#but upon meeting the child inside

[cyberphuck]

gaslighting your younger siblings is the absolute best thing about being an older sibling. Nick and I made our younger stepbrothers believe that we’d had a younger brother (Peter) whom my mom had gotten mad at and killed We would just fucking sit around “yes and”ing each other and then when the little brothers went to mom she was like “oh yeah, Peter, I killed him”

evil infodumping where you just tell lies

[nyrasvoid]

The Cost of Duty

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: Gwayne Hightower, is summoned in Kingslanding during his wife’s first pregnancy. After giving birth to their son without him, she struggles to forgive Gwayne upon his return.

Warnings: lots of angst because our girl is alone but a good ending i guess ?

A/N: no use of Y/N and also included Daeron in the fanfic, he’s 7 yrs old and raised by Gwayne and his wife

- Word count: ≈2.9k

Your hand rests on your growing belly, feeling the subtle movements of your child. The babe is still small, just five moons along, but every tiny kick, is a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life you created with Gwayne. Yet, as the days pass, it feels like you are experiencing this miracle alone.

The door creaks open, and Gwayne steps inside, his expression tired as he pulls off his gloves. His face is lined with the exhaustion of someone who has been carrying the weight of Oldtown on his shoulders.

You watch him as he moves around the room, setting his things aside without a word. A part of you wants to let it go, to simply accept that he is busy, that he is doing his duty. But another part aches for his attention, for the warmth and closeness you once shared.

"Gwayne," you say, your voice soft.

He looks up, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks away again. "Yes, my love?"

You hesitate, trying to find the right words. "You've been so distant lately," you begin, trying to keep a calm tone. "I understand that your duties are important, but... I miss you. I miss us."

He sighs, rubbing his temple as he moves closer to you. "I know, my love. I know it has been difficult. But there is so much that needs my attention. With Father in King’s Landing, everything falls to me."

"But what about me?" you ask, your voice rising slightly. "What about our child? I need you, Gwayne. We need you."

He looks at you, with guilt in his eyes. "I am here now, am I not? I’m doing the best I can. But Oldtown... it doesn’t run itself."

You stand, unable to keep your frustration to yourself. "And what about me? Do I run myself too? I sit here every single day, waiting for you, hoping for just a moment of your time. But when you finally come, it’s like you’re not really here.”

You pause.

“You do not even look at me unless I speak to you first."

Gwayne steps back, as if putting distance between you would solve your problems. "I do not have the privilege of simply putting things aside, my dear. You knew this when we married."

"I didn’t know it would mean being ignored!" you snap, your hands trembling as you grip the skirts of your dress tightly.

He takes a deep breath. "I’m doing this for us, for our future. The child’s future. Can you not see that?"

Tears threaten to fall out your eyes, but you refuse to cry. "I just want my husband back," you whisper.

Gwayne’s face softens, and he reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away before he can touch you. “My love-"

"Don’t," you say, "Just... don’t."

He watches you for a moment, but he says nothing more, only turning and leaving the room, the sound of the door closing behind him, leaving you alone again.

Days pass, and the tension between you two only grows. Gwayne is present, but his mind is always on his duties. You feel as if you’re growing further and further away from him.

One evening, after a long day, Gwayne finally sits down beside you as you take your evening meal. You’ve been silent for most of the day, and now the sight of him so close yet so distant is almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I have received a raven from King’s Landing today," he begins.

"And?" You replied unphased, not even looking at him.

"Father has summoned me," he says, "He needs my presence to sort out some political matters."

You place your spoon down. "King’s Landing?" you repeat, disbelief in your words. "That’s so far... and I’m already five moons along, Gwayne."

"I know," he says, his voice low. "But I will be returning as soon as I can. I won’t let anything keep me from being here for the birth."

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing. "You don’t know that. What if something happens? What if you don’t make it back in time?"

"I will," he insists, reaching for your hand, but you pull it back.

"You’re not listening to me!" you raise your voice at him, your frustration taking over. "You’re choosing to leave. You’re choosing your father over me. Over us."

He frowns. "It’s not a choice, my dearest. It is a duty. My father needs me."

"And I need you," you sob, your voice breaking. "I can’t do this alone, Gwayne. I shouldn’t have to. You are my husband before anything else."

He reaches out again, but this time you stand, moving away from him. "Please," he begins, but you shake your head.

"Don’t ask me to understand," you say, "Because I don’t."

After a long moment of silence, you hear him rise from his seat. "I’m leaving in three days time," he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. "Please, try to rest.”

You say nothing, you hear the door close behind him, and you break down crying, once again, you are left alone.

The night before he’s supposed to leave, Gwayne comes to your shared chambers, his expression softer than it’s been in weeks. He moves to sit beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your knee.

"I know you’re angry with me," he begins, his voice gentle. "But I don’t want to leave on bad terms. I love you. You must know that."

You turn to face him, your emotions a mix of anger, sadness, and love. "If you loved me, you wouldn’t be leaving."

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his hand sliding up your nightgown. "Let me show you," he murmurs as he presses tender kisses down your collarbone.

But the anger and hurt are still too fresh. You place a hand on his chest, pushing him back firmly. "Not tonight, Gwayne."

He pulls back, surprise and hurt showing in his eyes. "My love..."

"I can’t," you say, "I’m still angry. I need...time."

He nods understandingly. "I am sorry," he whispers, pulling you into his arms despite your anger. "I am truly, so sorry."

You let him hold you, sobbing into his arms without saying a word.

Gwayne leaves at dawn, you watch from the window, your hand resting over your belly as he rides away. He turns once, looking back, but you don’t move. You don’t wave.

As the days turn into weeks, the loneliness only grows. Gwayne’s absence is a constant reminder of the growing distance between you. You try to busy yourself with tasks; embroidering blankets for the babe, reading, even taking long walks through the gardens. But nothing can fill the void he has left behind.

You spend time with Daeron, Gwayne’s youngest nephew, who has been staying in Oldtown under your and your husband’s care since he was born, and he had now seven years of age.

One afternoon, as the two of you sit beneath the shade of a large tree, Daeron looks up at you sadly.

You reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind, sweetling?”

Daeron glances up at you, his blue eyes filled with a sadness. “Auntie… will you and Uncle Gwayne forget about me when the babe is born?”

The question catches you off guard. You shift closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a gentle embrace. “Forget about you? Never, Daeron. Why would you think such a thing?”

He shrugs, trying to appear indifferent, but his voice trembles as he speaks. “Because the babe is your child. He’ll be important, and I’m just… I’m just your nephew.”

You tighten your hold on him, your heart breaking at the thought that he feels so insecure. “Daeron, listen to me,” you say softly. “You are not just our nephew. You’re as much a part of this family as the babe will be. Gwayne and I love you dearly, and nothing will ever change that.”

His eyes fill with tears. “But… he’ll be your real son. Won’t you love him more?”

You shake your head. “Of course not, sweetling. I will love both of you equally, just as if you were both my sons. I promise you that. You and the babe will grow up together, and I will raise you both as brothers. Nothing will change how much I care for you.”

Daeron’s lip trembles, and he finally allows himself to lean into your hug, resting his head against your shoulder. “You mean it? You won’t forget about me?”

You press a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean it, Daeron. You are very dear to me. The babe will be your little brother, and he will look up to you, just like you look up to Gwayne. I’m sure you’ll be the best big brother anyone could ask for.”

He sniffles but nods. “I will teach him all the things I know. How to ride a horse, and how to climb trees…”

“And how to be kind and brave, just like you,” you add with a smile.

Daeron smiles a little. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

You hug him tighter. “I know you will, Daeron. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

He pulls back slightly, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll be the best big brother ever.”

You smile, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I’m sure you will be, my love. And the babe will be so lucky to have you as his brother.”

The boy’s expression softens as he looks at your belly. “Do you think he’ll be just like uncle Gwayne? Brave and strong?”

You hesitate for a moment, the thought of Gwayne filling your mind with sadness. “Perhaps,” you say gently.

Daeron nods, then his face brightens again as he looks up at you. “Can I help you pick out a name for him?”

Your smile widens at the offer. “Of course. Do you have any ideas?”

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. “What about Maelor? It’s a strong name, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head, considering the name. “Maelor…” you say slowly. “Yes, it is a strong name.”

Daeron smiles, clearly proud of himself. “I can’t wait to meet him, auntie. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

As the months drag on, you begin to feel your belly grow heavier each day. Letters from Gwayne arrive frequently, filled with words of love and concern, but you don’t care to answer them.

You feel alone, as the weeks turn into months and the baby gets more active. Every kick is a reminder that the time is running out and you can only hope that Gwayne comes back in time.

But as your belly grows, so too does your anxiety.

One evening, you feel a sharp pain. You clutch at your belly. It’s too soon, you think. Gwayne isn’t here. He promised he would be here.

The pain intensifies, and you know without a doubt that the babe is coming. Your maids rush to your side, their faces filled with worry as they help you to your bed. The midwives and the maester are summoned.

You grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white. “It’s too soon,” you gasp, tears streaming down your face. “Gwayne isn’t here… he isn’t here…”

The midwife shushes you gently, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Breathe, my lady. Focus on the baby. He’s eager to meet you.”

The labor is long, painful, and each moment is filled with fear.

At one point, you feel that you can’t go on, the pain too much to bear. “I can’t,” you cry out, “I can’t do this…”

“You can, my lady,” the midwife insists. “You’re strong. Your baby needs you.”

The room is full of faces, of whispers and encouragements, of hands holding yours as you push with all your strength.

Hours pass, and just when you think you have nothing left to give, you hear it. A loud cry that fills the room. The midwives wrap the tiny babe in soft blankets before placing him in your arms.

Tears stream down your face as you look down at your son cry. He’s perfect, you think.

“Maelor,” you whisper, “my sweet Maelor.”

Days pass, and the babe grows stronger, his cries filling the empty chambers that once were filled with silence. Daeron is overjoyed to meet his new brother.

“Can I hold him?” Daeron asks one afternoon, his eyes wide with excitement.

You smile, carefully placing Maelor in his small arms. “Support his head,” you instruct gently, watching as Daeron cradles the baby with surprising care.

“He’s so small,” Daeron whispers. “Will he be strong like uncle Gwayne?”

You nod, your heart filled with pride. “He will. But he’ll also have your kindness, Daeron. He’ll need you to show him how to be a good man.”

Daeron’s face lights up, and he nods eagerly. “I will. I promise.”

You watch as Daeron gently rocks Maleor, your heart warming at the sight. For a moment, the loneliness fades, replaced by the joy of watching your sons together.

But as the days turn into weeks, Geayne sends letters, each one more desperate than the last, asking about Lucerys, about you, about your health. But you can’t bring yourself to respond, the anger still too fresh.

Maelor grows, his tiny fists curling around your fingers, tugging at your hair, his eyes beginning to focus on your face. He’s beautiful, perfect in every single way, and yet every time you look at him, you’re reminded of Gwayne’s absence.

Two months pass before Gwayne finally returns. Word reaches you that he is only an hour away, but you remain in the nursery, rocking your son in your arms as you sit by the window.

Despite knowing Gwayne is coming home, you make no move to greet him at the gates.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later the door to the nursery swings open. Gwayne stands there, his eyes searching for you immediately. He takes a step inside, his gaze falling on you and the child in your arms. “My love…”

You do not look up, focusing instead on Maelor. Gwayne approaches you, dropping to his knees beside you. “Please, look at me. I am so sorry…”

You remain silent, unwilling to let your emotions show. Gwayne reaches out, placing his hand on top of yours. “I know I’ve hurt you. I never meant to be away for so long. I didn’t think it would be so… difficult.”

You glance up then, your eyes meeting his.

“I needed you,” you say quietly. “I went through the hardest moments of my life without you, Gwayne. And now… now you come back and expect everything to be as it was?”

“I do not expect that,” he says, “I know I’ve done wrong. And I can’t change what’s happened… but please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to be here for you, for our son.”

You look down at your son, your heart aching. “Maelor is already two months old,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “You’ve missed so much, Gwayne. His first smile, the way he grabs my finger when he’s hungry… you weren’t here.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and he finally touches Maelor’s tiny hand, his fingers trembling as they brush against the babe’s soft skin. “I know,” he whispers. “I am truly so sorry, my love. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. Please… let me be here now. Let me be the father he deserves, the husband you deserve.”

“We’ll see,” you say quietly. “For now, all that matters is that Maelor is healthy and safe.” You pause and take a deep breath, “But… I want us to be a family, Gwayne. For Maelor and Daeron.”

Gwayne nods. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your son’s forehead. “Thank you for giving me a healthy son, my dear. I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.”

You watch as he cradles the babe in his arms, the sight filling you with joy.

PS: I know I have to start writing for other characters, I just love this man so much 😔 So just a reminder that my requests are open 🥰🥰

[gojoest]

CRAZY ABOUT YOU — gojo satoru

tw: MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, pregnancy (reader is expecting), established relationship (you’re married), pregnancy freak!satoru, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby, love, sweetheart), very very brief mention of somno & oral f receiving, reader wears a dress, he’s a freak, not proofread, wc: 2.4k

synopsis: your husband fucks you during one of your prenatal visits

your husband is a freak, you know that. but what you didn’t know was how big of a one he could be, for you. you found out — when you became pregnant with his child.

when satoru found out that you’re carrying his child — because he did before you, saw it with his six eyes — he fucked you differently. with a primal urge unheard of, like a man that’s impregnated his wife and is now claiming her again, confirming the fact that you belong to him by slamming it deep inside you. after the fifth (?) orgasm he dragged out of you that night, you asked him through a weary chuckle — “huh, where did this come from?” — and his answer began with a motion of his fingers hugging his balls — “it came from here…”, followed by his other hand caressing your belly “…and went there”, while slowly leaning in to meet your lips, “and i might just lose my mind because, baby — you’re pregnant”

a rather unconventional way to find out you’re pregnant.

if he had any semblance of decency in him before (which is rather questionable) and could keep his hands to himself (to some extent) during certain times and in certain places, it is completely off the table now.

when he wants you, you will know; others around will know it, too. he doesn’t shy away from making it obvious, or more so he doesn’t care if other people notice. what’s there to be embarrassed about? after all, you’re a couple, you do things. it’s only natural. and that pretty baby bump is the perfect proof of it. in all honesty, it gets him off when others know that he’s about to fuck his beautiful pregnant wife once he takes her home.

he's a freak like that, it can’t be helped. even more so now with the way your skin glows differently, with the way you smell, the way you carry yourself and the way your body is undergoing the natural changes as the pregnancy progresses that he finds so beautiful. it all messes with his head. brings out the real freak in him that can no longer keep his urges at bay, not when knowing that he himself brought this upon you. it makes you so undeniably his, for everyone to see and acknowledge. his chest swells with pride…

…but sometimes pride also gives way to greed, to a freakish desire for more of you.

during the rare times you go about to shower without him, he slips into the bathroom. sits on the toilet seat and starts jerking off to you, watching your swollen belly and breasts, moaning loud and clear for you to come to his aid. sometimes you wake up to him holding your hand wrapped around his cock, rubbing himself into your palm, audible pants seeping from his lips as he slowly lifts the hem of your shirt (his shirt that you wear to sleep) — preparing to splatter his load on your pregnant belly; or alternatively, you open your eyes to his face buried between your legs, devouring you like a starved animal… other times, as you make dinner in the kitchen, tenderizing the meat with the mallet on the counter, he comes from behind and presses his hard-on against your ass, shamelessly asking “would you mind beating my meat, too, baby?”

and when you go about to scold him, call him a jerk, a perv, a freak, insufferable while hitting his chest — playfully, because you secretly like it when he can’t contain himself around you — he blames you for it. tells you that you’ve severed him so abysmally that he’s having a hard time now keeping it soft around you (he’s not lying). that you broke him and should take responsibility for it. chuckles fill the room and mix in between your kisses that later turn into breathy moans and pants mixed in between countless of i love you’s and you’re mine and mine only’s.

but sometimes, such as today, he takes things a bit too far…

like,

—you can’t simply fuck your wife during one of the prenatal visits just because the doctor left the examination room for a bit and your dick is rock-hard from seeing your wife’s belly out in the open.

“you have to be kidding me”, you raise your brows in absolute surprise as you watch your husband unbuckle his pants, “now? HERE?”

“please?”, he looks at you, cheeks flushed and eyes of a pleading puppy.

you knew he was up to something from the glint in his eyes as he kept staring at your exposed belly earlier, completely transfixed, only his eyes following the ultrasound probe as the doctor pressed it over your tummy.

“the doctor’s going to come any moment, you know right?”, you try to confirm he is aware that this can go very wrong.

“yes, but so am i — you don’t want me walking around in cum drenched pants, right?”, he purses his lips into a pout, one that’s obviously fake (but it works on you, even if you refuse to admit it).

“it’s not like you’ve never done it before”, you mock.

“that was only one time”, he pouts (this one’s not a fake), “okay, maybe two or three times, but it happens even to the best” (it was more than two or three times)

“aha”

“oi. whose fault do you think it was? you make a man go crazy. i mean, look at me right now, just look — i am standing here with my dick almost out for you, in the doctor’s office”

“so you realize this is absolutely crazy but still you won’t pack your dick away?”

“no, i will not. i’ll die if i don’t get to fuck you this instant. and i mean it, it hurts so much. and the authorities will suspect you did it, you know. because it’s always the wives anyway…..and they won’t be wrong about it”

“you’re hopeless, satoru”, you sigh, giving him a roll of your eyes.

but still, leaning on your elbows you slowly rise yourself from the examination table and sit at the edge of it, removing the towel covering your thighs. spreading your legs for him, you think that you really made the right choice to wear a dress today — less in the way for your husband and another one of his “if i don’t get to fuck my wife, i’ll die” episodes.

“i am”, he saunters over to you, biting his lower lip at the sight of your thighs and the beautiful belly hanging in between, “but i can’t help it when you’re so pretty for me like this, i go crazy”

and fuck, if it doesn’t make you wet the way he looks at you right now as he stops to stand between your open thighs, invading your space with such ease because that’s where he belongs to be. all the signs hint at that, too — the ring on your finger, the baby in your belly and the wetness dripping from your cunt, ready to welcome him in.

“yea, you really do”, you pull the front of his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, earning a low hiss from him upon your hand making contact with it.

“all because of you”, he places his hands under your ass and slightly pulls you to himself. you’re immediately met with where he’s hard, it’s poking and rubbing against your belly.

a moan crawls up his throat and breaks out into a satisfied groan. part of him wants to cum just like this — by rubbing himself against your belly. but god, you smell so good down there that it shifts his desire. now that he’s so close to you — standing right in front of your doors — he can smell it so much better. your scent wafts up from your heat and goes straight to his nostrils, letting his brain register in the most primal of ways that your body is ready for him.

you know he’s noticed the dampness of your panties by the way his smile’s faded into a grin, you can smell yourself in the air around you, too.

“fuck, baby…can cum from this alone, you know? rubbing myself on that pretty belly that i made on you”, satoru whispers as he leans forward to take your mouth into his. his lips are loaded with such intensity that they suck the air from your lungs, leave you moaning into his mouth. the grip he’s got on your ass tightening, his fingers digging into your flesh. “but that won’t do now, so hold on tight”

you comply in silence, wrapping your hands around his neck as he lifts you up just enough to peel your panties down to your thighs, then sits you up again and drags them down your legs and onto the floor.

“just so you know—if someone comes before i do, i’ll just keep fucking you”, he grins at you as he positions himself back between your legs. his words might sound like a joke, an exaggeration of some sort to make it clear how much he wants you right now, but you know better than anyone that he’s pretty serious about it.

“then hurry up, you freak”

his fingers swipe over your cunt — to confirm that you are indeed as ready as your scent gives away — and collect your arousal before rubbing it all over the length of his throbbing cock, mixing your wetness with his vigorously leaking pre.

“open them a little bit more for me, baby”, he coaxes, hands back on your thighs, tapping softly on your skin as a signal to spread them just a little bit more and give him way. you lean back on your hands and push your legs open as much as you can. the motion causing your belly to bump against his cock, squishing it between the two of you, pressing it against his stomach.

“s-shit, baby”, he hisses at the sensation, his body jerks a little and his hips buck forward, against your belly, to deepen the friction, “i can really cum from just rubbing it on you….fuck, that’s crazy”, he laughs.

but satoru stops himself.

his hand moves away from you to get a hold of his cock and help it against your entrance, pushing the head towards your folds before slowly sinking in the entirety of it, bottoming out in you from the very start. there’s no time to waste and he’s got no patience left in him, once he’s in — he’s going all the way.

“nghh, s-satoru”, you whimper at his needy intrusion, but swallow him so easily that your wetness starts to spurt out as he’s starting to dart in and out, trickling down the crack of your ass and dripping onto the examination table.

“fuck, love…look at the way you take me”, he breathily chuckles, head thrown back as he picks up the rhythm of his thrusts, “and you call me crazy, huh…haha, fuck, f-fuc-k” — if his voice was a tad bit louder just now and could keep a steady note, he would’ve sounded maniacal.

“s-shut up….don’t compare me to yourself”, you protest, trying to deny the fact you want him just as bad but the way your walls clench around him proves the other way around. you become who you surround yourself with. he’s crazy to do this to you here of all places. and you’re just as much crazy to let him have his way with you.

you suck him in so deep that his body, caught off guard, jerks and bucks forward. it makes him forget where he starts and where he ends. he wants to let go but also to never stop, he’s fighting so hard but it’s a battle he’s slowly losing. as his pace is growing faster his thrusts are getting sloppier. “shit”, he curses under his breath. his balls are sizzling and he wants to bust so bad but not before he makes you cum.

the tension, the pulsing of his cock and the ridges of his throbbing veins — you can feel them like a heartbeat inside of you, and each time he slams against that sweet spot your clit responds with a beat of its own.

you try to hold your voice back but pants leave through your parted lips as you gasp for air.

“nghh, ’toru…’m gonna cum”, you whimper incoherently as you throw your head back, eyes shut close.

“yea? go on, baby—cum for me. come on, sweetheart—i’ll help you out”, he breathes.

his hands grabbing onto the plush of your thighs with a deadly grip, pulling you closer to help fuck himself into you better. the bottom of your belly is flat against his rock-hard abdomen now and he keeps it that way while ramming himself inside you, rubbing his cock around your sensitive walls, without pulling out. over and over until you squirm and come undone. face grimacing in pleasure and hips jerking from the electrifying sensation as you keep chanting “fuck, fuck, fuck” under your breath as quietly as possible so your voice doesn’t make it past the walls of the examination room for others — doctors, nurses and patients — to hear.

you glance your eyes to him, all disheveled and sweaty as his hips live through the last few thrusts left in them before he implodes inside of you. you hear him grumble how he’s about to fill you up while peering at you with a desperate face.

“f-fuck”, he growls throatily, charging one last time into you before spurting his load inside you. his body shudders from the release he’s been holding back. and he’s pouring too much, his heat spilling and filling your insides. you can feel it all — he’s making a frothy mess of your cunt.

it takes a few seconds after he’s done pouring his seed that his body reigns back control and he stops shuddering. he then looks at you.

“if i pull out now it’ll all spill out, you know? so maybe we should stay—?”

“no.”, you dryly interrupt. “don’t force our luck. put that thing away before someone comes and help me put my panties on”

“but it’ll spill out”, he insists.

“i’ll hold it in, don’t worry”

“oh? you know just the thought alone is doing inhumane things to me all over again, right?”

“satoru. don’t you dare.”

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness. 

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign. 

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.” 

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away. 

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet. 

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now. 

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty. 

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question. 

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation. 

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid. 

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges. 

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Sweet Nectar // Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary: Aemond feels ever so slightly jealous when he watches his wife feed their babe, he'll have a taste for himself tonight.

WARNINGS: mdni, afab!reader, lactation kink, breeding kink, unprotected p in v sex, reader is already a mom, breastfeeding, aemond craving the good old tiddy milk, tiddy sucking, teasing, biting, nipple play, aemond is so down bad for the milkers. + not proofread.

WC: 2,078

A/N: I suddenly got the urge to write this I'm not kidding 😭😭 // diviver credits to @cafekitsune

You coo softly while gently rocking back and forth as the small babe in your arms begins getting fussy in between your arms, you pat her gently and reassure the fussy babe, while caressing her cheek.

“Are you hungry, my dear?” You ask her as if she'll respond verbally, a small croak leaves her throat before she coos, stretching her tiny arms and placing it upon your breast as a way to answer your question. You chuckle at her action before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Shall I take her to the nursemaid, princess?” The maidservant allotted to you questions, putting your comfort as a first priority, you shake your head, “No need, I shall feed the babe myself.” You reject her politely, “Can you undo the lace?” You ask her, and she nods, her fingers making quick work of the lace that's holding the top of your gown together, you pull the material down — along with your chemise — just enough for one of your breasts to be exposed but cover everything else.

You hold the baby in a feeding position, and she immediately latches onto your nipple, suckling as she makes soft satisfied noises, as her hunger is being satiated. You giggle at her cuteness and watch as she closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

The door to your shared chamber opens and you lift your head up to see Aemond, carrying a bunch of scrolls and books in his hands, he sets them down on the nearby table before turning his attention to you. “My prince.” the maidservant greets and Aemond nods, “Prepare a bowl of water and a rag, after that, leave us alone.” He commands her and she bows, swiftly beginning to do what she's been told. After the maid leaves the bowl and leaves, Aemond quickly begins to retire for the night, undressing himself, usually, he would call in a manservant or you would help him, but he cannot call the manservant when you're breastfeeding, and neither can you help him because of that.

So he does it himself, after undoing his upper garment, he wears nothing but his white plain transparent tunic and breeches ; that are more suited for sleepwear, loose and thin. Aemond later washes his hands and forearms thoroughly, ridding them of any kind of dirt before making his way to you.

“How was your day, Husband?” You ask him, watching as he comes near and stands next to you, staring at you for a second before sitting down beside you. “Hm, t'was decent, what about you?” He asks you, his gaze dropping down to your chest. “It was good, I did not wish to partake in any social meetings today, but rather decided to spend it with her.” You look down at your child who is now sleeping. Aemond hums before he lays his head on your shoulder getting comfortable in your presence enough to express his desires.

“I want to have my wife tonight.” He mutters, nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck as his gaze remains fixated on your chest while he rests his hand on your thigh, slowly drawing imaginary patterns on it, indicating what he wants. Your face heats up at his implications, “You will, husband, let me call the servant and have her taken to the nursery for tonight.” You reply to him, slowly pulling her away from your breast and covering yourself up.

“I will call for the servant.” He offers, hoping to help you out and you nod, he opens the chamber door stepping out and turning to the guard before asking the guard to fetch a servant, to which he immediately obeys and goes to get one. Aemond gets inside, making his way over to you before he takes your child from you and hands her over to the servant who had entered the room just then. “Take care of her for the night in the nursery, should there be any news that she was hurt in any way, I will cut off all of your limbs.” He threatens to which the poor servant just nods her head in fear assuring him that no harm would occur to your child, and then she takes her away.

The door closes and Aemond secures it tightly so it doesn't open upon impact. And all the while Aemond was talking to the servant, you had quickly gotten undressed and were now sitting in your chemise, putting the gown that had fallen to the floor away.

Aemond goes straight to the bed and sits on it and you watch as he removes his eyepatch, placing it on the table next to the bed before he turns his attention to you. He looked so ethereal when he was staring at you, his sapphire glinted as the fire from the chambers reflected off from it. “Come.” He commands and you slowly make your way over to him, now standing in front of him.

He looks up at you the tension thick in the air as his eye is filled with pure desire for you. he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest and pulling you, this causes you to stumble and lose your balance which he takes as an advantage to pull you onto the bed with him, flipping you over and getting on top.

His hair curtains around your face as he stares at you, his eye moving back and forth between your own, taking in your beauty. You raise your hand and gently tuck his hair into his ear before caressing his cheek, “You're so beautiful.” You hear him say and you smile, “I could say the same about you, husband.” You respond, He gives you a small smile before tilting his head slightly and connecting his lips to yours.

His lips felt soft against yours, you reciprocated and kissed him back. You felt the heat bloom in your core as he slowly grinds himself against your lower abdomen while kissing you. He slowly slides his hand against yours before intertwining your fingers with his. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside, allowing him to deepen the kiss which resulted in him humming in satisfaction.

He pulled away shortly after, panting for air, his kisses then trailed down towards your neck, he pecked and nipped at the skin of your neck, leaving bite marks as a way to mark you as his, he untwined his hand from yours to pull down your chemise, causing your tits to spill out of their confines.

He presses kisses down to the valley in between your breasts before he stays there for a while, “You know, I'm jealous—” he begins, his other hand coming up and gently fondling with your breast, “— that our daughter gets to have these whenever she wishes, meanwhile I'd have to wait until night.” He whines slightly, his thumb pressing over your sensitive nipple making you gasp slightly.

He decides he doesn't want to waste any more time and immediately wraps his lips around your nipple, pulling and suckling on your breast like a babe, he swirls his tongue and flicks it up and down the bud, Aemond hums in satisfaction when he feels the taste of your milk in his mouth.

He squeezes and fondles your other breast, rolling your nipple between his index and thumb finger and pulling meanly on it. Your breathing becomes shorter and faster as you begin to get aroused by his ministrations which prompts you to rub your thighs together trying to ease the throbbing between your legs with some friction.

It doesn't go unnoticed by Aemomd, but he instead focuses his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions and drinking your milk selfishly for himself, his teeth grazes against your bud and you wince slightly at the burn it causes only for him to bite onto it, making you whine and squirm before he sucks on it again as a way to soothe the pain he just caused. He pulls away with a wet pop and you take notice of the milk that's dripping from the side of his mouth and down to his neck which was such a perverse sight, yet you couldn't help make you feel more aroused so you guided his head back to your breast again.

And so he took your breast in his mouth once again, drinking all of your milk up you moaned in pleasure as his tongue flicker up and down your bud. You whimpered because you are sensitive from earlier feeding.

You felt him humping against your thigh as he tried ease the tension between his very own legs, he let go of your breast, unable to hold himself back anymore, he sat straight up and began to slip down his pants and take off his tunic, you did the same with your chemise, discarding it and throwing it someone to the side of your chamber.

He spreads your legs wide and lines his cock against your entrance slowly pushing it in, this causes you to tremble in excitement as his cock stretches you deliciously, you let out a gasp once he is fully settled. He lifts your hips off the mattress, holding you by your thighs as he slowly begins to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, almost as if he's teasing himself until he begins to pick up on the momentum, thrusting his hips back and forth, he begins to pick up the speed quite steadily.

You grind your hips to match his rhythm as your body jolts up and down the bed, your tits bouncing as a result, the moans of his name leave your lips like holy chants, “Aemond— oh fuck– right there– Aemond—!” all the while his tip is continuously hitting that sweet spot of yours, he grips one of your breasts and stares at it intently, “They look so good when they're swollen and full of milk.” He refers to your tits, he squeezes your tit slightly and watches as droplets of milk begin oozing out. “Oh gods— you're still full– fuck.” He quickly shifts his weight, dropping your lower body down onto the mattress and leaning forward to take your breast in his mouth while he fucks you.

“Seven fucking hells–— I don't think I can ever get enough of this ; perhaps I should keep you pregnant constantly, Yes? So your tits are always full of milk, for the babe” he grunts, his peak nearing as he mouths at your nipple. “And for me— ” His thrusts become more frantic and desperate, “You would like it wouldn't you? I know you would. You'd love to be full of me— I can only imagine how gorgeous you'd look, constantly waddling around while carrying my child— Answer me.” He growls. “Yes yes yes yes! yesyes! Aemond! I'd love it so so so much please please—” You babble as you feel your peak nearing. “Good girl— fuck!” He moans as he peaks, and your babbling is cut short as you gasp because you too reach your high right after him, the pleasure explodes inside you like a volcano, slowly seeping and coursing through your veins, you feel hot, warm, cold, suffocated all at the same time due to the intensity of the pleasure.

Aemond slows down his thrusts before fully stopping and pulling out, he watches as your cunt pushes out his spend to which he tuts disappointedly at before scooping it up with his finger and pushing it all back in.

“Here I am; planning to keep you full of my child and yet you're here denying it? Such a disobedient wife.” He slaps your clit as a punishment making you whimper, “I apologise— t'wasnt my intention.” You reply, breathlessly and he hums.

He lays down next to you, catching his breath along with you. You watch and his hands rests on your lower abdomen. He grabs you by your hips and turns you around to face him before he grabs the sheets and throws them over you both before pulling you close, your breasts pressing up against him, and the milk transfering over to his chest, making it sticky.

“Aem— it's messy.” Your voice comes out slurred and Aemond simply hums, “Let it be.” He hugs you even tighter, and you sigh, before wrapping your arm around his waist, hugging him back and you both slowly drift off into sleep.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[entitled-fangirl]

A good father.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader

Summary: fatherhood is different than what Gwayne expected. Daeron worries that it will be the same as Otto and Gwayne's relationship.

A/n: so I saw that this was the most voted for the poll so far, so I just decided to write it today! Surprise!

Masterlist

.........................................................

Otto Hightower had returned to Old Town only days ago, and things could not have been more awkward.

Well, not for Gwayne.

That cocky little shit just said everything that came to mind.

It seemed he liked to battle his father.

…

"Daeron?" Her soft voice came over the yard.

Young Daeron sat in the garden of Old Town, a frown upon his face. But at the sound of her voice, he turned and his eyes brightened.

Y/n Hightower slowly walked to him. Five months had passed and finally, she was beginning to show the child that was growing inside her. And she seemed to glow all the more for it.

Daeron moved to the side of make room for her on the bench, as well as hold his hand out to her to help her sit.

"Something is bothering you." She stated and pushed his blonde hair behind his ear. 

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Daeron," she tried again softly.

She had a way with him. She never had to raise her voice to get her way, for everyone that heard the meek tone of her voice still listened and obeyed. 

"It's Grandsire," Daemon explained. "More… it's the constant bickering."

She nodded, running a hand through his hair affectionately. "Gwayne and his father have never seen eye to eye, not since Alicent became queen. They are just two very different men."

"Is that how all fathers and sons talk?"

She pulled his chin up to make his eyes meet hers, "No. Not all fathers and sons speak in ill regard of one another."

"What if he does it to his own son?"

Her brows furrowed, "What?"

"What if Gwayne speaks like that to the babe?" 

She just realized how his eyes glazed over with tears. "Oh, sweet boy." She pulled him to her. "Gwayne is a man with a temper, but he would not do that. There is a barrier between Gwayne and his father. One that cannot be fixed now, and only because of that do they fight."

Daeron considered her words for a while, "So, because there is no barrier with the babe-"

"-Gwayne will love this child with his entire being, I promise you."

She held him for a while, promising to talk to her husband about it later.

…

"Might I speak with you?" Her voice echoed out.

Gwayne turned slowly, his face lighting up at her sudden appearance. "You and I both know that you may."

A soft smile came to her lips as she walked to him, "I've missed you as of late."

His head tilted, "I've been here."

She rested her hands on his chest, "Yes, but your mind has been elsewhere."

One of his hands moved to her swollen stomach, "Very much so. My father has been occupying my attention." He scoffed thinking about it, "He's a foolish man."

Her hands rubbed soothingly across his chest. "Even now, you only think of him." She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, "Don't neglect your wife and future child to argue with your father."

He let out a soft sigh as her words broke his angered facade. "Forgive me."

"No." She leaned against him. "You need to apologize to Daeron."

"Daeron?" He asked in surprise. "Why Daeron?"

"He's worried for you. Well… for the child."

His eyes moved to her to stomach. "I don't understand. He has no reason to worry."

"He's seen the way you bicker with your father."

His hand rubbed up and down, "I'm still rather confused. What does my relationship with my father have to do with the child? Are you alright? Is the babe alright?"

She placed her hand over his, "I am fine."

He tilted his head in worry, "You're sure?"

"I am. Daeron is frightened that you'll speak to our child the way your father speaks to you."

A worried look came over his face, "I would never."

"I know that."

"I did not realize he noticed that."

"I told him I'd speak to you to reassure his worries."

He nodded and looked to her face. "Let me talk to him."

She nodded, "Alright. He should still be outdoors."

Gwayne placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll go now. Wait for me?"

She hummed a questioning noise, "What? Why?"

He grinned, "I want to make up for lost time when I return."

A blush came to her cheeks, "Do make it quick then."

He smoothed down her hair, "I shall."

…

"Come here, nephew."

Daeron looked up and saw his uncle. He stood and smoothed out his shirt. "Yes, uncle?"

He ruffled the boy's hair and smirked, "I've been told that you're worried about something."

A guilty look crossed the boy's face, "Aunt Y/n told you that?"

"She did. But I want to hear it from you." He pointed to the bench, "Sit." Gwayne sat next to him. "I understand that you worry about the way your grandsire and I speak to one another."

Daeron nodded, "You fight often."

"We do." He wanted to fully explain it all, but his nephew was still a child. "We do not… agree often. That is all."

"You and Aunt Y/n disagree often," he pointed out.

He realized the direction that the boy was going, and was earnestly trying to make him see his side. "I'd never speak negatively to that woman."

"But why is that different to Grandsire?"

"Well, I love my wife," he said immediately.

Daeron's eyes watered, "Do you not love Grandsire?"

"I…" he looked away in thought. "He is my father. Do you love your father, Daeron?"

"I believe I do," he answered. "But I do not know. I've lived here for almost my whole life. I don't know father well at all."

"May I tell you a secret? I do not know my father at all, either." Gwayne leaned back against the bench. "My father has always been in King's Landing with your father. Seems we're the same."

Daeron nodded, "I didn't… I didn't think about that."

Gwayne put a hand on Daeron's shoulder, "I will always stay by the babe's side. I will not part from my family."

The boy relaxed at that. He stared in thought, something clearly bothering him. "What is my mother like?"

Gwayne frowned, "W…What?"

"The queen. What is she like? Surely you know."

"Why not ask your Grandsire?"

"I don't know him well enough. I try to avoid him in all honestly. Is that wrong of me?"

Gwayne considered the thought. "I don't think so. I was very frustrated to see him return too."

The Targaryen prince stared up at his uncle, "Did he treat his wife poorly?"

Gwayne felt a smile come to his face at the mention of his mother. "No. No, he loved her very dearly, as I love my wife." He looked out over the garden. "And Alicent is much like your grandmother. Very headstrong but very kind, and as fiery as the Hightower hair. Or, at least… I think she is. She was." He turned to look at Daeron, "Do you wish to visit your mother at some point?"

"No. I'm content here."

"Are you?" A soft voice interrupted. 

Y/n approached the two, a slight waddle to her step due to her condition.

Gwayne stood up and held his arms out to her. When she was close enough, he helped her sit on the bench. 

She still looked to Daeron. "You're happy here?"

He nodded.

"I'm very glad," she smiled.

Gwayne knelt in front of the boy, "I promise to you that I will love my child unconditionally. Now, I want you to stop worrying. Will you do that?"

Daeron nodded again.

Y/n reached up to smooth the boy's hair, "And you'll still be loved the same when you have a cousin."

"You'll be an excellent cousin," Gwayne chipped in.

"I don't know how to do so. I… I am hardly a brother."

"Do not fret, Daeron. It will come to you naturally," she cooed.

…

A few months later, Daeron entered the couple's chambers in nervousness, eager to meet his cousin.

Gwayne sat against the headboard of the bed, his exhausted wife leaning against his chest. "Daeron?"

He looked up at his uncle, "Is she alright?"

Gwayne nodded and pulled her just a little closer. "She's perfect."

"And the babe?"

Gwayne looked across the room. 

Otto Hightower sat on the sofa across the room, the babe held securely in his arms. 

It was clear that there was a little tension between the two men.

Otto looked to Daeron, "C'mere."

Daeron walked to his grandsire curiously.

Otto lowered one shoulder to let Daeron see the babe. "A boy."

Daeron's eyes widened, "A boy?"

Gwayne spoke up, "Are you happy?"

He nodded immediately.

Y/n's eyes opened and she let out a groan.

Gwayne shifted her, getting her more comfortable. "Need something?"

"Wanna get up," she whispered. 

Gwayne looked at the others in the room, "Leave us."

Daeron nodded, leaving with the maester.

Otto wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn't. He stood and went to put the babe down, but Gwayne spoke up, "Bring him here."

Y/n's eager arms took the child from Otto. 

Lord Hightower smiled softly, "You'll be a wonderful mother."

She grinned. "I hope so."

Otto then looked to Gwayne. He stared at him for a while. Gwayne was expecting an insult. 

"I was so scared the day you were born."

Gwayne was confused by the sudden confession. "What?"

"The day you were born. I remember the way my hands shook." He looked between the two, "Your mother was so confident."

"I heard she was wonderful," Y/n chirped in softly.

Otto nodded, "She was."

"Gwayne, I need to feed the babe."

Gwayne nodded. "I'll fetch the midwife to help you." He stood and led his father out.

The two walked down the corridor in silence. Finally, Otto spoke. "Your son will be a strong warrior."

"He will be. I'll be here to ensure it," Gwayne said bitterly.

Otto sighed. "We've never gotten along, I understand-"

"-No, you just weren't here."

"I was leading the realm," Otto tried to reason.

"You left," he grunted.

"I am still your father."

"No. Only by blood."

Otto scoffed, "Do not be weak."

"I will raise my son properly. I won't leave my child. And I won't leave my wife." Gwayne grunted. "Something you didn't do."

"Do you believe that I returned here only because I wished to?"

Gwayne stared at him for a while, "I… I do not pretend to understand your choices."

Otto took a step forward, "I was terrified the day you were born. I did not know how to be a father. I didn't have one long enough to learn from him."

Gwayne's head tilted, "And?"

"And…" Otto sighed as his frustration grew. "The king granted me a few months leave. Do you believe I just so happened to time out my arrival with end of your wife's condition and the months after?"

He crossed his arms in annoyance, "What are you saying? You wanted to be here? You wanted to see the child?"

"I WANTED TO SEE YOU!" Otto yelled. "YOU AND YOUR FOOLISH PRIDE!" He brought a hand to his forehead, "I remember the feeling of holding your first child. It is not easy to be a new father and to lead. I only wish to help you in the ways I know how."

"You came back for me?" He asked incredulously.

"Entirely," he admitted. "I see your mother in you. In every word, in every deed. Even in death, she haunts my narrative."

"Would you change your choices if you could restart?"

"Very much."

That was all Gwayne needed to hear. "We are both too stubborn for our own good."

"I want the best for you, Gwayne. I am sorry if I have never stated that. Your wife lives, as does your child. That is the greatest blessing that a man can receive."

"I am well aware," Gwayne smiled lightly. "I… I had to rule Old Town in your absence. I suppose it has been hard to step aside now that you've returned."

Otto smiled. "For now, I wish for you to tend to your family. Leave the rest to me."

Gwayne nodded, "I will." He turned to leave, but hesitated. "Father."

Otto's brows lifted.

Gwayne forced the words out, the feeling new. "Thank you."

Daeron had hidden around the corner, listening to the entire exchange.

…

"Do promise to write often," Y/n smiled as she held the small infant in her arms.

Otto strapped the last bag onto the horse, "I shall try."

She shifted the babe in her arms, "Gwayne has… spoken well of you, as of late." She smiled teasingly, "Do you know why?"

Otto faked a confused look. "Has he? Haven't the faintest idea."

"Well, know that he does. Perhaps he's only now respecting the challenge that fatherhood brings."

He grinned, "I will pray that your son is only half of the battle that Gwayne is."

She laughed, "He is a Hightower. We both know that a prayer like that is worthless. He will be a fighter until his dying day."

Gwayne walked to the pair, pulling his wife to his side, "When will you return?"

Otto shrugged, "When I am granted leave next. I am uncertain. Care for Daeron for me still."

The red head nodded, "You know I always will."

Y/n stepped forward and kissed Otto's cheek, "We shall await the day you return."

He looked at the two. The love they shared was obvious. "As do I."

He mounted his horse. 

Y/n muttered something about feeding the babe and excused herself, leaving Otto and Gwayne.

"And Gwayne? You're a good father."

He felt a small twist in his gut.

...............................................................

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 2 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex » 【note, there is physical & emotional intimidation in this chapter (from naoya not satoru), this is a form of domestic abuse, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 12.5k

ꨄ a/n. firstly, wow thank you so much for all your kind words on ch 1 :") secondly, this series may be more than 3 chapters (maybe more like 4 or 5?) idk i'm still working out the pacing rn bc i really want the relationship to feel fluid and natural. this chapter ended up being much longer than i anticipated 😅 but as always, i would love to hear your thoughts and hope you enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 2 // under the spotlight

Becoming a mother makes you realize you can do almost anything one-handed—though honestly, sometimes you wish you had an abundance of limbs.  

Especially now. Your apartment is a whirlwind of activity – scattered toys, half packed bags and the remnants of breakfast still on the table. You’re in the middle of prepping your daughter’s essentials, trying to make sure you don’t forget anything important. Her preferred snacks, extra clothes, diapers, and a few of her favorite toys all stuffed into a bag.

“Mama, mama, look!”

Haru’s innocent voice rings out like a melody amidst your morning clamor. Halting your frantic movements, you’re drawn to her face, lit up with pure joy as she holds up her beloved Pikachu plushie. The bright yellow toy bounces in her hands as she makes it dance.

Her innocence provides a brief, much-needed, calm to the storm of nerves brewing inside of you. After all, today’s the day you’re meeting with Satoru and his lawyer to finalize the marriage contract. Your marriage—weird.

It feels odd saying it, the word foreign on your tongue. Marriage is a concept you never thought you’d be rushing into, especially not like this.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d marry Naoya Zenin.

Back then, you were so in love with his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But reality had a way of shattering those illusions.

His charm turned to arrogance, his confidence to control. It wasn’t long before you realized he cared more about owning you than loving you, and now you’re left with nothing but heartache and a broken family.

But amidst your turmoil you found a precious gift—Haru.

Her infectious giggle is a stark contrast to the chaos within your mind—it always manages to pull you back from your whirlwind of worries.

You’ll do anything in your power to keep her smiling, even if that means marrying Satoru Gojo, the man who is guilty for an abundance of your headaches.

With a deep breath, you zip up your duffle bag and turn to Haru who is lovably babbling to Pikachu.

“Come here, sweetie,” you say, kneeling down with her small jacket in your hand.

She toddles over to you, clutching her comforting plushie, eyes wide and curious.

Easing her tiny arms into the sleeves, you gently help Haru into her jacket.

“We’re going to meet some new friends today,” you tell her softly, fastening the buttons with care. “One of them is named Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo?” she echoes, face scrunching up in concentration.

Truth be told, you weren't planning on bringing Haru to this meeting, but you’re faced with a lack of options, especially since technically, you’re fired.

Well… temporarily.

Until Satoru rehires you, paying the nanny isn’t feasible with your already stretched finances, Utahime, your ever-reliable friend, is unavailable. Your neighbor, who sometimes steps in to help, is out of town, and your mom is… your mom – as undependable as ever.

At this point you'd rather be caught dead than call Naoya again.

Calling him yesterday, when your nanny bailed, was a moment of pure desperation, a lapse in judgment driven by the chaos of the day and the fear of getting fired. Not your proudest moment.

It’s no surprise he’ll likely use it against you—hold it over your head like a weapon. It’s a pattern you’re all too familiar with.

But today marks the beginning of a new chapter, one that you’re determined to make the best of for both you and your daughter—once this marriage is finalized, you’ll be back to earning a steady income again.

A sigh escapes your lips as you focus back on Haru, her innocent eyes look up at you expectantly.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo,” you repeat, giving her a reassuring smile as you reach down to tie her shoelaces. “We’re going on an adventure today, just you and Mommy.”

“An adventure!” Haru cheers, clapping her hands in unbridled excitement.

Just as you pull the last loop tight, a knock reverberates through the front door, startling you. It’s unexpected, you weren’t anticipating any visitors.

With a deep breath, you twist the handle and pull the door open. The sight that greets you sends a cold wave of dread crashing over you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Speak of the devil—Naoya.

He has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing, always appearing when he’s least wanted.

His presence is as imposing as ever—a smirk crowned on his lips, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets—exuding an air of ownership over everything that’s around him.

As if he owns you.

Damn it. You really can’t deal with this right now; you don’t have the time. Satoru is expecting you, and you need to get moving.

Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he surveys you with that annoyingly smug expression plastered upon his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite girls," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The frustration you feel from Naoya is vastly different from what you experience with Satoru. With Satoru, it's harmless—like dealing with a mischievous child. But with Naoya, every sight of him makes you want to flee, as if each encounter is a battle you barely survive. He reopens old wounds that never truly healed, leaving you raw and exposed.

Every fiber of your being screams in protest at the sight of him, but you force yourself to maintain composure—refusing to let him see the effect he has on you.

"What do you want, Naoya? I really don’t have time for this today."

Turning away from him, you begin gathering the last of Haru’s things with brisk, precise movements, making it clear you have no intention of prolonging this interaction.

He steps inside, smirk widening with satisfaction and tone laced with mock concern.

"Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're managing. Got your message. Heard you were looking for a babysitter yesterday.”

As expected—you’re really kicking yourself for calling him. His false sympathy only heightens your irritation, grating on your nerves as the condescension drips from his words like venom.

If you weren’t already leaving, you would slam the door right in his smug face.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to keep your tone steady, for no one other than Haru.

"We're fine, Naoya. We don’t need your help."

In hopes to end this conversation quickly, you grasp Haru’s hand and attempt to brush past him. But he sidesteps, effectively forbidding your path to the door, looming like an unwanted shadow.

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see. How’s that working out for you?” he scowls as he peers through your apartment, “This place is a mess. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for work. Lost your job already?”

His words hit a nerve, you feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"We are managing just fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be."

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily. His expression darkens, and as you repeatedly try to step past him, he halts you yet again, blocking your way like an insurmountable wall.

"And where exactly are you going? Shouldn't you be at work today?"

"That's none of your business. I really need to go," you retort, lifting your chin assertively as you force your way past him. Your shoulder brushes against his in a deliberate act of defiance.

The moment you cast him aside, he immediately pursues after—but choosing to ignore him, you close the door behind you, turning the lock with a decisive click.

As you start leading Haru towards the elevator, you adopt a brisk pace in hopes to put as much distance between you and Naoya as possible.

But he raises an eyebrow, smirk widening as he traverses after you. You hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway of your apartment complex.

"Oh, I think it is my business. Especially when it concerns my daughter."

Oh, please.

It’s painfully ironic how he pretends to care about Haru only when it suits him.

After you served him child support papers, he had the audacity to demand a DNA test, claiming he needed ‘proof’ that Haru was his. Of course, something like that takes time for the judge to arrange.

He knew that damn well—it was just another ploy to delay the process further.

As anger bubbles up within you, a scoff escapes your lips, teetering on the edge of a bitter laugh.

"Oh, so she’s yours when it’s convenient for you. Don't pretend you care about Haru now. You’ve done nothing but make our lives difficult."

Your movements are sharp and frantic until you finally halt in front of the elevator. Just as you press the button to descend, Naoya’s presence descends over you—suffocating like a dark cloud, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

"Maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, things wouldn’t be so difficult. You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask," the insincerity in his voice makes your skin crawl—as his words slither into your ears, each syllable is laced with a condescending edge.

You scoff, jabbing the button over and over again with mounting urgency. Can this damn elevator come any faster?

"Help? From you? I'd rather figure things out on my own than rely on your 'help'."

He steps closer, making you feel small and cornered. It’s a familiar tactic he would use to get his way—the accustomed sense of intimidation he used to exert over you returns, chilling your spine.

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you need me again,” his voice drops to a low, threatening whisper, the underlying menace making it clear that he relishes the control he still believes he has over you.

Suddenly, you feel small tiny hands gripping tightly onto your leg. Haru’s wide eyes dart between the two of you, her innocent face reflecting a nervous unease that she can’t fully understand—but you do.

Fuck it. Enough is enough. You can't let this continue any longer—screw the elevator.

With a determined breath, you scoop Haru into your arms, feeling her trembling slightly against you. "Come on, sweetie," you say softly.

Her tiny heart beats against your chest, mirroring your own anxiety. Holding her close, you immediately head towards the stairway, your stride quickening.

But Naoya's presence lingers, his footsteps echoing ominously after you.

“Really, Naoya?”

Oh, this is it. Your patience is wearing thin—he’s like a growth you can’t get rid of.

You feel Haru’s grip tighten around your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder. You have been trying desperately not to yell, for Haru’s sake, but at this point, Naoya is overstepping your boundaries.

“Just go away. The only thing I need from you is to hurry up and finish that damn DNA test,” you shout, refusing to look back as you head towards the stairs. “There was no reason for that bullshit; you know Haru is yours. I know you’re just trying to stall our court date,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration and anger.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with a cold amusement, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a mocking smile.

"Stalling? Hardly. You’re insane, I just want to be thorough. You should understand that, being so meticulous yourself," he sneers, tone derisively sweet.

Finally, you reach the stairway—beginning your descent, Haru clings tightly to you as Pikachu dangles precariously from each hurried step.

"This conversation is over, Naoya,” your voice echoes in the narrow space. “Stay out of our lives. I only want to see you in court."

Naoya contemplates following you, lowering himself a few steps before abruptly stopping. As his voice reverberates through the stairwell, his unsettling demand bounces off the cold concrete walls, chilling you to your core.

"For now, y/n. But remember, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You always come crawling back to me one way or another. You’re incapable of anything without me."

There was a time when you believed those words, but you will not fall back into that same vicious cycle.

Choosing not to respond, your resolve is sharpened with one clear goal, getting Haru and yourself out of this building as quickly as possible.

The moment you clear through the lobby door, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. This day is already starting off with a bang—hopefully it goes much better at Satoru’s.

Forcing a smile for your frightened daughter, you try to mask the tears welling up in your eyes—the tremor in your voice quaking.

“Come on honey, let’s go meet Mr. Gojo.”

Time to get this marriage finalized.

ꨄ︎

You had expectations of what Satoru’s house would be like, but even those couldn’t hold a light to the real thing—it’s a stark contrast to the modest apartment you call home.

The meticulously manicured lawn, the pristine arcadian, and the large, ornate door all showcase opulence.

It’s far more luxurious than you had imagined, making you feel distinctly out of place as you step out of your car in your worn jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a lazy bun.

Wait…should you have come dressed businesslike?

But you have Haru—was this supposed to be a professional meeting? Fuck.

On top of everything else, you’re already a few minutes late. Tardiness has become a tiresome trend in your life, one that exhausts you to your very core.

Traversing the entryway, Haru grips your hand tightly as you walk through the stone pathway. Her fingers tremble slightly, perhaps from the unsettling encounter with Naoya, or perhaps from the overwhelming new environment.

Nerves simmer through you once you approach the doorway, but you resolve to mask them. You weren’t going to let Naoya ruin your day—this meeting is your chance to retake control of your life.

As you reach out and press the doorbell, a soft melodic chime resonates, echoing through the spacious foyer beyond.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Satoru.

You immediately feel a sense of relief as you observe him dressed surprisingly casual—a fitted blue t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with dark jeans that hug his long legs. His snowy hair remains tousled in that effortlessly stylish way, framing his strikingly handsome face.

It’s impossible to advert your eyes as he greets you with that familiarly confident smile curling upon his lips, and those vivid blue eyes, enchanting you with an intriguing glint.

“Hm, late again, I see,” Satoru teases, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded with an exaggerated sigh. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up. Here I was, thinking you might divorce me before we even get married—” he stops, lifting his brow as his gaze shifts to the small figure peeking out from behind your legs.

“Well, well, and who is this?”

Haru’s wide eyes are filled with curiosity and apprehension. She peeps out nervously, clutching her plushie’s worn, familiar fabric for comfort.

Satoru’s smile softens as he looks at the little girl, but a twinge of uncertainty tugs at him internally. Children were a mystery to him, their emotions and reactions unpredictable.

What should he say? How should he act?

A flicker of fear crosses his mind—what if he says the wrong thing and makes her cry?

Oh God…

The thought of dealing with a child's tears makes him feel out of his depth, a sensation he’s not accustomed to. Satoru finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s used to commanding rooms and negotiating high-stake deals, not interacting with shy children clutching stuffed toys.

But faking confidence has always worked in the business world, and he is determined to make a good impression now.

As you notice Haru’s uncertainty, you gently caress her head, delicately coaxing her out from behind your legs.

"It’s okay, sweetie. This is Mr. Gojo, can you say hi?"

There is an air about you—the gentle ease in your voice, the way you instinctively know how to comfort Haru. It stirs something within Satoru, something he can’t quite place.

All he knows it that now he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

"I’m really sorry for bringing her along," you begin, tone earnest as you meet Satoru with an apologetic gaze. "I hope it’s okay. I just didn’t have anyone who could watch her today. But she’ll keep to herself during our meeting, I promise."

Satoru’s expression softens further as he looks at Haru, his uncertainty momentarily forgotten. She is so fragile, so docile. In her delicate features, he sees an uncanny resemblance to you—a small reflection of your strength and vulnerability intertwined.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he reassures softly. Crouching down to her level, his toothy smile is warm and inviting. “Hi there, I’m Satoru. What’s your name?”

Haru looks up at you for reassurance, her small hand tightening around your leg. Encouraged by your nod, she turns back to Satoru and whispers tentatively—

“Haru.”

Satoru grins, captivated by the softness and delicacy of Haru's voice. Though he is uncertain how to connect with a child. His mind races—

What do kids like?

What should he say next?

While his thoughts scramble, a spark of an idea forms the moment he observes Haru clutching Pikachu.

“Nice to meet you, Haru. Do you like Pokémon?”

Haru nods, her grip on the plushie relaxing slightly. There is a subtle warmth behind the apprehension in her eyes as she holds up her Pikachu toy to show Satoru.

“Yes, Pikachu.”

“Pikachu is pretty cool,” he lets out a contemplative hum as he tries to find common ground. A faint nostalgic smile plays on his features. “But you know, Digimon is even better. Have you ever heard of Agumon?”

Haru’s eyes widen with curiosity as she shakes her head, her interest clearly piqued.

Satoru’s inner child shines through—eyes sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm as his lips curl up into a grin. This is his chance to bridge the gap between them.

“Tell ya what, maybe we can watch some Digimon together sometime. How’s that sound?”

You feel Haru’s grip loosen on your leg. A faint smile touches her lips and a quiet giggle escapes as her initial shyness begins to slowly fade.

“Okay.”

There are many thoughts that come to your mind as you watch this interaction play out—the foremost being how unexpectedly gentle Satoru can be with kids. Something about him, that overconfident and sometimes arrogant man you’ve worked beside, feels different now. Almost likable.

Charming, even

But what you really can’t fathom the most is the image of a sophisticated billionaire engrossed in a kids’ cartoon. That concept alone is enough to make you suppress a laugh.

“You’re a fan of Digimon?” you raise an eyebrow.

Satoru stands up, brushing off his knees with a nonchalant shrug and a crooked smile.

“I used to watch it all the time growing up. Please, come in,” he ushers you inside the building, leading you down the grand hall.

Your breath hitches at the sight of the expansive foyer. The high ceiling, polished marble floors, and impressive chandelier casting a warm glow leave you speechless.

Following behind him, you find yourself studying Satoru’s confident strides—the movement of his back, his broad shoulders and the effortless air of authority he exudes. It’s a stark contrast to what you just witnessed moments ago with Haru.

But that alone makes him even more intriguing to you. Satoru can feel a bit like a wild card. Glimpses of tenderness hidden behind feigned aloofness—subtle playfulness followed by an exacting seriousness.

He keeps surprising you.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Digimon fan,” you remark as you follow behind him.

Satoru chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“Guilty as charged.”

You can’t help but notice the way he avoids your gaze—is he perhaps being… bashful?

Oh, this is rich.

You really would need an abundance of limbs to count on your hands the amount of times Satoru has given you shit—making your life a daily torture is his specialty after all. Perhaps that is why you couldn’t resist letting this opportunity pass up.

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have a secret stash of Digimon cards somewhere,” you snort.

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum.

“Well, I did have a pretty impressive collection back in the day. Who knows, maybe I still have them tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

“Seriously?” you are unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You, with a collection of Digimon cards? That’s something I’d pay to see.”

He rolls his eyes with a pout tugging on his lips.

“You’re enjoying this too much. Maybe I’ll dig them out for you one day. But only if you’re nice.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Me, nice to you? That’s a tall order.”

A faint chuckle leaves Satoru’s lips as the spacious foyer transitions into a grand hallway. Haru skips beside you, glancing up at Satoru with a newfound admiration.

The moment you reach a large set of intricately carved wooden doors, he pauses, turning to you with a reassuring smile before pushing them open.

Inside, a cozy yet sophisticated study awaits—shelves lined with books and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

“Yo, Suguru,” he waves flippantly, “this is y/n and her daughter, Haru.”

Your eyes are met with a man seated behind the desk—a calm and composed air about him. He is strikingly beautiful, raven hair tied back into a bun with louse tousles framing his face. As he looks up from a stack of papers, his sharp yet gentle eyes focus on you and Haru. He rises, extending a hand with a polite smile.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” you shake his hand with a subtle nod.

The presence of another stranger causes Haru’s shyness to return as she hides behind your legs again—you kneel down, smoothing her hair gently.

“Haru,” you pull out a small bag of her favorite toys from your duffle bag, “why don’t you take a seat over there and play with your toys while Mommy talks with Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto?”

With a light nod, Haru takes the bag and settles into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room—spreading out her treasures with a look of concentration.

You take a seat across from Suguru, with Satoru sinking into the chair beside you—posture relaxed and seemingly indifferent.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Suguru leans forward, “I’ve drafted the marriage contract based on the discussions I’ve had with Satoru. I’ll walk you through the main points.”

Referencing the document upon the desk, he begins.

“Firstly, as you both know, the purpose of this marriage is strictly business-related with no romantic implications. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed relationship in public and professional settings.”

Okay, easy—right?

You nod, but in the corner of your eye you can see Satoru lounging back in his chair. The mild disinterest on his face and the nonchalant way he twirls a pen between his fingers makes you grit your teeth.

He carries a casual attitude—one you shouldn’t be surprised with at this point because it’s the same infuriating aura he brings to every business meeting. But in this case, it’s a stark contrast to the gravity of this conversation. Here you are, discussing marriage and he’s sitting here as if you’re determining what to eat for lunch.

Yup, nothing’s changed. He still aggravates the hell out of you.

“Next, the duration of the marriage is set for one year, starting from the date of signing,” Suguru continues. “There are provisions for extending or terminating the marriage early, should both parties agree.”

You absorb every word as you listen intently, but Satoru seems to be in his own world. It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes as you catch him leaning back further into his chair, now balancing it on two legs. He taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully—an indifferent expression plastered across his face.

Is he even listening?

Here you are, about to commit to a fake marriage for the sake of your job and your daughter, and Satoru looks like a bored child.

You shoot him a sideways glance, silently willing him to take this more seriously, but the moment he catches your eye he simply offers a lazy wink, making your blood boil even more.

Suguru, unfazed by Satoru's demeanor, continues outlining the contract.

“The financial arrangements are next…Satoru will include a monthly allowance to you, y/n, to cover personal and household expenses. Both parties will maintain separate bank accounts, and any joint financial decisions require mutual consent.”

You blink in surprise. A monthly allowance?

Though you had asked Satoru to cover child care, you weren’t expecting this level of financial support. Isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Wait, what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your astonishment. “A monthly allowance? For personal and household expenses?”

Satoru’s chair drops back onto all four legs with a soft thud as he leans forward, finally showing a hint of interest. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“We wouldn’t want you or Haru to struggle, now, would we?”

His words sound almost considerate, but it’s the casual way he says them that makes you question his sincerity.

“Some might see you being my secretary as a conflict of interest now. You’ll still work beside me, but I can’t give you a formal salary for that role. Doing it this way ensures that all you have to worry about is playing your part. Besides,” he adds, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t support my wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a wary look, trying to gauge his true intentions. It makes sense… but is he mocking you, or is this his way of showing genuine concern? With Satoru, it’s always hard to tell.

Suguru clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the contract.

“Moving on to the living arrangements, you will both reside in the marital home here.”

Satoru interrupts, tone almost too nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and lazily stretches, “I’ve already arranged for a moving company to pack your things in a few days. They’ll handle everything.”

You blink, the suddenness of it all sinking in.

“Huh?”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I... I didn’t realize I’d be moving in so… soon. What about my apartment? I have a lease, and breaking it will incur a penalty.”

He waves off your concern with a dismissive hand, leaning back further with hands casually behind his head.

“I’ll pay it. Consider it handled. No point in you staying there when you’re supposed to be living here.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his insouciant dismissal of what, to you, is a significant expense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. We need to make this look legitimate, and that means living together. Consider it part of the arrangement.”

To him, solving problems with money seamed effortless.

To you, this isn’t just a contract; it’s a complete upheaval of your life.

You’re starting to really feel the difference in your two worlds.

The abruptness is a bit overwhelming, and yet, Satoru seems to handle it with the same ease he applies to all his business dealings.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s not that you aren’t grateful, but you can’t help but wonder…does he pity you? See you as a charity act?

Suguru, sensing your hesitation, interjects your thoughts with a soothing tone,

“It’s important for appearances that you both share a residence. It solidifies the arrangement in the eyes of your colleagues and the public.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Right, I understand.”

Suguru nods, making a note on the document.

“Good. Now, let’s move on to the responsibilities and obligations. You’re both expected to attend public and social functions, maintaining the façade of a loving marriage.”

Satoru who still remains leaned in his chair, now has his head tilted back, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Oh, and by the way," he begins, eyes flicking to you while his posture remains unmoved, "we'll be getting married at the courthouse tomorrow to make things official on paper. Our public ceremony will be a grand affair, but it will come later to keep the media satisfied and appease everyone."

Tomorrow?

You give a hesitant nod, absorbing the rapid pace at which your life is changing.

“Alright…tomorrow.”

Suguru flips to the next page, “In terms of termination, either party can initiate it with a 30-day notice. Grounds for early termination include breach of contract or mutual consent. Upon termination, Satoru will provide a one-time settlement payment to you, y/n.”

You blink as Suguru pushes the contract towards you, the settlement amount highlighted in bold. Did Satoru add a few extra zeros by mistake? That number can’t be correct, right?

You glance up at Satoru, who is now inspecting his nails with a look of utter boredom.

“Is this…correct?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks up, meeting your eyes with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, it’s correct. Consider it a thank you for playing along.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to wrap your mind around the figure. This settlement could change your life, secure Haru’s future, and give you the stability you’ve been desperately seeking.

You could pay off your medical bills for the childbirth, could go back to school. Hell, you could be free of Naoya, you wouldn’t need him or his money.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

"And what’s the catch?”

Satoru chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"Come on now, sweetheart. Just think of it as me taking care of my...business partner."

Suguru clears his throat, glancing between the two of you.

“Well, there is one additional detail, y/n. The settlement is contingent on maintaining a favorable public image. Any actions or behaviors that damage Satoru’s reputation would result in the forfeiture of all financial support and settlement funds.”

You blink, the implications dawning on you. Ah, of course there would be a condition—you knew better than to think he was just being generous.

“So… I’m responsible for upholding your image? What does that even mean?”

Satoru’s crooked grin widens.

“It means no scandals, no controversies. You play the part of the perfect spouse, attend events, smile for the cameras, and keep any...personal indiscretions out of the spotlight. Simple enough, right?”

Your stomach churns as you realize the depth of his control—you thought you were escaping Naoya’s grasp, but it seems control is still a prevalent force in your life.

This isn’t just a marriage of convenience; it’s a binding agreement that keeps you in line with his public persona, ensuring that any slip-up on your part will have dire financial consequences.

A part of you can’t blame him, though. It makes sense for him to take extra precautions. The Gojos have always been in the public eye, and there have been countless rumors about Satoru's refusal to settle down.

“What if something happens that’s out of my control? What if someone tries to smear my name?”

Satoru’s eyes harden slightly, though his smile remains.

“We’ll handle that on a case-by-case basis. But let’s just say I have ways of managing the media. You just need to play your part, nothing more.”

The calculated control in his tone, juxtaposed with his unwavering smile, makes your skin prickle with unease. The room feels suddenly colder, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You thought you were stepping into a partnership, but now it feels like a performance where one wrong move could cost you dearly.

Suguru interjects, his tone professional.

“This clause is essential for protecting both your interests and Satoru’s. Maintaining a positive public image is crucial for the success of this arrangement and for avoiding any complications that could arise from negative publicity.”

You take a deep breath—this was a gamble. The settlement would secure Haru’s future, your future, but your every move would be scrutinized, and any misstep could strip away the stability you desperately needed.

Your eyes wander to Haru, quietly and innocently playing with her toys. For her sake, you were willing to play Satoru’s game, even if it meant living under the constant pressure of his expectations.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “I agree to the terms.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker with satisfaction and Suguru leans forward sliding a pen towards you both.

“Good. If you both agree to these terms, we can proceed with the signing.”

You observe Satoru as he reaches for the pen—he is back to that usual air of nonchalance; it is almost unsettling. He signs the document with a flourish, barely glancing at the terms, and you envy his composure.

When he hands you the pen, meeting your eyes with a confident smile, you hesitate for a second—then, with a determined snatch, you take the pen from his delicate hand.

Holding your breath, you press the pen to paper and sign your name in one fell swoop. Each stroke of the pen feels heavy, final, but also strangely empowering.

No turning back now.

ꨄ︎

The courthouse ceremony was as brief and impersonal as you expected.

Something about Haru witnessing you legally enter into a fake marriage just didn’t feel right—so you opted to leave her with Satoru’s nanny.

Standing in front of the judge, reciting vows, and signing the official documents felt more like a business transaction than a wedding.

Glancing at Satoru, you couldn't help but feel a bit solemn as you observed him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

This wasn't the fairy tale wedding you once dreamed of. There was no crowd, no rings, no romantic gestures—just a legal agreement with a pen on paper, binding you to him for the next year.

But then again, you knew that coming into this—it was never about romance or dreams; it was about survival and securing a future for Haru.

It was over as quickly as it began—just like that, the judge declared you husband and wife, immediately leaving you alone with Satoru right after.

Noticing your serious expression, Satoru leans in slightly as you gather the official documents.

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding Mrs. Gojo," his voice drips with playful mockery.

Hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Gojo’ sends a shiver down your spine. That was going to take some getting used to.

“And you look like you’re at a board meeting, not your wedding, Mr. Gojo,” you retort, unable to hide the underlying bite in your voice as your fingers shuffle through the pages.

A deep chuckle reverberates through the otherwise solemn atmosphere. Once you tuck the documents under your arm, you begin to make your way towards the exit. Satoru immediately falls into step beside you.

“Touché. But really, lighten up sweetheart. Gonna need to work harder to convince everyone you’re head over heels in love with me,” there’s a playful challenge in his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“Well, forgive me for not swooning over this magical moment. You know, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day," you mutter, trying to mask the internal melancholy whirling within you.

When you reach for the door, Satoru beats you to it, holding it open with a flourish.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?” he raises an eyebrow as his eyes gleam in amusement, “Let me guess, lots of flowers, a big white dress, and some poor guy professing his undying love for you?"

Okay, screw him. He was really not making this any better. You feel the heat rise to your face as a scoff escapes your lips—the only response you will give him.

Brushing past him, your heels click against the polished floors through the marble halls of the courthouse. As you glance to the tall, ornate windows lining the corridor, the sunlight streams through, casting intricate patterns.

“Hmm, think I guessed right,” he chuckles as he saunters after you.

“And what if you did?” you snap, voice echoing in the grand space. “Is it so weird for me to want a normal family for my daughter?”

The teasing glint in his eyes dim as his expression softens slightly. Once you reach the elevator, Satoru presses the button—the two of you wait in an awkward silence.

The moment the elevator door slides open, you both step inside, the quiet hum of the machinery enveloping you.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s just... different from what I’ve ever thought about,” he says while he presses the button to the lobby.

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the back of the elevator.

“What, Mr. Perfect never thought about settling down?”

Satoru's gaze drifts for a moment as he considers your question. The elevator begins its descent, the soft whirl filling the silence.

“Honestly? No, I never did. My father used to pressure me about it all the time. Wanted me to marry someone who could... 'enhance' our family’s status.” He was contemplative, and the echoes of old frustrations are clear in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden openness.

The rumors about Satoru had always painted him as a carefree bachelor, uninterested in the constraints of marriage.

Some said he was too focused on his career, while others whispered that he enjoyed his freedom too much to settle down. There were even speculations that he had a hidden lover, or perhaps he was waiting for the perfect match to come along, someone who could stand by his side both in business and in life.

“…and you never found anyone who fit the bill?”

He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Plenty of candidates. None that I wanted to spend my life with. Plus, all those ‘suitable matches’ were just women trying to get their hands on the Gojo fortune. Most people just see the money and power. They don't see the person behind it.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is fleeting, and you realize that his father’s expectations must have weighed heavily on him. The pressure to find someone was not about love or companionship—it was about maintaining an image, a legacy. In a way, you both have been victims to control your entire lives.

As the depth of his frustrations become more apparent, you feel a pang of sympathy. It’s enough to make you wonder about the real Satoru. The elevator continues its descent, and you find yourself lingering on his words.

“That sounds... difficult. So why did you go through with this then? With me?”

His gaze softens; his expression thoughtful as he watches the numbers descending the floor levels. He tilts his head slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Because you’re different. You didn’t come to me looking for wealth or status. You needed help, and I needed a solution. It’s honest, in a way. No hidden agendas, no false pretenses.”

A nervous flutter dances in your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the folder of documents in your hands. The softness in his words catch you off guard, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“In a world where everyone wants something from me, I find your straightforwardness refreshing.”

Your heart skips as a warm blush creeps up your cheeks.

“I never thought you’d see it that way. I just... I wanted to do what was best for Haru.”

“And that’s what makes you different,” he replies softly. “You’re doing this for her, not for yourself. That’s why I agreed to this. Because I believe you’re sincere.”

The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal the bustling courthouse lobby.

The weight of the conversation settles between you, a rare moment of vulnerability that made you see Satoru in a new light—a glimpse into his inner world.

The moment you near the courthouse door, you and Satoru push it open in an attempt to exit, but are immediately greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Paparazzi swarm around you, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere—how did they even know where to find you both?

Satoru, ever the master of public appearances, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. His touch is warm and firm, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart through his suit.

The sensation of his hand resting securely on your hip sends a tingle through your body, a fluttering in your stomach—you realize now that this is the first time he has touched you.

“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Gojo,” he whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin.

You blink, heat rising to your face as you’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But you quickly compose yourself, remembering the role you have to play.

Leaning into him slightly, you offer a shy smile to the cameras. The flashes intensify and the questions grow louder.

“Mr. Gojo why are you in a courthouse?”

“Mr. Gojo, what is the status of Gojo Corporation?”

“Who is this woman Mr. Gojo?”

“What is your statement on your father’s passing?”

As the paparazzi continue to snap photos and shout questions, Satoru leans down and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his breath burned your skin. The gesture, though small, sends a shiver down your spine.

It was all for show, you reminded yourself. Just part of the act.

Yet, the unexpected intimacy lingered, making it hard to ignore the way your heart raced at his touch.

Satoru’s kiss had worked perfectly, fueling the media frenzy. The paparazzi went wild at the tender action—camera flashes intensifying and voices growing louder. They call out more questions, desperate to capture every angle of the seemingly affectionate moment. You feel the eyes of the crowd boring into you.

“Let’s get out of here,” Satoru murmurs, voice low and soothing amidst the chaos.

He reaches out, hand warm and firm as he interlocks his fingers with yours, gently guiding you through the throng of reporters towards the waiting car. His other arm subtly shields you from the crowd.

As you finally break free from the mass of flashing cameras and shouting voices, you slide into the car, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Satoru slides beside you immediately after.

Glancing back at the courthouse, the reality of your new life begins to sink in. Once the car pulls away, a breath escapes you—one you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“That was... intense.”

Satoru chuckles, arm resting behind your shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, allowing a few tousles of white hair to fall into his eyes. Through the soft strands, his gaze meets yours, a mix of amusement and seriousness dancing in his striking blue eyes.

“Welcome to my world," he murmurs. "Better get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

ꨄ︎

The following day, a moving company arrived at your apartment as promised—they packed up your belongings with swift efficiency, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life.

Watching your life be boxed up and loaded into trucks was bittersweet—as your small apartment, with its familiar creaks and cracks, had been your safe haven.

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest detail. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of Satoru’s mansion once again, this time with all your worldly possessions.

Haru, wide-eyed and excited, clung to your side, her tiny fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Welcome to your new home," Satoru says with a grin.

It felt more like stepping into a palace than a home.

He reaches down and grabs one of your suitcases, lifting it effortlessly,

"Let me show you to our room."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

"Our room?" you stammer. "Why would we need to share a room when no one is here to watch this charade?"

Satoru's grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you. You have your own room. I just wanted to see your reaction."

You shoot him a glare, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

“You're impossible," you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, leading you up the grand staircase, and Haru follows closely, her eyes darting around in awe at the luxurious decor. The polished marble steps feel cool underneath you, and the ornate banisters gleam under the soft lighting.

"Come on, let me show you around." Satoru says as he leads the way down a long corridor.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and framed artwork, each piece more exquisite than the last.

Eventually, Satoru stops in front of a set of double doors, turning to you with a small, satisfied smile.

"Here we are."

He pushes them open to reveal a spacious bedroom. The room beautifully furnished, with a large bed, elegant drapes, and a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

"This is your room," he announces, setting your suitcase down gently.

"Wow," you breathe.

It feels a bit overwhelming the moment you step foot inside. Haru, on the other hand, darts past you, exploring every nook and cranny with a delighted giggle. It was easily twice the size of your old apartment.

"This is beautiful... and a lot."

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

The soft light from the chandelier above casts a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His white hair, tousled just enough to seem effortlessly stylish, frames his face perfectly.

"Only the best for my... business partner," he says, tone light yet carrying a hint of something deeper.

You offer a simple, "Thanks," but your voice is softer than you intended. Your eyes betray you, lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Satoru's eyes hold yours with a softness that catches you off guard—a striking shade of blue that seems almost ethereal. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice the intensity and warmth in his gaze, it’s almost tender, making you feel like anything but just a ‘business partner’.

Was he always this beautiful?

You can’t help but wonder, feeling a warmth spread through you as the silence stretches on. The moment feels strangely intimate, a connection forming that neither of you expected.

Crap. What are you thinking?

Haru’s giggle breaks the spell as she jumps on your bed.

"Oh, and just so you know," he adds with a playful glint in his eye, "my room is right next door. We share the bathroom, so try not to hog all the hot water."

You blink, surprised. "We have to share a bathroom?"

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the bathroom door and peer inside.

It was equally impressive, with a large tub and walk-in shower, all in pristine condition. The fixtures gleam, and the marble countertop adds a touch of luxury. There was another door leading directly to Satoru’s room, a constant reminder of his proximity.

"Yep. Just think of it as our first test of marital bliss. Can we survive sharing a bathroom?" Satoru's voice was suddenly closer.

You turn to find him standing right behind you, having moved from his previous spot at the doorframe. The idea of sharing such a personal space with him was a bit unnerving. An awkwardly intimate setup for such a detached relationship, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"…I suppose I'll manage.”

Satoru laughs softly.

"That's the spirit. And don't worry, Haru's room is right across from us. She's got the best room in the house actually," he adds, tilting his head to the side as a cue for you to follow him.

Haru trails excitedly behind as you walk through the luxurious hallway, her giggles echo off the walls. Opening the door, you peek inside and are struck by the sheer extravagance of it.

The room was a child’s dream—decorated in soft pastel colors, with a canopy bed draped in delicate lace, plush toys neatly arranged on shelves, and even a small play area complete with a dollhouse and a set of building blocks. The walls were adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and woodland creatures, creating a magical atmosphere that seemed straight out of a storybook.

Haru's delighted squeals bring a smile to your face, easing the last of your worries.

It was clear that Satoru had spared no expense in making her feel welcome. Each detail spoke of thoughtfulness and care, from the cozy reading nook to the vibrant rainbow-colored rug that added a playful touch to the room. How on earth did he pull all this off so quickly?

“Wow, look, Mama!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy, running inside to inspect her new haven.

A sense of relief washes over you as a tender smile forms upon your lips. At least Haru would be happy here. The sight of her so animated and cheerful makes the transition a bit easier to bear. Satoru stands beside you.

“I wanted her to feel at home," he says softly, eyes reflecting a rare sincerity.

“You've done more than that. She's ecstatic," you reply, watching Haru dive into a pile of stuffed animals with a gleeful laugh.

Satoru clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward. He glances at the clock on the wall, as if searching for an excuse to end the moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," his tone is gentle and almost hesitant. "Let me know if you need anything. Dinner will be ready soon, see you down there?”

His usual confidence is somewhat muted—you wonder, is it you? Haru?

"Yeah,” you nod, “I’m going to put a few of my things away and then we’ll meet you downstairs."

“Right. Take your time. There's no rush."

You can’t help but replay the interaction in your mind as you unpack the essentials from your suitcase. The awkwardness between you and Satoru would pass, you hope. For now, it was enough to know that Haru is happy and safe.

Haru’s laughter echoes from her room, a sound that brings a smile to your face. She seemed to be adjusting much faster than expected, her innocent joy undiminished by the upheaval.

And to you, her laughter solidified it—marrying Satoru, this was the right call.

ꨄ︎

The past few days living with Satoru had been a whirlwind of adjustments—it wasn’t without its challenges. The mansion, with its sprawling rooms and luxurious decor, is more like a museum than a home.

The sheer size makes you feel small and out of place at times, and the constant presence of staff make it difficult to find a moment of privacy.

Satoru, however, had been surprisingly considerate. He’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance you need to maintain—attentive yet reserved, playful yet serious, a paradox that kept you on edge.

Your interactions with Satoru had settled into a routine of polite, if somewhat distant, cohabitation. There were moments of unexpected tenderness, like when he had found you struggling to open a jar in the kitchen and had stepped in to help with a playful grin.

Another time, you had been overwhelmed while trying to assemble a new toy for Haru, and Satoru had quietly taken a seat beside you, helping to figure out the instructions without a word.

Yet despite these moments, there was always an underlying tension, a reminder of the unusual circumstances that had brought you together.

As the days passed, the impending charity gala loomed larger in your mind—the first public event you would attend together as a married couple.

Satoru had taken the time to sit down with you and discuss how you would present yourselves, a task that seemed daunting but necessary.

You agreed on the basics: stay close, exchange subtle touches, and share occasional whispers to create an air of intimacy. The plan was straightforward, but the execution would be another matter entirely.

He emphasized the importance of appearing united, offering tips on how to handle the media and the probing questions that were sure to come. His confidence and ease in handling the media was something you were learning to lean on, though the pressure of maintaining the charade weighed heavily on you.

“What about Haru?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“We’ll leave her out of the spotlight,” Satoru replied gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. She takes no part in this agreement beyond being your daughter. She’ll stay here with the nanny during the event.”

Amidst all this, your phone had been buzzing constantly with missed calls from Naoya. You hadn't answered any of them—maybe you should just call off the court case?

You did just go through a life changing event, marriage, and that often interferes with the legal process anyways. The judge would need to take into consideration your new source of income for the child support payments.

Honestly, you don’t need Naoya’s support anymore.

You’ll take care of that after the gala though—right now you already have too much on your plate, spending hours with Satoru, fabricating shared experiences and finding common ground to make your relationship believable.

The task of memorizing details about his likes and dislikes, his habits, and his quirks was daunting, but you found yourself surprised at the small details you were beginning to remember about him—the way he took his coffee, his favorite late-night snack, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly when he found something genuinely funny, or how he would absentmindedly run a hand through his tousled white hair when deep in thought.

As the days slipped by in a blur of preparations and rehearsed smiles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this carefully constructed façade was starting to take on a life of its own. Each shared glance and each moment of unexpected kindness blurred the lines between reality and pretense, leaving you wondering just how deep this charade would go.

ꨄ︎

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, you adjust the luxurious dress Satoru had picked out for you. A deep, elegant blue fabric clings to your curves in all the right places, and the V-shaped open back that rests above your hips adds a touch of allure.

Loose cascading waves frame your face perfectly, and the professional makeup artist gave you a look that is both subtle and glamorous, enhancing your features in a way the felt natural yet striking.

You barely recognize yourself.

The transformation was astonishing, turning you from a frazzled single mother into a vision of sophistication and grace.

Was it too much? You feel out of sorts, like you’re wearing someone else's skin. The elegant image in the mirror is both thrilling and unnerving.

As you try to steady your racing heart, a knock on the bathroom door makes you jump slightly—Satoru’s door.

“Y/n you ready?” his voice calls out.

With a deep breath, you take one last look in the mirror. As you open the door, Satoru’s frame leans casually against the entryway.

The sleek black tuxedo he is adorned in highlights his broad shoulder and lean frame. His white hair is perfectly styled, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric.

He meets you with a stunned silence—eyes widening slightly as he takes you in. The cool blue of his irises seem more vibrant, gleaming with anticipation as they trace over your form.

You had never seen his eyes linger across your figure like this before—the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flutter. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fear what will come out of his mouth.

Does he think it’s too much?

“Wow,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You look... stunning.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," you say softly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

Satoru steps closer, eyes locked on you. He reaches out and gently lifts your chin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Seriously, you look amazing. I knew the dress would look good on you, but this... you’re going to be the star of the gala,” a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Ready to knock them dead?”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…hopefully I can live up to the part.”

“You will,” offering you his arm, he adds, “Just be yourself, and stay by my side, we’re in this together."

ꨄ︎

The ride to the gala is filled with a comfortable silence.

The city lights blur outside the window as the car smoothly navigates through the streets. You find yourself stealing glances at Satoru, admiring the way his profile looks in the dim light.

Strange.

The usually insufferable man seemed different tonight—steadfast, dependable, almost... comforting? Perhaps it’s the nerves.

His arm rests casually behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, and you’re surprised yourself how it does not bother you—in fact, it’s actually quite soothing.

Once you arrive, the grand ballroom is a stunning sight. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the elegantly dressed crowd.

The room is filled with the city’s elite—a sea of luxurious gowns and tailored suits mingling and exchanging pleasantries. The sight of you and Satoru together was enough to turn heads, drawing curious and admiring glances.

But the sheer number of people, the pressure of playing your part, and the countless eyes watching your every move—it’s all a bit overwhelming. You really felt out of place here.

Sensing your unease, Satoru leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Remember, just follow my lead.”

Guiding you with ease, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back as you voyage through the attendees—the warm gentle touch is electric against your bare skin.

Your eyes skim through the herd of people and land on a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Perhaps a drink would ease your nerves? You don’t hesitate to grab a glass as you navigate the crowd.

Satoru, ever the socialite, seamlessly traverses the room, introducing you to important figures and engaging in small talk that you struggle to follow.

Discussions ranged from market trends and corporate mergers, to the latest charity galas and art exhibitions. Trying to keep up, you nod and smile at the appropriate moments.

It’s clear that Satoru is in his element—his charm, effortless. You find yourself admiring how easy he makes it all look.

As you cling to him, the pride in his eyes when he looks at you makes you feel like you belong, even if you are just playing a part in this elaborate charade.

The evening flowed smoothly enough, with your glass of champagne acting as a steady companion. The warmth of the alcohol helps you mingle with guests, exchange polite conversations, and stay close to Satoru, all as planned. But each interaction was a delicate dance—your smiles and nods masking the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

Honestly, your mind was elsewhere—there is an undercurrent of anxiety as you anticipate Satoru’s announcement on stage, where he would publicly acknowledge your marriage during his donation speech.

When the moment you had been dreading finally arrives, you settle into a chair near the front, heart pounding in your chest.

Satoru takes the stage with a natural grace, and as the spotlight illuminates his striking figure, his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice resonating with a confident authority. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity and support make events like this possible.”

His words flow smoothly as he speaks eloquently about the cause and significance of the charity, each sentence perfectly crafted to engage and inspire—you marveled at his ability to enthrall people.

Pressing your champagne glass to your lips, you desperately hope the cool liquid can help to steady your nerves a bit more.

Then, the moment came.

“I will be donating ten million dollars to this charity,” Satoru announces, his voice carrying a conviction.

The amount causes a ripple of excitement and murmurs to spread through the crowd—you nearly choked on your champagne in shock.

Ten million?

You couldn’t even fathom having that much money, let alone donating it. The magnitude of Satoru’s status is staggering.

A smile tugs at Satoru’s lips—a genuine warmth mingling with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He pauses, letting the impact of his words settle, then lifts a finger to tap his chin contemplatively, as if he just remembered something.

“Or should I say, we will be donating—me and my lovely wife.”

Satoru gestures in your direction as a spotlight beams upon you. The crowd erupts into an enthusiastic applause, causing your heart to race the moment all eyes instantly turn to you.

There is a rush of heat that rises to your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. The weight of the crowd’s gaze makes your vision a bit blurry.

Beckoning you to join him on stage, Satoru extends his hand and offers a comforting smile. Though, the moment you stand, the room spins slightly—perhaps it’s from the champagne, or perhaps it’s the sheer pressure.

You can’t fuck this up.

With as much grace as you can muster, you make your way to the platform.

Satoru wraps an arm around your waist the moment you are at his side, pulling you close and steadying your trembling figure. He looks down into your eyes with a genuine look of endearment.

“Everyone, please welcome my beautiful wife, y/n,” he says softly in the microphone, his voice filled with a gentle pride.

The applause swells, and you manage a smile, trying to focus on Satoru while ignoring the spotlight’s heat and the intense gazes of attendees.

Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Despite the orchestrated nature of your relationship, in this moment, his genuine reassurance means everything. His presence is a steady anchor in the sea of faces and flashing cameras, the only thing holding you together right now.

When the applause dies down, Satoru continues his speech, the warmth of his hand remaining on your waist as his thumb traces soft circles.

You can barely focus on his words, the dizzying reality of where you’re standing feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The moment Satoru’s speech concludes, the soft hum of conversation mingling and the delicate notes of the live orchestra begin to fill the air yet again. Satoru leads you off the stage, his hand never leaving your side.

Almost immediately after you descend to the floor, Satoru is approached by a business associate, his demeanor shifting effortlessly into that of a seasoned negotiator as they exchange discussions of market trends, potential collaborations, and strategic ventures.

Your heart is still pounding—public speaking was never your strong suit. Despite not needing to speak, being on that stage stirred something within you.

You recall a particularly disastrous presentation in college where you accidentally knocked over the projector, sending your notes flying across the room. The laughter from the audience still haunts you, and since then, you’ve always dreaded being the center of attention.

With Satoru engrossed in conversation, you seize the opportunity to make your way to the bar—seeking a moment of reprieve. Another drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

The gleaming rows of crystal glasses and various bottles of wine and spirits catch your eye. You scan the selection, your gaze lingering on a particularly rich, deep red wine.

Deciding it’s exactly what you need to steady your nerves, you signal the bartender and opt for a glass of the robust vintage, savoring the thought of its smooth, calming flavor.

One glass turned into two—your nerves finally beginning to settle as the soothing effects of the alcohol take over your senses.

Realizing you’ve been away from Satoru for quite some time, you prepare to rejoin him—but just as you start to rise, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” Naoya sneers, leaning against the bar beside you, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mingling with the high society.”

A chill runs down your spine and you heart drops. No amount of alcohol could have prepared you for this moment.

“Naoya,” you stiffen, clutching your wine glass tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a swig of his scotch, emptying the glass and placing it down on the counter with a loud clink. Leaning closer into your space, his eyes narrow—a cold, cynical stare boring into you.

“I could ask you the same thing. This doesn’t seem like your usual scene. What’s your angle?”

Your breath quickens and you feel your pulse hammering in your chest. Adverting your gaze, your fingers brush against the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m sure you heard, I’m here with my husband, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The sneer he meets you with makes the room suddenly feel smaller, as if his presence is suffocating you.

“Husband, huh?” his eyes rake over you with contempt suspicion, “Quite the leap from where you were a few weeks ago. Is this some kind of game to you?”

Summoning your courage, you straighten your back and meet his gaze head-on.

“Not a game, Naoya. It’s called moving on. You should try it sometime. My life is no longer any of your concern.”

Taking a step closer, he looms over you—his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

“I don’t buy it. This whole charade… you think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”

For a moment, you are frozen in place, the fear and control Naoya exerts paralyzing you. Your mind races, the implications of his words sinking in.

What if he exposes you?

What if this carefully constructed facade comes crashing down?

Before you can respond, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you with practiced ease out of Naoya’s bubble and right beside Satoru.

“There you are, darling. Everything alright?”

His voice is smooth and warm, and his gaze flicks between you and Naoya, narrowing as he surveys the situation. The look on your face unsettles him—something feels off.

Naoya straightens himself, leaning against the bar with a supercilious smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, right?”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Satoru’s tone was light but laced with an underlying steel, “I’m y/n’s husband, Satoru Gojo.”

A scoff escapes Naoya as his eyes flash with irritation, but an unnerving smile remains upon his lips.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You certainly move fast, don’t you, y/n?”

Naoya can see right through you—you fell a flash of panic. Turning to Satoru, your eyes meet his with a silent plea for support. His expression softens and he gives you a reassuring nod while tightening his grip upon your waist.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Satoru says with a charming smile, “and we knew.”

Naoya snickers, running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Come on y/n. How did someone like you end up with someone like him? Seems... unlikely. You don’t belong here.”

Heat rises to your face and the sudden urge to shrink away overwhelms you—your heart dropping at the sting of Naoya’s words.

Suddenly, Satoru steps closer, creating a protective barrier between you and Naoya—the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination.

“Watch your mouth, you don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Naoya shrugs, meeting Satoru’s glare with an indifference as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s out of her league here.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“If you think she’s out of her league, then you clearly don’t know her at all. You’re out of line. Y/n belongs here more than anyone. So, unless you have something worthwhile to say, I suggest you move along.”

“Is that so?” Naoya raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, Satoru Gojo.”

Panic seizes you as Naoya’s observation hangs in the air. The last thing you need is for him to start spreading rumors or causing trouble. You realize you have to do something, and fast. Your mind races, desperately searching for a way to convince Naoya of your authenticity.

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you step forward, threading your arms around Satoru’s neck as you rest your forehead against his own. Your words are addressed to Naoya, but your eyes remain on Satoru the entire time, drawing strength from his steady gaze and the warmth of his touch.

“Satoru and I... we chose each other for reasons that go beyond what you see. We may have our differences, but we’re stronger together, and we have a connection that you can’t comprehend.”

Satoru’s eyes soften, reflecting a silent understanding and a shared resolve—his breath mingling with yours.

Feeling Naoya’s probing gaze, you know he won’t be easily convinced, and so, acting on impulse, you pull Satoru closer and crash your lips against his.

For a moment, Satoru seemed caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered closed, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The world around you seemed to fade away as the kiss lingered, heat pooling in your stomach.

It was supposed to be a quick peck, just enough to sell the act. But the moment your lips met his, something shifted.

Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps it was the need to be convincing, perhaps it was the way Satoru stood up for you—without thinking, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, making things more intimate than you originally intended.

You can feel Satoru tense for a moment, his surprise evident. But then, with a soft hum against your mouth he melts into the kiss, a hand moving to cup your face as he returns the intimacy with unexpected fervor—his other hand encircling around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

Your fingers thread through Satoru’s hair and the world around you seems to fade away—the only thing that mattered now was the heat radiating off of Satoru’s body, the warmth of his lips against yours, and the lingering sweet taste of the gala’s chocolate cake mingling with the wine on your tongue.

It was a moment that felt both incredibly real and utterly surreal.

When you finally pull back, you are both breathless. As you catch a flicker of something unreadable in Satoru’s half lidded eyes, for a brief moment, you forget about Naoya completely, about the act, about everything except the electric connection between you both.

Satoru's thumb gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you peer over to Naoya—his smug expression had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and irritation.

“As you can see, we’re very happy together,” you say sweetly, rubbing your nose against Satoru’s.

"Didn't think you were the type to move on so quickly," Naoya sneers.

A wave of exhilaration and embarrassment course through you as Naoya retreats back into the crowd. The kiss had done its job, but it had also left you with a lingering sense of uncertainty. Satoru’s touch is still warm on your skin—you can still taste him on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his concern genuine.

The question pulls you out of your thoughts, but his gaze does the opposite—your face flushes and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest.

"Yeah. I... I just needed to convince him.."

Satoru studies you momentarily—knowing there is more to the story with Naoya. But he also knows now isn’t the time to pry.

He chuckles softly, his hand lingering on your waist.

“Well, I think you succeeded. That was... unexpected. You really went for it there,” he murmurs.

For a moment, it felt like you were playing a role, but the feelings stirring inside you were anything but fake.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard, face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

“I didn’t mind,” he interjects, thumb brushing against your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just so you know, you did great. Better than I expected,” his voice low and husky.

Fuck.

You blink—Naoya is gone, but here Satoru is, still holding you so intimately, so intently.

The way he looks at you, the warmth in his touch, the tone of his voice—it makes you question the lines between reality and pretense.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Satoru hums, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. He leans in, his breath dancing on your lips, tantalizingly close. “But next time, let’s save the tongue for when we’re really alone, hm?”

What is he saying?

Your mind races, trying to decipher his words, his intentions. Was he still in character, or was there a hint of genuine desire in his eyes?

The electricity in the air was undeniable, and you find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze—the crowd around you fading, their murmurs and whispers becoming a distant hum.

Satoru’s eyes held secrets you were desperate to uncover.

As you struggle to formulate your thoughts, Satoru’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along you jaw.

"Relax," he murmurs, "We're just putting on a show, remember?"

You nod, though your heart betrays you with its rapid pace.

“Right,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Just a show.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there was more to this act than either of you were willing to admit.

ahh i really enjoyed writing this chapter. okay, i was snickering at satoru's internal turmoil when he met haru for the first time. i couldn't resist with the digimon 🤭 my daughter is currently obsessed with pikachu so that's where that inspiration came from lol. also, this kiss was one of my favs to write 🥰 lemme know if you guys are interested in me making this a longer series. as always, thanks for reading 🫶🏻 → on to the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

@k1ttybean @yu22tas @sanriosatoru @ophelias-flowerss @spookysoowpprince

@luciledreamz @fortunatelyfurrygiver @meowforluv @arishaxml @zetianzz

@itzmeme @whodissbitj @kenmacantakemeaway @satoryaa

@kidd3ath @princessnai

[god-syndicate-if]

DEMO - Latest release on 11/15/2024 - Current wordcount 90k.

COG forum You've always been angry.

Rage comes naturally to you. With how much life has messed with you it's only fair that you use your anger. That's why you became a boxer. The thrill of breaking an opponent. And hoping they might break you in turn. They never do though. Every fight is a disappointment, almost as much of a disappointment as they pay for each fight.

Enter Jackie Roth, club owner, mob boss, and former god. When she offers you a job you can't say no. Not that you would, not when she and everyone in her gang feel so familiar to you. At least with this job you'll be able to use that rage inside you more.

As you learn the ways of the criminal underground you reconnect with people you never met. Reforge bonds that you've never made. And recall memories you've never had. You were a god once upon a time, can you become one again?

God Syndicate is an interactive novel where you play the newest incarnation of Ares, The God of War. It's 18+ for violence, explicit sexual themes, drug use, morally questionable behavior, and more.

Customize your MC, play male, female, or nonbinary. With transgender options and pronoun selection. Customize your appearance and develop your personality.

Romance or befriend a cast of characters, including gods with more issues than you can count or even a mortal! Asexual and Aromantic options available.

Show the gods why you were feared all those years ago or prove that you're better than your past lives.

Uncover the mystery of disappearing gods as well as the mystery of your past.

Help out Elysium, the club where you'll practically live from now on. It seems to attract gods and that isn't always good.

Take out your anger on people who might even deserve it.

Zeus: Jackie Roth - She/Her. [Not an RO]

Jackie is The King of The Gods and she makes sure everyone knows it. Her word is law in Elysium and beyond. Fail her and you'll have a storm waiting for you. In the years since your disappearance Jackie's love for her family has seem to only grow. But she has a criminal empire to run and you're just the weapon she needs.

Hermes: Riley Liao Zhi - Gender Selectable. [RO]

The Messenger of The Gods. Or in Riley's case, the ever bored personal assistant to Jackie. Riley's an adrenaline junkie with a heart of gold. As the one who found you they feel almost responsible for you. But why do they also seem so afraid of you?

Apollo: Franco Valerio - He/Him. [RO]

As expected of The God of Music, Franco's your classic rich and famous rock star. Well he would be, if only he could get out of Elysium. His love of singing and love of his family are two chains he can't break that tie him here. Will your arrival help break those chains or tighten them?

Aphrodite: Damiana "Dame" Rivette - Gender Selectable. [RO]

Quiet and Serious, Dame is no longer The God of Love they once were. The passion of their life faded and now bitterness grows where love should. The only friend they have in Elysium seems to be their fiance, Johnny. To make their life even worse, you arrive.

The Mortal: Sigourney Hawthorn - She/Her. [RO]

Newly divorced from a god, Sigrouney struggles with juggling her (demigod) child, relentless job, and love life. As her daughter, Claudia, grows she wonders if she can keep up or if she'll be left behind. And now with your arrival Claudia's godly family gets bigger and her presence gets smaller.

Artemis: Rebel Reyes - Gender Selectable [RO]

How can The God of the Hunt thrive in the city? The prey here are either too weak or too annoying to hunt. The only thing Rebel craves is to feel that thrill again. With your arrival they have a perfect chance, who better to hunt than the God of War? They can't wait to meet you.

The Old Flame: Harper Ward - Gender Selectable [RO]

A friend from a better time. Harper and you were once inseparable. They saw you at your darkest and kept you calm. Years after an explosive break up they've reemerged into your life far different than you knew them. Can you find the dying embers of your old friend? Is it even worth the pain?

[girlgenius1111]

learning curve part 2

alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] will tries to adjust, and so do r and alexia. a phone call and a nightmare dampen will's spirits, but alexia and r try prove that they are there for him. very soft fluff. angst. kidfic. shorter chapter but wanted to get this out before finals kill me hope you enjoy❤️‍🩹

There were so many good moments in being… well, not a parent. Being whatever you were to Will. Moments that you swore made your heart grow, like when Alexia would give him a piggyback ride around the house and he’d giggle until he was out of breath, or when he’d lift up his plate at dinner to very proudly show you he’d eaten all his vegetables. 

The reality was, however, that Will was a traumatized kid, living in a foreign country that spoke an entirely different language to him. Far away from his favorite person in the world, far away from everything he’d ever known. And while Will mostly trusted you, you were still practically a stranger to him, and Alexia was a stranger to him. 

Will was an anxious kid, with a lot to adjust to, and some days he didn’t want you. He didn’t want to be in Spain. He wanted to go back home and be with his Dad. That was just the one thing in the world you couldn’t give him. 

—

It was only the end of the first week of having Will living with you, and you hadn’t quite perfected your routine. It was Saturday, and he was due to start school on Monday, and though he hadn’t said anything, you could tell he was dreading it. Even with the new backpack and new light up shoes you’d gotten him, his little face grew so solemn whenever the topic of school was brought up. 

It had been an oddly calm week, which you were more than grateful for. Pere had taken you both out of the traveling squad for the weekend without either of you even asking. He insisted family was the most important thing, and you guys were facing a team at the bottom of the table anyway. So, with only a few training sessions and several days off, you and Alexia had been trying to get Will settled. 

One of the first things you’d done upon arriving back in Spain was finding Will a child psychologist. He hadn’t met with her yet, but she’d listened to the situation and given you a few tips on how to help Will adjust. And though there was a hoard of teammates and friends very eager to meet your nephew, one of the psychologist’s tips had been to take things slow, especially with introducing him to people. Too much, all at once, would just remind Will how much had changed. He didn’t need to be overwhelmed right now. 

Taking her advice, Will hadn’t met anyone before yesterday, when you and Alexia brought him over to Alexia’s mami’s house for dinner. He met Eli and Alba, instantly taking to Alexia’s sister. It wasn’t surprising; she was a teacher for young kids, and was already sitting on the floor at the coffee table coloring when the three of you had walked in. He’d spent most of the evening silently playing with her, his wide eyes flickering over to you every few minutes, as if to ensure that you were still there. 

It had been a late night, and even the limited conversation that Will had engaged in had seemed to drain him. He’d fallen asleep in the car on the way home, as you’d found he was very prone to doing. Alexia had carried him inside, his face smushed into her shoulder as her arms wrapped around him protectively. He woke, very grumpily, when you had him change into his pajamas and brush his teeth, passing right back out the minute his head hit his pillow. 

Will liked his sleep, you’d learned, and it wasn’t a surprise that after such a draining and long day, he’d slept in. It was nearing 10, though, and you didn’t think kids this little were supposed to sleep this late. Alexia and you had had a slow, quiet morning, enjoying the time alone together more than you would have just a week ago. Now, as you lay on the couch snuggled against your girlfriend’s side watching the team play on the TV, the now very familiar anxiety began to invade your every thought. 

“Should we wake him up?” You wondered, shifting to look at Alexia’s face. Her eyes remained locked on the TV, and it took a few seconds for the question to process. 

“I’m not sure, amor. If he’s tired, should we let him sleep? It’s been a long week.” 

“I know, but–”

“Tia?” Will’s voice called from the doorway, small and trembling. Your head whipped around to look at him, hesitating in the doorway as he rubbed at his eyes with his fists. He was crying, or trying not to cry, you couldn’t tell. 

“Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?” You asked gently, opening your arms and gesturing for him to come closer. The TV turned off as Alexia tore her attention away from the match and looked to Will with concern. 

“I-I want my Dad.” Will mumbled, taking a step further into the room but not taking you up on the unspoken offer for a hug. 

“Do you want to call him, sweetheart?” Your heart truly broke at the sad look on his face, and as much as you wished you could just fix it for him, you knew you couldn’t. 

Will considered for a moment, taking another half step forward before nodding. “Yes, please.” 

Luckily, the prison Leo was incarcerated in allowed inmates to receive phone calls, though it took a while for the call to get connected. You had to call the prison, request to talk to Leo, and if he was available, they’d bring him to the phone area. The process could take anywhere from 10-20 minutes, but Will wasn’t looking especially patient at the moment, his eyes wide and filled with tears as he watched you grab your phone off the table. 

“Will, cariño, why don’t we go get you some breakfast while we wait for your Papi to pick up?” Alexia asked, standing and holding her hand out towards the boy.

“‘M not hungry.” Will murmured, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his pajama shirt. 

Alexia hummed, moving cautiously towards Will and squatting down so she was eye level with him. “You might be hungry when you get off the phone, and if we start making pancakes now, they will be ready just in time.” 

The suggestion seemed to pique Will’s interest, even in his very solemn mood. “Okay. Pancakes.” 

He wrapped his hand around two of Alexia’s fingers and she smiled happily, leading him into the kitchen. 

They got to work making the pancake batter, Alexia allowing Will to help her measure out the ingredients as you waited to hear the sound of your brother’s voice come over the phone. 

Just as Leo came over the line, you heard a faint giggle come from the kitchen, and you smiled despite yourself. Alexia could always seem to get Will to laugh, no matter what mood he was in. You said hi to your brother, before calling for your nephew. His steps padded quickly from the kitchen into the living room, reaching for the phone with a somewhat desperate air to him. 

“Hi Dad.” Will greeted, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You couldn’t quite hear what your brother was saying, and you wanted to give Will some privacy, so you headed for the kitchen. Trying to tune out the conversation in the other room, you headed right for Alexia, who was stood at the stove, waiting for the perfect moment to flip the pancakes. You wrapped your arms around her, pressing your front to her back and sighing heavily. 

Alexia didn’t say anything in response at first, just placed her free hand over yours and squeezed. 

“Does this look like a heart, amor?” She inquired after a moment. You peeked over her shoulder, smiling despite yourself at the vaguely heart shaped pancake in the pan. 

“It does.” You lied, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Although I think Will would prefer a dinosaur.” 

Alexia chuckled. “I do not think I am that talented yet. Besides, he only cares about the syrup, not the shape of the pancake. The heart is for you.” 

Your cheeks flushed because no matter how much time passed, you were quite sure Alexia would always stun you a little with her sweet gestures. 

“I love you.” You murmured, a bit overwhelmed with softness for your girlfriend at that moment. Whether it was the barely heart shaped pancake or the gentleness and kindness she showed Will, you weren’t sure. 

“Te amo más.” Alexia replied, and you didn’t have to see her face to hear the small smile in her voice. 

As soon as you heard Will’s faint goodbye, you headed back into the living room. Your nephew didn’t look any happier, still perched on the edge of the couch, though now he was fully crying into his hands. 

“All done, buddy?” You called, feeling your chest tighten as Will jumped a bit and hastily began to wipe at his face with his hands. 

He nodded, handing your phone back to you without looking in your direction or saying a word. 

“Are you okay, Will?” You inquired, sitting next to him on the couch. 

He shrugged, lip quivering as he tried to hold in his cries. “Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to be sorry about being sad.” You told him, reaching over and lifting him into your lap. He curled into you, his hand twisting into the fabric of your shirt. “You can be sad, and you can cry. This is really hard and you’re being so brave, but it’s okay to cry.” 

Will began to cry in earnest now, and you tried not to tear up yourself at the pain he was feeling, pain that was much too big for such a young kid. 

“I want my Dad.” Will whispered brokenly, clutching tighter to your shirt. 

“I know, I know you do. I’m sorry sweetheart.” 

There wasn’t much else you could do but whisper reassurances and try your best to comfort him. It wasn’t enough, you knew. Because you weren’t Leo. And Will just wanted his dad. 

—

It had been a long week for everyone. The emotional weight that you were carrying was taking its toll, and you’d never been more desperate for a good night's sleep before in your life. Alexia could see it on your face, the physical and mental exhaustion, and she insisted you get in bed when just after Will had gone to sleep.

Much too exhausted to really put up much of an argument, you showered quickly and threw on some pajamas. Alexia brushed your hair for you, something she knew always made you sleepy, before tucking you into bed and flicking the light off. You frowned at that, grabbing her hand when she tried to rise from the bed. 

“Where are you going?” 

“The living room is a mess and I was going to finish the laundry–”

“Alexia, you’re tired too. Please just come to bed. I won’t be able to fall asleep without you.” 

A small smile flickered across her face, and she realized how utterly powerless she was to say no to you when you asked something of her, especially something this needy. Alexia knew better than anyone how hard it was for you to be vulnerable. She’d promised herself long ago that she’d be here if you needed her, especially when you asked for her. 

So, she nodded, kissing you softly on the lips. “Okay, mi amor. If that is what you need.”

Alexia made quick work of locking the front door, running through her nighttime routine and checking to make sure Will was soundly asleep before crawling into bed next to you. Her body molded into the back of yours, arms holding you tight against her. 

“You stole my favorite pajama shirt.” She whispered into your ear, hand sliding up the front of the stolen shirt to rest across your abdomen. 

You turned in her hold, pressing your face into her neck and adjusting until you were comfortable. “It smells like you.” 

Alexia grinned into the top of your head at your sleepy voice, settling back into the pillows. “You can keep it, then.”

She was sure she looked like a lovesick fool, holding you tightly against your chest, smiling hugely in the darkness, but she didn’t care. She really loved that she got to love you. 

—

Alexia wasn’t a very heavy sleeper, which normally was a point of annoyance for her. However, when she woke up just a few hours after falling asleep, she wasn’t upset. 

It was a quiet whimper coming from down the hall that pulled her awake, and it only took her a minute of confusion before she realized the source. 

Will. 

You’d been leaving both his bedroom door and your bedroom door open in an attempt to convince him to come wake you if he needed you. Will was independent, insisting on doing everything himself because he was a ‘big boy,’ but you never wanted him to feel deterred from seeking you out if he needed comfort. 

Alexia sat up, rubbing at her eyes and listening just to make sure she’d heard correctly. When a small sob reached her ears, she slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb you.

If Will needed you, she wouldn’t hesitate to get you. But if this was something she could help with without waking you, she’d prefer that. You were so tired. More than that, she didn’t want you to feel like Will was just your responsibility. She’d made it clear she was staying, that she was here for both of you, and she intended to prove that to you through her actions. 

So, she padded down the hall towards Will’s room, her heart dropping when she found him sitting up, the covers scrunched up at the bottom of his bed, his face wet with tears. He was hugging one of his dinosaurs close to his chest, and Alexia could tell even from the doorway that he was trembling. 

“Hey cariño.” She whispered, stepping into the room. “Are you okay?” 

It was a stupid question because it was very clear that Will was not okay, but Alexia asked anyway, frowning sympathetically when the small boy shook his head back and forth rapidly in response. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” Alexia wondered, walking over to Will’s bed and sitting on the edge of it. He didn’t reach for her, so she didn’t reach for him, though she left her hand on the bed right in front of him, palm up in case he wanted to grab it. 

This time, Will nodded, using the soft fur of his dinosaur to wipe the tears off his cheek. 

“A really bad one,” Will mumbled, his voice shaky and thick with tears. 

Alexia was quiet for a moment, not quite sure what she should do. Should she get you? Should she try to talk it through with him? She hadn’t realized until this moment how much taking care of a kid came down to the smallest decisions. 

“Would you like a hug?” She offered finally, opening her arms. To her surprise, Will quickly slid out from under his covers and scrambled into her lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck. She held him carefully, rubbing her hand up and down his back as he sniffled. “Okay. Okay, we’re okay. You are safe, cariño.” 

Miraculously, Will seemed to be calming down, and it wasn’t much longer before he loosened his grip on her and rested his head against her chest. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

“You… you and my Tia went away. Like my Dad. I couldn’t find you guys and I was all alone again.” Will whispered, his voice quiet as if speaking any louder would make the nightmare come true. 

“That sounds really scary, Will.” Alexia said carefully, feeling Will nod into her. “You aren’t alone. Me and your Tia are not going anywhere. We’re here to take care of you, and we aren’t going to leave you alone, ever.” 

It was the best she could come up with. She marvelled at how you always seemed to know what to say to Will, not having realized how hard that seemingly simple task could be. The midfielder was unsure if her words had helped at all especially when Will was quiet for a few long moments. 

“Promise?” He whispered finally, his hand twisting into the fabric of her shirt. 

Alexia bit her lip, fighting a wave of tears that threatened to fall. A 5 year old should never have to feel this way, should never have to be this scared that he was going to be left behind. 

“I promise.” Alexia replied, leaving a kiss on the top of Will’s brown waves. 

“Alexia?” Will asked. 

Alexia fought back a smile, this time, because it was the first time Will had addressed her by her name. She hummed in response, nodding for him to ask his question. 

“Can I sleep in your bed? With you and my Tia?” His voice was quiet, tentative, and he seemed almost resigned, as if he was sure the answer would be no. 

But Alexia couldn’t say no, not when Will was sitting in front of her with tears still wet on his face. So much was changing for him, and he was doing a remarkable job adjusting to it all. Still, if he needed some extra comfort… who was Alexia to deny that? Especially when she knew you’d say yes without a second thought. 

“Of course you can. Your Tia is still sleeping and she’s very tired so we have to be quiet.” 

Will nodded fervently, tucking his dinosaur under one arm and reaching up for Alexia’s hand with his other. Together, they walked back down the hall, feet padding softly on wood. 

Alexia lifted Will into her arms as they walked through the door, in the darkness misjudging the distance she had between her and the foot of the bed. Her toe collided with it painfully, and she yelped quietly, freezing to make sure you didn’t stir.

“Shh.” Will said, brows furrowed as his small hand moved to cover Alexia’s mouth. She fought back a smile, nodding and placing Will onto the bed. He moved slowly over into the middle of the bed, letting Alexia tuck the covers up around him before climbing in herself. 

She’d expected Will to snuggle up against you, but her heart melted when she felt him scooch closer to her, resting his head on her arm. 

“Goodnight Alexia.” He whispered, so quiet Alexia had to strain to hear him. 

“Goodnight cariño.” Alexia whispered back, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. 

She was wide awake even as Will’s breaths began to even out, and the boy fell asleep, but she didn’t mind. 

She’d stay up for a while. Just in case he needed anything. 

—

not the biggest fan of this but the next chapter is already planned and i'm very excited about it

thanks for reading ❤️

[babygirl-riley]

Welcome Home

You surprise Simon at the base instead of being at home. You also think about how far he has come to acceptance.

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, fluff, dad!simon, angst, pregnancy

“I’ve fallen for it, I’ve fallen for it somehow.”

A/N: THE PART TWO DAD!SIMON FROM @ave661 IS KILLLINGGGG ME! Seriously chokehold she has me in ALL the time with her art. 😭

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family edition

You called Price beforehand, asked him if it was alright to surprise Simon. You wanted to show up at the base with your baby girl waiting for him. Like you always do. Thankfully and full heartedly he agreed, he even added that he is excited to see his niece. On the way to the base you felt excitement as you played music for both you and your baby.

Your baby gabbles as she plays with hanging baby toys on her car seat. Simon has been gone for a month, it has been so long and you were so excited. He missed having her first tooth, which he will be so excited to see.

Once you got you and your child out of the car you headed to the inside of the base. “141 will be landing in 5 minutes ma’am.” A man said guiding you to the tarmac. “Captain Price said to meet them there.”

You followed the solider to the direction of the tarmac. You knew very well where it was at, a year ago you were on the team for 141 but decided to retire once you found out you were pregnant. Memories littered the hallways as you held your baby close.

“No.” He mumbled as you both stood in your room. He didn’t move for a moment, you thought he was going to leave and not come back for hours. Simon doesn’t do well with emotions but the last couple of months, he has been able to open up more. Now this. You didn’t know how he was going to react let alone what he was going to do.

It was clear, two lines, one word, 6 tests. You and Simon have been in secret for 2 years, established a relationship in a year. You played with your hands as nerves started to kick in. “I thought you were on birth control.” Simon said looking up at you, his eyes only to be shown. The skull mask looking at you.

“I am.” You said your heart slowly hurting, you knew that he never wanted a kid. You knew of his past so this was a joke for the both of you. It was frowned upon when a lieutenant would be sleeping with their sergeant. Hell damn near court marshaled.

Simon looked back down at the tests. He can’t. He won’t. His mind racing a million miles an hour. How could he explain this one to Price? How could you hide a belly on the force? Is there a way for it to be a secret anymore? He cursed himself for loving the fact that he could breed you. It was a new found kink, with him thinking of his cum coating your walls. Simon never broadcast it to you. Telling you that seeing a belly got him feral, thinking about how your body would react to his gift. But…It’s just…is it too soon? Was he ready? Surely he couldn’t be.

“I can get…”

“No,” He cut you off before looking up at you. “This…Not that. ‘M,” his voice trailed. No abortion, he won’t put your body through hell just because both of you didn’t want to wrap it. “I just-I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t either,” You whispered walking slowly up to him. “But we can figure this out?”

Simon nodded once still looking at the tests. You waited as he stood there and sighed. “We have to tell Price now.”

“Here is the tarmac,” The solider said breaking you from your thoughts. “It looks like they have just landed.”

You mumbled a thank you as soldiers came out one by one from the plane. All covered in dirt or blood, tired written on their faces. You frowned knowing that Simon felt the same, it couldn’t have gone the way it suppose to.

You smiled as you walked out watching Gaz come out first, happy surprise on his face. He looked to the side of him to see Soap, who smiled at you nodded. Price smiled, heading towards the direction you were before stopping. Simon, walked out last, almost stopped in his tracks.

Smile beaming on his face underneath the skull mask. His girls. He be-lined to you and your baby girl. His heart beating quickly, as excitement coursed through his veins.

Price stood as both of his teammates broke the news. He had his suspicions of them fucking around but not together. He itches his beard as your tears start to mellow out. Simon was not looking at him but folding his arms while leaning against the wall.

It was like two of his kids came home after school to get hounded at. It was amusing if Price wasn’t angry. Yes. He was at first, his lieutenant and his best sniper in a bit of a bind. She has to be discharged no way will Price NOR Simon let her go out in the field. Especially since they voiced they are keeping the kid.

“We keep it low,” Price finally spoke watched as both of you looked up. “We have to slowly discharge you, not try to have eyes on the situation until then. No missions for you.”

You nodded, first time every has he seen you so shy. Timid. Usually you had confidence written all over you. “Yes sir.” You mumbled looking away.

Price looked at Simon. “I want to have a discussion with you,” He looked at you as you stared at him. You both are young, younger than him anyway. He seen how Simon’s demeanor changed throughout the years when you came on the force. Of course no one else saw it, but Price did. He always knew. “Dismissed Sargent.”

Your baby squealed with delight as she bounced in your arms. “Da! Da!” She yelled as Simon walked over, having heads turn to see the little baby showed her excitement. Simon did take note that she knew who he was and in fact used ‘dada.’

Simon almost damn near sprinted as he walked up to both of you. You let him take your baby as he grabbed her, she screamed laughed, as he rose her to the air. Holding her sides gently but firm. She is so tiny compared to him, she kicked her feet softly in the air, laughing her little head off. Simon loves that sound, the sound of pure joy coming from her. To the point he didn’t give a damn who was around them. Simon was never a shower when it came to his private life, but when she was around wow, he would make sure everyone knew who she was.

Simon sat across the table from you, your bump more noticeable, 6 months to be exact. He still couldn’t believe that what was growing inside you was his. Part of him. Something that he would have never thought would be done. Or have. You have become more aware and accepting of having the child. Yet he still hasn’t.

“I know it will take time Si,” You said knowing always what he was thinking. Simon snapped his eyes up at you, he felt guilt for sure. You were just honorable discharged and he stayed in the force. “I can’t make you feel happy about this. But…But I know eventually you will.”

He didn’t believe you until one night he laid between your legs as you rubbed the back of his head. Simon chuckled lightly at the tv show you were both watching right when it happened,felt a small poke to his head, he froze, you felt him tense. “What…what that?”

You giggled lowly as you rubbed your belly. “It’s the baby,” He still didn’t move when he felt it again. “She moves a lot when you make any sort of noise.” Simon rose slightly, looking up at you, curiously. You grabbed his hand and placed it where she was. His eyes trained on his hand. “Say something.” You whispered.

Simon looked at you unsure before clearing his throat. “Uh, hello baby girl.” It took a second before he felt the bump move to his hand. A soft graze. He snapped his eyes up at you and tears brimming your eyes, nodding. Encouraging him to continue. Simon’s eyes started to water, everything hitting, even when she isn’t out here she was wanting him. Knowing that he is her dad. And she was his baby.

His hand rubbed your belly. “‘Ight ass kicker. I’m happy to hear ya too.”

“Hello my angels,” He said as slowly held her close to him. Her head cradled inside of his neck. Her hands gripping his uniform. He placed a hand on the back of her hand holding her close. You smiled as he placed his other gloved hand on your cheek. “Why ya ‘ere?”

“I couldn’t wait at home,” You stated as people passed the both of you. “She couldn’t either,” you bumped your shoulder against his. “Told you it was dada.” You teased talking about the last time you both were on the phone. Her screaming ‘da da da,’ knowing damn well it was her daddy on the phone. Simon would tease and say that she got your intelligence since she was only 5 months.

Simon chuckled rolling his eyes, turning his head as she rose from his shoulder. She started towards his skull mask gripping the bottom of it. “Not yet sweethear,’” he whispered gently grabbing her hands. “We are gonna debrief it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Lass,” You laughed as the scottish came up from behind Simon. Slapping his back. “Oh well hello little miss.” He scratched softly underneath her chin. She laughed again shaking her head as she clung onto her dad. “Yer playing hard to get now?” He teased and looked at you.

“Hey Johnny,” You laughed reaching for your baby. She came to you with ease, which you mentally sighed in relief, hoping that she wouldn’t ball her little eyes out when she watched her dad leave. “We will wait on the cafeteria.”

Simon placed his forehead against yours. “It will be quick.” He whispered.

You nodded as you watched them all file into the base. Your baby holding onto you cooing. “Why don’t you ever get that excited to see me,” You playfully glared poking her stomach. She giggled swatting your finger away. “Brat.” You laughed taking her and you to the cafeteria.

[acid-ixx]

— masterlist !

every time i think about my series (again &. again), and the reader's fear towards the color green (or anything associated with damian, their half brother), i think about just how more painful it would be if you share the same features with him that he shares with bruce that amps up the angst element.

it doesn't have to be any major features, it could be small, but noticeable. something that has you reeling in yourself.

maybe it's the shape of your fingers or your brows, the plump of your cheeks, or maybe how your skin flushes the same way his does. maybe it's the way your eyebrows furrow like him, or the quirk of your lips whenever you smile a shadow of his smirk.

it doesn't matter because the more you look, the more you notice.

and the more you remember his glinting, green eyes standing by the arch of your doorway, menacingly watching over your shifting, paranoid body; ready to strike at you like you're prey, ready to eliminate your undeserving presence in the manor.

and of course, it's not a big deal, but for an overthinker like you, someone who's always trying to overcorrect, forcing yourself to not be associated by your family— cutting off every interest, or object, any damn thing that reminds you of them; sharing similarities with appearances, something so intimate, something that could've been just yours, with your youngest brother no less, your tormentor, just makes you want to rip that part of your body to seams.

it inadvertently makes you wish you were never bruce's child, too.

just so you could never see damian in yourself, just so your heart doesn't hasten every time you look in the mirror and find yourself staring at those features for hours. until the image of yourself twists into him, until you're the exact copy of the assassin, of the demon child, of the boy you have to unfortunately call your brother.

and every time you do so, there's a haze fogging inside your head, there's this sickening urge to hurt yourself, to change your appearance even if it's a part of your that cherishes the image of your mother too— if it means taking away the unwanted stems that remind yourself too much of him.

the truth is, you don't hate him, or rather you can't bring yourself to, out of pure, convoluted fear.

you despise the way he makes it feel like there's spiders crawling in the back of your throat, or how your body automatically locks up at the slight mention of his name.

even if you see him as just that, a young boy raised to be corrupted; his youth doesn't disregard the fact that he is the incarnate of danger, the same boy who threatened to end your life at first meeting. whose words cut sharper than blades, whose sword is perched on his back; an unspoken promise to cut more than the skin of your neck if you dare try to fight back.

that even though he's significantly younger, he still holds too much power, enough to destroy your life for something you couldn't even control— your inability to be like them.

you don't hate him, you can't.

but it's easier to hate yourself for it instead.

because if it's so hard to despise him, then it's better to blame yourself for your shortcomings. if you fear looking at yourself, the shadow of your features distorting into damian, then you deserve to feel it.

if your hands find themselves ripping at your hair (the strands, god, the ends of your hair reminds you of the spikes of his, you want to die), then let it hurt you, let it destroy your being until you're nothing but dim, sunken eyes and blood-soaked clothes. let the hatred fester to the point your body transforms into an alien-like appearance just to forget him.

it doesn't register within you just how much you're subjecting yourself to the same tortures you were forced upon in that putrid manor.

the same way you let the torment living in that cage repeat like a cycle, again and again, never truly moving on from your past; a sick narrative you're never escaping from.

after all, you can never run away from the past. it bites you back, with the same, or even stronger force, until all that controls you is fear.

fear that forces you to look in the mirror, stare at yourself, nitpicking every notable feature in your face, in your body, that reminds you of them. fear that's enough to turn you emotional in all your good days, that ruins a happiness you haven't felt for a decade, even more.

fear will always control.

damian will always have control over you, he'll always have the upper-hand.

sometimes, the innocent, young boy you try to find behind the exterior of hatred turns out to be a hideous monster all throughout.

unfortunately, you see that monster in you, too.

a/n: we love complicated relationship dynamics!!! i just woke up and was like, "wait, i have an idea." LMAO. idk half of what i wrote, did i eat with this drabble? maybe. ignore my sudden disappearance sometimes, in another life i'm a hermit crab who hides in its shell probably.

— if i wrote damian here to be too "evil," it's because it's written in the perspective of the reader and their trauma. i don't want him to be this one-dimensional character, he's one of my favorites after all, but i need to establish the relationships and writing drabbles like these help a lot in portraying how they see each other. damian sees you in a different light (you make him weak), and you do too— but both see each other in some twisted perspective of loving each other because you're both still siblings at the end of the day (i'm gonna write more about this too).

[gaypirate420]

i beg for more viktor and vastayan reader…like how did they meet??? what’s the story??? I NEED TO KNOW IM ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT you’ve unlocked something i didn’t know i needed

Like nyah, y'know ? (⁠=⁠^⁠･⁠ｪ⁠･⁠^⁠=⁠)

Caged // Viktor.

Kid!Viktor x Kid!Vastaya!reader.

Summary: Viktor just wanted some scrap metal.

Part one.

Tw: Child abuse. Blood.

Angst/Fluff. Viktor is fifteen, reader is sixteen.

The young Zaunite limped his way into an alleyway, dragging a small cart that Singed so generously provided for him to fetch scrapped metal and other trinkets he'd like to tinker on when he was still his pupil.

He leaned on his cane as he bent to pick a large metal plate, the piece looked almost new maybe today he'll have luck, he hummed confident and got further inside, the dim lanterns of the stores disappearing, he tugged his cart along with him.

His golden eyes shined with excitement as he could make out a couple of the same large metal plates, but they seemed to be tucked behind a couple of boxes on the corner. His hand let go of his cart, the other clutching on his cane as he limped to the dark corner, he sighed as he saw a big metal box holding the plates against the wall.

Leaving his cane behind and tugging his sleeves up he took a deep breath, his pale hands reached for one of the metal plates and tug.

"GRRRRHHH." A deep gutural growl.

Viktor gasped, stumbling backwards and falling on his back, his eyes widened as he saw that wasn't a box.

It was a cage.

He stayed frozen for a solid minute, until in the darkness he could make out a figure, curled in some sort of blanket. Viktor swallowed, standing up slowly as he kept his eyes on the cage.

You saw the pale teenager getting closer. You keep growling but he didn't step back, his eyes were full of curiosity but kindness, he didn't look like he wanted to throw things at you or poke you like the other kids who stumbled upon you.

Your shiny eyes meet his.

He stared at you, you didn't look that much older than him, he looked at the blanket that draped over you, your breathing was heavy, you were scared. You growled at him, a soft gasp leaves him as he gets a glare of your sharp fangs and a pair of big ears that are flat against your head and a twitching nose that is an obvious sign of distress.

His golden eyes stare at a laceration on your face, the blood drips slowly down your eyebrow.

Viktor then took a couple of steps back and simply left. You tilted your head but returned to nuzzle against your blanket, trying to find some warmth in the cold weather of the undercity.

You were about to close your eyes, until his small and uneven footsteps approached again.

He stood in front of the cage. He reached inside, you flinched but your eyes fell on his hand, offering a piece of food. He smiled ever so faintly and shyly. But he wasn't scared, that much you knew.

Your head lifted from the cold metal floor, you leaned closer, Viktor caught a glimpse of the sharp and long nails you had. You crawled hesitantly closer, the blanket falling and finally revealing your whole body.

His eyes were big with curiosity, your body wasn't like something he's seen before, your skin was scarred and bandaged, you look fairly human, although there was an unusual pattern under all those scars in your skin, until your bottom half where he could see what you were. Your legs were completely feline.

"...Koťátko..." Viktor whispered amazed. You tilted your head at his foreign words but took the piece of food in your mouth. The pale boy gasped once more as you practically just swallowed all that in a second.

You must be very hungry, he thought, an obvious thought to have everyone in the undercity is hungry, but he doesn't have more to give you. You stare up at him, your slit pupils expecting.

"...I'm sorry, koťátko." He spoke softly, you looked down, his eyes seeing in between your ears and out of instinct his hand laid there. You froze, a soft growl crawled from your throat and your fangs were ready to bite.

"Shhhh....don't be scared." Viktor shushed softly, sitting down on the ground with a soft whimper as he tried to take a comfortable position. His other hand cups your face, you snarl but after he gently caresses your cheek with his thumb your body starts to relax slowly.

"Mhm....it is okay, koťátko..." The boy whispers, his eyes wide and shiny and his lips adorned with a friendly smirk. You laid back down on the cold metal floor of your cage. The young one eyes the locks, his mind racing with thoughts. He can't keep you here, but where would he keep you? Viktor can barely feed himself and you're obviously feral.

He takes a deep breath, his lip pouts as he thinks but you just sink and bask in the gentle touch, you've never experienced something like this. It's nice and gentle, you close your eyes, your tail sways lazily.

A/N: hiii hello hiiii, I hope y'all like this, I'm going to try and write more on my school break! Send more requests for Vastaya reader I love this too much

[misswynters]

Blues

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

[warning: mdni, mature/explicit (18+), riding, bathtub sex, p in v, slight degrading, let me know if i missed anything

[note | i just got inspired out of nowhere :D just a short one

Deep hues of orange and yellow danced around the room caused by the flickering candle lights. It gave the perfect ambiance for relaxation. The bathing chambers in Dragonstone had transformed into a private tableau of passion and raw desire, the warm water of the bathtub rippled like molten gold beneath the dim, as it laid on your skin. Jacaerys stood at the entrance, his figure a powerful silhouette against the light, every movement conveying a deep need.

You were already in the tub, your body submerged and partially obscured by the swirling water. The sight of you, vulnerable and serene in your repose, seemed to ignite a storm within him. He approached with deliberate, almost ceremonial movements, each step a testament to the tempest of emotions swirling inside him.

"Jace," you started, but he silenced you with a fierce, almost punishing kiss. His lips crashed against yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to make you gasp. The kiss was rough, possessive, and it took your breath away.

"I need this," he growled against your lips, his voice raw with anger and desperation. "I need you." You nodded, understanding the storm raging inside him. His mother's decisions had been weighing heavily on him, and he needed an outlet for his frustration.

Without a word, he lifted you from the water and seated you upon his lap. The contrast between the warm, wet embrace of the tub and the burning intensity of his touch created a scene almost too vivid to be true. Your soaked shift was pushed up around your waist in an instant, and he wasted no time in positioning himself beneath you. His fingers dug into your hips as he lifted you slightly, the head of his cock pressing insistently at your entrance. There was no gentleness, no hesitation.

With a single, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, eliciting a strangled cry from your lips. The water splashed violently around you as he set a punishing pace, his thrusts hard and fast, each one driving him deeper inside you. The sound of water slapping against the sides of the tub mixed with the lewd, wet sounds of your bodies colliding, your breathless moans, and his guttural groans.

"Fuck," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it hurt. "You're so fucking tight." You could feel his anger in every movement, the way his fingers dug into your flesh, the way his hips snapped up to meet yours with almost violent intensity. The raw power of his need was overwhelming, and it drove you wild with desire.

"Jace," you moaned, your voice a breathless plea. His name on your lips seemed to push him even further, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. He reached around to grasp your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple almost painfully as he drove into you.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a rough whisper in your ear. "No one else's. I'm going to fill you up, make sure everyone knows who you belong to."

The words sent a thrill through you, heightening your arousal. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, the intensity of his thrusts pushing you closer to the edge. The thought of him claiming you so completely, of his seed filling you, was enough to drive you wild.

"You want that, don't you?" he panted, his voice rough and demanding. "You want me to fill you up, to breed you."

"Yes," you gasped, the idea sending waves of pleasure through your body. "Yes, Jace, please."

"Good my dear," he growled, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. "I'm going to make sure you're dripping with me. You'll be swollen with my child, everyone will know you're mine." His words pushed you closer to the edge, the pressure inside you building to an almost unbearable peak. The idea of carrying his child, of being marked by him so completely, sent you spiraling.

As his thrusts grew more frantic, you could feel the bulge of his cock with each deep, powerful thrust. The sensation of him stretching you so fully was intoxicating, and you could hear the lewd, wet sounds of him moving inside you, each one echoing the intensity of your connection.

"Do you feel that?" he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "Feel how deep I am inside you? I'm going to fill you so full, you'll be able to feel me for days."

"Yes," you whimpered, your body trembling with anticipation and need. "I can feel you, Jace. You're so big."

His pace quickened, the slapping of water against skin filling the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure. The pressure inside you built to an almost unbearable peak, and you could feel yourself teetering on the brink of release.

With one hand, Jacaerys pressed down on your lower abdomen, the sensation of him moving in and out of you intensified by the pressure. "By the gods," he growled. "You feel amazing."

You nodded frantically, the added sensation making everything more intense. His other hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look down. "Watch," he demanded. "Watch how I fuck you."

Your eyes fluttered open, and you gasped at the sight. His cock slid in and out of you with powerful, relentless thrusts, each one making the water around you splash. The sight was mesmerizing, his size and the way he filled you completely almost too much to bear.

He pulled your face to his, pressing your foreheads together. His eyes bored into yours, dark and intense. "You like this, don't you?" he hissed, his voice both degrading and desperate.

"Being fucked like this, so hard you can feel it days later."

"Yes, Jace," you moaned, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "I love it."

"Good," he growled. "Because I'm going to fill you up so full, you'll be swollen with my child. Everyone will know you're mine."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through you, pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing around him, your cries echoing off the walls.

The sensation of you tightening around him was too much for Jacaerys. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his own release tearing through him as he groaned your name.

You felt him pulse inside you, his warmth flooding you completely. He stayed buried deep within you, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, you both stayed still, panting and spent, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of your coupling.

Jacaerys rested his forehead against your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin. "You drive me crazy," he murmured again, but this time his voice was softer, more tender.

You turned your head to look at him, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "I know," you replied, your voice a whisper. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

He chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. "Neither would I," he agreed, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close, the warm and gentleness of your shared presence giving way to a quiet moment.

[a/n: (if you don’t wanna be tagged on 18+ things let me know!)

taglist: @spn-obession @benjicotblckwood @beebeechaos @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @giovanna-hyt @r-3dlips @eddie-brii @thornsandtulips

banner: @cafekitsune

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴘ ᴜ ʀ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Male Book Heleana Targaryen x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Notes: English is not my first language. Requested by lovely @yghfffyggjj008. Hope you enjoy!

At first, it’s gentle. At first, it feels like love. For Helion, love has always been a quiet thing. He’s always been someone who observes, who listens, who feels. A gentle hand upon a sick child’s forehead. A soft word to comfort someone crying alone in the halls. He was the Targaryen that the people trusted, the one who didn’t desire power or glory—just peace, connection, a sense of belonging.

But the moment he meets you—the one—something shifts inside him. It’s subtle at first, a stirring in his chest that confuses him. He’s always been someone who has kept others at a distance, preferring the company of his own quiet thoughts or those who shared his ideals. But you are different. There’s something about your presence, your smile, the way you speak to him so openly.

It starts innocently, doesn’t it? A shared conversation over the royal gardens, a few lingering glances when you pass by him in the corridors. He begins to want more, not just the superficiality of duty, not just the formalities of a prince and his subject. No, he wants you—all of you. Your thoughts, your fears, your laughter. And soon, he finds himself needing you.

Helion’s obsession with you isn’t loud. It isn’t violent. It doesn’t start with threats or possessiveness—no, that would be too messy for him. Instead, it grows like a quiet poison, slipping into his veins, curling around his heart and mind.

He watches you. Quietly. Subtly. From a distance at first, but it soon becomes something more. When you walk into a room, his eyes find you immediately, like a magnet pulling him to your presence. He lingers in the shadows, watching you interact with others, his expression calm but his mind spiraling with thoughts of what if. What if you looked at him the way you look at them? What if you noticed him more, wanted him the way he wants you?

But he’s patient. He knows how to wait. He’s always been good at waiting, at observing. He doesn’t rush in; he doesn’t force anything. He’s a prince, after all. He knows the rules of court, the games that are played. Instead, he waits for the moment when you need him, when you’ll turn to him for comfort, for guidance, for something—and then he’ll be there, waiting for you to see him as he truly is.

But as time goes on, Helion’s patience begins to slip, and something darker seeps in. He doesn’t want just a part of you; he wants all of you. Every glance, every word, every breath you take. And the thought of you giving that attention to anyone else—anyone else—becomes unbearable.

Helion’s affection, once so pure and gentle, morphs into something possessive, but still, it is quiet. It doesn’t shout. It whispers. Every time you laugh with another man, every time you share a word with someone else, a small, dark part of him tightens, coils, a small feeling of disgust bubbling up in his chest. He tells himself it’s nothing. He tells himself that they don’t matter. But they do. They matter. He watches every interaction, every smile exchanged with someone who isn’t him. He watches and silently marks the way your attention flickers away from him.

You think you’re safe, don’t you? That his devotion is just that—a soft, unassuming thing. But you haven’t seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. How his eyes linger just a moment too long, how his hand brushes against yours just a fraction of an inch more than it should, how he holds onto your words like they’re treasures he must protect.

Helion is still not a man of violence. He’s never been that. But you—you—are the one thing in this world that makes him lose control. His love for you is not just a feeling. It is a need. A hunger. And when he feels you slipping away, when you give that smile to someone else, when you laugh with them, not him—when you walk past him without a second glance—it stirs something deep inside him.

It’s quiet at first. A tightness in his chest. An ache he can’t soothe. And then, the darkness wraps itself around his mind like a vice. What if you were his? Truly his, in every sense? What if he could keep you safe, away from the rest of the world’s chaos, from the people who would take you away from him? What if he could keep you forever?

The thought of you with someone else—it burns. He tells himself it’s for your safety. It’s for your protection. You’re too precious to be around people who don’t understand you like he does. They could never see you the way he sees you. They could never care for you the way he does.

Helion isn’t the type to take immediate action, but once he makes his decision, it’s clear. He finds ways to be closer to you—ways that don’t raise suspicion. He arranges moments where you’re alone, where you can speak without others listening. He writes you letters, notes that seem innocuous, but they are heavy with his intent. He’s patient, but when the time comes, he will take you. He’ll have you. And you’ll thank him for it.

There’s no anger in him. No rage. It’s cold, this obsession, almost surgical. He tells you it’s for your own good. That he can’t stand to see you in the hands of anyone else, that the world is too dangerous for you to wander unprotected. He’ll be your protector. Your guardian. Your king.

And when he finally admits his love to you, it will be calm, soft, and dangerous. There will be no plea in his voice, no desperate cry. He’ll simply tell you that you’re meant to be his, that you’ve always been meant for him, and that now, you have no choice but to be with him.

In his mind, it’s pure. It’s the only way to protect you. The only way to truly love you.

And you—you—will come to understand that.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[yeyinde]

ghoapxreader in the baby trapping series IM BEGGING 🧎‍♀️

i think i've exhausted the whole "tampering with contraceptives" thing to death by now so i would probably do something different with them. like a surrogate situation or something, but awful lmao

maybe down on her luck reader is in desperate need of cash, and these two men swoop in to save you from this horrible pit you've fallen into.

you need money. they need a baby.

simple, right?

except the simplicity falls apart when they blatantly tell you they want a natural insemination—as in, a threesome.

multiple, the pretty Scot tells you. after all, it has tae take, hen.

(and this is the part where you should have run. the moment when you'd be screaming at the television at the hapless protagonist as they walk mindlessly into danger despite the warning signs hanging overhead. but like the oblivious hero, you're too blinded by pretty, gleaming white to realise that the thing you're marveling over is a maw. cracked open wide and full of jagged, deadly teeth rearing up to sink inside of you.

but the problem with making shady deals when you're desperate is that no one really bothers to read the fine print, do they? and by the time you see past their crooked charm, you're waving your child off as they skip up the stairs to school, standing like a prisoner between them as they lean down and ask if you're ready for another—)

but that comes later.

what comes first is message on Craiglist.

one that you spend less time considering it than you should have. desperation, you find, clouds your judgement. blots out common sense. makes you susceptible to manipulation. and oh, how susceptible you are. despite priding yourself on your common sense and keen self-awareness, the overarching issues hanging over your head like an idling guillotine seem to erase that instructive need for self-preservation.

so, when the message itself pops up, you're already primed for making bad choices. ones out of malformed desperation. the barrage of texts from your landlord demanding rent, the ones sent to your family in moments of dire need asking for fruitless aid that will never come in time if the read receipts mean anything at all. the package from HR apologising for the inconvenience, but this was, regrettably, the only feasible option for the company at present, and too bad you didn't sign up for that union, huh? student loans. credit cards.

the measureable calamity of your life manifests itself in the shape of a black cloud hanging onto your aching shoulder, wrapping long, inkstained fingers around your jugular as it hisses the insurmountable figure needed to climb out of this pit in your ear.

sleepless, of course, hasn't helped.

and in that bog you can't swim through, their offer sounds far more appealing than it should.

let's meet up somewhere, comes the next message at half past three in the morning as you talk yourself in (and out) of this mess. talk about things more.

what else are you supposed to do?

job hunting sites mock you with their generic emails, thanking you for applying, and saying they'll reach out within a few business days for an interview if you're a good fit. ones sent off weeks ago. hundreds of them to no avail. it's almost like you're being plagued. blacklisted from the city.

even the fast food chain down the street refused your application when you sent it in, and the help wanted sign has been taped on the drive-thru window since you were sixteen.

it all pushes you closer and closer to making stupid choices, like replying with a simple (nervous, shaky, bile-tinged) sure to the message they sent. i'm down—

(—and drowning)

but you're smart enough to know better, so you act like it, too.

ping your location to your friends. tell them where you're going. clutch your keys so tightly in your fist that your knuckles just out through thin skin. layers upon layers of safety measures glimpsed through the various articles about how to stay alive.

but all the tremulous air is siphoned from your lungs when you see them for the first time.

something magnetic thrums through your chest. copper sutures running lines from their skin to yours until touching just seems like the most natural thing in the world. and you suppose it is when the pretty Scot folds you into a tight hug, cinching you close to his chest as if he's known you his whole life instead of just several seconds.

he's a thing of beauty. chiselled from marble, almost; David made human when he runs his tanned hand through the tumble of uneven hair along his crown. eyes the same varicoloured palette of a boscage in autumn framed in the setting sun's golden halo.

there's a distinct ruggedness about his beauty, too. one that reminds of you a lion's mane. the sleek fur of a stallion. pretty in a wild way. and as his eyes list towards you again and again, like he can't quite manage his fill of staring at you, taking you in, you think about that wildness again. the hunger in his eyes so similiar to the desperation of a predator fattening up for the encroaching chill of winter. it makes you shiver, but you can't look away

(because you know what's waiting for you when you do)

and when you finally pluck up the courage to glance at the shape devouring the light with his intimidating bulk, you come to quick realisation that if Johnny is the personification of an autumn evening, then the man standing next to him is the tried and true testament that bad things happen after dark.

he's a strange figure, one who veers almost comically into the uncanny valley with his hood pulled over the plain, black ballcap hanging low over his brow. a balaclava covering every inch of his face with the exception of a small, ovaled hole for his eyes. remnants of something ashy smear into the corners, running up the crooked bend of his nose.

he doesn't look like a real man—not with those liquid, haunting eyes—but at the same time, there's something preternaturally human about him. a stereotypical sense of masculinity—just one warped around the edges.

with his worn jeans pulled tight over thick, bulging thighs, and the silver zipper of his hoodie resting at the base of his throat, you could easily think he was just another man in the crowd, but it's off. a glitch. a skip.

like mistaking a coat rack for a man in the dead of night.

eerie.

dangerous.

if the man beside him is playfully carnivorous, a basking lion rolling onto his belly at the zoo, separated by thick glass, then he (Simon, Johnny supplies readily when the silence lingers; Simon Riley), Simon, is what it feels like to be followed home at night.

but—

there's something about fear and desire that are almost inseparable when broken down into a physiological response.

and when he steps up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body soaking into the drying sweat on your back, you liken the way your heart climbs up your throat to same as it would seeing a dorsal fin cutting above the waves in open water.

desire, you think, and then catching the white-hot burn of the stare, you add, in a thin whisper: fear.

when they sit you down, and begin to spin a story about how they just want a baby—no strings attached—you stay seated in the chair even as an itch in the back of your head starts, nails scraping at your skull.

their reluctance toward traditional methods makes sense when they explain that with their lifestyle, it's impossible—or the Scottish man does; the other one with a marbled skin of thick, ugly scars on his hands just stares, pinning you down with the weight of his gaze—and this arrangement is the only way they'll get the baby they've been hoping for.

and even though the scratching in your head sounds suspiciously like why you and run, you eat the food they bought for you in the fancy restaurant where appetisers start at $30, and a glass of water is priced at $6. volcanic spring water, the waiter explains as he pours it from a marbled glass pitcher.

you haven't eaten a real meal that wasn't microwavable or cup noodles in weeks.

maybe that's why you find yourself thinking why not instead of no.

they're attractive men. it's not the worst situation you could have found yourself in, even if the idea of parenthood—however brief it's supposed to be—has bile clawing up the back of your throat, and the bones housing your trembling heart feeling laden, heavy like iron, and starts to cinch your chest shut each day, squeezing tighter, and tighter, and—

they drop off the first the installment to you the moment your doctor starts to talk about boerhaave syndrome, as if they know the doubts that plague your head when they leave your apartment and the silence starts to mock you.

and that leads you here.

guilt for their situation. desperation over your own. an overarching need to please. it's all a dangerous cocktail that douses over rationality until you're nodding along, accepting their words as gospel until sleeping with them—multiple times—doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

until it happens. until you have Johnny and Simon actively working to knock you up. a marathon of intense sex with the single-minded goal of putting their baby in you.

Johnny drooling all over you as he ruts between your thighs, mindlessly driving himself into a frenzy as he slurres out his desires in an incomprehensible mess of English and Gaelic and animalistic grunts. barely pulling out in time before Simon is pressing your knee down to the mattress, cooing mockingly at the mess his boy made of you. cruelly taking bets as he slides into your sore, aching cunt about who will take first. his or Johnny's? and who do you want, birdie? who's baby do you want first?

fingers always shoving inside to cap the overflow when they exhaust themselves in a liquid-limbed stupor, barely conscious as you tapped out some three, four rounds ago. unable to keep your eyes open any longer as they both came to the same conclusion that cumming inside of you at the same time was the quickest way to knock you up together. ain't he a romantic, birdie?

and it's probably for the best that you passed out before it happened, drooling on Simon's scarred shoulder as he gripped the cheeks of your ass, pulling you wide open as Johnny shuffled forward between his spread legs, eyes riveted to the spot where Simon's cock split you open. the ache you felt the next morning, coming to on a broad chest with fingers stuffed inside of you—shush, shush, just keeping you nice an' plugged, sweetheart—was almost unbearable.

you expected them to clear out after getting what they want, but they stay. tend to you carefully like you're made of fine china.

or—Johnny does. bundles you up in his arms before setting off towards the bath, finally letting you wash the sticky, flaking grime from your skin, some awful mixture of drying cum, spit, and sweat, groaning in your ear as he pulls you to his damp, hairy chest about how sweet you are for them. how they're going to take care of you.

Simon caters to other things. packs your bags as Johnny scrubs thick fingers over your shoulders, pausing to grasp a sore, tender breast in his palm, hefting the weight up as he feverishly mutters about how hot it'll be to watch you feed their baby. an' maybe you'll let him have a little taste, too—

and when you finally emerge from the bath, sorer between the thighs than you were when you woke up, another mess pooling in the gusset of the panties he pulled up your legs, Simon's waiting, eyes riveted to your belly. staring at it with so much hunger, a cold sweat breaks out along the nape of your neck.

in the grand scheme of things, the threesome is the easy part. the hard part comes when they turn the arrangement into a prison, locking the shackles around your wrists when the pregnancy test comes back positive a few weeks later.

they're only doing what's best for their baby, they say, when they move you out of your apartment and into theirs. the cut lease was the only way to do it, Johnny says, shrugging. why make you pay for something you aren't using anymore?

and maybe if your head was thickened with a fog, you'd have questioned the phrasing, but as it stands, pregnancy, even as early as this one, adles you. leaves you a syrupy mess of emotions that they take turns exploiting. aren't you so lonely all by yourself, hen? don' ye want a family?

aren't they good enough for you?

it's less subliminal messaging and more overt coersion. what are you going to do after this? where will you go with your lease cut? and when the funds run dry? what then?

gonna find another couple to knock you up? Simon hisses, mangled hands mauling your belly, pinching and squeezing the flesh as if he could feel the fragile box their happiness is housed inside. should jus' stay with us if that's the case, birdie.

but it's all so sweet, in its own way—

(—sweet like a parasite nesting inside of it's host.

but at least you'll never be lonely.)

they stand by the fact that they're looking out for you. that they care. that they can't do much else but idle and watch your body evolve into something new (an' magnificent, Johnny breathes, kissing this unfamiliar shape you call home) and it grates at them because they're not used to feeling so useless, so can't you just let them do this for you? take care of you in all the ways they see fit? like cutting your lease and giving you a better place to stay. handing in your resignation from that shitty nine to five that wore you down to the bone. culling out the annoyances in your life—the friends and family—who kick up needless fits over your wellbeing, and just stress you out more than you need to be.

they're not good enough for you, is what Simon says when you ask why he blocked them from your phone, Johnny hovering by the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. barring the exits, you'll realise later. but what comes first is fear, is anger, is—

happiness. maybe. or some broken, fragile facsimile of it. a subpar humuliculus masquerading around as if it was realised flesh and bone.

"oh," you say, and think you should be touched by his care, his concern, and so you are. shape this emotion from the sludge that pools at the bottom of your chest, running fingers through the muck to find pieces of gold. and then: "thank you, Simon."

it's sweet. or it could have been if it didn't spiral out of your control when they systematically dismantle your entire life until all you're left with is loose sediment slipping through your fingers. the foundation itself soften clay they shape into the image they've been after with the whole time: you.

(or more specifically, a momma for their baby.)

and when they ask you, at the end of this thin, fraying tether, if you want to be with them—an equal, a mother—and be a mother again for them, there's nothing else you could say except yes.

nothing because they made it so.

[futurepastme]

Unmatched

[Soulmate Au]

Act.I: Merlin

Fate had a weird sense of humor, Merlin thought as he traced the name scrawled across his left rib.

When he was a boy, Merlin couldn't wait to meet his soulmate. He would trace the words of his soulmark with care, imagining what his soulmate would look like, what their favorite game would be and if they would like Merlin.

Then he learned how to read, and the figure he'd imagined before got more detailed. He would picture a boy like him, that would climb trees and play in the forest. They would get in trouble together and be the closest friends ever, even closer than him and Will were.

And then Merlin got to an age where he could understand the importance of his soulmate's name. What it really meant to have that name on his skin, how dangerous it was. Merlin finally understood why his mother looked sad when he spoke of his soulmate, and why he wasn't allowed to tell anyone what name was engraved on his skin.

Now, Merlin sat at his new cot inside Gaius' chambers. Tracing the name that once upon a time was the source of joy and curiosity, and that now brought him confusion, sadness and disappointment.

Arthur Pendragon, the prince of Camelot, was nothing like what Merlin had imagined, and everything he feared he would be.

How could the Fates have matched him with someone so arrogant, so selfish. Someone that would pray on the weak the way the Prince was doing with his servant earlier.

That night Merlin mourned what he would never have; someone that would accept him as he was, someone that he could be himself with, no secrets and no lies. He mourned the love he would never have, all those dreams he’d had as a child, and the promised future that would never be his.

He tried to focus, instead, on the one good thing about his first day at Camelot.

Even though Arthur was Merlin's soulmate, Merlin clearly wasn't his. The lack of recognition of Merlin's name in the prince’s eyes was enough to know.

That was one less thing to deal with, and he tried to find comfort in the idea that he could dislike the prince at a distance and not be forced to be with someone like him.

Then the dragon happened, and the witch.

And Merlin saved Arthur's life. Again, and again, and again. And Arthur saved his.

He learned that Arthur was so much more than the idiot he was on Merlin's first day.

Eventually, Merlin started to mourn the fact they weren't a match.

Soon enough, Merlin realized how much he loved his prince and he tried to find comfort on the idea of being his friend. If that's all he could be, then he would take it.

Yet, deep down, his heart longed for what would never be.

Despite being his servant for a while, Merlin never learned the name of Arthur's soulmate.

Arthur insisted on bathing by himself and when Merlin got back, he had his trousers on.

One day, against his better judgment, Merlin found himself asking about it.

“Don't worry, it's not your name.”

Merlin winced. “I didn't think it was.” Of course he didn't, he knew it wasn't him. But to have the actual confirmation hurt him in a way he wasn't expecting.

Arthur continued, not noticing Merlin's reaction. “Besides, I'm sure your match will be more than happy to show you their mark once you find them.”

This time, Arthur was looking at him, and noticed how Merlin's posture grew tense.

Merlin tried to focus on the polishing he was doing, planning on dropping the subject. But he could feel the hint of tears threatening to flood his eyes, that longing he always shoved down trying to resurface.

“Merlin?” Arthur said softly, noticing Merlin's mood. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” He muttered, pushing away the sadness that had overcome him.

“You know we're friends, right? I mean, I know I don't acknowledge it often, but surely…”

Merlin risked a glance, and the concern he saw in Arthur's eyes warmed his heart. He couldn't help being honest for once. “I'm not a match with my soulmate.” He said quickly before turning his attention back to his task.

What the hell was he doing, telling Arthur this?

Arthur felt the shock of Merlin’s words hit him, and he froze in place. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Non-matched soulmates were rare, usually one could rest assured that no matter what name they had on their skin, their owner would have your name on theirs. But there were those rare, unfortunate ones who would have the name of someone with a different match.

The idea that Merlin of all people would have a non-matched soulmark was unthinkable. The Fates couldn't be so cruel to make the sweetest, kindest, bravest, most loyal person Arthur has ever known, a non-matched. Unthinkable.

And yet, Arthur kept his gaze sharp on Merlin's body language as the boy fought back his sadness. Very cruel, indeed.

“For what it's worth, Merlin, I think anyone would be very lucky to have you as a partner.

Soulmate or not.”

Arthur saw an hesitant smile hinting to show on Merlin's lips before the boy glanced at him again, “Thanks, Arthur, it means a lot.”

Merlin thought this would be the end of it, that Arthur would let the subject go and they wouldn't talk about it again.

It took a while, but the subject did resurface.

One night, after Uther tried to marry Arthur off to some princess that wasn't his soulmate, Prince Arthur brought the subject up again. Softly, as he was tucked away in bed, with his back turned away from Merlin.

“What's your soulmate like?” The question was so quiet that Merlin almost didn't hear it.

He thought for a while if he should answer it – how much he could answer – but the way Arthur asked the question, like a curious child that was afraid of saying something wrong, made Merlin open up once again.

“Brave,” he started, and as Merlin stared from Arthur's back, back into the fire, the words started to spill out as easily as breathing. “Kind, strong, annoying,” he laughed, “smart, and very, very beautiful.”

He waited a second before continuing:

“I didn't like them at the beginning, you know?” Merlin smiled fondly at the fire as he recalled those first days in Camelot. “I thought the Fates had made a mistake by making them my soulmate.”

His smile faded slowly, until it turned into a frown. “I was actually glad that we weren't a match.”

Merlin turned his gaze back to Arthur and found the prince glancing back at him from over his shoulder. Merlin smiled as he continued, “that didn't last very long, by the end of the week I changed my opinion about them, and within the month there was nothing I wouldn't have done for them.”

“You're friends, then?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah. We're good friends, I think.” Merlin looked back to the fire and tried to keep his gaze there.

He heard the shoveling of the sheets as Arthur turned around. “What did they say when you told them?”

“Told them what?”

“That they were your soulmate.”

Merlin looked back to the prince with a frown of confusion. “I didn't tell them anything.”

This time Arthur was the confused one, “why not?”

Merlin stared at Arthur's eyes intensely, he took in Arthur's position – tucked in under the sheets, with only his head poking out – and his displeased stare. He looked cute, like an angry child upset with a grown up that denied him candy for dinner.

He felt his heart drown in that familiar longing that by now was almost an old friend.

“I can't do that to them, Arthur. I can't put them in that position.”

Arthur raised himself into one arm, “but, Merlin, they might choose to be with you regardless of what's on their skin.”

“No.”

“Yes, Merlin. I already told you once, anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“You don't get it.” Merlin stood up from his place in front of the fireplace, and made his way to kneel on the floor beside Arthur.

Their heads were close enough to see every emotion displayed. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should go that far, if it was worth the risk. But Arthur was always worth the risk, and he made a point to keep his eyes locked on his as he said: “I love my soulmate Arthur.”

Those words seemed to open tightly closed gates and Merlin was suddenly overwhelmed by his feelings. He felt the tears fill his eyes and a sad smile form on his lips. He never said it out loud before. The fact that Arthur was the first one to hear it, was just right.

Arthur saw the wave of emotions shown on Merlin's face, and waited in silence until he had a chance to recover.

Merlin was grateful for the prince's patience, and once he had his bearings again, he looked straight into Arthur's eyes as he continued;

“I could never make them choose.” Merlin felt his breath caught in his lungs as the tears threatened to show up again. “They have their own soulmate, they have the chance to find their match. I can't be the reason why they don't.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but Merlin didn't let him. Instead, he said in a soft voice still looking at Arthur's eyes: “I just want them to be happy, Arthur.”

Merlin paused. Arthur gave him a surprised look that made him look like a sad puppy.

“If I have to watch ‘em be happy from a distance then that's what I'm going to do, all it matters to me is that they are happy.”

“They should still have the option, Merlin.” Arthur said softly.

“There is no option, Arthur. You have no idea” he smiled sadly at his phrasing, “how important this whole soulmate thing is for them.”

“You know how it is,” he continued, “we spend our whole lives tracing the name on our skin, imagining the face that will go with it, what it will be like when we meet them.”

Arthur nodded and Merlin couldn't face him anymore. “I can't have them feeling like I felt, and I can't have them feeling like they have some type of obligation towards me, because they don't.”

He looked back at Arthur with a firm gaze. “My soulmate has no obligations towards me just because I have their name. I know them. They have a good heart, a noble one. They would do what they thought was right regardless of their own feelings, and I don't want them to do that. Not about this.”

He softened his gaze and managed to put up a sad smile. “I love them, they are my soulmate and they are my friend, and that's enough.”

“It doesn't look like it’s enough, Merlin.” Arthur whispered softly. He hadn't turned his gaze away from Merlin the whole time he had been talking and he’d watched the emotions dance around Merlin's face every time he dared to look up.

His heart ached for his friend’s fate and he had the sudden urge to either hug the sadness out of him, or raid the whole of Camelot after Merlin's soulmate and order them to give him a chance.

He did neither.

“I won't lie and say that that's the dream,” Merlin said with a heavy sigh. “You know what the soulmate dream is.”

Merlin threw all caution to the wind – if there was any left at this point – and raised a hand to Arthur's shoulder, landing it softly against the prince's nightshirt. He once again brought his eyes to meet the Prince's, and held it there, letting his barriers down and allowing his eyes to clearly show his feelings.

“It's not in my fate to live the soulmate dream, Arthur. I'm not gonna say it's fair, that I wouldn't wish it to be different,” he paused as he felt the tears coming back and his heart getting tight. “And I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt, because it does. It does and it did, and in a way it always will hurt.”

He felt thick tears running down his cheek, but somehow he kept his eyes soft and managed a kind smile that showed a little bit of his teeth. “My fate is not with them, but I'm glad I can still be in their life as a friend. And even if it hurts, I'll be happy when they find their match.”

The fire cracked loudly through the silence that had settled between them. Merlin took the chance to run his sleeve across his eyes, and settled down back into the ground, pulling his face and body away from Arthur. The longer the silence stretched, the faster Merlin's heart would beat, second-guessing his decision of opening up to his Prince.

Arthur took his time, his sharp gaze never left Merlin, but studied his every movement while repeating the whole conversation in his head.

After what it felt like an eternity to Merlin, Arthur finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “As your friend,” he said, eyes still firm on Merlin's. “I have to say you're an idiot for not giving yourself a chance with them. You should tell them, and give you both a chance to at least try this possibility.”

Merlin hunched down, he felt his breathing stutter when he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly shut. He felt cold and breathless, and every heartbeat deafened him like they were warning bells resonating through his entire body.

“However,” Arthur continued, his hand itching to reach Merlin's chin and bring the boy’s blue eyes back to meet his own. “I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing.”

Merlin raised his gaze but let his head down, looking at Arthur through teared eyelashes.

“It's an impossible situation you find yourself in, Merlin. And while I don't believe you found the best outcome, I can see the nobility in it, and I can relate to it as well.”

Arthur gave a breathy hum, before continuing

“You know, I never really thought about you as the self-sacrificing idiot, but considering the amount of times you've made a stupid decision to try and save my life, I should've seen this coming.” He gave a side smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Merlin huffed a laugh, it was half-hearted, but genuine enough, and Arthur felt satisfied when Merlin replied:

“I might be an idiot, but you'll always be a prat.”

“As long as that never changes.” He smiled, Merlin smiled back, and the thick atmosphere that had taken over Arthur's chambers dissipated just like that.

Merlin's eyes were still teared up, though they now shone with a small light that had dimmed down during their conversation before. This time, Arthur was the one to raise a hand to Merlin's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze that he hoped would comfort him somehow.

“Thank you, Merlin, for sharing so much with me. You didn't have to, and I appreciate your trust. Know that it has not been misplaced.”

“Prat.” Merlin's smile was genuine this time, and his eyes were soft again, though the usual light was still duller than normal, they shone brighter by the second.

Arthur nodded to himself and gave Merlin a last squeeze and a little shake, before pulling his hand away and dismissing him. “Go get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.”

Merlin nodded and collected himself, getting up off the floor and running his sleeve through his face one last time. He watched as Arthur lay back down on his pillow and couldn't resist the urge to tuck him in, fixing his covers where they had slipped down to his waist.

Arthur had the lost puppy eyes again, watching Merlin as he tucked him in. His body gave small goosebumps where Merlin's hand pressed when fixing the bedspread around him.

With a last pat on the cover, Merlin turned around and headed to the door.

“Good night, Arthur,” he muttered before closing the door.

“Good night, Merlin,” Arthur whispered softly to the empty room.

That night, Merlin slept like a log. The emotional exhaustion he felt in the past hours knocked him dead the moment his body hit his bed. He would have to process his feelings properly at some point but not today, today he slept and let the night wash his worries away.

That night, Arthur couldn't sleep. He kept replaying this night's discoveries in his head. Tossing and turning around in bed, he couldn't seem to relax. His hand would reach down to his inner thigh and trace the name he knew was there, like it had millions of times before, but this time the feeling that came with it wasn't reassuring nor hopeful. Not when his mind was filled with Merlin's sad eyes and teary face.

And as the phantom touch of Merlin's hands still warmed him, for the first time, Arthur prayed. To the new gods and the old ones, to the universe itself and to the Fates that decided men's destinies. He prayed for his friend's happiness and future. And most of all, he prayed and wished with all his heart that he could somehow find a way to help Merlin's heartache.

He hoped that the morning would bless him with the answer.

End of Act.I [Act.II]

Gods, I miss writing. My new job is sucking out my soul and I barely have time for existing anymore, but I did have this lost in my drafts and since I miss posting I decided to muster up the strength to finish this one up. I did copy and paste without editing, though, so I'm sorry for any mistakes and weird formatting.

Sorry it ends up like that, teehee, but had I posted the draft you would be hanging mid-dialog so I consider this a win, for me, that is.

Thank you for lending me your time, I hope you enjoyed it 💜

The good news is I do know where I'm going with this and I'll try to write more this next week. The bad news is I have no idea when I'll finish it or if I'll be able to write at all next week, but we'll see.

Happy ending is a promise, but we'll have more angst first. And hurt Merlin.

Keep warm, drink water and remember to take your medicine if you have one.

Ps: (and this is me being hopeful) I really don't know if or when I'm posting more so if anybody wants to be tagged when I do, please lmk