#he's like a love child from a fanfic

[nenehyuuchiha]

Lmao

[justaz]

somehow some time magic goes wrong and young arthurs from different points in time are pulled into king arthur era. everyone kinda has this back and forth of who is going to watch the literal 8 month old. gwen and lancelot are pretty good at taking care of him, so is percival but he doesnt seem comfortable with it so no one forces him. elyan tried to hold him but baby!arthur started wailing after three seconds. leon is sorta good but he has like no idea how babies work or what they need so when baby!arthur found his sword and almost lobbed his own head off, leon was forbidden from taking care of the child. gaius is too old and busy researching how to reverse the issue. who the HELL would trust gwaine with a child? arthur has this Odd aversion to the child but no one pushes him on it. ofc merlin, magic incarnate, has this like aura or energy that draws all these innocent woodland creatures to him so obviously little arthur is also drawn to him. in fact, merlin seems to be the person he likes the most. and merlins a natural w kids apparently so hes often the one that baby!arthur is handed off to.

he complains about it at first but when baby!arthur breaks into a fit of giggles after merlin calls adult!arthur a clotpole, he has merlin wrapped around his little finger. merlin stops complaining but does let arthur know that the one thing he Will Not Do is change his diaper. arthur laughs and walks away. merlin talks to baby!arthur like they’ve been friends for years (bc they have). arthur points out that baby!arthur cant understand him and merlin retorts that its like how it normally is. merlin gets to perform magic in front of baby!arthur and he LOVES it

my point to this was merlin dotting on little versions of arthur is a way that no one ever really did for him growing up and adult!arthur seeing it and healing little pieces of his inner child as he watches merlin play games with baby!arthur and make sure he’s taken care of. it especially hits him when gaius finally finds a way to send baby!arthur back and while everyone seems torn between upset they have to say bye, they’re also relieved to get the baby back where hes supposed to be,, merlin is like choking back fat tears. everyone backs off to give them privacy and merlin just kisses baby!arthur’s forehead and whispers some encouraging and heartachingly sincere words that have adult!arthur choking back tears.

then BOOM the spell also backfires and while yes baby!arthur got back to where hes supposed to be, now theres toddler!arthur. he has this gravitational pull to gaius (can recognize him) and merlin (magic soulmates ofc he has an innate trust in the man). merlin is happy to have his little friend back and gaius goes back to the drawing board. now they have this little 2-3 year old toddling after them and blabbering something that sounds like english if you’re patient enough

(merlin makes another comment about how little arthur has changed over the years)

the cycle repeats, merlin and toddler!arthur get attached and adult!arthur watches and heals a bit more of his inner child. gaius finds another cure that falls through the same way and now they have child!arthur. he has a bit more of uther’s influence in him but hes still a child. he gets hurt and tries to fight back tears but merlin sees he’s in pain and tells him it’s okay to be hurt, to feel pain, to cry. child!arthur says in that stutter cry children do when they’re fighting back tears that his father says boys shouldn’t cry. merlin wipes a tear that slips down child!arthur’s face and whispers about how he cries and lets himself feel his sadness before picking himself back up and dusting himself off before getting back to it, that it doesn’t make him weak but stronger. adult!arthur hears this and this may not be the beginning of his deconstruction but it makes a tremendous amount of progress in him rewiring his brain away from his father’s toxic ways of thinking.

idk if they’d get a teen!arthur since gaius probably would’ve learned his lesson by then but if they did, we’d get to watch Merlin vs Arthur Showdown 2.0 as merlin humbles the young prince and i think that’d be funny. especially for gwaine since he didn’t get to see it happen the first time.

[valewritessss]

Why is it that most of the time they either make Annabeth seem like Percy’s mother or they make her a tool for him to be more angsty and dark and disregard all of her character and trauma? Can we normalize making them equals

[myokk]

“She’s tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”😤😤😤

(Regency AU with Eloise and Sebastian inspired by my slow trek through Bridgerton these days & @bassicallymaestra ‘s AMAZING regency inspired art😮‍💨😇🙏)

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Undertale/ISAT crossover thoughts

Don't really want to write one myself (already got enough fics I'm failing to write XD) but ever since I finished In Stars and Time I've been thinking how I'd write a crossover between these two amazing games and I figured I'd share my notes in case anyone needs a bit of help/motivation in writing their own~ =D

Warning: These will mostly be in 'order of thought' as it's all barebones stuff. Also contains FULL spoilers for both Undertale and In Stars and Time so er, if you're still looking to play those/still getting through them don't read this and please play this incredible games.

Mt Ebott is located on The Island and the shattering of the Barrier brings the ability to see color back to all those on the (ISAT) surface.

Humans losing the ability to see color in ISAT was due to them/the 'wish wizards' of The Island sacrificing it (along side their seven strongest 'colour casters') in a Wish Craft ritual, naturally leading to humanity losing most of their 'colour magic' knowledge.

Undertale's 'sepia flashbacks' were all Chara's memories of how the world looked to them, BUT once in the Underground they were able to see (and remember things on the Surface) in color (hence the whole 'golden flowers' bit; it was still mostly just a cover story but Chara genuinely wished that they could see their favorite flower field as the 'gold' they realized it was rather than the 'mid tones' they saw it as on the Surface).

...The 'erasure' of the Island I'm thinking might've been accidentally poor Chara and Asriel's fault: with Chara's 'ritual' killing of themselves via buttercup taking three days to happen, Chara being from the Island insisting Asriel always give them flowers in groups of three, seven and thirteen, and an entire Underground filled with tons and tons of 'trapped' wishes from monster kind for their freedom combining with Chara's self loathing/desire to hurt those who hurt them trapping them in a loop that Just. Wouldn't. End. until Chara eventually snapped and pulled a 'May these people, this Island, EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE WHO'D EVER HURT THE MONSTERS I LOVE including me BE ERASED UNTIL THE MONSTERS ARE FREE!' and um. Welp. There went an entire nation... (also Flowey eventually remembered some of this but only after going back to being Flowey post Asriel and probably it took a while for him to sort through all that).

Which er, means in this fic, that the people of The Island and the Island itself are still 100% there but they've all spent roughly 8 years or so all blitzed out of their minds: Need to think of Chara's exact wish wording so its not just 'corpses everywhere' but very good odds the people on the Island were either running on full automatic for years or able to remember some stuff but only if they very very carefully did not think of themselves as their own countrymen/used the languages of elsewhere/were careful not to think of where they were as any actual location within their country...

...Which naturally would effect the kids by far the most as their very language is basically a brown note (bilingual types could at least swap over to a different language but likely most of The Island was rendered silent) and well, pretty hard to remember Mt Ebbot is the mountain that must not be climbed when you can't think of the locations around you by name and the adults may or may not remember the kids exist half the time so... Yeah. Cue a lot of kids climbing up the mountain due to both lack of warnings and increased chances of feeling ignored/isolated/hurt.

Aka why in Undertale we can never hear/read anything Frisk says, why the monsters outside of Flowey/Asriel never refer to Chara by name and why no one remembers Frisk's name until after the Barrier shatters: Chara's 'Wish' couldn't be broken until then.

Not sure where all the anime and high tech that's washing into the Underground is coming from but either The Island used to be a massive tech hub prior to memory erasure, a LOT of tech was lost along with the loss of color or The Island's memory erasure in the ISAT world color magitech? maybe the wizards tried to seal away more than just monsters?, or IDK maybe the Underground barrier techincally had them displaced outside of Space and Time a bit and the garbage that was washing in was from literally everywhere thanks to the Universe wanting to help them or something (side note: realizing the memory erasure from Chara may have accidentally snipped Universe worship from the monsters as well since they clearly venerate the stars also but well. That longing for the stars DID cause them pain so..).

Imagining that Siffrin and party are in Bambouche meeting Bonnie's sister (or idk, having a vacation or reunion there if you wanna give Siff a bit more recovery/'explaining his issues to his family' time) when the Barrier is broken and all the colors come rushing back. Best first sunset ever (right before the entire Surface world kinda flips out over color, and to a lesser extent those familiar with The Island start remembering more and more details as the 'curse' weakens a little with every monster leaving Mt Ebbot) followed up by Siffren and the others absolutely losing their minds over how beautiful the stars are with just a tiny bit of color to them (the stars no longer being passively pushed out of people's awareness helps).

Anyway next day the party realize they have to investigate: Partly because Siff is well, kind of losing their mind over being able to see and remember home a little, but also because W.T.F and the Island is clearly the epicenter of everything going on. ...Also Siff may remember childhood stories about colors being locked away to serve as warning for if the Monsters returned so um. That's could be a thing.

Meanwhile the Monsters are getting a MUCH warmer reception from the local humans than they ever could've imagined (accidentally saving a nation from enforced amnesia kinda does that) and are also very confused as to why no one knows who they should get in contact with for formal alliance stuff (not sure if The Island has much of a government left at this point honestly...)

Would Flowey and the ghosty Chara acompanying Frisk count as Sadnesses???

... And er, that's all I got plot/setup wise. Most of my brain energy had been spent on imagining what soul colors all the ISAT cast have and also 'What Pokemon would they all be if they ended up in a Pokemon Mystery Dungeon game?' so have a list with my reasoning on that front! =D

Siffrin: Blue/Integrity - Might seem like an odd choice given his constant lying/acting but like. Given all of the memory erasure and the torture of the loops Siffrin's absolute refusal to compromise his family's happiness/safety or use the loops for literally anything not 'helping family/ending the loops' based (even when he's basically losing his mind and could really use just... Taking a loop or three to goof off or something) just screams how devoted he is to what he believes in and well, the amount he lies syncs up well with how insane he's going so yeah. Siffren is an Integrity soul who's having a really really hard time being true to himself due to all the wobbie breaking he's gone through all his life. Specifically I like to picture his soul as a very dark, deep black/blue with little pinpricks of other colored light (mostly green, red and yellow), like a tiny heart shaped starry night's sky <3 (And er, bet that soul went very 'red/bleeding sky' as he was losing it in Act 5; Determination isn't his color by nature but they were not well at that point at all).

Isabeau: Cyan/Patience - Isa is super kind and all sorts of things but what really sets him apart is just how patient he is about everything (in ways both good and bad). I like to imagine his soul looking like a blue daytime sky, maybe with the odd white cloud and yellow 'sun' dot: partly because it fits him but also partly to cutely contrast Siffrin's. *cue me humming Like Morning Follows Night from the RWBY OST because I mean. It kinda fits honestly

Mirabelle: Orange/Bravery and/or Yellow/Justice - Again another 'you might not think so' but like. Mirabelle is hella gutsy despite her anxiety and I admire her so so much (also JUSTICE BARRIER REFLECT AGAINST THE KING YAAAAGH! XD) Not super attached to it as Isa and Siff's but the orange/yellow glow of a sunset (maybe with some pink/purple along the edges to show her Perseverance <3).

Odiel: Green/Kindness - She's hella awkward about how much she cares and not the greatest at reading situations/reacting gently but like. Her sheer affection towards the others, her always watching and coming out with the bandages and how she point blank tells Siff 'nope, not angry at you nearly blowing up the world. Also you trying to do that because you love us is cute' means I can't really see her any other way~ Not sure if her soul would be dark green (for more Integrity) or more light green (for more Justice) but all in all, very very green, like light/dark speckled leaves <3

Bonnie: Purple/Perseverance - This kid endures so much so well I swear (they're also really brave so a little orange would work well too but despite everything I don't think bravery is their main characteristic). I like to think of their soul as very 'purple evening clouds with bits of brave orange gold/setting sun on the edges'.

And Loop has a White boss monster soul for reasons; thinking that in this crossover that Monsters believe that they were born from the Universe's compassion (with The Islander's myths claiming they're the result of failed/'cursed' wishes like the 'brother who can understand my suffering Wish Craft' fairytale Siff finds in the Orary room) and both Monsters and the Islanders believing Sadnesses are born from forcing a wish of cruelty/sorrow that goes against the will of the Universe (cue Chara and Flowey who probably were Sadnesses in this until the breaking of the Barrier grumbling that yeah that sounds about right and The King from ISAT proving to even more aaagh than he already was).

And yeah. I'm out of babble thoughts now so hope that this was interesting for you all and please feel free to yoink any ideas that snag your interest <3

[bb0nline]

I know I haven't posted here in forver but mp100 moots PLEASE tell me you know who wrote the fanfic "Sadness Accident" and if it still exist I can't find it anywhere and it is literally my fav fic of all time I'm going crazy😭😭😭😭.

[hellogoodbyeitsme]

DCU fandom is so funny because everyone is always mad. Feels like living with my parents again 🥰 home sweet home 🥰

[innytoes]

“You got me a stocking?” - “Of course, you’re family.” for Reggie & Rose?

Reggie is ten when he meets Julie, after being held back a year in class. All his friends move up, and sure, he still sees Luke and Alex and Bobby in the halls and after school, but their lunch period isn't at the same time anymore. It's lonely, and a lot of kids in his new class think he's dumb, and maybe he is.

Julie is the first person to talk to him, to be his friend. Then, she drags him into her little group, with Flynn, and Carrie, and it's a little weird at first (not because girls have cooties, but maybe a little something like that. Reggie learns a lot about Girls in general and these girls in particular.)

He gets invited to birthday parties and sleepovers and Mr and Mrs Molina (who are quick to tell him that just Ray and Rose is fine) don't even make him sleep in a separate room because he's a Boy. Though they do have to leave the door open. They're kind of the coolest parents ever, even cooler than the Mercers. (If only because the Mercers don't have an entire music studio in their back yard.)

Reggie is eleven when Julie starts bringing extra big lunches to school, and insisting he take some, talking about how her aunt foisted too much food onto them, or how her dad accidentally packed her two sandwiches.

He hadn't thought anyone would notice he's stopped bringing lunches to school. His mom refuses to sign the little paper that would qualify him for free lunches, saying Peters don’t take hand outs. But after a few weeks of Julie coming up with excuses, she just casually slides Reggie his half, and Reggie quietly accepts. Carrie and Flynn never say anything mean about it, and his mom doesn’t have to find out, so it’s fine.

Reggie is twelve when he has to start explaining away mysterious bruises. He starts wearing his flannel or the cool leather jacket he and Flynn found while thrifting pretty much all the time. The guys take it in stride (Alex runs cold a lot too, wearing hoodies even in summer), and the girls seem to think he's just found his signature style. Like Carrie and Pink, and Flynn and... Coolness, he guesses.

It's Rose and Ray who notice it, question it when he pushes up his sleeves to wash his hands before dinner. He jokes about how he swears that doorjamb moved at the last second. But the bruises get harder to hide, and he's pretty sure even his friends are starting to get suspicious the second time he shows up to band practice with a black eye.

Reggie is thirteen when he starts to live with the Molinas. He's also thirteen when he sees Rose nearly punch out his mom. It’s at parent-teacher night, and his mom is furious to hear he’s once again in danger of flunking a grade. (She'd already been in a bad mood because Dad had promised to take this parent-teacher night so she could go out with friends and had then just not come home.)

She pulls him away by his wrist through the corridor, into a stairwell. Her shouts had echo and bounce around the space in an awful manner, especially when he knows how good harmonies can sound when you stand at the bottom of the stairwell and sing together.

He knows what’s coming, flinching and waiting for the slap, but it never does. Instead, his mother gave an angry squawk, and then he looks up, Rose is holding her raised wrist. From the looks of it, she’s squeezing a lot harder than Mom had squeezed his wrist.

There’s a lot of furious shouting, and Reggie backs up a little. This is all his fault. If he was just smarter, Mom wouldn’t be so mad. He knows Rose means well, but as soon as he gets home Mom is going to take it out on him, and probably forbid him from going to the Molinas ever again.

It’s only because Ray puts himself between the two that prevents a total drag out fight. He pulls his wife away with one strong arm, but then wraps the other around Reggie's shoulders and pulls him away as well. He can hear his mom insist he get back here, and he knows there will be hell to pay later, but he clings to Ray instead, letting him guide him away.

It's a confusing mess after that, with a trip to the guidance counselor, a talk with a social worker, Julie and Flynn hugging him tight after he gets out of that meeting, red-eyed and cried out... and then suddenly, he's at the Molina house, sitting on Julie's bed in her favourite yellow smiley face sweater as Rose piles blankets on the air mattress.

It's called a kinship placement, the social worker explains to him later. When someone he already knows well takes him in. Usually that's a grandparent, or an aunt or uncle. But the Molinas offered, and they passed all the background checks. She does ask him if he wants to stay here, or if he'd prefer a different foster home, and he rushes to reassure her that yes, the Molinas are awesome, please don't send him back to Georgia to live with his dad's estranged sister.

He gets his own room, Rose taking him shopping to pick out paints and wallpaper and bed sheets and cool stuff to put on the walls. Ray stocks the kitchen with his favourite cereal and poptart flavours, and gets him his own designated mug. It has a picture of a dog holding a slice of pizza in its mouth. Julie teases Luke and Alex and Bobby that sorry, Reggie's vote for movie night counts twice now, since he lives here. They watch a lot of Star Wars.

It still feels a little unreal by the time December rolls around. Apparently Rose and Ray made a deal many years ago that she has to wait until December first to decorate for Christmas. Which she does, but it also means he and Julie come home on December first to find piles and piles of boxes in the living room, festive garlands already wrapped along the staircase, lights on the porch.

"Just in time to help me with the tree!" Rose says, but it comes out muffled, because she's got a nail between her lips. She takes it out, using a hammer to drive it into the wood above the fireplace. The entire mantle is covered in a tiny little Christmas village, little houses resting on soft fluffy white fabric to simulate snow. She finishes the nail, and grabs some stuff from another box.

A blue stocking with little cameras embroidered on it that reads Ray. One with a music note fabric that says Rose. A deep purple stocking with white butterflies on it that said Julie, and a baseball patterned one that said Carlos. They’re off center, Reggie thinks, and there was one nail too many. Except then Rose goes into the other room and comes back with a beautiful red and black plaid stocking that reads Reggie. The fabric looks just like his favourite flannel.

"You got me a stocking?" he asks, shocked.

"Of course," Rose says, hanging it up. "Reggie, you're family."

That Christmas, Ray insists they all smoosh together on the couch in their matching Christmas pyjamas to take some new family photographs. After all, they need to update the ones on the mantle to include their new son.

[bisexualmultifandommess]

Me when I’m reading a fic that starts bashing characters that I love for no reason other than they got a little mad at the fan favourite:

[croissantconnoisseurdinosaur]

Soukoku Angst, ow, angst, ow

If there are any BSD fanfiction writers with no shortage of writing desire, but a shortage of ideas, don’t worry I gotchu, cuz I have the opposite.  

The thing with brain rot is everything becomes a fic idea and I can’t stop hurting my feelings with this one. 

TW: 

Loss of children

As always, feel free to steal my idea, but tag me so I can cry with you <3

Relationship: Soukoku, cis Chuuya, trans Dazai (can also be A/B/O if that’s the universe instead)

The two of them start seeing each other romantically about a year after they join the mafia (though to be clear this is Soukoku, so nothing is ever romantic per say, and that can lend it’s own layer of angst and miscommunication above everything else)

One night Dazai discovers he’s pregnant, and it is a shitshow.  His feelings go from completely numb, to furious rage and back again more times than he can count.  It’s not just that he doesn’t want this baby -- has never wanted a baby, will never want a baby in this life he’s barely interested in keeping for himself.  It’s not just that he’s young, it’s not even just that he’s cursed with a womb that shouldn’t have to bear the responsibility of his sex that his gender should never know... it’s that even if he did want this baby, he felt he didn’t have a choice. He knows he doesn’t have a choice.  That in itself is traumatic in its own way, even regardless of his feelings on the matter.  He doesn’t have a choice.

He decides to tell Chuuya anyway -- and while a part of him tells him as a last-ditch effort to feel not so fucking alone, a part of him does it out of pure vengeful spite for getting him into this mess in the first place.  Sadly, Chuuya reacts exactly how Dazai expected him to.  He’s happy.  He’s fucking happy.  He's already making plans for defecting from the mafia together and running away to hide somewhere Dazai knows can never, ever truly be safe. Dazai cuts him off and tells him he’s not keeping it and watches with a sick sense of justice as visible heartbreak leaves Chuuya broken all over -- even for just a moment -- before he’s yelling, arguing, angry right alongside Dazai but also at Dazai himself.  What does he mean he can’t keep it?  He doesn’t even want to try?  It becomes abundantly clear that Chuuya -- hurt, for many of the same reasons as Dazai -- is fighting just to fight.  That’s fine.  Dazai can fight.  He calls him stupid.  Tells him the only reason he wants to keep it is because he doesn't have to carry it.  He accuses Chuuya of only wanting to keep this baby in the hopes that it will be the one thing to finally make him feel human for once in his loveless life.  He accuses him of martyrdom, of thinking he’s better than Dazai for always taking in the strays.  Chuuya accuses Dazai of not having a heart.  They scream and yell and sob and plead until Dazai’s cold indifference and spite has grown tired and warm, and Chuuya’s red-hot rage has dulled to ice with helplessness.

“Chuuya,” Dazai begins, realizing there was nothing left to do once they had both screamed and cried themselves sick for three lifetimes, “do you really want to be responsible for when the mafia finds the three of us alive?”  Chuuya nearly throws up. 

So Dazai goes to the doctor, and the two of them carry on as if nothing ever happened.  Only now there’s hatred slowly seeping beneath their skin.  They continue to see each other as they had been, only now any love (in however many words) there once may have been just beginning to bloom between them in the midst of brand new feelings has been crushed to dust, and there is almost a repulsion alongside the attraction now -- the two of them hate-fucking whenever one got on the others nerves enough, any semblance of true care for one another long gone  alongside the trauma they both simply pushed out of sight, never to resolve. 

And it happens again.  And again.  And it keeps on happening, never any less clinical and cold than that very first time.  He tells Chuuya every time -- sometimes beforehand, sometimes after, just to let him know he’d been too late.  Sometimes he wants someone to share in his grief with, mostly he just to be cruel.  He resents Chuuya for doing this to him.  (He knows it’s not all Chuuya’s fault).   He wonders if he’s doing it on purpose -- waiting for that fateful day he puts a baby in him his cold heart is willing to keep.  (He knows he only wishes that were true, so it meant Chuuya would care about what was happening to him, over and over again).  Chuuya stops trying to convince him to run away with him after the third time, simply nodding numbly and grabbing him by the throat for a kiss they both pretended wasn’t salty with tears.  

Once day, upon hearing the news “it happened again”, Chuuya nods numbly -- but instead of paying Dazai any mind in return, eventually, he just... goes back to work.   

They’re too young for all of it.  

Dazai never stops threatening suicide, and even attempts are starting to be met with indifference, like nothing is shocking anymore.  Dazai absently wonders if Chuuya would care if he were gone completely. 

One day, he is, but not because he’s died.  The day Dazai leaves the port mafia, he sets a bomb under Chuuya’s car and leaves.  He doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t reach out.  He does nothing.  He doesn’t doubt Chuuya has tried to find him.  He wonders if Chuuya thinks Dazai has finally done it -- decided to escape for a parasite that was supposed to grow up and love him.  He wonders if that would break Chuuya’s heart like he hopes it would.  He misses him.  He hopes the not knowing hurts worse for Chuuya than it does for him. 

Chuuya has never stopped grieving.  As much as he’s kept it to himself, every loss hurt him more than the last.  He knows it didn’t seem that way -- years of watching Dazai had lent him all of the examples he needed to create a perfectly crafted mask that hid his humanity the same way that demon seemed to always hide his.  Chuuya wonders if maybe he never had any to begin with.  Dazai leaving him nearly kills him, and he hoped Dazai rotted away wherever he was, no doubt waiting for Chuuya to look all over the city to find him.  He would never look.  He decided not to miss him. 

Years later Chuuya gets word that Dazai is alive, and in Yokohama.  He’s a part of a rival organization, no doubt, and to be brought in for execution.  Chuuya feels like he’s seeing a ghost as the executive waltzes down the stairs to meet face-to-face with the ex-executive.  He’s filled with such rage and betrayal he doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he hadn’t choked down his bile in favor of spitting in his face.  

As the two of them become partners again, they reconnect in more ways than one.  They talk, they process, they spend hours up for several hours into the early morning over glasses of wine and whiskey finally processing their trauma, together.  It’s not nearly enough, but it’s a start.

One night, in the familiarity of Chuuya’s apartment, resentment melts away enough to give way to the guarded heart of love underneath.  The two of them do just that: make love, in a way neither of them had ever experienced in their entire lives.  It’s beautiful, and confusing, and there is more left unsaid than there is said, but this time neither can resent the other for that. 

They do, though, when it happens again.  This time -- years older, with a safe, stable job, far enough from the mafia to never be used as a pawn in their games again, yet close enough to remain protected by both them and the ADA... Dazai decides his choice has changed.  He is living in the light, where it can be safe to make a different choice: fighting for the good guys, saving the orphans, and doing everything he’d promised Odasaku he would to be on the side that saves people.  But he also realizes that no matter what, this baby his half Chuuya, which means it’s still half mafia.  As much as things have changed since he was a teen, that still has not. 

He does tell Chuuya though.  It’s a different conversation than it used to be.  Chuuya still offers to run away together, but it’s softer now, like he knows what the answer will be.  Even amidst his shock that Dazai is finally keeping this one, he is not surprised to hear he is not allowed to.  This time, he cries.  Dazai cries with him.  They barely even realize what they’re really saying is goodbye.  Even if Chuuya stays far away from them, there is no denying that any mafia knowledge about this at all will result in tragedy once a hard card needs to be dealt.  

So, Dazai leaves once more.  He leaves Yokohama completely.  Only his closest friends know he hasn’t gone very far, but Chuuya is not among them.  For all Chuuya knows, Dazai has left for another country, once again leaving Chuuya with only the parade of little ghosts that have followed him around mafia halls ever since he was sixteen. 

Edit: optional happy ending borderline crack ending below the cut

This literally sounds like a totally separate fic (maybe a fluff sequel to the angst prequel) but I decided the second half of the fic could be Chuuya defects from the mafia and  goes on a mission to find Osamu.  

But this would be years later -- he and Akutagawa planned a coup, and successfully had Aku *almost* kill Mori, instead giving him the choice to be killed or step down.  Turns out Mori is a coward, who tf knew.  

Aku is the new Mafia boss, and he didn’t even have to kill to do it, keeping his promise to Atsushi even all these years later xx

Anyway, Chuuya spends months looking everywhere for Dazai, and it’s only when he and Aku are able to convince Atsushi that it is completely safe, that the weretiger helps him out.  He convinces Dazai to let Atsushi tell Chuuya where he is.  Chuuya is too happy to be embarrassed that he couldn’t find the mastermind on his own. 

Cue chapters and chapters of fluff of trying to win back not only Dazai’s affection, but that of a little toddler who was taught to never trust a stranger.  Adorable.  

Cue healing talks and Dazai apologizing for being so cruel, admitting he purposefully hurt Chuuya with the way he spoke to him back then, and how if he’s honest with himself he never even regretted it.  But he does now. 

Cue Chuuya telling Dazai he knew.  He knew it was all a cover for how hurt Dazai was feeling.  And he never let it cut him too deeply for too long because of that.  How he understands, how he understood, even then.  How it’s not right, and it’s not okay, but it is fine, now.    

Eventual happy family neither of them ever dreamed they would grow up to want, but now can’t imagine being without.  Cue hilarious comedy antics babysitting with Uncles Atsushi and Ryuu, or Ranpo and Ed, or the way more capable Kunikida, Gin, Higuchi, Yosano, or Kyouyou -- basically a big happy family in a world where the alliance between port mafia and ADA is unshakable, all because of a little child with red hair and their father’s eyes.

EDIT AGAIN: MAYBE ADD ANGST BACK INTO ACT III BY HAVING THE CHILD KIDNAPPED ANYWAY DESPITE LITERALLY EVERYBODY’S BEST EFFORTS???  HAVE AN AWESOME SHOWDOWN WITH LITERALLY EVERYBODY ON THIS KID’S SIDE AND THE ENEMY NEVER HAVING A CHANCE?? WITH A SAPPY ENDING??????

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!

: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)

You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.

“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.

“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.

The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.

Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.

Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.

Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.

"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"

"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.

Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.

Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.

“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.

"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.

"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.

"Yes, sir."

As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.

The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.

In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.

The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.

One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.

Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.

When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.

Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.

Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.

You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.

Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.

Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.

Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.

You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.

Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.

"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.

Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"

You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."

"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"

Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.

How could he not know?

"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.

"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."

Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"

You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 

He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"

“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.

"Come here."

Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"

"Come here."

With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.

An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."

Sukuna responded only with silence.

You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.

The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.

In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.

Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.

"I can't—Uraume—"

"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."

"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.

"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."

Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.

The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.

The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.

You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.

"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.

"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.

"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."

You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.

"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"

With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.

The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.

The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."

You drifted into unconsciousness.

The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.

“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.

With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.

"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."

"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.

Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.

"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.

"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.

He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.

"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.

You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”

"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.

"Did you want . . . a girl?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."

"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."

Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.

“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.

“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”

“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”

Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."

He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.

"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.

He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.

"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.

You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.

"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."

“Did you fire the last one?”

“I fired at her, yes.”

Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"

He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."

Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."

“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”

He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”

Up until the kidnapping.

Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."

Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"

"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"

You . . . nodded. 

“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”

You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"

"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.

"Oh."

All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.

Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.

But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.

Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."

"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."

"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.

"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."

A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.

“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”

Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”

His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.

In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.

The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.

Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"

"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"

Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.

"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"

"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.

Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.

Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"

"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"

"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.

Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.

"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"

"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"

"Not toys. Friends."

Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.

“Papa!”

“Sukuna, come on.”

There wasn’t any winning with his girls.

Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.

Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'

That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.

"She's asleep," you informed him.

"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.

Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.

"I want you," you murmured.

Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."

"It's late."

"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.

"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.

How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?

“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.

“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 

Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.

“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 

Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 

“Hurry, then.” 

Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 

After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.

Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 

“Are you close?” you whispered. 

“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 

You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Please.” 

Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.

Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 

Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 

“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 

You both snapped in unison. 

Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.

[anexperimentallife]

Project 2025 would ban anything the far right considers pornography. The far right considers anything queer-positive to be pornography, and they WILL encode that into law if given just a TINY bit more power.

Have queer fanfic (or trad published literature) or pics of your transition, or of two men kissing, saved to your hard drive? If the GOP get their way, you'd be guilty of possession of pornography. Did you share any of it? You'd be guilty of distribution of pornography. Have a sweet coming of age story with a queer protagonist? That'd be child pornography.

Even now, states are trying to make it a crime to be openly queer in public (by, among other things, classifying dressing as the "wrong gender" anyplace kids might see as a sex crime against children). Oh, and Florida tried (and thankfully failed) to impose the death penalty for the above.

This is just one example of the horrors awaiting us if the project comes to fruition.

And the far right is already screaming that any adult who mentions around kids that queer people exist is "grooming" children. Wear your Pride shirt past a playground? You're now a child groomer. Think they won't put that into law if allowed? You're naive.

The GOP currently controls the Supreme Court (which is how they overturned Roe v. Wade) and has a majority in one branch of congress. Imagine what will happen nationwide with the GOP controlling every branch of government, including supermajoroties in both houses of Congress.

Oh, and top GOP officials have also announced their desire to NUKE Gaza, so don't come at me with, "but I can't vote blue because Biden..." Or tell me how you think Gaza would somehow be better off with Trump and the GOP.

In France, the left and center joined together--even though they disagree vehemently on many issues (get two leftists together and they'll have three positions on any issue)--to stop the far right from totally taking over, because the one thing they ALL agree on is that fascists dictatorships are BAD.

Much the same with the UK finally kicking out their own neo-fascist party, the Torries, to install 400 Labour MPs. Not everyone loves Labour's policies, but virtually everyone with a brain cell recognizes that the Torries are fascists, and that FASCISM BAD.

"Every election, they tell us this is the most important election if our lives!" Yeah, because each election over the past several decades has been more important than the one before, until we are now at a tipping point between remaining a fucked up oligarchy with SOME resemblance to freedom, and an outright neo-fascist military dictatorship.

Trump has literally stated publicly his intent to criminalize dissent, use US armed forces against protesters (Kent State, but multiply it by thousands), purge all agencies and stuff them with those personally loyal to him, and use the DOJ to go after anyone he perceives as a threat to his political power, among other things.

And remember the things he did in office, like pulling the teeth of federal workplace protections for queer folks (which Biden reatored).

I don't care if you don't like Biden or Harris. Neither do I. But the alternative is Trump, and anyone telling you not to vote in 2024, or to vote third party, is rooting for Trump, and for Project 2025. Anyone telling you not to vote does not give one single solitary flying fuck about vulnerable populations in the US or anywhere else in the world.

"You're just being an alarmist!" Right. Like I was being alarmist when I predicted the failed Jan 6 coup attempt. Like I was being alarmist when I said the GOP would try to use control over SCOTUS to overturn Roe v. Wade.

Fucking vote.

[genshinluvr]

Territorial

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader, Zhongli x Isekai'd!Reader x Neuvillette

Summary: Things seem to be going well when the men from Fontaine moved into the abode. Or at least that's what the others thought. You, however, can sense some tension between Zhongli and Neuvillette.

Note: How long has it been since I've posted something? A year? Over a year? Either way, I am somewhat back! Since I haven't posted fanfics in a long time, the new fanfics will be shorter compared to the previous fanfics. I'm slowly easing myself back into posting fanfics. This fic is most likely awful, but that's okay because it's been a while. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: I haven't written in a while, so, it's probably a shit fanfic LMAO

Word Count: 4.5k

Ever since the men of Fontaine decided to move into the abode, things were relatively fine. The men got along with each other, and there have yet to be any arguments or physical altercations. Yet. However, you couldn’t help but notice a certain someone avoiding one of the new members of the abode. You weren’t sure if everyone noticed the brewing tension between an Archon and the Iudex, but it was subtle yet noticeable (to you). 

The men didn’t have an issue sharing your love, affection, and attention with the others. While there are certain men who can be quite possessive (Childe), it usually never gets out of hand. Or, at least, that’s what you thought. Zhongli has been clingy lately— not that you’re complaining, but it was a little bit unusual because he’s not publicly affectionate. Even if he is openly affectionate with you, it wouldn’t be overbearing. Okay, maybe overbearing isn’t the right word to describe it.

“Maybe territorial is the best way to describe it.” You mutter.

Zhongli hums beside you, looking over at you curiously. “Care to repeat that, dearest?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts before rubbing the back of your neck with a sheepish smile. “Oh, nothing! I was trying to find a word to describe a Rishboland Tiger for my word puzzle!” You gesture to the word puzzle book in front of you. 

Zhongli leans toward you, peering over your shoulders and at the word puzzle in front of you. His amber eyes scan the page as if he’s checking to see if you’re doing the puzzle correctly. Thankfully, you are! Zhongli hums, stroking the rim of his teacup, preoccupied with the puzzle book. You rub your eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s almost eight in the morning, and yet here you are! Usually, you’d be in bed, sleeping the morning away until someone forces you out of bed (the person forcing you to wake up is usually Al Haitham). 

“And territorial would be correct,” Zhongli nods, smiling at you, “you’re doing well.”

You smile shyly before covering your now very warm face with the word puzzle book. Zhongli chuckles, pressing a kiss on the side of your head before proceeding to stir his warm cup of tea. A comfortable silence falls over you and Zhongli. Aside from you and Zhongli, everyone is still asleep in their respective rooms. Well, aside from Childe and Wriothesley because the two men decided to become gym buddies who get up at ungodly hours to workout, spar, and box. Given Childe's past in Fontaine, you can’t help but find it slightly odd.

Heels clicking against the floors of the abode pulls you and Zhongli out of the comfortable silence. Zhongli lets out a long exhale through his nostrils before taking a long sip of his tea, looking elsewhere. You look to see Neuvillette standing at the entrance of the dining area, gazing at you and Zhongli with surprise.

“Good morning, [Y/N], … Archon,” Neuvillette says, stepping farther into the room.

You smile at Neuvillette, waving at the Iudex. “Morning, Neuvillette! I’m surprised to see that you’re awake around this time of day.”

Neuvillette chuckles, pulling a seat out from beside you before sitting. “I could say the same thing for you, [Y/N]. You’re never up this early, but today is different. Why?” Neuvillette looks at you intently. 

A look of surprise flashes across your face before you smile at the Fontainian man. “Zhongli asked me to join him for breakfast, and here I am!”

Neuvillette hums, nodding. “I see. Now, did Deus Auri rouse you from your slumber for breakfast, or was this initially planned the day before?” Neuvillette interrogates.

You blink at Neuvillette and turn to look at Zhongli, who looks visibly annoyed with the Iudex. Zhongli gives Neuvillette a tight-lipped smile before sipping his tea, unanswering Neuvillette’s question. Without you knowing, Neuvillette shoots a subtle glare at Zhongli while Zhongli continues to drink his tea, ignoring the discreet yet heated glare thrown his way. You clear your throat before turning towards Neuvillette, only to see him brushing a stray hair away from his face. 

You can’t help but admire Neuvillette’s long hair. His hair looks so soft, and you kind of want to run your fingers through them. “I wonder what kind of hair products he uses. His hair looks so silky and healthy.”

“Oh, nothing special in particular. If you like to know what I use for my hair care routine, I can show you.” Neuvillette suggests. 

You stare at Neuvillette owlishly, mouth agape. “Did I say that out loud?”

Neuvillette smiles and takes a sip from his chalice while you’re sputtering and looking over at the Funeral Consultant with wide eyes. Should you reply to Neuvillette’s offer? But he has a hair care routine! Wait, if he has a hair care routine, is it possible that Neuvillette might have a skincare routine? Your hand starts to tremble— not out of fear, but excitement and a bit of anxiousness because you accidentally said your thoughts out loud.

Zhongli stares at Neuvillette before placing a hand over your trembling ones. “To answer your question, Monsieur Neuvillette, I invited [Y/N] to breakfast the day prior,” Zhongli says, grabbing Neuvillette’s attention. “Isn’t that right, dearest?”

You smile and nod. “That is correct! Zhongli invited me to breakfast yesterday afternoon! We walked around the abode, watched the sunrise, and here we are!” You gesture to the table happily. 

Neuvillette presses his lips in a thin line, nodding. The three of you continue to sit in silence in the dining room, listening to birds sing in the distance. The more you continue with the puzzle book, the more you become confused. You start to bounce your right leg, tapping the pencil against the booklet, staring at number fifty. 

“How the hell did I get into the Akademiya when I’m struggling with this damn puzzle?” You mumble to yourself.

“The answer is Fortress of Meropide,” Neuvillette says, his voice right next to your ear. 

You pause and look at Neuvillette, freezing, when you realize how close your faces are. You can’t help but notice Neuvillette briefly looking down at your lips before making eye contact with you. If your face wasn’t feeling hot already, then it is now. The longer you gaze into Neuvillette’s eyes, the more you realize how breathtaking he is. 

“You have long lashes.” You mutter.

Before Neuvillette can respond, Zhongli clears his throat loudly. Your eyes quickly dart to your puzzle book, breaking eye contact with the handsome and breathtaking Iudex of Fontaine. Fortress of Meropide, huh? You scribble down the answers, and lo and behold, the words fit into the small boxes perfectly. 

You press your lips into a thin line, looking at Neuvillette from the corner of your eyes. “Thank you for helping me,” you whisper.

Neuvillette hums softly, taking a sip of water from the chalice. “You’re welcome. If you need any other assistance, I am more than happy to help.” Neuvillette says.

The clock ticks away, and you find yourself in another comfortable silence. Only this time, the silence isn’t as comfortable as before. Is Zhongli sitting much closer to you than he was a few minutes ago? Neuvillette keeps glancing over your shoulders, watching you write the answers in the boxes. It’s almost like both men are glaring at each other when you're not looking (they are, but you’re trying your best to act like you didn’t notice the ever-growing tension between the two refined men).

The door to the abode suddenly bursts open, and Wriothesley and Childe enter, drenched in sweat and with a towel around their necks. Childe and Wriothesley stop at the entrance, looking at the three of you with surprise.

Childe points an accusing finger at you three, “Why are you two all up in my snookum’s space?” Childe marches over, huffing and puffing about Zhongli and Neuvillette's lacking manners when being around you— his precious snookums who can do no wrong in his eyes. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, chuckling while wiping the sweat from his forehead with the white towel around his neck.

“Geez, Childe, you can’t hog them to yourself,” Wriothesley mutters, watching the ginger-haired man snatch you up from your seat. 

You’re thrashing in Childe’s arms, swatting at him while muttering how sweaty he is. Childe ignores your protest and drapes his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your hair. You shudder, feeling his sweaty skin stick to yours— almost melting and becoming your second skin. 

Your nose scrunches up with disgust when you catch a whiff of his sweat. “You’re sweaty and smelly. Go take a shower,” you order, patting his head— only to regret it immediately. 

Childe shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I shower in peace when I witnessed my snookums sandwiched between two men who aren’t me?” Childe looks up from your neck, glaring at Zhongli and Neuvillette, who, in return, glare back at him. 

You poke Childe’s forehead. “Can you let go of me? I have a puzzle to finish.”

Childe shakes his head. “I’m not letting go of you until you return my hug, snookums.”

Sometimes, you underestimate Childe’s stubbornness and clinginess. It’s not like you don’t want to hug him! You love his hugs! However, you have an issue with hugging people when you or that person is sweaty— you don’t know why, but you don’t like it and cannot tolerate the feeling of stickiness. You grumble under your breath and reluctantly wrap your arms around Childe’s waist, squeezing your eyes shut when you feel Childe’s sweat seep through his shirt. Childe sighs happily and peppers your face with kisses, making sure to make it loud enough for the others to hear the obnoxious smooching noises. 

“That’s enough, Childe,” Zhongli says sternly, glaring at Childe from where he’s sitting.

Neuvillette huffs, swishing the water in his chalice while muttering, “Have some decorum, Harbinger.”

Childe pauses what he’s doing and glances over at Zhongli and Neuvillette. The two men shoot daggers in Childe’s direction, and Childe can see the veins on their foreheads threatening to pop. With a shit-eating grin, Childe proceeds to do what he was doing earlier— suffocate you with his kisses in front of the very irritated Zhongli and Neuvillette and an amused Wriothesley.

Wriothesley shakes his head, snorting, “He’s just fucking with you two, and you two are letting him win.”

Zhongli and Neuvillette don’t respond afterward; they only continue to glare at Childe from the corners of their eyes. After some time, Childe finally releases you from his sweaty grasp, though not before placing one last sloppy kiss on your face. You give Childe a tight-lipped smile before debating whether you should take a shower or continue your puzzle book.

“Snookums~!” Childe whines, sniffling dramatically.

Wriothesley rolls his eyes with a snort. “You’re even clingier than [Y/N] claimed,” Wriothesley smirks, pushing himself away from the counter before sauntering to where you stand.

You look at Wriothesley, suddenly feeling on edge. Why is he suddenly approaching you with that smug grin on his face? Is he up to something? Wriothesley pushes Childe to the side, causing the ginger-haired man to stumble and glare at the Duke. 

Before Wriothesley can say anything, you hold up an index finger. “What are you up to?” you ask cautiously.

Wriothesley laughs, his laughter sending tingles down your spine. “I’m just testing something. Relax for me,” He murmurs. 

You audibly gulp, causing the man before you to let out an airy laugh, his canines shining under the dining room lights. Wriothesley, now standing three feet in front of you, gestures to you to step forward with his index and middle finger. You inch forward, feeling multiple eyes on the back of your head as you get closer to Wriothesley. 

Once you’re standing in front of Wriothesley, you look anywhere but his face, worrying the smug smile will send you to your knees. Noticing your lack of eye contact, Wriothesley gently grabs you by the chin, tilting your head up. Archons, is the dining room hot, or is it just you? Wriothesley gazes into your eyes, the corner of his lips quirking up. With his free hand, Wriothesley caresses your cheek before chuckling. “My, my. Your face is quite hot. Are you feeling alright, dollface?” 

“You’re up to something, I just know it,” You whisper, narrowing your eyes at him.

Wriothesley chuckles, leans down, and murmurs into your ears, “As I said earlier, I’m just testing something. Do you trust me?” His breath fans your ear and the side of your face, causing goosebumps to form on your body.

He’s up to something, and the alarms are going off in your head. You’re not worried about what Wriothesley is up to! What you’re worrying about is how Childe (and Neuvillette and Zhongli) are going to react to what Wriothesley is going to do. Wriothesley leans down toward your neck, catching a whiff of your lotion and body wash. “Hmm, you smell nice. Are you wearing the lotion I bought for you while I was away in Fontaine?” He pulls away and gazes at you with curiosity, his head tilting to the side.

You can’t help but melt under his gaze. You gulp again, nodding your head. Wriothesley nods and pulls away from you. Wriothesley strokes his chin, gazing at you intently. You can’t help but squirm under Wriothesley’s piercing stare. He suddenly places both beside your neck, tilting your head to the side.

“Good. It makes me happy to know you’re wearing something I got for you. I’ll get you more the next time I return to Fontaine for work,” Wriothesley nods.

Your eyes widen, and you quickly shake your head. “No, no! You don’t have to get me anything, Wriothesley! I insist!” You protest, placing your right hand over his left.

Zhongli clears his throat, grabbing your and Wriothesley’s attention. If Zhongli hadn’t been annoyed already, then he certainly is now. Wriothesley clears his throat before walking away— but not without kissing the side of your head. Zhongli sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering incoherent words to himself. You swallow the lump in your throat before sitting back down. 

Neuvillette hums, stroking his chin. “There is a rather compelling trial that is being held at the Opera Epiclese. Your thoughts and presence would be most welcome should you wish to observe the proceedings alongside me.”

Your eyes light up, and you gasp with excitement. “Ooh, I can!? I would love to join you, Neuvillette!” You squeal, clapping your hands.

It’s not like you’re excited to see someone get possibly executed— what you’re looking forward to is being able to witness how trails take place in Fontaine. Instead of witnessing the trial from behind your computer screen, you get to see it with your very own eyes! 

Zhongli clears his throat. “Dearest, I must remind you that you have some projects to turn in today at the Akademiya.”

Your eyes widen, and the pencil in your hand clatters on the table. Wait, what project!? You have projects to turn in at the Akademiya!? You rack through your brain, trying to recall if you really did have projects that need to be submitted. 

Neuvillette narrows his eyes at Zhongli, raising an eyebrow with skepticism. Zhongli ignores Neuvillette’s stare and proceeds to sip from his teacup. Right when you’re about to open your mouth to question Zhongli, Al Haitham enters the dining room, dressed and ready for the day. 

You sigh in relief, push yourself up from your seat, and stride to the Scribe. “Al Haitham! Can you help me jog my memory really quick?”

Al Haitham raises his eyebrows at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course. What is it that you need me to assist you with?”

“I agreed to go watch today’s trial proceeding in Fontaine with Neuvillette, but Zhongli reminded me that I have a project to submit to the Akademiya today. My issue is that I cannot recall whether I do have a project to submit,” you explain, crossing your arms over your chest while tapping your foot on the ground impatiently. 

Al Haitham strokes his chin, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to recall any conversations he had with you regarding your upcoming deadlines with the Akademiya. Al Haitham nods wordlessly. You deflate and collapse to your knees, lying on the ground while sulking. 

“Eh? What happened to Windblume? They look heartbroken and defeated,” Venti says, strutting into the dining room while smoothing over the wrinkles on his shirt. “Was breakfast with blockhead disappointing?” Venti jokes, propping his hands on his hips.

You sigh and shake your head. You can’t be disappointed about the project submission preventing you from attending the Opera Epiclese with Neuvillette. Your project determines the fate of your future with the Akademiya, and you certainly cannot push the deadline back. Plus, you can’t be upset with Zhongli for reminding you of something so important. 

Venti extends his hands toward you; you grab his hands and stand up. You waddle over to the table and plop down between Zhongli and Neuvillette while sulking over missing the opportunity to witness a trial in person. 

You turn to Neuvillette, visibly disappointed, “Thank you for the invite, Neuvillette. I truly appreciate it, but I must decline your invitation due to pressing deadlines.”

Neuvillette’s gaze softens, reaching for your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You do not need to apologize, darling. There’s always a next time,” he smiles at you, “If you’d like, perhaps I can make some dinner reservations just for you and me.”

A hand slams down on the table, startling everyone in the room. If the others aren’t awake, they certainly are now. You look over where the commotion is from, only to see Childe huffing and puffing with a pout. Oh, Archons, you forgot Childe is still in the same room. 

“Snookums! How can you forget about me?” Childe whines.

You laugh nervously and rub the back of your neck with your unoccupied hand. You give Neuvillette and Zhongli a sympathetic look before getting ready to leave your seat to comfort Childe. Before you can stand up, Zhongli grabs your other hand and gently pushes you down, shaking his head.

“No need to console him, dearest,” Zhongli says, shooting a pointed look in Childe’s direction.

Childe puckers his lips and groans, turning around and stomping away. You sigh for the umpteenth time, resting your head on the table. Zhongli and Neuvillette both squeeze your hand to comfort you.

Since that day, things have been getting worse between the two men when you’re in the same room as the duo. Whenever you try to make time with Neuvillette, Zhongli would take that chance to tag along. Now, you’re not against Zhongli tagging along with you, but you’re sort of worried about his safety because of the look Neuvillette would throw in Zhongli’s direction. You’re not sure if the men aren’t aware that you can sense the tension between them, but if they do, they don’t seem to care about it. A week (or has it been two weeks?) passes by, and you’re eating dinner with the men in the dining room.

Usually, there isn’t assigned seating at the dining table since you want to be able to sit next to every person in the abode without leaving a single person out. But for some reason, not long after the men from Fontaine moved into the abode, Zhongli and Neuvillette decided that the empty seats beside you (anywhere you sit at the dining table, pretty much) were theirs to claim.

“But Onikabuto booboo bear! I want you to sit next to me this time!” Itto whines, laying the top half of his body on the table while giving you puppy dog eyes, his bottom lips jutting out before fake crying.

Neuvillette raises his eyebrows at Itto beside you, stroking his chin. “Onikabuto booboo bear? Is that supposed to be a nickname for [Y/N]?” Neuvillette murmurs.

Itto stops his act and looks at the Iudex with excitement, nodding rapidly. Itto quickly removes himself from the table before running over to your side of the table (which took a while because the table is quite long). Once he arrives at your side of the table where you, Zhongli, and Neuvillette are sitting, Itto pulls out an empty seat beside Neuvillette and plops down with a heavy sigh.

“In case you haven’t been, uh, informed about how things work around here…” Itto trails off, scratching his head as he tries to find the right words to say, “We,” he gestures to the men in the dining room, “have pet names for our sweet Onikabuto booboo bear.”

Itto places both hands on his hips; a smug smile graces his face. You snicker and shake your head. Zhongli wraps his arms around your waist and plants a kiss on your cheek, ignoring the looks Neuvillette and Childe are giving him. 

“Oh? Please do tell me more about this, Itto. I have been calling [Y/N] “darling,” are we supposed to have a unique nickname for them?” Neuvillette asks, tilting his head while looking at Itto with pure curiosity.

Itto blinks at the Iudex with wide eyes, “Uh…” he trails off, scratching the back of his head before looking over in your and Zhongli’s direction. “Not really. I guess it depends on preferences! I call them Onikabuto booboo bear because, well, I love Onikabutos almost as much as I love [Y/N]! As for the booboo bear part, I wanted it to be unique for them and only for them. Heh, I bet other people on Teyvat wouldn’t be able to come up with someone as interesting and unique as the nickname I give to my Onikabuto booboo bear!” 

You can’t help but melt at Itto’s response. You know that Itto loves his Onikabutos, and hearing his explanation of the nickname he gave you makes you feel so warm and soft inside. You pull away from Zhongli’s grasp, get up from your seat, and walk over to Itto. You wrap your arms around Itto’s shoulders and rest your left cheek on his head, stroking his hair.

“You’re too sweet, Itto. You’re going to make me cry,” you coo, reaching down to pinch his cheek.

Itto’s face turns bright red as he mumbles incoherent words. Noticing the look that Zhongli and Neuvillette shoot in his direction, an idea pops into his head. Itto wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his face into your chest, making sure not to accidentally poke you with his horns.

Kaveh huffs, propping his head on his elbow. “Hey, Abyss Mage, how come you give them more attention than the rest of us?”

“They love me more, that’s why!” Itto shouts, sticking his tongue out at the miffed architect. Neuvillette lifts his hand to say something, but Itto quickly stands up and lifts you from the ground. “Ha! They’re mine now, losers!” 

“Wha— Itto!” You screech when Itto takes off with you in his arms.

How Itto runs away with you in his arms reminds you of a mother cat carrying her kitten, but in this case, it’s Itto carrying you. The men stand up, shouting at Itto and groaning as they watch the Oni sprint out of the dining room with you while laughing manically. 

Baizhu chuckles, rubbing his temples as he watches the other men leave their seats to chase after you and Itto while shouting profanities. “I’ll be getting the first aid kit, just in case something happens,” Baizhu says, getting up from his seat to go to the infirmary area of the abode. 

You should’ve known that Itto is a magnet for trouble, but while he’s running up the stairs with you in his arms, his feet slip, sending you two tumbling down the stairs. While Neuvillette’s tending to your injuries with Baizhu, Zhongli scolds the pouting Oni.

Neuvillette caresses your face in his hands, “Are you alright? You took a hard tumble down the stairs, and I’m worried about the possibility of you sustaining some injuries.”

“I mean, my arm does hurt, but—”

“Do you guys hear that?” Thoma asks.

Everyone in the room pauses, listening closely. There’s a soft pitter-patter sound coming from the roof. The sound isn’t loud, but it’s noticeable if you sit in a quiet room and listen closely. You continue to rub the arm you landed on, trying to decipher what’s making the pitter-patter noise.

“Is it raining?” Tighnari strokes his chin, heading towards the nearest window, while Aether runs toward the window. 

Scaramouche raises his eyebrows at Tighnari, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since when can it rain in the abode? Maybe you’re hearing things that aren’t correlated with the weather.”

Tighnari ignores Scaramouche’s comment and stands beside Aether in front of the window. Aether peeks from between the curtains before turning to everyone else in the room with wide eyes.

“It can rain in the abode?” Aether asks.

You furrow your eyebrows and get up from your spot, clutching your throbbing arm to your chest. Zhongli places a gentle hand on your shoulder, accompanying you to the window. 

Ayato hums, tapping his chin while watching the raindrops pelt the window. “I never knew that the abode can have such weather. It seems like the rain is getting heavy.”

“Now that I think about it, I believe that it has been a bit gloomier these past few weeks,” you murmur, staring at the dark gray skies from the comfort of the estate with the men who care about you.

The men look at Zhongli before looking over at Neuvillette, who ignores the others' burning holes in his head as he drinks his water elegantly. Zhongli lightly taps your shoulder to grab your attention. You look at Zhongli quizzically while he examines your injured arm with discontentment. 

A small smile appears on Zhongli’s face as he caresses your cheek with one hand. “Let’s get your injury checked. I’m sure Doctor Baizhu has yet to complete the examination.”

Lightning crackling across the sky and thunder filling the air startles everyone in the abode. The heavy rain seems to have gotten worse, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll get better any time soon. Aether clears his throat and gets between you and Zhongli with a polite yet awkward smile. “I’ll take [Y/N] to see Doctor Baizhu, Mister Zhongli.”

Before Zhongli can respond, Aether quickly whisks you away while avoiding the stares from Zhongli and Neuvillette. Baizhu and Aether rush you to another room while the men remain in the same spot, not moving a limb.

Dottore snorts, shaking his head, “Who knew these two men are childish.”

Neuvillette and Zhongli glare at Dottore. A tree branch knocks against the living room window as the rain pelts the roof and window. 

Note: Finally posted something after so long! 😭 The fanfic is most likely awful, but I kind of want to make a part two for it, but I'm not entirely sure if I should. Man, since this is posted, now I have to plan what else to post... aside from the HSR fanfics. I think I'll post a fanfic for HSR instead of Genshin this upcoming week, but I'm not entirely sure. I might change my mind, but who knows. Anywho! To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

I didn't initially plan on have a taglist for this fic, but since someone requested to be tagged in this fic, I will tag them! Taglist for this fic: @rubyninja1

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[nyrasvoid]

The Cost of Duty

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

- Word count: ≈2.9k

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

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

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

"Gwayne," you say, your voice soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don’t," you say, "Just... don’t."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up then, your eyes meeting his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: Love at first (club) Meeting.

Damian wants to make friends in school. He asked Colin what he should do to get this accomplishment after months of failure.

The friend recommended joining school clubs, affectionately telling him that he was in a sewing club at his own public school.

Damian didn't see how getting into an organization dedicated to some hobby was going to cause friendships, but Colin seemed to have a decent amount of friends when he wasn't running around as Abuse.

He went to check on the clubs available, but nothing really got his attention. There was the art club but only one meeting told him that it wasn't for him. The club was more for his classmates to stand around and chit chat.

None of them actually did any art, seeing as the ussually club advisor was away on maternity leave. The substitute is the baseball couch on off-season, and although he encouraged everyone to draw, it wasn't the same amount of fun as normal activities.

The other kids assured him that they would be painting and sculpting once Mrs. Flor came back, but Damian didn't want to wait.

So he leaves and tries to find a new one. The world history club bored him with useless trivia, and the chess club had no worthy challengers.

Damian decides to try one last time before giving up, when he encounters Daniel Fenton trying to get a second signature for his Ghost Hunting Club.

Fenton is from outside of Gotham. He moved here with his family after Father bought out his family business, having turned their research into defenses against aliens. Damian had seen him around school, but other than the occasional bully, no one paid too much attention to him.

Gotham Academy had four requirements for a student run club. There had to be two members to be officially started. They needed to keep a clear recap of their club minutes, a teacher had to sign as their advisor and, for the first two years, had to be without a bank account.

Fenton held up his pathetic sign-up sheet in front of passing students. He stammers, "Would like to join the Ghost hunter-um if I could bother you for a moment - are you interested in-excuse me"

Damian watches Fenton try over and over to ask for a second club memeber, but no one bothers to even hear his full question. They walk right by him as if though they could see through Fenton. He can't say why but that upsets him.

Before Damian knows what he's doing he finds his feet marching towards Fenton. The boy is staring down at his clipboard with a disheartened expression before he spots Damian.

Fenton's jaw drops, and his eyes grow impossiblely wide as Damian gets closer. He draws his clip board up to his chest, staring at the Wayne as if he was the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Surely Damian is not that different looking than any other human. Why is he acting like that?

"Good morning," He says when he finally stands in front of Fenton. The boy's face turns s red "I am Damian Wayne."

"Hi, I'm Danny, um Fenton, I'm Danny Fenton," the other rambles while nervously tapping his fingers on the back of the clipboard.

"Well, met Fenton. I overheard you are requesting signatures for a club?"

"Oh!" Fenton turns the clipboard but in his haste it slips from his hold, landing on the ground with loud thump. Damian raises a brow while Fenton breaks out into a sweat.

Damian leans down to grab the board at the same time, Fenton throws himself forward, and he sees the collusion before it happens, but Damian knows that a regular child wouldn't be able to dodge it without raising questions. He allows Fenton's forhead to slam against his with a hiss.

"I'm sorry!" Fenton gasps out, but Damian heeds him no mind, as he signs the form with a flourish. The harsh strokes of his pen echo in the hallway, informing Damian that he needs to head to class before the second bell.

"I shall see you after school. We can see the famous haunted bathroom in the gym. " He tells the fool, slapping the clipboard into the boy's hand. Damian twists on his heel, strutting away. He throws a hand over his shoulder, calling back. "Ta"

He misses the look of utter awe adoration aimed at his back or the rapid growing infatuation in his clubmates' eyes.

It's the start of Damian's very odd club because he finds he actually enjoys walking around the school trying to find readings for ghosts. He even enjoys following Fenton to abandon buildings, dark sewers and sitting around with childish recordings asking for any signs of the afterlife.

That's mostly due to how nervous Fenton was when wandering into haunted places. He finds great joy in watching Fenton try to put a brave face on despite shaking in his boots when a ghost might be around.

It may be cruel of Damian, but it's highly entertaining.

Danny is not scared of ghosts - that would be a bit counterproductive given his Halfa status. He is crushing hard on Damian Wayne, and when he has a crush, he gets ridiculous nervous around them that it's easier to blame the shaking, the sweating and shuttering on phasmophobia.

But could anyone blame him? Damian Wayne is a walking work of art, so much that when Danny first saw him in the hallway, he was half sure, the surroundings had dimmed.

He wasn't exaggerating when Danny thought Damian had stardust and white doves floating around his head at all times. He was that stunning.

And he had walked up to Danny to join his club, the one he had been trying for almost a week to get started because he was tired of being a friendless loser and took up Sam's advice in a desperate last ditch effort. He is so glad he had that video call with her because without it, he would never have gotten to speak to Damian.

They were in different classes, had different lunch periods, and frankly, Damian was the son of the richest man in the country. Danny was the random kid on scholarship with creepy ghost powers hunting other ghosts.

He wrote poems about Damian's eyes when flying over Gotham, sighing like a pathetic school boy. He also dodges a kuni shoot at him by Robin.

Ugh, he hates that guy. He's so rude and has been trying to hunt Danny down ever sense they arrived in Gotham. He was scary good at what he did, and the only reason Danny stayed free was Robin not understanding that he was after a ghost.

Robin thought he was a meta and had attack because of that. Which, racist much? Danny openly mocked him just to get on Robin's nerves.

Batman let Robin cause after the meta because he could tell from that little smile as he raced after the glowing figure that Damian found the other attractive. It reminds him of his early years chasing Catwoman across the rooftops.

Maybe Gotham wasn't so bad a move after all.

[satorusdiary]

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro

Tojis a dilf in this one too, since you guys love my dilf toji fanfics sm :)

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who scolds you for taking his clothes in his massive closet, but also demands you wear his clothes all the time just because of how cute you look in it.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who loves the sight of coming home after a long day at work, and sees you in one of his large hoodies waiting for him on the couch.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who pays for your college tuition, just because he got jealous when another older male came up to you and offered to pay for you tuition. Not only that, but he demands the best from your campus only for you.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who spoils you, buys you all the best things anyone could wish for, just because you take good care of him and his son. The best girlfriend, and step-mother for his child anyone could ask for. <3

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who cuts your steak, or any big portions of food whenever you go into expensive restaurants.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who has many framed photos of you in his office, continuously rubbing his thumb over your face whenever he misses you.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who provides everything for you. He leaves his black card just so you could treat yourself, on your nightstand.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who gets upset when he notices you don’t use any money out of his black card. You’re his woman, and Toji Fushiguro’s woman deserves the absolute world. So why aren’t you taking it into your advantage?

———————————————————————————

Toji

Sweetheart, why aren’t you using my card? sent 1:09 pm

You

I don’t need it.. Toji i feel bad, i feel like i’m depending on you too much. :( seen 1:09 pm

Toji

Baby. Everything that’s mine is yours, go treat yourself please. You deserve it, i’ll come pick you up inna few n we’re gonna go shopping. seen 1:10 pm

You

I love you so so much, can Megumi come? seen 1:10 pm

Toji

Yes. Get him ready if it’s not a problem, i’ll take you both on a family dinner date at the new restaurant in the city. seen 1:11 pm

Toji

Also, i love you more.

———————————————————————————

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who isn’t afraid to embarrass any of the college boys who won’t leave his little pretty girlfriend alone.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who has your name tattooed on his waist, and the date you both got together on his bicep.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who can’t help but smile whenever you run up to him, with the biggest grin on your lips. His arms opening up so you can jump into his grasp.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who cuddles you to sleep, he has a large hand around your head and another one around your waist. Somehow, whenever you wake up his hand always manages to be inside your pajamas and in between your thighs..

Later he would explain how he loves to keep his hands warm when he wakes up, which means cupping your heat whilst you sleep.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who has you on his lap, your face buried in his neck and him rubbing your back while you cry. You never forget the soft words he spills into your ears, trying to console you as you spill out your feelings after a stressful day.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who surprises you with many bags of luxurious, and expensive jewelry just before you wake up, just so it could cheer you up after crying.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who kisses your forehead, and makes his way down from your nose, to your lips.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who knows he found the one when he notices how much Megumi loves you more than him. The amount of times Megumi has came running into your arms without hesitation makes Toji question if his son loves your company more than his. But he isn’t complaining.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who carries you to take a bath with him. The feeling of his large hands cleaning you never fails to leave you flustered, especially when nude skin to skin contact is happening.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who always tells you he loves you, and that you will always be his little girl.

nsfw

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who has you in mating press, his forehead against yours as you continue to cry and babble out random shit while his hips slap against yours.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro whose large cock leaves a bulge. The stretch is overwhelming, but Toji’s always there to comb his hands in your hair to calm you down. Whilst leaving soft kisses on your forehead.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who loves cupping your breasts.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who loves when you submit to him. Your begging, and your cries only turns him on even more.

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“Ohh fuck— Daddy’s fucking you real good hm baby?” The older man’s chain hovers over your face , the heat inside you building up as Toji’ cock continues to bully your cervix.

His hands are cupping your ass, giving big squeezes as it’s also pressing you down on your shared large bed. You felt embarrassed, belittled. Then again, the feeling was exciting.

Your silence only makes his grin get bigger. Now one of his hands are removed from your ass, to your cheek. Cupping it lovingly.

“C’mon, y/n sweetheart don’t be like that. Speak to me before i pull out and leave you here with none of my cum inside of you.” He groans, slowing his thrusts. Your eyes widen as you notice the loss of satisfaction beginning to happen as he slows down.

“N-No! Stop, ‘m sorry Toji.. please keep on going. I’ll be good!” Tears of frustration begin flowing into your pretty lil eyes.

Your boyfriend’s a cruel man. A cruel man who yet knows how to make love to you, and at the same time piss you off. But you can’t argue, who are you to argue with the one who manages to give you all the happiness in the world?

Toji buries his head into your neck, biting harshly as he leaves hickeys over the faded ones. You’re sure you felt his smirk from over your skin.

His thrusts begin getting rougher, rougher than before. Suddenly your hands begin wrapping around your boyfriends neck harshly just so your able to keep yourself steady.

“I gotcha’ sweets.” His cock twitches inside of you as your walls tighten around him.

“Fuck. Your so beautiful y/n. I love you ‘s fuckin much.” His hands intertwine with your smaller ones, his hips slapping even faster and rougher against yours.

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Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who never forgets to fill you up with his load.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who has many poloroids of you naked, and messy with his cum.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who jerks off to photos and videos of you when he’s away from home, missing his little family.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro who always praises you for making him feel good, for being his perfect girlfriend, for being the love of his life.

Older bf! Toji Fushiguro whose world only revolves around you.

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Authors note: not proof read

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist