#cw: pregancy

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Scares and Thoughts

Author’s note: More of Hura in Husbandry and his darling reader. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric!

Summary: You take a pregnancy test, because you have bee having some strange cravings recently and your period has been nonexistent.

Warnings: pregnancy. panic. consideration of abortion. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Past =-= Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

You had been feeling poorly for a while, a bit aches in your body, a bit more emotional. Far more nauseous in the morning, but also in the afternoons as well.

You had been getting more tired recently. You were bummed out because you were gaining more weight recently, even though you have been trying to lose some weight and exercise more.

You got a notification on your phone that has your face drain of color. It has been three months since you added a period into your Period Tracker.

'Oh fuck me!' You think, in panic, 'could I be pregnant?'

You close your eyes and take in a few deep breaths, the only times you have had unprotected sex (or any sex really) was with Hura. You had taken the morning after pill when you had unsafe sex.

You also are on a long-term birth control that should keep such things at bay. Hura's words on 'unforseen side effects' of you eating Zaarius's drug chocolates come to mind.

You frown a little, if one of those 'unforeseen side effects' was pregnancy while on birth control and Hura didn't tell you. You were going to have a very LOUD and long conversation with Hura about hiding shit from you about medical stuff.

You don't have the best physical health- for a variety of reasons, family and genetics rolling and giving you the short end of the stick. Also being a twin- who was, naturally, premature at birth.

As well as having some other issues meant that carrying a child was... very risky for you. You hadn't ever really wanted to have a kid, if your siblings ever wanted to, and had a kid, you'd be the fun Auntie- and that you'd help take care of the kid.

You'd not talked about having kids or adopting one with Hura- mostly because you'd never thought about having that conversation with him. You know that Hura can be quite paternal at times, and is very fond of his younger brothers and cousins.

You go to the next city over- and make sure to keep a scar wrapped around your hair and face, while wearing some sunglasses as you buy a pregnancy test.

You squirm a little at the expression on the face of the cashier when they see the test that you want to buy. You frown a little at them, finding it uncomfortable and unfairly judgmental.

"If you want to," The cashier says with faux kindness in their voice, "You can use the test in our customer's bathroom."

"Th-thank you," You stutter and scan your card to pay for it and go to the restroom reading the instructions on the test- and taking a swig of your water bottle that carry with you everywhere you go.

You have had a voice in your head the entire time that was a low level hysterical screaming. Part of you wants to send a message to your siblings, but you want to wait. You are a Woman, you can woman up and deal with what the test says and... make a decision if... the test is... positive.

You read the results of the test and feel the anxiety claw at you. You close your eyes and lean against the wall of the bathroom stall. Pregnant. You are pregnant. Fuck.

You hadn't known that Astartes and base line humans, as Hura and the others on base call you and other humans could... interbreed. You have no idea what Hura is going to say or think.

Your hands are shaking, and you shove the test into your purse and flush the toilet. You wash your hands and face and run back to the bathroom stall and throw up.

There is a rasping, gasping noise, and someone sounds like they are in distress. You realize that it's you. You close your eyes and force yourself to calm down.

You use the calming techniques that you were taught as a child when your Anxiety started to become A Problem and it helps you calm down.

Fuck. That was tiring. You send a message to Hura that you want to have some space for a few days. You get a message from Hura that he's got a mission out for a few days- but that he loves you dearly and that if something is bothering you, that he's always there to listen. Always lovely little mouse.

You smile weakly at that and send him another message, [I know that. I love you too.]

You have a decision to make, are you going to keep the bundle of cells growing in your belly or not. You had never considered yourself to be very motherly, or seeking to be motherly.

You like kids, but you... don't think you'd be a good mom. You were wondering if you should abort the bundle of cells or keep it. The thought of keeping the bundle of cells has the panic rising in your chest again.

You rub your belly with one of your hands, you were going to talk to Hura about... about this surprise and... get a Medica Opinion, on if the child could even be viable.

Your Hura- you love him dearly, but your brain twinges as your eyes glass over as you recall what he looks like under his armor. You rub your nose, as something itches and drips, and you swear softly and grab some tissue paper to stem the flow of blood.

You didn't think Hura could conceive a child with you. Granted- you still had birth control, and took other measures to ensure that such a thing was limited.

Your family, you had been told was cursed with fertility. Catching and growing a child was very easy for the women in your family, was something that you had been warned, semi-playfully by your mother.

Oh! You were going to have to tell your mom- and siblings- both the of them about your... pregnancy. Your youngest sibling works in the military and is often far away- but you did send them emails and call at least weekly.

They came down to visit at least once every three months or so, per their schedule and military permitting, of course. Your other sibling worked in the medical field- and made a lot more money than you did, more successful.

... Both of your siblings were a lot more successful than you are. You are happy for them. That they are doing so well. With the baby on the way, and you grimace, that is going to be expensive, the medical bills, the doctor bills and visits, the prenatal and postnatal care.

All of the things you would need to get for the baby. Ugh. Perhaps you should talk to Hura about moving into the Base with him. That would certainly make Hura happy and it would cut down on your living expenses.

You have heard... rumors... that you had thought was... not true. About certain single mothers who have a Space Marine- and a child that ... in certain light... looks like a blend of the Marine and the Mother.

But, as you rub your belly... perhaps ... that might not be as... untrue and conspiracy theorist crazy as you had once thought it was. You know that Hura and the others have keener senses, so you make sure to wear a perfume (that didn't make you cough and sneeze) but would hopefully keep the pregnancy pheromones from been smelled.

You are very, very glad that Hura had been off on a mission of mercy- needing to help some brothers or cousins who had landed farther away that needed specialist care before being moved, or something.

There was a lot that Hura didn't tell you, or only partially told you. You understand that not knowing everything about your partner is fine. But... sometimes it felt like Hura knew more about you than you know about him, despite your best efforts.

You shiver a little and continue driving and park and stare at the Astartes Run clinic that you knew that Hura frequented working in. Same as that younger Apothecary- Cedric? Hura seemed to have all but adopted the younger marine.

It was very cute, and you had met Cedric more than once, awkward, terribly socially awkward, and he tried his best to be nice. Mostly didn't seem to have a clue on how to interact with you outside of Medical Situations.

He'd eased up over time, slowly at least, you think him and the other 'primaris marines' were terribly curious. Some of them seemed shyer and more skittish. Some were more cheerful and friendly.

You opened the app and tapped on the Astartes run clinic's app and saw what appointments were available for the week. You wonder if it was serendipity or something else.

There is an appointment open in thirty minutes from now. So, you decide to take the slot and put in the details requested. For some reason, when you had thought of going to one of the baby mama clinics that was human run, but something inside of you had murmured that it wasn't a good idea.

After all- if Astarte/human crossbreeding was a thing, why wasn't it known about? Or at least more than as fringe theories that were thought of as silly nonsense?

Unless it was known thing to happen, but for some reason, someone, or something was keeping it secret. You rub your face and let out a weak laugh, shaking your head.

No- that was just crazy talk. There is likely no crazy conspiracy going on where certain people, if they carry a hybrid child get kidnaped and stolen away for whatever reason.

That was as likely to happen as actual Human Killers. So, you get out of your car and head into the Astarte run clinic and fill in the other paperwork that the person at the desk handed you and you fill in your details. Again.

And sit in one of the human sized chairs as you wait to be called back and try not to scare yourself with silly nonsense. You get called back and the person to see you is Cedric.

"Oh! Hello Cedric, ah- Sorry, Apothecary Cedric," you say smiling up at him.

"Hello Miss," Cedric says, his ears a little red as he asks the normal questions.

"I took a home test-" You say licking your lips a little as you wrap your arms around your belly nervously, "For pregnancy, and it said that I was pregnant."

"Oh," Cedric says.

He's able to keep a professional demeanor, but internally he's panicking. "Do you want to be pregnant?"

"I... was surprised," You reply, "But... if the baby is healthy, I want to see the pregnancy through."

"Alright," Cedric says with a nod, "I... am not a specialist with pregnancy and obstetrics, but I will be reading up and researching."

He sends a message and gives her a list of pre-natal foods and pre-natal vitamins as well as exercises and other things that she needs to do in order to have a safe, healthy pregnancy.

[14dayswithyou]

[18 May 2022] (Sorry if this is weird) But what happens if Y/N gets pregnant by Ren, Would he still be there and help them?

Yes, however I don't think Ren would carelessly get you pregnant, no matter the circumstance (despite the lack of protection used in the demo lol >.< that was just lazy writing on my part)

Lil bit spoiler-y, but his own father baby-trapped his wife in order to keep her tied to him, so Ren knows firsthand what it's like to be the product of an unwanted pregnancy. He would never want that for his own child, so he'll definitely stick around and be the best father he can. He'd most likely visit you at the library for some parenting book recommendations, and even set up a nursery in the... "spare room" of his apartment. Just be prepared for this man to fuss over everything you do. Ren would quite literally offer to carry you everywhere, cook all of your meals for you, and even try and convince you to quit your job so that you can just stay at home and relax all day kagjkfs

But in saying that; the darker, more yandere side of him will occasionally resurface a well; because seeing you so full, glowing, and carrying HIS child strokes his possessive side's ego, and ya mans has a breeding kink, so???? lmao

[kurokawaia]

❛ The Balance ❜ ─ 04

Yandere!JugramHaschwalth X Fem!Quincy!Reader

WC; 2.5k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: pregnancy, manipulation (flashbacked?), x fem reader, she/her prounouns used, yandere!, obsession, thoughts on abortion, plans to escape, wanting to abort the baby

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 :: Yandere!Jugram kidnaps the reader with the help of the Bambies. {Y/n} becomes pregnant with his child but wants to abort due to the circumstances, trying to keep it a secret. Jugram finds out, becomes furious, insisting on a marriage (coerced). She escapes to the human world, but Jugram tracks her down, discovers her plan to abort the child, and forcibly takes her back.

part 3 | part 4 | part 5- m.list | bleach m.list

switched to second pov bc first pov makes me tweak a little :(

It has already been a full month. The days ran into one another, and that horrid fear of becoming the objects of those days just stuck in your mind. Jugram would not stop turning up, pulling you close, and whispering possessive words in your ear. Every single night, he would fill you up, driven by his mad obsession to see you pregnant with his child.

You woke up one morning and sensed that you were not okay. A wave of nausea washed over you, and you barely made it to the bathroom before you couldn't hold back anymore and started vomiting into the toilet. The sickness was literally wracking you, convulsing your whole body with each heave. By the time the spasm passed, you sagged to the cool tile of the bathroom floor, trying to collect your breathing.

Hitting you slowly as you sat there, a dawning realization. You counted the days through in your head and your heart sank down and down. It had turned out that your period was late. It wasn't just that the stress or fear had stopped it. You were pregnant.

And then, suddenly you knew, and the full realization hit you as you reached for your stomach. Your eyes filled with tears, and you could only whisper, "What am I going to do?".

It was impossible not to realize your predicament. Jugram's insistence has paid off: you had his child, and with Jugram, there was no way out.

So you had sat there, lost in thought, until the knock on the bathroom door launched you out of your reverie. The handle turned—the door didn't. "What are you doing in there?" Jugram's voice, tight with irritation and concern, filtered through the wooden barricade.

Panic flooded every vessel in your body as you flushed the toilet in haste, trying to straighten out your nerves. Finally, you unlocked and opened it to find Jugram leaning on the wall; his expression was a mix of emotions: confusion, irritation.

"What in hell have you been doing in there with the door locked?" he asked crustily; narrowing his eyes as he looked you over.

"I. I felt sick," you stuttered out, trying to keep your voice level. "I have a temperature or something, I think."

A softening of expression, though still not convinced, settled over Jugram's features. "Why didn't you tell me?" came a voice not so rough now. "You should have called for me."

"I didn't want to be a hassle," you said, looking away from him. "I thought it was nothing."

He approached a bit closer, his face coming very close to yours. "You are not hot," he observed, and looked really hard at your face. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

You could only nod quickly, desperate to keep the truth hidden. "Yes, I'm sure. Just feeling a bit off, that's all."

Jugram sighed, his shoulders slightly relenting. "Alright. But if you feel worse, you tell me immediately. Understand?"

"Yes, yes; I understand," you said, attempting to soothe him. "I'll inform you."

The arms around your body hugged very possessively into the embrace. "You must take care of yourself," he told your ear side, and his warm breath sent tingles right down to your ear. "You matter to me."

You nodded against his chest, and your secret became all the more burdensome. For now it was hidden, but you knew just how much time separated you from Jugram discovering what your condition was.

You clung to him, your mind racing. You had to get away. You could not stand being near Jugram anymore, much less having his child and bringing one into this mess. Hands on you almost every night, advances that just wouldn't stop no matter how much you told him to stop, had you feeling pinned, trampled upon.

"I f-fear I should go to th-the infirmary," you suddenly remarked, pulling back slightly. "Hmmaybe th-they can give me something for this s-sickness."

He paused, his brows drawing low in a severe study of your lips and eyes. "I'll take you," he murmured, not allowing space for argument in his voice.

"No!" You had shouted, and it came out louder, more desperate than you ever would have meant. Jugram's eyes slit a little, and he looked at you again with the surprise, mixed with his irritation.

"Watch your tone," he corrected coldly, then continued in that commanding tone, "I shall not be disrespected."

You swallowed hard, trying to lock your fear away. "I'm so sorry," you said under your breath. "Just. I need some space. I need to do this on my own."

It was in that very moment that Jugram's gaze held into yours before he finally relented with obvious reluctance. "Fine," he said, the ice in his tone palpable. "But you will return immediately after. And if I find out you're lying to me.

The threat dangled heavy in the air, unvoiced but oh so clear. You nodded, tried to keep too much relief from your face. "Okay," you said softly.

Jugram released you, stepping back. "Go, then. But remember what I said."

You nodded your head; the slight tremble of fear was evident in your movement. Turning to leave, you felt Jugram just behind you. His arms, before a second more could pass, went about your waist, pulling you close to him, and you tensed under his touch as your heart pounded in your chest.

"One other thing," his warm breath murmured in your ear. "We need to talk about our future."

The way he said it made your stomach feel bilious, and you struggled not to let your voice shake. "Our future?" you repeated.

"Yes," he said, grip tensing by a fraction. "You and I are going to get married. The only way to make sure our bond is secure. to ensure you stay mine."

You stiffened, head swimming. "But… Jugram, I can't—" "You can and you will." His voice allowed no argument as though he had already decided the next course of action. "You shall marry me, and we will raise our child together. There is to be no argument." Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to find the words. "Please, Jugram, I—"

"Enough," the firmness there in his tone, yet his voice did soften a bit. "You are mine. This marriage will take place, whether you will it or not now."

What neither of you know is that Bazz B has been watching from around the corner in the hallway, his eyes narrowed on the scene. He says nothing, his face frozen in a void emotion, though he watches the scene between you and Jugram.

Jugram tugged you even closer so he could murmur right beside your ear, "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be. Accept your fate, and things will go a lot easier on you."

His words seemed to settle over you like a weight, the realization of your situation growing more and more clear. Not knowing where else to turn your back, you nodded just a little, the motion one of reluctant submission.

"Good," Jugram said, well pleased. "Now, to the infirmary. Remember what I said."

Again, you had nodded and felt his grip on your arm slacken ever so slightly. You turned to leave, and the reality of your situation hit harder than ever. You were cornered, with no way out in view; in fact, the only future you could see was one where you bowed down to Jugram's will.

But as you made your way further down the corridor, you shook your head and in your flickered determination. No, you wouldn't fall into his trap. You would not gladly accept this kind of destiny.

You didn't notice Bazz B standing in front of you, his hand at his chin, deep in thought, until you'd walked straight into him. Instantly, his hands clamped down on your shoulders, tightening but not cruel.

"Hey, watch where you're going," he said, flashing a smirk. "Lost in thought, are we?"

You stepped back; your heartbeat was still erratic from the Jugram situation. "Sorry," you mumbled, trying to step sideways with him.

Bazz B would never let you off that easy. His eyes roamed your face, pausing at the blemishes of fear and steel. "You do look a bit under the weather. His Majesty be givin' ye the short end of things?" Light colors belied an edge of curiosity or something darker beneath them.

"Nothing," you said quickly, darting a look aside from that great, burning interest in you. "I need to get to the infirmary."

Bazz B had cocked an eyebrow and turned his head, giving her a look as if he knew something. "The infirmary, eh? You don't look ill at all."

The simple act of standing near you was enough to make your stomach constrict, the weight of his gaze almost unbearable. "I really am about to be sick," you said, this time being far more insistent.

He laughed; the sound was as soft as it was cold. "Sure, sure. But you remember, you are truly not as invisible as you might think you are. People are watching." His eyes flicked down the hall where Jugram had disappeared. "And not just Jugram."

You swilled it all in, the full moisture of his words. You didn't even answer; you slipped past him, quickening the pace as you were making your way toward the infirmary. You needed to find a way out, break free from the vice of the palace and ever-watching eyes. For now, you had to play along even as every fiber in you screamed for freedom.

You finally arrived at the infirmary, knocking on the door and trying to steady your nerves with a deep breath. When the door slowly crept open ajar, in stepped a kindly looking woman with soothing eyes and a warm smile.

"Hello, dear. How can I help you?" she softly spoke.

Forced a smile on my face and tried to make it as genuine as possible. "I am not feeling well," you said. "I was hoping to get something for the medication."

"Of course, come in," she said, and ushered you through the door into a small, quiet infirmary, redolent with the smell of herbs and antiseptic. She brought you to a chair and sat opposite you. "Can you describe the symptoms to me?"

For just a beat, you hesitated until you found the words. "Nauseous, lightheaded. Just generally unwell."

She nodded and looked at you with a face of concern. "How long have you felt this way?" "About a week," you said, lying so that your story could be more believable. "Are you sexually active?" she asked again, her eyes boring through yours for any signs of discomfort. Your heart raced at this question, but you just nodded. "Yes."

She nodded again, as if fitting a last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. "I do think that we should do a pregnancy test just to make sure," she said.

You swallowed hard. Your mind was racing. "Okay," you said, knowing that you had no choice.

She handed you a small test kit and waved in the direction of the bathroom. You would have complied with the directions when your hands were shaking. A few tight minutes later, you emerged holding the positive test in your shaking hand.

The woman took it from you, her eyes softening with sympathy, as she read the result in front of her. "Congratulations," she said quietly. "You are pregnant."

Your expression must have let that turmoil show, for the woman's face changed to concern. She seriously regarded your eyes, those eyes full of fear, and flickering understanding crossed her face.

"You knew already, didn't you?" she murmured softly.

You only shook your head, unable to speak, and the tears welled in your eyes.

Bending towards you over the table, the woman's voice was hushed and sympathetic. "What do you want to do about the baby?"

You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from crying. "I want," you began, your voice trembling. "Have an abortion," you murmured the words, barely audible, at last giving up and crying.

The woman held your hand in hers. "I understand," she said with a soft voice. "We will talk more about it and raise arrangements. It's important for you to be safe and sure about your decision."

She lapsed into a moment of silence to choose her words wisely. "But then again, there's one thing you should know. Here, we have to take the father's consent for an abortion. He would have to sign a paper agreeing to the procedure."

Her words are like an incoming train: those that it could not stop, while your heart was feeling—sinking—filling with horror. Jugram would never agree to that. Panic began to rise within you as you started to understand what this requirement would mean.

"Is there no other way?" You whispered, your voice quivering. "He won't, he'd not agree to this."

She squeezed your hand. "I wish to God there was another way," she said. Her voice was thick with some real regret. "But that's the rule we have to deal with. I can talk more, and I will help you as much as I can. Perhaps we can even see if there is some way of talking to him—to tell him exactly how you feel and what your situation is"—and here the woman smiled as if she had just seen a way of escape.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face.

"You don't understand. He won't listen."

Before the nurse could say anything further, the door to the infirmary burst open. Jugram stormed inside, his face looking dark and stormy. His eyes snapped toward you with an intensity that made your heart race.

"What's this I hear about wanting an abortion?" Jugram's voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and incising. His being seemed to fill the room, and anger and authority seethed from him. He didn't even let her answer but instead shifted his eyes to the nurse. "Leave us." he ordered, not a tone in his voice that would allow argument.

The color had almost leached from the nurse's face as her eyes kept switching from the realization, and the realization between you and Jugram. She flicked you a sympathetic glance and nodded quickly before promptly exiting the room, leaving you alone with Jugram.

He whipped back to you once more, eyes narrowing, a dangerous glint in them. "Do you seriously think you can just dispose of what belongs to us by right? Or think you can make any decisions about my child without first conferring with me?" He growled low, menacing, filled with this twist of possessiveness.

You stepped back, as fear took a grip on your very being, advancing in the other person's direction. You tried, "I—" but the words got stuck in your throat.

A sharp intake of breath, and then Jugram's hand shot out, grabbed yours, and yanked you forward, sending you staggering to a stop an inch from his face. His gaze speared into yours so deeply it was as if he was trying to smother you with the force of it. "You're mine," he rasped, his voice smothered in angry something dark, something obsessive. Not you or my child are something you just get rid of, I won't have it be so.

He tightened his grip, and you winced, but at the same time you tried to take your mind off the pain. His other hand cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him. "You're mine. Everything about you is mine. And you will bear my child. There is no escape from that."

You fought to pull away, but his hold was unyielding. "Please, Jugram," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "I can't do this. I don't want this."

Jugram's dark expression became even darker. Now his eyes flashed with cold anger. "You do not decide that," he stated quite icily, "You do as you are told. I will not have you or my child disrespected in that manner.

His words were like daggers; touches that put one in place, trapped, and helpless. Oh, you wanted to fight back, but resisting Jugram's will set dire consequences. His obsession, his smothering control, and the thought of what would happen if you defied him set shivers down your spine.

There was a tiny softening, almost not a softening, in Jugram's gaze as he brushed his fingers over your cheek, the touch possessive and tender. "You will come to agree with this," he murmured now, his voice more a blend of possessive affection and cold determination. "You shall be my wife and the mother of my child; there can be no other way.

You winced away from the look in his eyes, torn from keeping your own gaze on meeting his, the tears still falling. Then, oh God, the walls only seemed to close in more on you than before, trapping you immeasurably in Jugram's world.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | bleach m.list

taglist :: @jugramswifeyyy

part 5 will be the last part

[moongothic]

Seen a few people too many discuss the concept of Dragodile Baby 2 and my hot take is that there's no way in hell Crocodile would ever detransition just to go through nine months of horrible dysphoria again, let alone go through pregnancy ever again (or allow Ivankov to even touch him, what if they died and weren't able to trans Croc's gender again afterwards? Hell naw, ain't worth the risk)

But this leaves an opportunity for a Funnier Option:

Dragon wants another baby? Sure, but it's his turn to carry it >:)

[apricote]

[glowbloom]

second trimester

makenzie is trying to keep active but relaxed but she's not sure the baby is a fan of yoga!

[achilleasfury]

from the WIP ask game: 3zun mythical creatures sound FASCINATING please talk more

okay so!!

Currently im very undecided about what specific creature they are, because i keep moving it around lol

But tbe first idea is; Jiggy is half a fox spirit, half human. My notes on rhat are "BIG MAMA MENG is the fox spirit, a-yao is the precious treasure" i think im gonna stick with fox spirit, bc yes, but also?

NMJ was supposed to be like a bull-hybrid or something, but Im making him a minotaur/msht like that now bc I Can. (Shout out to NPC Bluud the minotaur from my dnd campaign who pushed me into fixation on minotaurs and centaurs. Love the guy.) Also i think i really want to give him the labyrinth symbolism. Like the haunted saber flesh cave thing from [nie-centric movie] but specifially for Him.

LXC is a dragon. I love dragons. I have zero (0) notes on him except "DRAGON, MATE MATE MATE" and half a note on egg-children. Love them.

The fic starts with a Xiyao meet cute with vaguely reversed dynamics? A-Yao is getting chased and caught by hunters and Xichen eats them :) what is one supposed to do, when a pretty, hurt fox is near your cave?

>>

It felt like his spine would snap any second. It was bent and twisted in impossible directions. His joints were pulled apart and squished together again, like he was just a tiny stress toy, for someone so much larger than him.

His innards were sloshing around, being made to fit all positions he was forced in.

Voices were screaming at each other, yelling commands, or maybe encouragement. He couldn’t tell anymore, for his ears had long since given up on functioning, trying to shield him from the cruelness of the hunter's words.

A high pitched sound came from somewhere above him.

He tried to get his eyes to open, to figure out which threat would come for him now. His eyelids fluttered, but refused to open correctly, for dried blood was gluing them together.

The sound stopped.

No more screeching.

The hands on his body pulled away and he could feel his body trying to snap together again.

A presence still lingered above him.

It seemed to bask him in shadow and cold, in silence and fear.

Something sharp tapped on his back, somehow caressing his body carefully.

“Are you alright?”

<<

(Again, just a draft And god i hate the word sloshing but i also refuse to look up synonyms out of spite.)

now that i think about it, Hydra!LXC is a fascinating concept. Or Hydra!JGY. He fits a hydra nicely maybe. Or hydra!wrh. Ohh, that'd be funky.

-

After LXC saves MY they spend Yunping-like time tgt in the cave :) cave buddies. They discover the joys of companionship and homoerotic woundtending. Technically also homoerotic companionship but i typed out the word cock once and had to close the tab, so.

i do really wanna get into the nesting instincts of both dragons and *handwave* fox-ish creatures because boy do i love a good nesting.

>>

Meng Yao watched with half lidded eyes as Lan Xichen moved around. The dragon was collecting softer material and piling it atop the bed.

It ranged from blankets, over robes to simply linen sheets, that were softened from being washed a lot.

He carefully made his own way across the room, running his fingertips over the blankets, then the pillows, already at the headrest of the bed. He could feel his own instincts lurk under his skin, begging to be let out. Begging to be let loose, free to arrange, mix and match the fabrics, make his own nest, a safe spot for what was to come.

Slowly, Meng Yao lowered himself onto the mattress, immediately drawing his legs closer to his core, when he was seated.

Lan Xichen shot him a short glance, his gaze softening, impossibly full of affection, before turning away again, just to press a robe - light blue, with fine embroidery - into Meng Yao’s hand.

When the fox spirit regarded the robe further without doing anything with it, the dragon made a slightly unhappy noise. Immediately after he looked like a deer in the flashlights, frozen, surprised with himself.

“My apologies, A-Yao.”, he muttered, gaze falling to the floor in embarrassment. “I simply meant- will you maybe -”, he closed his eyes and took a breath, unsure of his own desires and ability to express them. “Would you wear the robe? I think you’d look splendid in them.”

An almost mean little smile flashed over Meng Yao’s lips, but he nodded and began unceremoniously to strip himself and exchange robes.

“If that is what the almighty Zewu-Jun wishes, who am I to decline?”

<<

(I do feel like i have to add that both exerpts were written like. In september LMAO its been a bit, whoops)

I was originally planning for them to just. Have a neat little fluff thing going on, where egg-nant jgy meets nmj and they bond somehow and *handwaving* wuuh 3zun, but now its more of a. Xiyao finds NMJ in the Labyrinth/Castle thing and either they play curse breaker (which actually would be a fun thing to get into, if one goes into the direction of "dragon blood solves/cures everything" or they get trapped there for a long time all tgt, and its like. Forced proximity but because they all have like. Specific things which i forgot cause its 8pm and my bedtime (/hj i need atleast 10 hours otherwise i hit a downphase agter 3 to 6 hours of being awake LMAO).

they get eggs. Rusong. Children. I need Xichen (who did NOT give birth to the eggs, rip him) to be likem. Snake-style coiled aroind them all the time. But not in snake-egg version, im goinf with hardshell eggs bc snake eggs are so cool and fascinating but im not having them "need to be up and not too close so they dont stick tgt and also dont flip bc otherwise the babies die"- thing going on. Snakes <3 so interesting and cool. Hensheng should be a snake that 'imprints' on MY and gets into hissy fights wirh lxc. They deserve it.

[myladysapphire]

Duty

Robb Stark had kept his oath to house Frey and married you as a result allowing him to win the north’s independence however he now has to live with the sacrifices of duty and must find out if duty is truly the death of love.

word count: 3,992

CW: MDI 18+, slight smut, p in v, angst, arranged marriage, infidelity, childbirth, unhealthy dynamic, toxic relationship? open ending, pregancy, not proofread!

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader

Masterlist | part two

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

Duty.

The word rang in your head as you stared at your husband.

He was yours; you were his but as his eyes wandered across the hall you knew he was not entirely yours.

A mere hour into your marriage and you already felt the strain of an unfaithful husband.

The longing looks he gave her form across the room were the looks you had wished to feel.

You were the youngest daughter of Walder Frey and his sixth wife, Bethany Rosby, and though your older sister Roslin was often called beautiful, you were considered beautiful. It was the one-word Robb stark had said when he saw you, the only word he had said to you beside your wedding vows.

He hadn’t even spared you a glance since the ceremony, most of your conversations had been with his mother, Catelyn. She had been kind, having been the one that choose you as his bride. But you knew it was not your beauty that she chose you for, it helped of course, pleasing Robb if only by a little. You were neither smart, cunning or wise. You were simple normal, with no special skills to sway the eyes of suitors or to persuade your husband. She choose you, the often forgotten daughter, with no influence or means to gain any, for that reason alone.

It was clear to anyone the marriage and alliance was an unwanted one. Especially to your husband and the woman he loved.

He did not dance with you once, offering no words beside the necessary pleasantries, the kindest act he seemed to do was forbade the bedding ceremony. Though there was little bedding done that night, though the act was done, he neither spoke a word to her or stayed the night. And from the whispers she heard the next day it seemed he had gone to her swiftly after.

He had left after that, though he did not say goodbye, or offer to write to you. You were simply left with his mother, set to journey to the Winterfell.

The journey as not long, taking less than two weeks before you saw the peak of Winterfell’s towers. It was a wonderful sight, having never left the twins, and rarely being allowed outside. Seeing the castle of Winterfell was a freeing experience. There seemed to be endless halls, some bare and empty allowing the privacy you had never once had in the twins. The god’s woods was even more magnificent than you had expected, it expanded for acres, with endless trees and countless springs waring both the gods woods and the castle. You felt some peace here, but you had also never felt more alone.

You were looked at as an outsider, talked to as one, and it was clear you were unwanted.

As the moons passed, you felt even more alone, you only heard about Robbs victory through his mother, the one person who didn’t talk to you with resentment.

Then you realised you had yet to bleed since your wedding.

And the word duty once again rang in your head.

You were pregnant, a fact that made you seemed more welcome, people were kinder to you. And yet you felt more alone, suddenly surrounded by people who only cared for you know you cared the heir.

The heir to a man you did not know, the heir to a man who scorned you on the day of your wedding for another woman. He didn’t even have the respect to at least act like a loyal husband.

You had done your duty, but he had not.

For it seemed she was also pregnant.

You were far along in your pregnancy, near eight moons when you heard the news. The news that was accompanied by your husband’s victory. And the norths independence. Yet you felt little joy only envy at the news of her pregnancy. Envy that she gets to know him and he never once tried to let you know him, even in the fleeting hours they did have together.

The next month was lively, the keep full of servants and lords from all over the north preparing for their kings arrival. The planning of feasts and several other northern events to be held. And you did not know what to think, you had long craved to know your husband, but he seemed to want to forget you even existed, and even more so when he arrived, with her on his arm and a babe in hers.

You bowed your head, clutching your belly protectively as if their presence would harm the babe somehow, and greeted him “husband.” You spoke plainly, not in joy, nor as a move of possessiveness towards her.

He nodded his head, going to greet you in the same fashion but stopping himself at the sight of your belly. “wife” he said in shock, as if the very idea of you being pregnant or here for that matter was shocking.

You smiled, a forced smile and spoke softly, “come, husband we have much to discuss”

She had stayed put, looking lost among the faces of Winterfell.

Though you had started out a stranger those first few months, after your pregnancy was announced, though you had at first received false pleasantries to win your favour, a time that made you feel even more alone. Now you felt rather comforted by the halls and the people with in it.

You took your time to win over the people inside the walls, though you never felt that you could truly be yourself ,as you did not know entirely who you were anymore, but none the less, you no longer felt like a stranger, even Catelin had even started to heavily involve you into the running of Winterfell, and her kindness became truer to you, even more so when news of your husbands bastard spread.

Your basic and natural kind behaviour had one the loyalty of many of the people of the north as they sneered at her, shunning her away as they welcomed the victors back from war.

And from the kind smiles you received as you walked the halls to your chambers, chambers the lord and lady of Winterfell had traditionally shared. It had not crossed your mind about were you would know sleep. Never having shared the bed with another, not knowing what it is to share a bed, let alone with a man. It was also your belongings that filled the room, your tapestries and art, your nicknacks and clothes. His had either gone with him or remained in his old chambers, but know she supposed he was fully with in his rights to move in and perhaps even throw her out.

She did not know if he weas cruel enough to do so, or kind enough to let her stay. You only knew of him through the view of others, mainly his mother. An opinion you held   with restraint, seeing as what mother would not love her son.

He stared at you awkwardly once you entered the room, the realisation of never once talking alone coming to light for you both.

“your with child?” he asked after a moment.

You snorted “of course” you said “though I doubt you care much, seeing as you already have a babe”

“i…” he looked down ashamed, “I do care, though….though we barley know one another… I am your husband”

You snorted again, “really? And where exactly has my husband been? Not once have you acted like one, the only husbandly act you had done was to take my maidenhead!” you were mad, for so long you had been nice and kind, acting as if you cared not for his actions and now months of anger was finally spilling out of you.

He coughed awkwardly, clearly not expecting you to say something like that, especially as one of the first things you had said to him.

“i…I you are right?” he said, clearly unsure of what exactly to say, “I should have said something to you, told you of Talisa”

Talisa.

So that was her name.

“or at least have waited until after we were- “

“until it wasn’t our wedding day?

“yes” he looked down, “though I… I will admit I do not regret loving her”

Loving her.

Hearing it hurt, though you supposed you had to right to feel hurt.

You huffed, your eyes downcast, “must you admit it so freely? I understand we do not know each other, that you did not want this marriage, but it is our duty, and I…” you took a deep breath, looking up at him “I want respect, I want to be treated like a wife, and not” you couldn’t bring her self to say it, you were a woman scorned, scorned by your husband and yet he was a stranger, and in his eyes you hadn’t earns the respect you deserved. “…not like-“ you didn’t say it, he did.

“Like a duty?” He looked at you, “because that’s all that you are, a duty” he seemed to sneer “I once desired a marriage of love and then I was told I would have to marry a Frey” he hissed the name, ‘at first I hoped to find love with my wife, a wife I would not little say in, then I met her” you knew he didn’t mean you, how could he? “Talisa” he whispered “I love her more than I thought possible, and then I met you.” He shook his head “ you are beautiful, more so than she I will admit that, but I do not love you, and I very much doubt I ever will.”

“Why?” You asked, stopping him before he could saying anything more.

He swallowed “how can i? I do not know you-“

“Then get to know me!” You interrupted, moving closer to him, “we are to have a child of our own soon, do you not want to know its mother?”

He shook his head, “let me finish.” He spoke sternly, causing you to step back again.”I do not know if I want to know you, I have her and she for months was all I needed…” he stopped talking then, looking at you, as if hoping you would interrupt despite his words.

“And now i… she had a babe, our babe, a girl. And perhaps some part of me feels And perhaps some part of me the guilt of loving her, despite my duty to you.”

You shook your head, “I am your wife, you should feel more-“ you clutched your belly in pain, as a contraction hit.

 “are you alright?” He asked moving to you.

“I have been having them all day, it is nothing to worry about” you said as you shook it off only to be hit with another contraction.

“Are they meant to come that close together?” He asked worry clear in his voice.

You sneered “I don’t know you’re the one with a bastard, weren’t you there went she gave birth?”

“I… no we haven’t been together since the wedding”

You laughed “oh Im so sorry our marriage was such a inconvenience for your mistress”

He said nothing at that, leading you to believe that perhaps he wanted to continue his relationship with her and she was the one to stop it.

“I’ll fetch the midwives” he spoke suddenly, leaving before you could say anything.

Soon you were on your bed, a midwife between your legs telling you to push.

It was just you and them, woman you had never met, wishing you had met your mother so that she could be here for you and not strangers.

And it seemed the gods were cruel as they sent her in, she walked in saying she was a healer and was simply there to help, and by the worried looks the midwives gave her it seemed you needed it.

She went to touch you, and you flinched back.

“No” you whispered.

“The babe is breached” she said hoping to sway you, but the constant shaking of your head caused her to bite her lip a concerned look filling her face “I have experienced with breached briths, I can help you” she insisted.

“No” you simply said again, but this time she ignored your pleas, moving to sit on the bed and take your hand in hers.

You tried to pull your hand back but she only held on tighter, and leaned in.

“Please let me help you” she begged “neither of us want to be in this situation and I am only trying to help you”

“What so the gods aren’t cruel on you as they have been on me?”

She laughed “sort of I suppose, but also because I have caused you enough pain and wish to mend it.”

You looked at her, she was sincere, it seemed she too hated the situation they were both in, trapped feeling like the other woman, “fine” you gritted out.

She nodded “I need to move the babe” she said placing her hand on your belly and started to turn the babe.

The pain was terrible, the want to push and being unable to and the feeling of you babe moving inside of you, and then finally she said you could push, after that is was swift, and before you knew it cries filled the room, and your baby was placed in your arms, a boy, an heir.

“Congratulations” Talisa breathed, “he looks just like you” she said softly, you smiled nodding you head. He did, he lacked all the Tully features Robb ware, though it was clear the stark genes that skipped him wen to the babe, as he had a tuft of Black hair, and a part of you hoped for the grey eyes most Starks bore. But other than that he was every bit yours, your eyes and nose, he was all you.

“Should we fetch the king?” A midwife asked, and you shook you head,

“no, he knows I am here, let him come to me.” You said, as Talisa went to stand, “thank you,” you whispered.

She smiled “just because we are tied in the same way does not mean we must hate one another” she said, looking at you kindly, and you hoped she was right, because you hated the envy you felt towards her.

“We shall speak on this soon, but for now I shall rest” you said, focusing your attention back on your son.

“Of course,” she nodded. Leaving the room.

Robb did not visit you for ten days. No one did really.

It was just you and your son, Cregan. A stark name, though not a common one, you may know little history but the little you did know was about the dance of the dragons, and about Cregan stark. He was your honourable and loyal, traits you would raise your son with.

“Hello” you heard suddenly, as you Cregan was placed in your arms.

It was robb.

“Finally come to meet your child?” You sneered.

“I apologise” he whispered, coming towards you and looking down at your child. “I had matters to deal with”

“of course” you nodded not that you could see how he had not once found the time to visit you and your child.

“I here you named him Cregan” he spoke, softly smiling down at your son.

“yes, I thought it to be a good stark name.”

He nodded, caressing the babes head. “I had hoped to name him Eddard, or Ned…. After my father” he said softly.

“Was that what you were going to name your daughter had she been a boy?” You asked, though your tone was neither dripped with envy or anger, you had said it so nonchalantly, as if you cared not for the answer.

Both the question and your behaviour confused him, he did not know what to make of you, your personality, or how to even start a marriage with you. Or even if he wanted to have one with you. “Yes” he mumbled, “though we ended up naming her Minisa, after my mothers mother” he spoke with such a tenderness, and you realised you could never compete with her, no matter how kind she was, you hated her.

Hated that she was the only reason you could never know your husband, who he was and what he liked. How he looked when you woke up beside him or how it felt for him to hold you lovingly. Your heart broke at the future you would never have.

“Leave” you demanded, pulling Cregan away from Robb. As if Robb being close to him would hurt him the same way Robb being apart from you, had hurt you.

“What?” He asked in alarm.

“I can’t do this” you said, “I can’t, every moment of our marriage has been shadowed by here, I am your wife, not her”

“gods, I know that, and I hate it” he angry spoke back, “we both know neither of us had a choice in who we marry!”

“but you have a choice in who you love, why not try and love me!”

“Because you’ll never be her” He pulled back completely, “I do not want to know you, I only ever wanted her and I will only ever choose her.”

“then leave!” you spoke as tears fell down your face, “I will move out and into one of your over holdings as soon as I am able, and we will not have to put up with this farce any longer”

“good.”

And just like that any hope for a marriage was lost, your son would only know your face and not his fathers for years to come.

As the years passed your rarely saw your husband. With Cregan now five, all hopes of giving him another sibling had disappeared, as you and Robb could scarcely spend longer than a few minutes in a room together.

And though Cregan got along well enough with his siter, Minisa, a part of you resented her. Resented how she was Robbs whole world and Cregan wasn’t.

perhaps it was because you had pushed him away so thoroughly.

That your relation to his heir caused him to resent your son in turn.

And perhaps he hated you more now that Talisa had passed.

The birth of their second child had killed both mother and babe.

Robb had raged.

For months he seemed to only act in anger.

And then it all stopped.

He seemed to return to normal, expect he know insisted he do his duty to you.

Duty.

You hated the word.

Especially as you lay now on the bed, his cock thrusting in and out of you and your moans filling the room.

There was no emotion but hate in the way he fucked you. As if you were the very reason for her death.

As if you were the guilty one in the marriage, when all you had ever done was your duty. As if you existing had caused her death, as if you had killed her and not the winter sickness.

He seemed to fuck you as if you had killed her, pounding into you at a relentless pace.

There was no part about it that could make it seem like he was making love to you.

Not as he bent you over a desk, or pushed you to the floor and hicked up your dress.

Or as he barged into your room as your maids were preparing you for bed, dismissed them and instantly started fucking you.

You hated it. But you also loved it.

Hated how gave you every opportunity to top him, and not once had you.

You happily let him fuck you.

Enjoying the touch of your husband.

The pleasure of sex.                     

“fuck” he groaned as he came, releasing you from his vice like grip.

He rested his head against yours, catching his breath.

It was rare he fucked you on your back, often choosing you to face away from him as he fucked you.

You pulled back from him awkwardly, waiting for what always happened next.

Him leaving.

But this time he didn’t leave.

Perhaps it was because it had been over a year since her death, over a year since her name was mentioned.

Perhaps he had somehow forgiven you for whatever crime you had committed against him in his head.

He had been more…pleasant?

He had been able to spend time in your company without shouting or yelling at you for no reason.

He had had spent more time with his son, though perhaps that had been because you had taken his daughter under your care.

It hurt almost to care for her but apart of you loved her. Having always wanted a daughter for yourself, and for so long believing you would only ever have your son, Cregan. She was the image of her father, with little trace or her mother on her features. She was quite and shy though she liked you. Perhaps it was because Talisa had always been kind to you, at least to your face.

“the maester tells me you are pregnant” he spoke, as he moved to lie beside you.

“what?” you asked in shock. You had only just found out for yourself this morning.

He sighed, turning to look at you, “he said you were pregnant, about three moons” he said as he moved to make himself comfortable in your bed. “i..yes I am…I only just found out this morning”

“as did I”

It was awkward, neither of you knew how to talk to the other. Neither of you had cared to try until now.

you too moved to make yourself comfortable, tucking your self into bed, and turning your back to him. He sighed before moving towards you, blowing out the candle and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“what are you doing?” you asked.

“sleeping with my wife” he said as if it was obvious. You had never shared a bed with a man, and feeling him pressed against you felt strange. It wasn’t comforting, nor was it uncomfortable.

“oh”

“oh?” he mimicked.

“why?”

“well…we are husband and wife it is time we started acting as such”

You huffed, “ we have been husband and wife for nearly six years now and not once have you slept in my bed.

“well that’s going to change” he said, and before you knew it you were both fast asleep.

The next few months had been so different from the previous years.

Though you had not stopped your previous duties as lady of Winterfell. It seemed now with Robb instant on being a dotting husband you had more duties.

He had moved into your chambers, though you supposed they were rightfully his.

He insisted on taking all your meals together, walking in the gods woods every day together.

He had become kind, and for those few moons you thought perhaps you could grow to tolerate his misgivings and be husband and wife.

Then he called you, “Talisa”

He had said it in passing, not even noticing it at first. And then he saw how your froze and realised his mistake.

He had sighed your name in apology.

But you had ignored him. And realised that perhaps it would be better, not to have hope that you were more than a duty to Robb.

That to him you would never be her. Never be the wife he wanted, only his duty.

It didn’t matter how much he liked to play pretend. Giving you flowers and sweet kisses on your cheek. Deep down you knew you could never forgive him, never find the love and happiness you had long craved, that you deserved.

That you would be a wife of duty, and love was always the death of duty, and duty is the death of love.

And he would never stop loving her.

authors note: this took me 3 weeks to write because i couldn’t figure out to make it have a happy ending. it was far to angsty and i couldn’t justify her forgiving him.

taglist

@now-i-have-a-new-obsession @apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld RAYNETARGARYEN2 @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos

to be added to taglist

[mochinomnoms]

Shrimpy Chronicles: First Mating Season

NSFW!Jade Leech x Shrimpmer!Reader X Floyd Leech

Synposis:

Maybe Floyd was being prophetic when he called you ‘Little Shrimpy’. “But I’ve noticed, you’ve been getting pudgier lately, and feverish. Do you have a mating season, amor mia? I wasn’t aware if shrimps did.” She’d been pointing out your latest symptoms of late. Sensitive, soft and plush, hot, and red-cheeked, like your body was preparing you for something. It didn’t help that the waters had been warm of late, or that your husbands had been extra attentive with your meals and treats. And their attention. Especially their attention. The gold wedding bands and pearl ring on your left ring finger probably helped with that, though.

[wc} - 6,873

[cw/tags] - afab!gn!reader, merfolk-sex, breeding kink, prehensile dicks, twins stated to have both sets of sex, double-penetration in one hole, pregancy mentioned at end

[notes] - womp womp, this is my first smut fic, pls be nice. also i cracked and am shrimp-brained i love shrimp reader so fun to write!!!!

If you had to decide between going back home, and leaving Twisted Wonderland, by this point you’d happily stay here for the rest of your days! 

The gold wedding bands and pearl ring on your left ring finger probably helped with that, though. You were admiring them as your mother-in-law Narissa Leech swam to your side, her tail brushing against yours. 

She was a beautiful mermaid, long and slender with an aquamarine tone to her skin, and a speckled snowflake pattern. Her eyes were a bright yellow-gold, and gleamed at you with delight. 

“Mia cara nuora, whatever is going through your head? Still getting used to all this?” She gestured to your legs. Or your tail, you suppose. 

You’d gotten married to the twins just two months ago, and made the commitment to become a merperson, just like them. The first second of your honeymoon consisted of you permanently becoming a merperson, gaining scarlet scales that covered your lower back and hips, clustering into your shrimp tail and white stripe from the hips to the tip of the tail. Between that and the shrimp legs on their hips and upper tail, it was quite ironic that you ended up becoming a cleaner shrimp.

Maybe Floyd was being prophetic when he called you ‘Little Shrimpy’. 

“Yeah, it’s weird. Being in your own body when it wasn’t always your body. I think? I don’t know, it’s strange.” Despite never having 8 legs and a tail, they just felt surprisingly familiar and instinctual. 

“Oh nuora, you’re a natural! Don’t you worry, if my sons could pick up human movements, you’ll be like a true-born merfolk.” She cooed, curling her arm around yours and tugging you along back to your home.

“But I’ve noticed, you’ve been getting pudgier lately, and feverish. Do you have a mating season, amor mia? I wasn’t aware if shrimps did.”

She’d been pointing out your latest symptoms of late. Sensitive, soft and plush, hot, and red-cheeked, like your body was preparing you for something. It didn’t help that the waters had been warm of late, or that your husbands had been extra attentive with your meals and treats. And their attention. Especially their attention.

You’d been filled with the need to be taken care of by your mates. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that you’d been given a mating season with your merform. And with how touchy your husbands had been, they were quite aware, and anticipating the start of your season. 

“I think…I might.” You sheepishly admitted, embarrassed to discuss such an embarrassingly intimate fact. She seemed unbothered and content. 

“Oh how lovely, I have been looking forward to the possibility of becoming a grandmother!” She giggled, delighted at the thought. “You know, morays always have such small broods, but shrimps always have plenty of fry. Will you be considering giving me plenty of grandbabies?”

You flustered and stuttered at the idea of having babies, let alone many. It wasn’t something you were discontent with, in fact the thought of making Mini Yous and Jades and Floyds. 

You wonder how many times you’d have to go to give you your first. Would you be easy to knock up? Or would you need to be fucked over and over to ensure their seed took? 

You had to shake your head to settle down the heat in your cheeks and belly, making you feel all sorts of ways. 

“We’ll see Mama Narissa, I can’t say I’ve thought too much about it.” You lied.

Narissa laughed, twirling you around in a little dance. By the time she stopped, you were so dizzy that you couldn’t swim straight, pushing against her for support. 

“Oh darling, trust me, my boys certainly have. Don’t let them rough you up too much, cara, they’ve always been insatiable!” She laughed at your darling cheeks, teasing you as she took you to the rest home. 

She always swam you to your home, bringing you back from daily mother-in-law excursions. Narissa would take you out to the local town and introduce you to the folks, saying that it would be a good idea to make friends in town and start networking as the newest member of the Leech family. You were…faintly aware of the type of reputation your new family had, and while neither Jade nor Floyd cared about pushing you to maintain any sort of image. 

While their sons might not care (in fact the twins seemed content to just keep you to themselves), but their parents, Narissa and Bruno Leech, did. Narissa scolded her sons when they tried to hide you away, switching shifts at work so that you’d never be alone. 

It was her who insisted that you go out to town, meet with associates, and get you established in your spot in the family. The twins quickly gave in, as few could argue with the head of the Leech family.

You’d been surprised to hear that Narissa was the family head, or Donna, as you’ve heard others call her. From your conversations, Jade and Floyd had made out their father to be the one in charge, while their mother was overprotective and stayed home. While she was protective, she knew many people of various “backgrounds��, and spoke and held herself in a manner that demanded respect. 

Her husband, Bruno, was much more wry and relaxed compared to her, though he’d been the main liaison between Narissa and any associates. He also liked going to the surface for meetings and outings, unlike Narissa who preferred to stay in the sea. 

So, she’d been more than happy to drag her sons to work under their father, while she took you under her wing. You’d been suspicious, and felt that you could safely assume that the Leech parents were grooming you and their sons to eventually take over their positions. 

You appreciated it, since it kept you busy. Plus, you got to see how people really live under the sea, or the Leeches at least. Based on how spoiled the twins were, you were a bit surprised at the lack of servants of any sorts at home, except a small school of cleaner wrasses that immediately scattered off at the wave of your mother-in-law’s hand. 

The home for you and the twins was settled closer to the Rosarian reef, rather than the Northern Coral deep sea. In fact, the home was a coral bed built around a sea cave, apparently a luxurious real estate under the sea! Though, the main appeal was that it was close to a beach on one of the Queendom of Roses’s islands, which you visited to meet with Ace, Deuce, and Grim. 

“Oh, Mama Narissa? Perhaps we can go up to the surface next week when we go out?” You swam into the kitchen together, the meal that Narissa had helped you prepared earlier on the counter. 

“My friends are coming to the beach to visit me, I thought that you might like to meet them?”

Narissa wrinkled her nose, but smiled politely, “I’ve never been a fan of the surface, but I suppose it can’t be helped. I’d love to meet your human friends.”

She clapped her webbed hands, gesturing to the food on the counter as she twirled around in the water. 

“Now, let me show you how to make this dish. The boys loved it as kids, I think you humans called it sushi on the surface. Come one!”

You two had made it home just an hour shy of your husbands’ return. Narissa was diligent in making sure you’d always be able to greet your husbands’ return with sweet words and sweeter kisses. 

And they did enjoy it so, she stayed for 30 minutes to help you finish preparing the supper for the evening, then taking her leave so you could have some alone time for yourself up the remaining 30 minutes. Floyd cooed about having a cute stay at home spouse to come home too, while Jade delighted in the domesticity of it all. 

But between your earlier conversation with Narissa, and the burning need growing in your abdomen, you were yearning for your husbands’ touch and love. 

Narissa noticed before she left, cooing at you like she would a baby. “Oh nuora, are you alright? Maybe go lie down and rest. I’ll send a text to the boys that you’re feeling unwell.”

“Mm, okay…that be…nice…” You clumsy swam past her, clutching to the walls with your hands as she gently grabbed you by the waist. With Narissa as your guide, she helped you lay down on the love seat in the living room. You think she might’ve had a mischievous smile on her lips, but you couldn’t tell as you wearily curled into the cushions to nap. 

You think you could make out her mumble something about ‘babies’ and ‘grandchildren’, but you’d passed out by the time you processed her words. 

The next you woke up, there was a slender hand brushing through your hair, which still retained your color and cut from when you were human. You made out the familiar voices of Jade and Floyd, the latter right above you, as the former sounded like he was in another room. 

“Mmmph, Flooyd? Isss that you?” You murmured, reaching out blindly for Floyd as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Heya, look at my little Shrimpy.” Floyd cooed, sinking down to be face level with you, pushing his forehead against yours. “Mama said you weren’t feeling great. Did you need us?”

Floyd spoke with a baby-voice, nuzzling against you with delight. The scent of salt and lemons, something you’d associated with Floyd, filled your nose as you happily sighed, throwing your arms around his neck to bury your nose against his skin. Floyd made a sound of surprise, though he immediately clutched onto you in response.

“Aw, cute! Hey Jade!” Floyd was giggling as Jade quickly swam back into the room carrying a potion in his hands. His gaze softened, seeing you curled into Floyd’s arms. 

“Oh, look at our sweet pearl.” Jade sighed, smile growing as he watched you pull away from Floyd to open your arms up to him.

“Jaaaade! You’re home too! Give me a kiss~” you weren’t sure when you’d become so blunt and bold. Normally, you’re more reserved, if a bit teasing, with your affections, the twins loved making a game out of who could fluster who first. But right now? You felt…different. 

Your mind felt like it was floating out of your body, watching everything happening from third-person. All of your senses felt more aware, from the sounds of the water currents outside, to the beating of your heart, to the humming of your skin. It was like you were both drunk, high, and yet neither at all. 

None of that mattered, though, not when Jade so sweetly embraced you, the dark markings and freckles on his skin glowing as he teasingly peppered kisses over your flushed cheeks as Floyd did the same to the back of your neck. 

“Aw, why didn’t Shrimpy ask me for a kiss too?” Floyd whined, huffing as you dragged Jade’s lips to yours. He glowed too, pretty like an aurora. He grazed the points of his teeth over your neck, making you whine and shiver. 

“I’m—mmh—sorry, Floyd!” You separated from Jade to tilt your head back, moving one hand to cup Floyd’s cheek. “Kiss! Lemme kiss you!”

Floyd eagerly met your lips with enthusiasm, moving with Jade to sit on the love seat again in his lap, facing Jade.

You hadn’t been intimate since your transformation, so it was slightly embarrassing to be curled into the cushioned shell loveseat, sweaty, lascivious, and sensitive at your husbands’ touches. 

Floyd hummed against your lips as he tangled his long tongue against yours, Jade busy with fluttering your chest and tummy with wet kisses. 

“Darling, look at you, how messy and sweet you look! You’ve missed our touches. You’re craving them, aren’t you?”

Jade chuckled against your belly button, something you kept from being a human, and kissed it. He eyed your tummy, the skin there and the slight translucent sheen to it. 

It wasn’t off-putting, not to them. Why many fish in the sea had see-through skin and muscle, allowing you to see their skeleton and organs. Yours was quite tame compared to those creatures, the rest of your body retaining either a pink or red opaque hue, with only your lower abdomen and stomach having the translucent skin. 

“Of course they have Jade, they’ve gone months without their tummy bein’ filled up.” Floyd purred, moving away from your panting mouth and unfurling his tongue, dragging it down your chest to your navel. “And their body is telling them to breed. Just look at how puffy their slit is getting~”

You whined as both of them moved to direct their heady gaze to your cunt, hot and throbbing for attention. The scales around your slit had been slowly pushed to reveal lips and a clit, trembling under Jade’s hot mouth. Another whine was drawn from your throat, his tongue dragging on the skin around your lips. 

Your entire body felt like it was melting, all the need and heat from this week amounting on top of you like the earth on Atlas’s shoulders. But now? It was all crashing down on you like your body had been waiting for this point. For the touches of your mates along your body, claw tipped fingers just grazing around where your hips and slit were. 

It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been touched, or touched yourself, in weeks with the confusion of a new body. Though, it seems that the twins were all too happy to help you learn mer anatomy. 

“Jade! Please, I need you to touch me, lick me, drink ‘n eat me up—AH!” You shrilly gasped as he shoved his tongue in your hole, his long tongue rubbing against your walls. You arched your back at the sensation, an intoxicating spike of energy crawling up your spine. Jade drank in your juices, humming as he tapped your g-spot with the tip of his tongue. 

The sensation was quickly becoming like a drug, spiking as Floyd took a long, slow and coveted lick to your clit until he reached the tip of his tongue, flicking it as he drew it away. He giggled at your yelp, staring into your eyes as he started sucking on your clit, suckling like a baby to their mother’s teat. 

And he certainly was sucking the life out of you, keening as you shook from an orgasm that blended into a paralyzing stream of pleasure. 

Yet, you still felt like you were missing something, as the heat in your belly hadn’t dissipated. Rather, it felt like it was getting stronger, begging for something to fill the empty void in you.

So it was helpful that neither twin cared for leaving their meal, waiting for you to either push their heads away, or for them to get bored. You of all people knew that they have a hard time getting bored from things they find interesting, and you were certainly captivating.

Their tongues worked nonstop, Jade tongue-fucking your sweet spots as Floyd made a particularly hard suck to your button, making you buck your hips against his. In fact, they seemed content to just switch places, Jade feeding on your pearl and Floyd pushing his tongue so far in that you’re sure he brushed your cervix. 

Moans and cries freely left your lips, as several smaller orgasms rocked your body. Your chest heaved as you gasped, your gills filling with water. The twins giggled, Jade kissing up your body and Floyd dragging his tongue through your slit. 

“Hmm, Floyd. Look at how needy they are.” Jade melted into your embrace as you wrapped your arms around him, placing wet kisses against his cheeks and lips. “How cute, who knew that they’d get so desperate when in their mating season! No wonder Mother was pushing for us to get home so quickly.” 

Floyd cackled, nuzzling against your chest as he squeezed you against him. “Yeah! No wonder! Do you wanna be filled?”

“Oh, of course they do~” Jade grazed his teeth along your ear, tugging it before letting go to whisper in your ear, “They want to be bred silly! Don’t you, my love? Just ask, and I’ll fill you up over and over again. I’ll fill you up until you’re utterly full, and then eat my cum out of you just to fill you back up again~ Do you like the sound of that—ow, Floyd, that hurts.”

Floyd had reached up to pull at Jade’s strand of hair, a chittering growl reverberating through his chest as he hissed, “Don’t be selfish! They’re my mate too!”

Sleekly, Floyd slid up your body to take his place on your other side, pulling at your chin with his cheek. He let out a high-pitched whine as he did, his words muffling. 

“You want me to fill you up too, right?” Floyd pouted, smacking ticklish kisses to your face and neck. “Floydie will give ya lots of baby Shrimpys! How many do you want? Two? Think we can get three in one go?”

Your body was getting hot again, and you felt empty. There was a desire to be stretched out around your husbands’ dicks.

“Ah, I want—I want,” You cried, moving your hips up, grinding against the water. “I wanna be filled! Both! I wan’ both of you in me!”

Both of them froze and shared a look, their sudden stillness making you feel upset, as you began babbling half-coherent begs and sobs.

“Aw, (Name). Don’t cry.” Floyd shushed you, rubbing his nose against yours as he smiled. “It’s not that we don’t wanna. We really, reeally wanna give you what you want!”

“Mm-hm.” Jade hummed, cupping your cheek as he drew your gaze to him. “Yes, of course we do. But you’re just a bit small, darling.”

Floyd and Jade had always been big, especially in their merforms. And even as a merperson, you didn’t even reach half of their length. There was no question that their dicks would be equally proportional.

“We don’t want to end up breaking you, love.” Jade breathlessly murmured against your ear. Though, from the heady tone of his voice and the grip he had on your hips, you were sure that was a lie. 

“Unless you ask us. Then we’d be happy to.” Floyd cooed into your other ear, hand wandering down to caress your still slick slit, using your juice as lube to rub your clit. “Ask us. We’ll take real good care of ya after, we promise~”

It wasn’t even a question, more a matter of you coughing up your ‘yes’, but your voice was caught in your throat as they resumed their movements. 

Jade took delight in marking up your neck with hickies and suckling your nape, his free hand squeezing your chest and slipping under your cover to pinch your nipple. 

“Ah! I want—fuck!” You gasped as Jade started fondling your chest and suckling from your nipple. “Shit, Jade! Mmh!”

Between his mouth on you, and Floyd whispering sweet, arousing words into your ear, asking you, “don’t you want us to make you feel good? To fill you up?”

Jade hummed in agreement from your chest, tugging it with his teeth before resuming his sucking. You rapidly nodded your head, opening eyes that you didn’t realize were closed. Two gold eyes were watching your expressions. 

Floyd continued being the prettiest devil on your shoulder. “Just say ask. Ask. And say ‘pleeeease’, say ‘Floooyd! Jaaaade! Fuck me pleeeease!’”

Mimicking your voice, Floyd made mean, mocking moans into your ear. You’d be offended if it didn’t make you hot. You’ll fuck him first, then complain later.

A pinch to your clit, and a nibble to your nip, and you were arching and walling, “GAAAH! FLOYD! JADE! FUUUCK ME! PLEEEEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASPLEASEPLEASE—”

You yelped mid beg as Floyd let out his raspy laugh, picking you up in a bridal carry as he zoomed to the bedroom. He’d shoved you into the sheets, adjusting so that your head was hanging off the edge of the soft coral bed. 

The taller twin settled to grind his navel and slit against yours, groaning as his cock was coaxed to slip out to your sticky opening. Jade, gently and firmly guiding your head, pushed his own softening slit to your lips, sighing as you licked around the slit. 

Your own tongue dragged its entire length along Jade’s lips, the salty taste of this slick making your eyes close in bliss. It took but a few more licks for his long cock, green and pink-tipped like a flower, to come out. It followed your tongue and was easily coaxed to thrust into your mouth, prehensile and wrapping around your tongue. 

It was gentle, only thrusting softly into your mouth, until it shuddered around your moaning mouth, Jade groaning from the vibrations. Floyd’s own dick had made its way out, pushing against your tight hole and slowly filling you up. You swear, it took up your entire womb with its size, rapidly thrusting and pushing against your walls with the intent to breed. Floyd seemed unaffected, beaming in delight at your muffled cries and begs as he grinded against your clit. 

“Haah, Jade! Our shrimp’s pussy feels sooo good! It’s so tight and soft.” Floyd took heaving breaths as made out with you messily, groaning and giggling into your mouth. “It’s like they wanna make sure my seed fills them up~”

You cried out, muffled moans filling the air as you tried nodding in agreement. You’d tried answering against Jade’s dick, but only served to further stimulate him. 

“Mmh, and it’s like they want to milk my cock. Greedy, greedy darling. You’re so—hah—lucky we love spoiling you.”

Jade thrusted harder against your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat, making your gag and choke. Even so, you relaxed and let him face-fuck you with no remorse. It wasn’t like you needed air anymore, not with the gills on your neck.

Besides, it wasn’t Jade fucking your mouth that took the oxygen from your lungs, but way Floyd stretched you out and rubbed his own clit against yours. 

“You feel that? You feel how good you're making me feel? Yeah~” Floyd purred, roughly grinding against you as he breathlessly laughed. “Making me feel all sortsa ways, like I could keep fucking his hole of mine forever~”

One of the first delights you learn before transforming was that, as eelmers, your darling husbands were built with both sets of sex, their slit hiding away their hastily growing cocks and tight openings. You wondered if you could return the favor and eat them out instead, the thought of a trembling Jade and keening Floyd as you feasted utterly delicious. 

“Now Floyd, what did you say earlier?” Jade asked, pushing your hair away from your face as he kept at his meal. “Don’t be selfish! They’re my mate too!”

Jade mimicked Floyd’s pouting tone, mocking his brother with a shit-eating grin as Floyd growled, clawed hands digging into your hips and upper tail to fuck you even harder, making you bounce against the bed and Jade’s dick. 

A particularly rough thrust against your cervix brought you back to the moment, Floyd’s teeth digging into your right shoulder as he suddenly came in you. 

His cum was thick and filling, dripping from your hole from the sheer amount Floyd busted into you. And as Floyd pulled away, you pulled away from Jade and looked down to see inches and inches of his dick leaving your throbbing cunt. You weren’t even sure if you came with him at this point,  all the euphoric bliss you’d been feeling blending in. 

What you were sure of was Floyd’s length still being hard and firm, moving around his hand as he pumped it. That fact that he was still able to keep going made you ravenous as you wiggled your hips at him, hoping that Floyd would keep going. 

You needed to feel fuller. You needed to take up as much cum in you as possible. You needed to be bred like a good little mate. At least until you could return the favor. (You pushed that last thought to the back of your mind, confused as to why your sex-filled brain conjured that.)

“Hey Jade.” Floyd ignored your cranky whines, you’d be filled up again soon anyway. “Switch spots with me. I wanna feel their mouth, besides, our mate is nice and tight, ‘n squeezes you juuust right~”

Floyd giggled, his signature laugh, slinking up your body as Jade snaked down, dragging his hands down your body as he did. Jade was quick to take his spot, his dick slick with his precum and your spot slipping into you with little resistance. 

Both were big, but Floyd was slender and longer, whereas Jade was shorter and much thicker, stretching you out to the point that you were sure you’d be ruined for anyone else. As if you’d ever want anyone else. 

Jade was ever so gentle with you, slowly pushing the tip of his cock as he used Floyd’s cum as lube, his girth filling you up deliciously. You groaned as you felt the cum in you push out of your hole to make room for Jade, until he eventually made it to the hilt. His length was pressing against your walls, swirling in you, as Jade started grinding his slit against you. 

“Damn!” Jade cursed, gasping as he pressed his head against your chest, teething at the skin. “You’re right, Floyd, they feel so tight and soft against me! I could get drunk from your walls, my love~”

Obsessed as he’s always been with your chest, Jade took to occupying his mouth with your chest, back to suckling you like a baby. It was like he was opening for milk to come out and fill his insatiable tongue with your taste. 

“Yeah! Can you imagine how much tighter they’ll be when we both fill them up? Haha! You’ll be begging to have our dicks in ya forever, our cute lil’ shrimp!” 

Floyd, rougher than his brother, pulled at the hair in your scalp, firm but soft, and pushed his dick towards your mouth. He threw his head back, sighing as you took a long, slow lick from the tip of his cock to the base. It trembled against your tongue at the stimulation, surprising as it tried wrapping around the muscle before shoving itself into your mouth. You choked as Floyd began pistoning into your mouth, cackling as little tears dripped from your eyes. 

Between his fast pumps, and Jade’s tortuously slow thrusts, you were slowly being driven insane.

“Ngh, d-did you just cum again?” Jade stuttered, pulling away from your teat with a string of saliva connecting you two. “I felt it…I’m close, you know. Mmmph…Want me to fill you up again my love?”

“Mmmm! Mmmphmm!” You cried against Floyd’s dick, tongue massaging his length as you sucked. You’d managed to keep rolling your hips against Jade, the stinging effects of overstimulation starting to take hold.

“Ha! I think they want it Jade~” Floyd cackled, finally shoving your face against his groin, forcing you to swallow around his dick. “Give it to ‘em, if our shrimp wants us to breed them, then we oughta make them happy~”

A chilling growl left Jade’s mouth as he clenched his teeth into your left shoulder, near the crook of your neck as his prehensile dick pounded into, practically fucking your womb, like it wanted to nestle in and never leave. 

Your tummy felt hot as Jade filled you up, finally moving your head away from Floyd to cough and gasp at the feeling. Managing to lift your head, you saw a bulge on your stomach where Jade was filling you up with his own cum, right along Floyd’s. 

“Aha, I’m so full!” You moaned, giggling deliriously, all thoughts from your head fucked out, as you rubbed the bulge. “It feels so goooood~” 

The heat coursing through your veins has dissipated quite a bit, now a comfortable hum and tingling on your skin instead of an insatiable need to get fucked. You beamed as Jade, still in you, leaned down to kiss you sweetly, his hands cradling your face as he nipped your nose. 

“We’re glad, aren’t we Floyd?” Jade purred, grinning down at you with a hungry look still. You made a noise of confusion as he moved away, rolling to his side. Whimpering as a few inches of his length slid out as he did, but he stopped, keeping most of it in. Looking down, you could make out the pearlescent cum of your husbands leaking out of you, thick and viscous. 

“Hmm, yeah.” Floyd sighed, tracing along your pudgy tummy, briefly squeezing down to watch more cum leak from your hole. “Let’s fill them up even more!”

“Huh?” You pushed yourself up on your elbows, blinking rapidly as Floyd took your otherside and positioned his dick against your still stretched out cunt. 

“You said you wanted both of us in you, right?” Floyd started pushing, long tongue licking over your cheek, down your neck, and slathering over the bite he made. “You wanted both of us at once. We’re giving you what you want.”

Your brain function was still yet to completely return, as you barely managed to process his words at the last second. “Wait, wha—AAAAH!”

Your hands went flying up to their hair as Floyd pushed in against his walls and Jade’s dick, stretching you beyond comprehension. Pulling at their teal strands, you could hear both of them ominously chuckle, Floyd’s hand going back down to your nub as Jade’s lips made their way home to your chest to feed. 

“Fuck! Too much! Too much! Aaaaahahaha!” You gasped, laughing as the heat returned to your belly as your eyes glazed over. “Ooooooh shit! F-floyd, Jaaade…uwwwaaah…”

Throwing your head back, you started letting out open-mouthed moans, blubbering as you started speaking nonsense to your mates. Any coherent thought was yanked from your brain and tossed out like garbage as they started moving in you, lengths pushing up against all your most deliciously sensitive spots, tips hitting your cervix like they were fighting to take up the space in your womb first. 

“Aahaha! Look at you! Fucked stupid~” Floyd lovingly nuzzled against your temple, kissing your forehead as he continued his mean words. “Do ya like it? You gonna cum again? Cum as much as you want~ Only we can make you feel this good~”

Floyd cackled again, bringing your head back up to make out with your drooling mouth, his tongue tangling with yours. 

“Mmm, morays can go for hours you know,” Jade cooed, cheeks flustered and eyes drunk on your body as he flicked your nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Do you want us to keep going? Use you? Make sure our little mate is filled with plenty of seed for their eggs? Do you want to keep getting fucked~”

“Yesh!” You cried, muffled against Floyd’s sloppy kiss. “Fuck me more! I wa-wanna feel your cocks here!”

You placed your hand over your navel, feeling the bumps of their dicks as they pounded against your insides. Pulling away from a whining Floyd, you looked down at your belly, and gasped at the sight. 

You could just barely make out the blue, glowing lines on their dicks as they moved in you, the outline just visible under the transparent skin of your belly. You could even make out the pearly white sheen of their cum filling you up under the skin. The sight shocked you into coming, tossing your head back as you panted for oxygen. 

“Sho good! It feelsh shooo good! Don’t stoooooop~” You were slurring as you bawled your eyes out, shaking as you came once again for the nth time that night. Yet they didn’t stop, not from your overstimulated tears, nor your walls tightening against them.

“Floyd! Jade!” You gasped, your insides feeling raw and like they were burning, finally being pushed past your limits. “W-wait, I can’t…I just…I just came—FUCK!”

Your husbands pulled you up, wrapping their tails around yours and each other to be closer to you, as Jade forced you to look down at your extending belly and their lengths moving in and out. As soon as one slipped out, the other thrusted in, ensuring you were never empty. Unfortunately, as they did, more of their cum was slipping out as well, making Floyd whine. 

“Aw, Jade! Look at how our Shrimpy is wasting our seed!” Floyd pulled on your ear with his sharp teeth, playfully chittering in your ear. 

Jade clicked his tongue in disappointment, bumping his forehead against yours, “How wasteful, we’ll just have to go a few more hours then, to make sure our seed takes. Can you handle it, my love? You can, can’t you?”

You blinked open your eyes, the algae lamp on the nightstand providing a dim blue light to the room. Yawning, you tried stretching your arms, wincing at the pain that shot up from your lower back. 

“Mmh? (Name)? You wanna go again?” you heard Floyd sleepily giggle to himself, spooning against your back as his tail was wrapped around your fins. “Kinda tired, but I’ll go again for my shrimp, hehe~”

You reached a hand over to pinch his nose, grumbling, “Stop it, you know exactly what yawning is.” 

Floyd pouted, digging his head against your back again as he tightened his grip. From your front, Jade groaned at the movement as he nuzzled his head against your chest, arms gripping your midsection and tail tightly wrapped around your hips. At this moment, you were just a body pillow to him. 

“Stop moving…it’s still early…” Jade mumbled into your skin, nipping at it briefly. “...Want to…sleep.”

“Nah, I’m awake now. I wanna eat somethin’, wanna come to the kitchen?” Floyd asked, kissing his bite mark on your shoulder as he did. He untangled himself from you, stretching and wincing from the scratches you made on his shoulders stung.

You tried moving, but felt a cramp in your hips and pelvis as you did. Between that, and Jade’s displeased growl as he tightened his grip, you were trapped. 

“I don’t think I can move…you guys did a number on me.” You were just noticing your entire torso and navel covered in hickies and bruises, the most prominent being the hand marks on your hips. 

“Heh, nice. Oof!” Floyd grunted as you threw a pillow at him. You had half a mind to smother Jade too as you felt him smirk and chuckle into your skin. Unfortunately for you (and fortunately for him), there was a cheery knock at the front door. 

(Or the frame of your front door. Homes under the sea didn’t have doors, though you had a rather intricately designed curtain over the entrance for privacy). 

“I miei figli! It’s been a few weeks now! Can I see mia nuora?”

Since your mating season started, you’d been going at it nearly nonstop with the twins the first week until your libido managed to die down to a more reasonable amount. Granted, at least one of the twins was with you at all hours as they took turns going to work. This week, you’d taken to just resting your incredibly sore body. Nearly 5 days since you were last fucked, and you were still wincing as you swam. 

Unfortunately, Narissa missed you just a bit too much to wait a few more days to see you. 

“Oh my god, Mama Narissa!” You bolted up, Jade grumbling as he let you untangle from his grasp. He settled for grabbing your pillow and shoving his face in it to drink in your scent. “Shit, has it really been weeks?”

“Mm-hm,” Jade hummed, finally opening his eyes to look at you. He was never a morning person, surprisingly, so it took him sometime before he was fully coherent. “You were insatiable the last few weeks…begging to make sure you stayed filled up. I was surprised at how long you lasted between rounds.”

Jade rubbed a hand against your belly, staring at it intently as he slow blinked, ready to fall back asleep at any moment. 

“...It’s twins.” He said, very matter-of-factly. You blinked in confusion, but smiled at the idea.

You covered your hand over his, lacing your fingers together as you shrugged and smiled. “You think? Humans usually have just one, but I’ve also never had a mating season, so I don’t know.” 

“Hm, it is.” 

You blinked again, staring at Jade as he lovingly smiled at the bump on your stomach. Shrugging again, you pushed his bangs back and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making the effort to trudge through the pain and swim out to greet your mother-in-law. You sharply inhaled as you tried straightening your tail, feeling like your muscles were being pulled. 

“Ah!” You hissed, rubbing your lower back as Jade perked, getting up and letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he carried you on his back. 

“Here, I’ll take you.” Jade rubbed his eye, now fairly awake as he blissfully took you through the hallway into the living room, then the kitchen as you heard voices coming from there. 

“It’s been weeks! I just wanna see my nuora too, especially since neither of you have been at work at once for nearly a month!” You could make out Papa Leech’s, Bruno’s, raspy voice from the kitchen. 

“Oh relax, amore mio!” Narissa purred, kissing her husband’s cheeks as he visibly softened. He was stocky, built much like his sons, but much longer and covered in old scars. He was also a darker, muted shade of green, his eyes hazel and hair a familiar shade of black. You could look at Bruno and obviously see the resemblance between his sons and him.

“They’re fine! Look there, they are with Jade now.” Narissa chirped, swimming past Floyd to ruffle his hair as he tossed a scallop in his mouth. “Save some for your mate, Floyd. I’m sure they’re starving. 

Floyd looked offended at the suggestion, replying with a full mouth, “We’ph kefft ‘em fed!”

Narissa scolded him for speaking with a full mouth as Bruno excitedly made his way to you, snatching you from Jade, who made an annoyed hiss, and twirled you around. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing hug as he spoke. 

“There you are! Our family shrimp! Don’t be mad at me now, but you’ve kept the boys plenty busy! I’m gonna need to steal them back, why don’t you and Nari go—”

You yelped as four pairs of arms snatched you back from Bruno’s embrace, a hair-raising growl and clacking of Floyd’s jaws echoing in the kitchen. Floyd was holding you between him and Jade, the latter protectively curled over your stomach as he eyed his own father. 

Bruno looked less than amused, rolling his eyes as he clacked his own pharyngeal jaws in response. 

“Just playing ‘round with mia nuora, what’s wrong with you two?! Hissing at your own father?!” He snapped, briefly looking at Narissa as she turned his face to hers. 

She had a smile on her face, gold eyes locking on Jade’s hands covering you. 

“Amore, you need to be careful with (Name)! Of course, they’re hissing at you, you’re roughhousing with a berried mate!”

Berried?

“W-what? What’s that mean?” You asked, confused as Bruno immediately brightened, rapidly sinking to the ground to be at eye level with your stomach. Narissa gracefully followed, as did your husbands, now relaxed. 

“It means our Shrimpy is gonna have baby Shrimpies.” Floyd giggled as Jade reached up to direct your gaze to your translucent tummy. 

“See, my love? The eggs look like berries.” Jade tapped a finger against your slightly protruding stomach, right where you could make out the sight of two teal colored eggs. 

You gasped, placing your hand over Jade and Floyd’s. Effectively stunned into silence, Bruno had more than enough energy to loudly celebrate for all five of you. 

“WHOOP! NONNINO! I’M GOING TO BE A NONNINO!” Bruno excitedly swam around in circles, twisting and twirling around as Floyd darted to his father’s side, following his dance in happiness.

Jade chuckled, giving his mother a knowing look as they both straightened back up, moving to nip at your ear affectionately. 

“I suppose we should let everyone else know the good news.”

You nodded in a daze, the thought of letting your adoptive parents up on the surface of the news dizzying. 

“Yeah…” You finally smiled, breathlessly laughing into Jade’s shoulder as you reached for Floyd, who immediately met your embrace, nearly knocking you into Jade’s arms in excitement. 

Between the rings on your left-hand ring finger, and the two eggs in your stomach, it was no question: you’re happy to stay in Twisted Wonderland for the rest of your days. 

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[gilverrwrites]

If that ask was too long and elaborate, I have another one!

What about a fic with Batman, where the reader finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Bruce since he already has mature/ teenager kids and she doesn’t know if he wants to raise one from the infant stage to adulthood.

She kinda overthinks about it and distance herself from Bruce. He notice it and when she would confess, to her surprise, Bruce would get super exited!

What I don't understand

AN: I'm back baby! At least partly, my hand is still on and off achy so I won't we posting as activiely as I have previously. I've done so much research on pregnancy that all my adds are now of pregancy tests, fertilitie test, baby stuff, I'm worried my bf might start to suspect that I'm pregnant which would be akward Bruce Wayne/F!Reader, 3.9K words CW: Husband/Wife dynamic, pregnancy, feet (none sexual), mentions of vomit, body dysmorphia, lying/sneaking around, prenatal anxiety/depression, martial problems, swearing. Fluffy ending tho!

Pregnancy brain is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Or maybe that's insanity, who knows? You ponder the thought as you fidget with the flimsy cardboard packaging of the pregnancy test you're awaiting the results of as if you don't know the answer. You'd already taken countless tests, trialling different brands in the hopes of a different outcome but every single one of them had confirmed your situation with variations on lines and plus signs. They'd never offered you a negative, and yet you keep trying.

There was no denying it, and pretty soon there would be no hiding. You were fast approaching the end of your first trimester at 9 weeks but had only found out about a month ago. The task of informing Bruce while there was still time to act seems to grow bigger and scarier with each passing day. Not to mention; it's becoming increasingly obvious that he already suspected something is wrong.

3 weeks ago:

The cold tile against your aching feet felt like ecstasy. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and lean against the wall, relishing in every second of release as you awaited Jason’s return.

You’d spend hours hiding your pain, precariously balancing in a pair of heels as you kept up appearances during a charity event being held at the manor. Bruce was currently being cornered by a visiting dignitary, and as bad as you felt leaving him alone, it might have been your only chance. You’d slipped away to an off-limits hallway, grasping Jason’s who had drawn the short straw for event appearances along the way. Once out of view to your guests you’d begged him to retrieve a pair of pumps from your bedroom, the petty prospect of keeping it secret from, and thus getting a one-up on his adoptive father being the primary motivator. That and he owed you, a lot, for defusing many situations in which he and your husband had butt heads.

The weight of your discarded shoes hung heavily from your fingers, you hadn’t realised how weighty they were. A shame, because they were so pretty. They were a gift from Bruce, strappy and bedazzled, the perfect colour to match your dress. Another pair for your ever-expanding collection, he’d always favoured gifting you shoes and purses, and you certainly didn’t mind, at least not until your ankles had begun swelling at the mere notion of being used for their primary function.

“Are you okay? You seem off.” Jason’s voice returning to the hall made you jump out of your stupor, and he watched with concern as you tucked your heels behind a curtain and slipped into the flats he’d brought you.

“Fine, fine.” You smile, patting his arm with a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t wear those in properly and now I’m paying the price.”

“Right.” He still seemed dubious and was about to say something else when a door creeks open, redirecting both of your attention.

Bruce stood in the doorway, stern, arms crossed. He glares at the both of you, he and Jason have a very similar glare. His eyes focus in on you, identifying you as the main culprit, his gaze roves across your form, lingering on your feet for an uncomfortably long time before speaking.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do the two of you.” He points behind him. “In.”

Jason’s face is obscured as he takes the lead, but Bruce must not like his expression because his frown seems to deepen.

You followed close behind, careful not to step on the hem of your dress now that you lack the additional six inches the heels had offered but your integration back into the crowd is halted. Bruce traced his hand along your back, cupping the curve of your waist and directing you to a lesser populated spot amongst the outskirts of your visitants.

The stony look on his face was gone, replaced with a polite smile for the crowd and softer eyes for you.

“What happened to your shoes?” His voice was low, in-perceivable to anyone but yourself.

“My feet were sore is all.” It’s not a lie.

“Too sore for dancing?” He asks, voice as slick as silk and you don’t want to agree but yes, they are too sore dancing. Not to mention you’d gotten nauseous from standing up too quickly only hours earlier but damn if you didn’t want to dance with your husband. Want to feel his chest against yours, his hands on your curves, admire the smile on his face. There are few things you enjoy more than any form of intimacy with Bruce.

“Maybe later.” You sighed, “I think I need to sit down for a while.”

2 weeks ago:

‘Breast changes are another very early sign of pregnancy. Your hormone levels rapidly change after the egg is fertilized. Because of these changes, your breasts may become swollen, sore, or tingly.’

You groaned aloud, rereading the entry on WebMD once more. You hadn’t expected your breasts to change so early on, incorrectly assuming any swelling or pain would be a result of breast milk, but you were wrong.

Believing you had the house to yourself, you figure now was as good a time as any to read up on more early pregnancy symptoms, to correct any other misconception you might have. You were midway through reading about progesterone and how it causes constipation when your laptop pinged.

A notification popped up in the corner of the screen, a DM from UserDC27, Bruce’s bat-server codename. You click to open the message and audibly gasp when a screenshot of your browsing history greets you, framed in red with its own ‘suspicious activity’ notification in the corner.

‘Pregnancy trimesters in weeks’ ‘Swollen breasts pregnant’ ‘Early pregnancy symptoms’

Amongst all the suspicious browsing habits of this family, of course yours had flagged up! Fucking ridiculous!

UserDC27: ? UserRI01: For a friend UserRI01: dw UserRI01: Love you x UserDC27: is typing… UserRI01: has signed out.

1 weeks ago:

“Good morning.” A familiar voice greeted you, strong hands slink around your body, brushing against your back and hips before settling on your stomach. What should have been a sweet moment frightened you, disturbing you from your train of thought and causing you to almost spill your morning decaf coffee.

“Woah there.” Bruce laughed, the warmth and proximity of him soothing you quickly. He effortlessly took the mug from your hands and settled it on the kitchen island so he could pull you closer without spillage.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, turning your head to rest it against his chest. The strength of his cologne is always so much stronger in the mornings, the scent of the man you love, of citrus and woodsiness does wonders to comfort your frantic brain no matter the time or place. “Just lost in thought.”

After a second you realise your mistake, you’ve allowed him an opening to ask what you’re thinking about and that exact moment certainly did not feel like the right time, what with Damian in the next room. You should be alone, completely alone.

He surprises you however, always one for keeping everyone on their toes, by spinning you around to face him and telling you, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“What do you think it is?” You tried to keep your voice airy, relaxed, unsuspicious but even you can hear the guilt in your tone.

“I think you’re tired.” He watches you with a playful glint in his eye, but the next words out of his mouth are accusatory no matter how light his tone is. “Where are you sneaking off to in the mornings, oh wife of mine?”

“W-what?” You heard him fine, you were stalling while you calculated a response. You had been sneaking off in the mornings and the fact that he’s asking so playfully, as opposed to interrogating which he is not unknown to do even with you, means he knows more than he’s letting on.

Bruce isn’t exactly an early riser, often too tired from long nights of crime fighting and case filing, but he is a light sleeper. Always on alert. He’d already caught you in a bought of morning sickness once. Roused by the unpleasant noises you’d been making. You’d lied about it, citing an upset tummy from something you’d eaten. You weren’t sure which was worse, the vomiting, the sombre expression he’d given you as he approached to rub your back throughout, or the look of horror on Alfred’s face when Bruce had brought up your supposed food poisoning later that day.

Ever since you’d purposely been rising early and sneaking off to dispel any nausea in one of the many guest bedrooms.

“Nowhere, I’m just becoming more of a morning person I guess.”

He eyed you sceptically, and you thought you might crack under the pressure. His hands reach up to cup your face, preventing you from turning away. His touch is so gentle, so soft for a man of his stature. “You can tell me anything, you know that?”

“Of course.”

As if you couldn’t feel worse he adds; “I miss waking up to you beside me.”

“Oh Brucie-“

You’re already on your tip toes, ready to concede, to apologise, to shower your sullen husband with kisses when you’re saved by the signal. Literally, a call from Duke 'The Signal' Thomas, with a reminder of your apprehension; an active situation that needed Batman’s participation.

Your relationship, and now marriage to Bruce had always hinged on an unspoken understanding that Gotham comes first. Even with Tim taking over most of his responsibilities at Wayne Tech, Bruce simply does not have enough time to raise a baby. You can't expect him to take turns with the nighttime feeds, with the frequent nappy changes, with the constant attention an infant will need.

You’ve no doubt Alfred would delight in assisting you, he's been dropping hints about wanting a baby Brucie since the engagement, and you love him very much but if you’re to raise a baby, you want to do it with your husband, not his butler.

That’s presuming your husband even wants a child. Another child. He already has enough children to populate a small village. Children with lives of their own. Children who in some way or another have followed in his vigilante footsteps. You think of the stress and trauma each of them has faced, and how it has affected them and their father. You think of Steph and her tremulous relationships with Bruce and Arthur. Of Jason’s deaths, plural. Of Dicks ineptitude to form meaningful relationships with anyone outside of the lifestyle. Of all the childhoods so many, but especially Cass and Damian missed out on. Could you be responsible for putting another child through any of that?

Furthermore, if your child wanted to live this life, could you really stop them? Nobody stopped Tim. Nobody stopped Barbara, when Jim had tried it only caused the rift between them to grow bigger.

Could Bruce stop your unborn child? Would he want to?

Speak of the Oracle. The chime of your phone draws you out of your spiral of perinatal anxieties. It’s Barbara, informing the girls-only group chat that she’s running late for lunch. Crap. You’d completely forgotten that you’d promised the girls lunch and shopping. Barbara had some tech on hold, Steph wanted to try the new caramel cookie waffles at Goodilicious, and Cass needed new boots whether she knew it or not.

Hurriedly, you shove the used test into a previously disused makeup bag that is now full of other used tests. It's starting to smell, but you don't have time to figure out how to stealthily throw it out, so you hide it at the back of a cupboard behind a basket of sanitary products before rushing out the door.

Later

Catching up with the girls had been fun, it had really helped you forget about your predicament and just relax for a while, but it had also taken a lot out of you, keeping you out well past dinner. Your body just was not functioning as well as it used to, for obvious reasons.

Upon returning to the mansion you’d made it to the ground floor lounge, feet too sore to even consider the stairs, and collapsed on the closest couch, exerting just enough energy to pry your shoes and sock off of your swollen feet prior to falling asleep. Just a quick nap you tell yourself, to regain some energy, you’ll be right as rain in time for Damian’s bedtime. He’s old enough now to put himself to bed, especially given that he often patrols with his father until the early hours of the morning, but tonight is his night off and you’d always make the effort to wish him sweet dreams when you can.

You’re awoken by the feel of calloused fingers pressing into the arches of your feet. You hadn’t heard him enter, but Bruce is sitting on the arm of the couch, in nothing but sweatpants and slippers. Between his bare chest and cowl hair, he is a welcome sight, bruised chest and freshly cut lip and all.

“What happened to you?” You ask, voice husky from your impromptu nap. You manage to draw your eyes away from Bruce long enough to check the time on an antique wall clock, it’s 4 AM. You’d far exceeded a nap. “Where’s Damian?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Damian is asleep. When you didn’t wish him a goodnight he came to look for you, that’s how I knew you were here.” He asserts. He looks at you with a furrowed brow and pinched lips, working his thumb into the arch of your feet with just enough pressure to make you mewl in relief. “Are you punishing me for something?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks, it’s not without merit. You hadn’t intended to spend the night on the couch, but you can understand how it must look to him, especially in tangent with the ways in which you had intentionally been avoiding him; sneaking out in the mornings, not allowing him to see your naked body for fear that he’ll notice your swollen breasts, and growing belly. You hadn’t had sex in at least three weeks.

All at once you are overcome with remorse. You’d been so consumed with the pregnancy and how best to approach the subject with Bruce that you hadn’t stopped to think how your actions would weigh on him. He’s so strong, your anchor, an unchanging presence for the whole family. He locks himself and his emotions behind the big bad bat or billionaire Brucie so well that sometimes he forgets he has them. Sometimes you forget. Even now, clearly hurting and concerned for his marriage, he’s rubbing your feet.

“No of course not Bruce, I’m sorry…” your mind starts to form the end of your apology ‘I was just so tired’ or ‘it’s been a long day’ and they wouldn’t be lies but they’re not the right thing to say. You can’t keep postponing for the ‘right moment’ that will never come, can’t keep chickening out. He needs to know the truth. “I’m- I’m pregnant.”

You’re not sure how you’d expected him to respond really. You’d feared anger, hoped for joy but instead, he continues to stare at you, his brows raising in a way that implied he needed more information. He swaps your left foot for your right as he awaits your resumption. When you don’t speak he nods and states; “I know.”

“You know?” As though possessed your tired body launches into an upright seated position. “How could you know?”

Bruce smiles in response, an amused, tight-lipped ‘Are you kidding?’ smile.

“Well, to name a few things;” he counts off each observation on his fingers. “You’ve stopped wearing heels because your ankles are constantly swollen, your breasts are also noticeably swollen even under your clothes, you now only drink decaf, you seemingly have ‘food poisoning’ every morning and at no other time of day, a massive increase in urination, and my personal favourite, the bag full of positive pregnancy tests behind a crate-full of menstrual products that haven’t been used in almost three months.”

He’s trying to hide it, but he’s smug about his own detective skills. His mouth might be straight but there’s a fire in his eyes that has you drawing your legs away from him with a huff, abruptly ending the massage you had been enjoying. “How long have you known?”

“I’d had my suspicions for about 6 weeks, but I wasn’t certain until I found your stash last week.” Typical of Bruce to have figured out you were pregnant before you’d known yourself. “What I don’t understand, is why you didn’t tell me. Why you’ve been lying.”

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have kept this from you. I was going to but…” You trail off,  straightening your thoughts as best you can and finding your composure, preparing to begin monologuing about your concerns. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, what with you know, already having so many kids. Everyone but Damian has flown the nest, Dick and Babs are married! They’re all so grown up, do you really want to start again? And then…”

Conscious of your rambling you cut yourself off, looking to Bruce for reassurance that you’re not talking too much, that he’s not offended by your worries. He consoles you by coming closer, sitting on the cushion beside you and easily coaxing your legs over his. His firm hands are gentle as they grasp your knee.

“And what?” He questions.

“I wasn’t sure how I feel, I wanted to figure that out before talking to you.”

“What do you think you feel about it?”

“I think I want to have your baby Bruce, our baby.” So caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed your husband’s hands creeping higher and higher up your body until a hand settles on your stomach, his thumb stroking you through the fabric of your shirt. You’d been so self-conscious of its growth but as you look at it now, under Bruce’s sturdy fingers, you realise it isn’t much bigger than it had been pre-pregnancy. How tedious your problems seemed when voiced and put into perspective, except maybe one. “I’m just not sure about how… well I guess I never thought about raising a child within your lifestyle.”

“I understand.” He nods, confirming his statement. He’s done well to keep his face soft but neutral throughout, a staple of his Batman facade but also a careful way not to let his own emotions interfere with yours.

“What do you think?” He looks down at your abdomen as he considers his words. You follow his gaze, watching as his fingers lift your top, exposing your skin to him. Without warning he lowers himself to pepper your belly with gentle kisses, the ticklish motion causes you to giggle and writhe beneath him.

When he looks up at you again he’s smiling, the motion causing the scab on his lip to split and bleed. Without thought you pull yourself closer to him, using his broad shoulders as leverage. Once close enough you dab at the minor wound with your thumb soaking up the fluid as best you can and examining the cut to ensure no further damage.

Bruce watches you intently the whole time, cupping your face in his hand when you appear satisfied. The adoration in his eyes makes you feel sheepish even after everything you’ve been through together.

“I think,” his voice is low, sincere. “I couldn’t be happier to be growing our family together. I think this child, like all our children, will be lucky to have you as a mother, whatever life they choose to lead.”

The amount of pent-up tension in your body had not been apparent to you until now. Until your body noticeably lightens in response to his words. The relief of no longer sneaking around, no more fretting over how he might react has you wishing you’d done this a long time ago.

“Bruce?” You sag into his chest, breathing him in. His arms unconsciously wrap around you in response, pulling you in for a tighter embrace. “We’re having a baby.”

“Were are having a baby.” He confirms, pressing more, tender kisses to your neck, the curve of a smile apparent as his lips press to your exposed skin. "I've been waiting for this moment since the day we me. But, I think it’s time we got to bed, it’s late.”

Swift and practiced, Bruce lifts you from the couch, cradling you in the bridal position. You stretch to check the clock, 4:34 AM.

“Technically it’s early.” You jest, expecting him to punish your cheek by jolting you in the air or throwing you over his shoulder as he normally does, but instead, he chides you with an amused glare, clearly too concerned about the baby for play fighting.

“Neither of us has been to bed, it’s late.” His grip tightens on your body as he makes his way up the stairs, one steady step at a time. “And I expect my wife to be in our bed when I wake up.”

“Hmmm.” Your morning sickness has eased in the last few days, you’d only persisted in sneaking out to be safe, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet. “I’ll try, but I might be in our bathroom.”

“I can cope with that. At least then I can care for you. And we can throw out your hoard.” You don’t fuss over the likelihood of him having to rush off to save the day or for an urgent board meeting, you just throw your head back, laughing at yourself for trying to hide anything from Bruce.

When you reach the bedroom he lays you in the bed and climbs over your form. He’s in full caretaker mode, a manner you could get used to. He carefully removes your clothes, offers to redress you in your sleepwear and to bring you your lotions, or anything you should need from the bathroom.

Dawn is breaking behind your blackout curtains by the time you’re both settled in bed, entangled in each other’s arms. Sleep has nearly taken you again when Bruce whispers; “I do have one other thought.”

“Oh?" You peer at him curiously over your shoulder. "Yes dear?”

“I think you should be the one to tell Damian.”

His request hangs heavy in the air as you consider the implication. “Tell Damian that he will no longer be your only blood child?”

The room remains silent, he doesn’t expand because you know what he’s getting at. Damian probably won’t mind, because he’ll still be the oldest, the first in line and you’re certain he’ll be a wonderful older brother, he’s great with animals, so why not babies? Right?

“… That's not fair.”

“Think of it as penance for lying to me all month.” There’s an air of humour in his voice as he pulls you closer still, squeezing himself into your back and planting sleepy kisses against your neck. “Besides, he’ll probably take it better from you. I think he likes you more.”

[yoursinisforgiven]

NURTURE ──

pairing: isaac x reader (pickel) 

cw: smut, pwp (90% plot, 10% porn), afab reader, could be considered a sequel to this fic (linger), reader is referred to as a ‘mother’, mentions of pregancy, heavy breeding kink, messy sex, breeding with intentions of pregancy, nipple play, cockwarming, primial play (if you squint), dry humping, lactation kink(?), impact play, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering,  likely takes place after episode 12 of isaac’s series, mentions of alcohol, very domestic, reader and isaac are heavily implied to be engaged, ptsd.

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Isaac had been distant recently. Dare you say even cold.

The way he seemed to retreat further into himself, withdrawing into his work, his thoughts, the heavy silence that lingered between you two. It wasn’t something entirely new; after all, his stubbornness was as constant as the turning of the seasons. There were times when his mind, sharp as it was, consumed him. The long hours spent in the murky depths of his cases, hunting shadows of the truth that seemed to slip from his grasp just as quickly as they emerged. You’d reminded him countless times to take a break, to breathe, but his resolve was as unyielding as the city skyline at dusk.

But this was different. This wasn’t just Isaac’s typical obsession with a case or the weight of his relentless nature. There was something more, something that stung deeper than the usual frustrations of shared silences or exhausted arguments. It wasn’t just that he was working late into the night, his office lamp casting long, lonely shadows over the stacks of paperwork that seemed to multiply in the dim light. No, it was how long it had been going on. Days, then weeks, each one colder than the last, each night you spent alone in your bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to return to you. To return to both of you.

And the most perplexing, unsettling detail of it all? He had refused to sleep with you.

That in itself wasn’t entirely shocking—Isaac was a man of mystery, a man of control. You knew his habits, his rhythms, how his mind sometimes needed to wander away from the present moment. His work, his cases, they had always been a constant companion, something he could never quite shake. It had never bothered you before; in fact, you had come to accept it, even love it. There was something alluring in the way he lost himself in his pursuit of the truth, as if the very act of unraveling secrets connected him to the core of the universe itself. But this time, it wasn’t just a matter of him pulling back physically—it was as though he’d built a wall between you two, stone by stone, meticulously constructed. He had become a ghost in your home, moving through the spaces without ever truly being there.

And so, here you were, lying on your back in bed, letting your body sink into the softness of the silk sheets. The fabric felt cool against your skin, but it was the plushness of the memory foam pillow beneath your head that made your thoughts drift. You glanced towards Isaac’s side of the bed. His absence had never felt more pronounced. The emptiness of the space beside you seemed to echo louder than any words. Your heart ached, a slight, persistent throb in your chest, at the thought of Isaac being alone in his study rather than beside you, in the bed you had once shared so intimately.

You slid over to his side, your hand grazing the cold, unused space where he used to lay. It was noticeably colder, the warmth of his body long gone, yet his scent remained—a faint trace of him, a reminder of the man who had once made this place feel like home. Your fingers brushed over the pillow, seeking something, anything, to bridge the growing distance between you. But there was nothing there, just the ghost of his presence, his essence woven into the fabric, as ephemeral and elusive as the man himself.

You fidgeted with the ring on your finger, the cool metal a reminder of the promises you had once exchanged. The promises of forever. The promises of love, of partnership, of building a life together. You assured yourself that whatever this was—this coldness, this growing divide—it was temporary. It had to be. After all, your love was a force too strong to be easily undone. Souls intertwined, dancing the dance of everlasting love. You believed that. You had to believe that.

But the doubt, the gnawing fear, kept creeping in. What if it wasn’t temporary? What if this was the beginning of something more permanent, something you couldn’t fix, no matter how hard you tried?

Closing your eyes, you let the rhythmic pulse of your breath steady your thoughts. In the quiet darkness, you allowed yourself to slip into memory, tracing the moments from the past two months, the moments that had led to this point of cold silence.

 ──

The first moment came exactly two months ago—an evening that seemed so ordinary at the time but, in hindsight, now felt like the first crack in the foundation of what you had. A client, a returning one, had come into Isaac’s office that day, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the presence of his wife, her rounded belly a silent testament to the life that was soon to arrive. Isaac had been working on the case for this client for weeks—an investigation into a missing person, a delicate matter that had required long hours and his signature tenacity. But this time, the case had to be halted. The wife, now nearing the end of her pregnancy, had come to fetch her husband, clearly in the early stages of labor. The urgency of her condition was unmistakable. Isaac, as always, had been professional, calm, his focus flickering only briefly between his client and the weight of the impending life that would soon join the world.

At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. You knew how Isaac was—always throwing himself into his work, always pushing to meet deadlines, always navigating the delicate balance between his professional and personal life. But as he shook his client’s hand, offering his well-wishes and assurances, you had caught something in his expression, a flicker of uncertainty that lingered a moment too long. It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. But you were paying attention, and you saw it.

It wasn’t the case he was worried about—it was something deeper. Something unspoken.

That evening, after the clients had left and the study had grown quiet again, you found Isaac sitting alone at his desk, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the worn wooden surface in a rhythm that was both deliberate and absent, as if the action itself was soothing some part of him that had been neglected. His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, the harsh glow of the monitor casting long shadows across his face, illuminating the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow. You stood at the doorway for a moment, watching him in silence, the weight of the unspoken things between you both pressing down on your chest. 

Gently, you stepped forward, your feet padding softly against the hardwood floor as you approached him. You moved around the side of his desk, the faint smell of his cologne and the faint rustle of paper creating an oddly comforting cocoon in the air. You didn’t speak at first—there were no words to fill the silence, not yet. Instead, you placed your hands on his shoulders, your fingertips brushing against the stiff muscles beneath his shirt. It didn’t take much. You could feel him relax under your touch almost immediately, the tension in his body loosening as your hands worked their way from his neck down to the base of his spine, massaging the knots there.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips, barely audible, but enough to let you know that he felt it. He was here, in this moment with you, even if only for a brief second. Your hands continued their steady rhythm, coaxing him back from whatever distant thought had been occupying his mind, until his shoulders no longer felt so tight, so burdened by the weight of whatever had been pulling at him.

You leaned down, your lips grazing the soft skin of his neck, pressing a gentle kiss just beneath his ear. He let out a low groan in response, a sound that sent a shiver of warmth through your chest. The sound, though quiet, was enough to pull a small giggle from you, a nervous release of breath that broke the tension between you two in the smallest of ways.

"Hopefully, they’ll be back soon... I’d love to meet the baby." You whispered against his skin, your voice soft and warm, carrying the weight of your unspoken thoughts.

The words lingered in the air between you, fragile, hesitant. For a moment, Isaac didn’t respond, his silence stretching longer than usual. Then, with a slight clearing of his throat, he spoke, his voice steady but distant. "It’s likely they’ll return soon enough. The case... though halted, is still ongoing."

You continued massaging his shoulders, your touch gentle, yet persistent. The rhythmic movement of your hands seemed to be the only thing grounding you both in the present, a small, shared connection amid the growing tension. "What do you think it would be like... having a baby?" You asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what answer you were hoping for.

Isaac stiffened slightly under your touch, his breathing changing just enough to signal that the conversation had struck a chord with him. He didn’t answer right away, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if you had pushed too far, if the words had been too much for him to handle. But you didn’t withdraw. You kept your hands on him, hoping, waiting for him to speak.

After a long silence, he finally exhaled a breath that seemed heavier than the weight of the entire room. "I don’t know," he murmured, almost absently.

You stayed still, letting his words hang there, not pressing, but giving him the space he needed to say whatever was on his mind. You knew Isaac, his walls were thick, built over years of training himself to hide his vulnerabilities from the world. But there were moments, fleeting ones, when he let his guard down, when he let you see just a sliver of what was buried deep inside.

The silence stretched between you two again, longer this time. He didn't pull away from your touch, but his shoulders had tensed once more, and you could feel the slight tremor in his muscles as though he was struggling with something just out of reach.

 ──

The second time had been just a few weeks ago. Isaac had gone away shorty for work, and, as was becoming a quiet ritual when he was absent, you found yourself drawn to his mother's journal. It had been hidden away in the study for months, a relic of a time before you, before Isaac's world had become yours. When he was gone, the house felt quieter, the silence between the walls stretching like an endless shadow. You would wander the rooms, and inevitably, your steps would lead you to the heavy, leather-bound book.

The first time you had opened it, the strings of symbols on the cover had puzzled you—beautiful and foreign. The characters, delicate and flowing, were Japanese. You soon learned it was a phrase: Kachōfūgetsu—"flower, bird, wind, moon." A poetic expression of the beauty of nature and the changing of the seasons, each symbol encapsulating something deep and reverent about the world around it. Kachōfūgetsu was not just about appreciating nature but understanding its cycles, the ebb and flow of time, the beauty found in both growth and decay. The woman who had written these words, Isaac’s mother, had been deeply connected to the natural world. She had spent her life attuned to it, her senses finely tuned to the rhythms of the earth. And now, as you turned its pages, you could sense that same quiet wisdom lingering in the ink.

What struck you most, though, was not just the philosophical reflections or the serene observations about the world around her, but the love she poured into her cooking. The journal was dotted with recipes—meticulously written, each one accompanied by a small note or an anecdote. There were passages dedicated to the intricacies of seasonal ingredients, the subtle alchemy of flavors, and the warmth of a home cooked meal. It was as if her kitchen had been a sanctuary where time slowed, where she could create and nourish and offer something beautiful in a world that could often be harsh.

Today, like many others, you found yourself leafing through her journal again, the familiar scent of cinnamon and apple in the air as you prepared to make a treat. You had already memorized the recipe for the apple cinnamon custard cake she had written about with such reverence. You smiled softly as you measured each ingredient, the comforting ritual grounding you in the present. You didn’t need the journal to tell you how much sugar to add or how to perfect the custard—her words had long been committed to memory. Yet, still, you found yourself glancing at the pages, rereading the passages, absorbing more than just cooking techniques.

You glanced at the open journal on the counter next to you, the delicate inked letters inviting you to read a passage for the eighth time. A thought lingered in your mind—one that had been growing ever since Isaac had gone away. As you measured flour, your fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the journal, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to her. She had been a mother, someone who had lived through the seasons of her life with grace, someone who had offered comfort and sustenance to those around her. In a way, she had nurtured Isaac before he was ever born, had shaped his world with her hands in the kitchen, with the words in the journal, with the love she poured into everything she did.

Perhaps it was then you truly realized. You, too, wanted to be a mother. You wanted to offer that same warmth, that same sense of rootedness, to the child you dreamed of one day having with Isaac. You imagined it—your own kitchen, the sweet scent of cinnamon and apples in the air, laughter echoing through the halls. Would your child grow up to understand the delicate beauty of nature, to feel connected to it the way Isaac’s mother had? Would you be able to create a home as full of love, as full of nourishment.

The thought made you pause, your fingers lingering over the smooth curve of a measuring cup.

You glanced out the window at the garden blooming just outside, the flowers vibrant against the backdrop of the blue sky, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of her was still present in everything you did. Was it in the food you prepared, the care with which you did things? Was it in your quiet hopes and desires for the future? You wanted to give Isaac something, too—a family. A place of peace, of love, of continuity. 

Your gaze softened, and you let out a quiet breath as you cracked the eggs into the bowl. There were so many questions, so many unknowns. But perhaps that was part of it—life, like nature, was full of cycles, and each cycle offered the possibility of something new, something beautiful. You didn’t have to be perfect. You didn’t have to have all the answers. You only needed to be present. To offer the best of yourself.

As you poured the batter into the pan, the cinnamon scent filling the air, you smiled to yourself. One day, you would get to share these moments with Isaac. You would get to show him, through your actions, through the love you poured into your family, that you, too, could build something beautiful. Something that could endure—like the seasons, like the moon. Something that could carry on, long after the years passed, just as Isaac’s mother had.

Isaac returned home just as the last traces of sunset were fading from the sky, the deep orange and pink hues giving way to the quiet coolness of evening. He entered the house with that same, familiar quietness, the weight of his long day still clinging to him, but there was a shift in his step—a small ease that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the time away from the cases, or perhaps it was the thought of returning to something more familiar, something warmer. Whatever it was, it was good to see him like this again—home, where he belonged.

You heard him before you saw him, the soft thud of his suitcase landing on the floor, the faint rustle of his coat being shrugged off. Then came the sound of his footsteps, slow and steady, moving toward the kitchen where you were finishing up the last touches on the cake. The apple cinnamon custard cake, the same one Isaac’s mother had lovingly written about in her journal all those months ago. The one you had perfected over countless tries, each time adding your own little touch, each time hoping it would bridge the space between you and Isaac in some small, quiet way.

You didn’t turn immediately, wanting to savor the moment before it broke, wanting to finish the cake as you’d always done—slowly, with intention, with love. But as soon as Isaac stepped into the kitchen, the familiar weight of his presence enveloped the room. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes on you, studying you with the quiet intensity that always seemed to follow him.

“You’re home,” you said softly, finally turning to face him.

Isaac smiled, though it was tinged with exhaustion. He hadn’t yet fully shaken off the weariness of the trip, but there was warmth in his expression, a small but significant softness that made your heart ache with longing.

“Home,” he echoed, his voice a low murmur that seemed to carry both relief and something deeper.

His gaze drifted to the counter where the cake sat, golden brown and perfectly formed. The cinnamon scent lingered in the air, mixing with the soft undertone of apples, filling the kitchen with its warmth.

Isaac stood near the counter, his coat draped loosely over one arm, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and fatigue. His eyes flickered between you and the cake, and for a moment, you could see something soften in his expression—a crack in the quiet wall he had built around himself these past weeks.

You carefully cut a slice of the cake, placing it neatly on the plate you had set aside earlier in anticipation of his return—every detail had been thoughtfully planned. As you positioned the slice face-down on the plate, a fleeting thought crossed your mind: had his mother served it differently? Perhaps upright, showcasing the delicate layers? The question lingered, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it mattered. Maybe you were overthinking it, but the moment felt so important, so fragile.

Shaking off the thought, you moved with purpose, fetching a fork from the drawer and placing it beside the cake with precision. You slid the plate toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Go on,” you said softly. “Try it. I’ve been working on this for a while.”

Isaac set his coat aside, his movements deliberate, almost cautious. He stepped closer, picking up the fork you had carefully placed beside the slice of cake. For a moment, he paused, studying the dessert like it was a puzzle meant just for him. His brow furrowed slightly, the familiar crease appearing between his eyes, and then, with quiet resolve, he cut a piece and lifted it to his lips.

As he took the first bite, you blurted out, “It’s your mother’s recipe,” the words tumbling out faster than you intended.

Isaac’s chewing slowed, his jaw tightening briefly before he swallowed. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He didn’t speak right away, and the weight of his silence pressed against you.

“I… I thought you might recognize it,” you added, your voice quieter now.

Isaac nodded slowly, setting the fork down on the edge of the plate. “It’s good,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. “It tastes just like hers.”

A small rush of relief washed over you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his body seemed to carry the weight of something unspoken. You hesitated, but the words were already forming in your mind, and before you could stop yourself, they slipped out.

“I can see so much of her in the way you are. I think about that sometimes… what it must be like to be a mother. To give that kind of love.” You said softly, watching his reaction closely.

The moment the words left your lips, Isaac stiffened, his posture turning rigid. His hand hovered near the plate, then slowly withdrew, retreating to his side. His gaze dropped to the table, the warm light of the kitchen casting shadows across his face.

“Isaac?” you asked gently, stepping closer. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head, his movements slow, hesitant, as though the weight of his thoughts was pulling him under. “No,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not that. It’s just…” The words hung in the air, unfinished, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with something unseen, something unspoken.

You leaned closer, your hand brushing his arm in a silent plea for connection. “Isaac,” you murmured, your voice soft, coaxing. “Talk to me.”

But before he could respond, the sharp trill of his phone shattered the fragile moment, cutting through the quiet tension like a blade. The sound made you flinch, but you didn’t let your gaze waver. Your eyes stayed locked on him, searching his face for an answer, for some fragment of the truth he seemed so unwilling to share.

He hesitated, his body going still for a heartbeat too long. Then, with a sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever awaited him on the other side of the call. “I have to take this,” he whispered, his tone apologetic yet distant, as though he was already stepping away from you in more ways than one.

Before you could say anything, he turned and walked out of the room, the soft tread of his footsteps disappearing down the hall. You stood frozen for a moment, your hand still hovering in the space where his arm had been, the warmth of his presence fading too quickly.

The room felt colder without him, the air heavier. The sound of his voice drifted faintly from the other room as he answered the call, low and measured, though you couldn’t make out the words. Your chest tightened, a mix of frustration and hurt bubbling inside you.

You wanted to follow him, to press him for the answers he seemed so reluctant to give. But something held you back—a fear that pushing too hard might widen the gap between you even further. Instead, you sank into one of the kitchen chairs, your fingers curling around the edge of the table as you tried to ground yourself.

The cake sat untouched on the counter, its cinnamon scent still lingering in the air, now bittersweet. You glanced at it, the slice you’d prepared for him still neatly arranged on the plate, and a wave of sadness washed over you. You had poured so much into that simple act—into recreating a piece of his past, into trying to bridge the distance between you.

And yet, here you were, still reaching for him, still waiting for him to meet you halfway.

You stared at the door he had disappeared through, your mind racing with questions. What was he holding back? What was keeping him locked inside himself, unable to fully let you in? You thought about the journal, the cake, the fragments of his past you’d tried to piece together. You thought about his mother and her wisdom, her ability to find beauty and connection even in the smallest things.

A quiet resolve began to take shape within you. You wouldn’t give up on him, on this. Whatever it was that haunted him, whatever it was he was afraid to say, you would find a way to help him face it. Together.

For now, though, you sat in the silence, waiting for him to return, your fingers tracing absent patterns on the table as the weight of the moment settled over you.

 ──

And finally, the third. Just yesterday, you and Isaac had gone out together, running errands—a rare moment of shared routine that felt almost like a date in disguise. The air outside was crisp, carrying the faint scent of winter creeping closer, while inside the grocery store, the warmth of the heaters and the hum of life wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Families bustled with full carts, the sound of a toddler laughing somewhere in the distance mingling with the rhythmic beeping of registers. It all blended into a comforting symphony as you strolled down the aisles together.

You glanced at your list, the neatly written items illuminated by the fluorescent lights overhead. “Eggs, laundry detergent, napkins,” you murmured to yourself, tapping the end of your pen against the paper. One by one, you checked them off, your pen making small, satisfied marks. Finally, you turned to Isaac with a small, teasing smile. “Last thing is coffee.”

He raised a brow, slowing his step as he looked at you. “Coffee?” he echoed, his tone laced with mild incredulity. “Didn’t we just buy some last week?”

You tilted your head, placing a hand dramatically over your chest in mock indignation. “And yet, here we are,” you teased, your grin widening. “If my soon-to-be husband weren’t such a coffee addict, we wouldn’t run out so quickly.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he let out a low chuckle. It was rare for him to laugh like that—deep and unguarded—and the sound warmed you. “Addict? That’s a strong word,” he said, shaking his head gently as his hand brushed yours on the cart handle, a fleeting touch that sent a quiet thrill through you.

“Oh, please,” you quipped, falling into step beside him as you approached the coffee aisle. You glanced up at the overhead signs, scanning for the right section. The bright lettering caught your eye: 22 – Beverages & Coffee… and just beyond, 23 – Baby.

Your breath hitched slightly at the sight, your eyes lingering on the second sign. For a moment, the world seemed to slow, the buzz of the store fading into the background. A flurry of emotions swirled within you—curiosity, longing, and a sudden, tender ache you couldn’t quite name. You looked back at Isaac quickly, before the moment could stretch too long. His brow furrowed slightly as he noticed the change in your expression.

“Here,” you said lightly, handing him the basket before he could ask any questions. “You grab your coffee. I’ll just be right over on the other side.”

His brows knitted tighter, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What are you—?”

Before he could protest, you cut him off with a playful grin. “If anything happens, I’ll yelp,” you quipped, wiggling your fingers in mock reassurance as you stepped away.

His lips parted as if to argue, but instead, he sighed and shook his head, his usual stern demeanor softening just a bit. “Fine,” he muttered, but his gaze lingered on you, a quiet curiosity flickering there before he turned toward the coffee aisle.

You walked toward the baby aisle with measured steps, your heart fluttering in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. The shelves were lined with rows of pastel packaging, soft blankets, and tiny clothes that seemed impossibly small. Your fingers brushed over a plush toy shaped like a bear, its stitched smile offering a strange comfort.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine. A little one nestled in your arms, their laughter filling the house. Isaac holding them, his serious expression melting into something softer, something you’d only glimpsed in rare, unguarded moments. The thought tugged at your chest, a quiet hope blooming within you.

You gasped softly, your hand flying to cover your mouth as your gaze landed on the tiniest little suit—perfectly tailored for a newborn. It was a miniature version of something Isaac might wear: a dark, crisp fabric, complete with a tiny bow tie. The sight of it was almost too much to bear. A lump formed in your throat as your heart ached, a bittersweet tug that made your eyes sting with unshed tears. You pressed your fingers against your lips, willing yourself not to cry in the middle of the store.

The suit was impossibly small, a fragile reminder of beginnings, of innocence, of everything you yearned for but hadn’t yet dared to speak aloud. You reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the soft fabric. 

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you glanced at the rack beside it, your gaze catching on a delicate dress. It was all ruffles and lace, with a pale blush hue that reminded you of blooming cherry blossoms. Your heart thudded in your chest as you reached for it, the fabric cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. It only made sense to take both, didn’t it? You didn’t know if you would have a boy or a girl, but something about holding these two tiny outfits together felt right—balanced, like the hope you carried deep inside.

You clutched the garments to your chest, feeling both foolish and strangely exhilarated. The idea of preparing for something so far away, so uncertain, made your chest tighten with both fear and anticipation. What would Isaac say if he saw this? Would he understand? Would he feel the same quiet longing that you did, or would it be too much for him to bear right now?

The thought made you hesitate for a moment, your grip loosening slightly. You bit your lip, stealing a glance toward the coffee aisle where you had left him. He was still there, studying the shelves, seemingly unaware of the quiet storm of emotions you were navigating just a few feet away.

You turned back to the clothes in your hands, smoothing the fabric of the tiny suit and the soft ruffles of the dress. This wasn’t just about the outfits—it was about the dream they represented, a life you wanted to build with him, a future you could almost touch but not yet grasp.

“What are you doing over here?”

His voice startled you, making you jump slightly. Your grip on the tiny outfits faltered for a moment, and you nearly dropped them. Quickly, you tightened your hold, the soft fabric crumpling slightly under your fingers as you turned toward him. Isaac stood a few feet away, his tall frame silhouetted against the bright store lights. His expression wasn’t angry, but there was a tension in his jaw, a tightness that betrayed something beneath his usual calm exterior.

“I—” You paused, your voice catching as you glanced down at the little suit and dress in your hands. The sight of them made your heart squeeze all over again. You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts before meeting his gaze. His eyes, deep and searching, locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt completely exposed.

“Just... preparing?” you said softly, the words sounding more like a question than a statement.

Isaac’s brow furrowed slightly as his gaze shifted to the tiny clothes you were clutching. His silence was heavy, his eyes lingering on the miniature suit, then the delicate ruffles of the dress. You couldn’t read his expression entirely—there was curiosity there, yes, but also something deeper, something more guarded.

“For what?” he asked, his voice quieter now, though still edged with that careful restraint he used when stepping into uncertain territory.

You swallowed hard, the tiny outfits suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. Your eyes fell to the delicate ruffles of the dress, the soft folds of the miniature suit. The words you wanted to say—needed to say—swirled in your mind, tangling with the ache in your chest. Your cheeks flushed with warmth, a wave of vulnerability rushing over you.

Isaac stood there, waiting, his presence steady but unreadable. His gaze flickered between your face and the clothes you held, his expression shadowed by something you couldn’t quite place. You opened your mouth, desperate to explain, to tell him why these small, fragile things had stopped you in your tracks, but the weight of the moment stole your voice.

He exhaled softly, his hand running through his hair, a gesture you recognized as his way of buying time. When he finally spoke, his words were simple, yet they cut through the thick silence like a blade.

“Put them in the basket.”

The tone wasn’t harsh or dismissive, but it carried a finality that left no room for discussion. For a moment, you just stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. His eyes didn’t meet yours, fixed instead on the space just over your shoulder. He was retreating again—pulling back into that guarded place you had been trying so hard to reach.

Wordlessly, you placed the tiny clothes in the basket, the soft rustle of fabric sounding louder than it should have. Your fingers lingered on the handle for a moment before you stepped aside, letting Isaac take the lead as he pushed the cart toward the register.

The walk to the checkout was painfully quiet, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words. You followed behind him, your heart thudding in your chest as you glanced at his back. His shoulders were tense, his steps deliberate but unhurried. You wanted to reach for him, to close the space between you, but the weight of his silence kept you at bay.

As the cashier scanned your items, the tiny outfits felt like an elephant in the room. You watched Isaac out of the corner of your eye as he handed over his card, his face impassive, his focus on the task at hand. The small beep of the register felt deafening in the oppressive quiet between you.

The drive home was worse.

You sat in the passenger seat, your hands folded in your lap, your gaze fixed out the window. The world outside passed in a blur of muted colors, the early evening light painting the horizon in shades of gold and pink. But you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate it, not with the tension thickening the air inside the car.

Isaac’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles faintly white, though he drove with his usual precision. His eyes stayed on the road, his expression unreadable. The hum of the engine and the occasional turn signal were the only sounds breaking the silence.

You stole a glance at him, your heart aching as you noticed the way his jaw was set, the slight furrow in his brow. He was thinking—wrestling with something—but he wasn’t letting you in.

The clothes sat in the bag on the backseat, their presence a silent reminder of the moment that had unraveled between you in the store. You wanted to speak, to ask him what he was thinking, what he was feeling, but the words lodged in your throat.

As the car pulled into the driveway, the familiar sight of home offered little comfort. Isaac turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out immediately. He sat there, his hands still resting on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the dashboard.

You waited, your heart pounding, hoping he would say something—anything—to break the silence. But when he finally moved, it was to open the door and step out, leaving you to follow him inside.

The house felt colder than usual when you entered, the quiet pressing down on you like a weight. Isaac carried the bags into the kitchen, his movements efficient but distant. You lingered by the door, unsure of what to do, how to bridge the growing gap between you.

And then, just as he began unpacking the groceries, he glanced at you. It was fleeting—barely more than a second—but in that moment, you saw it: the conflict, the hesitation, the unspoken words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

It was enough to keep your hope alive, even as the silence between you remained.

 ──

You opened your eyes slowly, the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains casting silvery patterns across the room. Blinking away the haze of sleep, you rubbed at the crust that had settled in the corners of your eyes. You must’ve dozed off, though the weight in the empty space beside you told you everything you needed to know—Isaac still wasn’t in bed.

Had it only been minutes? Or had you slept through hours, only to find him still absent from your side? The thought sent a pang through your chest, a dull ache that settled just below your ribs. You pressed your lips together, willing the feeling to fade, but it lingered, stubborn and unyielding.

Sitting up, you ran a hand through your hair, your fingers catching on tangles. The sheets slipped from your shoulders, the cool air brushing against your skin as you glanced toward his side of the bed. It was untouched, the pillow still faintly holding the curve of where you’d rested your head earlier when you’d sought solace in his absence.

Your heart twisted at the sight. How long had it been since he’d slept beside you? Truly slept, with his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck? The distance between you wasn’t just physical anymore; it was a chasm that had grown wider with every passing day.

But tonight, as the silence pressed in around you, something shifted. A flicker of resolve sparked within you, chasing away the lingering drowsiness. Sitting up straighter, you let out a breath and nodded to yourself. Enough was enough.

You had spent too many nights in this limbo, too many moments questioning and second-guessing, waiting for him to come to you. The ache in your chest was now accompanied by a quiet determination, a need to face the truth, whatever it might be. You couldn’t continue like this—tiptoeing around his distance, hoping he’d let you in.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor shocking against your bare feet. Your pulse quickened as you stood, your resolve growing stronger with each step. You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. Morning wouldn’t do. This couldn’t wait.

"Now," you whispered to yourself, the word hanging in the air like a fragile promise. The dim glow of the hallway light illuminated your path as you moved toward the study door. Each step you took was deliberate, your feet sinking slightly into the plush rug that ran the length of the corridor. The faint scent of aged wood and leather lingered in the air, a remnant of countless nights spent in quiet contemplation. The house seemed to hold its breath as if waiting for what was about to unfold.

You paused just outside the study, the thin sliver of light escaping from the cracked door casting jagged shadows on the wall. Through the opening, you could see him—Isaac. His broad shoulders were hunched over the desk, his face partially obscured by a hand that moved methodically across a page. The rhythmic scratch of his pen filled the room, a sound both familiar and maddeningly distant. He was there, but not present. Not with you.

A knot tightened in your chest, an amalgamation of anger, longing, and exhaustion. This wasn’t the first time you’d found him here, lost in his world of ink and thought while you wrestled with your own demons in silence. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t sustainable.

The hinges groaned as you pushed the door open, the sound slicing through the quiet like a reprimand. Isaac’s hand stilled mid-stroke, his posture stiffening, though he didn’t immediately look up. The warm glow of the desk lamp bathed him in a soft halo, but his features were shadowed, unreadable. You stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind you, cutting off the sliver of hallway light.

“Isaac,” you said, the sharp edge in your voice betraying the storm beneath your calm exterior. The single utterance of his name felt like a challenge, daring him to look at you. Daring him to see you.

He finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. They were stormy, a mix of exhaustion and something deeper, something darker. Guilt, perhaps. Or fear. The silence between you was thick, almost suffocating. For a moment, you wondered if he would speak, but when he didn’t, you pressed on.

“We need to talk,” you said, each word deliberate, each syllable weighted with the gravity of what you were about to say. You crossed your arms, not to shield yourself but to ground yourself. “Now.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you took a step closer. The air in the room felt heavier now, charged with the weight of unspoken words and suppressed emotions. “You don’t want to have a child with me—I get it now, okay? But I need you to stop avoiding me.” The words spilled out in a rush, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “We can return the clothes or… or even just throw them out.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and you hated yourself for it. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. This wasn’t about your pain. It was about the chasm that had grown between you and the man you loved.

Isaac’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as if your words had pierced a long-buried wound. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white, as though anchoring himself against a tide of emotions threatening to pull him under.

“I never wanted you to feel like this,” he said finally, his voice low, rough with regret. His eyes flickered with something unspoken, a shadow that mirrored the weight of your own pain. “I never meant for you to think I didn’t want this.”

“Then why?” The question spilled from your lips, your voice barely above a whisper. It lingered in the air, fragile but laden with all the unanswered doubts and sleepless nights. Why the distance? Why the silence? Why the growing ache between two people who once felt inseparable?

Isaac exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the disheveled strands. It was a gesture that felt both frustrated and exposed, as though he were struggling to hold himself together. “I do want a child with you,” he said at last, his voice steadier but carrying a sadness that made your chest tighten. “I do. It’s just…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor as though the words were too heavy to lift.

“You’re scared,” you said softly, stepping closer. It wasn’t an accusation but a quiet understanding, a bridge to the pain he’d kept locked away. Your voice, once sharp with hurt, softened, the edges worn smooth by the realization dawning in your chest. Gently, you reached out, brushing your fingers against his. His hand was warm but tense, his muscles coiled with the instinct to pull away.

“What happened to you when you were younger… it won’t happen to our children,” you whispered, your thumb tracing the veins on the back of his hand. “You’ll protect them, Isaac. Just like you’ve protected me.”

His head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of disbelief and longing. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, his voice breaking, the cracks in his resolve finally visible. 

“Because you’re here,” you said, cutting him off gently. “You fight. You’ve already given so much of yourself to love, Isaac. I trust you. I’ve always trusted you. You’ve shown me, over and over, that love isn’t just words to you. It’s in the way you care,”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of the wind outside, the world seeming to hold its breath alongside you. Slowly, you felt the tension in his hand ebb, his fingers relaxing under yours until they intertwined, holding you as tightly as if you were the lifeline he didn’t realize he needed.

“Come here,” he murmured at last, his voice unsteady but tender. He stood slowly, almost hesitantly, and then his arms were around you, pulling you into him. He held you like he never wanted to let go, like letting go might mean losing everything that mattered. You buried your face against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your cheek, grounding you in the present.

When he pulled back, it was only enough to meet your gaze. His hand came up, rough but careful, cupping your face as though you were something precious. His thumb brushed away the tear that had escaped down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking again, though this time it was under the weight of relief. “For making you feel alone in this. For letting fear win.”

“You don’t have to fight it alone,” you said, your voice steady. “We’re in this together, Always.”

He leaned down, his lips finding yours, the kiss tentative at first, like a thread being mended after fraying for too long. When you leaned into him, his hands moved to your waist, his hold firm but gentle, as if afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. The kiss deepened, a silent vow exchanged in the warmth of his touch.

When the moment finally broke, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “Let’s go upstairs,” you whispered, your voice soft but sure, an invitation to continue building the life you both wanted.

 ──

Before long, you found yourselves upstairs, a trail of fleeting kisses guiding the way to your bed.

Your breath hitched as the soft sheets cradled your back, the room around you dimly lit, casting warm shadows that danced across the walls. Isaac hovered over you, his eyes searching yours, a storm of emotions swirling in his gaze—longing, vulnerability, and a newfound determination that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. The kiss deepened, his hand sliding along the curve of your waist, fingers pressing gently but possessively. His touch ignited sparks where his skin met yours, a trail of warmth that left you yearning for more.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and reverent, the words a confession and a promise all at once. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jawline, then lower, the sensation of his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against the hollow of your neck as though grounding himself in the moment.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, your pulse quickening at the way his name slipped from your lips like a prayer. He responded with a soft groan, the sound vibrating against your skin as he shifted, his weight pressing you into the mattress in a way that felt both grounding and electrifying.

"Isaac," you whispered, your voice trembling but steady with desire. His name was all you could manage, a plea and a declaration wrapped in a single breath. 

You could feel the heat building between your bodies as Isaac's hands began to wander, exploring the curves of your pajama-clad form. Your own hands slid up the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the material. The contrast of your pajamas and his suit, the soft cotton and the starched linen, only heightened the intensity of the moment.

Unable to resist, you began to grind your hips against his, seeking the delicious friction that only he could provide. Isaac groaned, his own hips rolling forward to meet yours, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing insistently against your core. You could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, and it made your head spin with desire.

Isaac's hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them as he encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist. He rolled his hips into yours, the new angle allowing him to grind against your most sensitive spots. Your pajama shorts rode up, exposing more of your skin to his touch as he continued to grind into you with increasing urgency.

"You feel what you do to me?" Isaac asked, his voice strained with arousal as he rocked against you. "The way you move, the way you respond to my touch—it's intoxicating."

His hands slid up your sides, pushing the hem of your pajama top up as he exposed the soft skin of your stomach. He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of your body laid out beneath him, before leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses across your newly bared flesh. 

He trailed back up, his lips brushing against the sensitive peak of your nipple through the shirt. His breath was hot, and you could feel the dampness of his mouth even through the fabric. He blew gently, the sensation making you arch your back off the bed, seeking more of his touch.

"Sensitive," Isaac murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. His fingers found your other breast, rolling and teasing your nipple between his fingertips. Pleasure sparked through you, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

Unable to resist, Isaac tugged your pajama top up and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of your bare breasts, his gaze hungry and appreciative before leaning down to take one aching nipple into his hot mouth.

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he suckled and teased the sensitive bud. His tongue swirled around the peak, his teeth grazing lightly before he switched to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. “Soon,” Isaac starts pulling away from your nipple only for a string of saliva to connect from his lips. “These will be full and heavy with milk, aching for my mouth."

Isaac's hand slid down your stomach, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. He cupped your mound possessively, his middle finger pressing against your clothed slit, feeling the damp heat of your arousal.

"You're going to look stunning with my child growing inside you," Isaac said, his voice rough with desire. "I can't wait to see your belly swell, to feel our baby kick beneath my touch.”

He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, grinding the hard ridge of his erection against your core. "Do you want that, Love?" Isaac murmured, his finger rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed slit. You let out a shaky cry, your hips instinctively rising to meet his touch. "Mhm," you murmur with a soft nod.

He delivers a sharp slap to your covered clit. "Say it," he demands, his voice firm as his lips graze the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Isaac!—please, I want it— to carry your children,” you cry out, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

Unable to wait any longer Isaac yanked your pajama shorts down your legs, tossing them carelessly to the side. He took a moment to drink in the sight of your naked body splayed out beneath him, his eyes darkened with lust. Then, he stood up and began to remove his own clothing, his fingers working quickly on the buttons of his dress shirt.

He shrugged off the crisp linen, revealing his chiseled chest and abdomen, each muscle defined and rippling beneath his skin. His belt was next, the leather hitting the floor with a soft thud. He stepped out of his tailored slacks, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs that strained against his impressive erection.

Isaac climbed back onto the bed, settling his weight between your spread thighs. He settled his hips against yours, letting you feel the full heat and hardness of him through the thin fabric of his underwear. His fingers slid between your legs once more, cupping your naked mound possessively.

He circled your entrance with his fingers, spreading your slick arousal around before dipping a single digit inside your tight heat. He groaned at the feel of your walls clenching around his finger, your body welcoming him in. He pumped his finger slowly, teasingly, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

Isaac could feel your body tensing, your breath coming faster as he worked you towards your peak. He knew you were close, your inner muscles fluttering and grasping at his invading digit. Just as he felt your walls start to tighten, signaling your impending release, Isaac abruptly withdrew his hand.

Before you could protest, he flipped you onto your stomach, his strong hands gripping your hips as he positioned you on your hands and knees. Isaac's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he ground his clothed erection against the cleft of your ass. He could feel your body trembling with anticipation, your skin flushed and heated beneath his touch. With a low growl, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and yanked them down, freeing his throbbing cock.

It sprang out, long, thick and hard, the swollen head already glistening with precum. Isaac wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking it slowly as he admired the way your naked body was presented to him. He couldn't wait to sink into your tight heat, to claim you thoroughly.

Leaning over you, Isaac pushed your upper body down, forcing your face into the pillows. At the same time, he gripped your hips and arched your back, lifting your ass higher, presenting your dripping sex to him. He rubbed the broad head of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your slick arousal.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Isaac groaned, feeling your juices smearing on his shaft. "So ready for my cock." He circled your entrance teasingly, letting you feel how hard and thick he was, how much he wanted you.

Then, with a swift, sharp thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt. Your back arched sharply at the sudden intrusion, a high keen escaping your lips as you were split open on his girthy cock. Isaac groaned at the feel of your tight walls gripping him like a velvet vise, your body struggling to accommodate his size.

He started to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a hard, deep rhythm. The bed creaked and shook with the force of his thrusts, the springs protesting the vigorous coupling. The room filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, your needy cries and Isaac's grunts of pleasure echoing off the walls.

Isaac's hands gripped your ass cheeks, kneading the plump flesh as he pounded into you. He spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tight little rosebud to his hungry gaze. Unable to resist, he reached around to rub the sensitive pucker with his thumb, feeling it twitch and clench under his touch.

As Isaac pistoned in and out of your spasming sex, the obscene sound of your arousal squelching and dripping filled the room, mixing with the crude slap of skin on skin. Your juices splattered with each powerful thrust, the sticky fluid dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below. The fine Egyptian cotton began to darken and dampen, the fabric slowly becoming heavier and more clinging as it absorbed your combined essence.

Isaac's sweat-slicked chest pressed against your back, his labored breathing hot and heavy against your neck. Droplets of his sweat flicked onto your skin as he moved, leaving glistening trails that mixed with the sheen of your own perspiration. Strands of his dark hair clung to his brow, damp and disheveled from the exertion of his relentless fucking.

The pillows beneath your face grew damp from your panting breaths and muffled cries, the down feathers shifting and compacting under your arched body. Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth, dripping onto the pillowcase as you struggled to process the overwhelming sensations. Your own hair, once neatly brushed, now clung to your sweat-slicked skin and the pillow in wild disarray.

The room was filling with the heady, musky scent of sex—your arousal mingling with Isaac's pheromones, the air thick with the perfume of impending climax. The headboard slammed against the wall with increasing force, the paint chipping and the drywall shaking from the impact of Isaac's hips.

Pleasure mounted, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. Your inner walls began to ripple and quake around Isaac's plundering cock, growing tighter and hotter the closer you got to your peak. With a sharp cry, your climax crashed over you, your sex clamping down on Isaac's shaft like a silken, rippling fist as you gushed around his pistoning cock.

Your release triggered Isaac's own, Isaac's climax overtook him, his fingers tangled in your hair, gripping the strands tightly. He yanked your head back, pulling you up and off the pillow, forcing your spine to arch sharply. Your neck was exposed, your throat bared to him as he snapped his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming sex.

"Take my cum," Isaac growled, his voice a deep, guttural rasp as he explode inside you. His cock jerked and throbbed, painting your insides white with his thick, hot seed. You could feel each pulse of his release, could feel the heavy spurts of cum flooding your unprotected womb.

The sensation of his pulsing shaft and the knowledge of his potent essence filling you sent you hurtling over the edge once more. A scream tore from your throat, your inner muscles rippling and milking his cock for every last drop. Your juices gushed out around his pistoning shaft, the excess dripping down your thighs and onto the soaked sheets below.

Isaac's grip on your hair tightened, almost painfully, as he ground his hips against your ass, his cock stirring the mix of your releases inside you. He held you in place, forcing you to take every drop of his seed as he marked you, claimed you, bred you.

Finally, with a shuddering groan, Isaac released your hair and slumped forward, blanketing your back with his weight. His cock softened inside you, but he made no move to pull out, instead settling his hips against your ass, his release plugging you up.

You both lay there, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. The room was a mess - the pillows soaked with sweat and other fluids, the sheets tangled and damp, the air thick with the musky scent of sex. Your body ached pleasantly, your sex throbbing with sensitivity as it clenched weakly around Isaac's softening shaft.

 

──

You hum softly, a quiet tune that seems to drift on the warm spring air. The breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers through the open window, making the delicate pink curtains dance in gentle waves. Your hands move methodically, folding tiny clothes with care, each piece a testament to the love you’ve poured into this very room. The bassinet sits atop the white dresser, a necessity now that bending has become more of a challenge. The room smells fresh, light, and hopeful—a promise of new beginnings.

A soft knock at the door breaks your peaceful rhythm. “Come in,” you call, your voice calm and inviting.

The door creaks open, and Isaac steps in, his broad frame slightly hunched under the weight of the freshly assembled crib he’s carrying. His expression is proud yet tender, and your heart swells as you notice the care he’s taken. The crib is not just built but beautifully made up—the delicate lace trim of the dust ruffle and the soft pink sheets arranged perfectly. It’s such a small detail, yet it tugs at your heartstrings, a physical representation of how much he loves and supports you.

A warm smile spreads across your face. “You even made the bed,” you say, your voice soft with affection.

He chuckles as he maneuvers the crib through the room, careful not to scratch the walls. “Well, I figured I’d save you the trouble. Not exactly fair to let you do all the work, is it?”

You place the last piece of clothing—a pretty blush-colored dress—into the drawer. The memory of purchasing it feels distant now, but it still brings a smile to your face. You close the drawer with a soft click before crossing the room to hold the door wider for him. Isaac pushes the crib into its rightful spot near the window, where the sunlight dances in soft beams. Once in place, he steps back, hands on his hips, surveying his work like an artist admiring a finished masterpiece.

“Who knew you were such a handyman?” you tease, leaning lightly against the doorframe.

He grins, a little boyish and a lot proud. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says, winking playfully. Then his expression softens, and his gaze drifts to your growing belly. “But I’d like to think I’m getting better at showing you.”

You walk over to him, your hands instinctively finding the familiar strength of his arms. He wraps them around you without hesitation, pulling you close as you press your cheek against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, a grounding rhythm that makes you feel safe.

His hand gently brushes over your growing stomach, a soft, intimate touch that goes unnoticed at first as you remain lost in the moment. Then, just as his fingers press lightly against the curve of your belly, he feels it—a subtle, yet unmistakable movement. A gentle kick from the little one inside. His smile widens, heart swelling with a quiet joy, though you don't catch it.

He moves his hand slowly from your stomach, his touch lingering for just a moment longer before he gently takes your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours grounds you, the familiar comfort of his touch steadying the emotions that seem to swirl inside you. His thumb moves across your finger, grazing over the second ring now nestled there—two bands, each a promise. A promise of love, of family, of a future together. The second ring, placed there the day you discovered you were pregnant, symbolizes the life growing within you—the life that both of you had dreamed of for so long.

A wave of emotion surges through you as you look at him, eyes softening. His gaze is tender, as if he’s holding onto you, not just in this moment but in all the moments that led up to it—and the many that are to come.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath, as though the words are both a confession and a vow.

Your chest tightens with affection, with gratitude for all that he's been to you, and all that he promises to be. You squeeze his hand softly and look up at him, your eyes searching his face as if to find every piece of his soul in that one glance. “I love you more,” you whisper back, the words coming easily, as natural as the breath in your lungs.

His smile deepens, and in that moment, you feel the truth of your words sink into him, into both of you.

 ──

author's note: dedicated to ⏳ anon!

to avoid any potential confusion, isaac and pickel had a girl. you can completely ignore it if you'd like though.

[fuctacles]

For @batboysxprompts Secret Steddie event. My prompt:

Quote: "You've never been touched like this before?" Song: 'Raw Deal', by Judas Priest Optional:  a leather bar AU/place, +18 content, set in fall Don’ts: Pregancy/breeding kink, choking/breathplay, vomit, scat, watersports

E | 2365 | cw: drugs | loose Cruising AU, leather bars, bicurious Steve, going undercover | tape dividers by @cafekitsune heart dividers by me

The door slammed closed behind him, leaving Steve alone in the empty hall outside the Captain’s office. In his hands, he was holding the turning point of his career, a special assignment he was dreaming of, handed him by the captain himself. A leather jacket. With his new address and keys in its inside pocket.

He was still buzzing with anger at his colleagues, at the hateful words they used and their unwillingness to take this on. It was mostly that, which pushed him to bite back and offer himself.

By the looks from his peers, it seemed it was their plan all along. To send the gay sympathizer in as one of their last straws. But will he be a short or a long one?

It’s not what he dreamed of when joining the force, certainly not something he felt comfortable with. But he was too pissed to back out, and the whole case was hitting a dead end.

A strip of paper with a crude map and a name led him through alleys until he passed the first leather-clad guy, then another, then groups of them. He kept catching stares that were both the same and completely different from the ones women would send him. He knew he was in the right place.

The bar itself was suffocating with its loud music and weird smells. But most of all, the mass of bodies, glistening with sweat and smattered with hair.

So much hair on so much bare skin.

The beer was lukewarm, giving no relief from the heat around him and he knew he was on his way to a bad headache. It was like stepping into a hazy dream. He was pretty sure there was a threesome happening in the right corner of his vision. There was also a real possibility he was getting intoxicated on the fumes hanging in the air alone.

A guy, clad in a dark tank top and sweat, leans on the bar beside him, his dark eyes flitting up and down appraisingly over his body.

“You look new here.”

“I am new,” Steve admits.

“New here or new-new?” The man raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“New-new.” 

He lights up at that.

“I could show you the ropes,” he offers with a smile suggesting a joke Steve’s missing. He lets him pull them into the pulsing mass of bodies on the dancefloor anyway.

It takes him a couple of minutes to figure out the rhythm, let the music and the crowd seep into him, and guide his movements. While everything here was different, he’d been to bars before. He knows how to dance, knows how to flirt.

“What’s your name?” he asks loudly over the music.

The man’s smirk moved his trimmed mustache. He leans in, closer than any man ever has before.

“You can call me Spike.”

Steve nods.

“Sven.”

The man doesn’t move away, stays close and so does his lopsided mustache. 

“You look like Sugar to me.”

Steve smiles, surprised and flustered.

“Then Sugar it is.”

They dance, now closer but not uncomfortably so. Two guys beside them are grinding against each other, and the sight lights a fire under his skin. It’s a dangerous feeling, considering he’s on a job. Ah, and there’s a killer on the loose. It’s not the best moment to give in to his homoerotic fantasies.

So he plays the part of Sven, a shy, closeted bisexual who doesn’t make first moves, afraid of where it might lead him.

The last part distinguished him from Steve, who was insanely curious about what could happen.

Some making out, hopefully, wouldn’t foil his plans.

He doesn’t put Spike’s hands on his hips like he wants to, but steps a bit closer, and sways his hips in a certain way. 

A hand does land on him, but instead of pulling him in, it’s dragging him away.

“Back off, we’re dancing!” Spike pushes between him and the owner of the hand. Steve looks back, ready to snark at whoever is groping him, but he finds a familiar face.

He’s frozen for a second too long, but Edward Munson, the man still considered a main suspect by many, takes it in stride.

“Relax, Spike, we’ve met before. Haven’t we?”

Steve nods, earning himself a glare from Spike.

“The Freak? You said you were new to the scene.”

“Never said we’ve met here,” Munson clarifies, voice growing sharper with a warning. “Go find a different virgin, you perv.”

Spike grumbles something before leaving, and Steve is pulled into Munson’s chest. He huffs when their ribcages collide painfully. Everything is hot and sticky, and he wants to go home. Or rather, the temporary flat he’s renting while undercover.

“So Spike likes inexperienced men, huh?” he asks conversationally. 

“Yeah, but he also lives with two roommates who've known him for the past five years.” Munson rolls his eyes. “An unlikely suspect.”

“Thought you weren’t going to help us?” Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“Maybe I’m not helping you. Maybe I’m just keeping my eyes open because someone is killing gays in the area.”

Steve humms at that.

“So what’s your name, stranger?” he asks mockingly but Steve already knows he likes pushing buttons. Especially with cops, suspect or not. 

“Sven. But Spike seems to think Sugar works better for me.”

The man snorts, giving him a quick once over. 

“It does,” he decided. “Well, if you hear about the Freak or Popper, that might be me.”

“Popper?”

“Care for a hit?” He reaches into his leather jacket, bringing Steve’s attention to his bare chest. There were a couple of tattoos on his pecks and a fine dusting of hair.

From an inside pocket, he brings out a tiny bottle. It looks like a nasal spray with two cones instead of one.

“What is it?”

“Poppers,” he answers shortly before putting the thing in his nose and inhaling. “Probably my most popular ware. Great for anal, relaxes your muscles and stuff.”

He shakes the bottle in an offer and Steve takes it. Plunges into the sweaty world of leather and testosterone, as were his instructions.

They keep dancing and take a couple more hits. Munson tells him about all the regulars, the dos and don’ts of this world. His hand is under Steve’s shirt and his mouth is on his ear to keep their conversation private.

There is so much to take in.

“Where do I get pants like that?”

Munson follows his line of sight and sees a hairy ass peeking from a cut-out in leather pants. He grins back at him.

“I can show you a place.”

Two weeks in and Steve is barely focused on his assignment. The breeze on his ass is all he can think of. The stares he attracts, the fact that he’s almost offering himself on a silver platter. He could just lean a bit more forward on the bar, bend his spine, anyone could just stand behind him, grind against him, and…

His cock gets heavy just at the thought and he does lean in. Can’t help himself.

He almost sighs when a hand scopes the globe of his ass.

“You’re blending in quite nicely,” he hears Munson, Eddie, in his ear. Of course it’s him. “Just another slut begging to be touched by a random pervert.”

Turns out he’s into dirty talk now as well. Who would have thought?

“You have a really nice ass, too. I think the pants were a good choice,” he says, squeezing. “How do you feel in them?”

Frozen between pressing into the touch and squirming away, Steve weighs his words.

“Like candy on display. An offering.”

Eddie humms, suddenly closer.

“Yeah? What are you offering?”

He doesn’t know. The idea of gay sex had never really crossed his mind but for the past week, it’s all he can think about. He keeps wondering how far he is willing to go with the charade. If his curiosity will turn into exploration.

The palm presses on his tailbone and slides down, a single finger tracing his crack, but not pushing between the cheeks. It’s still tantalizingly close to his hole. Steve’s fingers scrape on the bartop in front of him.

“What? You’ve never been touched like this before?” Eddie asks teasingly. “Of course not,” he answers himself. “This is not your scene. You shouldn’t be here.”

Steve straightens up. He doesn’t want to turn around for some reason, so just presses against him, back to chest.

“I’m doing my job.”

“I could do it.”

“You’re not trained,” Steve reminds him, angry at the turn in the conversation. Places Eddie’s free hand on his middle. His fingers flinch at the skin-to-skin contact and Steve feels pride in his choice not to wear anything under his jacket today. Eddie traces the hair on his chest.

“Well, we have the same chances against a gun to the head.”

“He uses a knife.”

“And now you’re spilling confidential details. Not very professional.”

“Everyone knows that,” Steve argues but he’s already irked by Eddie’s prodding.

Speaking of prodding…

There’s still a finger, lazily tracing his ass.

He likes it. He can admit this much.

“Maybe it could be my scene,” he says quietly, turned enough for the other man to catch. Eddie makes an inquiring sound, to which Steve puts his palms against his, making him press harder against his skin. The finger on his ass slides between his cheeks.

“You could show me the ropes?”

Eddie lets out a husky, surprised laugh.

“Pun intended?” 

“Pun very much intended.”

He’s making a mistake. None of this is worth it and he’s risking his assignment, failing his precinct. Letting a murderer run around, knife in hand, killing innocent men.

These are his thoughts when Eddie slips his fingers in and out of his ass. It’s weird but not unpleasant, the drugs are doing their job of helping him relax. But the appeal is lost on him and it’s a pity because he really warmed up to Eddie, hoped they could be friends, solve the case together. But now it’s gonna be awkward, because-

All his doubts are cut short when Eddie finds his prostate, nearly making him choke on his spit.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Okay.”

Eddie chuckles from between his legs.

“Okay?”

Steve nods, blinking at the cracking ceiling.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get it. Do it again?”

“Of course, Sugar.” He leans in to plant a kiss on his leather-clad thigh before going to town on his prostate.

Steve arches off the bed in a silent scream and with a little help of a hand on his dick, comes all over himself and the pants he’s still wearing. His head is too heavy to lift properly and the gasps of breath aren’t helping but he looks down Eddie’s body with a frown. This was so much easier with a woman. He licks his lips and tries to get an elbow under himself. 

“Do you want to…”

Eddie looks up at him from where he’s wiping cum off the leather.

“Want to what?”

Steve scrunches his nose.

“Fuck me.”

He stops what he’s doing and sits up. He lost his pants before so his dick stands hard and proud between his legs.

“I do,” he shrugs matter-of-factly. “But I’ll be fine.”

Steve’s shaking his head before he’s even finished talking.

“No. Do it.” He uses what little is left of his strength to flip on his stomach and raise his ass. He moves it in a way he hopes is inviting. “I’m still curious.”

Eddie’s silent for alarmingly long and he’s starting to feel he said something wrong, but then the man lets out a choked sound. The mattress dips under his weight when he moves closer. 

“Are you sure?”

Steve considers the ugly pattern of Eddie’s wallpaper.

“No,” he decides. “But I want to know. Just use a fucking condom.”

Eddie scoffs and grabs his ass in both hands, kneading his cheeks.

“Of course.”

When he enters him, it’s like nothing else Steve’s ever felt. His dick goes so much deeper than the fingers and the stimulation on his prostate is twice as prominent. Especially now that he’s already come. He didn’t think he was gonna do it again any time soon but Eddie’s dick might just prove him wrong. 

And it’s not just the stimulation doing him in. There’s so much more to take in now.

There’s a man behind him, pounding into him with big hands holding his hips. He’s under him, bent with his ass up, face in the sheets, and rubbing against them as his whole body rocks for another man’s pleasure. He likes being used, likes being on the receiving end, he realizes. Already knows it’s not going to be a one-time experiment.

Eddie grunts behind him, low and deep, and his hips snap harder against his ass, fingers digging painfully into his skin. He can feel him twitch inside as he climaxes and Steve follows, stuffing his face in the sheets to hide his pathetic whine. He hasn’t been this drained after sex for a long time, and he wasn’t even the one doing the fucking.

Eddie probably felt the same, because he collapsed on him, all heavy limbs and itchy stubble against his back.

“You were so tight, so hot and perfect,” he mumbles against his skin, leaving tiny kisses in his wake. Steve didn’t know what to do, because he never thought what he would do after the sex. What they would do.

Thankfully, Eddie’s hazy blissed-out brain has an idea.

“Can we cuddle?” he asks, almost inaudible with his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder.

“Sure,” he answers in a hoarse voice because the idea sounds heavenly. “Lemme just…” he shimmies out from under Eddie who makes a displeased sound but Steve has to get out of the leather pants before he falls asleep. He does so as quickly as possible and falls back on the bed.

It takes a moment for their boneless limbs to align comfortably but it happens and Steve finds himself being the little spoon for the first time in his life. He quite likes it, he decides. 

[14dayswithyou]

I love your game and all your characters! ♡

I was wondering while playing the demo, and while doing all the spicy time 🌶🔥with Ren, would the player worry about getting pregnant if they are playing as a female?

✦゜ANSWERED: No. I have no plans to add any pregnancy mechanics into the demo, so y'all are fine lmao /silly

But realistically speaking, 14DWY is just a silly visual novel with no expectations on becoming "realistic" or "true to real life". I want adults to play the game as a means of escapism; not so they can find themselves worrying about any complications that come with it.

If this ruins immersion, you can just assume that Angel took birth control/contraceptives in order to prevent getting pregnant — or assume that Ren had a vasectomy!! (Knowing him, he'd 100% get it done if that's what Angel preferred)

[leondoodlezart]

CW: Pregancy Loss Mention

Tav'Ryl and Gale have struggled with fertility throughout their marriage and became a "It happens if it happens" sort of couple, especially after they adopted their daughter, Mina.

Tav'Ryl is AFAB and they are Nonbinary.

[pistolsister]

writing a meta abt crystal and having to add a wee pregancy tw / cw and y'all... the suggested tags including pregnancy...

[jeanbeaux]

ANYONE CAN BE A CHEF

jean kirstein x f!reader

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: tooth rooting fluff, vomit mention, taco bell slander.

a/n: this is apart of @mindninjax’s domestic day dream collab! thank you so much for letting me participate, i am sorry this is so horrendously late. check out the rest of the amazing fics here! bonus points if you catch the cage the elephant reference. yes the title is a psuedo ratatouille reference. thank you to @mitsuyasmistress for beta-ing love <3.

The harsh morning rays of sunlight diffuse through the gossamer curtains of the master bedroom, but the warmth hitting his face still manages to pull Jean out of his slumber. He rubs his bleary eyes with a yawn to see that you’re still passed out next to him, chuckling as he sees your face scrunch in displeasure when you too feel the effects of the sun. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before rising out of the sage green sheets, heading over to the bathroom to start his day. You’re still snoring softly by the time he’s done, so he pads across the hardwood floors on a mission to make breakfast for you both.

The kitchen has been Jean’s haven for as long as he can remember. He’d often toddle around the island with toy airplanes in hand as he followed the aroma of the spices in the stew his mother had simmering, earning a shriek from her when she would catch him reaching up to play around with the dials on the stove. In an attempt to quell the danger of her son’s newfound interest, she placed a wooden stool at the edge of the countertop, so that his little four-year-old body could rise above the top of the marble to see her roll out puff pastry. 

She began to rue that decision every time he would lean over and make grabby hands for the chocolate sticks she had reserved for the pain au chocolat, but as she watched how he would point at the oven and babble in delight as the flaky pastry began to rise, she figured being a little short of the filling was worth it. And as soon as he was tall enough to see the top of the island without assistance, she bought him a chef's hat, making him her official sous chef on Sunday mornings as they baked the treats from her home country.

The weekend bonding activity with his mother turned into something more when they started to bring their confectionaries to the PTA bake sale. No one could believe that sweetie little Jean on Trost Street was the creator of such delectable madeleines, ones that simply melted on the tongue the minute you took a bite. 

He swears he’s never felt his heart swell as it did at that moment, watching as more people kept milling towards their stall, his eyes shining as they would gasp in delight after taking a bite of the buttery shell-shaped cookies, praising how good of a job he did with them. Even snot-nosed Eren was bugging his mom to buy more. It was here that Jean realized that his cooking was something that could be enjoyed beyond the walls of his own home, and sensing the way his mother was looking down at him with pride at how far he’s come, cooking went from a weekend hobby to his passion on that fateful fall day.

Thus, the hours he spent in the kitchen grew, making everything from croissants to coq au vin, and by the time he was 18, he had mastered the art of French cooking. His talents had earned him a seat at the Marley Institute of Culinary Arts, where he sharpened his skills and expanded palette beyond his heritage.

But after he graduated, he found himself dedicating the small cream building he had purchased to be a house of French cuisine, all as an ode to the woman who had made his dream possible. 

Like everything Jean set his mind to, Chez Paradis soon became a success. Every day came with a new challenge — more refined palettes to feed, a drive for new innovative dishes. The added pressure was adding a few knots in his back, but those would finally come loose the day you would sit at one of his white-clothed tables.

You were one of Sasha’s work friends, brought in as a guest on a night of a soft re-opening. The one upside of the woman being capable of eating anything was that she would eat everything, making her the ideal candidate for a new menu tester. You had given him a soft scarlet smile when he introduced himself during the dinner course of the night, and Jean couldn’t help but think about how pretty you looked in that crushed velvet dress under the soft lights. 

His palms were sweating as he placed the ceramic plates in front of you, blushing like a schoolgirl as you thanked him for the meal. Jean watched through the kitchen windows as you cut open the goat cheese zucchini quiche, letting go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he watched you process that first bite with a pleasant surprise.  He has faced career-ending critics with more calm, and yet the sense of relief he got seeing your eyes widen as the tang of the cheese dances across your tongue is incomparable.

Sasha drags you to the back once the affair is done, bounding over to the blonde curled sous chef she knew was a little sweet on her to see if they had any seconds, giving you the time to give your regards to the head chef. 

“Was this the best French food you’ve ever had?” Jean joked. 

“It was! It holds a pretty special place in my heart considering it was the first French food I’ve ever had.” 

Jean threw a hand over his heart in mock horror, earning a giggle from you before questioning you further. Turns out the only exposure you had to French food was through the screen — confessing you had only seen the cuisine through Ratatouille which threw another dagger in Jean’s heart, and then he’s insisting you come again, this time a private dinner where he can show you some of his favorite meals.

And then it turns into another and another till Jean finally asks you out — and then the venue of these dinners changes to your apartments. Jean eventually stops cooking by himself, now bringing over brown paper bags full of groceries and a recipe for you two to try. 

It becomes a routine date for you two, laughing in the kitchen as old 2000’s music cranks from the speaker you have set up, Jean wrapping you in a hug despite your protests about his flour-covered hands, forcing you to dance with him as the pie you’ve put in the oven rises.

There’s a magic to those moments that never changes as your relationship grows, even after Jean came by with nothing in that paper bag except a velvet box. 

Because cooking with you is easy, Jean knows you’ll still hold love for him in your eyes even if he serves you Kraft Mac and Cheese. You make him want to venture out and try new things, new spice combinations or preparation techniques — and even if they flop, Jean finds comfort in the cute little scrunch of your nose, motivated to keep pushing further instead of beating himself upon failure.

But lately, you’ve been hard to impress, and Jean finds himself hitting a wall.

Those nose scrunches are accompanied with retching, sometimes even the smell is enough to turn you away from what’s in the kitchen. And what’s worse — you've been sneaking outside for fast food of all things — mouth dropping in shock as he catches you red-handed with Taco Bell after you turned down the enchiladas he had made for you. 

Now, he stands before the stovetop once more in an attempt to impress your changing palate, cracking the egg over the mixing bowl with one hand. 

He hears you walk into the kitchen over the sizzle of the butter, wrapping your arms around his middle as you snuggle against his broad back. The “good morning” you give him is murmured against his skin, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before you walk over to hop on the counter and watch him cook.

Jean is pretty when he concentrates, strong hazel brow knit as he pours the egg, picking up a fork to swirl the mixture rapidly in the skillet. His biceps flex as he tilts the pan towards him, elegantly rolling the egg on top of itself into a cigar shape before setting it down on the plate next to him. 

Jean kisses your forehead, finally returning your greeting before handing the plate off to you. His hands come up to his face as he watches you push the dish around with a fork, steam lightly rising from the egg when you finally cut in.

It’s a simple French omelet, just salt, butter, and eggs. The process makes the meal more than the ingredients do, and Jean figures it’s best to go simple with how you haven’t been able to handle anything as of late. 

The anticipation peaks as he watches you take a bite, and he’s praying that you enjoy one of his childhood favorites as much as he does. Jean’s waiting for the wrinkle of your nose, but it never comes.

Instead, for the first time in forever, he’s met with a smile, you lifting your fork up with glee before taking another bite.

“That good, huh?” Jean grins, leaning in closer to you. 

“Mmmhmm.” You swallow before lacing your free hand with his, placing his palm over your stomach.

“The baby is a big fan of this one too.”

thank you for reading! <3 please do not recommend this on tiktok or repost this work.

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