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lxnarphase · 10 days ago

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━ ❝ OH, IT'S MINIKUNA ! ❞

✮₊‧⁺...content: heian era!sukuna x wife!reader, fluff, mentions of childbirth, sukuna is an overly proud father, sukuna is whipped for his wife

✮₊‧⁺...lunar's note: based of this little blurbie and this one too !! needed some fluff with kuna bc he would love having a baby girl idc what anyone says !!! also i did my best describing the birthing process in a time accurate period but it's definitely a bit inaccurate because...i have never had a baby LOL

no one has ever seen sukuna ryomen, king of curses, wince before.

not until today, at the wrath of his pregnant wife who somehow got a hold of his fingers instead of his hand.

one of the nurses did warn him to not give you his finger and to ensure you always hold his hand. but by the gods, he swears you almost ripped his finger off.

it's cute to him, however, when you attempt to curse him out.

'gods, sukuna, i despise your entire being!'

'i know, my wife.'

'i should've never let you get me pregnant, you animal!'

'you begged for it, my wife.'

'i am never letting you bed me again, use your hand for the rest of your existence!'

'you can't keep your hands off me, my wife, no need to lie.'

but the sigh of relief, the way you instantly look down and coo once the sound of wailing filled the air...it makes him melt just a little bit.

he can't deny, seeing you in pain made him heated. it took everything in him not to kill every midwife, nurse, and lady-in-waiting in your birth room for not being able to make this process completely painless.

except chiyo. he would have to reward your personal physician for preparing you so well for this...

what did the old hag like again? wines, meats, gifts for her grandchildren back at home?

hm, yes, that would be great for her. of course, he'll say it was from you. the king of curses shows gratitude for no one.

he's pulled out of his thoughts at the hushed whispers once the other women exam the baby before following your unspoken request to hold your child.

"d-do you think lord sukuna will harm our lady for this...?"

"i hope not, surely he can make an exception, t-they both are still young and can always try for more!"

"but he's the king of curses, t-there no way he won't have a reaction!"

before he can demand what they find so important to discuss in front of you, chiyo hushes the girls with a wave of her hand, ushering the girls to help wipe off your sweat, tears, and clean off the baby—gentle like it's the finest glass, she instructs—before turning to sukuna with a knowing smile.

"well, your greatness...congratulations on having a healthy and gorgeous little girl," she hums, wiping her hands with a clean cloth before going to rinse her hands to help stitch any rips and clean you up.

the room falls silent aside from your soft little coos and the wails of your daughter as you brush the wet, fluffy hair on her little head.

all the women in the room continue to work, but it's clear they are silently waiting for his outburst.

everyone knows that a proper heir to any throne is a boy...but now, sukuna's first born child is a girl.

but rather angry, yelling, and threats to your and your child's life, the room is filled with Suku's booming laughter, which practically shakes the entire room.

instead of an enraged expression, pure delight, and excitement are painted on his face as he sits next to you on the soft cushiony bedding on the floor, his hand caressing the rounded cheek of your newborn.

"so, you've given me a girl," he hums in delight, all four of his eyes narrowing. "this will be the one who takes over my throne once i decide to step down?"

this thing, this tiny, itty bitty baby...came from you both? it's almost laughable how small this baby is compared to his hand, that something so little could be related to him.

she's...nothing short of perfect. "absolutely divine...she will not just be beautiful like her mother, but as powerful as both of us."

he's so proud of you and your child. he would shower your daughter with riches, love, and anything she could ever want and ask for.

but, he couldn't lie.

she's a damned fat baby, big head and all.

"sukuna, watch your mouth!"

he can't help but laugh, not realizing his thoughts came out of his mouth. "what, it's a good thing! means she's healthy," he boasts with a grin, leaning down closer to see her better.

"she looks strong already. as soon as she is able, i will personally teach her how to be a truly malevolent little princess, how to properly slit the necks of her enemies, how to—!”

oh, he is so excited, it's adorable.

“sukuna, shush, i just gave birth to a child with a massive head like yours, give me a moment," you say with a light laugh, your smile still reaching your clearly tired eyes.

“…apologies, my wife.”

chiyo can't help but laugh with you she finishes applying the healing ointment on your lower body, using a bit of her cursed energy to speed up the healing process to help you skip any serious pain.

after all, nothing but the best physician for you in sukuna's palace.

"always such an excitable boy, my lord, ever since you were a young man," she hums, helping one of the midwives properly wrap your baby in the soft, clean cloth.

"be gentle with her," you instruct him, gently moving your arms toward him so he could take the little bundle. he's...nervous, but he hides it well.

you place your daughter in his arms and he looks down at her, suddenly conscious of how loud he's breathing. she's got his hair, still a bit wet but soft and fluffy. it's pink, just like his.

a pleased rumble vibrates his chest, and he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

but then...her eyes open.

both sets.

he almost didn't notice it at first, they're just so small, but they're there. the same color as yours, pretty and big, filled with so much life.

his eyes burn, vision getting blurry. no words come to his head, he can't think of anything to say. he's so caught up in his thought he doesn't even notice chiyo ushering the other girls in the room out and shutting the door before quietly tending to you with water or food.

she knows that look, you do as well. she's been around longer than uraume to know her master, knowing the king of curses since his young years as the unwanted child of the village, abandoned by his mother for his 'horrid' appearance.

she was lucky to have found him before the villagers got to him, torches, axes, pitchforks and daggers in hand to take care of the child who they believed to have brought misfortune to their home.

getting him to safety was one of the best decisions she'd ever made, king of curses or not. no child deserved to be abandoned like that. and now, he's seeing himself in that tiny little being in his arms right now...chiyo can only imagine what he's feeling.

so, out of respect, she keeps her gaze averted, pretending she does not see the misty gaze he gives your daughter. this is a moment for you and him, and she does her best to make all her movements as quiet as possible.

all sukuna can think about in this moment is how he used to be just as tiny as this. he was just as vulnerable in his mothers arms. he couldn't talk, couldn't speak, couldn't fend for himself.

yet, his parents looked down at him just like this and decided he was an abomination and didn't give him a chance.

but now?

sukuna knows he would never, ever let anything happen to this little bundle in his arms. he would rather destroy the entire planet before letting anything happen to his baby girl. no one would make his little one suffer and live to see another day.

he flinches just a little, feeling your soft hand rubbing his bicep. "it's okay, my love," you softly coo at him, reaching up to wipe a tear from his eye before it had a chance to drip down his cheek. "she's going to grow up feeling loved and cherished because she's got a great father."

"hmm..."

a smile crosses his features as he looks back down, looking at the squirming baby so makes a little noise before calming down when he strokes her little, chubby cheek again to keep her from crying again.

"and she's got a great mother. she'll be the most wonderful princess in all of history," he says with a toothy grin, chest rumbling with a laugh.

"aww, my love, that's so sweet..."

"seriously, though, how in hells did you squeeze this thing out of ya? thing's got the head of a watermelon."

"sukuna, give me back my baby, and chiyo? get this man some food to stuff in his mouth before he says something to warrent the rage of a new mother."

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #˗ˏˋ ★ lxnarworks .ᐟ #sukuna ryomen x you

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 6 months ago

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Blood Ties Chapter 32

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Threats of SA; Threats of harming an infant; Distressed baby

Rick had stopped at every sign, letting you out while Carol or Lori cared for Birdie. You had used a tube of the baby’s diaper cream to paint a white bird on each surface. There were likely better things you have used but this one, you knew Daryl would understand and follow. Anxiety was slowly crushing your chest and try as you might to swallow it down, it was nearly impossible to bear.

It was at least an hour of Birdie crying restlessly before the warehouse was found. The dead surrounding it were little in number, easily dispatched by those that weren’t a child, pregnant woman, or one who had a baby suckling at her breast. You carried a bag on each shoulder into the building, wishing it were enough to help you feel like you were doing your part.

You sat away from the door, knowing that’s where Daryl would have placed you and his daughter, furthest from any entry point. It was also to hinder her cries from attracting anymore walkers. She was inconsolable, something��mother’s intuition, perhaps—telling you that she had been made worse by the absence of her father. And as much as you loved their bond, you wondered how dangerous it could prove to be to encourage it.

“I said leave it, Lori!”

Your head snapped up to find Rick stalking toward the door with his wife on his heels, her hands below her protruding belly as she attempted to keep up with him. “Rick. Rick, we need to talk this out!”

“No!” He barked. “What we need to do is survive, and we can’t do that if I don’t stay focused.” When she tried again, he turned with a shake of his head, leaving her there with tears in her eyes.

“Lori.” You whispered, getting to your feet. It was difficult to get off the floor with a baby but you managed. You couldn’t stand to see her like that. No, Lori wasn’t perfect and she made a mistake. She had been alone with a child, acting out of fear once she had been told her husband was dead. Maybe she had loved Shane. Maybe she hadn’t. No one talked about it and perhaps they shouldn’t. It was all irrelevant anyway. Lori was there and pregnant and hurting so deeply. “Hey.”

“Oh. Hey, uh—” The woman turned and wiped at her eyes as if you hadn’t already noticed the glimmer of moisture. “Hey, Y/N.” Her eyes were drawn down to the wriggling bundle in your arms, little squeaks and sniffles escaping from behind the blanket. “How’s little Birdie?”

“She’s fine.” You lied, flinching when the newborn screeched. Taking a moment to move her onto your shoulder and begin patting her back, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I think she’s missing Daryl.”

“Yeah.” A gentle hand reached to pet the back of Birdie’s head. “Y/N, I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Lori was always so strong for everyone, her thoughts on the decisions that would affect the group never going unspoken. But then, at that moment, she sounded so small, so uncertain.

“Don’t be.” You caught her hand before she could pull it back, holding it tightly. “I love Rick but he’s wrong. He’s wrong and he’ll realize it. I’m just so sorry that he’s hurting you like this in the meantime.” You stood by your words. Rick was trying to do what was right for the group, but even that was being influenced by the anger he harbored. For Shane. For Lori. For himself.

“I deserve it.

You blinked, mouth agape. “You do not!” You shook your head incredulously. “Look, you made a mistake. Doesn’t mean you need to pay for it over and over.” She mimicked you, her hair swinging back and forth.

“No, I really do.”

“Lori.” You said pointedly. She looked you in the eye, face wet and flushed. “I get it. You were angry with him for what he did to Shane. It was a lot to take in and maybe your first reaction wasn’t the best one, but you��re trying to talk now, trying to understand. He’ll come around.” You gave a shrug. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll sic Daryl on him.” You smiled when she laughed wetly.

Lori reached for your shoulders, pulling you in for a wide hug that angled to one side, Birdie and her belly making it laughable. “Thank you, Y/N.” She wiped her face with one hand, cupping yours with the other. “You know, I was a fool for thinking you were trouble when Daryl carried you out of those trees. I’m sorry for that.”

You waved dismissively with a quiet pfft. “Don’t worry about it. I am trouble.” Her smile dampened but didn’t disappear.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Birdie began to root against your neck with a series of coos and squeaks. “And we wouldn’t have this angel if you weren’t.”

Chuckling you began to wiggle your arm out of your shirt, Lori stepping forward to help. “Now if I can just get her daddy to eat as much as she does, we’ll be set.” Before you could situate your bra, the baby began to fuss, growing louder with each cry.

“Well, she sure sounds like her father.”

“Facts.” You nodded, grinning and guiding Birdie to your breast. “Grab Carl and come sit with me? We can work on some math.”

The sun had set, the knot in your chest growing tighter with each minute that Daryl didn’t walk through the door. Beth had taken Birdie to give you a few minutes of peace with Carol sitting just behind you.

“He’ll be here. Daryl’s smart. And so are you for the signs you left for him.” She was brushing your hair, pampering you the only ways she knew how with the limited means at her disposal.

“I hope he’s okay. What if he’s hurt? What if he ran into the herd?” You were twisting the front of the sweater you had thrown on when the temperature had dropped even lower.

“He’s smart, Y/N.” You heard the quiet sound of the brush being sat aside. The woman’s hands began to work at your shoulders, eliciting a moan from you and a chuckle from her. “He’ll be here.” You nodded, hearing Birdie begin to cry in the back of the warehouse.

“I’m being summoned.” You jested. Carol was smiling when you turned around and levered to your feet. Birdie was still crying, the sound echoing like a scene out of a horror movie. “Carol.” Your voice had gone low, serious. “Why isn’t Beth bringing her?”

“She’s likely trying to soothe her on her own. She looks up to you and wants to help.”

Beth looked up to you? Oh, that poor child. You were no one’s role model.

You listened for a moment more, your brow creasing, lips turning downward in a deep frown. “Carol.” You waited for her reply before continuing. “You remember how you told me that I would be able to tell the difference between cries?”

“Yeah?”

“I think this one is telling me something’s wrong.” Your stomach was churning, the knot of anxiety twisting in your chest was no longer for Daryl but for Birdie, a deep sense of foreboding that your child was affirming. Something. Was. Wrong.

“Okay. Okay, let’s go check in then.”

You nodded, feet moving with such haste that it took the other woman a quick jog to catch up. Birdie’s squalling had reached a new level, the breaths between cries barely audible in their stuttering. Without thought, you began to run, your tired body attempting to futilely resist.

“Beth? Carl?” You shouted, the sounds of snarls and hands slapping the outside of the building growing louder with each inch of space you covered. “Beth!” The girl wasn’t answering. Lori and Maggie frantically called your name from somewhere behind you but Birdie’s desperate wails for her mother easily drowned them out.

When you saw her, so small and fragile on the cold concrete, little limbs flailing, nothing else mattered. There was no blanket. No knit hat on her head. She was in only a diaper.

“Oh god, Birdie!” What happened? Where were Beth and Carl? You didn’t stop, you needed your baby in your arms. The reasoning no longer mattered. You needed to ensure her well being before asking any questions. Nearly there, you exhaled.

“Y/N, look out!”

Without breaking stride, you turned toward Rick’s voice just in time to see the butt of the rifle.

And then there was nothing.

Your head was throbbing, your pulse finding its way up to where the wet warmth was leaking from just above your right eyebrow. Struggling to open your eyes, you strained to focus through the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of dead hands on the building’s exterior, desperately locating your baby’s panicked screeching.

“Birdie.” You whispered, certain it was slurring. Your mouth just couldn’t form around the syllables. When everything finally cleared, you could see her. The tremble from the cold shook her tiny form. “Oh my god.” You whispered, attempting to struggle to your feet only to find that your hands were bound to a weighty shipping palette.

Subduing your panic long enough to survey your surroundings, the glow of three kerosene lamps cast a pale yellow luminosity over the entirety of your group—similarly bound—with Rick and Beth struggling against the rope while the other heads remained bowed in a subdued level of unconsciousness. You turned your attention back to your newborn and renewed your fight against the restraints, your skin chafing and breaking open.

“Mama’s here, baby girl.” Birdie would not be consoled. If anything, she grew more agitated.

“So you’re the one stupid enough to have a shit-smearing biter magnet.”

Your head snapped to the left, toward the roll-up doors. A group you hadn’t noticed leaned against the metal, armed to the teeth and reeking of mayhem.

“The fuck do you want?” You snarled, a protective mother’s venom lacing every word.

The single woman in the posse laughed, malicious and entertained. “Some fun.” She shrugged, her face split into a grin that made your teeth itch. “That’s really all there is left in this world. Survival and fun.” Lowering her rifle from its perch on her shoulder, she crossed the distance between the two of you and crouched. “We’re gonna take everything you have.” A finger traced your jawline, down your neck and circled your clothed nipple. “Everything.”

“Then we’re gonna let that gremlin bring the biters in to take care of the rest.” One of the men added without so much as a glance away from his handgun, the walkers growing louder as if they could hear and comprehend the promise of a fresh meal.

Giving your breast a squeeze, the woman stood, scanning your group appreciatively before her eyes lingered on Lori. “Boys, you can take that one. I got no interest in that full belly.” She pointed the barrel of her gun at you. You never so much as flinched, your baby’s wails fueling a rage you’d never before felt. “I want her. And the kids.”

“You’re vile.” Hershel said in that level tone that usually ground on your nerves. In that moment, you found it more than fitting.

“Ugh,” the female rolled her eyes. “Kill him first. No one wants those wrinkly old balls in their face.”

The words left you before you could even consider their consequences. “You’re gonna die today.” When she smirked at you, your steely glare remained. She lowered to a knee and pressed the muzzle into your chin. You barely contained a wince when your head was forced to tilt back.

“What I’m gonna do is fuck that ruined pussy with this rifle and listen to your baby scream.”

Twisting onto your left hip, you brought up your right leg, your boot connecting with her temple just as she sat back. “Bitch.” You seethed, watching her topple over. Another man rushed you, his fist snapping your head to the side, reigniting the stars in your vision that you had only just managed to lose.

“She’s gonna be fun, boys.” Staggering to her feet, she stumbled over to Birdie and pointed the rifle at the infant’s head. “Maybe I’ll just shoot the little one and let your screams bring the biters in when we’re done with you.”

“No!” Your anger faded to fear within a split second, the various voices of your then conscious and collective group pleading for your baby’s life. “Okay, okay. I’ll cooperate!” You bartered. “Just wrap her up. Please.”

“I don’t think so, mama bear.”

A noise from the front of the warehouse drew her attention, but not yours. Your wide, wet eyes were glued to that gun aimed at your daughter. Please, Daryl.

“Think the biters got in?” An older guy asked, hocking up mucus and spitting it at your feet.

“Maybe. Go check it out.”

He obliged with a shrug, whistling the entire way until he disappeared into the darkness.

The taunting continued, the other three group members moving from person to person, pointing out in disturbingly vivid detail what they liked or disliked about that individual. You paid them no more mind, instead watching the little contorted red face of your baby girl. You couldn’t warm her, comfort her. How could I let this happen?

“What the fuck?”

Blinking back the fat tears you had given silent permission to fall, you followed everyone’s perplexed gazes toward the front of the warehouse. The old man staggered out of the darkness, a spray of blood his predecessor. His throat was gaping wide.

“Gary?” The woman hyperventilated, her rifle nearly falling from suddenly inept fingers as his body collapsed to the concrete, not to move again. He must have meant something to her.

Good. You smiled wryly.

“Come out!” One of the other men shouted, prompting crazy lady to raise her own weapon.

Your eyes flickered back to Birdie, yanking and wiggling against your bonds again, the ropes wet with your blood and unyielding. The baby was wearing herself out, cries simmering to shivering breaths and hiccups. The ropes did not give. Bitch could tie a knot, you’d give her that.

“Oh.” The woman’s voice was suddenly excited as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “I think papa bear’s joined the party.” She made a show of deliberately placing herself just above Birdie, moving her rifle a fraction of an inch before you watched Daryl, blood-saturated and dirty, step out of the shadows.

“Don’t point that thing at ‘er again.” He wasn’t pleading. He was demanding.

The woman’s eyes sparkled, her free hand covering her mouth in an oopsie expression while she redirected the gun—finger on the trigger—right at you. “Is this better, your majesty?” In a flurry of clicks and shouted warnings, Daryl’s crossbow was aimed at her while all other weapons held him in their crosshairs.

“M’a give ya one chance to walk outta here.”

She cackled, throwing back her head. “I don’t think you’re—”

“One chance.” Daryl repeated, his mouth unseen from behind his weapon. “Ya’d do well to take it.” There was a tremble to his frame visible even from the distance that lay between you. If you could see it, so could they. The only difference being that you knew it wasn’t from fear.

“I want him too.” The woman jerked her chin toward your partner. “Put down the bow, pretty boy. You’re not gonna waste any ammo today.”

“Won’t be a waste.” With a quick twist of his torso, three things happened simultaneously: The crossbow fired. The ropes around your wrists went slack, the sleek length of the bolt pressing just against your skin. And Daryl stepped back into the shadows, a barrage of bullets following his retreat.

With the enemies’ attention on the unknown whereabouts of the archer, you scrambled across the floor and scooped up your baby, throwing yourself backward onto your ass to slide behind the pallets that had held you. Her skin was so chilled, her tiny frame shivering as her distressed cries renewed in their intensity.

“Mama’s got you, baby. Daddy’s here. Daddy came for us. It’s okay.” One arm at a time, you managed to pull yourself free of your sweater and bundled her up. You drew up your knees and held her close to your chest, shielding and warming her simultaneously. “They won’t touch you again.”

Glass shattered, the area dimming as a bolt destroyed one of the old lamps.

“Come out, you bastard!”

Another lamp fell victim to Daryl’s aim.

“Where is he?”

With a final sound that echoed for more than a moment, the environment was cast into darkness with only the myriad of gunfire battling the shadows that Daryl was using to his advantage. With each discharge, you curled tighter around your daughter, her howls splintering every inch of your heart. You longed to hold her properly, soothe her, fight away the fear that clawed relentlessly to sink its claws into such a space of innocence. You wanted to join the fray, rip out their throats, but Birdie needed you exactly where you were.

And she would always come first.

The number of weapons that fired continued to dwindle, the cling of metal against the concrete preceded by a shout or gurgle.

Your archer was taking them down one by one.

You wanted to see it, wanted to witness them suffer, even if it was for a mere moment but you couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk Birdie’s safety.

“Someone get him!”

“Where the hell is he?!”

“The fuck should I—” Another gurgle, another thud.

“Fuck!” The woman screamed, her voice carrying from somewhere further away. You couldn’t be certain if Daryl had intercepted her or if she was simply fleeing, but as long as she was far away from your group—your family—you didn’t care.

“Y/N.” Carol’s voice somehow managed to break through the chaos in your head, your eyes searching her out in the darkness. “Y/N, he got them. Can you—”

“Yeah.” You breathed shakily, unfurling from around Birdie to shuffle blindly forward, bowed over the little bundle to ensure you didn’t knock her into anything that might be in your way. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

You found Rick first, cutting his ropes one-handed with a piece of glass from one of the lamps. Lucky you, it had been found by sliding your knee over it.

“Take care of her, I’ll get everyone else.” He instructed. You nodded, knowing the deputy couldn’t see but it was all you had in you at that moment.

“Where’s Daryl?” Beth asked, her young mind falling right into sync with yours.

Why hadn’t he come to you immediately? Was he hurt? Had he given chase to the woman?

You squinted against the flashlight’s beam, one eye clenching shut as you found Carol kneeling over one of the men, a bolt lodged in the right side of his neck. His head was at an odd angle, suggesting that the puncture had not been the end for him.

With your family surrounding you, all eyes wide and cautious, looking for danger, watching for Daryl, you finally settled but only in the slightest. Muscles still tense, you shifted Birdie, drawing up your knees to place her on your elevated thighs.

“Hey, there, little Dixon. Ssh, it’s all okay now.” Slipping a hand beneath the sweater, the relief of feeling warming skin nearly brought you to collapse.

“How is she doing?” Hershel asked, his voice elevated to be heard clearly over the distraught infant. Your strength was nearly at its end.

“She’s cold, Hershel. It—the sweater’s helping but she’s still so cold.” Your fingers were stroking her cheeks, brushing through wispy blonde hair, rubbing her belly over the sweater while careful of the drying umbilical cord.

“Babies are resilient, Y/N. And this little doll just happens to have the genes of one of the most stubborn men I have had the pleasure of knowing.” A gentle hand rested on your shoulder. “I’d like to take a look at her all the same. May I?”

With a sniffle, you lifted Birdie, her tiny head just beneath your chin. One last gentle squeeze, you supported her head and passed her over to the veterinarian, scrubbing your hands over your face as you stood. You must have looked a wreck, but you needed to find Daryl, needed to hold him almost as desperately as you had needed to cling to your child.

“Please! Just let me go!”

You spun where you stood, searching out the woman. “Daryl?”

“Were ya gonna let them go?” Daryl’s voice was menacing, his tone low and bleeding with promise of maleficence. You were acutely aware of others trailing as you followed the voices, moving boxes and stepping around tools to climb the stairs to the second level.

“I—”

“Mm-mm. Don’t.” He spat, the sound of more containers falling over against the wall. “Don’t bother.”

He came into view a little at a time, more with each step you climbed. His crossbow was on the floor. His crimson hands were empty. Still, the woman cowered, backing toward the windows with her body folded, palms up over her head in surrender.

“Daryl!” You tried, but he didn’t acknowledge you.

“Just let me go. I’m the only one left and I—Please, I don’t wanna die.”

Suddenly your feet wouldn’t carry you, heavy laden and stuck to the floor with the weight of your disbelief. You wanted to laugh just as much as you wanted to pluck the knife strapped to Daryl’s hip and slit her throat yourself.

“Ya threatened my girl. Ya wanted to use my daughter as walker bait!” The archer hissed, his fingers flexing in and out of fists. “A fuckin’ baby an’ ya wanted to kill ‘er.”

You could hear the others at the top of the stairs, halting just behind you with the same interest of watching the scene play out, trusting Daryl to do what was right.

But what was right?

“Ain’t gonna kill ya.” He finally said, tilting his head as the woman began to stand straight, the fear dissolving before your eyes. Daryl was a better person than you could ever be. If he walked away, it was going to take every single individual on that landing to restrain you.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry. Thank you. I’ll disappear, I’ll change. I won’t—”

He moved so fast, grabbing her shoulders while driving the sole of his boot straight into her knee, the sickening snap of bone causing your stomach to roll while a sense of vindication washed over you.

She needed to hurt. She needed to suffer.

Her screams stimulated the walkers around the building, their rotten fingers scraping against the metal, palms pounding, teeth gnashing.

Daryl spoke loudly, holding her up by fistfuls of her shirt, his face inches from hers. “Said I ain’t gonna kill ya. Never said ya weren’t gonna die.” He shoved her, his boot once again connecting with her body, a kick to the abdomen with enough force to send her soaring backward. She crashed through the window, nothing but the splintered wood and shards of glass accompanying her to the ground.

Straight into the herd of ravenous undead.

And her blood curdling wails of agony were music to your ears.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #blood ties #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #dad!daryl #daddy!daryl #baby dixon

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daisies-daydreams · 4 months ago

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My Wish (Papa!Gyomei Himejima Drabble)

Header Credit: Pexels & Ufotable Pairing: Gyomei Himejima x Wife!Reader Category: Fluff/Light Angst Tags: Depictions of Childbirth, Mentions of Blood, Babies, New Parenthood, Flashbacks to Infinity Castle Arc/Gyomei's Backstory, Crying, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Word Count: 1k Divider Credit: @saradika Summary: Gyomei does his best to remain strong as you give birth to his firstborn child. A/N: Hello hello lovely people! I've had this idea swimming around in my mind for a while, and I'm so happy I finally got around to it! (Gyomei would make such an amazing dad I just know it). I hope you enjoy! Pt. 2 - Late Night

Gyomei clenched his jaw as you gripped his massive hand with your sweaty palm. He tightly squeezed the string of red prayer beads that was wound in his other hand as you groaned and panted heavily.

"You're doing amazing, my love," he gently reassured you as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. You suddenly threw your head back and released a harsh cry, the midwife cooing as she held your other hand. She gasped when she peeked around the blanket obscuring the lower portion of your body.

"Just keep breathing deeply, (Y/N). I can see the baby's head crowning!" she said as a hopeful expression lit up her face. Gyomei's breath hitched at the news before you began to curse and sob. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he placed his lips against your paling knuckles.

"You’re such a strong woman, (Y/N). The strongest one I-“ his voice cut off when you nearly crushed his hand as you screamed. His frown deepened as the midwife patted your face with a wet cloth.

“I-I can’t do it!” you sobbed as your legs shook. Gyomei shook his head as he held your hand up to his cheek, your words resonating with him as he thought back to how he leaned against the wall during the battle at the Infinity Castle. How hope was but a dying flame in his heart as blood oozed from his wounds…and yet, the sound of your voice calling to him within his mind stoked the fire deep within him.

Heavy tears trailed down Gyomei’s cheeks as he could only imagine the pain you were in. He gave your hand another reassuring squeeze as he carefully leaned down and pecked your forehead.

“You can do it, (Y/N). You’re so close,” he encouraged you the same way you did when he was barely hanging on by a thread. He heard you swallow thickly before your breaths grew more quick and ragged.

“You’re almost there, Mrs. Himejima. Just a few more pushes,” the midwife coached you as she prepared to catch the baby. Gyomei held his breath as he awaited to hear the soft cries of his newborn, his heart wildly pounding against his rib cage as he bounced his leg.

You continued to grunt and grip his hand tightly as you strained on the futon. Gyomei’s head perked up when he heard you curse out one more time before the first wailing cries of your baby cascaded through the room.

He could practically feel the midwife grinning as the little one gurgled and cried, your exhausted pants filling his ears as your grip on his hand loosened.

“You did an amazing job, my love,” he cooed softly.

“Yes…now it’s time to start pushing for the other one,” the midwife said. A heavy silence lingered in the room before both you and your husband spoke.

“WHAT?!”

+++

After another hour of grunting, screaming and nearly breaking your husband’s hand, you welcomed another wailing infant into the world. Gyomei gently wiped the sweat from your exhausted features as the midwife checked and cleaned the newborns.

“You did such an incredible job, my dear,” your beloved smiled gently as he wiped your brow. You sighed and gently placed a hand over his wrist. Gyomei smiled as he set the wet rag aside and leaned down, his lips gently caressing the top of your head.

“I bet I look like a mess right now,” you chuckled tiredly. Gyomei hummed as he pulled back and shook his head.

“No, I bet you look even more beautiful than ever, my precious flower,” he sighed and cupped your cheek with his massive, warm palm. His heart fluttered as you leaned into his touch, your skin so soft and smooth against his hand. The midwife cleared her throat as she shuffled towards the other side of your bed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Himejima, meet your new baby girls,” she smiled. Gyomei’s heart lit up as he heard the shuffling of bedsheets and the soft grunts of the two small newborns. You thanked the midwife as she gently handed the cooing twins over to you. Tears welled in Gyomei’s eyes as he knelt at your bedside, his hand hesitantly hovering over you.

“What do they look like?” your husband asked as he tilted his head. He gasped as you gently took his hand and placed it over one of the girls’ heads.

“They both have your hair…and my eyes,” you replied softly. Gyomei sighed with relief as he gently brushed his thumb over the tuft of soft, dark hair on his daughter’s head. A warm, gentle smile crossed his face as he felt his little one lean into his hand.

“They seem quite big for newborns,” he chuckled softly. You giggled and shifted in bed.

“Well, considering who their papa is…” you began. Gyomei felt the tips of his ears burn as his stomach tied into a knot.

“R-Right. I’m...I'm so sorry for making you endure that,” he sighed. You cooed and shook your head.

“It’s alright, Gyo. We both couldn’t have known how big our babies would be,” you reassured him with a quiet chuckle. Gyomei returned your smile before hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. You sighed softly as he sniffed.

“I-I just never thought this day would come,” he swallowed thickly as he folded his hand over his daughter’s head, as if to shield her from the evils of the world. His breath stuttered as he carefully brought his hand over to his other newborn baby, the sound of her cooing as he gently cupped her plump cheek. “After the orphanage, I…I thought bringing children into this world was a curse,” Gyomei confessed with a heavy sigh.

His eyes widened as he felt his little one wrap her soft, tiny hand around one of his thick fingers. He sniffed, his heart melting as he smiled.

“But...I’ve never felt more blessed than I do now,” he murmured softly as his daughter held onto his large finger. His smile grew as you leaned up and pecked his cheek.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father, Gyomei,” you whispered lovingly. Your husband’s heart swelled with an overwhelming warmth as he soaked in the presence of his beloved wife and two new miracles. He smiled and placed a soft kiss on your forehead before giving one to his precious newborns as well.

“And you’re going to be the most amazing mother, my love,” he grinned.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @mcmiracles @genma-support-group @rattybimbo @rinyukaa

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#demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer fluff #demon slayer angst #gyomei himejima #gyomei himejima fluff #gyomei himejima x you #gyomei himejima x y/n #gyomei himejima x f!reader #gyomei himejima x fem!reader #gyomei x y/n #gyomei x you #gyomei x f!reader #gyomei x fem!reader

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dragonsaltartales · 2 months ago

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I thought I would make a list of possible things to donate to NC and TN if you’d rather donate goods instead of funds.

I would like to note that most stores lost power and a LOT of goods are either sold out or were destroyed for obvious reasons. It’s a disaster in the stores, and my area wasn’t hit as hard as others. Most people don’t have the means to get to a store or, even if they could, the store will likely be out of what they need. Goods are being air dropped and distributed within these places. (This is not to say that financial donations are not needed. BOTH are necessary.)

Here’s a list of needed donations;

Dry, shelf stable, ready to eat foods (crackers, bread, jams, fruits, vegetables, snack foods; anything will be helpful) Canned goods are a maybe. Pull tab is best as a lot of people don’t have manual can openers or know how to use one.

Water. Bottled water. Jugs. Anything. Water is absolutely VITAL right now as we have a shortage of clean water and plenty of broken water lines

Power banks, while they might not be able to charge them at home, many community places such as churches are offering for people to charge their devices. This can help keep them in touch with help and loved ones longer.

Children activities (coloring books and crayons/pencils, non electronic toys, etc) Many kids are left without their devices and need things to help them through these terrifying times.

Pet foods of any kind

Gasoline canisters; for those that have access to getting more gasoline and powering generators

Charcoal and matches; this can help with making sure people are able to cook and have a heat source

Toiletries; toilet paper, personal hygiene goods, wet wipes, pads and tampons

Clothing and towels (please keep in mind sizes in XL and higher. These sizes can be scarce even without disaster)

Flashlights and batteries

Newborn needs (formula, diapers, wipes, jarred baby foods)

List of NC donation places

List of TN donation places

Please share around to help reach as much as possible. Thank you 🙏

Feel free to add to this post. The more information and donations lists available, the better.

#nc #tn #north carolina #tennessee #hurricane #hurricane helene #helene #aid #hurricane relief #nc floods #tn floods #disaster relief #donations

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steviewashere · 10 days ago

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hehehe coming on here to be evil really quick >:)

CW: Major Character Death

Wayne Being Involved in Season 4 AU

Instead of Dustin going with Eddie, Wayne goes with Eddie. He's there at that final glance between Eddie and Steve—all knowing because Eddie won't stop bemoaning how "Harrington is ruining my life!" but having the wherewithal to understand that it's not just potent jealousy, but something stronger and more meaningful than that—dating all the way back to high school. Wayne is there to watch Eddie perform that "damn song" he's been practicing for days now, on and off and with all the focus in the world. There to cheer and headbang, albeit terribly because he never learned to do it the way Eddie always did—even gives himself minor whiplash because "I ain't doing it right like you, boy."

But...

But.

He's there when Eddie shoves him through the portal. When he cuts that damn laundry rope with his spear. When he moves the mattress to make it so that Wayne can't get back through. They share a final glance, somewhere within all the yelling at Eddie to come back and to come home. It's partially what was shared between Steve and Eddie, understanding that glance deeper now and somberly.

Wayne chases after, of course he does. He runs with his legs bad and his hips stiff and his chest pounding, the air not reaching his lungs well enough, making him cough and stir and dizzy, but he pushes on. Pushes forth towards Eddie like all the adventures in that Lord of The Rings novel his kid is always reading—flashes of weird voices and giggle fits and nights in front of the television, spaghetti dinners at the dining table before he had to go to work, consoling Eddie through two failed senior years, The Hideout and sharing a pint with his friends who don't understand Eddie but still care enough to show up for him, flashes of roughly two decades loving his son. Not Al's. His son.

He kneels beside Eddie, despite the pain and the ache. Nervous hands trembling and clammy as they grasp for the parts of Eddie that aren't bleeding, aren't stained, aren't exposed red raw and gaping. Cradles Eddie in his arms as if he's a newborn baby all over again.

Tears that bandana off Eddie's mangled hair, wiping it tenderly over his face as if he's cleaning spit-up and midnight tears—when he was new and feverish and stirring in his bassinet. He keeps Eddie's neck supported in a way so that he doesn't choke on his own blood, again, like he's supporting a newborn Eddie.

Can't even take Eddie's hand, fearful that there won't be a grasp to his own. So he holds on.

Eddie looks to him, far away and spacey and glistening. "'M sorry, Wayne," he croaks.

Wayne is furious. So fucking angry. "Don't be a hero," Steve had said. So why didn't his kid listen?! Why can't he just listen when he's being told to be smart, to be right, to just follow the rules?

"Don't be sorry, Ed," he gets out anyway, "don't be sorry, boy."

Eddie keeps staring at him. Wide-eyed and wet. His breaths rattling and wet. There's snot dripping from his nostrils and tears cascading down his ruddy cheeks. Eyelashes stuck together. Blood on his jaw. Everywhere, there's blood. He tracks Eddie's right hand as it reaches across his body, unsure and tired, as it lands deftly on the back of his own. Eddie's palm is wet there, too, not sticky—not yet, at least.

"Am I...'m I a good kid?"

He blinks down at his kid. What kind of a question is that? But he licks his lips, chapped as they always are, tongue dry. His throat is brittle, aching in that acidic way it does right before he bursts into tears. Keeps looking down, flipping his hand over so he can finally grasp to Eddie's—going cold, colder.

"Good?" he murmurs, "Ed, you're the best."

"'M your"—a heaving, short, burbling breath—"your only kid."

"Yeah," Wayne whispers, "that's why you're the best. And you're gonna keep bein' the best. You're gonna show the whole world."

Eddie's blinks are getting heavier, slower. And his breath isn't coming any easier. The blood keeps seeping through his clothes.

He should put pressure on them, he knows this.

But the amount of them...the measure of severity?

Wayne was a medic during Vietnam. He knows these kinds of wounds. Severe kind of wounds.

It would just be exhausting Eddie. Trying to keep him going when there's no steam left.

He's aware of this.

He can only hold on tighter.

"Way...Wayne?" Eddie croaks again, nearly a whisper.

"Hm?"

"'M sorry," he says again. "'M sorry, Dad. 'M so sorry."

"It's s'okay, kiddo. You did your best, Ed. S'okay."

Eddie blinks a couple more times at Wayne. Sticky slow. Trying to hold on, but failing. "I l've you. I l've you, Dad. I...I l've you."

Wayne's arm flex as they bring Eddie closer, tight as he'll go against his abdomen, his chest. Holding onto him like a baby he might drop if he isn't careful. Doesn't want this be over, this precious thing they have.

Doesn't want to let go.

Doesn't want to let the son he wanted just slip away.

But he holds on. He holds.

"I love you, too, Eddie. I love you so much. Don't forget that. I love you, you never change. Not for nobody. Not for God."

Eddie's still looking at him. Brown doe eyes far, far, farther away. He's not crying anymore. Not really bleeding much anymore, but it's not like there's much more to bleed. The blood's starting to go sticky, despite Wayne trying his best to avoid it. He touches it anyway.

His kid was born crying and bloody. And here he is.

Here he is.

"See you...in...in the m'rnin'. P...P'nc'kes."

"Pancakes, Ed. We'll have our pancakes and coffee in the morning, promise, kiddo. You get some rest now, you hear me? Just go on and rest. I'll be right here. Keep watch for the monsters."

There's a twinge on Eddie's face. Like he's trying to smile. It's something, barely anything, but it's there. "S've you," he says. And in that, his final breath, Eddie's gone.

Far away. Going cold. Nearly completely limp.

"I gotcha, Ed," Wayne murmurs, choking now on his own tears, "I gotcha, beautiful boy. No more monsters gonna get you. Just...just you and me, boy." He heaves a sob, a sigh. "Just you and me."

#stranger things #eddie munson & wayne munson #eddie munson #wayne munson #major character death #angst

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carolmunson · 4 months ago

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thinking about the orange colored sky verse but maybe sorta sad. (james taylor’s cover of ‘walking my baby back home referenced, a good cozy listen.)

something in my chest tells me that peach starts to deal with some post-partum depression after baby lu is born. lucinda is a colicky baby, where gwen was weirdly easy despite some longer sleep training.

eddie doesn’t catch it at first, thinking the lack of sleep from having a newborn and a four and a half year old to deal with is just weighing on both of you. snippy, argumentative. never going to bed together anymore. never spending time alone. he thought you just got quiet cause you were always tired. you’d spend extra long in the bathroom. robotic when you made dinner - and you’d barely even eat. you’d opt to sleep on the couch while gwen played barbie’s with her aunt and uncle.

it’s not until one night he wakes up from lucy crying on the baby monitor that he gets it. with his glasses on he looks at the screen, you’re already in there bouncing lu on your hip. but it’s not just lu that’s crying.

“please, please go to sleep baby,” you beg, sniffling, “please. i’m so sorry you don’t feel good. i’m sorry if i did this. i’m so sorry.”

ed frowns, slowly getting up from the bed and putting his slides on before padding down the hall to the nursery. your face wet with tears, matching the baby in your arms.

“here, i’ll take her sweetheart,” he soothes, offering his arms. you give him the baby, where some rhythmic bounces and some soft singing puts her right to sleep. so easy with her dad for some reason.

once the baby is back down in her crib, he guides you back to the bedroom and keeps the light off. when the door closes he steps in front of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“we’re gonna go to the doctor tomorrow, okay?” he says softly, “we’ll see if the lovebirds can watch the kids and we’ll talk to the doctor.”

“i’m…i’m trying my best,” you choke out, “i feel like a bad mom.”

“you’re not a bad mom,” he assures, arms wrapping around you to pull you to his chest, “don’t say that peach. you’re such a great mom.”

“she hates me,” you blurt out, a deep seated sob cracking front your chest.

“oh, no, no, babe,” he whispers into your temple, “shh-shh-shh, no she doesn’t. no one hates you. you’re doing such a good job.”

eddie chastises himself for not catching on sooner, for letting you hurt like this for the past couple of months without even realizing. he feels his own heart sink when he holds you close to him. because of course you’re a good mom, and an amazing wife and partner — maybe he wasn’t telling you that enough. maybe he hasn’t been supportive enough.

“do-do you still love me?” you ask snottily, looking up at him with wet eyes.

“peach,” he whispers down at you, wiping a tear from your cheek with the back of his fingers, “i’ll stop loving you when i’m dead. and even then, i don’t even know if that’s enough.”

you laugh a little, a weak smile stretching your cheeks, “you’re so corny sometimes, it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s good to know you’re already feeling more like yourself,” he teases back, leaning down to kiss you, “but we’re going to the doctor tomorrow, yeah?”

you nod, breaking away from each other so you can both crawl back into bed at the same time. and it had been a long time. his arms snake around you, humming the same song he hummed to lu, the same song he’d hum to gwen, the same song he’d hum around the apartment in New York after a good date night. after you ‘said yes’. all the good parts. and they were all good parts.

“after i kind of straighten my tie, she has to borrow my comb,” he sings soft, a barely audible melody, “one kiss then, we continue again. walkin’ my baby back home. i’m just walkin’ my baby, back home.”

#ocs!eddie #orange colored sky

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pandoramyst · 2 years ago

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dilf!jake taking care of his children (reader age gap)

dating jake came with the additional weight of parenting, something you weren’t familiar with. you had no trouble getting along with the baby of the family as you had met Tuk when she was just a newborn. all of jake’s children were conceived using his DNA and a formula provided by the RDA as jake swore he was too busy to find a mate.

he took Kiri under his wing a few months after lo’ak was born making their connection practically telepathic. spider came into the family just a few years later, completing their family. you and jake met when his oldest was still quite young so you were the first mother figure they had. they welcomed you as much as you welcomed them.

it didn’t take long for them to start calling you mom and although it seemed foreign at first considering how young you were yourself, you warmed up to it very quickly.

going from whining to you about the outfits you put them in or waking up to their intoxicating giggles, you enjoyed every moment of motherhood. especially those moments when they sought comfort in your embrace. it ensured you even more that they really did see you as a mother.

but the best part about raising children with jake was watching him grow as a father. watching him teach his boys how to fight but immediately holding them back when he senses any danger, afraid to lose them. or when he clenches his jaw when young boys approach his daughter and you have to hold him back and remind him that they are just kids.

your favorite view is from afar. watching him be vulnerable around his children when he doesn’t have to force a harsh visage.

“Me next daddy!!” kiri exclaimed as jake finished marking lo’ak’s height on the bamboo trunk.

“Okay okay, line up behind neteyam,” the oldest stood in front of the tree, back against the rough bark. jake’s knife touched neteyam’s head as he forced the blade into the wood.

“how tall is he, dad, how tall is he?” lo’ak pulled on his father’s loincloth and the older man smiled at his eagerness.

“He’s that tall,” he pulled the knife from the tree, staring at the previous marks he had made. the children cheered but jake only pulled up the corners of his lips slightly, to conceal how emotional he got. he couldn’t cry in front of his kids, he wouldn’t let himself do that.

“here, spider wanna try?” jake handed him the knife and patted his head.

“Yeah!!!” he stood in front of the tree, waiting for kiri to take her position against it. jake walked up the wooden stairs to the small patio he had made for you. he used the wood from the trees to create a small wooden platform that hung from the tree branches.

you were holding tuk in your arms who you had wrapped in a soft blanket, and who was sleeping soundly while you rocked her. jake appeared in front of you, leaning down to peck your lips.

“you okay?”

“of course I am,” he sat next to you, placing his hand on your baby bump. he leaned over to look at his daughter, ignoring the obvious.

you placed your hand on his cheek, caressing it as he leaned closer into your warmth.

“I saw you,” he closed his eyes as he sensed you knew what was going through his head. he let a few tears fall onto your hand, quickly wiping the new ones away.

“when did they grow so much? I mean, did I miss it or something?” your thumb wiped away his tears, and you leaned to kiss his forehead.

“time flies by fast, but they are still here jake. they won’t go anywhere,”

he nodded, picking his head back up and wiping the wetness off his face. he looked down at you affectionately.

“neteyam asked me if he could come hunting with me this morning,” you smiled at your son’s ambition and bravery, looking at him from afar.

“Jake,” you paused looking into his sore eyes. “let him explore, I know you want to protect them but teaching him things will keep him safer. you can’t always be with him, you know?” you twirled one of his dreads, wrapping it around your finger. his focus fell toward your baby bump,

“well at least I can still protect you,” the baby in your belly kicked the surface as if she could hear her father’s voice. the man giggled and pressed a kiss to your skin.

“technically I'm the one protecting her but okay,” you rolled your eyes prompting jake’s eyes to shrink as he to let out a loud laugh.

he bit his bottom lip, dragging it through his teeth as he looked down at your lips, “and who protects you huh?” you winked at him and leaned in to give him a kiss.

#dilf jake sully #Jake #Jake Sully #jake smut #jake x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully age gap #jake sully x y/n #avatar #avatar 2009 #spider avatar #avatar smut #avatar the way of water

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ateriblewriter · 1 year ago

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Bagels (a.m)

enjoy!

"Babe why are you crying?" Auston walked up to you snaking his arm around waist, his hand landing on your belly. He raised his eyebrows giving you a questioning look as to why you were crying in the middle of the bakery area at the grocery store.

You ignore your husband, instead choosing to continue staring at the selection of bagels in front of you, fixated on what was not there. How dare they not have what you wanted. The one thing that you had been craving since your mind hyper focused on the breakfast food earlier that week.

"You know I can't make it better if I don't know what's wrong." Auston tried again to break your hyper focus. He just needed to wrangle it out of you what was upsetting you and then he could help. That's all he wanted to do. "Y/N please."

"Bagels." you sniffle.

"What?" Auston wasn't sure if he had

"Bagels. They don't have the asiago." You sniffled admitting why you were tearing up. Damn hormones. It wasn't the end of the world, but with the surge of emotions if sure felt like it. And to top it off you could feel your lovely husband laughing at your misfortune. Why why was he laughing.

"It's not funny Aus. I'm huge. I feel like I'm going crazy. And this child will not stop kicking my bladder. All I want is an asiago bagel, but there aren't any left."

"I'm sorry babe." Auston's forehead hit your shoulder as he continued to chuckle at you. You do your best to throw the sharpest daggers you could despite the tears staining your cheeks. You tried your hardest to be mad at the man, but it wasn't easy. "But you're right it's not funny. I'll stop."

"Thank you." You wiped your tears, going back to contemplating your options of bagels. You were so focused on tying to decide on what your wanted, you never noticed Auston saying something and walking off in the opposite direction. "Wait Auston no. Comeback." You take a step but stop when you feel a wetness.

He really didn't need to what he was doing. But he was doing it anyways. And lucky for him the baker was able to find a bunch in the back, so he didn't have to go back empty handed.

"Look what I found." He flashed his pearly whites, holding up the newly acquired item. Auston's face fell when he saw the panicked look wash over your face. "What's wrong now?"

"It's go time. I think my water broke." As excited as you had been, now it had been soured by the fear of the unknown and dull twinges of pain from labor.

"Breathe." He set the bagels on a nearby shelf. He grabbed the basket from your hands and placed it on the ground. "Breathe with me, Y/N." he held your hands, urging you once again to take a sip of air. It help. He helps. You wouldn't be able to do this with out him. "What do you want to do?"

The two of you still had time before the little bugger arrived as you only just begun labor. A decision was made to quickly check out with the groceries you already had, check in on Felix and make it to the to hospital in time for the arrival of the sweetest little baby boy.

“He’s perfect Aus.” You hold you newborn child in your arms.

“I know. And he’s all ours. We get to keep him.” Auston sighed watching you take care of the little creature you had given birth to hours before. He couldn’t thank you enough for giving him his perfect little family.

"Now, what are we going to name him?"

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews x reader #nhl imagine #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #baby odie #baby otis

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griffin-girl-r · 1 year ago

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Breathe

Created: 09.10.2023

Finished: 09.10.2023

Edited: 09.10.2023

Age: Newborn

Word count: 1,485

Warnings: Birth complications

Request: Yes (Wattpad user)

Pairing: BlackHill

Summary: Natasha and Maria get ready to welcome their baby into the world but the complicated delivery they experience brings something unexpected for them.

—

Maria was lying on the hospital bed with her wife, Natasha, sitting beside her for emotional support.

The couple was about to welcome their miracle baby into the world and they couldn't be happier.

Thanks to the medical advancements that were created by Bruce in his lab, with a little bit of financial support from Tony, the scientist discovered a way for two women to have their own biological child and the first couple that volunteered to be tested on was, obviously, Maria and Natasha.

Needless to say, it was the best decision they took in their entire lives because it offered them the chance to fulfill their dreams of becoming parents.

Sure, they have thought about adoption and alternative methods, like a donor, but it, just, didn't feel right for them.

So that's what brought them to this moment.

The joyous day when Maria, who had been the one to carry the baby, entered in labor, and each passing second brought the couple closer to the moment they would hold their tiny angel in their arms.

"You can do this, baby." Natasha encouraged Maria, her voice filled with anxiety and anticipation "You're so strong."

"It hurts so much, Nat." Maria cried out in pain, squeezing Natasha's hand with such strenght as if she wanted to break it

Maria was already in labor for the past 20 hours and the doctors buzzed around the expectant mother, emanating an air of concern.

They knew all too well that a prolonged labor was nothing but harmful for both the mother and the baby.

"I know, my love." Natasha wiped the sweat away from Maria's forehead with her hand before placing a firm kiss on it "The doctors are here to help you and Bruce will make sure that it won't be long till our baby is here."

"I want this baby out of me!" Maria screamed as a contraction hit her full force

"Call down, Agent." Bruce stormed inside the room, adjusting his medical gloves on his hands "The time for your baby to come is here."

"Thank God." Natasha breathed out reliefed "You heard that, sweetheart? Our baby needs you now more than ever. I'm right beside you. We're in this together."

"You better!" Maria groaned

Bruce walked over to the bed and placed an oxygen mask over Maria's face, carefully helping the pregnant woman to change her position and prepare for the delivery.

"I love you so much, Masha." Natasha whispered into her wife's ear, brushing the wet hair away from Maria's forehead "We'll get through this as a team."

"Alright, Maria." Bruce positioned himself at the foot of the bed "You know what you need to do. Now push."

"I can't do this!" Maria screamed, overwhelmed by the unbearable pain that was cursing through her body

"I can see the head!" Bruce shouted "Just one more push!"

"Tasha..." The brunette breathed out exhausted, her face pale "Please, take care of our baby."

Natasha shook her head as she squeezed Maria's hand reassuringly "I will but you are also going to be there to help me raise our baby."

"You know my mother died to bring me into this world." Maria tearfully said "What if I'm destinated to die during childbirth as well? Is that how she felt? Without any regret to die only for the wellbeing of the baby."

"That won't happen, babe." Natasha reassured with a rushed tone "You just focus on taking deep breaths and don't worry about anything else."

"No one's going to die today." Bruce loudly declared "Not you, not your baby. Not on my watch."

"Ah!" Maria screamed as she gathered the last remains of strenght she had left in her body

Silence settled over the room and Maria let out a deep sigh in relief, relaxation washing over her entire being.

"You did it, love!" Natasha cheered, kissing Maria's dry lips

But something was odd.

Maria weakly lifted her head and scanned the room with her eyes. The relief she felt was quickly replaced by worry as fear gripped her heart.

The deafening silence in the room persisted, casting an eerie veil of dread over everyone.

"Why isn't the baby crying?" Maria mumbled, voicing out the question that was present in her and Natasha's minds

"Shit!" Bruce loudly cussed, turning around to a nearby table, his hands working on auto-pilot

"Bruce?" Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat before slightly standing up to catch a glimpse of what was going on "What's happening? What's wrong with our baby?"

"She's not breathing." Bruce swiftly moved as he carefully placed the newborn baby on the table

"No..." Maria cried out in disbelief "It can't be."

"She's going to be okay." Natasha tried to keep her tears at bay, failing miserably in doing so, her heart tightening in her chest "Our baby is going to be okay."

"Come on, little baby." Bruce huffed as he started performing CPR on the baby "You ain't going anywhere."

"Please, baby." Maria cried as Natasha pulled Maria's head into her chest "Breathe."

"Just breathe, sweetie." Natasha continued, hugging Maria tighter to her chest

Time seemed to stand still in those moments of uncertainty.

They couldn't have fought so fiercely to have a baby only to have their hearts crushed before they even got the chance to hold their baby girl into their arms.

"Please, Y/N." Maria cried

"Come on!" Bruce shouted, a vein on his neck turning green "Your mothers need you here with them!"

"My life for hers!" Maria shouted, her gaze shifting upwards towards the ceiling as tears cascaded uncontrollably down her cheeks "If that's what you want then take it! Just save my baby."

Just then, it was as if the heavens heard Maria's pleading, and a cry pierced through the room, though weak at first.

"She's back!" Bruce laughed in disbelief "We got her back!"

Maria shot her eyes closed tightly, a cry of relief escaping her mouth as the weight of Bruce's words settled in.

Natasha's knees suddenly gave up on her and she dropped back into the chair underneath her as her limbs froze and she couldn't move anymore.

Bruce turned around, holding you in his arms and he gently placed you in Maria's waiting arms.

Your parents instantly noticed how your bluish skin was slowly turning pale and then back to its normal color.

Natasha reached her trembling hand toward your tiny foot and marveled at how small it was, while Maria placed a soft kiss on the soft tufts of brown baby hair that adorned your tiny head.

"Welcome to the world, Y/N." Maria smiled, as she looked into your big, innocent, green eyes

"So what happened then?" Natasha asked Bruce a few hours later while she sat on Maria's bed, her arms wrapped around her girls

"She experienced a nuchal cord that cut the oxygen flow." Bruce looked over the file in his hand

"Bruce..." Natasha sighed "I speak a lot of languages but your medical language ain't one."

"Explain it in terms we can understand, Banner." Maria looked up from your sleeping face to Bruce as she kept slowly rocking you

"She experienced a cord compression which literally means that she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck too tightly." Bruce explained "It's not an unusual thing to occur during difficult births. It happens in around 20-30% of cases and the long labour Maria had just made everything a little bit more difficult."

Maria looked back down at the baby in her arms and she teared up before voicing her concerns.

"Will she be okay?" Maria's trembling voice choked back tears "Is the lack of oxygen she experienced in the first moments of life going to leave lasting consequences?"

"She's going to be just fine." Bruce smiled reassuringly "I checked her and I can confirm that she will be able to live a completely normal life without any lasting consequences."

Both mothers allowed relief to wash over them and they shifted their attention back to you but not before sharing a quick kiss.

"I told you that everything would be okay." Natasha whispered, your tiny fingers tightly wrapped around the redhead's index finger

"I am so happy to finally have her here with us." Maria chuckled tearfully "She gave us quite the scare."

"That you can say again, love." Natasha laughed

This wasn't the perfect birth Maria and Natasha imagined that they would experience but it had its unique way to ensure that the new mothers would never forget this day.

This day reminded them of the fragility of life and, at the same time, of its beauty and the moments that are worth living for.

Despite everything, all that mattered was that their baby was alive, healthy, and breathing.

Every hardship they faced served as the reminder to appreciate each day and live it to the fullest.

—

Permanent taglist: @lizlil , @mmmmokdok , @sheneonromanoff , @justarandomreaderxoxo , @observeowl , @darkstar225 , @circe143 , @lovelyy-moonlight , @natsxwife , @dannipotatoo , @youralphawolf72 , @ravensinthedaylight

#mama nat #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #natasha's child #natasha's kid #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #natasha x teen reader #natasha x baby!reader #blackhill #maria hill x daughter!reader #maria hill

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silksoftindia · 7 months ago

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THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO BABY WET WIPES

Explore the ultimate guide to baby wet wipes, featuring top brands, ingredients to avoid, and tips for choosing safe and gentle wipes for your little one's delicate skin.

#best wet wipes for newborn #baby wet wipes

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cuddablesbabywipes · 7 days ago

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Give your baby the luxury of nature with neem & aloe vera extracts and Cuddables baby products. They provide a sufficient amount of hydration to the baby's tender skin. Order the best baby care products today to keep your baby's skin healthy and fresh. Get extra discounts on your first order.

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lottiecrabie · 1 year ago

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choose your own smut adventure. end – matty healy

previous. start.

Matty winces. “Right,” he nods. He straightens up and slides out of you slowly; you gasp at the feeling, already sore from the barest movement. Your cunt throbs around nothing, trying to adjust to the lack of him, as though he’d rearranged something in you, left you changed. Made for him, or at the very least constructed.

Matty’s eyes are firmly fixed down and you frown, sitting up to see what he’s staring at. His cum is leaking out of you, falling on the desk. He’s transfixed, licking his lips. “Sorry,” he says, vaguely flushing, though still doesn’t look away.

You laugh. “You’re such a boy.”

“It’s hot!” He defends, but a laugh bubbles out of him all the same. There’s a dazed, euphoric atmosphere to this dorm room. A slight giddiness. You feel like a teenager again.

Matty grabs his shirt from the floor, using it to clean at the wet mess between your thighs. You hiss when he rubs at your clit, oversensitive, and he gives you an apologetic look, wiping gentler. You grab his shoulders once he’s done, pouting at him comically. “But now what will you wear when you leave tomorrow?”

“I can fit in one of your shirts.” You snort.

You smack a kiss on his lips, then jump off the desk. You’re weak on your legs, a newborn fawn, and you must grip him just to stand still. You sniff; your nose wrinkles. “God, we need a shower. We reek.”

“I think we’ll need a full-on exorcism to get rid of the smell in this room.” You make a sound of agreement.

It really is a carnage; clothes everywhere, pillows and covers thrown around, papers and pens fallen soldiers at your feet. The bed even managed to scoot away from the wall, laying tilted, the scarf still tied around the bed frame. It’ll take a few hours just to organize everything correctly, and you’re too post-orgasm drunk to care.

“Shower first. Then we can draw the pentagram.”

“Always on that schedule,” he tsks.

He walks you to the bathroom with minimal laughing at your shaky, penguin legs, though not zero. You give him a few glares, holding back very pointed comments on how it’s all his fault, mostly because they would just climb directly to his head and permeate that ego of his.

The bathroom is a square, little thing, and the shower is even tinier. You’re practically chest to chest trying to fit both of you in the small cubicle. The shower sprays mostly on your back; Matty valiantly left you the prime spot under the shower head. While burning water falls on your shoulders, relaxing those sore muscles, Matty clings to you just to try and catch a few droplets.

“Let me do your hair,” Matty says once you’ve washed off the stench of sex coating your bodies. You acquiesce, pointing him to the lavender shampoo on his side of the shower.

You turn your back to him. Behind you, Matty gathers some shampoo. His fingers bury in your hair, delicately unraveling all the knots he’s created. He digs into your scalp, massaging it. You moan. Your head falls back, loose and slack. He really does have magic hands.

“We gotta wash it off,” he whispers in your ear. You turn around again, grinning at him. He’s beautiful, warm and flushed, with water droplets falling down his eyelashes onto his cheeks. You want to kiss him, so you do.

Matty bends your head back under the shower head. The shampoo washes off, leaving a faint aroma of lavender behind. When he’s done, his hands fall around your waist, holding you close, trapping you in the heat of his cocoon.

His fingers graze your back. A delicate, gentle drawing, more subconscious than a fixed thought. You shiver under his fingertips; tough, callused. Matty kisses your shoulder. You giggle, pressing your head into his. He straightens out to kiss your forehead next.

“Was I a good teacher?”

You grin up at him, scrunching your nose. “The best.” You flutter your eyelashes at him. “Was I a good student?”

“You were okay.” You gasp, slapping his shoulder. He laughs good-naturedly. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He grows serious, though still syrupy soft in the eyes. “You were the best.” Pride tingles up your limbs.

Your head falls on his shoulder. He draws circles on your spine, spinning around each bone, climbing up, then down. It’s all so right, so perfectly fitting; his fingers were meant to touch your skin. You know this deep in your bones.

“Next time, I want to sit on your face,” you whisper, cheek squished on him.

Matty laughs. He wraps around your waist, tightening. “Show me that list of yours. We’ll work through it.”

You tilt your head up. “It’s long,” you trail meaningfully. “Might take us a few days.”

His grin drips on his face. “Perfect.” He leans in to kiss you, breathing, “It’s a date.”

#FINALLY THE END #i will never post a weekly fic Again god bless #choose your own smut adventure #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #matty healy imagine #matty healy fanfic #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #imagine #writing

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browniejeane · 3 months ago

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WIP Wednesday -- Fic that won't quit (outtake!)

I'm fighting on the editing/writing of the next chapter of the bathing fic. Have a chunk of a removed chapter that may make it's way back in, or may end up in a part two because these things just keep popping in and I'm like, well, timeline wise, this works better! And also, this has been fighting me tooth and nail and it's easier to set this aside and work on the ones that are flowing better. *facepalm*

Her fever addled mind supplied that a hot bath would warm her up, so she stumbled her way down to the depths of the castle and into the public bath area, which was always heated from the forge on the other side of the stone wall. There was a vague recollection of meeting a soldier she was supposed to recognize, and sending word to somebody about something, but the need to be warm was overriding anything else. The warm air wasn’t enough and, shivering violently enough that moving was becoming hard, she rubbed at her tired and aching eyes with trembling hands before she started filling the closest tub with the hottest water in the pumps. Once the basin was filled, she wasted no time in stripping out of her clothes and sinking into the hot water, sighing as the heat finally began to infiltrate her bones. Unsure of how long she sat curled in the corner of the tub until her shaking ceased, she let her body relax into the hot water. She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she was being manhandled awake and pulled partially out of the bath. Strong arms were wrapped around her, one curled protectively around her torso with a calloused hand on her back, and the other gently supporting her head and neck, thick fingers gently scratching at the thin skin of her hairline on the back of her head. The rest of the world was very muddled and while she was aware of the touching, she was less aware of the who and where and what. Eventually voices filtered in, and then, because her brain was moving slowly, who was in the room with her registered. Cullen.

The door banged open, startling her Commander and he clutched her tightly to his broad, warm chest. Keyanna gripped the back of his neck with all the strength of a newborn kitten as she buried her face into his chest, knowing she’d be mortified if she had the wherewithall. But for the time being, all she could do was just hope that whomever was running in wasn’t able to see all that much. Cullen seeing everything was one thing — she was fairly certain that the two of them were going to be something phenomenal. But anyone else in the Inquisition? That would be terrible.

“Curly?” Varric yelled out, voice tight and sharp like it was in the field when he was worried.

“Here!” Cullen called out in response, ensuring that Keyanna was mostly covered by his own body. Varric and Bull both came hurrying over, cursing darkly when the two lay eyes on them.

“Ritts came running through like her ass was on fire," Bull was saying as they approached the two in the water, pausing when they began to register the scene in front of them.

"What in the hell happened?” Varric asked incredulously, recovering faster, as he reached for a towel to cover the rest of her modesty. Cullen shook his head as he moved to the edge of the tub where the bench was, kneeling on it and handing Keyanna up into Bull’s awaiting hands while Varric did a quick once-over, checking for any unnoticed or unreported injuries.

“Found her floating unconscious in the tub,” Cullen was saying as he clambered out of the tub, soaked from head to toe, clothing plastered to him like a second skin. Ignoring his own discomfort, the Commander had Bull lay Keyanna back down on the ground and Varric wrapped the towel around her middle, ensuring her modesty as best he could as Cullen’s rough hands ran over her skin, checking for any internal injuries. He wiped a wet hand over his face to hide how he shook. “Ritts came through saying she was asking for me and that she didn’t look well. By the time I got here…” he trailed off and coughed once into the crook of his elbow before leaning over her, eyes trying to see what he had missed. No longer pressed against a hot body, the Inquisitor began to shiver and she fought against the hands on her to try and curl into a small ball. All three men with her worked to prevent it, holding her on her back. Crying out in frustration, she let her body go as limp as she could and suffered through the shudders and the chills as they spoke over one another in an attempt to find out just what exactly was happening with her.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #5+1 things #writeblr #current wip #commander cullen #cullen romance #cullen dragon age #cullen rutherford #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #inquisitor

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 7: I Hope I Never Lose You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

Summary: Michael and you both find comfort in each other over some Chinese takeout, he starts taking Birdy’s advice, and somehow you both end up on the dining table.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of a car accident & child death, hurt/comfort, fluff, like this is sweet, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, choking, marking kink, anywhere but a bed, gentle intimacy/aftercare

Word Count: 6.8k

A/n: So, this was supposed to be just fluff, but these two had a mind of their own and they ended up fucking. Again. But in this case it’s just passion and not necessarily to forget something. They’re just horny little bastards. But can you blame them?

The newspaper clippings feel brittle in your hands. The paper has been locked inside and moved around continuously for six years. Dark dots adorn the written text underneath the headline. The tears have long dried into the paper, but it has turned gray where the wetness used to be.

Underneath the many articles that are held together by a pin, you find a picture. The quality isn’t the best – It was an old camera that took the picture nine years ago, not some hyper-modern smartphone with a camera quality that competes with reality.

Your eyes scan the face of the newborn wrapped in her pink baby blanket. The faces of the adults around her seem happy, the smiles honest. In every picture, the baby is being handed around. You have studied them for years, and you always skip most of them until you reach the most important one, and that is Maya, her back then still small arms holding the newborn as you’re sitting beside her. But you don’t matter, only the two children are the focus of your attention.

Breaking News: 2 injured and 1 dead in a car accident off the M25 Motorway.

Your fingers scan the article as if it were Braille.

Yesterday around 17:46, a truck crashed into a small van on its way out of Greater London. The three-year-old girl in the passenger seat and the truck driver, 41, were air-lifted to the hospital. The driver of the van, the three-year-old’s father, only sustained minor injuries. The doctors tried to save the girl’s life, but they declared her brain dead early this morning. The truck driver is reportedly stable after surgery, but he has still not woken up. Details about the nature of the accident are still unclear. Police are now investigating both the father and the truck driver for reckless driving to bring some closure to the little girl’s family.

You slap the drawer of your desk shut when you hear the sound of a fist banging at your door. You wipe the stray tear that escaped your eye, hoping your state of mind isn’t too obvious, and you lock the drawer again.

Michael is about to knock again when you finally open the door. His intuition tells him something is wrong. You meet him with a smile that almost looks pained, and your cheeks are red; your cheeks only redden when you blush or you have been crying.

“Hey,” you greet him.

He steps past you into the apartment. “Hey,” he says.

You offer to take his coat, but he does it himself, retrieving the folder inside.

“I’ve got my records,” he tells you. “All of them. I wasn’t sure what we needed.”

You smile at him. “That’s okay.”

“Are ya?”

“What?”

“Okay?” Michael asks.

Your mind is a treacherous place. You can feel yourself tearing up again at his question. The answer is obvious, but you can’t admit that you’re not okay because you feel stupid enough already.

The day has gone well except for a few minor bumps, and you broke your own heart by going through the drawer again that you keep locked, even from yourself, for a reason. If anything, you think, this is your fault.

You take a small step forward. He watches you intently. Your eyes switch to his arms, then to his face almost guiltily. You could have just asked, but you’re not sure how to voice what you need.

He puts the folder down and opens his arms slowly. You bridge the gap between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. You don’t cry, you only hug him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. You don’t have to tell him that you’re not okay, he can tell by the way you’re squeezing him.

“Was it a bad day, or–”

You shake your head. “I just…” you swallow.

“Needed a hug?” he finishes.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Okay.”

It feels nice to be on the receiving end of a hug for once, but as you hold onto him and his hands roam your back, the intensity of his touch tells you that you are not the only one who needed a hug.

“Are you okay?” you dare to ask, your voice muffled through his chest.

He chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, “I am now.”

“Okay.”

Michael leans down to press his lips to your scalp. “Ya hungry?”

You pull away to look up at him through tired eyes. “A little,” you say.

“Let’s order somethin’, hm?”

“Chinese?”

“Sounds grand,” he agrees.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. His lips ghost over yours with a soft smile before he finally kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss, his finger tilting your chin up, and he seems to pour all of his unspoken feelings into it.

You melt into him, your arms still around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, not wanting to let go. He is warm and he smells good, and he feels soft all over. Sometimes, when things are too soft, they trigger you, but he is just the kind of gentle comfort you need.

An hour later, the two of you are sitting at your dining table, Chinese takeout before you. Michael ordered himself some dumplings and spring rolls while you settled for sushi. He told you he hates sushi, which sparked a small argument because, “How the fuck can you hate sushi, Michael? Even the fried ones?”

He told you, “Because I hate fish.”

“It’s not fish, it’s literally vegetarian Sushi,” you said.

He was hesitant to try a piece, but he did it for your sake. You have never seen anyone’s face contort so fast than when Michael put the piece of Avocado Maki into his mouth. He tried to look like it didn’t bother him, but you could tell he was trying hard not to gag.

Needless to say, you have accepted that he doesn’t like Sushi. He truly looked like he was disgusted to his very core, and you don’t want to force him to like something that a lot of people don’t like, anyway. You’re not that type of person.

He watches you as you finish your last few bites. It took you a while longer because you stole one or two dumplings from his plate while he wasn’t looking and he ended up giving you half of his spring rolls because suddenly, you wanted spring rolls, too. He didn’t mind.

You are a food thief first and a clothes thief second, you told him, and that elicited that beautiful smile and a soft laugh from him; he sounds so beautiful when he laughs, and you find yourself staring at him in awe across the table.

You can't help but be captivated by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and the dimples that he has. It's moments like these that remind you why you're so drawn to him. He has a good heart and the aura that surrounds him isn't dark because he's dangerous, he's just in pain, and beyond that pain, there is light to be sought out.

“What?” he asks, his laughter dying down into a soft smile.

You raise your eyebrows, your face still propped up on your hand. “What?” you ask him.

“Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“That.” Michael points at your face. “I don’t know.”

A faint blush spreads across your cheeks. “Maybe I just like staring at you,” you say.

Michael's eyes widen slightly. "Wha'?" he replies.

“I like staring at you.”

That seems to throw him off a little. He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out, so he looks down at the table and chuckles a little awkwardly. His hand reaches up to touch his beard, occupying his nervous fingers.

“Wait,” you eye him curiously, “Did I just get you flustered?”

He stammers, the blush on his cheeks spreading to what little you can see of his chest through the collar of his shirt. He has often got lost in the glow of your eyes. Even when you look tired, you are still the most beautiful creature in the world. You are real, you are human, and he appreciates that. He knows you are hiding something, but at that moment, when his eyes meet the mischievous glint in your eyes, he only sees the woman he met in the café that put a smile on his face – a real one, at that.

You continue putting a smile on his face, even back at his house. Birdy is observant and a romantic, but she wouldn’t say that he looks happy with you for no reason. She meant it. And he does feel a flutter in his stomach every time he as much as thinks about you. He’s scared, still, but Birdy’s words moved something in him. He doesn’t want to lose you, and as you’re staring at him, he realizes that you might be feeling the same way.

You’re a captivating person, enchanting even. He hasn’t seen such beauty in a while. Inside and out, you fill his heart with warmth. Your words have become his favorite audiobook, and your voice reminds him of a gentle symphony radiating all kinds of emotions to make the listener feel something. And he feels something when he sees you, hears you, and feels your skin against his.

You tilt your head a little, still propped up on your hand, and smile at him. Your smile grows cuter by the second, and maybe you’re a little shy now.

“I, uh…” he licks his lips. “I like starin’ at ya, too.”

“You do?” you ask, and now it’s your turn to be flustered.

“Yeah. Yer beautiful.”

“Oh…” You look away.

He reaches out to pull the hands that want to cover your face. “Don’t go shy on me now, love,” he says.

You meet the honey of Michael’s irises, and it’s a sweet taste that explodes on your tongue and spreads through your body, functioning as a balm and warming you up. You forget about everything else for a moment and focus slowly on him.

In your eyes, Michael Kinsella is a rare creature. He seems to have been taken straight from a work of fiction. He’s the dark, mysterious character with a world full of secrets but a heart of gold. And he loves with utmost devotion, something that is rare in most human beings these days. He has a tragic beauty about himself, his soul scarred from decades of pain, his life a series of traumatic memories, but he is still standing, and he is trying to be better. He’s trying to find a purpose, which is probably the most admirable because it is one of the hardest tasks in anyone’s life.

You look up to him. You’re not sure why, but you do. He’s shared so much about himself already, and something seems even more open now that he’s back. You feel a little guilty for keeping all of your pain from him after he opened up about his wife and entrusts you with helping to get his daughter back, which is a huge display of trust, but you don’t know how to tell him, and you don’t know if you even really want to.

This is a part of you that is very personal, and knowing Michael, he will lose it when he finds out the truth. You haven’t seen him angry before, but you have been watching people closely all your life; he is shy on the outside and he can be nice, but he can also get really angry when someone crosses him or the people he cares about. You don’t want him worrying about you.

He cradles your cheek and you grab his wrist instinctively, holding him there as you lean into his touch. “Where did ya just go?” he asks quietly.

“Just thinking,” you admit just as quietly.

“About what?”

You shrug, your eyes fluttering closed when he starts rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Has no one ever taken care of ya before?”

“No.”

“Am I the first man who makes ya feel…”

“Loved?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah, loved.”

“Most of the men I’ve been with were assholes. They didn’t care.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, my friend says I just know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael chuckles softly. “Is that why ya went fer me?” he says.

“You’re not an asshole, Mikey.”

Your words leave the air heavy with tension. He exhales, cradling your face a little tighter now and you whimper, your mind slipping further into a fog with every stroke of his thumb along your skin.

He lets go of your cheek. You open your eyes lazily and look at him with a frown. He opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says.

You’re out of your chair faster than you can think.

Without hesitation, you respond to Michael's invitation. Your heart races with anticipation as you swiftly leave your chair behind. You seat yourself in his lap, pulling your legs up and curling into his chest. His hand comes to rest on your cheek again, this time holding you tight against him, his heartbeat thudding right where your ear rests. You melt into his embrace. You are scared of uncertainties, but his arms encircle you tight enough to form a shield against them. Everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent that is uniquely him—notes of earthy cologne mixed with a hint of vulnerability. It's a fragrance that lingers in your senses.

“You smell good,” you murmur.

He chuckles. “Thanks,” he says.

“Like you… and me.”

“That’s ‘cause I used your shampoo.”

“I know.”

“Makes my hair soft.”

“I know.”

“And shiny.”

Your smile widens and you giggle into his chest. “It does look very shiny, yeah,” you say.

He sighs, his turn to inhale your scent. It’s like a warm hug, and he can’t believe he gets to hold you like this. “God,” he almost growls. His nose is still buried deep in your hair. “Ya have no idea how much I love having ya in my arms, pet.”

You shiver slightly. “You do?” your voice sounds hoarse.

“Yeah.” Michael holds you tighter, his lips attacking your scalp gently with kisses. It’s almost as if he wants to eat you, and you relax completely under his touch as he showers you with some much-needed affection.

You forget the folder on the table, the secrets between you, your day at work, and the stranger that freaked you out enough to send your mind reeling like a hamster running for its life in a wheel. You forget all about it and let him take care of you. You are too tired to protest, anyway.

His hand comes to rest around your throat, and you moan softly. He’s setting you on fire without even trying. His touch is possessive and yet it carries an electric current that courses through your veins.

You feel the weight of the world slipping away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. In his grasp, you find solace. He brings you back from the brink of losing your sanity, and you are eternally grateful he found the switch to turn the voices off.

He whispers your name. You hum in response.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” you ask.

“Helpin’ me. With the job, Anna, myself, I–” He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t use many words most of the time, so holding up a conversation as vulnerable as this one still comes as a struggle to him. “I’m just thankful for ya,” he says.

You smile, sitting up in his lap and making sure you straddle him so you can look into his eyes. Your hands rest on each side of his face now. “You’re so very welcome, darling,” you say.

Michael rests his hands on the bare skin of your hips under your shirt. “While I was at the house, Birdy came t’see me.”

“Birdy?”

“Yeah, she’s– she’s family. I– She’s the one who’s been there fer me the most, and she always cares ‘bout everyone around her. She takes care of me. She always has. I don’t ask her to, but she does it anyway. She’s the heart and soul of this family.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Okay…”

“She asked me about ya,” he says.

“Oh,” you gasp softly.

“Not– not in a bad way. I promise, yer not in danger or anythin’, but… when Jimmy and I were fightin’, they heard your name. But Birdy… she understands, so I told her that I’m stayin’ with ya and she said… she told me I should be happy, and I am happy with ya, or somethin’ like that, and she said she’d try to keep the rest of my family off our asses so I can focus on Anna.”

You pause and look into his eyes for a moment before you say, “Aren’t you supposed to make me not like them?”

His chuckle sounds broken, but he smiles anyway. “Birdy’s nice,” he says.

“I can tell.”

“And she said she likes ya.”

“She has never met me.”

“She still does.”

“Ugh, I can’t hate someone who likes me.”

Burying his head on your shoulder, Michael laughs.

“Seriously, that’s unfair. Can’t she be a cunt like your brother and his snitch of a wife?”

His mind takes a moment to process your words before his laughter picks up again and he stares directly at you. “Did ya–” he clears his throat. “Jesus, did tha’ really just come out of your mouth?”

“What?” you ask.

“The word ‘cunt’ as an insult.”

“What, I’m not allowed to say it?”

He pulls you closer. “I didn’t even know ya were capable of cussin’ someone out!”

“I’m not a total church girl, Michael,” you retort.

The amusement in his eyes is clear. “Oh, I’m well aware of that,” he says. “Yer not the type o’ girl who prays.”

“It’s not what I usually get on my knees for, no.”

He chuckles, the sound resonating deep within his chest. You expected him to get flustered, but instead, his eyes glaze over and he smirks at you. His fingers graze the small of your back, creating a tingling sensation that travels up your spine. You shiver, your inside curling. You want to clench your thighs, but his thighs keep you trapped. You're burning, and the heat travels from your cheeks between your legs, straight to your core.

Michael eyes you hungrily. “And what’s that?” he asks, his voice husky. “What do ya get on your knees for, pet?”

“Well, Mr. Kinsella,” you whisper, “I get on my knees for one thing only...” Your fingers tangle in the hairs on the nape of his neck. He sucks in a sharp breath when you tug at them, the pain stinging his scalp, but it causes his blood to wander.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

His eyes never leave yours. You trace a finger along the strong line of his jaw, reveling in the way his body responds to your touch. “Yeah… Just one thing.”

“Tell me.”

“You.”

His fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck!”

“I would kneel for you, Michael,” you say.

“Yeah?” he asks again.

“Yeah.”

You can feel his breath on your lips as he leans in. "I want ta have ya at my mercy," his voice caresses your ear like velvet.

Your fingers travel higher, feeling the soft brown hair between your fingers. They feel like a gentle breeze on a cozy autumn night. They remind you of the coffee you sell every time the weather gets particularly cold, but inside the café, the world becomes a warm sanctuary.

His hands are hot though. They are like a candle with a smoldering fire, and as it falls, it sets everything else around it on fire, too. His nails scratch over your hips slightly and your entire body quivers above him.

His gaze darkens with primal hunger. “You have no idea,” he says, “how much I ache to possess ya.”

You started this. This is your fault.

His lips press to the shell of your ear – they don’t just hover, he’s pressing them directly to it, and he injects his words into your bloodstream. “I want to push ya to the edge, to make you mine in every way I can imagine. To mark ya, body and soul. I want to feel ya come around my cock over and over again, mouth, cunt, everywhere until ya can't remember your name anymore,” he whispers, “I want to hear ya moan my name so loud, your neighbors complain, and then I want t’ do it again and again and again until yer drippin' with my cum inside ya.”

Your jaw slacks and you let out a loud and needy moan.

His hands move from your hips to your ass and he lifts you far enough to push your clothed core down on his half-hard cock. You instinctively hold onto his shoulders, your red face burying in the crook of his neck.

“What’s wrong?” Michael coos. “Can’t take it?”

That’s not the problem. You want to take it and you know you can, but he is making you feel this way without even touching you, and that’s what makes your head so dizzy, you feel like you’re about to fall.

You can barely catch your breath, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. “Please, Michael,” you respond so desperately needy.

“Get on your knees.”

Your legs are wobbly when you stand. He pushes his chair back slightly to offer you some room between his spread thighs. As uncomfortable as the floorboards are, you ignore the pain. You want this. You didn’t lie when you said he is the only thing you would get on your knees for. There is no space for God or Jesus, it’s only you, and it can’t be a sin to want to suck someone’s cock so badly as you want his. It’s only natural when someone lays their eyes on him, you’re sure.

Michael's gaze is intense as he looks down at you. He reaches down to cup your cheek. “Yer so beautiful on your knees f’me,” he says.

You clench your thighs, hoping to somehow soothe the ache in your core. The anticipation is almost unbearable, making you ache for his command. You want nothing more than to open your pants and touch yourself, your panties soaked and your cunt aching for attention.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Patience, pet. Let me admire you.”

His definition of admiring you is undressing you with his eyes, thinking about all the ways he can have your body right here right now, and he craves you like the most delicious drug. He craves the high, the feeling of being consumed by you as he tears orgasm after orgasm out of you. You look so pretty, and you sound so beautiful.

Your hands rub his thick thighs absentmindedly. He smiles. Deciding to have mercy on you, he undoes his belt with one hand. You watch intently until he starts to struggle and you help him pull his pants down. His jeans pool around his ankles, and you’re quick to free his cock from his boxers. It springs up against his stomach and you’re so turned on, you can feel drool trickling down your chin.

Michael brushes your hair back. “Are you sure ya want t’do this?” he asks.

“Yes,” you choke out. “Please, may I?”

He nods. “Of course, yeah.”

You adjust yourself and lean forward, your hands still braced on his thighs, and you lick a long stripe along the underside of his shaft.

He grips the edge of his chair and grunts. His hand tangles in your hair instantly, not pushing you but simply holding onto you. Your tongue traces the veins on his cock, drawing pictures over the most protruding one. You move higher now, teasing his tip, and his head falls back.

Michael stares at the ceiling which looks like the night sky in the darkness. The heat of your mouth engulfs him and he believes he’s in heaven.

You’re good at this, he won’t lie. The way you play with his slit, the mushroom tip of his cock, before taking him into your mouth. It’s only the tip at first, too, but you eventually hollow your cheeks and take him down your throat. It’s a bit of a struggle, but you’re nothing if not determined. Your hand makes up for what you can’t take, jerking him off right above his balls before you finally start moving.

Looking down at your hooded eyes and tear-stained cheeks, he has to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from coming right there.

You start moving faster, paying special attention to his tip whenever you pull off. You suck on the most sensitive part of him and he’s alive; he’s so alive, his heart starts to race. He can feel everything, the heat of your mouth, the cold of the chair, and the sweat that is trickling down his forehead.

He grunts, tightening his grip on your hair. “Fuckin’ hell!” he moans, guiding your head ever so slightly. He tells you what pace he prefers, and you keep it that way.

Your head bops up and down in a steady rhythm, his cock heavy on your tongue, but the taste causes your mind to spin and ache for more, more, more–

His toes curl and he twitches in your mouth when you fondle his balls. Looking up at him, you can’t help but moan at the sight. His mouth is agape, his head tilted back to reveal his perfect neck, and the veins on his forearm are popping. You clench your thighs tighter as you continue to suck the soul out of him through the very tip of his cock.

Michael has dreamt about this before, but neither your hand nor your mouth come close to what he jerked himself off to. You’re so much better. It’s a lewd thought, even now, but you are so fucking good, you push him further and further and right to the edge of the cliff. He throbs, he whines and he moans, his noises spurring you on even more.

You want to make him come, you need to. You are more than willing to swallow everything he has to give and more. He sounds delicious and he looks even more so. You want to lick his chest hair that is poking out of his shirt, ride his thigh, maybe even rub your clit along his abs as you make yourself come. It is an utterly selfish thought, but the pleasure he brings you is overwhelming and drives you further toward the edge. And you’re only sucking his cock, which is something that has never turned you on before.

“Love, I’m gonna– fuck, if ya don’t want it in your mouth–”

You cut him off by patting his chest, telling him that it’s okay, he can come in your mouth; you want him to.

Your eyes roll back when he tugs at your hair, the pain mingling with pleasure, and the vibrations of your delicious moans are enough to make his balls tense under your touch and then he’s coming, hard, with probably the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life.

You try not to gag as the rather salty taste of his cum fills your mouth. You swallow every last drop, suckling on his tip until he’s whimpering above you, overstimulated and spent. You pull off then, cum trickling down your chin and throat and down the valley of your breasts.

Michael has zoned out, his eyes fixated on your face, your swollen lips, and the mess he’s made out of you – but he is probably the biggest mess out of both of you.

You blink up at him. “How was that?” you ask, your voice sounding way too innocent for what you just did.

His breath shudders. “Do–” he swallows. “Do ya have any idea how fuckin’ hot that was?”

“No,” you say.

“Fuck,” Michael growls, hoisting you up.

He doesn’t pull you back into his lap, instead, he meets you halfway and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You moan into his mouth, his cum mixing with his saliva in your mouth; you’re addicted now, too.

The empty takeout containers fly to the floor, the folder with his records and CV sliding to the other end of the table as he wipes it clean to lift you on it. You scramble to sit down as he pulls your hips flush against his.

He turns into an animal then.

Your shirt suffers when he can’t manage to get the buttons, so he decides to tear it open. You gasp, but not because you’re mad. It is probably the hottest thing he has ever done.

Your bra joins your shirt on the floor, his lips wrapping around your nipple. He doesn’t gently suck like he did the first night; he pulls on it with his teeth, almost taking your entire breast into his mouth, and you never thought that possible. He assaults your chest with such vigor, you’re a quivering mess in seconds. He toys with your buttons, pulling and sucking at your sensitive nipples until they’re hard, swollen, and red. There is a hickey on your right breast, and he admires his work. He has marked you, and this time everyone will be able to see it when you wear even the slightest hint of cleavage.

His pants are already gone. Yours are the only ones in the way. Lifting your hips, he pulls your jeans down. He misses your panties, which seems to frustrate him, but then he tears that piece of fabric, too, and you moan. Whatever got into him, you are wetter than the Atlantic Ocean and he will have no problem sliding right–

Your head flies back when his cock penetrates your tight walls, your lips parting in a silent scream. He thrusts into you without warning, pulling your hips flush against his, and you cry out. He manages to hit the secret spot inside of you just right the first time as if memorizing it, and your legs wrap around his waist.

For a few seconds, Michael doesn’t move. He stays buried with his cock deep inside of you, head dropped into the crook of your neck, his jaw slack as he pants into your skin, and you hold him close. Your cunt adjusts to his size rather quickly, but he needs a second to revel in the feeling of your velvety walls around him.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Something snaps inside of him and in only a few seconds, the dining table is shaking underneath your ass as he pounds into you. You hold onto his hair, nails dragging down his back, trying to get his shirt off so you can reach more skin. He’s fucking you so deliciously, the moans tumble from your lips in ecstasy.

Somehow, you manage to remove the last piece of clothing between you, and he dives in for a kiss. Your tongues clash. His hips snap against yours. Deep, hard strokes seem to be his favorite thing because it’s what he goes for this time, too. He hits all the right places, his fingers leaving indentations in your skin.

“Fuck,” you moan into his ear.

His tongue licks over your neck. “Yer so fuckin’ perfect,” he breathes.

You clench when he hits your G-spot. His name comes in labored breaths out of your mouth, and he swallows them with his plump lips.

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about fuckin’ you every second of every fuckin’ day, pet. Such a perfect little cunt, and only fer me.”

“Oh, God!”

You’re worried the table might break.

He kisses your neck, sucking a mark into the skin over your pulse point. You’re going to be purple and bruised tomorrow, and you’re going to get several comments at work, but you don’t want him to stop. It’s good to be owned by him. You want people to know you’re his and no one else’s to have. It fills you with pride, and you know he feels it, too.

Your eyes meet when he lifts his head, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he holds eye contact. You gasp, stroking through his sweaty hair. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He stifles his moan in your neck, holding you impossibly closer as he continues thrusting slow and hard.

“Fuck, baby,” you dig your nails into his back, “Right there…”

He knows he’s doing it right, he can feel your pussy tightening around him, but he still makes sure to do it even more perfectly to give you the pleasure you deserve.

His hand finds your neck, squeezing tightly just below your jaw, and your eyes roll back into your head. He remembered.

Just when you’re about to reach between you to rub your clit, he forces your hand away and takes over, his thumb rubbing circles over the sensitive nub. The added stimulation together with his hand around your throat makes you see a sky full of stars in your ceiling, and you try to meet his thrusts as the knot in your stomach tightens and you’re about to fall off the precipice.

He bites your bottom lip. “Ya like that, huh?” he asks, his thumb rubbing faster over your clit. “Ya like it when I fuck ya, pet? When I make ya come? When I show ya what it’s like to be properly fucked?”

You nod and pathetically whine, “Yes! Please, Mikey.” It sounds almost like you’re sobbing. “So good, please.”

Michael reads the signs of your body perfectly because he pushes you back and pulls your hips into his. It allows his thumb more space to touch your clit, and the angle at which he hits your cervix makes it all too much to bear.

Your back arches off the wooden tabletop and you come without a warning, your walls spasming almost brutally around his cock that is still sensitive from the already heavy orgasm you gave him before, and with a few more heavy thrusts, a grunt escapes him and he falls on top of you as his cum spurts into your tight cunt.

You catch him with a hand on the back of his neck, your legs still wrapped around his waist. He stiffens completely, every last drop filling you to the brim, and you whimper at the feeling. It’s incredible, and it’s a part of him you get to have inside of you. He’s a territorial person, but so are you.

He is the first man you have ever let come inside of you without a condom, but he makes it worth it.

His bicep tenses as Michael lifts himself, a strand of hair falling into his face in the process. “Jesus Christ,” he says.

Your chest heaves. “Yeah,” you say.

“Are ya–” he cradles your face with an almost concerned look. “Are ya alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t mean to be so rough, I–”

“I liked it,” you cut him off. He’s cute when he overthinks something as simple as sex. You reach up and gently brush the strand of hair away from his face. “I'm more than alright,” you assure him. “I’m perfect.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “Perfect, huh?” he repeats, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. “Well, I'm glad you think so. Wouldn't want t' disappoint ya.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Trust me, Michael, there's no disappointment here. Quite the opposite, actually.”

He presses a tender kiss against your forehead. “Okay, good.”

You close your eyes. You’re both a mess and the position gets more uncomfortable with every second, but he has hoisted you up in no time after pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He slips out of you, carrying your sweaty body in his arms toward the bathroom. You cling to him with a content smile, your legs shaking, but you can’t complain.

Once inside the bathroom, he carefully sets you down. The room is filled with the sound of running water as he adjusts the temperature, ensuring it's just right for you. He remembers you prefer the sizzling temperature of lava; he likes it cold. After the first shower together, you managed to find a middle ground together that doesn't burn his skin or freeze you to death.

As the water cascades down in the shower, he extends his hand toward you, silently inviting you to join him. You take his hand without hesitation. Under the soothing water, he tenderly washes away the clammy feeling of the day and the remnants of his cum. He runs his hands through your wet hair, massaging the shampoo into your scalp and spreading conditioner over the ends of your hair. You enjoy the way he's taking care of you so effortlessly and unconditionally, not expecting anything in return. But of course, once you're free of soap, you return the favor.

With gentle movements, you lather the soap over his skin, reveling in the way it glides across his contours. Your fingers trace his muscles, exploring the familiar terrain of his body. You stop at his chest hair, running your fingers through it. He shudders, but he takes the display of affection without words. He's beautiful, and the added hair makes him look delicious enough to eat, but you have been through that; this is just about you two now, some gentle intimacy without anything beyond fleeting touches and shampoo.

You stop over a scar on his hip. “What happened there?” you break the silence with a murmur.

“Ya really wanna know?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Knife fight.”

“Oh.”

“But it was nothin’ serious.”

“Still,” you trace your finger over the scar, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh–” Michael pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says. “I’m okay.”

You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. As the water continues to rain over you, you get lost in the feeling of each other, your skin feeling like silk under each other’s fingertips.

Wrapped in each other's arms, the world fades away. Your skin brushes against his. Your fingers glide over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, as his hands roam over your curves. It’s sensual, but it’s no longer sexual.

“Michael,” you breathe against his lips.

He moves from your mouth to your cheek and then your forehead. “Hm?” he asks.

“I really like you,” you confess.

Michael stops, his hazel eyes meeting yours. You look so shy when you bite your lip and avoid his gaze. He smiles, tilting your chin up with his index finger. “I really like you, too,” he tells you.

It’s not an ‘I love you’ but it best describes how you both feel for each other.

“Closer,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

You crave him. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

His lips brush your temple. “Like that?” he asks.

“Yeah, like that.”

“I never thought…” His hands begin to roam your back and he tries to find the right words. “I never thought I’d feel like this again,” Michael admits.

You don’t look up, but your grip around his waist tightens in understanding.

“Yer bringin’ me back to life,” he says your name with so much certainty, “and I can’t thank ya enough for that.”

You try to keep your tears at bay. His confession is vulnerable, and you figure it’s not something he often does. He has bled his heart out for you the day before, and now his cages are gone and he’s continuously giving you his blood for you to filter and breathe it back into him – you’re bringing him back to life, setting his heart alight, and he wants nothing more than for the feeling to persist. You want the same for him, too.

But Michael also wants to bring you back to life because he can tell you’re holding back, your shoulders tense with the secrets that threaten to weigh you down and drown you in the endless sea of your emotions. It’s hard enough for him to be so open, and he still has so much left to say, but he hopes that Birdy was right with what she said– he hopes you will open up to him once he finds the courage to tell you even the last bits and pieces of his story, and that he can help bring you back to life, too.

“I don't want this to end,” your voice breaks.

“It won't end,” Michael whispers into the crown of your head, “not if I have anythin' ta say 'bout it. We'll take it one step at a time, but I'm not lettin' go of ya.”

“I don't want to let go either.”

“Then don’t.”

“I won’t,” you say.

Because you need him, and without him, you’re pretty sure you will not be able to exist anymore.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @mattmurdocksscars @roseallisonparker @1988-fiend @norestfortheshelbywicked @loveroftoomanyfandoms

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #kin amc #reader insert #charlie cox #chaos theory

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