for work wherever he could, sometimes even working double shifts to feed his little family and to pay for toys and diapers for you.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who read guides for single fathers on the internet to take better care of you. He went to stores and bought products needed for the child, holding two similar products in his hands and wondering which to buy.

dad!sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who played dolls with you on the living room carpet, raising his voice to sound "girly" because you told him to while playing princesses.

dad!sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who was never rich and sometimes didn't have enough money for food or electricity, always tried to pamper you regardless of the money, he would take you to the park and playground, sitting on a bench and watching you shout at him to look in your direction and see you going down the slide.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who when you had a nightmare or couldn't sleep, would take you to his place and you would quickly fall asleep on his chest, which became a bit of a routine and you started to get under his blanket every night and fall asleep next to your dad who would surround you with his strong arms in which you felt safe.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who simply stood leaning against the railing on the small balcony and almost cried when he realized that you were growing up too fast because a moment ago you were a small toothless child who drooled on his shoulder when you fell asleep while he held you, rocking from side to side to lull you to sleep, and now you're finally going to school and meeting new friends.

dad!sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who yelled at you for skipping class for the first time, telling you that he used to do the same and that you shouldn't repeat his mistakes and study hard as much as you can, you don't have to be the best but don't cause trouble.

dad!sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who when he finishes work early, just waits for you to come back from school so he can listen to his little creature chirp about his day at school while he makes dinner.

dad!Sukuna⭑.ᐟ, who always kisses your head at night when you fall asleep, you don't even know how proud he is of you and himself that he managed to raise you the best he could even though sometimes it wasn't easy. He smiles at the grave of his beloved telling her that he managed to finish what they planned together and he hopes that she is proud of him too.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I'm bad at being on hiatus apparently. Here's some shamelessly self indulgent Sanji fluff.

A Father's Joy

Sanji x Fem Reader

2.5k words

Warnings for brief, nondescript mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

You love Sanji. Perhaps too much. Despite only knowing him for a little over a month by the time you had to part ways to become stronger, you fell for him hard and fast. It was a whirlwind romance, but it just felt right. Everything about him was endearing to you, so the relationship progressed faster than it normally would. You were a pirate now. Why should you abide by normal dating conventions? If it felt right and both of you were happy about it, then why not indulge? 

Less than a month into your training, you realized that you perhaps over indulged. You were pregnant. There was only one man that could be the father, and he was on an entirely different island. And you won’t see him again for almost two years.

Having to deal with a surprise pregnancy was difficult at the best of times. Coping with it while training to become stronger and trying to figure out what to do about Sanji was a nightmare. You wanted to tell him. He had every right to know… but should he?

Would it really be fair to make him aware of a baby that he won’t even be able to see, much less hold? It felt horrible to keep him in the dark, but the idea of telling him now in a letter felt even worse. He wasn’t going to be able to be with the child either way… so you chose to let him live in blissful ignorance until the reunion. You could only hope he would understand your reasoning and not feel too betrayed.

The only thing you were concerned about was how he would take learning that he missed out on over a year of his baby’s life. You knew without a doubt that he would love his daughter and that he wasn’t the type to question paternity. Not that he could even if he wanted to. Abigail was the spitting image of her father, right down to the slightly curled eyebrows. They weren’t quite as pronounced as his, but the slight curl was unmistakable.

As scary as it was to find out you were having her, you loved Abigail more than anything. She might have hindered your training, but you more than made up for it after you recovered from her birth. The second you were able to look upon her, you knew you would fight anyone and everyone to keep her safe and happy, and that definitely came out in your training.

Abigail was sixteen months old, and you’ve spent those months obsessively taking pictures of her every waking (and sometimes sleeping) moment. You’d also been showing her a picture of you and Sanji together and teaching her to say ‘dada’ every time she saw his face. You’re pretty sure Sanji will die of a broken heart if he doesn’t get called that upon their first meeting. Hopefully he doesn’t look too different after these two years.

By the time the two years had ended and it was time to reunite, you were feeling much more confident in your strengths and capability as a fellow Straw Hat. Though you couldn’t help but feel nervous about how Sanji will take the news. He was going to be devastated to have missed so much of the beginning of his daughter’s life, that much was inevitable. More than ever, you were questioning your decision to keep her a secret.

Running into Nami on the way back helped alleviate your worries. She had actually agreed with what you did, saying that he would have spent the past two years sulking if he did know. She’d also been all over Abigail, cooing over how cute she was and immediately asserting herself as her godmother. You had no objection to her self-appointed status, and you know Sanji certainly won’t have a problem with it. Knowing him, he’ll forgo the godfather position and instead have Robin be a second godmother.

Seeing the Thousand Sunny again was extremely heartwarming, especially when you saw your crewmates. It was a joyful reunion, and everyone else had had equally positive reactions to Abigail. Franky immediately got to work on building a crib and other baby furniture for her and even made some comments about fitting in a nursery on the ship for her. Usopp was thrilled to have a new captive audience for his storytelling, especially since she was too young to question (or even understand) the validity of anything he was saying. Chopper and Brook were awed and excited at her presence, with Chopper swearing up and down that he was going to be the best doctor ever for her. Brook, on the other hand, played music to help calm her down after she started crying when she saw him. It did work, but Abigail was distinctly still wary of the giant talking skeleton. Robin was her usual, subdued self, but she was clearly happy to see her, commenting on how happy Sanji is going to be when he gets here.

If only that would happen already. Of course, he was one of the people that wasn’t there yet. Luffy and Zoro weren’t there either. Part of you was happy to have more time before the reveal, but the other side of you wanted to finally get this weight off your chest.

You guys had finally gotten word of where the missing three were, and Chopper had been sent out to fetch them. Abigail was currently napping in your shared room in the crib that Franky had built in record time. Everyone had agreed to make sure that you and Sanji would have ample alone time for you to introduce him to his daughter. The moment of truth was close, and your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest.

Finally, you saw them approaching. Luffy called out to everyone, and for a moment, all of your fears were forgotten. All you could think about was how amazing it was for all of you to be together again.

Then you saw him. Sanji was seated next to Luffy on the bird Chopper had used to pick them up. The second you made eye contact with him, he stared at you in awe. A wide grin broke out across his face, and the next thing you knew, he was leaping off the bird.

Before you could yell at him that he was nowhere near the boat yet, he surprised you by running across the air. Huh. That was new. You didn’t have much time to dwell on the new ability before Sanji closed the distance and all but tackled you.

The familiar scent of Sanji’s cologne mingled with tobacco flooded your senses, and you had to choke back happy tears as you could finally feel him again. His arms were locked around your middle as he lifted you into the air and spun you around.

“(Y/N)-swan! My love! My everything!” Sanji dropped you down just enough to start aggressively kissing all over your face. More scruff than you were used to scratched at your cheeks, but it was nice.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the loving assault. “So I take it you missed me a little?”

“A little?! Do you have any idea what it was like for me to be away from you for so long? It was awful! I thought I wasn’t going to make it!” Sanji held you tight again, rubbing the side of his head against your own. Your heart panged. If he struggled just with being away from you, maybe it was good that you kept Abigail a secret.

“I’m sure you two have lots of catching up to do. You should go somewhere private.” Nami strolled over to where you two were, smiling widely. You could practically feel the excitement coming off of her. Sanji perked up from her appearance and immediately started fawning over her. This didn’t last long because Nami slapped the back of his head and firmly told him to go with you. You wanted to laugh at her less than subtle method for making sure you got some alone time, but your nerves about what was just about to happen kept that at bay.

Hooking Sanji’s arm with yours, you guide him to the sleeping quarters you share with Nami and Robin. Sanji was entirely unbothered from Nami slapping his head and was back to cuddling up to you while you walked.

“You look even more stunning than I remembered, my love,” his voice purred in your ear. Despite everything, you felt your face getting hot. You shook your head. Now was not the time for any of that! That damn voice of his was what got you into your current predicament, and you couldn’t go falling into it carelessly again. Abigail did not need a sibling this soon.

Once you reach the door, you stop Sanji and turn to face him, “I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I say so.”

Sanji grinned and closed his eyes without hesitation. You open the door and quickly usher him inside before locking the door behind you. You could see Sanji perk up from the sound, no doubt making some wildly incorrect assumptions about what was about to go down. You guide Sanji over to your bed and have him sit down, knowing that it will probably be best if he’s sitting for this reveal.

He’s practically buzzing with giddiness, and you feel a little bad for the emotional whiplash that you’re about to put him through. Gripping his shoulders firmly, you speak again, “I’ll be right back. Keep your eyes closed.”

“Of course, (Y/N)-swan!” 

You step back, watching his face for any indication that he might peek, but you saw none. He had always been pretty obedient, so you suppose you didn’t really need to worry about that. You turn around and walk over to where the crib was placed. Abigail was rubbing at her eyes, appearing to just now be waking up. You had her wearing a sky blue dress with a matching ribbon that was holding together her tuft of blonde hair at the top of her head.

Carefully, you scoop her into your arms, bouncing her slightly. This was it. It was time for her to finally see more than just a picture of her dad.

The distance between her crib and your bed felt much longer on the way back. Your heart pounded with each step. Abigail stared at Sanji curiously as you got closer to him, and you prayed that the new facial hair wasn’t going to be enough to make him unrecognizable to her.

When you’re just a few steps away from him, you stop. Swallowing thickly, you rip the bandaid off. “You can open your eyes now.”

Not even a beat passes before Sanji eagerly opens his eyes with a grin on his face. Then his eyes zero in on Abigail, and it’s gone. He stares at her with wide eyes for what feels like an eternity. You don’t push him, knowing that he needs to take this in at his own pace. You can practically hear the gears in his head turning as he stares intently at his daughter’s face.

Suddenly, Abigail holds out her arms to Sanji while making grabby hands at him, saying precisely what you had hoped she would say. “Dada.”

Just like that, Sanji is snapped out of his daze and lurches forward to take her into his own arms. He stands there, tightly clutching the toddler to his chest. He looks at you with tears starting to drip down his face. He speaks with a choked voice, “Dada?”

The question is more than clear to you. “Yes… that’s your daughter.” You step closer and lightly rub his shoulder. “Her name is Abigail.”

Sanji sniffled loudly and pulled her back just enough to be able to look at her face again. She looked up at him with a confused expression, not understanding why he was crying. She reached up and patted his face with her pudgy hands while repeating the word ‘dada’ over and over again.

This only made him cry more. He switched to holding her with one arm so he could wipe at his face. Sanji cleared his throat and looked at her again, “Hi, Abigail. I’m your dada.” Despite his onslaught of tears, he was smiling widely.

He hugged her close, then looked back at you, “How old is she?”

You were certain that hearing the number would hit him hard, but he needed to know. “A year and four months.” 

The waterworks started anew. “I missed a year and four months of my baby’s life?” 

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, there was nothing you could do. I know it’s not the same as being there, but I took lots of pictures.” You already had two photo albums of Abigail. Sanji didn’t respond, so you continued, “I’m sorry that this is how you’re finding out… I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to see her until the two years were over, so I thought it would hurt less for you not to know. I’m sorry that I kept this from you, and I’ll understand if you’re angry with me for it.”

Getting all of that off your chest was relieving, but also uncomfortable. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye while saying that, instead choosing to stare down at your feet.

Before you could dwell on it for too long, Sanji brings you into a crushing embrace with Abigail squished between you. He only pulled away when Abigail started to squirm and whine. When he stepped back, his eye was staring so deeply into yours that you felt like he could see into your very soul. He spoke in such a soft and loving tone that it made you want to cry. “I could never be angry with you. Especially not for this. I should be the one apologizing. You had to go through all of that alone. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most.” 

Blinking back tears, you speak softly, “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. I’m not holding it against you, so you better not hold it against yourself.” You hug his side so as to not squish Abigail again. You and Sanji share a quiet moment while watching her play with his tie, not a care in the world. Your eyes flit to Sanji’s face, and your heart feels like it’s going to burst from how adoring his expression is. A warm smile spreads across your face, and you rest your head against his shoulder, “She looks a lot like you, doesn’t she?”

“She looks just like my mom.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You can’t recall Sanji ever mentioning his mother before. Or any of his family, really. Based off the soft, nostalgic look on his face, you can only assume that his mother must have been a wonderful person. You want to pry, but now doesn’t feel like a good time. You’ll ask about her later.

For now, you just want to focus on Sanji and catching him up on everything he’s missed.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Can I request a Jake Sully x Human reader fic?. Reader is Jake's ex human wife and Kiri's biological mother (Kiri knows that reader and Jake are her biological parents)

Reader reunites with Jake when she accompanies Norm and Max to Awa'atiu to check on Kiri after she had her seizure. Jake then finds out the truth that reader is Kiri's biological mother and he is Kiri's biological father and that reader kept her pregnancy a secret from him since he left her to be with Neytiri.

Also Kiri is older then Neteyam in this fic and Reader had sex with Na'vi Jake hence them conceiving Kiri.

Secret Is Out

Paring: Jake Sully x Fem!Human/Avatar!Reader

Warnings: none, fluff, some angst, mentions of childbirth

Word Count: 1.7k

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to scroll and don’t interact with my page or any of my posts!

You remember the first day you held your daughter in your arms, you remember the way she cried for the first time. She was your world. Kiri was single handedly the best thing that you have every done with your life and you were so blessed to have had her. Unfortunately, the story is a bit more complicated than a loving mother and daughter relationship.  

You and Jake have been together since you were back on earth. The untimely death of his brother allowed him to travel with you to the new world, Pandora. As difficult as it was for him, you loved your husband and he really kept an open mind about living out his brother’s dreams. The first day jake got his avatar, was the most excited you’ve seen him since the army, he is strong, tall. He could walk again. You both jumped in circles celebrating this achievement.  

When Jake was taken in by the Omatikaya and started training under Neytiri he started pulling away from you. You remember the night you broke off your marriage. They night he took you to bed in the beautiful forest giving you the most pleasurable experience he could before dropping the bomb, there was someone else.  

Jake had since fallen in love with the warrior woman and decided you were no longer what was best for him. It was hard coping with the break up, you couldn’t go back to earth now and even if you could, you wouldn’t, because the night Jake laid you on your back for the last time, killing you, he gave you something to live for. Your daughter.  

Your avatar was pregnant, and you never got the opportunity to tell him after that. Not long after jake earned his ikran and flying through the skies with the omatikayan people, landing right in Neytiri’s arms. Then it was war. You kept your avatar tucked away from the world for a long time making sure your baby was growing healthy and she was. You remember the day you had her, the pain you felt when you linked up and went into labor that morning. You had Norm the help you with the delivery, you made him promise not to say anything about it to anyone.  

You didn’t want anyone to know because not even her biological father new. You remember praying on her upbringing to Eywa, bonding with the tree of souls to find answers on how your human self should raise your na’vi daughter and you came up with one solution. Neytiri, she can raise her, they can give your daughter the life she deserves, the life you can’t give to her.  

“She was born from one of the deceased Avatars, she is Na’vi like you and it would not be fair to raise her as anything but. One thing I do know is Jake’s taste in women, I know you are strong and you will raise her right. I do not trust this with anyone else.” and just like that you got your sweet babygirl a home.  

As Kiri adulting into her teenage years, she came to you with problems about understanding Eywa's messages to her, your daughter was truly gifted. At one point she left you no choice but to tell her the truth. She spent the night crying in your small arms and you held her tightly, you explained you could not give her the upbringing she needed on this planet and her father can, even if he doesn’t know. You are aware Jake already treats Kiri the same way he treats his children with Neytiri so you had no problem with it. 

You remember when the children were kidnapped in the forest, how you held her head to your chest while you stood in your avatar body, no one questioned why you were both so close as you’ve been around for all of their childhoods. Jake and you are civil, it is no longer a problem he left you for someone else you had other things to care about.  

You remember when Jake decided for his family to leave the clan. You could not show a crying face in public because what does that have to do with you? You are not a part of the clan and not close to anyone in that family besides Kiri. You had no reason to bawl your eyes out, but in private your emotions were tenfold. You cried and cried until you slept in your tears, your babygirl was gone. Cut off from you, no contact, no pictures, no voice memos and no conversation.  

It was until the day your babygirl got that seizure, you argued with Norm about going and eventually he gave in. When you got there, she was unconscious on the floor the sight made your tear up. Your babygirl, your precious daughter must be in so much pain.  

“How could you let this happen?!” your screamed at Jake, “Did you not bring them here to be safe? Is this what you call safe and secure warrior?” you unleash your anger on the parents. It was not their fault but you couldn’t help but think maybe is you were here; she would have been with you instead of at that spirt tree. Your thoughts were cut off but her crying and you three rush into the room, pervious anger now forgotten replaced with thoughts of your daughter. “Mom..” Kiri cried and Neytiri sprang into action, you forgot she was the mother here for a second. 

You were about to turn your to make room for her siblings when you heard her fussing, “no, no my mommy, I want my mom” you decided hiding was worth her tears and you dropped to her side, “My baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here I’m so sorry” the family watched as you hugged Kiri close to your Avatar body and she clung to you like a baby and cried. It was only after she fell asleep in your embraced that you laid her down and turned to Jake and Neytiri. “We should talk.” and you walked outside. 

They were on your steps as you walked out into the weaved deck in front of their marui. “Yea wanna tell me why my daughter is calling you mom?” Neytiri spoke up. You sighed and rubbed your face with your hands. “I lied to you; she wasn’t the daughter of a deceased avatar, she’s my daughter that I- we conceived together” you gestured to Jake.  

He was even more confused, “What? No way she’s mine y/n we broke up before the war!” 

“Jake it was the night we broke up” 

“No, no fucking way, I saw you around y/n! You weren’t pregnant.” 

“My avatar was pregnant Jake, I had her from here, not my human body, you never saw my avatar until after she was born, the only person who knew was norm. I didn’t want to cause a problem-” 

“Cause a problem, y/n! You never told me she was mine!” 

“Does it matter Jake! You raise her like she is your own anyways now you know the truth!” 

Jake stood looking at you before he dropped to his knees and rubbed his hands over his face, “You let me miss her birth because I left you?” he asked softly.  

“No, no oh God no Jake, I was scared, I didn’t want you to leave your wife for a relationship you were not happy with anymore, and you know you would have!” you kneeled in front of him. Then Neytiri spoke up.  

“I knew you lied, when you first brought her to me as a new born, she smelt just like you, attaching her to me was quiet the challenge, I only took her to live with us because you were right, you were responsible, you had respect for my clan, you knew you could not raise her as human.” her voice was soft; it was not tense like most other times you spoke with her. You would think you and Neytiri wouldn’t get along but she was not a bad person, she recognized you weren’t either.  

“We have to tell Kiri” Jake says. 

“She knows Jake, she’s known since she was 15, sign from Eywa brought her to me and i spilled the truth. It would appear you’re the only one who didn’t know.” you sighed and rested your hand on his shoulder.  

A few weeks later Kiri was healed and good to go, Jake asked the clan leaders of the Metkayina clan to allow you to stay and they agreed. “Can I ask you something?” Jake came and sat next to you on the deck, dangling your legs off into the water. “How was it, the pregnancy the birth how was it?”  

You smiled at the memory, “I was a bit hard to manage in the last few months when I stared to show, it was difficult being pregnant sometimes, and the birth, it was hard, it was painful. No one way around except Norm and he helped me through it. I have a video of the birth, I thought maybe one day you could watch it, she is your first daughter.” Jake wrapped his arm around you and pulled you to lay your head on his shoulder, you forgot how comfortable he was. “I’m sorry about how I left you, it couldn’t have been easy, I guess I got caught up in the moment with Neytiri, I never stopped loving you y/n, you were my first love and you always will be, I actually thought about what it would have been like if I had stayed with you on many occasions. But I grew to love my wife too and we have all these kids now...”  

He sounded like he had more to say but you didn’t push. “I love you too Jake, but our time passed now and we should just co-exist, for our daughter. It is just easier, but I do miss you, not a day goes by I think about what it was like when I had my husband, but you are happy and I loved you enough to see that” 

You both smiled at each other and sat in silence, at one point Kiri can and joined you both squeezing herself in the middle. You all made jokes and laughed into the night, you and Jake made longing eye contact a couple times. You clearly aren’t gonna stay like this but that’s a problem for another day, at least you can both agree your children are more important.  

🪸I hope everyone enjoyed reading! I thought this was such a unique idea and I hope you guys liked it!

🪸Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated

Taglist:

@rivatar @strongheartneteyam @xylianasblog @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @teymars @m1tsu-ki @pandoraslxna @kylimarz @quicktosimp @xrollingmyeyesx @its-jennarose @r11k4 @inlovewithpandora @neteyamsoare

[zirconika]

hii! i NEED daryl angst like where his partner gets bitten or something? or maybe she passes in child birth? It's up to you, just something on how he would react and cope ig? i love your writing! btw :)) 💗

happy ending

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 3k SUMMARY: Several times you thought you would die, and yet nothing could have prepared you for saying goodbye just when you finally have your little family with Daryl and your little ray of sunshine. WARNINGS: think about angst then double it and give it to yourself. major character death. talks of pregnancy and childbirth. SETTING: commonwealth A/N: definitely my most gut-wrenching fic so far. i love u nonnie thank u for ur kind words!!! reblogs are appreciated <3

Many times, death has attempted to recruit you into its care, beckoning you to stay. And in every single attempt, you managed to resist: the flu in prison, the uninfected arrow Dwight sent flying that hit your shoulder, and just a month ago when you brought your little girl into the world.

At the center of it all was Daryl Dixon. In every instance you thought it was your time to pass, Daryl was there. You’ve said goodbye more times than you can count, and you thought you were ready.

“Daryl?” you’d called out to him when you wavered in between life and death, your shoulder sore from the arrow hit. He’d held your hand the entire night, his eyes a little more wrinkled, a little more glassy. “I should’ve kissed you back then.”

It was always like that whenever you thought you were at the end of your life. Your time with Daryl was built on close goodbyes. You always managed to bounce back, always ended up surviving. 

“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore,” you had muttered to Daryl, your eyelids begging to shelter your eyes into oblivion.

“Nah,” Daryl shook his head, forbidding you to die on him as Tomi instructed you to breathe in between your pushes. He held your hand with a tighter grip, with a plea somewhere in his grasp. “Please, [Y/N]. I know ‘ya can do this.”

You could remember how gentle his kiss had been on your forehead.

You could recall the desperation in his voice, his eyes, and his touch as he begged you to have the little family you’d been planning to have together.

You thought it was your time to go when you went into labor, and he refused to let you go then. You doubt he’d ever let you. 

This time, though, the moment the bite on your shoulder made its mark on your skin, you knew you were done for. In your mind, you pictured an hourglass with its sand draining minute by minute… 

Any other day, you would have been prepared to surrender to the horde of walkers closing in on you. There was no use wiping off the bite on your shoulder, but you could use at least one more day with Daryl and the little asskicker you’d brought into the world together.

With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you powered through. The next thing you knew, you were holding Rosita’s hand on your way up, your mind only focused on seeing your Daryl and your baby girl one last time.

You were grateful you had entrusted her under Carol’s care. You would never have been able to forgive yourself had you lost her while holding her…

Glad that nobody noticed, you ransacked a closet for a thick jacket, simply stating you wanted to take extra safety measures, internally scolding yourself that you should have done so earlier. You had watched Rosita caressing Coco’s head, pressing a kiss against her baby girl’s forehead.

Your heart broke at the sight. You’d never see your daughter grow up, nor will you get to grow old with her daunting father. 

When you were reunited with Daryl, you found yourself clinging to him a little tighter than you should have, breathing in the scent of him as if you would be able to bring at least that piece of him with you to your grave.

He held you just as tight, and you let him.

“Our baby—?”

“She’s fine,” he whispered to your ear. “Ya have no idea how relieved I am that ya made it. I’ve never been so damn terrified.”

Your heart sank.

How would you ever be able to tell him? 

This was final. It wasn’t something you could just heal from or have chopped off or survive. It was real this time, and there was no escaping it.

You were just having a hard time accepting it and finding the right words to break it to him, if there were even any.

The following day after the grand win, you felt the celebration all over the town. You took it all in: the food laid out on the table that would have looked more appetizing to you had you not gotten yourself into this situation; your friends laughing together, both the ones you’ve known right from the start and the ones you’ve only recently met; and most of all, your little family.

You watched as Daryl came from the room, having just finished his turn on changing your baby’s diaper. You couldn’t help but giggle at the way he looked so natural carrying her.

You hated that the world was robbing you of seeing more variations of the scene. You thought back to the prison when Daryl first carried baby Judith. Though the two of you hadn’t given into your feelings for each other then, some part of you knew he’d be a good father.

And here he was now, entertaining your little ray of sunshine. He looked from her to you, telling her,  “Say hi to yer mama, pretty girl!”

You watched as she cooed, her eyes seemingly taking in the world around her. She probably couldn’t process anything yet, much less perceive anything, but you set that common knowledge aside.

You smiled at your baby, taking her from Daryl’s grasp and pressing her against your chest. “Hi, sunshine.”

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, and you watched as his face shifted from contentment to contemplation. He leaned forward, pressing the back of his hand to your neck.

“Are ya alright? I can take her off your hands if yer tired. Ya don’t gotta force it if—”

“I’m okay,” you told the archer, but your pale lips and sunken eyes said so otherwise. But you were running out of time. You considered the right way to handle it. “Actually, I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, sunshine, anythin’.” 

It was sinking in. It was becoming realer and realer every time you got closer to confessing about it. “No, I—I wanna talk to you outside. Alone.”

Before Daryl could even peep a question, you called out to Rosita, the nearest companion within the vicinity you could entrust with your daughter. She picked her up with no question, happy to be able to help. 

Confused, Daryl followed you out the door. 

“Ya ain’t breakin’ up with me, aren’t ‘ya? ‘Cause that’d be stinking shitty of ‘ya,” he joked, but you could tell he was nervous. You laughed nonetheless, longing for this normalcy for longer than you had.

“No, idiot, I wish.”

Daryl laughed, too. And he pulled you into an embrace. You took the opportunity to breathe him in again as deep and as much as you could. He reeked of Daryl.

And as you remained in this embrace of his, you couldn’t help but let your defenses shatter and let your eyes let go of the heavy dam of tears it had been fighting to contain for the past several hours.

He pulled you away from his chest. “Hey, hey. S’wrong?”

Just rip off the band-aid. Just rip off the band-aid.

So you do. Reeling yourself for what was to come next, you uttered the words you’d been denying to say in fear that saying it would make it real, even though it already was: “I got bit.”

The words were rolling boulders in his hike. He didn’t know what to make of himself, of the world. Everything and nothing seemed to run through his troubled mind as he looked at you with something you couldn’t describe.

“Daryl,” you manage to say, your sorrow getting a hold of your voice. “Please say something.”

He looked away in desperate search for a solution as if he’d find it in a tree from a distance. Daryl looked back at you. “How long? We still might have time to cut it off.”

“Daryl…”

Three seconds.

You looked at each other in those three long seconds that felt like eternity, but it would never be enough. Nothing could make up for the goodbye you had yet to say to each other. No amount of previous farewells could conclude this one with justice. 

You pulled down the back of your sweater to reveal the bite mark just below your neck, right where he loved to kiss you.

“S’not that deep,” he said hopelessly. “S’probably not even enough to— to—”

“Daryl…” You watched as he had to step back, his world spinning as he thought of ways to save this, to save you. He ran his hand through his hair and down his face, then rubbing his eyes as if it would push back the tears he wanted to contain. It couldn’t.

“Nah, nah,” he said over and over, pacing in the same spot of grass he stood on, racking his mind on potential solutions. There weren’t any, both of you knew that. “Ya ain’t gonna— Yer not gonna go. It ain’t time. You—! Fucking—!”

Daryl held you again, and you let him as you felt his chest rise and fall unsteadily from the lurching grief from inside him. You felt him cover his mouth while he embraced you in his poor attempt at concealing his sobs.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you cried against his chest. It reminded you of all the times he held your hand in every single instance you thought it was your time to go. “I love you more than anything, I love you, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I love ya too, please don’t leave us.” Daryl felt selfish asking you such an impossible favor, but he felt he had to try. It wasn’t meant to be a request for you to fulfill, but rather a plea to anyone who was listening who could, by chance and by miracle, possibly give you more time together. 

Maybe there was someone listening, hence your time kept being delayed. Now it ends here.

That day, it wasn’t just Daryl you bid farewell to. You said goodbye to all your friends one by one, embracing each and every one of them as tight as you could.

You were finally ready, you think.

As Daryl lay you in bed, giving you your little girl to cuddle for your last moments, he knew he’d never recover. He sat opposite you, watching as you rocked your sleeping daughter.

He looked away, the lump in his throat threatening to be responsible for another downpour of his cries. 

“Hey,” you said, sorrow just as present in your eyes as you reached out to put one hand on top of his. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Although you were assuring Daryl, you were also trying to assure yourself.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he said. “I’m—Shit. What makes ya think I can go on a day without you? I shoulda been there with ya, keepin’ ya safe and sound. M’sorry.”

Daryl laced his fingers with yours, pressing an apologetic kiss against the back of your hand. You used it to cup his face, feeling every inch of it. 

“It’s not your fault,” you told him. “Daryl, the past two years and way back have meant so much to me. I love you.”

He shook his head, still unable to accept what was to come. “I should’ve told ya sooner what ya meant to me. Spent too much time dilly dallying, thinkin’ there’d be more time. Maybe then we could’ve—! I never even got to give ya the wedding ya wanted. I was plannin’ for it, y’know? I’d already talked to Gabriel ‘bout stuff, asked Carol the best… I should’ve—”

“Daryl,” you cut him off. “I regret nothing. I love our story. And you’ll tell it to the little ass kicker here once she’s old enough, you understand?”

Your heart broke at the sight of your heart broken dearest. 

“Daryl, I need you to promise me.” You brought his hand to your cheek, pleading with him. “Tell our story. No covers, no fixes, nothing. I want you to tell it to her bare.”

He nodded. 

“A part of me wishes that it had been my time all those years ago, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much now.” Looking down at your baby, you couldn’t help but sigh. This was the last time. She wouldn’t even be able to remember you. “But then we wouldn’t be having this little family now and I just end up thanking every force of nature that I was lucky enough to have this even though it’s at my end.” You look up to you to see Daryl, his eyes glassy and forlorn. “I love you. I wish I told you sooner, too. I hope you felt it even before I could say it.”

“I did,” he raised your hand to his lips again and he kissed it with so much more love than you could possibly even imagine. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, don’t wanna spend the rest of my life mournin’ ya than being with ya.”

He say closer to your right, and you felt his warmth emanating from his presence. He hung his arm over your shoulder, caressing it and paying no mind to the bite that your shirt covered. Daryl looked down on you and your baby.

“She looks like ya,” he commented. “M’grateful she does. She’s gonna see her face and know how beautiful her mama is.”

You noticed he didn’t say was. Your heart ached.

“I left you two something,” you told him. “While you were asleep last night I… It’s in our closet. There’s the rolls of films from the disposable camera I planned on having developed but never did.” You laughed, remembering something. “We have pictures there together that you could maybe show to her.”

Daryl kept pressing little kisses on your hair, breathing you in every single time. “I love you,” he said as he kissed the same spot over and over.

“I don’t wanna go,” you confessed. You had no intention of breaking down in front of your husband for his sake. You didn’t want him to feel helpless, but… It was all so real, so final already that it scared you. “I thought I was ready, I’ve said goodbye to you more times than I can count and—Daryl, I want to watch her grow up with you. It’s so unfair I—I thought we'd eventually get a happy ending!”

He held you as you whimpered. Daryl was just as terrified, but he could tell you needed him to be strong. He held you again, his eyes looking down at your baby.  “S’alright, S’gonna be fine. I’m here. We’re here.”

Daryl wanted to cry, to break down. He didn’t want to do it in front of you. He could wait. 

“I don’t wanna say goodbye, either,” he said, moving away so you could see each other better. 

“So let’s not.” You looked at Daryl and your baby, thinking of all the times you’ve said goodbye to your husband way before. “We’ll say ‘Till next time.’”

The two of you shared your last laugh together, but you needed it untainted. You refused to cry now. You wanted your last memories to be happy.

“Daryl,” you started, “I can do it, okay? You don’t have to—”

“Shh, s’okay. M’here for ya. I ain’t gonna leave you on your last minute.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at him before looking back down to your still asleep baby girl. “Till next time, baby. I hope I have to wait long before I see you again.”

You press a kiss on her little forehead, willing her to live a long life for you. Feeling your eyes sinking into a deep sleep, you nodded to Daryl, who then took your baby off your hands. 

You watched as he carried her out of the door, handing her over to Carol who gave you a warm smile from the doorway. You smiled at her as well before she left to cradle your baby.

Daryl grabbed the knife from the bedside table and sat next to you. His heart broke at the sight of you. You were pale, drained, and dying.

“Can I lean on you and pretend I’m just sleeping?” you asked him. Daryl nodded m and found the right position for himself. He let you lean on his chest, his arm wrapping from under your neck. “Till next time, Daryl Dixon.”

“Till next time,” he nodded. He let you lean on his chest for so long. You let your eyelids close, its weight too heavy to keep open, letting yourself sink into the comfort of your husband. 

Daryl didn’t want to do it, but he knew he had to. He tried to keep his breaths stable so as to not wake you.

With one last kiss against your head, he plunged the sharp end of the knife against the side of your head. He kept his lips right there on your head, and he let go of the knife to fully embrace you. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but someone eventually had to come in and tell him it was time.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Daryl Dixon mastered the skill of cradling his daughter to sleep. And when he did, he forced himself to face the monster in the closet he’d been avoiding facing.

Upon opening the closet, he found a child’s caboodle. He hurriedly opened it, desperate for a trace of you, and you were right.

You appreciated Carl’s last words to everyone, and you realized you wanted to do the same. Daryl ran his finger through the envelopes tucked inside. He knew there was a letter for him and your baby in there somewhere, but he didn’t think it was the time just yet.

He didn’t want to read it just yet for the sake of having something new to hear from you a little ways down the road. 

What Daryl did, though, was hurriedly bring the three disposable cameras to get it developed. 

Soon, he’d be delighted to see you again. The cameras were from back when he was training with Mercer. You and Judith took the free time as means to spend it together and make memories. 

Soon, Daryl would find pictures of you and the kids. He’d also find photos of you and your baby. What would really make him a little less heartbroken, though, was a picture of the three of you.

But right now, he was just grateful to feel the surface of the caboodle, knowing your hands had once carressed it as he whispered to the box, “Till next time, sunshine.”

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my general taglist :)

TAGLIST: @vaniniweenie @avabh12 @stinkygirl009 @whatchareadingnow @remuslittlesister @romanoffmaximoff0096 @daryldixmedown

[lightlycareless]

If Y/N were to die giving birth to their child, do you think Naoya would grow to resent them (it could be their first or last child)

Hello anon!!!

Another Y/N is dead ask hahahahah Is this some kind of subliminal message? I wonder… lol. Anyways, I tried writing this at my work but I couldn’t because I’d end up tearing up a bit so I had to wait for some alone time to actually get it done, and here it is… in it’s angsty glory :)

Warnings: you’re gone after childbirth. Naoya is trying to cope… badly. Naomi is a poor victim here :( first and only child. ANGST.

Happy reading!

At your death, Naoya would resent his child.

Perhaps not outright hate her, but… he’d have recurring thoughts like “we went through all that, for this?” “It was not worth it. Not at all.” And “I should’ve never asked this of my wife.”

He’d then begin to distance himself from Naomi, making your staff and family step in, to essentially take care of her and hopefully, reason with him.

"Y/N wouldn't like this" your father quietly comments. “She was so excited for you to welcome her.”

"I don't think she wanted it to kill her, either."

"Naomi—Naomi didn't kill Y/N, Naoya!" He gasps. “It’s cruel to think that way!”

"What difference does it make? My wife is still dead at the end of the day."

"... Regardless of what happened, she would still want you to love her." Is the last thing your father says before retreating, your husband was difficult to talk to when getting like that. "A part of her lives within her, never forget that."

Naoya scoffs at his words before leaving as well, having enough of these supposedly moving, heartfelt words of his in-law, to seclude in the same place he’s spent most of his days as of lately. The last spot where your essence lingered, one way or the other: his chambers.

Your clothes still filled his closet. Naoya still remembers the day he requested an expansion, because his incessant gifts just didn’t fit anymore. He’d rather toss his clothes out than have you change in a place where he couldn’t see you anymore.

Your makeup, your perfume, they remained in his dresser as well —even if it expires, if it never comes to be used again, he won't discard it. It’s the colors, the scents that suit you so well… you never needed them, but they never failed you either.

They might be insignificant to others, but these pieces represent a part of you, which he’ll hold on tightly so as to never forget the remembrances of his first and only love...

While completely ignoring what could be the biggest assessment to that legacy. The ultimate culmination of all the things you were willing to put aside, sacrifice, do, for Naoya—and the love you held for him.

By the end of the first month and at Naoya’s prolonged absence your family had disappointedly come to the conclusion that he wasn’t fit to take care of her.

And such, considered legally adopting Naomi and bringing her to your old home. Even after all that happened, your father was still willing to negotiate visits, mostly since he was well aware of what she represented: the next generation of Zen’in sorcerers, it was intrusive to completely deny them of a possible heir—or further tense relationships between clans, it was the last thing your daughter needed.

But Naoya didn’t seem too interested in that, at least for now; he’ll change tune when his elders begin to pester him.

Because of it, it was an easy transaction. Just a matter of signing a few papers and Naomi would be out of the estate. The demon that took his wife, gone, for him to never see again.

Yet, as much as Naoya hated the baby, there were still moments where he fell victim to its cries—as if hypnotized, his attention fell on the irritating, screeching sound of its wails demanding to be sated, which he could only receive with disdain: for what else could it possibly want, if it’s already taken all he had?

Naoya goes to the nursery to check on the child, to see the face of the wretched creature that has hurt him more than his own family.

And when looming near the crib, he expects to find a monster, an image so foul he'll have to look away immediately after. There’s no way something so awful could’ve come from the union of his and your love.

But when preparing for the worst, he’s shockingly received by his own face, on small, soft features he knows you would’ve gushed about the moment you saw them…

With hints of yours he’s always loved as well.

At his failed expectations, Naoya stands petrified— with Naomi crying louder and louder by each passing second, almost as if she knew her beloved father was there, hurt by his rejection yet still longing for what was rightfully hers: his comfort. His approval… his love.

Eventually, when no one has answered her cries, your father barges through the room, startled to see Naoya there instead, intently looking at his granddaughter in such a way that has him fretting about the worst scenarios. Read to intervene if needed…

Until he speaks.

"Why is she crying?" Your husband asks, your father notices not a single drop of hatred in his voice. It’s pure curiosity, concern…

And perhaps even understanding—

Because it’s the same reason he’s cried all these nights as well.

"Because she's calling for her mother."

Naoya's lip begins to tremble.

"Naoya, I have to tend to her—"

But he doesn't let him, instead, Naoya decides to further shock your father by carefully leaning over to Naomi, placing his hands around her small body and picking her up.

Only now does Naoya realize it’s the first time he’s held her, noticing how tiny and light she is compared to him.

How… innocent, soft, weak, and so… so beautiful she truly is.

And how awful he’s been to her. Blaming her responsible for all the wrongdoings he’s committed against her, guilty of something that was never her fault—instead of holding her close, protecting her, because he was the only family she had left now.

How—how could he have been so shameless towards her? The only other person that understood what it is to lose you?

Calling her wretched names, rejecting her bloodline, joyful at the thought of her absence…

"I'm sorry" he weeps against her small head, beside the small batch of hair that looks just like his. “I’m so sorry, Naomi—”

How could I have left you when you needed me the most?

“I shouldn’t dare to proclaim my love for Y/N when I have continuously rejected this blessing she’s bestowed upon me.”

The greatest gift he could’ve ever received from you… treated as an insult to her memory.

Was he even deserving of calling himself her husband? Father of her child?

“You were in pain too.” Your father attempts to comfort him, for as wrong as he believed Naoya was, this was a difficult, inappropriate moment to point fingers at.

The death of a soulmate… is never easy to overcome. If ever. More so with a child involved.

“I know very well what it is to lose the woman you love.” He continues. “It never gets easier.”

“Y/N would’ve hated me.” Naoya says. “I should’ve been there for our daughter but instead, I profaned her memory—”

“What’s important is that you’re here now.” He interjects, to hear him berate himself at your death was like seeing a reflection of himself. It simply hit too close to home. “You two have gone through enough pain, it is time to heal. She’ll need you at your best… and you’ll need her too.”

“And for the rest of her life. I’ll make sure she has everything.” Your husband swears, holding her tightly against him. “I’ll never abandon her, not again.”

Naomi’s cries, almost as if she understood what he was saying, suddenly begin to quiet down. Signaling the start of a new life that will undoubtedly be difficult without your presence, your absence a void neither will be able to ever fill, nor want to.

But as difficult as it gets, Naoya will no longer run away. Whatever the challenge, no matter its toughness, he’ll face it head on for Naomi’s sake.

His sole reason to exist, to try, to care: for her happiness. Her well being. Just as you always desired.

”Naomi, for as long as I breathe, as long as we’re together, you—

We’ll never be alone.”

Each other is all that we have.

If Naoya is already protective, he… becomes completely unhinged without you. Naomi grows to be quite spoiled, but has a loving memory of you. Your legacy lives on with her, please don’t make me write her paying her respects to you or something because I’ll cry again I swear. 😭😭

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this other piece of angst. I might need some smut or fluff to get this out of my system lol… or not :) we’ll see what other thing I have prepared for y’all.

Thank you so much for sending in this ask, I really do love exploring family dynamics in all their possible forms hehe.

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!!

[murdocksdaughter]

so i have been visited by the red woman and wrote headcanons with jace and cregan (separately) to cope. so enjoy 🙏 xoxo hope

a/n: mentions of periods

Okay this might sound strange but despite being pretty knowledgeable about women generally. I don't think Jace would have any working understanding of what period is. Because the woman he’s closest to is literally his mother and she was pregnant for the majority of his childhood. So out of all the questions he asked his mother he never had a reason to ask about a women’s cycle. Like he understands a woman has a cycle but not much after that.

But with that being said he is the most empathetic man alive. He does so much its to the point he almost coddles you. At the worst of your cycle his won’t leave your side. He hates seeing you curled up in pain because of your cramps. He’ll find a way to heat blankets for you. Have all the medicinal teas, and whatever you crave on your bedside table. Jace does not care, whatever you want you shall have. And of course the longer you’re together the more he’ll learn and soon he knows you cycle better than you.

Now on the flipside I think Cregan would know. Especially if you are his 2nd (or 3rd wife who knows) he would be familiar with your needs and very attentive. But also you will give you space. He will not overwhelm you. If you want him next to you and stroke your cheek? You got it. You want him to jump off a wall cause hearing him breathe makes you want to scream? Well he won’t do that but he will give you your space.

He also gives you space because he hates to see you in pain. His first wife's passing in childbirth gives him a bit of an aversion. And his northern stoicism tends to make him insolare about what he feels. But after your cycle Cregan tends to be a lot more affectionate. Holding you a little tighter, kissing just a second longer.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 7 ]

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Alright, buckle up loves! This one is a rollercoaster…. I’m pretty sure there’s smut (yay, we have returned to my roots). Also, thanks for all the feedback on the story. It gave me insight into a few things and what tropes to leave out of my next series (which is coming soon).

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT SMUT ] + [ ANGST ] + [ CHILDBIRTH…description?… I mean not really that much… ] + [ MENTIONS OF CANNIBALISM ]

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Within the hour of Alastors shadows leaving, Roise and Angelique came rushing into your home.

Their coats were thrown to the floor at the door, and both women bound up the steps, calling you and Alastors' names in evident concern.

"Al! Y/n?!" Rosie shouted as she rounded the staircase plateau, reaching the room first, and his mother followed swiftly.

"Al! Baby, what happened?' Angelique came right to his side as he lifted his head from looking down at your sweat and blood-covered face.

Rosie gasped, seeing the state you were in, the blood pooling on the sheets, your body's weak tremors worrying both women and Alastor’s disheveled demeanor, only adding to the heart-wrenching scene.

Angelique placed a hand on your forehead, feeling for a temperature, as Alastor croaked out a phrase she had never heard him utter: "Help her ma…please…."

". She's burning up," Angelique muttered in slight shock, sparing her son a solemn glance as she caressed your cheek soothingly.

He clearly was withholding his panic, reverting back to the mild-mannered nervous ticks he had as a boy to cope with stress.

His eyes twitched rapidly, watering a bit as she conversed with Rosie on the best ways to go about helping you and the babies.

"They're gonna be okay, baby. Hey, look at me, stay strong, you hear me? Keep your head on straight. They need you more than ever…" his mother reassured him with an encouraging smile, tilting his chin up as an added gesture.

"Now is not the time to be weak like your father…"

Alastor paled at her words, unconsciously steadying his mentality to avoid breaking down any longer, "I'm nothing like that pompous and demented drunk-"

"Then go clean yourself up. Straighten out that mess in the basement. And let us do what needs to be done to save Y/n and your children…"

Angelique made no effort to put her instructions gently, already rushing about the room to ready herself for the task ahead.

Rosie merely stared at him expectantly, already tending to your wounded head after wiping the visible scum from your face with a warm wet washcloth.

"Go, Al. We will take care of this."

He froze for a moment, hesitant to leave you in such a state, gazing down at your distressed form one last time before deciding to trust them with your fate.

"I'm counting on you both," he mumbled wearily, planting a sorrowful kiss on your head while peeling off the bed's edge.

"Everything going to be alright, sweetheart. I promise.."

You sobbed lowly at his words, too weak to speak and even less apt to stop him from leaving your side.

The last sight you had of Alastor that night was him lingering at your bedroom door with a somber smile that conveyed the sadness in his eyes, and then he was gone.

A memory you couldn't recall as hours of labor set in. You spent what little strength was left in your body to birth a son and a daughter.

Your screams could practically be heard throughout the whole Garden District.

Alastors' shadows shook violently upon hearing each one, but he restrained himself from racing into the room.

Instead, he busied himself as his mother instructed: cleaning the basement, locking it up before pocketing the key for better safekeeping, and resigning himself to his studies.

Hours of listening to your muffled cries mixing with the crackling of his radio filled the atmosphere with unease.

His shadows swirled in anticipation near the bedroom door, not daring to peek in until your voice was drowned out by the soft cries of two newborns.

Alastor had been on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey by then, in the middle of drowning his stress with vices he'd sworn never to take up, but they seemed appealing for the longest night of his life.

He was rather thankful when a spectator spawned beside his chair, whispering good news in his ear and clearly elated to relay it.

They've arrived—a healthy boy and girl, and she is stable as well. A job well done, monsieur…

A tender smile crept onto his lips at the information, shrill cries of life carrying through the house proving his spectator's observation true." I shouldn't keep my children waiting then," Alastor mused half-heartedly while standing upright.

His glass of whiskey was half full on his desk, his cigarette snuffed out on an ashtray next to it, and his radio left on a low volume of static as he left the room.

———— ————— —————

"Oh, Al, come look! They're just the sweetest little lambs you'll ever see!"

Rosie ushered him in the room with a genuine grin on her face, strands of her blonde hair in disarray, her dress sleeves rolled up, and a bit of sweat on her neck from the work she'd just finished.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, assuming she was exaggerating to lift his spirits.

"Is that so?"

Rosie nodded excitedly, gliding back over to the bed where you lay, and his mother sat facing you.

"Come on. Come look at em'…" the blonde whispered while peering into Angelique's arms.

Alastor hesitated, somewhat afraid to come face to face with his offspring, but then he heard them babble quietly.

A gentle, enlightening sound he never imagined liking, but it drew him like a magnet.

The tired smile you gave him as he neared the bed helped quite a lot.

You were alive, in need of rest, but still breathing.

His mind calmed as your eyes met for a split second, a fleeting exchange of gratefulness, but it broke as two tiny giggles filled the room.

Alastor averted his attention towards them, leaving you to watch as he took them in.

Angelique shifted slightly, adjusting her expert hold on the swaddled newborns who fixated on their looming father as he stepped closer.

"Oh my…hello there, little ones. What a pleasure it is to meet you…"

Alastor fawned over them, kneeling to get a better look, and to his delight, they both smiled at his approach.

The sudden change in expression swayed him, and he had a genuine grin on his face as he took their features in.

"What wonderful gifts you are," he muttered in amazement.

His mother chuckled, amused by her son's reaction to his children, but relieved he'd composed himself again.

"Would you like to hold them, Al?" she voiced the offer gently, watching his sharp eyes soften behind the around-framed spectacle.

"I'd love to ….." he mumbled wistfully, never taking his eyes off the newborn twins.

Rosie squealed quietly in excitement as Angelique nodded, carefully handing the boy over to Alastor first.

He gently took him in his arms, admiring their similarities, "My eyes, hair, and nose. You've stolen them all…"

He paused, stuck on what to call then, but you whispered both names through a tired smile:

"Adonis Naveen Hartifelt & Antoinette Marie Hartofelt… just as we decided, yes?"

Alastor held your gaze momentarily, sensing something was off but disregarding the underlying tension to enjoy the quaint moment.

"Yes, ma chere. Very suitable names…"

You flashed a somber smile, watching as he walked about the room with Adonis before switching to hold Antoinette.

He clearly favored your daughter a bit more, smiling the longest with her near his chest and only puttering her down when she began to fuss—which took quite a while.

Angelique took her from Alastor's grasp, letting him admire her again before he left the room with Rosie and leaving you to feed them with his mother's help.

His absence left you to wonder…

It baffled you how he could be picture-perfect at times like this.

The very image of a good and gracious man.

Nothing like the monster you imagined could systematically tear apart a body the way you witnessed in the basement.

Nothing like a man who'd lie to his wife.

Nothing like the man who'd caused you so much pain in what was supposed to be your happiest time together.

————— ————— —————-

As the days rolled on, winter winds ravaged New Orleans through the holidays, but the frivolous change of season seemed a distant notion outside of the Hartifelt house.

You were first confined to bed rest by Angelique, then by a doctor's official recommendation the next day, and with their orders came directions.

No overexcerting yourself.

No stress.

A fulfilled and healthy diet couldn't be avoided.

And at least six hours of sleep per day.

The last two stipulations were hard to follow because they felt impossible, and you couldn't bring yourself to relax until Alastor made an effort to explain himself…

To explain the body in the basement and why he'd ever see the need to butcher someone in such a gruesome way.

You'd long figured out what he'd been using it for, piecing together what you witnessed with what had been conspiring in your home for months…

The mutilations on the body were precise, as if he had been harvesting certain parts, but you didn't recall seeing any limbs or organs lying around the basement.

There was no rotting flesh smell either, nothing to indicate he was keeping them as personal trophies, but the victim had clearly not been his first from the looks of their wounds.

You'd never seen him dispose of anything, never heard any clamoring noises from the basement when he was down there, and couldn't recall seeing blood on his hands besides the one time you visited his mother.

All your guesses and observations led you to one conclusion: a notion that made your stomach churn, but the only plausible answer to the question of what Alastor had been doing with…or instead using the body for.

Meat.

He had to be harvesting it.

Feeding body parts to himself and me as if it were regular livestock.

It made sense now why he'd neglected to buy meat on grocery store runs and insisted his hunts would bear better fruit than packaged goods, and the more you thought about the connection, the stupider you felt.

All this time, he'd been feeding you…feeding your children human flesh?

How could be so blind to it, so caught up in his charm, and fail to notice what he'd do behind your back.

You threw up every time the thought crossed your mind…

The season's cold chill mirrored the steady rage building in you as days turned into weeks.

Reaching its height by the time Christmas Eve rolled around.

Rosie and Angelique had decided to stay and help you and the twins until your health became stable again.

One woman was always at your side to help, allowing you to nurse Adonis and Antoinette in peace when needed.

In the first few days of your recovery, you didn't remember much of anything, falling in and out of sleep rapidly, but when you could stay awake for most of the day, you refused to have either child out of your sight for more than a second.

Alastor had tried once after their birth to hold them again in your presence, but you forbade Rosie from letting him in the room.

The evident hurt in his eyes when you viciously glared at him that day tore your heart to pieces, but you just couldn't bear to see him pretend everything was bright and dandy.

Like there wasn't a rotting body in the basement…

Angelique tried to soothe you both in one way or another, convincing Alastor to give you space and time, suggesting that he focus on his radio show rather than holing up in his study or going on impractical 'hunts' to cope with your anger towards him.

He took her advice well, putting on a mask for weeks on end as he carried on being New Orleans's most prominent radio star, and though the frequency of his hunts slowed, the few he did venture on were extremely bloody.

You weren't as easily swayed by her attempts to heal the rift between you and Alastor.

Barely eating or sleeping for quite a while, afraid to close your eyes and replay the bloody memory he'd caused, and overtly protective of the twins as a result.

However, eating and neglecting rest didn't last only a short time.

Both factors affected your productivity as a new mother and healing stage.

You eventually took Amgelique's advice, eating your meals in total, resting more, and enjoying your children's presence.

They were quite the duo.

They were generally quiet babies but incredibly active when not asleep.

You took pride in nursing them, fleeting Rosie holding one while you fed the other, both of you cooing at their gentle mannerisms.

Your mood improved drastically by Christmas Eve, the strength to walk around the house without helpfully given back to you, and the pain in your head significantly lessened.

Jovial as ever, you took slow and sure steps to leave the stuffy room, bathe and dress yourself, and be drawn out by the smell of delicious food being made downstairs.

You could hear Rosie playing with the twins, her soft laughter wafting through the house as two other voices lingered under it.

You nearly turned back to the room, recognizing Alastors voice, grimacing as he laughed at something his mother had said, but after a few calming self-reflective breaths, you continued down the winding staircase.

Rosie was the first to spot you, dressed in a simple red and green evening gown, ready to celebrate the night.

You almost envied her vitality, opting for a simple white and red dress and a large red bow to hold your hair up in an elegant pin style.

She gasped softly as you descended the last few steps, halting her hand that tenderly swayed your children's bassinet.

"You're up! Oh, how wonderful…you look lovely, my dear!"

She rushed to hug you, careful not to squeeze you too tight, as a small giggle left you:

"I'm still finding my bearings, but thanks to you and Angelique, I feel much better."

Rosie took hold of your hands in both silk-gloved ones, leading you into the warmly lit parlor.

She left you to admire how beautifully decorated it was as she sat you down next to her on the sofa.

A pine tree was tucked in the corner, standing massively next to the front bay windows, decorated with fairy lights and traditional ornaments.

Garlands were hung in the same fashion, and other festive adornments covered your home's interior as far as you could see, and your heart fluttered a bit at the sight.

You usually took on decorating for the holidays. Alastor would help, of course, but you enjoyed doing it more than he did.

You expected nothing to be set out since you'd been unwell for so long…

"How'd you manage all this, Rosie?" You glanced around in awe one last time, focusing on the babbling newborns comfortably loaded in their business before you.

They reached for your hand as it lazily slid into the bassinet, warm little palms encircling your fingers, bringing comfort to you.

Rosie watched the loving exchange like a proud sister before answering your question.

"We did nothing, dear. This was all Alastors doing…"

You stiffened, glancing at her in disbelief, "All of this? By himself?"

She nodded slowly, reaching for her glass of white wine sitting on a side table.

"Mhm. I'm sure he knew how important the holiday season is to you…"

It was true.

Alastor did know how much you cared about this time of year.

It reminded you of your mother; your few memories of her were from this season, fond quips of true joy you tried to preserve by upholding her enthusiasm for all that Christmas brings.

"A cherishable, loving, pure spirit ready to start a new. Many forget that the only gift that truly matters to another person is one of understanding. Remember that, my love…never let it go.."

Her words rang in your head as your heart twisted, flashes of your memories with Alastor plaguing you.

"How is he?" you asked tentatively, not looking away from the twins as Rosie sighed, "Not well. He wants to speak to you, dear. See the children for more than a second, too. Won't you give him a chance?.."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression softening as you blinked back tears.

"Rosie…I…I want to, but if he spills another lie from his mouth, I'm afraid I might lose myself to rage…"

A beat of silence hung in the air, a single tear running down your cheek as the thought of facing Alastor made you dizzy with anxiety.

"I'm grateful for your help, for his love, but you've all left me in the dark, and now that I've grown wise to it all, I can't help but wanna hate him…"

"Y/n…we- he was just trying to protect you…"

You stifled a sob, crying quietly as you nodded, "I know… Rosie. I know god damn well what Al was trying to do, but if he'd told me from the beginning, I wouldn't drive myself mad in the first place. All that talk of being devoted to me, and he turns around and lies."

You scowled at the carpeted floor, swiftly wiping your face clean before standing from thorofare with a newfound determination:

"I won't stand for it any longer, er, and thinking about it sours my mood. If you'll excuse me, I need a stiff drink…"

—————- ——————- ——————

Angelique paused in her task as you slipped into the kitchen, not saying a word to her son.

You passed her with a small smile directed only at her and her.

She returned it, picking up a stack of dishes to place on the dining room table before silently gliding out of the room.

You frowned at the loss of her company, aware she'd left hoping that you and Alastor would talk earnestly, but you had no intention of even looking his way.

Your husband felt you whisk past him to the wine cabinet, halting his focus on the pot of gumbo he was preparing to turn your way.

"Y/n," he uttered your name, a low call that made your head spin and your chest tight.

You refused to respond, pouring yourself a moderate glass of wine before taking a long sip, and as the bittersweet alcohol dissipated on your tongue, you turned to leave the area.

Alastor tried again to gain your attention, his face stoic as he reached for you.

With a bit of force, he successfully pulled you into his side. You scowled, instinctively tugging your waist from his iron grasp, but he didn't relent his hold—not once.

"Leave me be," you spat quietly, grip hardening on your wine glass and your bright eyes darkening with unbridled rage as his hazel eyes softened on you.

"I will when you let me explain myself…"

Both of his hands found your waist, shifting your reluctant body to press up against his.

You stiffened at the familiar contact, missing his embrace momentarily and slightly distracted by the warmth he emitted.

Weeks without physical touch from him felt tortuous, and you intended to endure it for a while longer, but feeling him so close if only for a moment- made your resolve less than weak.

Alastor pressed his weight against the counter, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he inhaled the scent of your perfume.

A crisp, sweet smell he missed dearly.

It was one of the many traits about you that calmed him, kept him tethered to sanity, and going weeks without breathing you in affected him nearly the same as the lack of his touch did to you.

You twisted and squirmed in his hold, growing angrier by the second as he held you still, "Alastor Hartifelt, let me go this instant-!"

You grit your teeth, hand poised to fling the wine in your glass onto him as a well-deserved deterrent, but he's quick to hold it still.

He tugs the glass from your hand, disregarding the slight spill it causes, and you gasp softly from the use of sudden strength in a simple motion.

Alastor sets the crystal glass down, taking another deep breath before speaking to you in a tone you could only describe as hollow.

"You've seen it, haven't you, darling? What takes up my time in the basement, yes? I know it must terrify you, dear. I know, but you must realize I never meant…to hurt you. Believe me when I say I kept my deeds hidden to protect you…"

Not an ounce of regret was in his words; you hadn't expected any.

Alastor was never the type to act upon something he'd despise later.

You knew him well enough to see an act of utter violence like this made sense to him in some way.

It was never the thought of him being dangerous, the thought of him being murderous, or prone to aggression that had angered you.

He hid it like you hadn't stood by his side through the worst times.

The secret he kept wasn't horrific for its brutality but disgraceful in its relevance to your love for him.

"Protect me?.." you grimaced, looking into his eyes with burning rage, "What about trusting me. To hell with why you kill. It's a matter of you hiding such a secret from me in the first place. I am your wife, your equal, and yet you lied to me as if I were a mere child! A pet you could put in a cage and show off but never bond with…"

The anger slowly left your tone, gaze softening on his amber eyes, "I understand you don't care much for the term 'love' but whatever we have can’t exist without us fully trusting in one another. That is why I am angry with you. That is why I've distanced myself, Alastor. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You lowered your head, feeling a tad dramatic but glad to have said what was on your mind.

Alastor pursed his lips in deep thought for a moment, but soon, his deep laughter resonated around the room.

Your head snapped up at the sound, one brow lifted in pure confusion as he chuckled heartily, "And what's so funny now?" You tutted in frustration, prepared to drench him in wine again, but you thought better of it as his laughter died.

"It's just that…" he paused, staring into your curious eyes as they took in his lazy smile, "I seem to have forgotten why I fell for you in the first place, sweetheart."

Alastor's grin grew as your expression hardened, "What does that have to do with this conversation-"you began to become livid again until his large hands cupped your rounded cheeks gently.

You froze as the gentle contact warmed your skin, focus paper thin as he leaned in close enough for your noses to touch, "My darling doe, you have never betrayed me once. In all our time together, your faith in me has never wavered. I've killed for you more times than I can count, but that could never amount to the love you hold for me. Even after discovering my darkest sin, you look upon me gracefully… my wife, my angel, you are truly curious to a man."

His sentiments muddled your thoughts, every sweet word true, holding an edge of obsession.

Your heart fluttered hearing them, the sharpness in his eyes reinforcing their weight.

You gulped gently as he brushed his lips over your parted ones, teasing a kiss you weren't ready to give.

"I must've been mistaken when I belittled my love for you in the sense of devotion…."

His eyes drifted half closed as you hummed in delight, feeling his heavy breaths fan your mouth.

Whiskey and twinge of sweetness rolled off his tongue, an inviting mixture you didn't dare to forget, "Then correct yourself," you muttered in response in hopes of reliving your craving for him.

Alastor struggled to surpass his smirk as you raised your hands to rest over his, gingerly pressing your nails into his skin and shivering at the familiar roughness it had.

"How do you suggest I do that, dear. I've caused you quite a lot of trouble, and there's only so much a man can do."

His teasing stirred heat in your core, a sensation you hadn't felt in weeks and thoroughly missed.

"First, you'll swear to never…never lie to me again. No matter the circumstances."

He hummed lowly, eyeing the low-hanging ruffle sleeves of your dress as they inched downward the more you pressed into him.

"You have my word, ma chere."

The response was automatic on his part, driven by the soft whine you let out as one of his hands shifted to knead your hip.

The gesture brought your lower half closer to his, leaving no space between you, but as distracting as it was, you continued on with your demands.

"You won't ever feed me or our children human meat again…without my explicit permission."

Alastor frowned for a moment but agreed nonetheless, "Alright."

You nodded, inhaling sharply shortly after as his hand gently tugged your dress skirt.

It would be right to swat him away and restrict his touch from you a bit longer, but the instant his fingertips brushed the skin of your thigh, you couldn't help but blush and bit back a whine.

"A-and you'll never put yourself, this family, our life together…in harm's way. Promise me, you'll continue to be discreet Alastor…"

The urge to moan gripped you entirely as his touch burned your bare skin, only silenced by the immediate kiss he allowed you before muttering sincerely, "You have my word, darling…"

You shuddered at his oath, knowing he meant every word, pouring his intent to keep it through the exchange of heated kisses that ensued after.

You held onto him tight, trying to remain as quiet as possible as his tongue found yours, forcing it to obey his lead and his hands roaming your body for the same sign of submission.

You gave in effortlessly, head tilting back as he marked your neck, gently pricking your skin with his teeth, gliding his tongue over the most minor bruises he left.

A wave of shivers captured you, disorienting and intensifying with Alastor's every move.

Your hands gripped his broad shoulders, bracing yourself for him to inevitably lift you onto his waist, but the action never occurred.

The sound of Rosie's quick footsteps approaching and her distinct singing song calling of your names made you both separate.

Alastor yanked your dress down quickly, clearing his throat with a cheeky grin while you hid your face in his chest out of slight embarrassment as the blonde glided into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hartifelt wants to know if the gumbo is ready, Al. How's it coming along, hm?" She chirped cheerfully, pretending not to notice your bright red, blushing face hidden in his embrace.

"Oh, it's just about done, my dear. Just had to give it another taste test, right chere?"

You stared up at him in awe as he brought a hand to your left cheek, gliding his thumb over your heated skin, lovingly and intently staring back at you.

"Isn't that right, chere," Alastor asked once more, enjoying the nervousness in your gaze as you nodded in jaded agreement, "That's right, Rosie.." you muttered dreamily, too focused on your husband to catch her knowing smirk before she hummed in understanding while sashaying back into the parlor.

"Mrs. Hartifelt, Al says it's coming along well!" Rosie shouts in delight as she leaves you both alone, accentuating the phrase's double meaning to the older lady tending to her new grandchildren in the warmly lit parlor room.

Both women's smirks grew wildly, hearing you giggle amid Alastor's flirtatious teasing moments later.

"Seems it is," Angelique mumbled assuredly as Rosie sat beside her, admiring the tiny humans smiling in their sleep.

Christmas Eve wouldn't be so dim after all…

xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whew…..you all okay after this? No? Too bad it gets better then way worse… A real Shakespearean tragedy/romance. IM TAKING MY ASS TO BED NOW GOOD NIGHT 😴

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette @gasiacos @marvelgirl123 @dinosaur-crime-scene

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Did you fall more in love with him seeing this? I certainly did…Credit to creator ❤️

[turbulentscrawl]

Modern AU: Norton Campbell

You've heard of modern reader? Well now it's time for Modern canon!

- Previously, he worked in the oil industry, but a nasty accident he doesn’t speak about has left him with his fair share of burn scars. Norton now works as an independent contractor, known around town as a do-it-all type of handyman. He rarely works with or for group projects, preferring to be hired directly by property owners for the work they need done. He’s his own boss, and he makes his own schedule, but he’s a workaholic.

- He was raised by his uncle Benny after his parents died when he was still very young—his mother shortly after childbirth, due to complications, and his father in a work-related accident. Benny’s health deteriorated fast, though, and as soon as he was legally able Norton picked up a part-time job to help pay the bills and build a college fund. (Or several, more like, and he was known to bounce around for better pay.)

-Some time in his senior year of high school, he discovered that Benny was keeping secrets; Benny had not only convinced his father to stay in the oil industry after he was born, but wasted and gambled away all the life insurance money from his death. Enraged and betrayed, Norton dropped out of school and left. He drove as far away as he could with the little money he had, and then lived out of his truck for a while. Eventually, he made enough money to rent a shitty little motel room by the week, and then a shitty little apartment.

-After leaving, he at first went into the oil industry like his old man and Benny had been—it was something he was familiar enough with and hard labor paid better than being a busboy again. But after a few years there was an accident which left him with several burn scars. He was left in pain for a long time, but the worker’s comp paid for most of his medical bills and his rent, giving him just enough time to get his GED. After that, he started into construction, plumbing, and other handiman things he was knowledgeable in after years of being poor and self-sufficient.

-The accident, this time, was more of an ACTUAL accident. Norton had a disagreement with some of the coworkers he hated. There was an altercation, and something ignited…and Norton was the only one who got out. He doesn’t talk about it, mostly out of shame and a sense of guilt, but he copes by telling himself they deserved it.

- He drives the same beat-up old pickup truck Benny bought for him as a kid. It was transferred into his name when he was 18, so Benny can’t swipe it from under his nose. (Legally, anyway.) He could probably get a loan and buy a new car, but at this point he prefers to keep the old hunk of junk. Maybe he’s sentimental, or maybe the weekly maintenance he has to do on it is just therapeutic in a way.

-Not a super techy guy. He keeps up with industry news and learns new skills often, but his truck, his phone, and most of his home appliances are older. He’s good enough with fixing things that he hasn’t bothered to replace them.

-He’s not much of a decorator, either, but he’s good at thrifting and building his own furniture with recycled materials. His apartment/home is a bit of a hodgepodge, with mostly bare walls, but what he does have I impressive in its own way. Any décor he has is likely gifted.

-He’d like to own a home one day, but he’s playing things by ear. He realizes that might be asking a lot while he’s got no real support system.

-He’s a fair cook, but a lot of what he makes could be called “struggle meals.” They’re what he’s been used to for a long time.

-He’s a little paranoid about pumping gas into his truck, but he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. On his days off, he tends to walk to take public transit to save some money and gas mileage.

-He’s that guy with a 7-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, bodywash etc men’s soap. Someone please teach him better ways.

[a-s-fischer]

One of the things I hear a lot from Gentile witches and neo-pagans who want to work with Lilith or claim to work with Lilith, is that she is actually a Mesopotamian goddess, usually either Ishtar/Inanna or Erishkigal, and that it was the Jews, with their horrible patriarchy juice, who slandered her and cast her down, and so the Jews do not deserve to say what happens to her and it isn't antisemitism to work with her, or to completely ignore what the Jews say about what she is in a Jewish context.

Lilith is not Ishtar or Erishkigal. However, there is a Mesopotamian figure that is pretty stinking analogous to Lilith, and is probably her folkloric ancestor, by which I mean the idea of Lilith probably comes from this Mesopotamian figure. In fact, Lilith almost certainly is either a Jewish version of this figure, or, they are both descended from the same Near Eastern and Mediterranean basin folkloric figure. That figure is Lamashtu.

Lamashtu is, much like Lilith, the supernatural embodiment of maternal and infant mortality, a figure of power and terror, who functions as a way to embody and cope with the profound dangers that are pregnancy, childbirth, and infancy without effective medical care. the Mesopotamians never worshiped Lamashtu, but they did seek to appease her, including making symbolic gifts to her, to keep her from visiting them, and killing them or their children.

An interesting side note is that there is also a Mesopotamian figure who specifically opposes Lamashtu and functions as the protector of pregnant women and infants, and that figure is Pazuzu, a wind spirit, who ruled over other wind spirits, including ones called the Iilu in the Akkadian language. Akkadian is a Semitic language, related to Hebrew, and this word is probably a cognate of Lilith, but the Iilu probably have no relationship to the figure of Lilith except her name. You might know Pazuzu as the demon featured in the movie, The Exorcist, and ironic fate for a mythological protector of women and children.

Anyway, if you'll remember, I implied above that the Lamashtu/Lilith figure, was present in various guises throughout the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, so there are of course figures analogous to both of them throughout the region, such as Lamia of Greece, and the Strix of Rome.

So if you really really want to work with a figure who functions as the supernatural embodiment of maternal and infant mortality, Lamashtu, Lamia, or the strix would all be excellent options that don't come from an extant closed religious practice. All the baby killing, none of the antisemitism and cultural appropriation.

While all three figures are almost certainly descended from the same folkloric root, they're all subtly different, because as stories and characters travel, they change. as such, they all have particular good points about them as figures of veneration.

Lanashtu is the OG bad bitch, who commanded fear, respect, and offerings, like a mythological mafiosa, collecting protection money.

Lamia has attached to her the story that she was one of Zeus's dubiously willing lovers, who was screwed over first by Zeus, the embodiment of patriarchical rule, then by a jealous Hera, the embodiment of patriarchal marriage, so if what attracted you to Lilith was the story from the Alphabet of Ben Sira, about a victim of the patriarchy getting her own back through violent vengeance, Lamia might be the girl for you. With her however, the emphasis is less on her murder of children, then on her seducing and eating men, though she does also get strongly associated with killing children, especially boys.

And the strix is particularly interesting, because the word comes down to us in the modern Italian word for witch, striga. Indeed, one of the theories as to where the witch figure came from in Early Medieval, and then Early Modern Christianity, was as the strix demon made human. This might explain the close association between Early Modern Witchcraft and infant mortality, including Italian stories of witches causing infants to die seemingly natural deaths, so that they could dig them up and eat them after their funerals, something that ties these human supposed witches very closely to demonic folkloric antecedents. If you are looking for a figure of unfairly maligned female power, the strix and her close association with later human witches, might be the one for you.

All three of these figures, much like Lilith herself, are reflections, both of the power women wielded even within patriarchal societies, over the process of pregnancy, birth, and childrearing, and also the powers of death and loss that everyone was subject to. There is something powerful, transgressive, and even healthy in acknowledging the fears and dangers presented by this death and loss,and for some people, that might take the form in venerating the underlying powers. If this is something that would be spiritually meaning for you, and you wish to work with such a figure, and you are not Jewish, please respect the fact that Lilith is part of a closed religious practice, and remember that Lilith has sisters, in other parts of the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, who are not from extant closed cultures, and who might serve your needs better anyway.