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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo x reader

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vigilante-3073 · 10 days ago

Text

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Reader

Jacob Black x Female Reader

PART 13

Summary: Jacob takes some time away from the Cullens to cope with the hopelessness of Y/N's situation. Y/N begins to worry about what waits for her after death.

TW: Mentions of death/religion/loneliness, fear of the unknown, dreams.

London, England, 1810

The ballroom was illuminated by candles, the atmosphere was lively as people mingled and danced. Everyone wore their best clothing, women in glittering gowns and men in their finest suits. The band played familiar songs as party-goers glided across the dance floor.

Y/N lingered by the doorway, watching the guests interact with each other. She was young, beautiful and intelligent with many young men vying for her hand in marriage.

Y/N was the only girl in a family of eight boys, her mother had died in childbirth and their father spent a large amount of time away on business.

Y/N had always been able to hold her own, but the world of courting and betrothals required a man at her side. Y/N made all the decisions, but her eldest brother ensured that everything occurred properly. It had all been planned out meticulously, Y/N knew exactly what kind of life she wanted for herself.

It was just a matter of time before everything fell into place.

"The party is lovely, Miss L/N," Someone said.

Y/N looked over, "Thank you, Doctor Cullen. I'm quite surprised that you were able to attend with your schedule being as busy as it is," She said.

"I couldn't miss such a popular event. The townspeople have been talking about it for weeks," Carlisle stated.

"Are you searching for a wife this season, Doctor?" Y/N questioned.

"Unfortunately not, but I do hear that you are quite a popular match among the eligible bachelors of the season," Carlisle said.

Y/N smiled slightly, "I have my sights set on a few," She said.

"A beautiful girl like yourself should consider your options carefully. Finding a husband is important," Carlisle said, Y/N nodded.

"Would you like to dance, Doctor?" Y/N asked.

"I'd be honored," Carlisle smiled, holding out his hand to her.

Y/N rested her hand on top of his, allowing the older man to lead her out onto the dance floor. His hand settled on her waist as hers rested lightly on his shoulder. Carlisle held her other hand in his, leading her around the dance floor easily.

They moved to the music, perfectly in sync with one another and the other couples as they glided easily across the floor. Party guests watched them with blank expressions as they began to spin faster.

And faster.

"Stop," Y/N said, pushing Carlisle away from her.

The music halted and the party-goers began to whisper to one another, "This isn't right... This never happened," Y/N said.

"Don't be silly, Y/N," Carlisle replied, taking a step closer to her.

"No, none of this is real," Y/N mumbled, turning around as the room began to blur.

"Y/N, stop this. Just stay here, stay with me," Carlisle said, grabbing onto her hands gently.

His hands felt warm against hers as he pleaded with her. The hope in his eyes made her falter as she looked up at him, she had always wanted him to look at her that way.

And he never would.

"You would never say that to me," Y/N stated, pulling her hands out of his grasp.

"None of this is right. This is what was supposed to happen, but it didn't... There was a fire and everyone died," Y/N mumbled, turning around as the room was suddenly engulfed in flames.

She could hear the cries of her family as they perished, screaming for them desperately as the flames began to surround her. The smoke lingered heavily in the air, choking her as she gasped. She fell to the floor in the ballroom, suffocating as the flames grew closer until her flesh began to burn.

There was no escape. Only pain and suffering.

...

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, she frowned when she noticed a young girl sitting in a chair beside her bed. Bella sat in the chair next to her, flipping through a magazine leisurely.

"Who the hell is that?" Y/N questioned.

Bella looked up from her magazine, "Oh, hey, how are you feeling?" She questioned, closing her magazine.

"Who's the kid?" Y/N repeated.

"This is Renesmee," Bella said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind the young girl's ear.

"How long was I asleep?" Y/N asked.

"Two days... Carlisle has had you on some heavy pain medications since your back injury," Bella said.

"That kid is at least seven," Y/N mumbled.

"She grows fast," Bella said, smiling over at her daughter.

"Where's Jacob?" Y/N asked.

Bella's smile fell, "Um, he left two days ago and he hasn't been back just yet," She stated.

Y/N nodded, turning onto her back slowly with a grimace, "I thought you weren't allowed to be around me since I've been put on suicide watch," Y/N said, staring up at the ceiling.

Bella hesitated, "Circumstances have changed," She said, fidgeting with the corner of her magazine.

Y/N turned her head, narrowing her eyes, "What circumstances?" She questioned.

"Well, Jacob and I were out with Renesmee a while ago and Irina saw her... Irina thought that she was an immortal child and she went to the Volturi," Bella said.

Y/N scoffed, "Well, at least I'm dying alongside the entire Cullen family," Y/N muttered.

"Dying?" Renesmee questioned softly, looking to her mother.

"No one is dying, honey," Bella assured before returning her gaze to Y/N, "The rest of the family went out to search for witnesses to hear Renesmee's story and stand with us against the Volturi," Bella said.

"You're delusional if you think they'll listen to anything you have to say. Their minds will have already been made up by the time they arrive here," Y/N said.

"It's optimism, not delusion and you could definitely use some of that right now," Bella muttered.

"Whatever you say," Y/N grumbled, closing her eyes.

The door opened and Edward stepped into the bedroom, "I can stay with her if you want to put Renesmee to bed," He offered, Bella nodded.

She stood up from her chair, "Come on, honey," Bella said, Renesmee hopped off the chair and took her mother's hand. Bella made her way out of the bedroom, closing the door gently behind them.

Edward sat down in the chair beside Y/N's bed, watching her lay still with her eyes closed, "I know you're not asleep," He said.

Y/N opened her eyes and turned her head towards him, "You look horrible," She said.

He had dark bags under his eyes and his irises were black, Edward huffed a laugh, "It's been a very busy time for us lately," He stated.

"I heard... Bad time for me to be dying, huh?" Y/N questioned.

Edward hesitated, eyes flickering over her face, "I definitely wish that I had you by my side on this," He said.

"Sorry to disappoint," Y/N replied.

"I miss you," Edward admitted.

"I haven't gone anywhere," Y/N said.

"But you're not yourself. I just- It's selfish, but I miss what we used to have. You've been my closest friend for years and I feel like I've failed you. I haven't been there for you like I should have been," Edward began.

Y/N gulped, "No, you haven't," She muttered.

"I want to be there, Y/N. I care about you and I want you to be surrounded by people who love you when your time does come," Edward said, reaching out and taking her hand in his.

Y/N stared down at his hand in hers, hesitantly curling her fingers around his cold hand as tears gathered in her eyes. Carlisle and Edward had taken her acceptance of death like an admission of defeat. It lifted a weight off of her shoulders to hear Edward say that he would stop fighting and stick by her side as her life ended.

"Do you really mean that?" She asked.

"I do," He replied.

"Okay," Y/N nodded, he sent her a sad smile as his grip tightened on her hand slightly.

Y/N slowly turned onto her side to face him, holding his hand in hers as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Can I tell you something?" Y/N asked softly.

"Of course," Edward said, reaching out and wiping away her tears with his thumb.

"I'm really scared," Y/N said shakily.

"You're never scared," Edward assured, Y/N let out a soft huff.

"I don't want to be alone," She whimpered.

"We'll be right here with you," Edward said.

"No, I-I mean after. Everyone I know will just keep living after I die. What if there's nothing on the other side? What if I'm just out there alone in the dark forever?" Y/N asked.

"I'm sure that there is a beautiful place out there for you, Y/N. You will find peace, I know it," Edward assured.

"How? How do you know?" Y/N asked.

"I know because I know you," Edward said.

"I've done terrible things and I've hurt people. What if I don't deserve to go somewhere good?" Y/N asked.

"You've made some mistakes, but we all have... I want you to think back to who you were before all of this. Think back to that sixteen year old girl in London who loved to paint and ride horses. The girl who took care of her family and the girl who wanted to be loved more than anything. That is who you are. This person is who the world has forced you to become," He began, wiping away more of her tears.

"You are good, Y/N. You are loved and you deserve to find peace," Edward stated.

"Thank you," Y/N mumbled.

...

Jacob approached the Cullen house slowly, he needed a few days away to process the news that Y/N couldn't be saved. He was angry, but he knew that Y/N needed him and he would be damned if something happened to her while he was away.

The overwhelming scent of Vampires hit his nose as he paused in the driveway. The Cullen family's search for witnesses had clearly brought a few new individuals to Forks. The repercussions of the new arrivals would start to affect the Wolves soon.

Jacob would need to provide support to the new shapeshifters, he hoped that Y/N would be alright without him. Jacob took a breath before climbing the stairs towards the front door of the house.

Edward appeared, opening the door and stepping aside for Jacob to enter, "Welcome back... Y/N has been asking about you," He said.

"How is she?" Jacob asked.

"Still the same," Edward said, closing the door as Jacob moved into the house.

Jacob tensed as he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, "How many of them did you bring back here?" Jacob asked softly.

"Quite a few, but they've promised not to hunt here," Edward said.

"Is it safe to have Renesmee and Y/N in the house with them?" Jacob questioned.

"They're aware of the situation," Edward stated.

"Alright... Can I see her?" Jacob asked.

"Of course," Edward nodded.

Jacob glanced over, locking eyes with a pair of red-eyed Vampires before slowly climbing up the stairs. Edward followed behind him as they made their way into the living room.

"Jake, you came back," Bella said, standing from her place on the couch and making her way over to him.

"I couldn't stay away," Jacob admitted, Bella sent him a sad smile before giving him a gentle hug.

"Y/N will be happy to see you. I told her that you'd be back," She said, pulling away and taking a step back.

"Thanks for looking after her. I know she wasn't always the nicest person to you," Jacob said.

"It's water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned... Edward even patched things up with her while you were gone," Bella said.

"Seriously?" Jacob questioned, looking over at Edward.

"It's true. We talked and I apologized," Edward stated.

"Wow, seems like a lot has changed around here... I should probably go see her," Jacob said, Bella nodded.

"Let us know if you need anything," Edward said.

"Will do," Jacob muttered, making his way down the hallway to Y/N's bedroom.

He opened the door and stepped inside, Rosalie looked up from her book. She tucked her bookmark between the pages, closing the book carefully and placing it on the nightstand before standing up.

Rosalie made her way over to him, "She's been muttering your name in her sleep. She clearly cares about you for one reason or another and you better not screw it up," Rosalie said firmly.

"I won't, I promise," Jacob replied.

"Good," Rosalie said, stepping around him and exiting the bedroom. She closed the door behind herself with a soft click, leaving Jacob in the bedroom alone with Y/N.

Jacob shrugged off his jacket, laying it over the armchair as he made his way over to the bed. Jacob watched her as he sat down in the chair beside her bed, Y/N was sound asleep with her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she dreamt.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she let out a soft noise, head shifting around slightly on her pillow. Jacob could hear her heartbeat beginning to speed up in her chest.

Jacob reached out, taking her hand in his and brushing his thumb across her skin reassuringly. Her head turned towards him before her eyes fluttered open slowly.

"Jacob," She mumbled.

"Hey," Jacob smiled.

"When did you get here?" Y/N asked softly.

"A few minutes ago," Jacob replied.

"I missed you," Y/N said, her grip tightening slightly on his hand.

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Jacob said, Y/N nodded.

"I'm cold," She muttered.

"Well, we can't have that," Jacob said, releasing her hand and moving around the bed.

Jacob stepped out of his boots, lifting up the blankets before laying down in the bed beside her. Jacob shifted closer to her, sliding his arms underneath her body and pulling her closer to his side carefully.

"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Jacob asked, Y/N shook her head.

"Just want to be close to you," Y/N mumbled, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes.

Jacob smoothed his palm over her back carefully, staring ahead and watching the snowflakes flutter down across the evening sky. The Volturi would be coming soon, but he could only hope that he would be able to return home to Y/N at the end of it.

Jacob pressed a kiss to the top of her head, pulling her closer to his side before allowing himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

...

PART 14

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writesvani · 3 months ago

Text

coming down | 07

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): substance abuse, addiction, denial, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, unresolved trauma, guilt, emotional distress, unhealthy coping mechanisms

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 3,1k // date: 29th of March 2025

CHAPTER SEVEN — Love in the Sky; proceed with caution...

AN: this chapter is heavy as hell, so if ur mental state is hanging on by a thread, maybe give it a lil break before diving in. okay? okay. now, i ate every second of this up, and i hope u feel the energy i’m channeling through oc. anyway, note goal is 150 bc i’m delusional and ambitious. last chapter flopped a bit but we don’t talk about that. hit 150, and i’m dropping the next chapter like it’s a 10k-word five-star meal served on a silver platter. mwah.

Unease creeps up your neck, prickling your skin like static. Something feels... off.

You’re waking up slowly, eyelashes fluttering against the gluey residue of yesterday’s makeup. You should’ve washed your face. Should’ve done the bare minimum before collapsing into bed. But after everything that happened with Gojo, basic hygiene felt like an impossible task.

Still, sticky lashes don’t explain why you feel like prey. Like something is watching you.

Your breath hitches as you pry your eyes open, sluggishly turning your head—

And you scream.

“What the fuck, Ren?”

Ren is sitting right there, inches from your face, eyes wide with disturbing enthusiasm. He tilts his head like an overexcited puppy, his Bambi eyes gleaming as if he’s just witnessed the miracle of childbirth.

“Goooood morning,” he sings, voice piercing through your skull like a drill.

“For the love of God,” you groan, rubbing your face, “it’s too early for this.”

“It’s never too early for the morning after catch-up.”

You squint at him. “How are you not hungover?”

Ren smirks. “Let’s just say I have an amazing alcohol tolerance, babe.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to Aiko’s floor—you know, the one you baptized with your stomach lining.”

He scowls. “Fine. Whatever. I have a good hungover tolerance.” He waves you off before leaning in again, grin widening. “Anyway, let’s not change the topic. I distinctly remember you making out with that hottie last night.”

The events of last night slam into your brain like a highlight reel on fast-forward—smoking, drinking, making out with Geto, that cramped, suffocating hangout in Aiko’s tiny bedroom, Ren throwing up his guts, and, of course, The Gojo Incident.

Your skin prickles. At all of it.

“Mhm,” you hum. “I did.”

“And I remember you saying he kisses reaaaally well,” Ren drawls, doing a painfully bad impression of you.

You roll your eyes. “He does, but—” You sit up on Ren’s couch, running a hand through your messy and straight up oily hair. “Right before you started throwing up on Aiko’s floor, another chick called him, and bro literally bolted out of the room to answer.”

Ren pauses, eyebrows furrowing. He taps his cheek, as if he’s in deep, intellectual thought. “That’s sus,” he finally declares. Then, just as quickly, he shrugs. “But who cares?”

“I don’t, but it kinda killed my buzz.”

“And chilling with Gojo fucking Satoru didn’t kill your buzz?”

You glance at him. “Did it kill yours?”

“Nah,” Ren waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Was too many glasses of whiskey deep to let that bastard ruin my night.” His face twists, like something just dawned on him. “But—I do remember that he put me to bed, which means that asshole was in my fucking apartment.”

"Yeah, he kinda helped me bring you home," you admit, your lips pressing against Ren’s brand-new mattress as you mumble.

"What the fuck? I don’t remember that."

"Yeah, Columbo, of course you don’t. You could barely walk straight. Honestly, I’m surprised you even remember him putting you to bed."

Ren groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Dang, couldn’t, like, anyone else help you?" He whines, his entire body recoiling in visible disgust. "I can already feel his dirty aura polluting my space."

"Sorry, he was the only one."

"Ugh. Fine." He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, as if the mere knowledge of Gojo's presence has spiritually tainted his apartment. "But how the hell did you survive that?"

You swallow hard. Survival? The word feels almost laughable when it comes to Gojo Satoru. You don’t survive him—you endure him. You let him sink into your skin and when he’s gone, you pretend the pain isn’t there.

Last night wasn’t an accident. It was inevitable. The conversation that had been lurking behind you like a devil, waiting for the right moment to wrap its fingers around your throat. And when it finally did—when you finally had to face him—you realized the worst part wasn’t what he said.

It was how easily he said it.

How he didn’t regret it. Any of it.

How he still believed he was right.

You let out a breath and look at Ren, at the concern laced in his features, and you force yourself to do something you haven’t done in a long time—be honest.

"Who said anything about survival?" The smile that tugs at your lips is bitter. But it’s also genuine.

Ren watches you, eyes narrowing slightly. He hesitates before his hand finds your arm, fingertips grazing your skin like he’s afraid you might shatter. "Wait… what happened?"

So you tell him.

You tell him about Gojo, about the destruction he left behind—not just in Ren’s apartment, but in you. How he twisted the knife with every word, every laugh, every goddamn look. How he walked away in the end, like he always does, leaving behind nothing but wreckage.

And when you finish, the room is quiet.

Ren doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

He just looks at you like he’s seeing someone he doesn’t know how to help.

"Don’t look at me like that, Rennie." Your voice is quieter this time, a little unsteady.

"Like what?" His hand tightens around yours, warm, grounding—infuriatingly gentle.

"Like I’m—" You shake your head, frustration curling around your words. "I don’t know. Like you agree with him."

Ren doesn’t speak right away. His fingers move against your skin, tracing invisible patterns, like he’s thinking, like he’s trying to figure out how to say something he already knows you don’t want to hear.

"You do, don’t you?" You whisper.

He exhales, his gaze locking onto yours—soft, affectionate, but carrying something firmer beneath the surface. Something unshakable.

"If you want me to be honest," he starts, choosing his words carefully, "I don’t agree with how he went about it." He pauses, running his tongue over his teeth. "But… I lowkey agree with his reasoning."

The world tilts for a second. You swallow, but it does nothing to clear the lump in your throat.

It shouldn’t hurt. Not like this. But it does.

Your skin prickles, a cold rush washing over you as if someone had doused you in ice water. You yank your hand out of Ren’s grasp like his touch suddenly burns. Every muscle in your body goes tight, retreating, desperate for distance.

"So what?" Your voice is sharp, almost breathless. Your fingers dart to your lips, picking at the skin. "You think I was an addict or something?"

Ren exhales through his nose, slow and measured, like he’s already exhausted. "I didn’t say that. Can you just—can you just stop and listen?"

But you don’t. You can’t.

Your knee bounces. You dig your nails into your palm. "I wasn’t addicted," you snap, your voice rising. "If I was, I’d—I don’t know, I’d have gone to rehab or something. I stopped when I wanted to."

Ren's jaw tightens. His expression shifts—still calm, still composed, but there’s something behind his eyes now. Solid. Unrelenting. "First of all," he says, his voice low but firm, "I never said you were addicted." His gaze pins you in place. "And second—you only stopped when you had no other option."

The words slam into you with the force of a freight train.

Because that’s not true.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how many chances you had to start again. How many times people offered, how many times you could have easily said yes. How many times temptation curled around your spine, whispered in your ear—just one more time, one more line, no one has to know.

He doesn’t know that you stopped. Not because you had no choice.

But because you chose to.

Because of your parents. Because of him.

Because the fear of disappointing everyone all over again was worse than the withdrawal. Worse than anything.

"No, you don’t know," you snap, your voice splintering under the weight of your own frustration. You’re practically vibrating in your seat, your whole body wound tight like a live wire. "You don’t know shit. You just—you just agree with Gojo." The words taste wrong even as you spit them out, hard and warped, but you let them take root anyway. You choose to believe them.

Ren doesn't even flinch. If anything, he looks tired. Tired in that way only Ren can be when he’s watching you unravel and knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

"Honey," he sighs, his voice softer now, almost exasperated, "if I agreed with him, I would’ve stuck by his side and run away from you as fast as possible." He pauses, lets it sink in. "But I didn’t."

Something about that but makes your stomach churn.

"You made some horrible choices," he continues, and there’s no sugarcoating in his voice, no room for argument. "And that’s a fact. But those choices were yours. And that wasn’t his secret to tell."

His words land heavier than you expect. You should feel relieved—he's defending you, right? He’s on your side. But somehow, it only makes your chest tighten, like he’s forcing you to hold a mirror up to yourself, and you hate what you see.

Ren looks at you softly, his eyes carrying that quiet warmth of love—the kind that makes you forget, that smooths over every jagged edge inside you. It should calm you.

It should make you feel safe.

But the churning in your stomach doesn’t stop. It presses down, heavy and suffocating, sinking from your throat to your gut, curling around your insides like something rotten.

Your heart hurts. Really hurts.

You don’t want to think about this anymore. Don’t want to talk about it. You weren’t ready last night. You aren’t ready now. You probably won’t ever be ready. It feels impossible. The weight of it all is crushing, pressing you at the seams. You can’t hold yourself together anymore. Not when this conversation is playing out.

Ren watches you carefully, reading the cracks forming in real time. Then, with a softness that almost shatters you completely, he whispers,

"But I see you still aren’t ready for this conversation. So I won’t dig any deeper."

Relief should come. But it doesn’t. Not when his voice lowers, not when his next words carry that unmistakable echo—the one that tells you Ren never lies to you, not even when it would be easier.

"But I won’t be the friend who nods his head and agrees with you on everything," he says. "That isn’t us. And if that’s what you want—if you want someone to just smile and tell you you’re right about everything—the door’s right there. I’m not gonna stop you."

His words should hurt as well, yet they don’t.

Because you know, deep down, Ren is still here. He’s always been here. Even now, when you can’t breathe, when your whole body feels like it’s crumbling in on itself—he’s here.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Your voice is barely there. A plea.

Ren exhales, long and slow, his hands running over his temples like he’s trying to massage the tension out of his skull. His lips twitch—something between a tired smile and a sigh—before he finally looks at you.

Then, with no hesitation, he extends his arms.

“Come here.”

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You practically gauge yourself into his embrace, burying your face into the warmth of his neck, the scent of his skin grounding you in a way nothing else can. His arms wrap around you, steady, firm, unshakable.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice cracking, “I’m sorry for being so fucking unreasonable.”

Ren doesn’t say anything at first. Just squeezes you a little tighter, letting the silence settle, letting you breathe.

Then, softly—so gently it makes your chest twist—he says,

“It’s okay.”

After the heaviness of this morning, Ren seems to have made it his personal mission to erase the unease—to bask in normalcy. That’s how you find yourselves back at Radio, hoping that breakfast and coffee will wash away the remnants of last night. Of this morning’s conversation.

Your eyes drift across the now-familiar coffee shop-slash-diner. Since the first time you and Ren stumbled in, it became your go-to place. It’s safe. Grounding. Comfortingly unchanging—except, apparently, for the new additions cluttering the tables.

The small car radios that once held the menus now have tiny race car figurines next to them. Your face twists in immediate disgust.

Seriously?

How fucking over-the-top can this place get? As if the walls covered in radios weren’t already screaming, Look at us! We’re so edgy and retro!

“This shit makes me cringe so fucking much,” you mutter, pointing at the newest offense.

Ren barely looks up, smirking. “That’s the vibe they’re going for.”

“There’s a fine line between aesthetic and trying too damn hard, and this place pole-vaulted right over it.”

Ren laughs, taking a sip of his coffee. “Oh, come on. Maybe the owner just really likes cars and radios. Maybe it’s, like, their childhood dream to own a diner that’s both a radio museum and a shrine to F1.”

“Then they should’ve picked a fucking theme and stuck to it,” you argue, waving a hand dramatically. “Like, what’s next? Are they gonna start hanging skateboards from the ceiling? Maybe throw in some old typewriters while they’re at it?”

“Oh my God,” Ren gasps, eyes lighting up. “What if they add a train set next?”

“No. No, I refuse. If I walk in here one day and see a fucking model railway running along the bar, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

Ren hums, tilting his head in fake thoughtfulness. “Orrrr you could just accept that maybe—just maybe—you’re being a hater for no reason.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I will not stand by and watch this place turn into a car market on steroids.”

Ren shrugs, unfazed. “Oh well. Guess that just means more race cars for me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Touch one of those things and I swear to God, Ren, I’ll start telling people you have a foot fetish.”

Ren’s expression doesn’t even falter. “Well good thing I already told people I have a foot fetish.”

You part your lips, your brain already coming up with a perfect sarcastic remark to answer him—but the words lodge themselves in your throat. Because walking through Radio’s door, all long strides and lazy confidence, is Gojo Satoru.

What the hell?

This—this doesn’t happen. Radio isn’t his scene. It’s yours. It’s Ren’s. It’s your place, your little sanctuary. And yet, here he is, stepping inside like he belongs, like the universe just decided to drop him into your morning uninvited.

And the weirdest part? He’s alone.

He doesn’t see you at first. There’s a pair of Bluetooth earbuds tucked into his ears, his glasses perched on top of his head, his long neck peeking out from the collar of his hoodie. He’s staring at his phone, completely absorbed in whatever he’s typing. You watch as he lets out a small, amused smile—probably read something funny. Someone sent him a dumb text or a joke.

And he looks… fine.

No hangover. No tension. No lingering remains from last night. No sign that the conversation you had even touched him. Like it never even happened.

And then, like some horrible slow-mo tiktok edit, he lifts his gaze. His eyes flick from his phone to your face, and then, finally, his whole head follows.

And he licks his lips.

His irises blaze with recognition, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he starts marching straight toward you and Ren.

Fucking awesome.

Gojo slides into the booth beside Ren like he owns the place, his arm draping over your best friend’s shoulders as if they’re long-lost war buddies. Which they probably are, but still.

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets.

“Long time no see, besties,” he announces, giving Ren’s shoulder a few casual taps, like this is all perfectly normal. Like he is perfectly normal.

But it’s not. And he’s not.

“That would actually be more believable if you hadn’t spent last night harassing us,” you snap, waving a hand in the air like you can physically shoo his presence away.

Gojo hums, unbothered. “I wouldn’t call helping harassment, but semantics, I guess.”

Ren, visibly repulsed, tries shaking his shoulders to get Gojo’s arm off, but the man’s grip is firm, unyielding. Finally, with an exaggerated grimace, Ren pries the offending limb off himself.

“Please don’t touch me, you freak,” Ren deadpans.

Gojo grins. “You weren’t saying that when I was carrying you bridal style to your chambers.”

Ren’s face grows red at his remark, fingerd twitching against his coffee cup. Oh, he’s pissed. “I didn’t have a choice! I was drunk, and it’s not like I asked you to do it.”

“No, but she did,” Gojo points a lazy finger in your direction.

Your teeth grit. “You asked if I needed help, and then forced me to accept it.”

Gojo chuckles, entirely too pleased with himself. “Tomato, tomahto.”

“Can you, like,” Ren mutters around a bite of his burger, already thinking of the chain of events that led him to this very moment, “go and bother someone else? Please and thank you.”

“See, I would,” Gojo says, drumming his fingers against the tabletop, “but I’m waiting for a friend, and I don’t wanna be lonely,” he whines, dragging out the last word like a toddler in need of attention.

“Leave us alone, for fuck’s sake,” you snap, frustration clawing up your throat. “We actually have something to talk about. Privately.”

Gojo perks up. “Oh, I’m all for privacy,” he muses. “Maybe we can discuss how my parents just called to let me know that our families planned a lil weeknd getaway. For all of us. Privately, of course.”

Your stomach twists so hard it might just tie itself into a knot.

Ren goes still, his face draining of color—somehow managing to look paler than Gojo’s hair.

Your blood runs cold.

Your families haven’t had any holidays, vacations, trips together in years. Not since the truth came out. Not since he and his parents stopped showing up.

Not since they found out about your habits.

And definitely not after they found out you were blowing their son in the janitor’s closet.

Ren chokes on his burger. You can hear it—the sharp inhale, the way his throat works too hard to swallow something that was never meant to go down that fast. But you can’t move.

Can’t speak.

Your ears are ringing.

Gojo just watches, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips, like he can hear the way your thoughts are running wild—like he knows.

He leans forward, elbows braced on the table, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle.

“Oh, come on,” he murmurs, tilting his head, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about our little traditions.”

Your jaw tightens. “I was never big on tradition.”

Gojo hums, dragging his fingers along the tabletop, slow and deliberate. “Oh, sweetheart,” he muses, his smirk sharpening. “Trust me, we’re all painfully aware of that.”

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zirconika · 11 months ago

Note

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.”

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hornedstorys · 3 months ago

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Gladiator - Commodus x Reader - Birth

Warnings: Actually mostly childbirth and what goes with it, light angst

Content: You are pregnant with Commodus' child and are in labor. Of course, you want nothing more than to have your husband with you.

I have no idea whether the man was allowed to be present at the birth back in Rome. I haven't found anything about it, so let's just pretend that he was

You struggled to get up and the next moment you were sitting upright in bed. You breathed in and out deeply as you heaved up the extra weight of your baby bump. You gently stroked the bump, a soft smile on your lips.

It wouldn't be long before your child would finally see the light of day. You had to admit to yourself that you were scared. Afraid of whether you would be a good mother at all, afraid of the pain and, above all, afraid of being alone while you brought the child into the world. It was not usual for the husband to be present at the birth. But you knew you wouldn't be able to cope without Commodus.

Your husband was at a council meeting while you were supposed to be resting. Since you were pregnant, Commodus has been even more protective of you. He had always kept an eye on you before that and never let you out of his sight. He wanted to protect you so much and keep you and your child safe. A soft smile played around your lips again and you sighed. He gave you so much security and warmth that it became your addiction. He became your addiction. But who wouldn't fall for those shining eyes?

But the pregnancy gnawed at you. Some days, you felt like the greatest empress who had ever lived as you walked through the palace. With your head held high and your belly proudly displayed, swelling more and more with each passing day. And on other days? On other days you had felt so vulnerable. Your legs and feet hurt, everything was swollen and even your favorite clothes no longer fit you.

You have often looked at yourself in the mirror and looked at your pregnant body. By now you haven't even seen your own feet. It left a bitter taste on your tongue, but when your eyes fell on your big belly, you were overcome with pure joy.

You were looking forward to your child and Commodus in particular seemed as impatient as a child. Every night he stroked your belly with soothing circles of his hand. He whispered to your child again and again. How pretty his wife looked, swollen with his child. How beautiful her eyes shone and how much he was looking forward to him or her. Your gaze wandered through your room. It was time to stretch your legs.

You sat far too often because you simply didn't have the stamina to stand. The additional pain in your back and legs was also just annoying. You also missed your husband. You wanted to see him, feel his soft lips on your skin and be close to him.

So you got up as quickly as you could and strolled through the corridors. Your breathing was heavy and after just a few minutes, you were out of breath. You gently stroked your tummy.

"You're making mommy sweat a lot, little one," you sighed with a giggle and suddenly felt a slight thrill. The child seemed to agree with you, or not. Depending on how you want to look at it.

Humming and heaving, you had almost reached the large, ornate door behind which your husband was located. The council meeting would soon be over and perhaps you could sit down in the meantime. You could clearly feel your ankles aching again.

You were about to turn to look for a place to sit when a pain shot through you. A gasp escaped your lips and you put your hand on your stomach. A few seconds later, you noticed a liquid running down your legs. A pain-filled gasp escaped from your mouth. Maids near you had noticed the scenario and immediately rushed to your side.

But your cries of pain reached someone else. Despite the thick door, Commodus had heard your wails. He immediately jumped up, drew his sword and ran to the door. He ignored the absent men in the room.

"What happened?", he shouted, his green eyes flashing with concern as he saw you being supported by the maids and slaves. Beneath you, the puddle of amniotic fluid.

"She's having her baby, Caesar," a maid told us and Commodus' eyes widened. He was not prepared for this. He dropped his sword and quickly approached you.Your gaze caught his and you could feel yourself relax immediately. But the next wave of pain was not long in coming. You latched onto his shoulder and he held you before your legs gave way.

He held you tightly in his arms. His eyes clouded with anxiety and worry. He immediately sent for a midwife and her time helpers.Exhausted, you lay on your bed and felt one contraction after another. You had strictly refused to sit on the birthing chair. The familiar feel of your bed was more relaxing than the cold wood against your trembling thighs.

But the anxiety wouldn't go away. While the midwife and two other women tried to calm you down, you didn't want to stop getting upset. Commodus was waiting for you outside the door because the midwife wouldn't let him in. She was a stoic old woman and wasn't even afraid of the emperor himself when she slammed the door in his face, making him tremble.

As much as he wanted to kill her, he couldn't do it. Only because she was the only midwife present on the spot. You claw at the layers of the bed and bite your lips, groaning.

"Commodus!... Where is my husband?" you scream, looking longingly at the door.

"My lady, your husband is not allowed to be present at the birth," the old woman explained stoically as she wiped the sweat from your brow. But your patience snapped.Out of nowhere, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her towards you. Your face contorted in anger and pain.

"If you don't get my husband right now, I'll have you quartered myself!"One of the women gulped audibly and the midwife's eye twitched critically for a moment before she nodded and gave in.

Only seconds after your husband heard your outburst, he stormed through the door. You sighed with relief as you caught sight of his face and the next moment he was at your side. You reached for his hand and he immediately held it out to you.Encouragingly, he pressed his lips to your sweaty forehead.

"I'm here, my love." You closed your eyes and breathed in and out deeply as you felt his voice against your ear. Your head tilted and you looked deep into his green eyes.

"I'm scared," you breathed and Commodus' usually hard face softened.

"You can do it, I know you can. You will bring our child into the world, my empress and be the most beautiful and wonderful mother I can imagine for my children!" These words melted your heart, but you screamed as a contraction ripped through your body. The midwife sat between your legs and told you to push.

Commodus tried to hide his unease to give you support. But your pain hurt him too. Suddenly he straightened up. The loss of his warm hand on your skin made you whimper. He began to take off his hard armor and the next moment, he climbed onto the bed behind you. What was he going to do?

He sat down right behind you and gently placed his hands on your shoulders and pressed you against his chest. You were finally able to let yourself go. A feeling of security came over you.

"My Empress, you must continue to push now," the midwife spoke intently and you swallowed hard. Your hair was wet with sweat and you were overcome with fear again. Reflexively, you grabbed Commodus' forearms. His hands lay reassuringly on your still swollen belly. You squeezed his flesh to death, but he didn't mind. He had already experienced more pain. His lips found the skin of your cheek again and caressed it as you squeezed.

"You're doing great, y/n," he praised you and you leaned against his cheek. His caresses did you good and you pressed on.

"I can already see the mop of hair!" You heard the old midwife say, but you were too distracted by the pushing and the smell of your husband that you barely noticed. Until...

A scream echoed through the room and made you falter. You felt Commodus move slightly behind you to get a better look over your shoulder. The midwife placed your crying baby on your chest and you sobbed enthusiastically.

"It's a girl," the midwife said and your smile widened. You had always hoped it would be a girl. Simply because, in your eyes, Commodus would be the perfect father for a girl.

When you finally had some peace and quiet and could finally catch your breath, you were still lying in your husband's lap. Commodus never left your side and looked down with so much love at the little bundle sleeping so peacefully on your chest.

"She's perfect," he breathed and you pressed yourself tighter against him and smiled. Your gaze searched his. When you looked into his green eyes, all you could see was love. Love that he only showed you because you are his everything, his Rome, his empire.

"I heard what you said to that old goat earlier," he began to grin broadly, something dangerous sparkling in his eyes, but not for you. "This cynical side of you, I don't know it at all. I have to admit, I liked it," he grinned, grabbed your chin and pressed a kiss to your lips.

Then he gently stroked your daughter's head. His eyes softened again and he looked from the little bundle to you.

"I'm so proud of you."

#commodus x reader #commodus/reader #Gladiator x reader #Gladiator Commodus x reader #Commodus x reader pregnant #Commodus x reader Birth

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twola · 6 months ago

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Passerine - Chapter 6 [Finale]

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Wading through blood, you must confront the reality of where the road has taken you.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: graphic childbirth, smut, violence, blood, illness, graphic rape, death.

This is it, folks. Thank you for coming along for the ride. Please, I'd love your feedback after all is now said and done. Feel free to leave a comment or hit up my inbox. See you in the New Year.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous

The wagon roughly bounces on the path, your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle a groan. You cannot stop the tears from streaming down your face, not anymore.

One of your hands lies upon your distended abdomen, the child's movements having grown frantic and agitated.

Jack looks at you, fearfully, as he’s clutched in his mother’s arms. Another jostle of the wagon and the boy buries his face into Abigail’s bosom.

Sadie drives the wagon, cursing each time it hits a rough patch in the road, which is often this north in Roanoke.

From the ride to Copperhead and then turning around and piling into a suspiciously procured wagon, the last two days have been hellish. One hiding in plain sight along the river and the marshes, and the second was riding by night north again, trying to at least get past Annesburg. Ambarino -it would be safe there -

A horse pulls up next to the wagon, and a dirty and disheveled John Marston looks down at you, then down the bed of the wagon with a grimace, clutching at his bloodied arm. “How is he?”

Tears spill from your eyes anew as you look down.

Arthur, bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing, lies in the wagon bed, his head perched upon your thigh, your hand lightly draped over his collarbone.

You can’t respond.

John realizes this, looking up the trail again as the horse plods forward next to the wagon. “We need to keep moving, get to Ambarino.”

Abigail, who has been quiet for most of the ride, pipes up. “John. We need to find somewhere to hunker down. Soon.”

“I know-”

“No, I mean now. She ain't gonna give birth in the back of a wagon.”

John’s eyes dart back to you, wide and fearful. “Shit, shit, alright,” he looks up the road again, then looks behind them.

He figures they are just north of Annesburg, he chews his lip before remembering, “Arthur told me of a widow that lives up at Willard’s Rest. Kind woman. We can see if she’ll take us in.”

Abigail reaches over and places a hand on your belly, frowning when she feels how hard it is. She looks up at you, “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you settled.”

Another burst of tears overflow from your eyes. Your hand clutches at Arthur’s shirt, but your lover does not respond.

God bless Missus Balfour. She missed not even a step when a wagon and rider full of women and bloodied men appeared at Willard’s Rest, this safe haven hidden away off the road, far, far north of civilization.

“Here, here, you can put him in that room there. Let me get this room ready for her. I’ll boil some water.”

John and Sadie half-carry, and half-drag an unconscious Arthur up the stairs as Charlotte slowly walks you into the house, her arm under your shoulder. Abigail follows with the little shadow of her son directly behind her and rubs at her brow tiredly when they reach the kitchen.

Jack tries to bury himself in his mother’s skirts. She frowns down at him for a moment, and when John reappears from the other bedroom, she leans down and kisses Jack on the forehead. “Jack, I’m gonna need you to go with your father. You gotta stay with him and help him, alright?”

John looks as if he is about to say something, but wisely closes his mouth as Jack leaves his mother’s side to tuck himself against his father.

Abigail gives John a tired look, her brow furrowed and serious, “Please, take him a bit away from here. For a while.”

“What, wh-”

“So he don’t hear the screaming. John, please.” Abigail takes John’s hand and squeezes it, whispering low in an attempt for her son not to hear.

John blanches when he realizes what she’s talking about. He steels his jaw and nods, his other hand falling on his son’s head. He nods to Abigail, taking her hand and pulling it up to his lips quickly. “I hope everythin’ goes alright.”

Abigail’s brow falters, and she leans forward and catches him quickly on the lips, surprising him. He quickly recovers and kisses her back, and they both pull back slightly and lean their foreheads against each other, “Me too, John, me too.”

Your groan from the bedroom takes them from the moment and John’s mouth falls into a straight, hard line. “I’ll take him over by the waterfall. Far enough not to hear, but we’re close if you need anythin’.”

Abigail nods a quick thank you and darts into the bedroom.

John looks down at his son, the son for so long he had ignored, “C’mon now, let's get to see if we can get some fish for dinner. That’ll make everyone happy.”

Abigail leans over and undoes your boots as you sit in the bed, and after she works them off your feet, she helps you swing your legs up and sit atop the bed, as you breathe heavily. The tightening sensation in your abdomen comes again, and you hiss in pain.

“Breathe through it, that’s it.” Abigail takes your hand and lets you squeeze it. When the pain subsides, you let out a deep breath.

“I’ll be gettin’ everything together. You’re safe, and you’re gonna have the most beautiful baby.” Abigail cups your cheek gently, lovingly. Assuringly. You nod and her hand squeezes yours again before she leaves the room.

You close your eyes, the aching in your hips is near unbearable, and the pain that comes every few minutes is like a bolt of lightning strikes you at your core.

“You must be his wife.”

The dark-haired homeowner steps through the door, carrying folded linens and a large bowl of water, steam wafting upward as she sets it on the dresser.

You're genuinely surprised at the statement, unable to respond at first, “I-….”

“He’s a wonderful man, your husband Arthur. Probably saved me from starving. He couldn’t stop talking about you, his wonderful wife, how you were back home about to have your first child together, how he couldn't wait. He is smitten with you, dear.”

Oh god, your Arthur, your wonderful, sweet… dying Arthur.

“He’s, he’s…. agh-!”

You double over in the bed, clutching your belly and wincing, yelling out in pain as your belly tightens and hardens. Charlotte takes one of your hands in her own and lets you hold it through the contracting of your body.

Abigail bursts through the door, followed by Sadie. Grimacing, she rolls up her sleeves, muttering to Charlotte and Sadie to lay you back from your sitting position. Your head falls back on the pillow as you gasp in pain, clutching at your belly. Abigail pulls up your skirts, folding them at your hips. A warm liquid trickles against your inner thighs as Abigail mutters to Sadie, and the two women manipulate your legs to slide your bloomers off.

Another pain, and this time you cannot help the moan escaping your throat as your abdomen tightens. It's like your body is collapsing in on itself, and you are barely cognizant of the women in the room. Charlotte steps in and helps as well, and by the time the pain lets up, they have stripped you down to your petticoat shift, have propped your legs up, and your knees falling open.

You're in so much pain that you don't think about decency at all, Abigail propping herself between your legs, your entire lower half on display. Another strangled cry claws its way out of you as you throw your head back.

“Arthur-” you call out in vain, “I need Arthur-”

“I know, honey. He’s just in the other room.” Sadie pats your hair back as she holds your hand.

“H-how am I supposed to do this without him?” You weep, squeezing your eyes shut against the waves of pain.

Sadie frowns, looking across the room at Charlotte. The women share a knowing, pained glance between them - a look of familiarity, of pain, of uncertainty.

Of losing one’s other half.

The shitty, ramshackle cabin smells of unwashed men and rotting food. Arthur doesn’t know what’s going on -why is he here, what is this place?

Two men sit at a table, playing cards and drinking from open bottles of whiskey.

Their vests are green. Arthur seethes and goes to pull his gun from his belt, to find that there is none. There’s no gun, no belt. He looks down, and frankly, there is no him. He is not… really there.

His confusion is interrupted as a half-dressed man bursts through a door from another room, hoisting his pants up as he steps in.

“Donal, you rat bastard - how’d you pick up a thing like that?”

The dark-haired man laughs as he places his h cards down. “Enjoy it while she lasts - I’m sure she won’t be so tight when we take ‘er back to Hanging Dog.”

The returning man rebuttons his pants before sitting down in an empty chair, “‘er cunt is still real nice.”

“Wait till you fuck her ass, talk about real nice.” The third chuckles, taking his bottle of whiskey and taking a long drag.

“Ain’t you worried about Van der Linde?”

“Naw, ain’t no one comin’ for her. She ain’t anyone important.” Dark-haired man takes a large swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle on the table. He takes his gunbelt off and places it on the table as well as he stands up.

“Now if you excuse me, think I’ll fuck that tight little hole again.”

Why couldn’t do anything, why couldn’t he kill them? What was this all?

The door swings open. That old, dirty, ratty bed where he found you, it’s there. Lantern light spills out, casting shadows through the room. Arthur is able to follow, somehow, in this incorporeal form.

You’re curled on the bed in a fetal position, nude and unbound. Your skin is peppered with bruises and your hair disheveled and dirty.

Arthur has never felt so helpless, like he was on the outside, looking in.

“Come on now, get on your back f’r me. Been thinkin’ bout you all day.”

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness. You don’t move on the bed. The O’Driscoll starts to work at his trousers as he approaches your battered form. His pants drop to the ground as he reaches the bed. He manhandles you onto your back with no resistance, no fight in you.

He climbs atop you, parts your legs, and settles himself between them. The O’Driscoll spits in his hand slathers it over his hard cock, and without any preamble or gentleness, he pushes himself inside your abused cunt.

Arthur is stuck - he can’t look away, he can’t do anything. You don’t scream, or cry, or fight. You simply squeeze your eyes shut for that moment of penetration, completely resigned. Is this… is he seeing what happened to you? This, this heinous violation that happened because he wasn’t able to keep you safe.

The O’Driscoll moans in pleasure and Arthur wants to tear the world apart. Your body moves back and forth on the bed with each heinous thrust of the man on top of you. He grabs one of your legs and pulls it to rest on his shoulder. You don't react at all, staring at the wall.

“P-pretty miss.”

You need him, you need him, and again, he cannot keep you safe.

Arthur sees red, unable to do anything but watch.

You turn your head, catching Arthur’s gaze. Your eyes are dull, worn, dead. You can see him, the first acknowledgment from anyone all night.

You open your mouth and the most blood-curdling scream he has ever heard fills his ears.

Arthur’s eyes open; his vision blurred for several moments before being able to focus on the ceiling.

The screaming - it's not from his dream, it’s real, it’s happening right now - you need him-

He blearily awakens, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as he pants. He struggles to sit up, but finally does so, his head spinning. He feels so weak. Another pained scream from down the hall. Wheezing, he clutches at his chest as he sits up in the bed. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, blood staining the fabric.

He hears Abigail through the wall, some sort of murmured affirmation that he can’t understand.

The baby-

Arthur slides from the bed onto unsteady feet, nearly falling as he stumbles forward and grasps onto a dresser to stay upright, loudly panting.

Another scream. The baby, you’re having his baby-

He wipes his mouth again as he looks around, recognizing the bedroom as one he’s seen before - he’s up at Willard’s Rest, Charlotte must have taken them in.

Arthur musters the little strength he has and takes step after unsteady step, leaning against dressers and the wall as he exits the bedroom and slowly drags himself down the hall.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe through it.”

God bless, Sadie Adler is here too.

Arthur sucks in a loud breath as he leans against the frame of the open door, quickly exhausted by the exertion he has already gone through. It takes moments for his vision to correct and his lightheadedness to subside a little. Only then is he able to take in what is happening in this other bedroom.

You recline against Sadie, who rubs at your biceps gently as Abigail sits between your spread legs, arms bloodstained up to her elbows. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. Charlotte Balfour leans over and places a wet cloth against your forehead, wiping away the sweat.

He must be dead, he must be. There’s no way on god’s green earth he’s seeing this. He’s completely unnoticed by the women, all rightfully focused on birth and life and not on a dying man.

“There we go. Alright, come on now honey.” Sadie coos gently. You grab at one of her hands and she holds it with the strength that Sadie is known for.

Abigail looks up to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe. Heaving breath, trying to keep himself upright. For an instant, she wants to go to him, but another scream escapes your throat and she immediately turns back to you. She mutters something to Sadie that Arthur cannot hear, and Sadie moves to let you lay down in the bed as a racking sob shudders out of your body.

“Couple good pushes left, you can do it-” Abigail places one of her hands below your knee and pushes your thigh back to round your belly. Sadie does the same with the opposite thigh, one hand free to brush back sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. Abigail nods to Charlotte and the latter takes Abigail’s place at the side of the bed, taking your thigh in her hands, holding it back the same as Sadie.

You scream again, head craning back on the pillow. Your hands clutch at the bedding beneath you with an unmatched strength.

“Yes - yes, there we go, here we are-” Abigail mutters, her free hand disappearing between your legs.

Your voice, rough and abused, suddenly changes tone. From fearful and pained to something fierce. The scream from your lungs is one of determination - of strength and power and by god, he’s never been so in awe of you.

Arthur’s heart stops beating at this moment, and he nearly forgets the weight in his chest that makes it nigh impossible to breathe.

“Now push-” Abigail orders.

A fresh burst of tears works its way down your face as you suck in a breath and clench your teeth as you follow Abigail’s instructions. A defiant yell claws out of your throat. Arthur’s hand squeezes the doorframe with a strength that nearly escapes him, all from you. He wheezes, trying to keep quiet as the birth unfurls.

Fitting, a dying man witnessing this space of women delivering life. Fitting, that he's at the very least able to see this feat of strength from you, after everything you’ve been through.

But in this moment, you didn’t need saving. Not by him.

Your screams are of strength, not fear nor pain.

You didn’t need him.

You’d be fine, even after he’s gone.

One last strangled cry from your throat and you grit your teeth, pushing with every fiber of your being. Sadie leans forward and pushes your thigh apart just a bit more, Charlotte following suit on her side of the bed.

“Yes, yes, that's it!” Abigail exclaims.

The world slows, collapsing in on itself, he wasn't just watching the labor of a woman, he was staring at the birth of stardust, creation, and holiness incarnate. He, the sinner that he is, does not deserve to bear witness to such a thing.

From his vantage point leaning against the doorframe, he sees the baby’s head appear between your legs, cradled by Abigail’s waiting hands.

He can’t hear the women’s exclamations, a tinny sound having taken over his hearing. Arthur watches you suck in another breath and bear down once again.

In a rush of blood and fluid, Abigail catches the child as you deliver.

Arthur has never seen something so beautiful in his life. All the riches in the world, he’d have traded for this moment. The three women murmur joyful praises at you as Abigail rubs at the newborn roughly swaddled in the clean linen.

The tinny noise goes away when the babe wails, a high-pitched screech that fills the room, over your panting, over the beating of Arthur’s heart, the crackling of his lungs.

“Oh honey, y’ did perfect.” Sadie grins, letting your thigh down gently as she leans over toward the table and picks up her hunting knife. Abigail coos at the baby and undoes the linen enough to make that pulsing blue-white cord, the last connection between you and the child, accessible for Sadie to cut above the child’s stomach. Charlotte blots your forehead again with a wet cloth, holding your hand as you try to crane your neck to see your baby.

Abigail smiles as she places the newborn on the bed and wraps it tightly in linen with practiced ease. Once satisfied, she nods up to Sadie, who with Charlotte, slowly and carefully adjust the pillows behind you and help to pull you into a reclining position.

Abigail places the child into your waiting arms.

The baby wails and it’s the most beautiful goddamn sound that he’s ever heard. This sight is the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen. You, in all of your glory, settling in on the other side of childbirth.

And then reality crushes back in.

Arthur can taste the coppery blood in his mouth, and he slumps down the doorframe as he coughs, losing his breath as the back of his hand is covered with blood. Through his fading vision, he makes eye contact with you, hazy, but perfect lying there on that bed, holding his healthy child. You look horrified as you try to get out of bed, crying out in pain as Abigail and Sadie try to push you to lie down gently again, the baby wailing against your breast. Charlotte begins to round the bed to reach toward him as he collapses.

Crumbling to the floor, blood bubbles across Arthur’s lips as he wheezes, drowning in the weight of his own sins.

Your head pounds as you awaken, being jostled roughly and uncaringly. It takes you a moment to realize you are gagged, something tied across your jaw. Your eyes dart back and forth as they get used to the light in the room.

You know this room. The pit of your stomach opens up as you are roughly placed against an old bed, and you can see your companion.

Dark, greasy hair. Dark, ruthless eyes. A green scarf tied around his neck.

Companion, captor, rapist.

‘Ello there love, time for us to get to know each other.

You try to claw at him, but he proves to be too strong - and the both of you tumble onto the dirty old bed. He is able to hold you down as he stands up, one elbow across your back and his hand encircles your neck, pushing your face into the mattress.

You’re just gonna make this worse for yourself.

You scream against the gag, in rage then in pain when he pulls your arms backward and tucks them behind your back. Rolling you over, he keeps weight and one on your shoulder, your arms scream in pain as he holds you down.

He snarls as he catches his breath, pulling his knife from his belt.

You goddamn witch, I should kill you instead of fuck you. But it’s been so goddamn long since I’ve gotten my cock wet-

He draws the knife’s blade slowly across your collarbone. You stop fighting, afraid that the blade is going to pierce your skin. Instead, he starts drawing it down the front of your blouse, and buttons start popping and flying as he drags the blade against the fabric. He reaches the last button before your blouse gets tucked into your shirt and places the knife on the bedside table.

This is takin’ too long. He smiles, and your stomach drops as he takes a fistful of your blouse and rips.

You scream into the gag again as he continues, tearing the blouse off of you, the sleeves falling down your biceps, disconnected from the rest of the fabric.

His arm moves from where he holds you down to land on your chemise’s neckline and you immediately take advantage of his weight being gone, trying to sit up and throw an elbow. He is wise to your moves, however, and catches your arm as you swing it.

Fuckin’ Van der Linde whore-

The O’Driscoll backhands you across the face, leaving you smarting and gasping out in pain, falling back to the bed.

Another rip. Your chemise is torn at the neckline, between his two hands, and he continues to tear the cotton in half, your breasts uncovered as he looms over you. You can taste blood in your mouth as your eyes water over, dizziness taking over your being.

You can feel the cool knife blade against the curve of your waist as he slides it against the ties of your skirt, pulling the blade up and slicing through the strings, placing it back on the table side as he starts to pull your skirts off, his grubby fingers digging into your skin, gathering your bloomers as well as he works them down your hips, thighs, and legs. Your knee-high stockings get pulled from your feet.

You begin to weep as the O’Driscoll strips you naked on that shitty bed, every scrap of clothing gone. A rough, dirty hand squeezes a breast, grabs your hip, smacks your ass. Fingers reach to toy with the dark curls hiding your cunt.

He leans over you and pulls the gag down, smirking evilly.

Your man isn’t here to save you. He’s not coming. It’s just you and me like it always has been.

Like it always has been.

You know how this ends. You know what happens next. You know the pain, and the shame, and the pity and hurt in Arthur’s eyes when he finds you.

You cannot keep letting him do this. He’s right, Arthur is not coming.

The O’Driscoll stands to full height and begins to undo his gunbelt, a sickening grin still on his face. He looks down, starting to unbutton his pants and you see the glint of the knife on the side table as the lantern light flickers. With his eyes off of you, you swing your arm up, grasping the knife and immediately turn it on him before he has a chance to react, jumping up from the bed.

You sink the knife into the O’Driscoll’s neck. He sputters in surprise for a moment as he rears back, his blood spraying out between your bodies.

You grit your teeth and pull the knife out of his neck and immediately plunge it in at a different angle. Warm lifeblood splatters all over your chest, your naked breasts, your neck, your face. The man makes a gurgling sound as he begins to slump forward on top of you. You let go of the knife and push him with all of your might, and he rolls to the side off of you, off the bed, crumbling into a jumble of limbs on the floor, blood seeping out of the holes in his body.

You lean over and pull the knife from his neck.

You stand above him as he dies, his blood dripping down your naked form. For so long, this man has controlled you, taken your body as his own, and held you down in fear and nightmares, long after his death. But now, now you stand above him, knife in hand, like a warrior queen.

You are unashamed of your nakedness - you needed no armor to vanquish him. You are unashamed of the blood - it is not smeared between your thighs as evidence of violation, it is splattered across your face, your breasts, trailing in rivulets down your belly and your legs.

The O’Driscoll shudders in a death throe, his eyes wide as he stops twitching.

You grip the knife tightly in your hand. He’s dead, he’s dead and he can’t hurt you anymore. He can never hurt you again.

The room begins to fade away.

And for the first time in so very, very long, you wake up in your bed, alone, at peace.

The oil lamp flickers, casting a shadow throughout the room. You frown, mentally taking note to get more oil the next time someone goes to town.

You tiredly wipe the table of crumbs with an old rag, collecting said crumbs in your hand and tossing them in the sink, along with the dirty dishes from dinner. You had no desire to address those dishes tonight, the sun has long gone down. Sighing, you wipe your forehead of dotted sweat with the back of your hand as you clear the rest of the table.

A muffled bang comes from the door, and you hurry toward it before another knock rings through your house. Opening the door, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

John Marston stands in your doorway, holding a large canvas sack over his shoulder. You smile and step out of the way for him to come inside. He does so, stepping immediately toward your newly cleaned table and placing the sack down on the table. You consider scolding him, but hold your tongue as he unrolls the canvas, a large, paper-covered slab of meat as his bounty. Freshly shot, you know, Abigail having mentioned that John was out hunting this morning.

“Guess you were successful?” You laugh as John rolls his shoulder.

“A little bit.” He mutters, rubbing at it.

“Gettin’ old there, cowboy?” You tease, and Marston scowls back at you, his scars across his face always making him look more severe than you know he is. But the scowl does not remain long.

“Shaddup.” He laughs in that rough voice that brings you such comfort.

You laugh as well, placing your hand on his bicep, “Thank you, John, this means a lot.”

“You sure you’re alright out here? You know Abigail would rather you stay with us.”

“John, I’m fine. Besides,” You motion over to the wrapped flank of meat that he has placed on the table, “You provide enough as is.”

He rolls his eyes, “You do know I’m gonna get an earful from Abby when I get back to the house.”

“John Marston, both you and I know that you was gonna get an earful from her no matter what my answer was.”

He smirks, looking at his feet. Still bashful, after all these years. He looks up again, that half smile across his face, the silvered lines of his scars visible through the beard that doesn’t grow along them.

His gloved hand reaches toward you.

“You let me know if you need anything. Seriously. You know I watch out f’r you.” John squeezes your shoulder in a comforting manner.

You smile, brushing his hand from your shoulder, and reach around his shoulders to bring him into a hug, “Thank you, John.”

“You’re family to us.” You can feel him nod, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently.

“You tryin’ to butter me up to watch the baby?” You smirk as you unwind yourself from him, laughing.

John scratches the back of his head sheepishly, tilting his hat for a moment before resettling it, “I mean… an extra pair of womanly hands carin’ for a baby is always welcomed.”

“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“Abigail thinks it’s a girl. Says she’s feelin’ different this time around.”

“And you?”

“I don’t do a lot of thinkin’… you know that.”

“You’re a silly man. Now go back up that hill and take care of your pregnant wife.”

“Mama.”

You crack one eye open. The sun has risen in the east, and the door to your bedroom is open wide, and a small shadow appears at your bedside.

“Susannah.”

“Mama please-”

You sigh, yawning before giving in, knowing you can’t win this fight, “C’mon now, come get into the bed.”

The girl giggles and dives under the blanket that you hold open. You wheeze as she climbs over you, a knee to your belly, a hand squishing your breast, and finally her small body curls in against you under the warm covers, and you blow away a few strands of sand-colored hair from your face as she tucks her head upon your breast. You close your eyes again as you wrap your arm around her, hoping she will fall back asleep with you.

Blessed silence.

“Mamaaaaa-”

Interrupted.

“Yes, dearest?” You sigh, but you can’t help but to smile as the small body next to yours squirms under the blanket.

“Tell me about the house by the waterfall again.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve told you about it four times this week.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, but start the story anyway, “You were born on a bright, sunny day… like today.”

She crawls up to look you in the face, “And everyone was there.”

“Yes, everyone was there. Abigail and Sadie and Missus Charlotte helped me bring you into the world, just like how I’m gonna help Abigail bring the new baby into the world in just a few days.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing the mess of her honeyed hair back. “And when you came, and you cried and cried, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.”

“Before you were born, your papa said he loved the name Susannah. That’s why you’ve got that name,” You poke her little nose and she giggles, just like every time you tell the story. What joy simple things bring to a child.

The songbird that perches outside your window chirps gaily. It sits outside most mornings, and you have grown accustomed to its song, greeting you in bed. A horse whinnies from outside and your daughter bolts upright, throwing the blanket off her body and half off of yours. In a jumble of limbs, she bolts out of the bedroom, “Mama, mama!”

“Susannah, mind your shoes!” you call as you climb out of the bed, but secretly you want to run as fast as your daughter as you find a robe and throw it over your nightgown. You know you just scolded her to put on her shoes, but you also forego anything on your feet as you hurry toward the thrown-open front door, where Susannah bounds out as fast as her little legs can take her.

“There she is!”

Oh, your heart. Oh, your world. You have to hold onto the doorframe as you watch your daughter dart from the front door across the grass to the hitching post, several strides away. The large horse, tied to the post, swings its head toward the joyful shouts of the child. From behind the horse’s rump, a figure strolls around, tall and strong and bursting with excitement.

He stoops down on one knee and catches Susannah as she throws herself into his embrace.

“How is my favorite girl?” He easily swings the child up into his arms, holding her out and twirling her in a circle before gathering her into his chest.

“I missed you so much, Papa.” She buries her head into his shoulder.

“I missed ya somethin’ awful, sweetpea.”

The man looks up at where you stand in the door and smiles. His dark beard is long, his hair unruly underneath that old gambler’s hat.

He marches toward the door, and when he’s a step away from you, he lets your daughter down, who immediately latches herself to his pants leg.

“Susannah, Go on and get dressed. Give your father a moment to wash up.”

She scrunches her little nose in mock irritation, but dutifully does so, scooting past you and into the house, leaving you and him alone in the threshold of the door.

“Missed you somethin’ awful too, darlin’.”

You smile as his hands find your hips, “You owe me, Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, and his lips press gently at your exposed neck, “For what, leavin’ you with the little one while I rode a cattle train all the way to Denver ‘nd back? Sounds like you got the better end of the deal.”

You lean forward in his embrace as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Think you should stay closer to home next time.” You muse as you close your eyes.

Arthur’s hand creeps up from your waist and cups one of your breasts, squeezing firmly. You squirm in his embrace, gasping.

“Stop - Susannah is right there, you-” You push his hand away from your chest but he only chuckles in your ear as he unwinds himself from you.

“I’m bringing her up to Abigail’s. She can watch ‘er for an hour or two.”

“You just got back-” You are cut off when his hand darts forward and grabs your rear through your robe and nightgown. You can barely keep yourself from squealing.

“Yeah, and I need to make love to my wife ‘til she can’t take it no more.” Arthur rumbles roughly into your ear with a tone of voice that goes straight to your cunt. You are unable to find the words to respond as he pulls back and nods, a smirk painted across his face.

“Gimme fifteen minutes. You better be naked in that bed when I get back, woman.”

You frown as he rights his hat back on his head.

“You know how obvious that is going to be?”

Arthur waves his hand dismissively, “You didn’t notice me takin’ Jack out on so many rides nine months ago?”

“Mama, can Jack take me for a ride on the pony?” Susannah darts past you, having changed into a cotton dress and thrown little boots on, her hair a disheveled mess.

“Ah, ah, come back here missy. Go get a ribbon and let me tie your hair up.” You scold, and your daughter scowls back at you with a nearly identical look before stomping back to her room.

Arthur chuckles, and your finger wags at him, “Don’t think I don’t know where she gets that from.”

“Her mother, exactly.”

“You son of a -”

Your daughter reappears and you close your mouth before cursing. She holds a ribbon out as she marches to you, turning around right in front of you so that you can reach her hair.

“Mind your mother, Miss Susannah.”

“Papa-”

“Or there won’t be any pony rides. I’ll tell Jack to have you clean out the pony’s stall today.” Arthur laughs, completely unable to be serious.

“Ew!” She shrieks, her hand darting upward to give you the ribbon. You laugh to yourself, taking the ribbon and gathering her hair into a ponytail, tying it up and over her head. Once secured to your liking, you gently tap her shoulder and she bounds toward Arthur, who immediately scoops her up into his arms again.

Arthur juggles the five-year-old onto his hip, to her joyous, shrieking laughter, “C’mon, let’s go up and save Jack from his daddy’s chores.”

As he opens the door to the cabin, Arthur glances back at you, his eyes darkening, “You best be ready when I get back.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly, a shiver goes down your spine at his implication. He gets like this - ravenous, hungry, passionate whenever he comes back from a cattle drive. As much as you hate the weeks alone, the amount of money Arthur brings home makes the ranch nearly abundant. Last year both John and Arthur went, and kept the families fed throughout the winter comfortably.

Of course, this year Abigail threatened to castrate John if he left her alone for six weeks at the end of her pregnancy… so this drive, Arthur went alone.

You pick up his mud-speckled leather coat, laying it over the wash bin. The sack of clothing Arthur left outside the door was sure to smell of a cattle herd - he was smart enough to leave it on the porch this time.

You make your way back to your bedroom, sighing as you idly rub your back. Your gaze catches the mirror above your bureau and you slowly walk toward it.

You stand in front of that mirror, pulling your nightgown up, up and over your knees, your thighs, your hips, your belly. You pull the fabric over your breasts and finally your head, holding it in one hand as you look at yourself.

There are no scars, just like that night standing in front of the fire in Valentine. There are no outward signs of what happened to you those years ago. Placing the nightgown atop your dresser, you glance in the mirror one last time. You see fuller hips, silvered lines at your belly, your breasts flatter against your chest.

A half smile comes across your face. No, the scars on your body were not from the O’Driscoll that raped you - they are from growing and birthing the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You look away from the mirror and let a breath out through your nose as you climb back into bed. Flopping back against the pillows, you smile to yourself as you wait for your husband’s return, naked in the marital bed as requested.

It is not several minutes more before you hear the front door slam and smile to yourself as you hear Arthur’s heavy gait beeline toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door swings open as Arthur barges in, and his hungry eyes immediately devour you whole as you recline into the pillows.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur huffs, unable to move for a moment, staring at you. He pulls his hat from his head and chucks it to the floor.

“C’mon, ain’t known you to be one to keep your lady waitin,” you smirk, some of that old flirtation that you had at the beginning of your relationship shining through. You open your legs to bare your cunt, the dark hair parting as you spread your thighs further.

You’ve never seen him strip himself down faster. Boots tossed across the floor, his shirt thrown over the dresser haphazardly. He steps out of his pants and leaves them in a pile on the rug.

Fully nude, he climbs onto the bed, his hulking muscles undiminished by the years. Maybe, at first, in those months when he was bedridden at Willard’s Rest, where he slowly recovered from tuberculosis and you recovered from the ordeal of childbirth - was he a lesser man. But now? Now he was the Arthur you knew and loved - the Arthur who could tear men apart.

But you feel nothing but safe. You giggle as one of his hands immediately cups your cunt.

“Wife.”

You smile, your hands brushing down his shoulders to his biceps to his forearms.

“Husband.”

He parts your folds gently, rumbling as his other hand encircles his blood-hardened cock. He looms over you, and there is a secret sweet part of you that feels safe and protected underneath all of him.

“Sweetheart.”

He presses that trigger-worn finger inside you.

“Arthur-”

Your husband leans down and presses his lips against yours, his coarse beard tickling your chin as he begins to swirl and thrust that finger inside your cunt. You moan into his mouth as you begin to cant your hips, wanting more, more.

Arthur lets go of his cock to steady himself against your bucking, groaning at your desperation. His hard shaft smacks against your inner thigh and you mewl and gasp as he slides a second finger into your cunt. He begins to rut himself against the jointure of your thigh and hip, his cock settling in there as he prepares you, eases the way, ensures that he would never, ever hurt you.

God, you love this man so much.

He pulls his fingers from your body and immediately smears your slick on his shaft, the head of his cock already weeping. His eyes trail from his cock up your body to lock with yours.

You raise your arms, open wide, inviting him into your embrace and he smiles, knowing he is home. Arthur takes that hefty cock of his and lines it up with your cunt.

He grunts as he pushes into you, his head slipping inside as you whine; throwing your head back onto the pillow. He lowers himself down on top of you, plastering his entire body against you, and the two of you wind arms around each other’s boulders and your angles hook behind his back.

It’s slow, and full, as that first press inside always is. A strangled noise claws out of your throat as you dig your fingers into his back as those girthy inches stretch you. He rumbles against your neck as he works his way inside, his breath warm on your skin until he is hilted completely within you. He raises his head and kisses you headily.

Your bed is far more spacious than the small tent in Big Valley that saw your first coupling.

“Don’t know - how many times,” his breathless voice is interrupted by the frenzied kisses he gives you, “...I had to fist m’cock at night - thinkin’ of you and this perfect little cunt.”

Arthur begins to thrust his hips against yours, finding that rhythm perfected by years of experience together, “My perfect little wife-“

“Missed you so much, Arthur.” You throw your head back against the pillow as he continues to roll his hips against you, his cock dragging in and out, in and out of the vice grip of your cunt, “I love you so much -”

A particularly deep thrust makes you gasp and Arthur groans into your hair, panting as he continues his pace, “God, oh darlin’ -my darlin’ girl… I love you-”

He grabs your hand, pressing it down on the bed next to your head, interlacing your fingers as his pace slows, becomes more measured, deeper. The gold bands around your ring fingers make a soft clink against each other, nearly unheard among the sounds of lovemaking.

You cry out as he hits that spot within you again and again, sending you careening toward completion, the sensitivity of your channel making your legs shake and your breath hasten even more.

“Ar-Arthur- oh… I’m gonna-“ you whine breathlessly, squeezing your eyes shut as your husband groans in recognition.

“Come fer me, that’s it, come for me-” Arthur orders, throwing his hips roughly into yours in desperation, wanting, needing you to fall off the edge for him.

You cry out loudly as you throw your head back on the pillow, your hand squeezing his as the other claws into his back as you come, your entire body clenching as your arousal gushes around his cock.

“Yes, yes - oh, my perfect girl, oh-” Arthur praises you as you ride out your release, and gives three more heady strokes before he finds his own. You come down from your high just in time to dig your heels into his tailbone, the sign for him not to pull himself from your velvet heat.

His hips stutter, and he lets out a long breath as he stills, cock twitching as he comes inside you. You whine as you feel the warmth bloom in your core. He cuts off the sound from your throat by kissing you, hard and fast, needy and desperate.

“My…” he pants between kisses, “pretty little wife-”

You smile breathily against his lips, “My strong, handsome husband-”

The wet sound of lips meeting lips takes over for several moments before Arthur slides himself from your body, settling on his side next to you before laying his head upon your breast.

“Don’t go away for so long anymore. You gotta stay closer to home.” You muse as you run your fingers through his hair. The honey-blonde strands by his temple are peppered with grey- along with his too-long beard. Weeks in the saddle left your husband looking like a rugged mountain man whenever he returns. You’ll have to cut it later; it is growing longer than you like it.

He snorts playfully as he rolls off of you, sitting up on his elbow, facing you in the bed. With his other hand, he grabs the sheet that had been kicked away in the haste of lovemaking, pulling it up to pool around both of your waists.

You cannot help the smile that cracks across your face. You grasp his hand, his callused, rough hands that have built your home and provided for your family. The hands that rocked your daughter to sleep when she was a baby. The hands that keep you safe, warm, fed.

The hands that pulled you from your pit of misery those years ago. Maybe if that hadn’t happened - maybe - maybe that tawny-haired girl running around the house wouldn’t be here. Maybe Arthur would still be robbing and stealing and ushering himself to an early grave. Maybe he would have bled out on that mountain in Roanoke instead of being dragged out by John.

It hurts, still. Every so often on quiet nights, you awaken sweating and fearful and an O’Driscroll’s laugh echoes in your mind. But then - you turn into Arthur on those nights and he holds you through ‘til the morning. He whispers sweet nothings until you drift off again. He reminds you of his love for you, through words and touches and enveloping you in the most intimate of embraces. The circle of gold around his left ring finger, though tarnished as he never takes it off even when he works, still glints in the morning light.

And those nights that he’s out on the cattle trail? You pull yourself from your bed and pad quietly over to the other bedroom in the cabin, gazing through the sliver of the door partway open to see your daughter, born of struggle and the razor’s edge of that pain. How perfect she is. What joy she brings.

There will always be a part of you that O’Driscoll scarred you that night.

But maybe, just maybe - it fades, little by little over time.

Arthur playfully squeezes your hand in return, “Them weeks too long f’r my girl? Miss me that much, huh?”

You bring his hand up from where he holds yours to spread flat across your belly, and you lean toward him with a smile on your face and lightness in your heart.

Arthur Morgan’s eyebrow arches with confusion.

The songbird’s luted melody softly echoes through the window of your bedroom, the mid-morning light spilling out over your sheets, over your bodies in your warm, well-loved marital bed.

“No, silly man. I’m pregnant.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #twolafic #passerine #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic

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temis-de-leon · 1 year ago

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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

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.

Tagging: @deepestartisanhumanoidshark

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me fluff #obey me hurt/comfort #obey me x gender neutral reader

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moosesarecute · 2 months ago

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Chapter 4: The Cursebreaker and Home

Masterlist

Series masterlist

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Y/n asked him.

She had recently been ordered to be Lucien’s servant, so she stood at the opposite side of the throne hall than he did.

Lucien was a good male, or so he had heard, so he didn’t worry too much about it.

He himself stood frozen still at just listen to the girl standing before them.

Feyre.

His Feyre.

“That’s Tamlin’s girl, yes,” he answered as calmly as he could. Tamlin’s girl…

But he was not calm. He was freaking out. How had she gotten back to here? He thought he had scared her away. He thought she would be safe and alive in the mortal world.

“We both know that’s not what I am talking about,” Y/n answered matter of factly and he could feel her stare from the other side of the hall.

He cursed himself for telling her about his dreams. The hands and the paintings that had lived in his dreams for the past three years. The dreams that had given him hope and courage to keep going, to keep living.

And now, his hope currently stood before him, facing certain death.

“That’s her yes,” he answered plainly.

“I’m sorry,” she told him back. Like she already knew that Feyre would be dead sooner rather than later.

Y/n was very pessimistic. He had learned that about her early on. In situations where Rhys tried to find hope, she often made peace with the worst outcome.

A different coping mechanism than he liked, but it seemed to work for her. She never got her hopes up and also never got her hopes crushed.

She was strong like that.

It hadn’t been long ago when she randomly told him she couldn’t even imagine a world where she would be back home. Back with her family. Back with Azriel.

She hadn’t cried as she told her. She had just stared far into the fireplace.

He didn’t tell her back that he was thinking the same. He needed to be the positive one.

However, it had been soon five decades without them, and he couldn’t remember their voices even if he tried.

They had an evening where they talked about their families. Y/n explained that she was the oldest of her siblings and that it was almost thirty years until her closest sibling. There was a brother in between them, but he died at birth.

“Both my mother and I had stillborn as our seconds. Sebb, my son, was born without wings. He didn’t breathe as he was born. My brother was born too early.” It broke his heart to hear about all the horrors she had experienced with childbirth. “I love all my children. I would never want to live without them, but I wish they had been made by love and not force.”

“You were bred to make more faeries with wings, right? But to use the wings you’d die?”

“They wanted as many as possible of us to use in the war,” she answered. “They mostly wanted the men to fight and when they died or were unable to fight anymore, they’d take their wings. All the men above 18 had to fight in the war. They were only allowed back once or twice a week to ensure the pregnancies kept going. Or, if it had been twenty years without having a pregnancy both the male and the female got their wings cut off. That’s how my daughter Cindy died. It was awful.”

Rhys remembered from the first memory she had shown him that losing both wings were the most painful death they could have. He couldn’t imagine being a parent and knowing his child had gone through that as they died.

“How many of your children are dead?” he asked carefully.

“Three,” she answered. “As I know of. Sebb, Cindy and Jesper. Jesper died in the war. He and Cindy was close in age, but died at different times. There’s also Oscar. He lost his left hand in the war. However, he and Trace are identical twins, so it makes it easy to tell them apart.”

They laughed a little at that.

“Illyrian males often try to clip the wings of their females. My dad saves mom seconds before her own wings were clipped, but it was only because she was his mate. I banned wing clipping the second I became High Lord, but I fear they have gone back to old traditions now that we’re not there to keep them in check.”

He thought about it often. How there was no one with power to take care of the females. He knew it didn’t take many hours for illyrians to kill and torture females, so he didn’t even want to imagine the damage they had done in fifty years.

“Every time I see a female with clipped wings I feel like I let them down.”

“Every time a child or sibling of mine turned 18 I felt like I had lost too. The world definitely has changed since we last experienced it. It’s a lot of steps backwards, but I’m sure we’ll get through it eventually. Maybe even improve some of it.”

Rhys felt almost confused about her positive tone, but at the same time it lightened his bad mood.

It had been fifty years. Fifty years where he had strived to keep going. He was not going to stop on the finish line.

“That was stupid,” Rhys told Y/n as he threw a healing tonic her way. “Reckless, uncalled for, and so fucking stupid.”

“It had to be done,” she told him.

He did his best to not notice all the wounds she was currently carrying. All the small cuts and the bruises from the whip. He knew she would be…weakened for the next couple of days.

“They found you helping him. They found you and knew you had been stealing from them-”

“What do you expect me to do?” she raised her voice back. Y/n rarely raised her voice. This was only the second time it had happened. “She’s a girl, Rhys. She’s nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds shouldn’t need to fight for the life of an entire world. They should worry about their crushes and their appearance, not how to survive three impossible tasks against an evil witch. If me helping Lucien heal by stealing a tonic will save her, then I will do it again, and again, and again.”

He understood why this was hard for her. Y/n had raised so many babes, and while not all of them reached the age of 19, she probably saw her own children or herself in Feyre. She had only been 18 when her traumatic tasks began, and even though their tasks are very different, she didn’t want Feyre to go through any of it.

19 year olds shouldn’t need to do anything of importance, he agreed in that, but Y/n was putting herself in too much danger.

“Y/n, if they now decide to, they can choose to sentence you for other missing things too. They know you have been stealing, and they were kind with this punishment. So, please, be careful.”

He knew better than to ask her to stay away. She was stubborn and brave, sometimes a little reckless, but for the most part smart and collected. Y/n did what was the best for others, he knew that.

She had given her brother a part of her own body for cauldron’s sake.

“We need to protect her, Rhys. She’s our only hope right now and she will need help. She will need healing. Humans heal slowly. Even slower than I do.”

They hadn’t discussed her slow healing since she showed him what had happened. How her wing had melted into his brother’s chest and healed it within seconds. How she had forced the shadows to come get them, and how she had hidden away before he and Cass had gotten there.

Azriel had been healed in only a couple of hours.

Rhys remembered the golden swirl that had taken place on his brother’s chest. The swirl that Y/n’s wing used to have.

It made him nauseous, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine a world without his brother. And Y/n couldn’t either.

“Amarantha can’t find out that we’re helping Feyre. She’ll probably kill both of us, and Feyre.”

“We’ll have to find a way to help her that doesn’t seem like helping. Feyre doesn’t have to thrive; she must only survive. Tamlin isn’t going to do anything, and not any of the other High Lords either. So, we’ll have to do it.”

And that’s how they managed to come up with a plan that made Feyre hate them, but it at least kept her alive.

They had done it. They were free. Amarantha was dead. Feyre was alive.

Cauldron, they had actually done it.

Rhys was too exhausted, but if had carried a little more energy, he would have almost danced on the way to his room.

He opened the room and found it…empty?

“Y/n?” he asked aloud, but he got no answer.

He looked around and noticed the letter folded neatly in front of the fireplace.

Dear Rhys,

Thesan will soon winnow me home.

I will make sure all my family know how you saved me. How you helped me keep going. It will never be forgotten.

If you for any reason need it, you have friends in Dawn that will help you or your people. Azriel will know where we are.

Please know that as you are reading this, I’m hugging all my children and grandchildren and bawling my eyes out.

Thank you again,

Your roomie

She had drawn a heart over the i in Azriel.

He wasn’t surprised she left without a proper goodbye, but he had just always imagined taking her back to Velaris. To Azriel.

He guessed Cornelius would let Azriel know.

“They’re going beat you up,” Mor told him as he flew them to the House.

“I certainly hope so,” he answered. “If they don’t, something is seriously wrong.”

He landed on the balcony, and it only took seconds for his brothers to arrive. They were both sweaty and looked tried, but they had smiles on their faces.

To his relief, they looked like they always had.

“You bastard,” Cassian beamed at him as he hugged him tightly.

Rhys thought he had cried out all his tears with Mor, but a couple more of them still fell down his face. His brothers were safe, pissed at him, but safe. That was more than he could ask for.

Azriel carefully joined the hug and Cassian almost engulfed both of them.

Rhys suddenly started to think about the heart Y/n had written over Azriel’s name. Suddenly realized that Azriel had someone way more important than him to welcome home.

He broke out of the hug and turned to Azriel.

“Get to your wife,” he almost commanded. “Now.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, but it didn’t take him many seconds to fly off the balcony and disappear into the shadows.

“You met her?” Mor asked him and Cassian also looked over at him.

“Yes,” he answered plainly, but decided to wait to talk, until Y/n had told Azriel all she wanted him to know. He didn’t want to overstep. “I definitely met her.”

Rhys had slept at the Townhouse, but he had heard from Cassian that Azriel had arrived back home within a couple of hours. Which made no sense.

Something obviously wasn’t right.

The next time he saw him, he looked at him with a raised bow, but Azriel didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything in a couple of days actually, but that wasn’t unusual.

Therefore, Rhys decided to just ask his brother.

“I get it that you worry, but if you could leave my love life alone, I would appreciate that brother,” was Azriel’s only answer. He spoke in such a calm, but lethal voice that Rhys knew he had to let the topic go.

And, as Feyre started to take up more and more space in his head and heart, he didn’t even think about it that often.

Until one evening.

It was almost a random day. Feyre and Mor had wanted to have girls’ night, so he and Cassian had prepared a boys’ night.

However, Azriel showed up late. And he was drunk. Which was very unusual. Azriel never acted drunk when he was drunk, but his hiccups always gave him away.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asked, but he knew Azriel probably didn’t want to talk about anything. But he also suspected he knew what was wrong.

Both Cassian and Mor had pointed out how Az spent a lot of time in Velaris between missions. It didn’t seem like he was a lot with Y/n.

“Nothing,” he answered and sat down in the couch beside Cassian.

“Trouble with the wife?” Cassian asked, and Rhys felt relived he didn’t need to ask him. He felt he had made too much trouble about it already.

“I’m not even sure I have a wife,” Azriel answered honestly and both Rhys and Cass got a bit surprised. “Haven’t seen her in 53 years.”

He picked up his cup with a hiccup and poured some wine into it.

53 years. That’s one more year than Amarantha. Why had they been apart for an entire year before that? Rhys tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember anything of significance.

He also couldn’t remember Y/n mentioning anything about it. She hadn’t talked about not seeing Azriel for a long time.

But, Y/n had also never freely spoken about Az. She had always lowered her voice and thought twice before she spoke. Had she tried to keep from him the fact that their relationship had paused?

He was about to ask Az, but he just kept speaking. He was definitely drunk.

“I mean, I know she’s been there. I smell her in our house all the time,” he drank the rest of the wine in his cup. “But she’s never there when I get there. She leaves flowers there as usual and there’s always food in the cabinets, but I still never see her. It’s like she’s taking care of me from afar.”

“Why is she leaving before you get there?” Rhys asked.

He thought back to all the times Y/n had spoken about Azriel and all the times her wings had glowed. He thought about the smile she wore only when speaking about him.

But he also saw the embarrassment and guilt in her features. He thought about her hanging wings and her distant eyes.

“She promised to protect me,” he answered. “She vowed to do all she could to keep me safe. I didn’t realize how seriously she would take it.”

Y/n hadn’t kept him safe. He had almost died in her arms, and she had been willing to protect him with her life. She stayed away from him to protect him. To make sure if the bounty hunters came back, they would take her and not Az.

Rhys opened his mouth to ask questions. He didn’t really know what to ask. If they could help. Or if it was something he needed.

But it seemed like Azriel realized he had just spoken freely about his emotions, and it didn’t take long for him to stand up and walk away.

Rhys and Cass sat in silence for a long time.

Rhys had tried going to bed, but falling asleep without Feyre in his arms proved to be a struggle.

He was up and awake when he heard a knock on his door.

To his surprise, and total horror, Madja stood on the other side of the door.

She was going to tell him that one of them had died. That the mission at Hybern had done so badly that he had not only lost his mate to his enemy court, but also that one of his brother’s had died from the injuries.

“What’s going on?” he asked her before she could speak.

“I honestly have no clue,” Madja answered, and they walked silently to the clinic.

As they walked inside Azriel’s room, he soon understood what had happened. Azriel’s chest was glowing in small swirls.

“The wound healed itself, I only barely had time to clean it before it was closed,” Madja told him, and he only shook his head in relief.

“It’s a special kind of magic. It healed him before, so it’s healing him now too,” he informed Madja, but Madja still looked confused at him. “There’s this healing magic from Dawn. It’s not known amongst many, and there’s a good reason for it. These fae can heal, but they also get weakened by it. Their own healing abilities die down. If they take too much, they die themselves.”

“Such a sacrifice can’t have been made easily. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Rhys stayed by Azriel’s side for a while, before he decided to move to Cassian’s room. He turned at the door and looked back at his brother. His chest was almost not glowing anymore, and Rhys hoped it meant that he was healing properly.

“Oh, Y/n,” he muttered as he left the room.

Taglist: @tele86 @mariahoedt @miadialila @fuckingsimp4azriel @bookandtealover @saltedcoffeescotch @brekkershadowsinger @scatteredstardustt @pablopascal @bravo-delta-eccho @meritxellao @grey-clowd @adventure-awaits13 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @chicken-fifi @helo1281917 @coeurdeveea @i-am-infinite

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

#acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you

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sleepw-me · 9 months ago

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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.

#x reader #headcanon #one shot #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #sukuna #child reader

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lambse7en · 2 months ago

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Pregnancy Headcanons

(Benjamin Pointdexter (Bullseye) x reader) (sfw)

summary: how i imagine Dex in a relationship where reader gets pregnant.

warnings: this is mostly fluff, but i think mental illness (OCD, anxiety, trauma), panic attacks, emotional dysregulation, pregnancy and childbirth, therapy mentions, fear of parenthood, co-dependency…i’m pretty sure i wrote reader as gender neutral

language: english

!link to ao3!

notes: justice for dex, we need more content about him. Dex is referred as Ben.

#ThereWereNoNewFanficsAboutHimSoIJustWroteOneMyself

─━━━━━━⊱ 𖦹 ⊰━━━━━━─

Telling him / Early Pregnancy

• When you first tell Ben about the pregnancy, there’s a pause that feels like it lasts forever. Not because he’s angry, he’s just…stunned. His brain immediately races with two competing voices: one picturing a future he never thought he deserved, and the other screaming that he’s going to ruin it all.

• He tries to stay calm, but his hands twitch. He’s overwhelmed with emotions like love, fear and hope, but it all clashes with his deep-rooted fear of becoming his worst self. He asks you: “Are you sure?”. It’s not about the pregnancy, but about him. Are you sure he could be a parent?

• You reassure him with honesty, not sugarcoating. You don’t say it’ll be easy. You don’t say he’ll never struggle. You say you will do this together. Build something stable, something real, even if it’s messy. That earns his trust.

Mid-Pregnancy

• This is the stage when Ben really starts showing quiet protectiveness. He doesn’t make grand gestures, but he always makes sure he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He memorizes the ingredients in everything you eat. He keeps his hands on you more, just small touches, grounding himself.

• There are nights when you’re asleep and he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what kind of father he’s going to be. He’s afraid of messing up, afraid that the darkness in him could bleed into this new life. But instead of spiraling, he gets up and quietly writes letters to the baby, just in case he never gets to explain himself in person.

• OCD symptoms start showing more here, not in a stereotyped way, but in how he fixates on routines. He checks the same door locks five, six times before bed. Repeats affirmations out loud (“I’m going to do this right”) like mantras. If you break his rhythm, even gently, he can spiral into a moment of agitation, not at you, but at himself.

• Mood changes are especially sharp during this stage. One moment he’s calm and focused; the next, he’s withdrawing, convinced he’s “too much” or “failing.” You also learn not to challenge those moments with logic right away, just sit with him until it passes, sometimes placing a hand over his so he knows you’re still there.

• His first panic attack during the pregnancy isn’t even about something big. It’s a sensory overload moment at a store when too many people are around and someone brushes past your stomach. His breathing shortens, his focus tunnels, and he starts to go into fight-or-flight. You guide him out of it, slowly, and afterward he feels ashamed. But you make it clear: It’s not a failure. It’s normal. He’s worried. It’s something you’ll face together.

• He goes to therapy more consistently now, not just for himself, but because he promised you he’d try. And even after several sessions he still slips into silence sometimes, disappears mentally into guilt or fear, but you never try to "fix" him. You just remind him: “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be here.”

• He starts obsessively reading books about pregnancy, parenting, infant development, anything he can get his hands on. Not in a passive way: he takes notes, underlines passages, makes lists of what he thinks you two should do. It’s part of his coping, but also part of his desperate need to be good enough. He even signs you two up for parenting classes, not because he thinks you need them, but because he does. At first he’s stiff, too quiet, watching how the others touch the dolls or speak about boundaries. But slowly, he starts asking questions. The moment he successfully swaddles the practice baby, he beams, just for a second, and glances at you like: “Did you see that?” That night, he fell asleep with a parenting manual still open on his chest.

• Feeling the baby kick for the first time is a turning point. At first, he doesn’t even believe you when you say it’s happening. He hesitates to put his hand on your stomach. But when he does, and he feels it, he freezes. Then breathes in, shakily, like it’s the first real, good breath he’s taken in months. He doesn’t say anything right away, just kisses your forehead and mutters, “It is real.” From that day onwards he starts referring to the baby by the name you two chose.

Late Pregnancy / Birth

• The closer you get to the due date, the more he starts keeping a quiet distance, not emotionally, but physically. He’s terrified he’ll hurt you or the baby by accident. You have to gently pull him back in, remind him that your body isn’t fragile glass, and that what you need the most in that moment is for him to be present.

• He builds things for the baby. It’s not perfect, sometimes not even safe, but it helps him feel involved. He obsesses over assembling furniture for the baby’s room and triple-checking the baby car seat. It’s not just care, it’s control in a moment where everything feels uncertain to him.

• When labor comes, Ben is calm on the outside, for you, but his nails dig into his palm the entire time. He’s not afraid of the pain you might feel, he knows you’re strong. He’s afraid of losing you. But the moment he sees the baby, it’s like something resets in his brain. Not like a movie “cure,” but like a weight leaves his heart and lungs. There's something grounding in seeing this new life, that you and him created together. He cries, not from breakdown, not from panic, just because he is overwhelmed. He softly sobs and smiles into your shoulder.

• After the birth, Ben also doesn’t hold the baby right away. It is not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t trust himself yet. He stands near the bed, eyes on both of you, hands clenched at his sides. It’s only when you call his name, just once, quiet but sure, that he steps forward and lets himself hold the baby.

• He trembles the whole time. Not out of weakness, but because something about this moment feels impossible. He’s still here. You’re still here. And the baby is breathing. He kisses the baby’s forehead. Then kisses your hand. He doesn’t say “thank you,” because it feels too small. But you see it in his eyes.

#fanfic #daredevil #bullseye #benjamin poindexter #bullseye x reader #bullseye x you #heacanons #pregnancy #pregnancy headcanons #sfw #benjamin poindexter x reader #benjamin poindexter x you #ben poindexter #dex poindexter #poindexter

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year ago

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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.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #sanji #blank leg sanji #sanji x reader #reader insert #x reader #i should be working on lucky break but alas #baby fever was hitting hard tonight

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