#like….can you feel the baby inside….does it bump around in there when you move….. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 8 months ago

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❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈'𝐌 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆) ❞

❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S A DEPARTMENT HEAD !! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part four of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you and suguru enter a new phase in your relationship— long distance. the two of you work hard to keep your relationship alive and well — but what happens when distance and work starts to weigh on your time together?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student, but age is vague, long distance relationship, phone sex, shower sex, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, yuta appears *gasp*, fanart found on pinterest (if anyone knows the og artist, pls let me know)

✧ wc: 14,288 | part one | part two | part three

“Baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “c’mon, you have to wake up, we can’t be late,” your boyfriend groans, pulling the covers over his head, and you giggle, gently tugging at the comforter held taut over his head.

“No,” he’s murmuring, as you roll your eyes, “a few more minutes,”

“A few minutes for you will turn into a few hours,” you chuckle, as your fingers finally find the inside of the comforter.

And you’re finally able to pull it off, Suguru’s long locks askew as his pretty obsidian eyes flutter half open, and your lips curl.

How did you get so lucky?

Your fingers run over his cheek, before you press a kiss to his forehead, “C’mon Mr. Department Head, you’re going to be late at this rate — you have to get the keys to your new apartment today and you have a meeting with the staff too,”

Suguru groans, his lips in a rare pout — mornings were truly his most vulnerable times, “Does it have to be today?” He draws close to you, burying his face in your neck, and your fingers slowly rake through his locks, gently easing the knots that formed in the night.

“Unfortunately yes,” you murmur, your fingers tucking a few locks behind his ear, “but I’ll be visiting you in two weeks, it will pass by quick,” it did feel like forever — but you knew it wouldn’t be. The summer would end one way or another and now he was leaving for Kyoto — officially three weeks before classes start, “and we’ll be spending the whole week together — we can explore a little more than we got to before,”

“I know,” he still is surely unconvinced, moving back to look up at you with certifiably the cutest purse of his lips, his warm hand finding your cheek, “but then why does every minute without you feel so much longer?”

Your lips find his in a lazy kiss, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck, his soft locks brushing against your knuckles, “But that will make the minutes we do spend together that much more special, right?”

He hums, pressing his forehead against yours, “how are you so positive about this?” And you sigh, your nose bumping against his, as you press a chaste kiss to his lips again.

“Because it’s the only way I can not completely break down,” you sigh, and his arms wrap around you, pulling you back into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, heart thudding nearly right under your ear, “what time do you have to leave?”

He glances at his phone, “not for another two hours,” and you curl up, fingers sliding against his smooth skin.

“Then a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt,” you murmur.

And you’d take any minute that you could get with him, especially now.

~~~

“Do you have everything?” Suguru never knew quite how much you could fuss over him, until the last few days. You seemed to obsess over every detail — his credentials, his electronics, his clothes — it’s as if you wanted everything squared away — and you simply couldn’t focus on anything else.

Because, you probably didn’t want to.

“I do, I have everything — I have things I didn’t need that you put in the car,” you pout as he chuckles, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss the pout from your lips, “I’ll be okay, I’ll call you as soon as I get there,” he murmurs, “can you pack yourself up and get in the car? Then I’ll really have everything I need,”

You blink rapidly, as if to ward off tears, as you can’t quite meet his gaze, “I wish I could,” you murmur, as your arms wrap around him, and his do the same, pulling you into a tight hug, “how am I going to survive the next two weeks without you?”

“It’s just two weeks right? Like you said it will pass by quick—“

You shake your head, “I just said that to make you feel better,” you look up at him, glassy eyed, “I changed my mind, stay here,” you whine, and he laughs, running his fingers through your hair.

“Think it’s a little late for that sweetheart,” he sighs, his fingers sliding under your chin, “after all, you packed up the rest of my things into my car, so unless I’m living out of it—“

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, as you rub your eyes, and he pulls your hands away gently, kissing your tears away, “I’ll miss you so much,”

“Not as much as me,” and you lean up to kiss him, a sweet kiss that only leaves him aching for more. Why was it the more he had of you — the more he always needed? He knew these first two weeks would be the hardest, but honestly, he’s not sure if it would ever get easier.

Because he needs you. Always.

“Ah wait,” you smile, reaching into your pocket, “you forgot one thing—” and you pull out a key, and he tilts his head, “it’s a key to my place,”

And he blinks, “You don’t—”

“I want to,” you kiss him again, even softer somehow, “please take it,” so he does, as you place the piece of metal into his palm, “plus, it’s practical, if I’m not around, you can let yourself in,”

“Make myself comfortable?” his lips quirk.

“Very comfortable,” you press your forehead to his again, “Go,” you murmur, you pull away reluctantly, his body already mourning the loss of your touch, your fingers still intertwined, “otherwise, I’ll just block your car with my body to get you to stay,”

He rolls his eyes, smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, “I’d like to see that,” he presses his forehead to yours, “promise you’ll stop me from ever accepting a job that makes me be away from you for any amount of time again?”

“Now that’s a promise I’ll keep,” you squeeze his fingers one last time, “I think it’s what’s owed to us isn’t it?”

He knows he would never be able to repay what he owes you for everything you’ve done for him — how happy you’ve made him—

“It is,” he smiles, one last kiss to your lips, as he slips into the driver’s seat before he can change his mind.

—But he would try.

~~~

When you go back to your apartment — it feels far too empty. Even though Suguru didn’t live with you — it felt as if he had made a place for himself here, and he had, but he had left it. For now, you remind yourself. His place would be here for him, when he came back.

But it turned out two weeks was a lot of time to kill when you still hadn’t started classes — your days filled with nothing but time for you to spend. None of your friends from class had made it back yet either — so you were stuck trying to find things to do. Suguru was busier than expected — dragged to meeting after meeting and showed off more than a show dog to the department’s professors, alumni, and donors. Suguru often fell asleep on the phone with you, his soft snores filling your ears, as you fell asleep along with him.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if all semester would be like this — especially once his classes started. You understood — you did — this is what you signed up for and it was far from Suguru’s fault. But you couldn’t help but miss him. And that wasn’t surprising — but what was surprising was how much you missed him.

Your bed was bought for one, but now it felt empty with only you occupying it — a cold barren front without your usual refuge in his arms. And the days weren’t bad — you found things to keep you busy — but the evenings and weekends that you usually had spent with Suguru dragged like a child dragged their feet at the grocery store — reluctantly and without patience.

So maybe you needed to do the same that you’d do for a restless child — a distraction.

“Do you know of any organizations I could join?” You had asked Suguru on one of your video call dinner dates — and he hummed thoughtfully as he picked up soba noodles between his chopsticks, “I just feel like I need something to fill my time,”

“The semester hasn’t even started and you’re already thinking about other things to do?” He raises an eyebrow, and you suppress a giggle at the sight of a bit of the soup that remained on the side of his chin. The very same you wished that you could thumb away for him, “my favorite student is as ambitious as always,”

“Your girlfriend is even more so,” you roll your eyes, as you gesture to your own face to signal, and he wipes his, “c’mon, I know my favorite professor must have something to recommend. I know how he looooves to give me suggestions,”

And he snorts, setting his chopsticks down on his bowl as he finishes his meal, “Then I suggest you think about joining the student government — they have a specific section for graduate students and professors, it would be a good opportunity for you to branch out, and put the philosophy department’s brightest on the map,”

Your lips curl at the compliment, “you think I’m the brightest?”

“I was talking about myself,” and you roll your eyes, as he smirks at you, as he picks up his phone and his dishes to clean up, “I think it would be perfect. Why don’t you speak to Yaga about it? He was trying to goad me into recommending some students,”

“So this really is self-serving, huh?” the water of the sink runs in the background, as you do the same, placing your dishes in the sink — tomorrow’s problem — as you washed your hands, “what would I even know about student government anyway?”

“Philosophy has a lot to do with governance, you know that — Cicero, Plato, Aquinas, Machiavelli—“

“Saving the most benevolent philosopher for last,” and you can hear him chuckle, as the water squeaks shut, and he picks up his phone, a smile playing on his lips, “do you think I could help?”

“I think you can do anything, sweetheart, except get a 100% in my class,” and you gape at him, as he laughs, and your heart aches for that sound, more than you thought was possible, “you should do it, what’s stopping you?”

And you bite your lip — yes, you wanted to be busier, but you didn’t want to be too busy for this. To spend time with Suguru — no matter how little it was. But you knew it would be good for you — for both of you. The last thing you wanted was to be needy — even if this week was proving that you were needier than you thought you were.

“Nothing I guess,” you sigh, as you make your way to your bedroom, “I’ll email Professor Yaga in the morning,”

“Good,” Suguru is sat on his bed as well now, his phone propped up, “and your boyfriend has another suggestion,” and you raise an eyebrow, “I suggest my favorite student brings my favorite t-shirt with them when they come to visit me,”

You gasp in mock shock, “You gave this shirt to me,”

“No, I asked you where it was and you said you packed it already, but I see you pilfered it away when I wasn’t looking,” he tilts his head, “now take it off,”

“Professor, that’s not a proper way for a department head to speak to a student,” you still let the shirt ride up as you lean back against your pillows, “have you not gotten your ethics training yet about appropriate behavior?”

“That’s interesting, you didn’t seem to mind last night when you asked me to send you a very improper picture of my lower half fresh out of the shower,” and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips, but your expression grows more serious.

“So it’s all about quid pro quo, Professor?” you sigh exaggeratedly, before pulling the shirt off, “I’ll take it off, but how about if you let me keep it, I’ll give you something else?”

God, you know that look in his eye, and you just wished he could do what he wanted — his fingers would find your waist and your back, pulling you quick and eager into his lap — his hard-on pressing through the thin material of his sweatpants he wore around the apartment.

“And what would that be?” And the shirt finally up and over, a soft gasp leaving his lips at the sight of your bare body, only your shorts left on. You smile.

“Me, of course,” and he’s adjusting his phone, face up, a small groan leaving his lips, “sir?”

“Is that all you’re offering, sweetheart?” and you hear the slight shuffle of fabric, “because that shirt is quite special to me,”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugs at your lips as you see him come back into focus with his phone in hand, his eyes drifting from your eyes to your chest and back, “Is it?”

“If you remove your clothes, I’ll forgive this small transgression,” and his other hand is out of sight, no doubt stroking himself, though you were no better, fingers toying with your cunt through your drenched panties.

“I think that price might be too high, Professor— you might have to give me something in return,” you smile, toying with the elastic of your shorts, and he bites his lip, gaze heavy even through the screen of your phone.

“And what do you want, princess?”

“I thought it was obvious,” as you slip off your shorts, propping up your phone on the pillow designated usually for him, nothing else underneath, “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he’s hissing, as you can hear the distinct sound of the squelch of his hand running up and down his cock, “sweetheart, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

And your fingers are teasing your wet folds, imagining it was his own, his thick fingers sinking into one by one, he’d fill you so much better than you do — “show me, Suguru,” He does, flipping the camera to show his erection — flushed red and pretty — beads of pre-cum dripping from the tip, “all this just for me?” And your fingers push past your entrance, a gasp leaving your lips, “my fingers aren’t enough for me, Sugu—“

“show me now, let me tell you how to fuck yourself,” and you’re nodding, hand shaking as you flip the camera around to show your fingers notched inside, gleaming with your pre, dripping down your knuckles, “move,” and you do, slowly at first, and his hand moves too, starting to fuck his fist, “faster, curl your fingers just like I would,” and you do, a whine leaving your lips, “good girl,” he grunts.

The sounds of both of your pants and moans fill your ears, your eyes fluttering open to watch him touch himself, “Tease the tip for me, baby,” you murmur, fucking yourself deeper, when you see him thumb his slit, “wish I could taste you, suck you off, until you’re cumming down my—“

“Princess—“ you know he’s close by the way his dick twitches in his fingers and the way his lips moan your name, “add another finger,” and you do — fuck, the stretch is nothing like his cock, but you can almost imagine it is, “I’m sure you’ve gotten tight without me to fuck you — have you been touching yourself when I’m not around?” You bite your lip, your hesitation was all the answer he needed, “what do you think about?”

“Think about you,” you’re fucking close too, your fingers drenched in your own precum, “think about you coming back, about you kissing me at the door before pinning me against it,” And he’s groaning, the sounds of his hand pumping his cock ringing in your ears, you can’t hang on— “Suguru—please—“

“Be a good girl, and cum for me, sweetheart,” and you do, your toes curling and eyes squeezing shut as you do, phone slipping from your fingers, as you hear him groan too, the distinct sound of his cum splattering against his sheets.

You both come down from your highs, pulling your fingers from your cunt, grabbing tissues from your bedside table to wipe off your hands.

“Sugu?” You pick up your phone, and your boyfriend does the same, his cheeks flushed a gorgeous red, slightly more rumpled than before. And you can’t help but wish you could lean over and kiss him as you would, running your fingers through his hair, “I miss you,”

He sighs, gaze filled with affection and longing, “I miss you too, so much — you have no idea, princess,” as you tug his shirt back on, and you lie back, turning on your side, “just one more week,”

“I’m counting the days,” you murmur

“I’m counting the seconds,” and you snort, his lips curled in the damned smile that dragged you into his mess.

“Always have to one up me don’t you?” you bury your nose in the fabric of the shirt, the scent still very distinctly him.

“It is my job after all,” and you smile, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” but you know where this is going — as it always did almost every weekday night.

“I should hang up — I have to clean up and—“

“Review for meetings before bed, I know,” you finish and he raises an eyebrow, “very predictable, Professor Geto,”

“I’ll work on that — watch, I’ll surprise you,” and you chuckle, but you can’t help but frown, “what is it?” and you shake your head, “sweetheart,” and you know he won’t let it go.

“Just call me after you’re done, before bed, okay?” you sit up, glancing at your shorts on the floor, shifting uncomfortably with the wetness between your thighs, “I have to change my shorts and my sheets,”

“You’re welcome,” and you roll your eyes, his lips curled in a small smile reserved just for you, “love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too,” the call ends, and you’re left looking at your lock screen, a sigh caught in your throat.

Just one more week.

~~~

You stood before the door of one of the university's conference rooms — on one of the floors you did not tend to frequent. You spent most of your time in the classrooms if not the library — but you had attended a few meetings up here for one reason or another. But this was the first time you were walking into a room in quite a long time that you didn’t know anyone.

The student government met once before the semester started — a getting to know you forum for new members, such as yourself. There was no real formal election process for your position as senator — as long as other students were not vying for the position. And luckily for you, no other philosophy graduate student had chosen to volunteer for this entirely optional and unpaid position — a mystery really.

But the nerves still remained — though there was nothing more to do than enter. So you did — opening the door and finding the room filled with quite a few faces, but none of them familiar. You took a seat in a relatively empty section, but adjacent to enough faces, an empty seat on either side of you. The people around you chatted, while you pulled a notebook and pen out — your phone face down on the table, before you grab it and shoot Suguru a quick text.

You: in my first student government meeting! wish me luck!!

The meeting started without much formalities — a simple round table introduction that had you close to going last, but you had a chance to learn more about the other graduate students — most of them were students representing different departments, as you were, while there was also the traditional roles of president, vice president, secretary, and treasurer.

Eyes slid to you now, the president gesturing to you, her name escaping you, “And our newest member,”

They finally turned to you as you waved to the group, introducing yourself by name, “I’m a graduate student in the philosophy department, I’m a third year in the program, and I heard about the group from my department head—”

“Professor Geto?” one of the girls piped up, a literature graduate student who you didn’t recognize, but you were sure had taken Suguru’s class or at least had heard about him.

You shook your head, forcing a polite smile on your lips, “Professor Yaga actually told me about it,” she nods, and the president claps her hands together.

“Alright, this meeting is just to mingle and get to know each other, so please enjoy the refreshments and food provided,” and her eyes flicker down, “I think we’re only missing one person from the group—”

And the door bursts open, “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to run late—” a student with dark black hair that rested past his chin, bangs that framed his face on either side, and a small smile on his lips.

“Students keep you again, Yuta?” the president asks, and the dark haired boy known as Yuta slipped into the room, and took a seat beside you, sighing with a nod, as he set down his things, “good timing, you can help our newest member get acclimated,”

His eyes flicker to you, a smile pulling at his lips, “I’d be happy to,” and the group begins to get up to grab food and refreshments, as Yuta offers you his hand, “I’m Yuta Okkotsu, it’s nice to meet you.”

~~~~

“I hope you stay a part of the organization,” your eyes snap up at Yuta’s words — a curious look on his face, “you just seemed a little overwhelmed in there,” he tilts his head, as the two of you walk towards the metro station, “I may be wrong, but—”

“No I was,” for someone who looked so…innocent, he was really observant — his dark eyes felt like they could pierce right through you — even if he wouldn’t let them do so, “it was a lot — I’ve never been a part of a formal structure like this so it was just a lot—”

“It’s not as formal as you think — the proceedings do drag on but Maki, the president, tends to skip the formalities for the most part — she’s as bored of them as you are,” he chuckles, his fingers adjusting the strap of his backpack slung loosely over one shoulder, “usually the meetings don’t take very long — the events mostly take up our time when it comes to planning and organizing, but we hold a couple in conjunction with other organizations so that helps take the load off,” he explains, “we also organize issues important to the students to present to the president of the university quarterly, so we tend to have more meetings around that time, but we schedule the meetings after midterms, and after finals, so it doesn’t interfere with studying,” and then he catches himself, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry, I’m going on and on, I should have just asked you if you had questions instead,”

“No, it was really helpful, Yuta,” you smile, “you’re very thorough,” and you don’t notice how a faint flush appears across his cheeks.

“I was new last year to the organization, and I remember being really overwhelmed — the professor I usually T.A. for roped me into it, he’s been away on research for the last year or so, but I stayed apart of it, because,” he shrugged, a smile on his lips, “I made some really good friends, and I hope you do too,”

You pull out your phone, no reply from Suguru, a small sigh on your lips — it’s fine, he’s busy, “Good friends are exactly what I need right now I think,” you check the time — Suguru wouldn’t be out of meetings for dinner at this rate, “do you want to grab dinner? I know a good ramen spot not far from here,”

“Sounds great,” and you led the way, not noticing the way Yuta’s eyes lingered on you a second too long, before he started to follow you, keeping pace beside you.

A week would pass by quick.

~~~

“What time will you be here?” Suguru asked, as you had him on your laptop this time on video call to watch you pack for the couple days you were spending with him before the semester started.

“I’m taking the 8:00 AM train, so I’ll get there probably by 10:15, so like two hours,” you weren’t sure how much to pack — you didn’t want to do a ton of laundry right before classes started, but you weren’t sure what you wanted to wear, “can you come here pack for me and go back?”

He snorts, “I’ll be right over, but at that point, wouldn’t it be more conducive for me to just stay with you?”

“But I want to come see you,” you pout, and he shrugs, as his eyes flicker up from his work.

“Then you’re going have to pack,” and you give a heavy sigh, continuing to choose what clothes to take. Your phone goes off and it’s a text from Yuta;

Yuta: hey! are you free next week to get dinner after the meeting? But this time I’m choosing the restaurant :)

You pick up your phone and text back: if it’s that chapati place you mentioned, I’m down — otherwise, you’ll have to deal with my severe disappointment

Yuta: I’ll have to leave you in suspense then

You snort, tossing your phone down, as your eyes go back to the screen to find Suguru smiling at you, “What?”

“Just enjoying the view,” and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes.

“Shut up,” you mumble, rolling up a shirt in a hurry in a manner that definitely doesn’t qualify as folding, “what view? Me in an oversized t-shirt and shorts?”

“Exactly, with that pretty smile on your lips? Best thing on anytime,” he replies, and you bite back that same smile he complimented — but it’s the one reserved for him.

“You dork,” you mutter, “don’t say cute things or I’ll take the last train tonight to see you sooner,”

“I’d never make you do that so I’ll stop, for now,” he sighs, resting his cheek on his palm, his gaze growing a little more heady, “but tomorrow? I’ll be sure to tell you every single thing I love about you,”

And your lips curl, as you sigh, “I love you, but you should get some rest and I should finish packing and do the same,”

He gives a small smile, “Yes, ma’am, I’ll see you tomorrow, pretty girl,”

“I’ll be the one running into your arms,”

“Undoubtedly very late,”

“What was that? The sound of me missing my train tomorrow?” And he laughs, as you cross your arms, head held far too high, “that’s right. I’m holding myself hostage,”

“Well if you’re both hostage and hostage negotiator, tell both of you that I’ll bring you your favorite drink and buy you the breakfast of your choice,” and you peek at him, “coming around?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, you better have the ransom ready,” you let a smile escape your lips, “I love you,”

“I love you too, I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he hangs up after, and you sigh — tomorrow, finally.

You’ll see him again — you just hoped these few days didn’t pass by quickly.

~~~

Suguru waited at the station for you, your preferred hot beverage in hand, along with your requested pastry, both in hand as he waited. He opted to have his hair up in a bun due to the weather, a slight wind that carried the warning of fall in the crisp air that morning. But not whenever a snowstorm could have kept him from you that morning — it had been far too many days and nights spent without you by his side while spending them instead in stuffy rooms filled with colleagues and donors.

But now — and he sees people pour from the platform, a throng of harried travelers looking to get to their next destination, and among them all, he spots you — with the red suitcase you insisted made it easier to find amongst the others (it didn’t).

And he’s approaching you, slipping past others, and your eyes find his, your lips in a grin at the sight of him, as you find your way into his arms in a moment — suitcase clattering to the floor probably to the other travelers’ dismay. But he grabbed the handle and turned it upright in a moment, before his arm curled back around you.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he could have stood there forever — it had felt like forever since he had held you. His palm cupped your cheek, a thumb brushing back and forth against the length of it.

“You always know how to make an entrance sweetheart,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours, as your fingers intertwine slowly but surely — as if they hadn’t parted, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way,”

“Uh-huh, don’t act like I forgot about the ransom I’m owed,” and he’s rolling his eyes, as he takes your luggage, wrapping an arm around you, “where is it?”

“In the car, how about we stop by my apartment, drop off your things, rest for a bit and then we can grab breakfast, as promised?” You smile, leaning into his side, wrapping your arms around his middle. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“As long as it’s with you.”

~~~

“You made breakfast for me?” you gasp, as he had set the table with all the breakfast staples — “i thought we were going to ‘grab breakfast?’”

Suguru wipes his hands, as he brings over two pairs of clean chopsticks and sits beside you, “Well I thought you might be tired from the train ride so I thought we could have breakfast in and relax before going out before lunch,”

You take the chopsticks from him, fingers brushing as you do, leaning into his side, “It’s not fair being this perfect,” you murmur, your head against his shoulder, nose brushing against the soft fabric of his t-shirt and his skin, “when are you going to show me your flaws?”

“I think I’ve shown plenty of those the last few months with how things have went before we even began dating,” his lips brush against your forehead, “now I just want to treasure you — as much as I can,”

“Me too,” you lean up and meet his lips in a soft kiss that steals the logic from your head and the air from your lungs — and only leaves his touch behind, “Suguru…” and you want to admit to him how hard it’s been without him, how much harder it's been than what you expected — and how you worried about how hard would it get during the semester, when you both were busy? “I really missed you,” you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and you speak before he can get even a syllable out, “but I’m so glad we’re together now,”

He didn’t need to know — he would only feel bad. You could handle it—

“Me too,” his gaze is soft, as he pulls back to find your lips in another achingly gentle kiss.

For him.

~~~~

“This weekend is supposed to be for you, why are you shopping for me?” Suguru says yet again as you peruse another homegoods store, looking for something to decorate what you claimed were the “barren landscape” of his apartment, “we should do something you want to,”

“This is something I want to do,” as you inspect a globe with the same scrutiny you’d apply to a Aristotelian text — brow furrowed in thought as if this knick knack would give you some unintelligible insight on metaphysics (it did not), “you’re going to be living there for a while, I want you to have an apartment that doesn’t look like a serial killer resides there,”

“Why does it look like that?”

“Because it doesn’t look lived in,” you pick up a set of matching bookends, “these things make your house look lived in and feel welcoming,” and then you put the bookends down thoughtfully, “although we should start with more basic things, like frames and a full length mirror,”

“Well if I look like a serial killer, you don’t have to worry about anyone who comes over, because they will think I’m a murderer and feel very unwelcome,” and you laugh, intertwining your fingers with him, “I don’t care about other people — I care about you, so will this make you happy?”

You nod, “Because I want you to feel happy here, and that will make me happy,”

And he wants to say the only thing that would make him really happy would be if you lived here with him — to wake up beside you each morning, to come home to you each evening, and fall asleep beside you — but he couldn’t say that. It would almost be cruel to say something that wasn’t possible right now. But it would be — it would be possible.

“Okay, let’s find some things,” his arm curls around your waist, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “but remember, you do love this serial killer,”

“That’s only because I’m far too wonderful to murder,” and he rolls his eyes, as the two of you continue to shop, and he watches you continue to pick up and examine things — and he can’t help but wonder if this is what it would be like when you both shop for your place together. And he bites back a smile.

Only a few more months — and you could be together. It wasn’t forever.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

~~~~

“You said no work while I was here,” you were doing your best pout if only to change his mind, but he was unrelenting, his shoulders slumped in resignation, and his lips in a purse at his desk in his bedroom, “Suguruuuuu,” you’re officially whining, and you know it’s not his fault, but you have such little time with him, you don’t want a minute to be wasted.

“I know, sweetheart, but Yaga wants to speak about the semester starting, and I didn’t have much of a choice—” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck, lips pressing kisses to the hollow of his throat, “princess—” he groans.

“I want to get in my cuddles before,” and your teeth graze the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he sucks in air between his teeth, “how long is your meeting?”

“About half an hour,” and you hum, kissing his lips, languid and slow, your fingers threading his lengthy tresses, “it’s about to start—” and you’re kneeling down in front of his chair, as the video call starts to go off, as you look up at him between his knees, “sweetheart—” he’s hissing, wide eyes, as you undo his belt and the zipper of his pants.

“Then let’s not waste any time,” you grin, toying with the waistband of his boxers, “pick up the call.”

And you thought he would kick you out from underneath, nudging you away, and you would relent if he really didn’t want this — but he doesn’t. He swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing as he picks up the call, placing his earbuds in his ear.

“Hi Professor Yaga,” Suguru says, and you’re almost surprised how normal he sounds with you between his legs, but Yaga can’t see the way his muscles tense when your fingers spring his already half hard cock free, “Yes, we do have a couple things to cover. No, I don’t mind starting,”

Well if he insists, you’d start too.

Your fingers slowly stroke him to fully erect, pre-cum dripping over your fingers as you do, your eyes flickering up to see his expression still perfectly normally, the only telltale sign being the way his fingers white knuckled the armrest just out of sight. His cock was so unfairly pretty — a deep red at the tip with a slight curve that had your thighs pressing together at the thought of it sinking into you. Your lips press a kiss to the tip and he wavers mid sentence, as you smirk against his cock, as your mouth parts to suck him off.

And it seems like Yaga is the one speaking now, as he seemingly mutes himself, resting his chin against his hand, covering his mouth with his fingers, “Fuck, sweetheart,” he swears under his breath, as your tongue traces along one of his veins, sucking at the tip, as your fingers drift to toy with his balls.

The tip of your tongue flicks against his weeping slit, bobbing your head along the length, as a hand of his drifts down to thread in your locks, nails digging into your scalp.

“S-sorry, what was that?” he seemingly unmuted himself at a question, and you’re sucking even harder, nose brushing against his pubes as his tip brushes against your throat, “N-no, I’m fine, sorry, I’m not feeling well,”

You suck one more time, and he’s gone, as he barely can mutes himself and turns off his camera, groaning, as he spills down your throat, as you swallow it, his head thrown back against the headrest of his chair. And he’s panting, as he looks down at you, half lidded and lost in pleasure, gaze darkening as he watches you pull away, a string of spit and cum connecting you to his softening cock, as you adjust his boxers and clothes.

“What happened to Yaga?” and his glance tells you he certainly does not care — chest heaving, as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“Disconnected after I went silent — I’ll tell him my internet went out,” and you’re slowly rising out from between his legs, and his fingers find your waist, tugging you close, “you really are a bad influence,” and his lips find yours, your fingers cupping his cheek.

“I told you I didn’t want to waste time,” you grin, and in one smooth motion, he’s dragging you into his bed, giggling leaving your lips as he showers you with kisses, “Suguru!” you yelp as you fall backwards into his plush bed, and he’s tugging off your shorts and panties with ease, folding your legs up, one of them brushing against his shoulder, as he kisses your inner thigh, a smile against your heated skin.

“My turn.”

~~~~

“How did this week go so quickly?” you sigh, burying your face in his chest on Friday night, knowing you have to get on a train tomorrow morning, “it’s not fair, it’s not enough time,” you murmur, tracing circles on his skin, “and now I don’t get to see you for a month,”

“I know, I don’t want you to go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “but it will pass by quick — you’ll be busy with classes and I’ll be busy with work — it won’t be as bad as we think,” And you don’t want to admit your fears to him — it would make it all too real, as if they would emerge from the syllables your lips spoke into a new reality before you — and you couldn’t take that risk, no matter how illogical it was.

“I know, I just can’t imagine spending this much time apart,” you glance at him, “don’t know what I did without you before, I don’t even remember what I spent my time doing,”

“Revising the essays I made you write?” and you pinch his cheek, and he’s laughing, “sorry, couldn’t resist making that joke,”

“Yeah, I recall you couldn’t resist me either,” and his fingers drag lazily over your cheek, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“Well, who really could resist you?” he sighs, content seemingly in just the act of touching you, “I tried and failed — and I am a master at resisting temptation,”

“A paragon of morality truly,” and he snorts, as you kiss his neck sweetly, ghosting over the places you had left marks, “though there was definitely nothing moral about what we just did,”

Your lips find his again, a lazy kiss that grows slowly with more heat the more your lips meet again and again and again — until he’s parting, “It’s just a month,” he says as if he can sense your anxiety, “I’ll come see you, I promise,”

“So if you don’t come, I can summon Immanuel Kant to scold you for not fulfilling your promise?” and he laughs.

“A scolding from you would be far more effective, but Kant is able to come if he can make it — death’s a worse commute than to Tokyo,”

“Who says?” you mumble, pressing your forehead to his, “you’ll take me to the station?”

“Of course,” and you have only one request.

“Don’t come inside ok?” his brow furrows, but you softly smooth it with the back of your knuckles, “Otherwise, I’ll end up crying — and I rather not subject you or the passengers near me to that,” and he chuckles, a frown still on his lips.

“Are you sure?”

It wasn’t just the crying — you knew if he walked you to your train, you’d want to make him come with you or let yourself stay — and you couldn’t do that, not to either of you. This was temporary — it wouldn’t be forever—

“I’m sure.” you kiss his lips again, rolling over so you were on top, your bodies brushing against each other with the familiar heat you’d miss when you were back home again.

—so why did it feel like forever?

~~~

“You promised me a better meal and this place nearly burned my taste buds off,” you grumble, as the two of you stand outside the restaurant, rain pounding against the awning as it starts to come down, the spicy food from the chapati place doing little to keep you warm now against the frigid wind of the autumn carrying the promise of being drenched with it.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Yuta chuckles, holding a hand out for the rain, “now at least the spice will help on the way home,”

“The only good thing about this place is that it's close to my apartment. I have a ton of work to do already — and it’s only the first week of classes,” you sigh, pulling out your umbrella, and glancing at him, hands still empty and unmoving. You hold up your umbrella, waving it, “Did you not bring one?” as you pull out your phone to check the weather reports.

“I didn’t know there was rain in the report for today,” he sighs, waving you off, “go ahead, I’ll wait for it to let up or find a convenience store nearby— I just need to make it back to the station—”

“Trains are down because of the storm,” you raise an eyebrow, as you glance at him, “come on, you can stay at my place,”

He’s shaking his head, holding his hands up, “No, I don’t want to—”

You tilt your head, glancing around at the clearing street and the distant rumble of thunder, “So are you going to camp out here outside this restaurant for the night or?” and he’s chewing his lip, as you chuckle, “it’s not far, we can share the umbrella, and hopefully we won’t get completely soaked,”

“Well, we’re not completely soaked,” you close the door behind you both, dripping water onto your floor, as you sigh, “hold on I’ll grab towels,” and you do, coming back quickly so you both can dry off.

And you notice the damage done to his clothes are far worse than yours, completely soaked through, the towel doing little to help aside from stopping the water from forming a larger puddle near your entryway.

“You held the umbrella mostly to my side, didn’t you?” And he pauses, his hesitation the answer you needed, as you sigh — “you’re more of a martyr than you need to be,”

“Well, I want to help my friends,” he gives a small smile.

“Even at the detriment of yourself?” And he shrugs.

“I can handle it,” and you shake your head, as you head to your closet pull out a fresh towel and clothes — but not your own.

“Go change,” and he glances at the clothes, hesitates, but takes them, as he frowns, “it’s fine, Yuta, go shower and change,” you show him where the bathroom is, and how to turn on the water.

You head to your bedroom to change and dry off, grabbing a fresh t-shirt and shorts — chewing on your lips — you had to give Yuta some of Suguru’s clothes you had stolen — your clothes wouldn’t exactly fit him properly. But you pouted, now you couldn’t sleep in Suguru’s shirt tonight, and you sighed, it was just as well — you had to wash the shirt so now it didn’t smell like him now.

You come out into the living room, hopping onto your couch and flipping on the TV, looking for something to watch. And then you hear the bathroom door, glancing behind you, “Done?”

“Yeah, thank you again for this,” he shifts in place, steam escaping from the bathroom behind him, his bangs still a little damp and cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink along his cheekbones, “what are you doing?”

“Just looking for something to watch,” and he comes over, sitting on the other side of the couch, “do you have any preference?”

He shakes his head, “No, not really,” and you choose a random movie to put on, a cheesy rom-com that had just come out on a streaming service, “is that what you like to watch?”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair, “I like watching bad movies — it’s something I do usually while I do my work — the genius is, I don’t have to pay attention to follow the storyline,” and your eyes still on the TV, you don’t notice how his eyes linger on your face, a smile pulling on his lips, “now look at this, it’s the classic ‘guy likes girl, but girl is too dense to notice,” you shake your head, “does that even happen in real life?”

And Yuta parts his lips to reply when your phone rings, and you grab your phone — a video call — Suguru’s name flashing on your screen, and you can’t bite back the smile on your lips, “Hold on, I have to take this — just make yourself comfortable, I’ll be in the bedroom,”

You head into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you, as you pick up the call, “Hey stranger,” you smile as his face comes into view, glasses perched on his nose, as he grins back at you, “I miss you,”

“I miss you too,” he rests his face against his hand, “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk much — there have been a lot of issues popping up because its the first week — a lot of department requests from professors and students alike,”

“Mr. Bigshot Department Head has forgotten about his girlfriend, huh?” you mock pout, and he shakes his head, a longing gaze that makes your breath stutter in your chest.

“I could never forget you — how can I when all I dream about is you?” and you bite your lip, cheeks burning, “did I make you smile?”

“Shut up,” and he laughs, and then you hear a noise from the living room, a clatter that catches your attention.

“What was that?”

You wave him off, “It was just my friend, he’s staying over because of the rain — he’s in the living room,”

And he pauses for a moment, expression unreadable, “Which friend?”

“His name is Yuta — I met him during my first student government meeting — he’s kind of showing me the ropes,” and he nods, his silence palpable, gaze downwards and then it dawns on you, “Are you jealous?”

And his eyes flicker up, “Sweetheart—”

“Oh my god you are, that’s so cute,” you smile, as you delight in the slight dusting of pink that settles over his cheeks — he’s far too pretty for his own good, and your voice softens, “you have nothing to worry about, Suguru — I love you, no one else can even compete,”

He sighs, and you wish you could kiss him, “I know, I know — I’m just,” his brow furrows, his lips stuck in a frown, “I just miss you,”

“Then come over,” you tease, and he gives a small smile.

“You have company,” he reminds you, and you sigh, glancing at the door, “you should go back,”

“I’ll work on inventing an instant teleportation device,” a forced laugh leaves his lips, “Suguru, are you sure—”

He shakes his head, “I’m fine, really, just call me before bed if you have time okay?”

“Yeah of course, I love you,” a genuine smile gracing his lips.

“I love you too,” and you hang up, heading back out to find Yuta watching TV, “sorry about that,”

“It’s fine, is everything okay?” he glances at you, tilting his head, “nothing wrong?”

You shake your head, sitting down beside him, grabbing a cushion to place in your arms, “It was just my boyfriend — he usually calls me around this time,”

Yuta gives a slight nod, “Oh, is he away this weekend?”

“No, we’re long distance — he lives in Kyoto,” you explain, sighing, leaning back on the couch, “that’s why I took the call, otherwise, I would have called whoever back,”

“You don’t have to do that — you should be allowed to do whatever you need to. It’s your home,” and you smile, shaking your head before you toss the pillow at him, “w-what?”

“You’re important too, Yuta — you’re my friend and a guest — I’m not going to just leave you out here by yourself without saying anything,” you hold your hand out, “can I have the remote?” And he passes it to you, fingers brushing, as you flip through more movies and TV, “are you tired at all?”

His gaze stays straight ahead, as he shakes his head, “No, not yet,” and you’re choosing a movie to watch, his fingers clasped over each other — the warmth of your touch still lingering.

And you had no idea that his heart was aching at the thought of you being taken — much like the very someone who had taken you.

~~~

“I understand, Suguru, really I do,” and you did — you always did — but this time, it was a little hard to swallow.

It had been weeks since the two of you had seen each other, not over a screen. It was already a month and half into the new semester — and each time he was supposed to visit you, something or another came up — a faculty event, a staff meeting, grading to do, and god knows what else.

And you could bear it the other times — it wasn’t his fault. He had work to do. He had things he had to take care of with little choice in the matter. And you couldn’t always come to Kyoto either — not with your program in full gear and events for the student government around the corner.

No it wasn’t his fault — but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt — especially with what he was missing.

“I really tried to get time off — and I probably still can make it, but I might run late—“ Suguru’s sighing on the phone, and you know his brow is knit together — mind desperately trying to grasp at a solution, as if he thought hard enough one would emerge that he hadn’t considered.

Your footsteps pause, as you bite back your own sigh, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s okay, really — we can celebrate my birthday the next time—“

“It’s not okay, sweetheart,” he cuts you off, “I’m really going to try to make it. I’ll get my work done, or put it off—“

“I don’t want you jeopardizing work—“

“I’ll be fine, Princess — I want to be with you,” he says so softly that your refusals all but melt, “really, I do,”

You bite your lip, as you continue to make your way, weaving between the students herding towards their next classes, “Okay I just don’t want you stressing out or worrying—“

“I’ll be fine, just, make any plans you want to, okay? I don’t know what time I’ll get there on Saturday, but I’ll be there, okay?”

“You really don’t—“ you’re outside the room for your meeting, leaning against the wall.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, and your lips curl, fully submitting to his whims.

“You really don’t — know what time you’re getting here?” You nailed that — apparently not by his chuckle over the line, as you hear the tapping of his laptop as he checks train times.

He pauses, a rustling of papers, and a sigh, “I’m not sure, but once I’m on my way, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay, that’s fine,” you give a half hearted smile despite the fact no one would see it, “I’m outside my student government meeting, but I’ll talk to you tonight?”

“Of course, good luck with your meeting, and I’ll call you around 8:00 PM?” And the two of you hang up and you’re left with disappointment hanging mid air — like a mystery waiting to be solved, wondering if you’ll be satisfied or saddened.

“What’s wrong?” your gaze snaps up to find Yuta, who offers a small smile, “are you disappointed that our meeting never starts on time? Because you should give up on that now,” you roll your eyes, as he holds the door open for you, and you step past him.

“It’s nothing,” you set your things down, sitting, as he takes his own seat beside you.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Yuta tilts his head, leaning on his arm, a hint of concern across his features in his slightly furrowed brow and pursed lips, “you don’t have to talk about it — but if you want to, I’m here,”

You lean back in your chair, “It’s just my boyfriend — he’s been really busy with work so we haven’t been able to see each other, and now…” your gaze fixes itself to the table in front of you, taking in the faint scratches on the laminate wood, a sigh caught in the back of your throat, “he’s not sure if he’ll make it this weekend for my birthday, he said he would try his best,” and you shake your head, “and I know it’s a little…childish, but—”

“It’s not childish,” he gently cuts you off, “it’s understandable to want to spend your birthday with the person you love,” he leans forward to meet your eyes, “how about this? We can hang out on your birthday until your boyfriend comes down, because I’m sure he will,”

“How do you know?” and other people begin to file into the room, as he offers you a small smile.

“Who would ever keep you waiting?”

~~~~

“You don’t usually call at this time,” you yawn, rolling over in bed, as you hear Suguru rustle on the other end too — it was already late and you had already buried yourself under your comforter, scrolling on your phone before bed (even though you knew very well that you shouldn’t).

“Sorry did I wake you, sweetheart?” and you hum.

“What do I get if you did?” he laughs, his voice making your heart flutter in two seconds flat, “my sleep comes at a very high price, Professor,”

“Oh I know, I’ve paid that price several times, and you have willingly given it to me as well,” your lips curling, you knew he was lying on his back as he always did before bed, arm under his head as he looked up at his ceiling, “what’s the price this time?”

“Video call me,” and he does in an instant, his face popping up on your screen, lips quirked upwards at the sight of your face, glasses perched on his nose.

“Such an easy price this time,” and you yawn, turning over in bed onto your side, hiding your pout in your pillow — god, you wished he was beside you right now.

“The late hour’s making me soft,” you say, a strand of black falling in front of his face, and you only wish you could reach over and run your fingers through his silky strands, “did you need something?”

“I need someone,” and you snort.

“Well, you have me, congratulations,” you turn over onto your back, “now what do you plan to do with me?”

He smiles that same smile that had stolen your heart from the start, “Treasure you? Kiss you? Love you?” and your lips curl again, “apparently get a poodle and a dozen cats with you,”

“That’s a guarantee,” and he smiles.

“If it will make you happy, then yes it is,” you purse your lips, “what?”

“What’s gotten into you?” And his eyes seem to flicker elsewhere for a moment, “Suguru?”

His lips form a full smile, “Happy birthday, princess,” and you blink, glancing at the clock and realizing it was midnight now, “each and every day with you in my life has been the happiest I have ever been and ever hoped to be. I spent my life searching for the meaning of life — but I didn’t find it, until I met you,” his voice is soft as tears burn at the corner of your eyes, “I don’t know what it is that I’m owed — but I don’t know what I did to deserve you,”

“I love you,” you whisper, “I wish I could hold you,” your fingers caress the screen, as if your touch could teach through it, and he presses a kiss to his hand.

“I love you too — and I promise I’ll hold you soon,” he lays back on his bed, “you’ll be sick of me soon enough,”

“Never,” you settle onto your pillow, “will you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep?”

He only smiles, “Anything for you.”

~~~

Anything but being able to be here by lunch or dinner at this rate. You checked your phone — only to find his last message — “I’m almost done. I’ll let you know when I leave for the station,”

But it had been over two hours and there had been no update — even after you had texted him twice to ask where he was. You were caught between worry and disappointment — anxiety pricking at your skin, enough to annoy but not enough to pierce through to full panic. And disappointment felt like a weight that hovered above your heart, close enough to feel, but not enough to hit yet.

You didn’t want to feel this. It wasn’t his fault. You knew that he was trying — and you didn’t resent him in the least for it. But that didn’t mean you wanted him here any less — especially after it had been almost two months without seeing each other.

And a knock at your door made your eyes snap over, as you tripped over yourself to get to the door, “Who is it?”

“It’s me—“ but it wasn’t Suguru — it was Yuta. And you opened the door, a small smile on your lips, as Yuta stood in a black sweater tucked into dark gray jeans, and a deep maroon jacket pulled over it, “happy birthday,”

“Oh, thanks—“ and you blink, “oh my god, we had plans I’m sorry — I forgot,” you groan, and he leans sideways to take a look at your apartment, spotting the blanket on your couch and a pillow.

“Did I interrupt your date with your couch?” you roll your eyes.

“You did actually, it was a good one too—“ he cuts you off with a look, “I don’t know if I really want to go out. I was thinking I’d just—“

“What? Sit here and become one with your couch?” he raises an eyebrow.

You pout, “Yuta, I don’t know. I think I rather stay home—“

And that’s what you had done all day — Suguru had checked in here and there — trying desperately to finish up work to make it for some part of your birthday but hadn’t checked in for two hours now. You were sure he was going to be on his way soon — but that didn’t make waiting any less depressing. Your phone even had sighed at you as you checked your messages for the millionth time to find no new ones — low battery life only taunting you in return.

“That’s what you’ve done all day — I’m sure your boyfriend would want you to go out and have fun—“ he crosses his arms in front of your doorway, “come on, we can just go watch a movie, no big deal — we can have some fun and kill a few hours, okay?”

And you stare at your phone again, before locking it — “let’s go,”

~~~~

Finally, Suguru sat down right as the train began to roll forward — he had barely made it. The meetings stacked up the day before had put far behind on his grading — he nearly couldn’t make it.

Not if he hadn’t stayed up until 3:00 AM.

He checked his phone — he should make it by 5:00 PM, which should leave plenty of time for dinner and he checked his bag for your gift — it was just what you wanted — a necklace you had pointed out to him, a dragon with multi-colored gems. He laid against the seat, his forehead leaning against the cool glass.

God, he missed you.

It had been too long. Since he had even seen your face not through his phone screen and heard your voice whisper in his ear not through his cellphone. But that’s all he saw and heard of you lately.

He didn’t know the department would be this much of a mess when he took over. The last department head was truly enjoying his retirement months before it began. It was enough he had his department head duties but to teach two classes on top of that was enough for work to pile up until it was untenable. And he was unavailable.

How many times had he fallen asleep on the phone with you? How many times had he canceled plans to come see you? How many times had he missed dates?

And how many more would there be?

He knew you said everything was fine, he knew you understood his circumstance, he knew it wouldn’t be forever — but still — he wrung his fingers in his lap — why did it feel like it already had been forever? Since he had seen you smile, seen you laugh, held your hand, kissed your lips — it felt as if you were disappearing from his grasp.

But he wouldn’t let it happen — he couldn’t.

~~~

“Please turn your cellphone off and place it in these bags before entering the movie,” the ticket attendant told you and Yuta as he handed you both your tickets for something called, Human Earthworm 4, handing you both phone pouches.

You knit your brow together, “But—”

“This is an early screening of the movie, so the staff has been told that all persons seeing this movie today must lock their phones in these pouches before entering the theater,” the attendant explains, gesturing to the cardboard cutout of the movie with a sign that said ‘early screening’ in bold letters, “otherwise you could exchange your tickets for a different movie,” you purse your lips — you had been looking forward to seeing this movie, especially early. And Yuta had even bought the tickets ahead of time after hearing you talk about it at one of the student government meetings.

Yuta’s eyes slide to you, “We can see another—”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head, giving a small smile, “Let me just send a quick text,” you step away for a moment, texting Suguru — I’m going into a movie, I have to turn off my phone. Let me know when you’re on the train.

You lock your phone with a sigh, placing it in the bag — either way, he hadn’t texted, so you were sure he wasn’t on the train yet. And you weren’t sure if he would even make it. It was fine — you glanced at Yuta, walking over to the movie theater — it really was.

Because it wouldn’t be forever.

~~~~

The screech of the train jerks Suguru awake, his eyes burning, as he glances out the window — the sun beginning to give up the sky already, starting its descent. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand as he checks the time — fuck, it had been an hour already. He leans back, glancing through his notifications and he sees a text from you.

Fuck, he had forgotten to respond to your messages earlier. He was a mess trying to get to the station, a flurry of papers, caffeine, and adrenaline — and he had spotted your messages before he left the office, only to make a mental note to reply once he was on the train. Where that note had been left in the recesses of his mind he could only guess.

He types: I’m so sorry, sweetheart — in my rush to get here, I didn’t let you know — I’m on the train already—

And then he pauses, he could surprise you — at your apartment. You’d be home after about an hour it seemed by the time he got to your place — it was perfect. He could pick up your cake (the one he had pre-ordered) and set everything up just in time — and then he could take you out for the dinner he had promised you.

He deletes the text, rewriting it — I’m so sorry sweetheart. I just finished work. I should be there by 7:00 PM. I love you. I’ll see you soon, birthday girl.

He sends the message, a smile on his lips — maybe there was something special he could do today, as he watches the train continue on its way.

He only hoped it would work out in his favor.

~~~

“It was perfect — the metaphor? Did you not see the metaphor?” Yuta nodding along to your rant as the two of you make it back to your apartment, “I know it seems like a dumb movie but if you read between the lines—” and you glance at Yuta, who continues to nod, and you stare, “you hated the movie, didn’t you?”

“No, no, I didn’t—” and then you raise an eyebrow, “it was really bad — have you seen good movies before?”

You laugh, shaking your head, “There’s no accounting for taste,”

“Clearly,” he replies, and you push him playfully, crossing your arms, as he grins back at you, “well, I’m glad you enjoyed it, that’s the important part,”

“And you got to bully me about my movie taste so that’s a lovely end to the evening,” he snorts, as the two of you make it outside your apartment door, “thanks for dragging me out — it was really nice,” you dig in your bag for your keys, “it was fun,”

“I’m glad I could help — I hope I made your day a little better,”

“You already do that by just being you, Yuta,” you pull your keys out, your phone slipping out with it — “shoot,” you kneel down and Yuta does too, fingers brushing as you pick it up — as your phone springs back to life, “shit, I guess i forgot to turn it back on,” as you rise, beginning to unlock your door as your texts start to come through — and you blink, right as you turn the knob, slowly reading the first message as you open the door only spotting Suguru’s back through the crack in the door.

Fuck. And you quickly shut the door.

“You okay?” Your eyes flicker up, forcing a small smile, as Yuta tilts his head.

“Yeah, sorry — my boyfriend is inside I think,” your mind in a dizzying panic, “I should go talk to him, alone,” you shift from foot to foot, looking incredibly awkward — but it seems to work, as Yuta nods.

“Right, of course, I”ll go,” he bites his lip, “let me know if you need anything ok?” And he’s gone, as you turn back around, taking a beat, before you open the door.

“Surprise?” you say, and Suguru is holding a cake with lit candles, lights dimmed, a small smile on his lips.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he frowns at the expression on your face, “what’s—” and you shake your head, walking over.

“We’ll talk about that later,” you stand in front of him and your cake, “All I want to focus on is you and my cake,” and your lips curl, “and I believe I’m owed a song?”

“Happy birthday to you,” he sings softly, jawline illuminated by the low light of the candle, “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, my dear sweetheart,” and you bite back a grin, “Happy birthday to you,” he holds the cake up a little higher, “make a wish,”

You hum, “I don’t know what to wish for,” you blow out your candles, before taking the cake from his hands and placing it down before slipping into his arms, “I have everything I want right here.”

~~~

Suguru had almost gotten it right. Almost.

“Yuta almost saw you earlier,” you admit, “he didn’t, I realized before and made an excuse but,” you sigh, as the two of you sit on the couch, your fork toying with your slice of cake, “it was close,”

Close. Close to revealing your relationship. Lose to jeopardizing your future. Close to ruining your friendship. It was far too close — or was he far too close to you?

His brow knit together, “I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have let myself in and I should have texted earlier—“

“It’s not your fault, Suguru, it’s fine,” you offer a smile, “I don’t even mind if Yuta knows — he’s a good friend,”

“But still—“ you drag a finger through frosting and place a dollop on his nose, “sweetheart—“

“Let’s not focus on that right now. This is the first time I got to see you in weeks,” you lean over and lick the frosting from the tip of his nose, a warmth spreading across his face from your touch, “I want to enjoy the rest of my birthday with my boyfriend, okay?”

But he still couldn’t bring himself to pull away — not now.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips — it had been far too long since he had felt the soft press of your lips against his own. He could taste the frosting, the sickly sweetness didn’t begin to compare to your taste, and how much he had ached for it.

But it also didn’t stop him from dragging a finger dipped in frosting across your cheek.

“Suguru!” You gape at him, looking utterly too adorable with your pout and the frosting across your cheek, “on my birthday too?”

“Well, you’re so sweet, I wanted to see if it was possible for you to be even sweeter,” and he leans over licking the frosting from your cheek, “looks like it’s not possible—“ and you swallow his sentence with a kiss, as your plate and fork clatter as you set it down on your coffee table, climbing into his lap, your knees on either side, “our reservation — we’ll be late,” even so his hands drag down to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I think I want dessert first,” you murmur, before finding his lips in a kiss again.

It’s hours later, and you’re fast asleep beside him, your face buried against the crook of his neck, as Suguru runs his fingers through your hair. But he can’t sleep. Not when he keeps thinking about what you said.

You didn’t deserve this. To spend days waiting for your boyfriend to be free, to spend your time wondering when he would be able to call you, to spend your time stressed out at the idea of getting caught. A relationship should be easier, it should be fun — but you haven’t had either since he had to move.

His fingers brushes against the curve of your cheek and then tracing the chain of the necklace, thumbing the dragon charm. He loves you — he loves you, but was it enough when you deserved so much more? How many more things would he miss because of work? How many more things would you hide because you didn’t want him to feel guilty? How many more times would he let you?

He had felt you slipping from his fingers these last few weeks — he presses a kiss to your forehead — but he had never considered whether he should let you go.

Until now.

~~~

Can we call tonight? I miss you.

Suguru glances at his phone, students already filed in and sitting, the quiet chatter before class began. It had been like this for a week. He locked his phone, tucking it away in his pockets.

“If you all will sit and settle down, we’ll begin today’s lecture,” he says to the class, “we’re going to continue our discussion from last class on Scanlon — we’ll start with any questions left from our conversation,”

Several hands fly up, and he chooses one to speak, “I had a question,”

He blinks, spotting you amongst his students, “What are you—“

“Professor, you haven’t let me ask my question,” you pout, as you lean against the desk, arms crossed, “I need to understand the material to pass, don’t I?”

All replies get stuck in his throat — as words fail him, as they always did with you. He’s only able to nod. And you smile, lips curling wide.

“Scanlon posits the question “what do we owe to each other?’ But there is no one answer — we are meant to figure that on our own,” you lean back in your chair, “and I believe I’m owed at least a text back,”

The students’ quiet murmurings and piercing stares drawing heat up his neck, and you were the one who lit the match, flames licking at your heels.

“Sweetheart—“

“Do you get to call me that after how you’ve treated me?” you scoff, as you slide from your chair onto your feet, “no visit in weeks, barely any phone calls, and once we even got on the phone, you would fall asleep. Have you asked how I’ve been? How have I dealt with all of this? Do you even know how my semester is going?”

His mouth is a desert, and his words have all but deserted him — as he fumbles for any syllables he could grasp onto, but finds none. Because he has no excuses to be made.

You walk down the stairs of the lecture hall, as the slow steps you take ring in his ears, “do you know what I’m risking? My reputation, my career, my future — for what? For you? I know my answer to what I want in life. I know my answer is you — can you say the same?”

And the class is gone — and it’s only the two of you.

“I’d do anything for you, I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to. I—“ his voice breaks, and your hand finds his cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Except let me go, apparently.”

RING. RING. RING.

His eyes flutter open, a breath caught in his throat, as he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before reaching blindly for his phone. He glanced at the screen now, turning off the alarm, spotting a text from you at the top.

Morning Sugu — I miss you <3, can we call tonight?

And he stares at your message before locking his screen and placing his phone down and turning around.

He needed to talk to you.

~~~~

“You’ve checked your phone like for the millionth and one time,” your eyes find Yuta’s as the two of you continue to put up flyers for the student government hosted dinner later in the week, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” and he stares at you, “what?” And then you sigh, “my boyfriend — it just feels like he’s been avoiding me, and I don’t know why,”

“Have you asked him why?” He holds a flier and tapes it a bulletin board outside, and you shake your head, “maybe you should try,”

“I want to, I just never get a chance to — he’s been so busy with work and I haven’t—“ and you sigh — it had been over a week since you and Suguru had even spoken on the phone, much less even video called, “I feel like something’s wrong — something is bothering him,” your voice falters, as you swallow your emotions, a sigh on your lips, “I don’t know,”

Yuta takes a pause, stealing a glance at you, before he turns to look, “You’ll only know if you ask — and the longer you wait, the harder it will be to be honest,” he glances away, “trust me,”

You crumple the flier in your hand, squeezing, “I’m just scared of the answer,” you admit. It had been so difficult to get to this point — tears roll down your cheeks — to see Suguru slip away because of this would be too much.

“I know,” Yuta says softly, as he gently places his hand on your shoulder, “but you still need it regardless,”

And then you hear a voice call your name, and you wipe your tears hurriedly as Yuta pulls his hand away, your gaze snapping over to see Professor Yaga and—

Suguru?

~~~

“Look who’s here for a meeting,” Yaga says, clapping a hand to Suguru’s shoulder, “did you hear that Professor Geto had become department head of the Kyoto sister university?”

And Suguru knew you very well had — but you hadn’t heard he’d come here for a meeting. To be fair, he didn’t know until this morning — but to be even more fair, he had plenty of time to tell you. But he didn’t — because he was hoping he wouldn’t see you, not like this.

“I did,” you force a smile, “it’s good to see you, Professor Geto, how have you been?”

You’re a natural at acting as if nothing is the matter — but he’s become a master at seeing right through it. He spotted the way your fingers wiped away your tears, your red rimmed eyes, and the plastered on smile that was nearly pulling into a frown. He resisted the urge to purse his lips — he had wondered for a split second what had made you cry? Until he saw the flicker of a glare in your gaze, and he knew he was the reason.

And it was yet another reason he needed to end this.

And this — Suguru’s eyes flicker between you and your friend — was the friend he assumed was Yuta, his brow knit in confusion, “I’ve been well — it’s good to see you, I hope the semester has gone well for you?”

You shrug, your expression unreadable, “Well enough, you know how the semester goes — it’s very busy around this time. Easy for things to slip through the cracks,” and he forces his gaze to not waver.

“Very true, it’s important to keep on top of things,”

“Especially the important things,” you give both him and Professor Yaga a stiff smile, “It’s good to see you both, but we have more flyers to hang up for the event coming up later this week,” you take Yuta’s hand, “if you’ll excuse us,” and the two of you disappear off around the corner.

“It was good to see her, wasn’t it?” Professor Yaga says, a smile on his lips, “she’s come a long way after your class — she was already an excellent student, but now, I see even brighter things on her horizon,” as he continues to walk down the hallway in the opposite direction, and Suguru spares a single glance over his shoulder, before pulling out his phone and texting you:

Can we talk later? I’ll let you know where.

“It was.”

~~~~

“Old habits die hard?” you sat on Suguru’s old desk as he walked in, your arms crossed in front of you. And Suguru tilts his head, closing the door behind him.

“Did something happen in this room?” and you roll your eyes, as he steps forward, “ah, yes, you’re referring to your grades right?”

“Yes, my grades — I’m still upset about that 99,” but the playfulness all but dies on your lips as he draws close, your eyes unable to meet his gaze, as if you would see some truth you weren’t ready to uncover, “Suguru, what’s going on?”

“Sweetheart—”

“You’ve been distant since my birthday, avoiding calling me, you barely text me — and today, you didn’t even tell me you were in Tokyo,” your voice breaks — even if you had thought what you wanted to say to him a million times today — it didn’t make it any easier, “are you upset with me?”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he’s shaking his head, as he cups your cheeks, “you didn’t do anything except be completely wonderful,” he swallows, voice catching, as he seems to struggle with his words, “and that’s why I have to let you go,”

The sentence repeats in your mind over and over — and you still can’t make sense of it. No, no, it didn’t make sense. Why would he want to break up?

One word was all you could manage to respond with — “What?”

“Sweetheart, you deserve someone who can be there for you, someone who will be there with you when you need them, who will call you, prioritize you, give you all of their energy — and with this distance—”

“We can make it work—” and you know you’re crying now, tears rolling down his knuckles, filling the chasm he’s making between the two of you.

He’s running his fingers through his hair, “You’re making this work — I’m trying too but I haven’t been able to visit you, I haven’t been able to see you or talk to you properly in weeks—”

“It’s not forever, it won’t be like this. I’m almost done with my degree, I can move down to Kyoto—”

“And I don’t want you to limit your options because of me and my career,” he cuts you off gently, as his thumb rubs back and forth, wiping your tears away, “you have such a wonderful future ahead of you — whether you decide to pursue a Ph.D. or a lecturer position or whatever else — I want you to make that decision without my presence being a factor—”

“But—” and he’s pressing his lips to you softly, it’s gentle and sweet — his hands holding you as if you would break apart in his fingers before him, as his lips finally part yours “Suguru, I know what I’m doing—”

“I know, but so do I,” he murmurs, as he begins to step away from you, his warmth leaving your body, “if it’s easier for you to hate me, hate me — if it’s easier to be indifferent, be indifferent — I just can’t hold you back, sweetheart. I can’t do that to you — whether it’s professionally or personally,”

“Suguru, you’re not letting me have a say in this,” and he takes your hands, lacing your fingers together, “I want this, I know it’s been hard, but don’t you want this too?”

“I do — I love you, but that’s why I can’t do that to you. I want you to be happy—”

“Even if it comes at the cost of your own happiness?” you scoff, “Are you subscribing to utilitarianism? Are you okay being a happiness pump?” Your fingers try to find purchase on his cheek, but he pulls away, hands falling away from yours.

“I am, if it means you’re happy, then I am,” Suguru whispers, glancing away from him, “it’s not worth the risk,”

Your words are quiet, as you swallow your tears, and you force your voice to be steady, “You’re making this about me — when it’s about you too,” you brush past him, “I didn’t expect you to be a coward, Suguru, but I suppose, I got the answer I deserve.”

And the door shuts behind you, tears burning as you walk off — and you know that he wouldn’t follow.

But you still hoped he would.

~~~

Suguru stands by the window, watching students file in and out of the building.

It was the right thing to do. That’s what he kept telling himself — over and over and over. But if it was so right, then why did he feel wrong? Wrong for breaking your heart. Wrong for letting you wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He spent his time debating amongst others what right and wrong really was, but he always knew there would never be an answer.

And then he spots you leaving the building, before you bump into someone who stops you, your head down, but it doesn’t work, as the person pulls you into a hug. And he knew who it was — it was that student from earlier — Yuta. He had seen the way he looked at you — the same softness that Suguru had recognized because he saw it in himself.

He knew you deserved better, just because you were his answer —- he watched you sink into Yuta’s arms — doesn’t mean he was yours.

✧ a/n: ahhh the anticipated fourth part!! there’s gonna be one more part of the main series and then it’s onto extra credit fics :). Don’t worry it will be a happy ending!! I promise!

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @difficultdomains , @diogodxlot t, @that-goth-bisexual , @dazailover1900 0, @aliyalala , @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @maddietries ,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #suguru geto fanfiction #jjk smut #Jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto suguru smut

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peachesofteal · 6 days ago

Text

Fix You

John Price/female reader 11k words - AO3 - story is set in Through Me (The Flood) but is an AU and can be read as a standalone. Tags: 18+ major character death, heavy angst, loss of a loved one. Grief. Overconsumption of alcohol. Explicit sexual content. Emotional hurt/comfort. Complicated feelings. Angry sex. Caretaking. Trauma. Tenderness. Reader is a widow.

John Price knocks on your door in the late afternoon.

When the doorbell rings, you slip the baby into her bouncer and rub Orion’s hair affectionately at the table where he’s scribbling away with some crayons.

You’re not expecting anyone, but you guess it could be Cami. Though she usually just waltzes through the front door after using her key.

But it’s not.

It’s John.

You’re silent in front of him, eyes wide. He’s holding a bag, a black duffel, still dressed for work, for battle, face pinched in despair. Your heart lurches. “What is it?” He peeks over your shoulder to where the kids are, preoccupied, happy.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“No,” you tell him sharply. “No, I- what is it? Where is he? How bad is it?” His eyes soften, and he whispers your name. You barely notice when he reaches over to close the front door, too busy cycling through every worse case scenario. He eyes the chairs on the porch.

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.” You’re going to be sick. “Just tell me. Say it.” There’s a long moment where your life plays out in front of you. The stretch of before, and after. John takes a deep breath.

“He’s gone.” Gone. Gone as in, missing? Gone as in, on a different mission? What does gone mean? Your confusion must be blatant, because he reaches for your shoulder. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry.” You jerk away and laugh. That’s all you can do. Laugh. Laugh at the absurdity. Simon's not dead. He can't be. That makes no sense.

“No, he’s not, he can’t be. I literally just talked to him, like three days ago. He said you guys were wrapping up, that you were done.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, he’s-“

“Stop. Don’t- don’t say that. He’s coming home. You’re all supposed to be home next week, he promised, he-“ Your mind is fighting something your heart already knows. “It’s not true.”

“We ran into a situation, there was-“

“Stop!” You back away, bumping into the railing. You’re shivering, sobbing, unable to catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to guide you towards the chair, but you don’t budge. You can’t. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to accept it. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to move forward. You don’t have to live a life without him. You don’t have to walk inside and tell your son his father is dead. Your daughter won’t have to grow up without ever knowing him.

“Please.” Your voice cracks, and you stare up at him. “Please, it’s a mistake, it must be. It has to be. He can’t- He promised, he promised.”

“I know.” You shake your head.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t save him, I-“ His voice breaks, and then you do, sobbing so loud you’re sure it can be heard over the hills. A scream is building up inside you, burning and itching to get out, and he tugs you forward, cradles a hand around the back of your head and pushes your nose to his chest.

When it finally breaks free, it echoes directly over John’s heart.

You’ll never understand how people can say funeral services are beautiful.

They’re not.

They’re agonizing. Devastating. The last screw in the finality of your new reality.

It’s only you, the kids and his team. That’s all he had.

“You’re everything mama. I love you so much.”

Orion’s barely old enough to understand. He asks when he’ll see his dad again, and your answer is traumatizing for your child, at best. Daddy’s not coming home, you tell him. Daddy’s going somewhere else now, somewhere better.

He’s dead.

You black out during the entire thing. There are words being said, by a priest, by Johnny, by John, flowers being thrown. Cami stands at your side, holding your daughter, the child who will grow up never knowing her father. Barely five months old. Occasionally you look over at her, blissfully asleep, and you feel envy. Envy of your own child, who will never know this loss. Who will never feel the pain of losing Simon Riley.

Someone asks you if you want to do the honors of dumping the first shovelful of dirt onto his coffin.

You laugh out loud.

What a ridiculous custom.

Johnny and Kyle exchange a look of concern, you ignore them. You know what they think.

“Let’s get you home.” John’s eyes linger on your face, their sapphire and gunmetal shine holding you captive for a second as you grapple with what he’s said. If you were more present, more aware in this moment, you’d probably say they were akin to the palest hydrangeas, the color of the shrubs growing in your own front yard.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re not in any state at all, you’re just here, standing at the edge of the cemetery, staring at a mound of fresh dirt.

The dirt covering your husband.

Orion hugs your legs, trying to force his way between your knees. You’ve long tuned out the sound of his wails, unable to give him more, give him anything except your relentless grief.

You should be stronger, for them. Should handle this better.

There are a lot of things you should have done. Should have told him you loved him more. Should have been the one to hold his hand as he died. Should have made sure he wasn’t scared and alone at the end.

The gaping wound in your heart tears wider, and your knees buckle.

John wraps his arm around your shoulders, steadying you, shifting your weight into him, keeping you upright. Cami watches, gaze glossed over with tears, baby in her arms. Your baby. You and Simon’s baby. Orion cries louder.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, to no one, to the wind-

But it’s John who answers. “You can.”

There are voices in the kitchen.

It’s late now, long after sunset, the day you buried your husband almost over. More and more of him slips away. You get farther and farther away from the last time you saw him, spoke to him, heard his voice with every second.

It aches, so you close your eyes instead and tuck the blanket under your chin, curled up with your nose in the couch cushion.

The kids are asleep. You’re hoping you’ll follow. Soon.

“-want us to stay?” It’s Kyle. He’s trying to keep his voice down but you’re only in the other room, on the couch, staring at the wall.

“No,” John assures him. “You guys go home. I’ll be here.”

“You sure? The kids… if she’s not feeling up to it, or needs help…” Cami’s voice is wet, still heavy with sadness.

“I’m here. I promised him.” There’s a long pause, and he clears his throat. “I’ve got her.”

You can’t dwell on them for too long, exhaustion of the day finally dragging you down, slowing your breathing and cutting off your consciousness, giving you a reprieve from the grief by sealing you away from it in your sleep.

“Mama?” Orion’s little voice calls for you in the dark, and you jerk awake. The baby is crying. Someone is knocking on the door.

“Hey little man,” your throat is raw, your voice not your own. His little eyebrows crease together.

He looks so much like him.

You glance around. You’re no longer on the couch but tucked away in bed, slippers placed neatly on the carpet, phone plugged into the charger. Odd, considering you fell asleep on the couch.

“You hungry?” He nods as you sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Alright, let’s have breakfast then. What do you think sounds good?”

“Waffles?” “Okay. Go wash up while I go get Nix.” And figure out who’s at the door.

“John.” His hands are in his pockets, beanie folded up on his forehead, and you don’t miss the way he evaluates you, crying, wriggling baby in your arms, still in your pajamas, Orion hollering about breakfast in the background.

“I wanted to come by and check on you guys.” Right. Of course. Come check on the widow. What if she can’t get herself out of bed? What if she’s too sad to take care of her kids? He grimaces and clears his throat. “You’re uh… you’re wet.” He inclines his head towards Nix, who is mouthing at your chest over your t-shirt. Shit.

“Oh, crap. Uh, come in. We were about to have breakfast. Well, not just about. Ry wanted waffles and I was about to start them,” you’re babbling down the hall, glancing at Orion in his booster seat at the counter, banging around a bowl and spoon like a little king waiting impatiently for his meal.

“’cle John!” He claps, and John smiles.

“I’ll start them for you while…” He trails off and you smile awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

Phoenix is an easy baby. She latches easily, eats easily, goes down to sleep easily. She’s a breeze compared to Orion at this age.

Small blessings, you guess.

Simon said it was you earned it, after Ry. You deserved it.

What did you do to deserve this?

“Mama sad.” Orion whispers, his mournful little voice the first thing you hear when you shuffle out of your room. Nix went down after a change and a burp. Easy.

“She misses your daddy,” John answers, “like us.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip so hard it stings at the sound of his voice, dejected, depressed, palm finding the wall to stay upright.

The world tilts, falling out beneath you. For a second, you can see him. Standing on the other side of the counter, black sweatpants low on his hips, pouring some milk in Orion’s little orange cup, Nix cradled against him, stretched across his forearm. Simon laughs, licks his finger, and rubs something off the corner of Orion’s mouth.

You want to scream.

It’s a memory. Nothing else.

“.. okay?” John’s standing in front of you, head tilted, cupping your elbow. “You alright?” You raise your eyebrows, and he rolls his lips inward. “Sorry, course. You just… you looked a little sickly there for a minute.”

“Mama!” Orion yells, rocking back and forth to see you on either side of where John blocks the hallway. “Waffles!” You slide your hands down your shirt, Simon’s shirt.

“You made waffles?”

“Pre-mixed batter isn’t so hard. The lad was hungry.” Guilt simmers in the pit of your stomach, pinches your cheeks inward. “Hey, it’s okay. He was fine, jus’ a little impatient.” You nod, and he jerks his head back to the kitchen. “C’mon, I made you some too. And there’s fresh coffee.”

“Did you put me in bed last night?” You’re wiping down the countertop, some movie enrapturing your toddler in the background. He hesitates, and then nods.

“You were falling off the couch. Didn’t want you to brain yourself on the coffee table.” Your fingers curl around the mug, still warm to the touch, shoulders bunching beneath your ears before you forcibly relax them.

“Well, thanks.” I guess. An uncomfortable silence settles between you, questions evaporating on the tip of your tongue.

“I was going to head into town today for some groceries, can I get you anything?”

“Formula.” You blurt. “I can’t… we’ll need formula.” You don’t want to explain to him how it’s too much now, to breastfeed. How you won’t be able to handle it on top of everything else. How you think your milk will probably dry up anyway, bowing and breaking with the waves of your despair.

“What are you thinking about for dinner?” He scratches at the underside of his chin. The beard is overgrown, something you haven’t seen on him in a while, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He’s grieving too. You know it.

You just can’t find it in you to care.

Something is weighing on John. Something is tied around his ankles, tethered to the sea floor, waiting to drag him beneath the surface. You see it. There’s guilt in the lines of his face, tension between his brows.

You wonder if there is blood on his hands.

“Why are you here, John?” You don’t intend to ask, but the words have a mind of their own and slip free.

“Wanted to stop by.” His voice is tight, rough like yours this morning. “Check in, see if you needed anything.” There are a million things you want to say, but words fail you. You don’t know how to tell him he should just leave, because nothing will ever be okay. You’ll always need something.

Simon.

Your husband.

The father of your kids. The man whose shirts are hung up in the closet. His paperback book still sitting open on his nightstand. His toothbrush still in the cup by the sink.

The agony you’ve managed to lock away for a few brief moments breaks free again, and you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the heaving sob. John looks past you to where Orion still sits in front of the screen, mesmerized, and then takes you by the elbow to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, settling on the closed lid of the toilet, still choking on the lump in the back of your throat. “I told you, I can’t do this, I can’t. I can’t be without him, I don’t know how to be without him, I can’t-“

“Hey,” He’s crouched down, evening the height difference, looking at you with an expression so serious it quells your spiral for a fleeting moment. “You can do this. You have two beautiful kids who need you to do it for ‘em.” He hands you a square of toilet paper, and you wipe your nose.

“I want him back, John, I- I need him back.” You tuck your hands between your thighs, suddenly freezing, cold from the inside out.

“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I know you do.”

“There’s a lasagna in the fridge. Cami left it last night.” He’s tugging on his jacket, your handwritten grocery list from the fridge tucked in his pocket.

“Oh.” She’s texted you multiple times today, and all have gone unanswered. You don’t know what to say. “That was nice of her.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours after I take care of a few things and do the grocery run. You’ll be alright?” He’s treating you like glass. Like you’re a bomb primed to explode, big red letters counting down to an inevitable explosion. You manage to nod.

“Yeah.” The smile you give him is painfully fake, and you know he clocks it. “I’m going to hang out with the kids. Cuddle on the couch.” His smile is more genuine, but small.

“I’ll help you with dinner later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” He turns to leave, but you call his name before he hits the door.

“John?” His eyes meet yours. Blue. Crystalline like the sapphire on your finger. You clear your throat. “Thank you.”

He nods.

John finds you catatonic on the couch one morning. Nix in her day crib, the one that’s a permanent fixture in the living room, and Orion perched in front of an old Disney movie for the hundredth time this week.

You’re failing. Failing your kids, failing as a mother, failing to keep yourself patched together.

You thought you’d be stronger if it ever happened. You promised him you would be, but the promises have turned meaningless, your integrity torn to pieces.

You can’t remember the last time you showered or brushed your teeth. You’re sure you smell.

At least the kids are clean. Dressed. Fed. You’re not a complete disaster, you guess.

Still, when John appears in your line of sight, brows knitted together with worry, you’re caught off guard.

“Oh.” You blink, his frown deepens.

“I was calling your name. Were you somewhere else sweet?” Sweet.

“Sorry, I was… lost in thought.” He takes you in from head to toe, you in all your grimy glory.

“How about you take a break?” Irritation ignites, and you grit your teeth.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I don’t need help.” His arms cross his chest.

“It’s not a request. You’ve been wearing those sweatpants for four days. Get up, and get in the shower, or I’ll put you in myself.”

“Fuck off.” You hiss, and his eyes widen, surprised. How many people have surprised John Price? Close to none, you imagine.

“That’s enough.” He hauls you off the couch by your forearms just as Orion glances your way, little brain no doubt trying to understand the situation. “Be right back, bud.” John soothes him, and you seethe at how easily your son, Simon’s, nods and returns to his movie.

He’s gentle somehow, dragging you to the bathroom, but still forceful as he holds you by the elbow and reaches into the shower to turn the tap on.

The little fight that was inside you is gone. You wilt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to the floor, fingers knotted together.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” You’re sniffling, crying for the hundredth time in the last few days, and he rubs your upper arm.

“Nothing is going to be okay for a while,” he murmurs, “forever, even. But you’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay.”

The rest of the week goes too fast. You’re getting farther and farther away from it, from the moments when Simon was still alive in this world, when he still existed.

Desperate to slow it down, you don’t sleep. You sit in the kitchen and scroll through your phone, replaying the same videos over and over again, tears dripping down your cheeks. Grief is an emotion, but it’s a physical ailment too. It rots in your stomach and starves you. It aches between your ribs, so viscerally it’s like there is a knife twisted there, scraping against your bones, sawing between your muscle.

You take care of the kids in a daze. Feed and change Nix on autopilot. You give in to Orion’s every wish without a second thought, and he has waffles every morning. Chicken nuggets every night. Ice cream sundaes with too much chocolate syrup and a mountain of whipped cream. As much screen time as his little heart desires. You let him sleep in your bed, curled up in your arms, his little fist clinging to the neck of whichever shirt of Simon’s you’re wearing.

He can’t sleep in his own. He wakes up crying.

Cami comes over and stocks your fridge and freezer. She refills your tea canister. She vacuums the entire house. She feeds and changes the baby. You watch, listlessly, and when she’s finished, she squeezes your hand with a promise to be over again in a few days. You don’t have the words to thank her, so you don’t try. You want to believe she knows anyway.

John is the steady presence. He’s here, doing the dishes, making sure the three of you are eating, helping with the kids. He watches you shrewdly, careful.

A ticking time bomb.

One he’s afraid to set off.

It doesn’t matter how much they try to lessen the burden of living. How much they try to support you. They can’t change anything. They can’t stem the bleeding of your broken heart.

Seven days after Simon’s funeral, you crack the bottle, the one you had shipped from the states, stupid expensive Kentucky bourbon, caramel colored gasoline.

The baby is asleep. Orion is exhausted from his day with Gaz and Cami.

You’re alone on the front porch, curled up in a blanket, the hood of Simon’s sweatshirt pulled over your head. The only light you have is the green glow of the baby monitor. Otherwise, it’s just you, the moon, and the stars.

The hoodie still smells like him. So do the pillows. His t-shirts. His side of the closet. It’s a blessing. It’s agony.

You drink directly from the bottle, though you should use a glass. Simon would chastise you for not using a glass. He would tell you to sniff it from the rim of a tumbler, and then laugh when your nose wrinkled.

You should use a glass, but you don’t. It’s easier to take big sips this way.

Truck tires crunch on gravel, and then the broad figure of John Price stands at the foot of the porch. “Hey.” You raise the bottle, expecting him to laugh. He doesn’t. The stairs creak beneath his feet.

“What do you have there?”

“Bourbon.”

“Kentucky?”

“The one and only.” You take another swig, baring your teeth when it burns. You shake it. “Want some?”

“Think you’ve had enough for both of us.” Ass. You bristle, anger boiling in your blood, but you’re too drunk to stay on track and unleash it.

“Why are you here?” It’s the same question you asked earlier this week, but you still don’t understand. He holds your gaze for a long time. The only thing you find there is devastation.

“I promised him.”

“You promised him what?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“This isn’t a good time for this conversation, let’s go inside-“ You don’t budge. You can’t.

“You promised him what, John.”

“I was there,” his voice is hoarse, and there’s a heaviness to it, an agony the two of you share. “And he knew. He knew we wouldn’t get him back in time, no matter how fast we landed a bird.” You can’t see, vision blotted out by your tears. You want to put your hands over your ears. You want to know everything single thing. The two sides battle, and your cheeks grow wet like your face is upturned in a downpour. “He made me promise to take care of you. To take care of the kids. Grabbed me by the front of my vest and asked me to swear. So I did. I swore. I swore and I’m not going back on my word to him. I never will.”

“You were with him.” You’re not sure you want to know, but you have to. You have to know every piece of him, even this. Even the end.

“Yes. I was with him at the end. He wasn’t alone.” You clutch the bottle against your chest, so tight you’re afraid it might break, shatter the glass into your fingers. It would hurt less than this.

“Was he scared?”

“No. He was only thinking about you. You and the kids. He wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, that was all he cared about. He dug the pocket square out of his vest and held it over his heart.” The sob breaks free and destroys the dam holding everything together. Your body shakes with it, the ugly noises coming from within you, the pain of losing the love of your life.

“You were supposed to keep him safe.” Your voice raises, the alcohol tainting your ability to be rational or stay quiet.

“I know-“

“Mama?” You jolt, turning to ice, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. John swears under his breath.

“Orion,” you croak. He’s stricken, holding his sippy cup, wide eyes focused on your face. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.” You try to reassure him, but his panic only increases, and you fail in the moment, unable to offer him comfort. John steps between the two of you and crouches.

“Hey bud.” He points at the sippy cup. “Need some milk in there?” Your son nods, trying to peek around him to see you. “How about,” John scoops him up, “we get you some more milk and get you back in bed okay?”

“I want mama.” His voice trembles. You feel sick and close your eyes, but the next thing you know there are little arms wrapping around your neck in a hug, your boy’s hair under your nose. You look up at John, his eyes red and his face tormented.

“Say goodnight and she’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“I love you, little man,” you kiss him once, twice, before rubbing his back. “Let Uncle John get you some milk and put you back to bed, okay? I’ll be in soon.” Their voices disappear down the hall, and you twist the cap on the bottle.

Down the hatch.

“He looks like him.” Orion is rolling around in the living room, playing with his magnatiles while Nix is on her back, feet in the air, kicking at the play arch. John hums, stroking a hand over his beard. He’s finally trimmed, looking more like himself and less like a mountain man.

It’s a strange feeling, to see him and notice it looks better. Good, even.

“He does.”

“Guess we’re lucky, in that way. Having these little pieces of him.” Orion has his eyes, his shoulders too. They have the same smile, even some of the same mannerisms, and it hurts so much to think about how it will fade over time, how Orion will no longer be able to mimic his father. John steers your mind away.

“Can I help you with dinner?” “No, I’m okay. But… if you want to stay, you can.” He should, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t admit to him or even yourself that you’ve become reliant on him, his consistency, the steadfast force in your lives. Weeks have passed, and he hasn’t given up, no matter how hard you fight and fall apart. No matter how destructive you, the maelstrom at the center of your family’s life.

“We all lost-“

“You didn’t lose anything!” You’re screaming, finger jabbed in his chest, pushing him backward. He lets you. He doesn’t flinch. “He was mine! He was mine, not yours. He was ours. Our son’s. Our daughter’s. He belonged to us.” You’re barely breathing, suffocating underneath your grief, fingers going numb. He reaches, but you step away, swaying on your feet. You whimper. “F-fuck.”

“Come here.” It’s not a request, not the gentle coaxing you’re used to from him. It’s a command from a captain. When you don’t, he strikes, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into his chest, hand at the back of your neck. “Breathe.” He rocks you side to side slowly, head down, rumble in his diaphragm soothing against your ear. “C’mon, you can do it. Big breaths.”

“I can’t.” It’s the same thing you’ve been saying over and over again. You can’t do it, you can’t do this, you can’t you can’t you can’t you-

“Yes, you can, you can. Try. I’m right here, I won’t let you fail. I promise.”

“John said you needed a break.”

“John doesn’t make decisions for me.” You snap, and Cami winces, triggering a tidal wave of guilt. “I’m sorry Cam. I… I’m having a hard time.” She rubs your shoulder.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re not going to offend me or push me away. I just want to help.” You sigh. “Let me take them for the night. You can catch up on some trash tv. Read a book. Take a bath.” She whittles you down, and you finally concede.

Except being alone is bad for you. It’s bad for your mind. It’s bad for your heart.

Hours later, John finds you in a pile of Simon’s clothes. You’re curled up, nose buried in cotton, skin swollen under your eyes. “Oh, sweet.”

“Go away.” You don’t even lift your head.

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“That may be but I’m not leaving you here by yourself like this.” There’s an empty bottle of wine buried in this pile somewhere, and he plucks it free by the neck. “Didn’t save any for me?” It’s supposed to be a joke. It falls flat.

“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to have to think.” “I know.” He pulls you into a sitting position, palm cupping your cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I can help,” he motions to the kitchen. “I know how good you are with rice.” His smile turns mischievous, bright blue irises sparkling in the low afternoon sun, and you glower.

“I’m not that bad.”

The sink gets clogged one afternoon.

You try to diagnose it yourself, scrolling through google results on how to DIY it, try standing on your own. You’ll have to get used to it; you guess. Being a widow and all.

The attempts last about thirty minutes. Just in time for your front door to swing open, little feet hauling down the hallway, your son breathless and excited to tell you all about his trip to the park with John and Gaz. John follows right behind, trying to remind him about Phoenix’s naptime.

He pulls up short at the sight of you next to the sink, a pile of tools in the bowl.

“I uh… it’s clogged.” His lips twitch into a half smile. “I tried to fix it; I thought I should try. You know since…” You still have a wrench in your hand, but Orion is tugging at your shirt.

“Here,” he takes the wrench, touch casual as two fingers of his wrap around yours. It’s innocent. It’s nothing. But here he is, fixing your problems. Selflessly again, helping you out.

You’re not sure where you’d be right now if he wasn’t around-

At the thought, guilt so violent almost makes you double over.

Cami and Gaz host a spaghetti dinner, and you leave the house for the first time in weeks, months even. Time is a thief.

There’s laughter coming from the living room when you open the door, Orion sprinting from your side to where his uncles and aunt are hanging out. When you cross the threshold, Nix cooing in your arms and a loaf of banana bread in your free hand, the voices screech to a stop.

“Hi.” Your enthusiasm is lacking, but you’re trying. You really are, even though this is all you can give. Cami smiles excitedly as John stands and crosses the room.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabs the bread, warm hand briefly settling in the middle of your back before it disappears, taking the baby bag off your shoulder. You breathe him in, cigar smoke and pine. It’s calming, somehow. Familiar. “You okay?” He knows how hard this is. Knows how you tossed the decision back and forth, unsure, uncomfortable. You did it for Orion, in the end. You can’t deprive him of his community, so you nod silently.

Cami pulls you into her arms, putting her finger in Nix’s fist and pressing her cheek to yours. “I’m so glad you came.” You manage a weak smile.

“Me too, I… it’s good to see you. And everyone. Ry was really excited.” You look past her to where Soap has him in his arms, moaning and groaning about how they’re nearly the same size.

You take a deep breath.

You can do this.

They tiptoe around you all night. It should bother you, but it doesn’t. You’re not ready for anything else. For stories, for meaningful conversation. Everyone keeps it light. They veer away from work. They treat you with kid gloves.

It’s fine, but it’s exhausting, trying to keep yourself under control. Trying to quiet the ringing in your ears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

You almost manage it. But then someone slips up.

“- an’ that piece o’ shite. Simon was so pissed; I thought he was going to rearrange his face before he let him go.” Gaz laughs, you freeze. “He won in the end though, didn’t he? Always did, until-“

“Soap.” John cuts, and the table goes dead silent, as if they forgot. There’s a warm hand on your knee, but it’s not enough. Cami is shaking her head, blinking at him in horror, and Gaz glares. You stare down at a pile of peas.

“’m sorry,” Johnny whispers, stricken. “’m so sorry. I miss ‘im too, it helps… to talk about ‘im, ye know? I-“

“That’s enough.” John’s command is scathing.

You throw a quick excuse me over your shoulder as you make your way to the bathroom by the kitchen.

You try to breathe deep, but the oxygen doesn’t come as fast as you need it. You’re falling down the dern, despair filled hole that plagues your every waking hour. The reality you try to shove away, the fact that you’re here and he’s not.

Knuckles rap against the door. You undo the lock to come face to face with John, who steps inside and closes it behind him. You keep your gaze fixed on the floor, chest heaving. “Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling you close, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, tipping your face up.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Soap is oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s not up to me to tell people how to grieve.” He wraps you in a hug.

“It’s not, but he should treat you with respect.” You nod, drifting, trying to burn the words from your brain. You’re holding onto him. Clutching at his shirt, and he rubs a hand up and down your spine. It’s good. Warm, and comforting. You sink deeper, let him hold you, seeking solace. The strength you find in John.

You rest your cheek against his chest. “I’m so tired. I want to go home.” You whisper, and he smooths a hand over the back of your head.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” There’s another knock on the door, and you grimace.

It’s Cami. She has the baby on her hip, tears in her eyes. “I’m so-“

“It’s okay. Really. I’m just tired.” You’re lying, but you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She knows anyway. You never should have come. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I figured. I packed some food to go, and Gaz has Orion at the door.” Your best friend, always so kind, so thoughtful.

“Thanks, Cami. I love you.”

“I love you too. Text me when you get home, okay?” She passes Nix into your arms, following her with a hug, and you press your face to her shoulder before pulling away.

“I will.”

It’s been three days since the dinner, despondency settling back into your routine like it never left.

The kids help, John too. They keep you focused. They keep you alive.

“An’ cookie!” John smiles. It’s the lips quirked to the side one, the gleam in his eye one, combined with his standard issue work hair and beard, thick cable knit sweater stretched across the firm weight of his shoulders. It’s navy. Complements his eyes.

A flicker of heat burns in your stomach, between your legs, taking you by surprise.

You’re staring. You’re staring and he looks away from Orion, meeting your eyes, a question forming in them until you clear your throat and glance away, focusing on the baby in your arms and the last of her bottle before trying to get Orion prepared for the end of his night.

“Come on little man, finish your dessert so we can get your pajamas on.”

“U’cle John help me.” His arms cross against his chest, and you give him a reproachful look.

“What do we say when we want to ask someone to help?”

“Please.”

“Yes, please. Good job.”

“Please ‘cle John?” John glances your way, hesitant, and you shrug.

“Sure, bud. Once you’re finished.”

The kitchen gets the final wipe down when John slinks out of Orion’s room, clicking the door shut softly behind him.

“Nix go down?”

“Easily. She’s never fussy. Sleeps like a dream. Thanks for helping with him.” There is a glass on the coffee table, and a bottle of wine. You meant to have some earlier but got distracted. “I was going to have a glass of wine and watch something, want to stay and hang out for a bit?” You love your kids, but only having a baby and a toddler to talk to all the time can get old fast, no matter how much you love them.

His fingers brush yours when he takes the second glass from your hand, and you swallow. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you shiver.

The movie is two hours long, but forty-five minutes and two glasses of wine in, your head starts to feel heavy, and your eyelids grow lazy.

“- want to go to bed?”

“No,” you sigh. Your head is quiet, and you’re curled up against something warm, drifting in the sweet space between sleep and waking, low volume of the tv murmuring in the background. “Gonna stay here.” The blanket is tucked around your shoulders, and you snuggle deeper, sagging into the cushions. You’re almost there, just on the cusp when you jerk. “Baby monitor.” You mumble, and a whisper traces an arc from your temple to jawline, touch so featherlight it’s hard to know if it was ever there at all.

“Sleep, dove. I’ll be here.”

“We were going to have another baby you know. He wanted another one so badly. Kept trying to knock me up every time he was home.” The ice rattles in your glass, and you cast a long look at the half empty bottle between the two chairs you’re in on the porch.

“He told me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. Kept talkin’ about how you turned him into a caveman all the time.” You laugh. It’s real. A real laugh, something unbidden, releasing from your chest. John raises his eyebrows, and smiles.

“That’s how it was. He was always like that.” The stars are really bright tonight. They have been, ever since you buried him. You’re not sure if there’s less light pollution lately or if you’re just paying attention more. Sometimes you want to believe it’s something else entirely. If it’s a piece of him making them glow for you. Lighting up your sky. Wrapping you in a blanket of midnights, little collections of constellations in his arms. “They’re named after the stars, you know. The babies.”

“I know.” He sips his whiskey. “Orion the giant hunter, son of Poseidon, and Phoenix, rising from ash to be reborn.”

“Yeah.” You’re crying, again, and you wipe the tears away as quickly as you can.

“They’re beautiful names.” You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say, so the two of you sit there, side by side on the porch in silence until you break it.

“I’m angry at him. I’m so mad, he broke his promises. He broke all his promises and left me here. He left me.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. He loved you so much.” You twist the ring on your left finger. It’s looser now, your inability to stomach most things starting to show. You wouldn’t have even noticed, or cared, unless John said something. ‘I promised I’d take care of you. That includes not letting you turn into a beanstalk.’

“He didn’t keep his promise.” There is the crux of it. All the promises made, only one kept. ‘Til death. Except he’s gone, and you’re still here.

Turning into a ghost.

“Can you hang out with the kids for a little bit tonight?” His brow pulls together, pinching in the middle, lines of his forehead wrinkling just bit, just enough to remind you of his age.

“Sure, everything okay?” Your eyes find your feet.

“I want to go to the cemetery.” His mouth opens, and whatever was going to come out of it disappears with his nod.

“Alright.”

You’re sick.

That’s the only way you can explain this, laying here on top of the plot, bottle of Kentucky bourbon in your hand. You’ve dumped some on the ground at the base of his stone, a toast of some kind, a sad, hopeless connection sitting one sided.

This is a special kind of agony. It’s the kind that wears you down. It makes you ill. It has you wishing you could dig up his coffin and crawl inside it. Sick. Rotting from the inside out.

“John’s kept his promise to you,” you manage another large swig, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “He’s always around. Helps with the kids a lot. Keeps us afloat. I guess he takes his pledges pretty seriously.” Another swig. This one leaks from the side of your lips. “I hate you, you know that? If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you myself. You weren’t supposed to leave us here. You were always supposed to come home. You promised.” You dig into the earth, dirt and grass compacting under your fingernails.

The night is dark and starless.

Figures.

You’d do anything to change this. Anything. You can’t carry it. You can’t bear it. It’s too heavy. Too much. For one moment, you’d like to not feel it, to not know the crushing weight of your grief. It follows your every waking minute. It follows you in your dreams.

When people die, there are always these fantastical stories floating around about their loved ones seeing a bird, or a cloud, or a rainbow. Some overwhelmingly positive sign leading them to believe the deceased is at peace.

It’s all bullshit.

There are no signs. There is no peace.

There’s only you, and the dead man you love in the ground.

It’s late when you make it home.

You probably shouldn’t have driven. It’s a short ride to and from the little graveyard on the hill, but you’re ashamed to have done it.

You know better.

“Didn’t hear you come in.” Your keys clang against the counter, forgotten as you turn to face him. The lie gives you pause. He knew you had come in. Simon never missed the sing of a door hinge, the latch of a window. You know they operate. How they function.

Still, you let it go. You don’t have the mental capacity to call him out.

He’s closer than you expected. Close enough you can smell him. It’s always the same, cigars and pine. Fresh needles fallen on the forest floor. He reminds you of it too in a way. The woods. Something about him, the way he fits into his sweater, the rough heels of his hands, like he’s felled a thousand trees and could go for a thousand more.

He’s got amber gold on the rocks in his hand, more whiskey. The ice has diluted it a bit, a thin watery film sitting on the bottom of the glass. You wrap your fingers around the rim and tip it to your lips. It burns. The clock ticks, the two of you breathe in and out. In and out.

“I can’t carry this.” You blurt, setting the glass down a little too hard. “I know you think I can… but I can’t. I’m drowning.”

“No one expects you to right now…” He’s talking, reassuring, supporting you, but there’s nothing except for his eyes. They’re the color of the ocean, the one you swam in the weekend Simon put the ring on your finger.

Your ears are ringing. Your blood is hot, the alcohol rewiring your brain until it conjures wild ideas about an escape. Maybe you don’t have to carry it, for a minute. Maybe you can close your eyes and share it with someone. Share it with him. Just for a minute.

“John.” You whisper, still focused on his eyes.

“What is it?” You twist your fingers in his sweater, dirt from under your fingernails getting caught in the wool, and he tenses, confused. “Hey, maybe-“ No maybes. You swing onto your toes and drag him downward, pressing your mouth to his in a rush. He grunts, but the kiss lingers until he pulls away. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You can’t place the look he gives you, mind too far gone. If you were sober, you’d say it was significant. He cups your cheek.

“Let’s sit down and-“

“No. John. Please. Help me carry it. Please.” Electricity crackles in the air, his hand sliding to your neck where he holds it firm with two fingers.

“We can’t. Shouldn’t. It’s just the grief, it’s-“

“Please.” You raise yourself back onto your toes, and though he’s dead still, he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t stop you as you kiss the corner of his mouth, beard brushing against your chin, and he doesn’t stop you when you find his lips again, parting your own, holding onto his shoulders.

He groans, hands drifting to your hips and digging into them, gripping you so tight, a pendulum swinging, pushing you away, pulling you back, until he gives in.

You’re kissing captain Price, for fucks sake. Your husband’s boss, his friend. One of the most important men in his life.

The betrayal burns.

This is wrong. So wrong, but there’s a wild piece of you that wants it. Likes it. The pieces that have taken solace in John have now turned to something else, something stronger, more vibrant.

It’s wrong. So wrong.

But in this moment, there’s nothing else but you and him and this decision. There’s no room for the other things that plague you.

It’s rough. You’re rough. He’s rough. You pin him against the kitchen counter, fumbling with his belt and zipper, sandpapered pads of his thumbs under your shirt and rolling over your nipples. You’re clumsy, disorientated, only saved when he spins you around and folds you over the cool surface. “Alright.” He murmurs like it’s just now kicked in what you’re doing, what’s happening in this moment, this sacrilege now staining you both. He kicks your feet wide, and rips your leggings to your ankles, tracing a line back up your thigh to shove his hand inside your panties and through your folds to push his finger inside you.

“Ah, John-” You hiss, arching your back, greedy for more, desperate for something, waiting and wanting, willingly going with him as he drags you to the floor, pushes you to your knees and bends you over, too big hand between your shoulder blades.

He fills you in a single stroke and you cry out, slapping a palm over your mouth to cover your scream, stifling the moans that follow. It’s a stretch, one that burns, too much and too soon, but this isn’t meant to be slow. It’s not a treasure, a sentimental unfolding of passion. It’s grief. It’s loss. It’s nothing like love. “Christ.” He grits, pinching your ass. “You’re bloody tight, sweet.” You can’t respond, your free hand digs against the hard wood, scrambling for something to hold onto as he shoves his cock against your cervix. You’re going to come unreasonably fast, already clamping down around him, tightening with the curl of your toes. “Be nice and quiet for me now, angel.” He pulls you up by your chest, mouth hot at your ear as he reaches for your clit, pinching the swollen nub and then smacking it with an open palm, your shriek barely muffled by your hand. He’s speaking, but you’re not quite catching it, too distracted by the blinding light on the outside of your vision, sparks blooming into fireworks. “Oh dove, you’re coming,” his mouth is on your cheek, kissing, nipping, and you turn to steel, vibrating with the strength of your orgasm, pathetic whines ghosting over his neck as your head tips back. He coos, brushes a hand over your forehead. It’s comforting, sick comfort for a sick girl. “Good girl, Shh, I know, I know it’s a lot.” The peak crashes, and you twitch, pulsing around him, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He comes all over you. Puts you back on all fours and curses under his breath, holding you steady, gripping your ass cheek so hard it will be tender tomorrow. The ocean rushes in your ears and you start to drift away, post orgasm, post fuck, sweaty and sated as he paints you.

“Fuck honey-“

I’ve got a lot of cum for you, honey

Tell daddy what you’re doing, honey

Can’t get over how good you taste, honey

Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?

The tip of the knife jams between your ribs. It penetrates your heart. It shreds organ and bone until the injury is so catastrophic, the only fix is death.

The noise you make is more animal than human.

Honey, honey, honey-

You flinch and crawl away panicked. He’s calling your name but you’re deaf to it, drowning in Simon’s voice.

Simon, your husband, who was the last man inside you. Simon who called you honey, and sweetheart, and mama. Simon, who’s body is cold in the ground. Who’s ring is on your finger.

Honey, honey, honey-

You stumble to your feet and make it to the sink just before the whiskey and bourbon comes shooting out of your mouth.

Sick.

“Promise me-“

“Shut up Simon. That’s an order.” He’s got her embroidered pocket square in his fingers, stained in blood, crimson dotting out the constellations. The radio crackles, but it only confirms what they both know.

Simon has minutes. They need at least twenty.

He shakes his head. John presses harder on his abdomen, pointedly ignoring the river of red spilling out beneath his palms. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much human bodies bleed. It’s not like he’s usually sticking around to watch.

“John.” Simon’s free hand latches onto the strap of John’s vest and jerks it roughly, pulling him closer. “You swear to me, right now. Do it.”

“I won’t. There’s still time. Stop talking, you need the oxygen.” His lips crack into a smile, gaze already starting to fall away, and then snaps to, refocusing.

“Tell her I love her. And that I’m sorry.”

“You’ll tell her yourself, Lieutenant.” He shakes his head, fist tightening over that little square, dragging to his heart, the organ beneath the vest that’s beating too slowly.

“John. Swear it. Promise me you’ll take care of her. You’ll take care of them.” There’s blood trickling down his jaw now, flowing from his lips. “She’s strong, but it’s gonna be hard. She’ll need you. The kids will need you. Nix is only a baby, she can’t-“ he coughs, shudders, and then his brow furrows with determination. “They can’t grow up without a dad.” John’s stomach, already an open pit, now rips into a black hole.

“You’re their dad, Simon. You are.” His voice cracks.

“Swear.”

“No.”

“Swear to me!” Simon shouts in his face, blood spraying on his cheeks. Gaz is yelling at them from twenty-five yards away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s not enough time.

They stare at each for seconds that are really eternity. They’ve been together in this hell, in this job, for so long. Suffered and slogged and killed together for so long. Simon isn’t just his team member, he’s a part of his life.

A rabid fucking dog brutalized and beaten down, now a husband, a father, a leader in his own right.

John pushes away the memory of the day he met Orion. The pride on Simon’s face. The pure joy.

He would never deny him.

They hold on to each other’s forearms. It’s goodbye.

“I swear it, Simon. I will take care of them. I promise. On my life.”

“And you’ll tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

He should have stopped you.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe it happened, but it’s not hard to remember. Not hard to remember how you felt, scorching velvet plush around his cock, not hard to remember the sounds you make when you come, how your pussy twitches. Not hard to remember how beautiful you were in his arms, shaking and crying, holding tight to him as he fucked you as deep as he could.

And it’s hard to forget the horror on your face. The way you crawled away like a wounded animal. The hoarse sobbing that came after the vomit in the sink. The way your knees gave out. The way you told him to get the fuck out.

Help me carry it.

It’s survivor’s guilt. It must be. Or trauma bonding. He’s been here for you, for the kids. He’s held you and wiped your tears and scooped you off the floor.

Because it’s his duty.

Right?

He can’t deny there’s something wrong with him, though. There’s something wrong with the way he barked at Soap during dinner, something wrong with the way he let you curl up beside him with your head on his stomach the night you fell asleep on the couch. He just sat there, stroked your cheek, rested his hand on his shoulder.

The guilt builds. It’s compounding, and fueling the anger, the rage directed at himself.

How dare he? How dare he betray Simon like this? How dare he try to take something that’s never been his?

He walks it like a tightrope. It’s his duty. It’s a betrayal.

Duty. Deceit. Duty. Betrayal. An oath. A line crossed, again and again.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do except crush and pulverize this thing trying to bloom. He rips out it by the roots.

Though he knows as well as any, determined things always find a way.

You don’t even look at him, and it gets under his skin. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong.

“Orion is almost ready.” You say over your shoulder, already moving away from him and down the hall, running but you’re not being chased. He’s supposed to take the lad fishing today. Orion has been looking forward to it all week, and you, quite frankly, don’t have the energy.

He catches you by the elbow and you jerk away, lips pressed together and eyes down. “Look at me.” You shake your head, glisten of tears catching in the early morning light streaming through the windows. He says your name, as softly as he can manage, and you tremble.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Talk to me?” He’s pushing, and maybe he shouldn’t.

“Yes.” You hiss, venom twisting your face into a mask he’s never seen before. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk about what we did.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and it hurts in a way he didn’t expect. He wants to agree. He wants to wipe your face and tug you into his chest. He wants to bury the guilt ripping through him and turn around. Walk out the door.

He’ll do none of it. He’s a man of his word, above all else.

“When you’re ready then.” He nods as if it’s nonnegotiable, and then saved from a rebuttal when Orion runs full speed from his room. You turn on your heel and storm away.

Fine.

He’s at your door the next night for dinner.

You stand in the frame, arms crossed, anger etched into your face. “I don’t need your help tonight.”

“You going to make me a liar then?” He snaps, patience thin. The anger dissipates, and it’s replaced by that same despondent, dead look in your eyes that’s been making him sick since the day he came to the door. “Make me go back on my word to him?”

“John.” You whisper his name with shaking hands.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” There’s acid on the tip of his tongue. It’s stringent, bitter like the soap his mum washed his mouth out with. He doesn’t know why, but it stings. You look up at him, eyes so wide, so sad, so lost, he has to hold himself back from dragging you into his arms. “It didn’t mean anything, dove. It was just us. Just between us. Just grief.”

“Just grief.” You parrot, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes and down your temples. He brushes them away, and you surprise him by leaning into it. You smile weakly. “We’re having pasta bake.”

A few days later, and there are loads of laundry on your couch when he walks in. You throw him a desperate look, piles separated into toddler clothes, baby clothes and your own. They’re mountains, nearly at your chest when standing.

“Get a little behind?”

“I’ve been a little tired, I guess.”

“Can I help?” “Sure, want to fold onesies?” You laugh a little bit, enough to crack your lips into a small smile. He likes it. Likes your smile. It reminds him of the one you used to give Simon, the way it would break across your face, sunshine in a patch of clouds. He’d nuzzle your cheek, your neck, holding Orion on his hip with one arm, and you with another.

He stills, holding a small yellow piece of clothing.

Your husband. Simon was your husband.

And he’s the interloper.

Swear to me-

I swear it-

I will take care of them.

His ears ring with the bells of remorse, the song of at the beginning of a procession.

“John? You alright?” He’s been staring at you this entire time, but not seeing you, just seeing the past, seeing Simon, seeing everything that came before these moments where he’s being torn in two. He nods, not trusting his voice, his words.

“Will you be here for dinner tonight?” He usually is. It kills two birds with one stone. He makes sure you’re functioning; he makes sure you’re eating. It’s never been a question of you caring for the kids. The worry has been about you caring for yourself.

He can’t stomach sitting down for a meal with you and Orion today, so he lies. “I have to get home and get some work done.” You’re surprised, and then disappointed. He sees it so clearly and chooses not to dwell on it.

He can’t stay. He needs to work this out of his system.

You’re sad tonight.

Some days are really bad days, and then some of them are awful, like these. The ones where you move from bed to the couch, feeding and changing and dressing the kids on autopilot. He calls them your sad days, because he doesn’t want to call it what it is. Depressed days, despair days, you’ve given up days.

Some of the days are better, but these are the worst. It gets ugly at night, when the anxiety and fear becomes too much, when the loss crashes down too quickly.

The house is quiet, and you’re curled up in the middle of the bed under a heap of blankets, staring at the wall. You don’t acknowledge him when he opens the door or slips inside, you say nothing when he sits on the side of the bed. He lays a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react.

“Did you eat today?”

“A little.” He strokes your cheek, backs of his fingers gliding over soft skin, trying to rouse you a bit more, and you sigh.

“Kids go down alright?”

“Fine. Orion is upset he can’t sleep in our,” your face twists, “my bed anymore. But I placated him with too much ice cream.” You manage a smile then, and he matches it.

“That’s good. Nothing he won’t do for some chocolate yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small. “John?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think it will ever go away?” He smooths some baby hairs back from your forehead.

“I don’t know, angel. Eventually it will hurt less, I imagine. But the loss will always be there.” Your cheeks glisten in the dark, sliver of light shining through the crack in the door from the hallway.

“I’m glad you were with him.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he bleeds.

“I am too.” Your fingers curl around his.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” The ache in his heart is back, doubling the beat, blood churning all the way to his toes. “Will you stay?” He shouldn’t, but he folds himself alongside where you’re under the blankets and tucks your head into his neck.

“Yes, dove. I’ll stay.”

The next time it happens is filled with rage.

You’re a wild animal, a wolf starved, teeth bared and snapping, claws out.

But you beg him for it. You plead. You demand.

It’s just us. Just grief. Take it from me. Why should I be the only one carrying this?

It’s wrong as he takes you on the bathroom floor, cold tile under his knees, warmth of your thighs bracketed at his waist. You dig your nails into his back hard enough to break skin, and he pins them back, his forehead knocked against yours, sharing breath. Sharing grief.

He breaks you down eventually, pushing his cock so deep you wail, holding you firm with a hand on your hip. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to betray him, doesn’t want to take his place in a home that could never be his.

Still. He can’t stop. He can’t help himself. He lives for your cries, the way you tighten around him when you come, how your eyes turn into bright stars at your peak.

It angers him. He’s always been a man of control.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck, t’s not… it’s just-“ He snatches your jaw, and you look away.

“Look at me sweet. Look at me and tell this is just grief.” You can’t. You don’t. Instead, he shoves his hand between your legs and rubs your clit until you come.

When it’s over, you cry.

“Is this it?” He stares at Simon’s headstone. “Is this what you meant? Is this what I promised you?” Dead men don’t answer to anyone, ghosts don’t provide explanations. John replays those last moments in his mind, burning Simon’s face into his memory so he never forgets, so he never gets confused. He’s in another man’s place, a father and a husband’s place.

It’s been days since he’s seen you. Cami visits in his stead, which is good for you, better. You need a friend now, not him. Not whatever this is. Not whatever he’s done to you or vice versa.

He claps a hand on top of the stone, the same way he’d do it to Simon’s shoulder.

“I promised on my life, but I didn’t promise this.”

You haven’t seen or heard from John in nearly a month.

It didn’t bother you at first since they were gone for work, but when Gaz opened the front door to greet you two weeks ago, you were surprised.

They’re back and he didn’t reach out.

Why?

You miss him. It’s a shameful revelation, and a surprising one.

So much for the mourning widow.

“Mama, i’cream?” Orion is huddled between your legs, tugging on your jeans while you bounce Phoenix, trying to get her to settle before bed.

“No ice cream tonight baby.” His eyes well with tears, and the guilt hits you. Be strong. Don’t give in, you’re spoiling him too much.

“Let’s go get in bed and I’ll read to you, okay?”

“No! I’cream!” Your face crumples.

“Orion, please. I already said no. Now can you help mama and go get in your bed?” He flings his hands at your thighs, little face twisted up with rage.

Normally, you’re well equipped for the tantrums. It’s part of having a toddler, but tonight, it’s breaking your back. Wearing you down. You’re about to walk away, create some space, take a deep breath when the doorbell rings.

Literally saved by the bell.

Orion’s already running down the hall, bouncing on his toes as you open the door to see John on the other side. Weary. Weathered. “U’cle John!”

“Hey, bud.” He locks eyes with you, standing on the threshold, meeting your eyes unflinchingly. “Need some help?” You swallow.

“Come in, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your mouth is on his, or his on yours, you’re not sure how it started. All you know is his arms are warm, and strong, and a safety net at the bottom of your life now, waiting outstretched for when you lose your balance on the tightrope.

“I know.” He does that thing where he cradles your face, stares into your eyes like he’s seeing an entire universe, one he’s never been to, a planet undiscovered, stars recently born and exploded across a night sky. “I know sweet, but- I can’t-“ It’s why he stayed away, he confessed earlier. Why he disappeared. It wasn’t fair, he knew that.

The guilt is crushing him. It’s crushing you.

“What’re we doing then?” It’s not right, whatever this is.

But his body pressed against yours, his arms holding you tight, it’s impossible to run from. Hard to hide.

It’s not just grief anymore. A hydra with a head cut off, two more born again from the wound. It's a flower blooming in a forest of ash, life finding a through the gash of a wildfire. A small, tiny, flame, desperate to burn.

“Just kiss me,” you breathe, mouths now millimeters away from one another. His chest heaves beneath your fingertips. “Just kiss me, John.”

“Daddy.” Orion pats his hand on the stone, little fingers digging into the engraving.

Husband. Father.

Your thumb finds the sapphire, rubbing the stone it in practiced circles, and Phoenix coos beside you, half buried beneath the wool of John’s jacket. “Ready to go home, little man?” You’re crouched behind him, holding him, kissing his cheek. This is a weekly tradition, the visit, and even in the dead of winter when it’s too cold for the kids, you never miss it.

Your commitment never wavers, your gold band a mirror to the one buried beneath your feet, an eternal tie to your husband.

‘Til Death.

You will never not be Simon’s wife, the mother of his children, his moon. You will never marry again. You will never have another child.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a sunrise, a dawn, a new promise. An oath to John, though never formal or official in the eyes of the law, but true all the same.

The sun. The stars. The moon.

“Alright, we ready?” You press another kiss to your son’s face before scooping him up, taking one last look before nuzzling Orion’s face. “See you next week, Si.”

John lingers for a moment, a hand curled over the stone, fingers flexing into a squeeze. His eyes are distant, a world away, tangled up in the past for a long moment.

“Hey,” you call softly, extending a hand. “let’s go home.”

#peaches writes #price x reader #fix you by Coldplay #john price #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #through me (the flood)#captain price x reader

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mossygirl333 · 11 days ago

Text

AN: Okay, first of all, I love your mind @machveil. We all know Service!Top!Simon is the best Simon and I love fluff so much. So here <3

TW/CW: mentions of children and some angst, cursing

You walked around the furniture store, practically mourning the loss of that good table. Yes, it was beautiful and you loved it, but half a goddamn million for it? Hell no.

Your husband trudged alongside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. "We can look tomorrow? See if any other stores have whatcha like?" He tilts his head and you shake yours no.

"But I liked that one..." You grumble, before snapping your eyes back to him. "Do not buy that table Simon Riley. It is way too expensive. We can get a new one but...not in the mood to go anywhere else."

He chuckles, shaking his eyes, a few strands of dirty blonde hair falling into his face. Gentle eyes settling onto you. "You know me too well."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of Simon pulling into the garage, stretching out your poor muscles you slip off the bed. Bare feet touching the cold hard floor as you padded silently to the stairs.

Rubbing your still sore hickey covered neck and pulling down Simon's giant t-shirt, which you used as an impromptu nightgown, you headed down the stairs.

he hasn't come in yet, which was odd, unless their were groceries which wouldn't make any sense..? Your hand reaches for the door and suddenly it swings open, startling you. Blocking the inside with his body, he stares down at you.

"Simon, honey, are you okay?" You try to peak into the garage. But he moves to block your gaze.

"Its a surprise. Will take a long time so you can't use the garage for a bit. I promise it's worth it hun."

You stare at him, slowly nodding as you raise a brow. "What is it?"

He huffs in amusement. "What does 'secret' mean ta ya sweetie?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your husbands warm rough hand covered your eyes, your own feeling around so you didn't bump into anything. A giggle starts to bubble up in your chest. Down the steps carefully, his gentle voice murmuring in his ear.

"Okay...here we are. Ready?" You nod, his hand falling from your face. Eyes flutter open as you gaze upon a new table settled in the dining room.

"Oh...my God. You bought one?" You turn to meet him, raising a brow. "It's gorgeous but how expensive-"

"I made it." He cuts you off, his chest slightly puffed up in pride. A smile starting to bloom on his scarred lips. Your eyes soften and you turn back to the table.

"Really? Oh my...how long did this take you?" Your hands glide over the smooth wood, it was really beautiful.

"Couple months. Learned how to work with wood and made a few knickknacks for ya too."

You cover your mouth and look at him, trying not to cry. "Oh my God....this is so sweet baby." His lips brush underneath your eye, pecking against your cheek and nose before landing on your soft lips.

"Anything for you." He sticks his hand into his pocket, pulling out a tiny duck sculpture. "Thought-" He paused, a vulnerability settling between you. "Thought I could make our babe a few toys. If you ever wanted to have one."

It's not often Simon talks about children. A deep rooted fear of his father tangled in his perception of family, a sickening bile rising up when he thinks about being like that monster.

Letting you down. Letting your baby down. The thorns of his children digging into his soul, tangled up like ivy leafs, unrelenting and tightening. He tried to hide it, but that empty feeling inside throbbed at the prospect of you, giving up any wants of a family to make him happy.

But the truth was, when his mind wandered, during long missions and saferoom escapades, he imagined you with a bundle in your arms. A scrunched up chubby face sleeping nestled inside. Handing it to him. A little girl.

The hands who held weapons, now cradling new life. The stench of death and blood replaced with newborn smell and baby powder. The ringing of bombs, screams of the innocent, and gunfire, transformed into cries and giggles of someone so small exploring.

You stare up at him, gently cradling the figure in your hand, biting your lip. "Looks real good Si." You murmur, kissing his forehead. "I love you."

"I love you more."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod #simon riley x you #mosses fluff

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artdcnaldson · 9 days ago

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Pat just being like “c’mon babe I promise, I just need to get off and it’ll help so much. Just the tip, I swear, that’s all. Just the tip.”

Maybe with Art’s gf? They’re close and you know they’ve done more together than they’ll admit to and Art’s got those catholic premarital sex notions so you’re kinda on edge and if it IS just the tip then it’s fine, right? If it doesn’t go any further than that… it doesn’t count as cheating when it’s his best friend and it’s just the tip….

Turning that on its head and sweet blushing virgin Art getting so worked up that it’s Your turn to say “just the tip, baby. It doesn’t count if you’re not all the way in. I bet it’s so painful, I wanna help. You can give me the tip.”

Naturally neither stop at just the tip teehee

FUUUUUUUCK <3 this has been hidden in my inbox and I JUST found it. Feeling INSANE!!!

Patrick thinks you're too sweet to go unfucked, to have your needs ignored in favor of some moral high ground bullshit. He knows how needy you are— you're not exactly subtle when you watch Art tug his sweaty shirt off on the tennis court, how you clench your thighs and cross and uncross your legs to get a bit of friction.

And he doesn't miss how you watch him either, when he's shirtless on the court, or at the pool. When it's hot in Art's dorm and he's stripped to his boxers. You watch him, you swallow and lick your lips and look away.

And there you are, staying the summer at his parent's empty mansion. Art's inside sleeping off a hangover, and you're with Patrick at the pool in a tiny bikini. You turn and stretch and reapply sunscreen onto your skin, and that's all it takes for Patrick to pop an obvious boner.

He's not above begging. Pleading. Getting on his goddamn knees for pussy. And he's very convincing. He knows you need more than what Art can give you, and Patrick doesn't even have to give you everything, you can save that for Art, he promises.

How can you say no? You should say no, but you don't. You let him tug your bikini bottoms to the side and tease the head of his cock through your sticky folds, bumping against your clit while you writhe on the plush lounge chair.

It doesn't take long for you to beg him. Each time his cockhead nudges against your entrance that tight ring of muscle there twitches, like your body wants to suck him deeper. When he just barely breaches your entrance you moan so pretty, it's like music to his goddamn ears.

It takes all of his self control to keep from driving in, deep, fucking you like he wants. But he's good. Even when you move your pretty manicured fingers to rub at your clit, even when your cunt clenches and pulses around him. He wants to fuck you the way you deserve, but he's a gentleman. He keeps his promise. He pulls out to cum, painting your cunt and bikini bottoms sticky white.

And once you have that, you just want Art more. You've gotten a taste, and you want the real thing bad. But Art's so sweet, so repressed.

Your poor, sweet Art, who has to hold you still with firm hands on your hips after five minutes of making out. Whose face goes ruddy and sheepish as he says he just needs a second to cool down. Who apologizes for getting so worked up and tells you that you're just so pretty he can't help it.

And you're so convincing that Patrick would be proud. Because it doesn't count if he's doesn't go all the way in, right? It'll help if he just gets a bit of release, then he won't be so tempted and overwhelmed by you. Isn't that a good thing? To just give in a little so he isn't tempted to give in entirely? Won't god understand?

If god doesn't understand, Art does. He swallows down a nervous lump in his throat and tugs down his jeans and boxers. His cock is flushed red and beading precum just from a heavy makeout session.

"You can't touch it." The words make you want to pout, but Art's like a skittish animal— one wrong move and it's over. So you lay back on the bed peel your panties away from your drenched pussy, so slick it's obscene.

It's just the tip. Art's a good boy, he'll behave. His hands shake as he leans down, brushes your hair from your face before he gives you a soft kiss. His cock notches against your entrance and you're both trembling with pure want.

It takes all of his self control, it really does. He feeds the first inch or two inside and you're so tight and wet and hot that he nearly cums then and there. He ruts into you with soft, shallow motions— making sure not to go too deep, even if he wants to. And he wants to so fucking badly.

"Just a little deeper," you nearly beg, and how can he say no? Just a little more. It won't hurt, it feels so good anyway. And then a little more, because he's already come this far. And then your heels press into his ass and he's buried in you to the hilt and you're squeezing him so tight that he can't help it.

He comes with a strangled groan, hips jerking clumsily as he instinctually tries to bury himself deeper. He collapses on top of you, all of the energy sapped out of him as he continues to rut into your cunt.

"I don't think that's going to help with temptation," he mumbles against your throat.

You kiss the crown of his head and pet his soft curls and assure him that it's fine, that he didn't mean to, that he didn't sin that much. He's a good guy, god will understand. All the while, you're keenly aware of a shadow of someone standing just on the other side of the door. A very smug, very proud Patrick Zweig.

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #artrick x reader #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #challengers x reader

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togament · 5 months ago

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i firmly believe that togame is BY FAR the best pussy eater of all the boys and no, i am not taking criticism. you straddling his face with your wet cunt in the morning is his perfect breakfast and judging by the noises he makes it's honestly hard to tell who's enjoying it more. i go will bathe in holy water now kbye.

Anon. YOUR MIND. Let me in for a little bit real quick I’m trying to see something 😳😳! But anyway yes I see!!! I see you!! I see the vision!!!!!! I agree. The man’s an undefeated eating champion. Eating FOOD ok lol puss puss eating champion does work too 😳 *adjusts glasses, stretches back* let me just work on a little somethin’—

𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞.

“Ngghh—Jo! W-wait a sec-“, you yelp, knees bent comfortably on your pillow with your plump thighs trapped in your lover’s strong clutches as he’s needlessly lapping away at your beautiful, juicy petals like a man starved. “T-the breakfast!”, you manage to add, warning him of the toast that’s definitely burning, your coffee now forgotten. Pulling away momentarily, he mumbles a slow teasing, “got mine right here,” against your flesh before he dives in again once more.

Feeling a sense of weakness in your legs, you stagger slightly and he immediately hooks his arms over your plumpness to secure you. Secure you so you won’t wobble again. To secure your pussy to his needy and hungry mouth. He licks a fat strip up your pussy before he nuzzles his nose into your clit, lapping and lapping at your juices.

Good God. You hold desperately on your bed-frame, knuckles a pasty white. You can feel him smiling into your cunt when you continue soaking his wanting lips. This bitch.

Looking to your side, you can see the sun peeking from behind the curtains—it’s barely risen, the sky a gradient sliver of azure and rust. You momentarily think back on the times he’s shown you how much of an eater he could be. Food, definitely. Never occurred to you he’d be this ravenous when eating you out. Thrown out of your thoughts, your lover sucks and laps harshly at your clit and you let out a delicious moan so loud you’re sure your waking neighbors could have heard you. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you stare down at your lover between your legs.

His eyes are shut, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. But once he feels you staring, he opens them. Emerald eyes boring into your skin, your breasts and blushing face a delicious sight to him. It only makes him need you more. With another harsh suck on your nub, he mutters, “eyes on me, doll.” and you obey. How could you not? With that voice? Yes sir.

Now you’re there, pinned underneath Togame, legs deliciously spread on your couch so obediently for him. His head’s trapped between your thighs again. The sun’s fully risen now. You both managed to make it to the kitchen to turn the coffee maker and toaster on but he’s got you in his grip as soon as they’re off.

Fingers tangled his hair, you urge him to move, your hips bucking into his tongue and clit bumping against his tall nose. He hums into it, sending shivers and vibrations up to your head you swear you feel high. A mixture of “G-god yes-!”, “You’re so good, baby-“, “right there!” and other expletives escape your reddened lips. You shudder as you squirt around him for the 5th time this morning, gripping at his hair tightly. He hums once more, tongue rapidly working away at you with his three fingers knuckle deep inside you. “Sweet-“, he says with a hungry lick, so annoyingly slow, “s’fuckin’ sweet t’me. Give me more-“ his voice grew a tad demanding, with his grip tightening around your legs he moves against the couch to ease his cock lazily. It’s been hard and leaking ever since you started. “More.” his licking grows more intense, hooking his fingers up to your gummy insides, prodding away at the sensitive bud. Your moans grow louder while he expertly devours you. You don’t want him to stop but you’re so fucking sensitive— “w-wait!! I-“ a desperate plea you mutter, but he manages to rip another one from you. You’re absolutely gushing. He hasn’t made you squirt this much—to soak the couch under your ass. But your lover doesn’t stop. Not until your legs stop shaking. God he’s hungry.

Minutes later you’re both lying there, sweaty and breathless, couch completely soaked. You massage his scalp weakly as he peppers kisses along your soft flesh. Neither of you utter a single word for a good while.

He reaches over to your side to grab some tissues to clean you up with. He pauses when he feels something hard hit his hand. He almost feels apologetic when he knew what it was.

He grabs a familiar bottle. Opening it, he squeezes a healthy amount of it on your still sensitive cunt and your inner thighs.

Flavored lube.

Your eyes widen as you feel yourself grow needier. Fuck is he grateful to have such a giver. Easing your legs open, he licks a line of the lubricant slowly, licking around your clit just to mess with you. Pressing kisses and kitty licks along the flesh, around and above the sensitive bud. You whine.

He gives you a lazy smile, fingers rubbing along your folds once more.

“Y’gonna give me another one right, doll?” he says so slowly, so low you swear it sounds like a growl. His head dips down, hot breath directly on your waiting pussy.

“M’not done yet.”

a/n: eheheHEHEHEHE. Thank you for sending that in, anon. I am now dipping and swimming in a pool of holy water. TOGAME THE EATER TOGAME THE EATEEEERRRRR 🗣️🗣️

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wandasslut3000 · 3 months ago

Text

My little princess

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, mommy!kink, dirty talk, choking, sub!reader, unspecified age gap, missionary, cum filled strap-on, belly bulge, mild dacryphilia, creampie, fingering, blowjob, praise, pet names, cunnilingus, dick riding, marking, cowboy, finger sucking, face sitting, overstimulation, fluff

WC: 1.4k

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your legs wrap around Lizzie as she drives her strap into you, her hand around your neck as your lips are millimeters apart.

"You like how mommy fucks you babygirl?”

Her hand tightens around the sides of your throat, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax.

"Yes! Love it so much!" Your hands leave their grip on the mattress as they start to claw at her back, leaving red lines in their wake.

"Feels so- mmph- so fucking good."

Her lips start to kiss your jawline, sucking a special spot just under your ear. "God you're so tight, sucking me right in." She whispers, her breath fanning over your skin making you shiver.

Her free hand reaches down between the two of you, playing with your clit, your moans echoing into the room. "Uh- uph.. mommy, I'm so close."

"Yeah? Gonna make a mess for mommy?"

You nod rapidly, her grip on your neck slightly faltering before your orgasm hits you. You scream her name, your legs trembling around her before they fall onto the mattress.

This doesn't stop her however, her thrusts starting to gain more speed as your eyes prick with tears at the overstimulation.

"Shh baby, I know, you can give me one more can't you?" Your lips quiver as you try to muster out an answer for her, but all that comes out of your mouth is a mess of moans and mindless babbling.

"Mommy s'too much."

It's never too much my love, come on, just wanna feel you milk mommy's cock."

You grab her hand from your neck, your fingers around her wrist before you take two digits into your mouth, sucking on them greedily as you try to distract yourself from the overwhelming sensation between your thighs.

You feel lay her hand flat on your stomach, looking down at you in awe when she notices the slight bump there, each thrust making it move under your skin.

She presses down against it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you whimper at the feeling of her inside you. "Look how deep mommy's in that pretty pussy.

Your eyes shut at her words, clit throbbing as she fucked you, the feeling of another orgasm quickly approaching.

Your nails dig into her wrist was you reach your high, slightly gagging on her fingers as your body feels waves of pleasure ripple though it.

Lizzie squeezes the balls of the strap, her seed oozing into your cervix and straining your walls. You gasp, taking her fingers out of your mouth as you feel your walls clamp around her.

"So pretty when you cum for me."

You whine, eyes pleading with her to pull out, your cunt oversensitive and tears staining your cheeks.

Reluctantly she does, watching in awe as her cum starts to slide out of your entrance. She takes her finger and starts to push it back into you, your pussy twitching at the feeling.

"My beautiful girl, so perfect." You flush at her praise.

Just as she was about to unfasten her harness, you sit yourself up, Lizzie on her knees as you mirror her, feeling her cum dripping out of you and back into the mattress as you grab her hips.

You take her strap into your mouth, licking the tip and tasting yourself on the silicone. Lizzie looks down at you with her mouth wide.

"Ohhh, look at my little princess… Tastes so good doesn't it?" You nod against her, one hand reaching to stroke the part of the toy you couldn't reach as you bobbed your head up and down the shaft.

You moan around her when you feel a little bit of cum slip into your throat, your teary eyes looking up at her innocently as she groans, reaching down to pet your hair.

"Such a good girl for me. So pretty."

Your hands reach behind her to grab her ass, giving her a tight squeeze. She moans at the feeling, the harness rubbing against her clit in just the right way.

"Fuck, you're gonna make mommy cum."

Her grip on your hair tightens as she ruts her hips into you, the tip of the strap had you gagging each time it hit the back of your throat, making you throb.

Tears were sliding down your cheeks and your vision blurred as you took her down to the hilt. Hearing her moan makes every bit of discomfort worth it.

You know she's reached her peak when her pace falters, her head falling back as a high pitched wail of your name reaches your ears. You squeeze the cock, feeling her seed shoot down your throat.

When you pull back, you notice her lazy smile, she cups your cheeks and pulls you into a steamy kiss, her tongue tracing your lips to taste every little bit of cum that was left in your mouth.

You wrap your arms around her, flipping her over and positioning yourself over the strap. You pull apart to lower yourself onto the cock, gasping at the feeling of it stretching you again.

"Ah.. mommy.”

"You look so good riding mommy's cock baby."

Her hands wrap around you as she presses your body flush against hers. Your nipples brushing against each other's every time she thrusts her hips up into you.

Your hands reach for her shoulders, holding onto her for balance to help you bounce on her strap.

You moan at the feeling of her hitting the deepest spots inside you, practically slamming your hips onto hers.

She starts to trail kisses on your collarbone, trailing them up your neck and jawline. Both of your breathing is ragged and heavy, your foreheads pressed against each other as you chase your release.

"Mommy.. you- you fill me up so good." You whimper, feeling her thumb against your bottom lip, gently pulling the skin down for a moment before kissing you,

Moaning against each other lips you feel yourself reach your peak, eyes squeezing closed as you let the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm faze through you.

"Mommy!"

"Shh, mommy's right here.. you did so good for me princess. So good."

You blush, content with her praise as you feel her pull you off her dick, laying you back down on the bed. She finally unties the harness and throws the strap onto the floor.

Making grabby hands, you bring her back over to you. "Mommy, I wanna taste you.. please?"

You watch let out a dark smile before she moves to straddle your face, her pretty pink cunt soaked, her wetness gathered around her folds.

Sticking your tongue out, you lick a stripe through her slit, loving the whimper that escapes without her permission. One of her hands grabs the headboard to keep herself up and the other holds a harsh grip onto your hair.

Your arms wrap around her thighs, pulling her flush against your face as you start to suck on her clit. Your tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

"Ah... there you go Y/n, just like that."

Even though it's you pleasuring her, she always manages to find a way to maintain her power over you.

You groan under her as you make quick work to sneak a hand between her legs, slipping two fingers into her while you suckle on the her pulsing bundle of nerves.

"Oh fuck.. you're gonna make mommy cum all over that pretty face." She gasps, feeling her body convulse in pleasure as her orgasm hits her. Her eyes shut and mouth drops open, thighs shaking in your grip.

When the catches her bearings, you slip your fingers out of her, Lizzie reaches down to grab your hand, tasting herself on your digits.

"Mommy's so perfect." You mumble, "I never want to leave mommy's side." She pulls you close, cuddling into her and giving her a few pecks on her lips.

She smiles at you. "You're stuck with me princess, you're all mine forever and ever."

"Forever sounds nice."

"It sounds amazing." She presses a kiss to your head. “I’m glad I get to spend every single day of it with you.”

#smut #wlw ns/fw #wlw post #marvel #saphic #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #wandavision #elizabeth olsen smut

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thinkinonsense · 2 months ago

Note

hiii im new to your blog <3 but i have like a thirsty thot i cannot get out of my head about logan and i love the way u write so i feel like you’d get it. i wanna like know how he feels about using toys in bed, like the idea of a vibrator just hitting your clit so perfectly while hes thrusting into you so sternly and maybe you move the vibrator just a little down so it hits his shaft every time he slips a bit out and slams back in like the animalistic groans i can picture in your ears!!!! i always thought maybe he wouldn’t like toys cause he thinks his length, girth, and movements should be more than enough along with his words and mouth but i cant help but want to use them to pleasure him even more as well. overstimulate the both of you at the same time like ughhh my head is fuzzy!!!

vibrations- logan howlett x fem!reader

*mdni

"c'mon, baby..." you beg, kissing down his neck and chest. "it will feel good."

modern technology wasn't logan's strongest suit. he barely understood how to work an iphone so he definitely didn't understand the concept of a vibrator. logan wasn't anti-sex toys but he just figures that he already has the equipment to make you orgasm, he didn't need help in that department.

"fine, princess." logan sighs, looking down as you run your tongue over his abs.

you don't waste a second, getting up to grab the wand from your underwear drawer. when you climbed back into logan's lap, he attacks your lips, kissing you so passionately that the wand slips out of your hand and against the sheets next to you as he flips you on your back.

"what a greedy little thing..." logan huffs under his breath, hovering over your naked form. touching and groping as he pleases before removing his pants.

logan brings his hand up to your mouth, waiting for you to spit into his palm. obediently, you do so. watching as he pumps his shaft a few times before inching closer to your cunt, rubbing his length back and forth over it.

"lo..." you hiss, his tip bumping your clit in a way that sends your head flying back against the pillows.

"already ruined, huh, sweetheart?" he smirks, left hand snaking up your throat, holding your jaw possessively as he enters you. "and you think that toy can make you feel better than this? i don't think so..."

slowly, logan bottoms out inside of you. his lips are pressed against yours roughly invading your mouth with his tongue. one hand was laced into his hair while the other reached for the wand next to you. logan pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you.

"oh shit..." you moan, laying the vibrator right over your clit. logan looked down at you with your mouth hung open so angelically while he ruins you.

"fuck, does that feel good, princess?" logan taunts, kissing your jaw while his left hand gropes your tit.

"mhm.." you nod, barely registering what he said. "more, please..."

"so fuckin' greedy..." logan grunts, picking up his pace.

when his tip hit that gummy spot deep inside of you, your fingers start to shake around the wand, letting it slip a little further. too busy whimpering and moaning to notice.

"shit, that feels so good, princess." logan growls like an animal in your ear.

His hips stir against yours, cock twitching at the vibrations and the clenching of your cunt, just sucking him in completely. you couldn't see it but logan was fighting back tears of pleasure, feeling so overstimulated.

"so close, lo... " you pant, about to move the wand back onto your clit when logan's big hand stops you.

"don't fuckin' move it." logan pleads down at you, knowing that your pretty head was too fuzzy with your own pleasure to disobey him.

your moans were music to logan's ears. soon enough your cunt flutters around him, sending him into a primal spiral. low growls that vibrate against your pulse point.

"fuck, i'm gonna–" his words were cut off by his own orgasm hitting him harder than he would've imagined.

the vibrations were now too much for both of you, logan shuts it off before pulling out, watching his release spill out of you. maybe modern technology isn't so bad after all?

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

Text

A Series of Firsts

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You and Miguel are ready to become parents and you must now go through a series of firsts together.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings. Just pure fluff. Mentions of pregnancy. Dad girl Miguel. Protective dad Miguel.

First Kick

“What colour should we have on the walls?” Miguel asked one day.

“Beige?”

“Boring.”

“Red?”

“Too much.”

“Red and blue?”

“That’s too… spidey.”

You giggled at his remark. “We’ll just pick a neutral one and let her decide as she grows up.”

“That’s settled, then,” he murmured, resting the side of his head on your baby bump as both of you lay comfortably on the bed.

“Fingers crossed for a zebra pattern in purple and green,” you teased.

“She can have whatever she wants,” he said simply and you knew he meant it.

Warmth spread in your heart, realising Miguel would give her anything she’d ask for. Even the moon.

As you rolled a single strand of his hair around your finger, you gasped abruptly and halted.

Miguel shot up straight in full alert mode. “What is it? Are you okay?”

You nodded, running both hands along your belly, waiting to feel it once more.

He immediately picked up on the meaning of your sudden silence and placed a splattered hand next to yours.

It didn’t take long for a second kick to be felt and you watched his face awe. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you whispered adoringly at his concern.

He paused briefly. “That was a strong kick.”

You placed your hand atop his. “She’ll take after you, then.”

First Time Meeting

Jessica placed the little bundle of joy into his arms as soon as the spider-nurses were done checking the vitals and dressing her.

“What is this?” Miguel asked with a light scowl, shifting to have the sleeping baby face you.

Even through your post-labour exhaustion you managed to giggle.

She was dressed in a red and blue suit-like onesie that had Peter’s face printed onto the fabric as rainbow coloured words read ‘my 1st spider suit’.

“Remind again me why we let him choose.”

“You know how Peter is,” you said softly. “It’s a very cute gift.”

“Right.”

Miguel didn’t seem all that convinced, but brought her back against his chest protectively.

You watched as Miguel’s hardened face immediately softened in adoration and, for a couple of minutes, he just stood there, rocking her lightly in his arms.

“She’s… tiny,” he concluded, fingers probing around her hand. “She’s perfect.”

He raised her slowly up to his face and he planted a soft kiss to her forehead, earning a sudden yawn.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to her, completely transfixed. “I’ll always protect you.”

Something inside you stirred. This big grumpy man with volatile moods had just been disarmed by a tiny baby.

That was definitely a sight to behold.

First Sleepless Night

“We’re not having another baby.”

“Agreed.”

“Ever.”

Miguel let out a measured sigh in agreement. “Ever.”

The two of you lay sprawled across the large bed, facing the ceiling as the first rays of sunshine began to lit up the room.

Your daughter had finally fallen asleep after hours of fighting against it, nearly driving both of you crazy in the process.

As you readied yourself to slide off the mattress, you felt Miguel’s hold on your wrist stilling you.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “Please.”

You groaned inwardly. “I need to go pee, Miguel.”

Sleepy and bloodshot eyes met yours. “It took us hours to drain her energy… hold it in for a while,” now that was a desperate tone if you’d ever heard one from him.

You heaved a long and heavy sigh, feeling his thumb gently rubbing at your pulse point in sheer gratitude.

“Yup. No more babies, O’Hara.”

“Maybe one more?”

You shot him a death glare and he swallowed hard.

“… or not.”

First Scare

You paced around the apartment, having already lost count of the amount of baby monitors that Miguel had spread all over the place.

“This is a bit too much, no?”

Miguel was checking on the sleeping baby through the orange-tinted screen of his dimensional travel watch when he turned to glare at you like you had just said the most abominable thing ever.

“You can never be too careful,” he said in disbelief.

It was to be expected, really. Miguel was always obsessed with security no matter the context, so you couldn’t really say this surprised you.

“Even the watch?” you asked in awe.

“Of course. It’s a looped system that transmits directly to both our watches,” he said with a nod. “Any alteration in her bedroom trigers an alarm.”

Ever the scientist.

His eyes dropped to the hologram on his wrist and he let out a gasp.

“What?”

“She’s gone!”

Your heart nearly collapsed as a feral Miguel immediately set himself on all fours towards her bedroom, clawing at floor.

“Miguel!” you called after him in a hurry.

Once you reached the open door, you were presented with Peter holding your daughter as Mayday chuckled happily, seated on his shoulder.

“Peter!” Miguel growled, yanking your daughter from his hold and bringing her close to his chest defensively.

“Miguel! We were just paying a visit,” he chuckled. “Cute baby, by the way,” he turned to you with a smile and a flick of his fingers.

But Miguel was having none of that. “Out!”

Mayday stuck out her tongue at him right away, a habit she had yet to let gonof whenever Miguel was around.

“Lyla, why wasn’t the alarm triggered?”

The AI appeared by his shoulder at once, filing her nails. “You forgot to activate the security system, boss.”

First Word

“Pa~pá! Say it. Paaa~pá!”

“Cheater!” you exploded as you entered the kitchen in large steps.

Miguel turned to face you as your daughter giggled.

“We promised to let it be something spontaneous,” you lifted an accusing finger at him. “Cheater!”

He lifted both hands defensively. “I’m just giving her some help.”

In truth, you weren’t upset with him in the slightest. He had been such a constanr presence in his daughter’s life even through an exhausting amount of work around Nueva York.

You feigned indignation crossing your arms across your chest.

Miguel picked her out of the baby chair and walked towards you with a tentative smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Your front broke right away as he leaned to nudge his forehead against yours. “You’re still a cheater,” you accused, not able prevent your lips from curling into a smirk.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Your daughter started clapping enthusiastically. “Petaah~” and then burst into laughter.

Miguel looked down at her in shock. “What?”

It was almost comedic irony that the first word your daughter said was Peter, which had Miguel sulk for a couple of days.

First Steps

You missed kissing Miguel with no interruptions. Having some alone time in between taking care of your daughter was not easy to come by.

So whenever there was an opening, you’d both make it count.

He had your back pressed against the cold surface of the bedroom wall in no time, framing your face with both hands to deepen the searing kiss.

You melted into his touch right away, yearning for more.

Miguel broke the kiss momentarily to check his watch, panting lightly. “She’s still in the living room.”

You sighed in relief as he took your lips in his once more, hungrier this time. Both of your hands were resting on his firm chest, enjoying the way his muscles rippled under your touch.

Miguel hummed into you, swallowing your gasps and moans.

Your eyes were about to flutter shut when you detected movement out of the corner of your eye.

Panic took over and you immediately pushed Miguel away with a yelp.

Standing by the door was your daughter, gripping the frame with tiny hands, barely able to keep her balance.

Miguel offered her a kind smile. “Hey, you… come here.”

Your heart was hammering hard in your chest as you struggled to even your breathing.

She broke into an amused chuckle, wobbling in Miguel’s direction as he dropped to one knee. “Come here,” he encouraged.

But she would only take a couple of steps before her legs gave out under her to have her sit on the floor.

This was evidently very amusing as she kept trying to mimic her first attempt in between laughter

Miguel exchanged a proud smile with you and, for the first time in a long, you didn’t mind being interrupted.

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider man 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv miguel

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russellsppttemplates · 3 months ago

Text

Parenting Practice (Lando Norris)

A look into the Norris family summer vacation

Note: english is not my first language. It's been some time, hasn't it? A lot has been going on, and my mental health has taken the biggest toll, so the blog hasn't received much attention as I'm trying to keep the train going! For those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is pregnant

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

"Are you all packed, my love?", Lando asked you as he zipped his suitcase effortlessly.

"Yes - are you sure it's fine if I take my pillow?", you wondered, holding the pregnancy pillow close to you, folding it into the carrier bag.

"It's regular carry-on, and as much as I hate that I have to share my cuddles with it, I know you sleep better with it so you definitely need to take it", Lando winked.

Blushing at your husband's antics, you made sure it was packed before looking around in case you missed something you needed to pack, "seems like I'm all good too - when do we need to leave?".

"In thirty minutes - how about I make us a snack to eat, then you can go pee before we go and then we head to the airport?", Lando suggested.

"Why did you need to specify that I have to take a pee break?", you poked you tongue out at him, pinching his butt as he walked past you.

"You were the one that told me I should always inform you of when you couldn't pee for a long time! The jet will touchdown to pick us both up and go straight up again - I don't think we will have time to use the base's bathroom, and you say you don't like the jet's bathroom, so I was just warning you, woman!", he bit back playfully.

Recalling the last time where you tried to use the bathroom and had to call Pietra to hold you in case you couldn't get out on your own, afraid that the bump would make moving around the tiny space impossible, you swore you'd always plan your pee breaks carefully from now on, "I'm craving something salty", you beamed as Lando walked down the stairs.

"A salty snack for mama and baby girl coming right up!", he yelled back and you could just imagine his head shaking from side to side with a charming smile on his face.

Your mother in-law was the first to greet you as soon as you stepped inside the aircraft, Lando holding your hand to make you didn't fall and helping with your shoes, "Y/N! Oh, you look so gorgeous!", she cooed.

"It's the compression socks, isn't it?", you giggled, lifting up your long skirt to show her, "doctor said it would be better for the swelling - Goodness knows I need all the help I can with that", you mumbled the last bit.

"Don't be silly, you look beautiful!", Pietra complimented.

"She does, doesn't she?", Lando complimented, kissing your cheek before letting you go and feeling slightly jealous that everyone was now looking at you when you had been a sight for his eyes only for the past few days.

"Is all of that jealousy, brother?", Cisca asked her brother, touching her toes on his thigh after she sat down on her beach chair. The sun had finally showed up and there was a light breeze going on, making it the perfect beach day and it was only lunchtime as they sat on the beach bar after making the food orders.

"Jealousy? Of what?", Lando quirked his eyebrow over his sunglasses, drifting his attention from you and looking back to his youngest sister.

"The girls haven't left Y/N since the plane, only to sleep and Sav was just saying she swears she heard Athena call your wife before she fell asleep", she snickered, "You've lost favourite uncle status, we all have I think".

"Like we stood a chance to begin with", Lando scoffed, "she was made to be a mother, and before that she had all the practice with being an auntie. And the girls genuinely think they can play with baby girl like they play with their dolls once she's here with us".

"Mila is gentle most days, Athena is... still a bit hard on her movements I think - oh, just on cue!", she yelped.

"Oh, darling, that was a bit strong, wasn't it?", you scolded softly, taking her hand away from your ear after she pushed on your hoop.

"Come here, you trouble maker!", Adam called, grabbing the little girl away from your lap as you rearranged your jewellery.

"She surely has a strong grip!", you chuckled before winking at Lando, mouthing a silent "I love you, Lan" across the table.

Cisca groaned playfully, "is all of that jealousy, little sister?", Lando teased her before blowing you a kiss and mouthing it back.

You were enjoying the pool the villa had, soaking up the sun as you laid on Lando's chest, tracing random shapes on his chest while his hand travelled around your waist and bump, often tapping it when your little girl kicked or moved.

It was fairly quiet until the girls woke up from their naps, immediately coming down to join you and invite everyone to swim with them.

Deciding to engage in their delight, you got up and walked to the edge of the pool, carefully sitting on the warm stone and letting your legs dip in the water to cool your body while Lando dove in and played with the girls, "careful, Mila, you can't unzip your vest!", he called.

Pulling her closer to you, you managed to zip it back up and help her swim back to her uncle, "is the bump getting in the way?", Sav asked you, mimicking your early movements and sitting next to you.

"When I'm sitting down, yes", you chuckled, "I don't have the same range of movements and my mind still has to catch up with that".

"It's a sign that she's growing well though", your sister in-law added, propping herself up on her arms so she could ease the rest of ther body into the water, getting immediate attention from her children as they called her to them, "soon enough you'll have someone calling you every waking second!".

"She already does, though! Look at him making a bee line to her now that she's free!", Oliver joked as Lando swam to you.

"I won't even bother answering that", Lando pointed to his brother before reaching you, ignoring everyone else as he gently wrapped his arms around your calves and rested his chin on your knees, "hi, beautiful", he smiled.

"Hey, handsome", you smiled, brushing a fallen curl away from his forehead, "did you enjoy your splashes?", you asked giggling.

"It was fun, yes. Athena poked my eye a couple of times though", he argued, "can you imagine our little princess playing with them this time next year?", he wondered.

"Three little girls", you mused, nodding at the idea, "you better get ready to be a princess too!".

"I have what it takes to be a girl dad, some people might even say I'm very girl dad coded", he tsked you, earning laughs from you.

"You definitely are, yes", you rubbed your bump, "you haven't been her long and she's already kicking like crazy - definitely a daddy's girl".

"Hey, sweet girl", Lando spoke, lightly wetting the skin as his hands touched your bump, "are you having a good time in there? Mummy always says she's too hot so we hope you're doing good away from this heat. And this helps, no?", he wondered as the baby kicked against the droplets, "yeah, it's good and cooling", he cooed.

"I'm craving something salty", you said as you grabbed the menu, flicking the pages to see what tickled your fancy.

You had decided to go to the beach bar and have lunch there, not wanting to have to pack everything to go back home only to come back for the afternoon. Everyone was gathered around the table as the waiter took the orders.

"Feeling good? Well rested?", you asked Lando once you caught him looking at you.

"Yes", he admitted, "I thought it would be harder to switch off, but it's been very good", he squeezed your thigh, kissing the side of your head and pulling you to his chest, "how are my girls today? You look ethereal in this dress, darling".

The white dress was flowy at times and tight in all the right spots, showcasing your babybump perfectly, "we've been good, no more harsh kicking on my bladder which I appreciate, isn't that right, Tilly?", you rubbed just above your bellybutton, "but we're both quite hungry".

"The waiter said yours should be quick to make", he offered since the waiter mentioned that the Caesar salad was a popular plate and they always had it running.

Once everyone was served, you began eating, delighted and exclaiming how good e everything was.

"Have a bite of this, baby, trust me!", Lando offered as he gathered a bit of everything on his fork to feed you.

"It's sweet, I'm not sure I'll like it", you scrunched up your face.

"Try a little bit", he encouraged as he made a shell shape with his hand to catch anything that fell or dropped.

The food was definitely the opposite of what you had, but it was delicious. That you couldn't deny.

"It's good, isn't it? I told you!", Lando smiled, "do you want some more?", he offered while already getting everything on the fork again.

"Baby girl seems happy too", you giggled, feeling her move.

"She has good taste in food, what can I say?!", Lando giggled back.

The vacation was well underway by the time you decided which days you wanted to spend on the boat, Oliver and Savannah staying inside with the girls along with Adam and Cisca who decided they would make lunch for everyone.

"Do you know what I have just realised?", you spoke to Flo as you both watched Lando and Cisca's boyfriend jump into the water, "your brother has a massive head - like, it's really big, specially when you compare to Max's", you pointed to your husband's best friend who had joined you for the last few days.

That morning, you cried about the fact that your bikini dug on your hips only for Lando to tell you that you hadn't tired the sides properly and that you had more than enough room to accommodate your growing body, so right now this was a way better way to deal with the rush of hormones you were having.

"I think we all do, to be fair - Cisca has the smalled one I guess", Flo squinted as she looked at her sister who walked closer to you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?", Cisca wondered.

"I've just realised how big your brother's head is and how I'm probably going to be split apart when this little girl - little body but surely a big head - joins us", you rubbed your bump as tears formed in your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N, my friends have had babies with big heads and they're fine", Pietra offered, "they were just fine", she said before waving at Max so him and Lando could come to the rescue.

"I don't know why I'm crying, which makes this even worse - Goodness", you wiped your eyes and chuckled, "I can feel her head, it's about here from what I remember from the scans - and it's big, like, really big! How is that going to work?", you blurted.

"What's the matter? Is everything alright? Y/N, are you good? Is it Tilly?", Lando asked worriedly as he saw you break into a fit of giggles and seeing the girls fight their laughter a bit before joining.

"The matter is that you have a big head and Tilly's will also be big", you explained, "I'm not the tiniest person ever, so there's definitely room but can you imagine? I have to ask your mother how big your head was when you were born because I feel like I need to do prep work for it", you mused, "it's all natural until you decide to have a kid with the guy who has a big head".

"Oh, Y/N has gone dark", Max muttered, earning himself a swat on his forehead from Pietra, "what? Did I lie?", he hissed, containing his laughter.

"I'm not sure what you'd like me to do here, my love", Lando admitted, sitting next to you and attempting to squeeze your thigh lovingly, knowing the affectionate gesture could go both ways.

"Our baby is making me feel like I have the emotional and cognitive skills of a toddler", you mumbled as you cuddled your husband, supporting your bump with a pillow Flo got for you as you both layed down.

"It's okay, Y/N, I don't mind having to reason with you - we'll consider this practice for when we have our little one, okay beautiful?", Lando kissed your forehead.

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 x you

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strangeshoepatrolbandit-alt · 5 months ago

Text

Breeding.

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB!Reader, Fem!Reader, PinV, breeding kink, lactation kink, they briefly call each other "Mommy" and "Daddy".

A short story.

Please be aware of the content you consume.

𐙚

Anakin hates kids.

Well... he doesn't hate them, but he surely doesn't like them.

They're snotty, nasty. They talk to much and ask too many stupid questions.

To be honest, he doesn't even really want them. He's a Jedi. He's supposed to be celibate. But he also just doesn't see a life where he's holding and raising a child on his own. The world is too big and scary for that. He'd surely burst a blood vessel due to nerves or just from holding a hand that's sticky with an unknown substance.

But when he's buried deep inside you, the dull tip of his cock hitting your cervix- the entrance to your womb, he can't deny that he is just a man.

He pictures how you'd look with a belly swollen from the life put inside of you. He's the one who got to fuck his cum up into you.

Your stomach wouldn't be the only thing swelling, your breasts would too. You’d produce milk to be able to feed the combination of the both of you. He fantasizes about putting his lips on your sensitive nipples and sucking the milk out for himself, swallowing the food your body created for nurturing and feeding.

You. He'd be drinking a piece of you.

While he has you in the mating press- ironically, he finds himself caressing your stomach with his real hand.

"Gonna make you a mommy." He manages to tell you, rambling. "I can't wait to see your bump. To see how my children look like inside of you." His lips begin to trail down the side of your neck.

His thrusts have you squirming underneath him, panting even though you're not doing any of the work. "Make me a mommy, Anakin. Make me a mommy, and I'll make you a daddy."

"I'm ready to become one..." Anakin presses another kiss to your neck, before moving back up towards your mouth again.

"You want me to put a lot of babies in you...? Make you my pregnant beauty? Yeah?" He moves his hands around your body, caressing your stomach yet again as he does so. "To see what we make?" He kisses you again, biting your lower lip.

"Do you want my babies...? To feel them moving inside of you? To see what they look like after spending so much time in you? To see what you look like with a belly full of my children?" He mumbles against your lips.

"Yes!" You yell, wanting to feel him fill you with the warmth of his cum. Wanting to bear his child(ren). "Oh- yes!"

A smile grows on Anakin's face as he buries his face into your neck yet again, putting his tongue flat against your skin so that he can taste your sweat, his stomach tensing due to his approaching climax.

"We'll get you a nice and full belly soon..."

Hello! I am still knee-deep in writers block, but I felt bad about my absence. I tweaked something that's been in my drafts for a while. I hope it is satisfactory!

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x fem!reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin smut #anakin skywalker imagines #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker x female reader

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moonstruckme · 11 months ago

Note

hello, hello! can i ask for an au of emt!marauders? she had a minor accident maybe in her work or college and they got called in without knowing that it was her? (shes their gf) 💘

How could I refuse??

cw: minor head injury, the teeniest tiniest hint of a praise kink

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You’re sitting on the curb holding a bag of ice to your head when the ambulance cuts its sirens, coming to a stop. The door opens and boots hit the pavement in front of you.

“Dollface?”

You blink up into the sun. “Sirius?”

He crouches by your knees, worry making itself at home in the crease between his brows. “Hey, baby, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t think it’d be you,” you say dumbly.

“Are you hurt?” James comes bounding around the other side of the ambulance, Remus not far behind him. You can’t say you’re not happy to see them, but you sort of wish your reunion could have waited until your date tomorrow night, when you would almost surely not have been in your work uniform and covered in pasta sauce. “Are we here for you?”

“Technically,” you reply, somewhat bitterly. James squats beside Sirius, mouth pulling to one side. “I fainted a little bit, and my boss said he had to call an ambulance. Just so I can’t sue the restaurant, I guess. I’m totally fine.”

“They called us and then made you sit on the curb?” Sirius asks angrily while James says, “How does one faint only a little bit?”

“They didn’t want you guys scaring the customers.” You choose to answer only Sirius’ question, shrugging. His eyes flare, and he looks towards the restaurant like he’s thinking about going inside to have some words with your manager, but Remus passes a conciliatory hand over his shoulder as he sits beside you on the curb.

“What’s this for, love?” he asks you, covering your hand where it holds the bag of ice.

You must look as sheepish as you feel, because his eyes narrow slightly. “I guess I hit my head a bit when I fell.”

“So,” he says dryly, “not totally fine, then.”

“I mean, I don’t think I hit it very hard,” you try, but Remus is already removing your makeshift ice pack, tilting your head so he can see the forming bump on the side.

“Why don’t you tell us everything that happened,” James suggests, giving your knee a teasing squeeze as Sirius moves beside Remus to jockey for a view of your head, “just so we have all the facts.”

“I was carrying a tray to my table,” you explain, wincing as Remus passes a thumb over your wound with a murmured apology, “and I started to feel weird, like wobbly and out of it. I thought it might pass, but—” Sirius sends you a horrified look and your voice quiets, chastened. “I know I probably should have sat down or something, but I was working, you know? Anyway, then I guess I fell and smacked my head on the floor. When I woke up, the food was everywhere,” you recall with a sigh. Your coworkers are going to be less than pleased with you for leaving them that mess to clean up.

“Is that what this is?” James asks, mouth tilting upward as he looks at the mess of your uniform.

You nod solemnly. “Alfredo sauce.”

“Did you land on any glass or anything?” Sirius asks you. He and Remus have evidently finished with their inspection of your head, though Remus’ hand still cups the back of your neck protectively.

“No, all the plates that ended up breaking went the other way.”

“You thinking concussion?” James asks him.

“No,” you say, at the same time as Sirius says, “Maybe.”

Sirius fixes you with an odd look, half remonstrance and half endearment. “Sorry, doll, but you’re not exactly an expert. You very stubbornly did your job when you should have looked after yourself” —he squints his eyes at you playfully, giving your shoulder a mean squeeze— “now let us do ours for a bit, yeah?”

You purse your lips in malcontent, but James is already clicking on his pen light, shining it in your eyes. “Look straight ahead for me, angel?”

“S’not a big deal,” you mutter one last time in quiet mutiny, doing as he says. All three boys ignore you.

James clicks the light off. “Alright, do you know the date?”

“No.”

“How about the year?” he asks patiently. You tell him, and he goes on to ask you the month and the day of the week.

“Good.” He rewards you with a smile when you answer correctly. “Okay, do you feel nauseous or dizzy at all, darling?”

When he looks at you like that? A little, but that’s probably unrelated. “No,” you tell him.

“Headache?” Remus asks you.

“I mean, only here.” You lay your palm over the bump to indicate it, but wince when it hurts worse than you expected. Sirius coos, taking your hand in his to prevent you doing yourself further harm. “Not on, like, the inside.”

“Okay, that’s what I meant,” Remus reassures you. “What about why you fainted, love? Do you have any idea what happened?”

You bite the inside of your lip, thinking. “Not really.” Your head had just hurt a bit, then you’d felt woozy, and then you’d fallen and it had hurt a lot worse.

“Did you have lunch before you came to work?” James prompts.

You nod.

“What did you have?”

You tell him. He seems tentatively satisfied.

“And for breakfast? What about for dinner last night?”

You think back, telling him what you can remember, and he nods, looking somewhat bemused.

“Did you have a drink with any of that?” Remus asks.

You think harder. Had you? The realization must show on your face, because Sirius tuts.

“There it is,” he says knowingly. “When was the last time you had water, doll?”

“I…I don’t remember. I had coffee yesterday—”

They all groan. James starts laughing soon after, patting you on the thigh at your timid expression.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just drink plenty of water and then go home to rest, alright? You might feel shaky for a bit, so don’t get in your car to drive until you’re feeling better. Rem, do we have some water bottles in the van?”

“Yeah.” Remus stands, palm landing affectionately on your head as he passes behind you to climb into the back of the ambulance.

“Don’t worry,” you tell James, exhaustion seeping into your voice, “I won’t be driving for a while yet. My shift doesn’t end until six.”

Contrary to your intentions, some of the relief saps from James’ countenance. “You’re still planning on working?”

Uh, duh. Does he think your rent is going to pay itself? “I mean,” you say, trying to appear somewhat patient, “yeah.”

“Well, go ahead and get that out of your head right now,” Sirius nearly laughs. “There’s no way that’s happening today, sweetness.”

“What’s not happening?” Remus asks, uncapping a water bottle before passing it to you.

“She thinks she’s going back to work,” Sirius says wryly.

Remus looks at you, appalled. You only shrug, sipping at your water.

“You can’t work after a fainting spell like that. Especially not as dehydrated as you are—your body needs rest.” He shakes his head at you. “You can either get it at home or come with us to the hospital.”

You roll your eyes, re-capping the half-drained water bottle. “That’s so dramatic.”

“No, I’m the dramatic,” Sirius corrects you. “Remus is the reasonable one, which is how you know he’s right. Those are your options, dollface.”

You huff. “Fine, then can one of you go tell my manager that? I don’t want to be blamed for skipping the rest of my shift.”

“You’re not skipping anything,” Sirius says, standing. “I’ll go, I’ve got some things to say to him anyway.” He cracks his knuckles, and you look to James in alarm.

He leaps up, catching up to Sirius in a few long strides and nudging him back towards you. “I’ve got it, Pads. Why don’t you make sure she finishes that water bottle?”

“Fine.” Sirius stomps his way back to you. “But make him answer for sending her outside to sit on the curb.”

“Please don’t!” you call after James.

Sirius’ gaze narrows, flicking between you and the water bottle beside you expectantly. “Drink.”

“Fine, sheesh.” You pick it up and twist off the cap. Remus chuckles, picking up your half-melted bag of ice to hold it against your head for you. “Isn’t it, like, your job to be nice to people when they’re injured?”

“I thought you weren’t injured?” Remus hums. You shoot him a look that’s meant to be intimidating, but his lips twitch upwards. “Relax, love, we’re just worried about you.”

Well, it’s hard to be mad at that. “Thanks,” you say quietly.

Sirius resumes his crouch in front of you, taking one of your knees in each hand and squeezing lightly. “We get off in a few hours,” he says. “Would it be okay if we came by for dinner? We can bring takeout or something.”

You lower the water bottle, looking at him with interest. Your day has suddenly taken a positive turn. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Good.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek. “Now be a good girl and finish your water.”

You flush instantly, and Remus’ head swivels as if to make sure no one is nearby to have heard him. “Sirius,” you hiss, “I’m at work!”

His grin sharpens. “Not anymore, you’re not.”

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divinesolas · 4 months ago

Text

lies and sneaking

summary; requested: you are sick of being stuck inside the stone hedge walls and decide to sneak out. You end up running into the worst man you know but it leads to a lot more.

fancast!benjicot blackwood x bracken!reader

w.c: 1.4k

c.w: fluff, minor angst, twin!aeron bracken, minor smut, benjicot is annoying, not proofread

perm benjicot taglist: @lyssaluvs @yeolsbubbles @lenasvoid @at-a-rax-ia @poppyflower-22 @helpyourself-9 @kiraflowersworld @randomgurl2326 @valdezthg @mysticmusicinkpop @tiredsleepyhead @secretf1lms @hardkiddonut @hydrxxxmrti @stlzking @smh-anon @shootinqstars101 @charvsz @helo1281917

you were giddy that you had even managed to sneak out of the castle at all. despite the late hour the town seemed to be as alive as ever and you could barely believe it.

But you got careless and weren’t paying attention until you bumped into somebody’s back. “oh my gods i am so sorry.” the guy turns around and waves his hands, “no no its,,,” his face drops and you freeze upon seeing him “bracken.” benjicot blackwood. Of course you had to run into him. he was the fucking worst. always tormenting you and your brother, not that you never tormented him back, you all were stuck in this endless hateful loop.

you shush him and look around desperately praying nobody heard him. “please just act like you never saw me.” you try to move away from him but he grips your arm and pulls you into his chest and peers down at you a large grin. “oh i dont think so.” you try to pull away from him but he keeps an arm firmly wrapped around you. “what would your dear old daddy think about his precious little baby sneaking out to town to do gods know what.”

you huff and manage to shake your way out of his arms and hiss at him, “if i am going to get caught i might as well make the most out of it.” you turn away and just pray he truly does not knock on your fathers door and tell him you were here. you thought that would be the last of it and you would not see him again but you hear footsteps trailing behind you and you stop and the footsteps stop too.

you turn around and glare at him while he still has that mischievous grin on his face. “what do you want?” his smirk cant seem to leave his face, “im merely making sure the pretty little pampered princess makes it around okay, wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” you tsk and turn away from him, “fine follow me i dont care.”

you walk for awhile merely looking around the town. “you have no clue where to go huh?” you groan and turn around to him throwing your hands up with annoyance. “yes okay i have no clue where im going i just want to have a little fun but the only place i ever go into town is to the bookstore with aeron but i doubt that would be any fun right now.” you scratch your head in frustration. he takes a step closer to you and you step back, “i can show you somewhere fun.”

You want to say no that he should just go fuck off and leave you alone. but you’re sure he knows a good place to go. is he even trust worthy? no he definitely is not. “fine.” you still cant help but accept his offer and he grabs your forearm and begins to pull you along with him. you almost want to ask him where hes taking you but you dont get the chance before he walks you into a building and you’re immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol and sweat.

you cough lightly into your fist but he just pulls you against him and continues to walk along. “why are we here?” “where else are we supposed to have fun hmm? you have any ideas?” when you say nothing he hums, “thats what i thought.” when he walks up to the counter and buys the two of you a bottle you take the opportunity to look around the place. It was packed, bodies at every corner and turn, you can see people dancing and turn your head when you see a couple in the corner having way too much fun. suddenly you feel a hand on your ass and turn to look at the guy and he just grins at you.

Benjicot sudden pushes the guy on his chest and glares at him. “get the fuck away from her.” the guy runs away at benjicot’s hard stare and deep voice and you place a hand on your chest to calm your racing heart. you dont know what has your heart racing, the fear or the fact that ben had gotten protective over you.

you shake the feeling from your head you shouldn’t be thinking like that. he is a blackwood for god’s sake. He pulls you to a darker corner of the room and sits you down next to him. pouring you a cup of the ale. The two of you just sit and chat for a while, you hate to admit it but he is good company, hes funny, he pays attention when you talk.

The more and more you drink and the closer and closer you sit next to each other. you don’t know who makes the move first, you think it was him or maybe that was your brain denying it had been you but neither of you reject the action. you grab the collar of his tunic and he grabs your hips, placing you on his lap. his fingers reach down and touch parts of you you never dared to. biting onto the fabric on his neck as your legs quiver from your peak.

Your peak brings a sort of clarity and guilt and dread washes over you as you can feel benjicots hardening cock on your thigh. so you run. you run and run until you can see your home back into view. you cannot believe you had done that and you would never forget it, how could you be so stupid? but as you toss and turn in bed you want to regret it but you cant. you want to see him again. but he’ll probably never want anything to do with you since you ran out on him. this is as it should be you remind yourself you two are supposed to hate each other.

you hope to let yesterday be nothing more than a memory as you tend to the cattle in the afternoon. you hear footsteps approaching and you turn around a smile at the sight of your brother. “brother i…” your words trail off as you see the furious look on his face, “aeron?” “were you in a brothel with benjicot blackwood last night?” you freeze. how could he have found out? “what,, what are you talking about?” you try to laugh it off as a joke but he just glares at you. “answer me.” you shrug as you begin to sweat, “no, that’s ridiculous.” “then why have i been informed you two were seen together last night?”

You feel heat crawling up every inch of your body. you did not want to lie to him but you certainly could not tell him the truth. “i was at the establishment and he let me sit as his table thats all.” “what in the hells were you doing there?” “i am locked here everyday with nothing to do i just wanted to see what it was like brother!”

You can see him having an internal conflict at your words. you want him to believe you. to drop this all in its entirety and move on. but he hardens up and he looks you in the eyes. “did benjicot blackwood touch you?” you straighten up and grab his hands, “no of course he did not aeron.” he turns his head away slight. you can tell he does not believe you and you heart aches, you love your brother but you cannot admit to him the truth.

“Benjicot Blackwood never touched me; I swear this to you, upon the memory of our mother!”

You know its a bad move to bring up your mother, his face completely softens at her mention. he has not been himself since she passed but you know its the one thing to get him to believe you. and he does he nods, “i believe you. im sorry for believing such rumors.” you pull him into a hug and stare out into the distance as he wraps his arms around you. you feel like absolute shit but at least it was over and that was that.

At least until later that day lord blackwood and benjicot show up at your father’s door and you find out benjicot had asked for your hand.

#benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #ben blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #bloody ben x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #ben blackwood

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jenosbigtoe · 11 months ago

Note

i need possessive dad!jeno immediately

mdni. nsfw 18+

pairing: husband!lee jeno x pregnant!reader

warnings: marriage au, pregnancy sex, jen loves his pregnant wife, you call him daddy and he calls you mama

(can be read standalone or as a continuation of this)

the way jeno is so obsessed with his sweet, perfect little wifey, no wonder you got pregnant so early in your marriage!

he was already so so sweet to you, spoiling you rotten with love, affection, and lavish gifts. always coddling you and making sure you’re well taken care of. you’re his woman after all, that’s what a good husband is for. and now that you’re with child, he does everything in his power to make sure you and your little one live happily and comfortably.

in the early days of your pregnancy, even before your belly starts showing, he makes sure you have everything you could possibly want. you are craving pizza from the joint 30 minutes across town? he already put on his coat and grabbed his keys. you want to stay in bed and cuddle all day? he calls into work sick. he loves to rub your soft belly, even if you aren’t even showing any visible signs of the baby growing in your belly yet.

he goes even crazier for you when your belly started to swell and get heavy, your breasts plumping and your skin glowing. he has his hands on you at all times, never leaving your side. he comes up from behind to rub your growing belly with one hand and massage your tender breasts with the other. and when he cuddles you, snug to his chest, with his arms wrapped around your waist, he relishes at the fact his arms don’t fit around your growing belly like they used to.

and with your sweet baby growing in your belly, your body changes in other ways too. specifically, you grow needier and hornier for your husband now more than ever. jeno has been so sweet and supportive throughout your whole pregnancy, you just love him so much :(

he’s cuddling you on your side, holding you tight against his body, arms wrapped around your 6 months pregnant belly and softly rubbing circles on your bump. you rub your thighs together, feeling a familiar heat spread from your core. you press your ass harder against his bulge and lightly grind yourself on him.

he grins and moves his hands from caressing your belly to grabbing at your hips to anchor you against him. “aw is mama getting needy?”

you turn your head to press a passionate kiss against his lips, which he accepts happily. when you pull away, you pant slightly and a string of saliva connects you to him. “daddy, please,” you whine. you reach down to put your hands down his sweats, grabbing at his hardening cock.

he groans and pulls you into another hot kiss. “fuck, mama you drive me crazy.”

you give his hot cock lazy strokes as he pulls your shorts down and lifts your leg to reveal your glistening cunt. “so wet for me already, huh mama?”

you jut your lower lip out in a slight pout. “always needy for you, daddy.”

he has one hand on your thigh, keeping your leg lifted, and the other resting on your swollen belly. you guide his cock to your dripping hole, rubbing the tip on your entrance before sinking down on the shaft. you both groan at the contact.

he thrusts into you shallowly at first, just barely using the tip to fuck into your cunt. you grow frustrated, wanting—needing more.

“stop treating me like i’m made of glass,” you whine, trying to push your ass back to sink his cock deeper inside you. “fuck me harder, daddy! i can take it!!”

he suddenly slams balls deep inside, causing you to let out a sharp gasp. his tip brushes against your cervix and his veiny shaft rubs against your smooth walls, making you feel so hot and full. he pounds into your achy cunt at an inhuman pace, sending intense waves of pleasure you have never felt before getting pregnant. you’re a moaning, panting, crying mess, your pussy equally as messy from creaming and dripping arousal around his hot shaft.

“please, daddy!! need more!” you cry.

and who is jeno to deny his precious wife of what she needs when she’s carrying their growing baby?

#nct dream smut #nct smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream #nct x reader #jeno smut #lee jeno x reader #jeno x reader #jeno #lee jeno #jeno fluff

1K notes · View notes

megalony · 4 months ago

Text

Family Matters

Okay, this is my first Jim Street imagine from SWAT, requested by a lovely anon. I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriterwriter @reneinii

Swat Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: When Jim's mum is out on parole and comes to live with him and (Y/n), she does whatever she can to hurt (Y/n) and come between them. And it puts (Y/n) and her unborn baby at risk.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hm, morning."

A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine when she felt an arm loop around her waist and a warm pair of lips attach to the side of her neck. She tilted her head to the left, trying not to move or shudder when the short hairs on Jim's head started to graze against her cheek and caused her nerves to ignite beneath the touch.

Her lips curved into a smile and she paused, her fingers tapping against the counter where she was in the middle of making them each a coffee.

"Morning, want breakfast before you go?" She twisted her head to the right and kissed the top of his head, smiling into his hair when she felt his teeth nipping against her skin.

It was hit and miss whether Jim would have breakfast or not, most of the time he grabbed a protein bar and waited until lunch with the squad at work.

"I'd rather have you." The way his words vibrated into her neck made (Y/n)'s heart flutter and she couldn't help the grin that spread across her lips.

"Oh really?"

(Y/n) forced her hands to work and started pouring the coffee, being mindful not to spill it when she could feel Jim's lips distracting her. And she could feel him smirking into her neck. He knew what effect he had on her and how to turn her to jelly.

She barely had the cups poured before she felt Jim's hands moving down to her stomach. He finally released his head from her neck but only so he could peck the side of her head and stand up straight behind her. (Y/n) tilted her head down, rolling her lips together as she watched his hands move to roll up her top.

"What're you doing?"

"Let me look at you."

She let go of the mugs, biting the inside of her cheek when Jim spun her round so her hips were backed up against the counter and she was facing him. Her hands moved to grip the counter, keeping herself steady as a fond look danced across her face when she looked up at her husband.

"You act like you haven't seen me in weeks." The tender edge to her voice was clear while she danced her fingertips along the back of his neck.

She could see where his eyes were drifting to. He had rolled her shirt up so it rested just beneath her bra, leaving her small bump on show. He was fascinated. Every day he was looking to try and see if he could notice the small changes and to see if he could see her bump growing and changing each day.

Jim's childhood had been far from great. Fighting parents, his dad who abused the both of them and his mum who always struck back until the day she decided to fend him off with a gun. And then foster homes for the next seven years until he could finally live on his own.

He wasn't used to having a family until he worked in Swat, and he wasn't prepared for the amount of love he would receive and feel for (Y/n) when they got together. Having a family was something Jim always wanted, but it was something he had been nervous about.

Jim didn't know how good of a dad he was going to be until that pregnancy test came back positive and he could feel the changes already. He had prime examples of what not to do and he used Deacon as a role model for how he was going to make this work. The love and excitement Jim felt already was enough to show him he was going to be okay at this.

"I wanna look at my girls." He responded with a shrug and a tick of his head that almost made him look boyish.

(Y/n) reached her hands up to cradle the back of his neck and she brought him down for a kiss, soaking up the sound he made when her nails scratched the short hairs at the back of his neck. She could feel his thumbs stroking across her hipbones which made her squirm and shudder in front of him, and when he bit her lip he elicited a gasp that had him smiling against her mouth.

Her hands moved down to his shoulders when he finally released her lips and trailed his way down her neck.

She heard hum murmur 'morning girlie' against her stomach and his hands kept moving back and forth over the sides of her hips. His lips tickled her stomach but the butterflies he elicited beneath his touch had (Y/n) swaying on her feet.

"She should start moving soon." (Y/n) continued to run her hands over Jim's shoulders and the smile that danced over his face made her heart leap in her chest.

She was sure he murmured 'can't wait' against her lips when he leaned up to steal another kiss.

(Y/n) knew anytime now she should start feeling the baby move and kick and she knew once that happened, Jim wouldn't be separated from her stomach. He wanted to be there for everything, he wanted to be at all the scans and feel every movement and he was already thrilled at the thought of when (Y/n) was going to give birth. He didn't want to miss a thing.

"Good morning."

"Morning mum." Jim nuzzled his temple against (Y/n)'s neck so he could just about see his mum as she walked past them in the kitchen. He grinned when he felt (Y/n) squeeze his shoulders and he sighed and tore himself away from her. He gave her hips a lasting squeeze before he grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it back down to cover her bump.

"Want some breakfast, Jimmy?"

"No, I'm good. Guess I need to get ready." He pecked (Y/n)'s temple and pressed up close until their abdomens were touching so he could grab the travel cup from behind her that she had filled for him.

He wasn't hungry in the mornings and he wasn't bothered about breakfast, he just had to get ready to go to work.

(Y/n) ran her hand up and down his shoulder, following him with her eyes as he moved near the fridge to kiss his mum's temple before she sat down at the kitchen table.

The look Karen shot (Y/n)'s way made her shiver but she forced herself to smile. She wouldn't let her mother in law get to her, at least not while Jim was home. When he was at work, Karen seemed to unleash her spiteful side. She would make snappy comments at (Y/n), move things, changes the dates on the calendar, she would do anything she could to upset or annoy (Y/n).

But when Jim was home, Karen was the picture of the calm, sweet mother who wanted nothing more than to get along with her son and his wife.

(Y/n) hated it. She hated how rude and spiteful Karen could be, and she hated that Karen was living with them, but what other choice did they have?

She needed to have a place sorted out or else she wouldn't have been released from prison and with Jim's reasoning, (Y/n) didn't feel like she could say no. Karen had guilt tripped Jim just like she always did, she made him feel guilty, she told him that he was the reason she was in prison in the first place. She had shot her husband to protect them both and that was the way Jim had always seem things.

He wanted nothing more than for his mum to be released and they had a spare room, which his mum was always pointing out. They had the space, she wanted to be close to her son and she didn't want to be alone after all those years locked up. There was no way Jim could refuse her without breaking her heart and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Oh Jimmy, are you taking me to my interview tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? No, you said it was Friday." Jim leaned around the fridge to catch a look at the calendar on the wall.

His mum had a job, but it a long bus ride to get to and from work so Jim had found a few places closer to home that were willing to hire someone with a record.

"No, it's tomorrow at one. Can you take me sweetie?" Her smile was sincere, but it was the way she glanced over at (Y/n) that had the younger woman pushing back into the counter.

The smile faded from (Y/n)'s lips and she looped her arms over her bump, taking a deep breath to remain calm. She knew what tomorrow was. (Y/n) had her scan tomorrow and Jim had an extended lunch break tomorrow specifically so he could go to the scan with her. Hondo was happy and proud of Jim for being so involved and excited about starting a family and he said they would try and arrange Jim's shifts around (Y/n)'s appointments.

"Mum, we have the scan tomorrow, can't you get the bus?"

Jim tossed the travel mug between his hands and sank his teeth down into his lower lip enough to draw blood. He didn't want to upset his mum or make her panic, but he wanted to be at the scan, he couldn't miss that. And it wasn't a long bus ride to get to the diner in town where her interview was being held.

"Jimmy, you know how nervous interviews make me… it's not the first scan, (Y/n) will be fine without you."

With a deep breath, (Y/n) bypassed Jim and moved to the fridge to get a yoghurt. She wasn't getting involved in this, but she would make sure her silence was clear and disagreeable.

That wasn't fair.

Karen knew (Y/n) hated hospitals. Whenever Jim used to visit his mum in prison, he was forever talking about (Y/n) and their life together, how she made him feel like a better person and helped push him to get into Swat and get on the right track. Jim talked about her a lot and when he told his mum they were having a baby, he had mentioned once or twice that (Y/n) didn't do well with hospitals.

He went to the scans because he was desperate to be involved with his baby but also because he wanted to support (Y/n). He knew she had had bad experiences in hospitals and they made her nervous so he wanted to be at all her appointments to try and make it easier for her.

Jim spared a look over at his wife. He could see how hard she was gripping the fridge so she didn't start to shake and the way her eyes danced around the room gave away her unease which made him sigh.

"I can't take you, but I can pick you up afterwards."

"Oh, okay." The disappointment in Karen's voice was clear and it made (Y/n) feel sick.

Her mother in law wasn't going to make things easy for her now. Whenever Jim was at work and Karen was on a day off, (Y/n)'s day got worse. (Y/n) worked from home which had always been a comfort, right until Karen moved in with them two weeks ago. The first week she had been on her best behaviour, mostly because Jim had been home quite a lot.

Now he was back to his usual work pattern, (Y/n) was left alone with Karen who was becoming spiteful and insufferable.

"I gotta go, I'll see you both tonight."

(Y/n)'s chest fluttered when Jim held her chin between his finger and thumb so he could tilt her head up in his direction. His lips quirked up to one side and he brushed his thumb along her chin before he captured her in a quick but searing kiss.

"Love you," He spoke into her mouth, pulling her lower lip between his teeth before he was turning away and heading down the hall to grab his things.

The moment the front door closed, (Y/n) pulled her arms into her sides like she wanted to wear a suit of armour for protection. Her eyes followed Karen as she got up, lips pursed, nose crinkled and shoulders squared like she was getting ready for a fight.

Part of (Y/n) had thought in the beginning that Karen would be happy about having a grandchild. She thought Karen would be pleased for Jim because he was happy and settled. It didn't dawn on (Y/n) that Karen would become jealous. She was no longer the only person in Jim's life. Karen had been replaced. She couldn't have Jim all to herself, he was no longer the little boy she had left when she got taken to prison.

She had missed out on almost two decades of his life and as much as (Y/n) could sympathise, she couldn't condone Karen trying to keep Jim to herself and control him like she was.

"I guess you got what you wanted then."

Her harsh words made (Y/n) flinch and sigh. She didn't know whether to reach out for her mother in law or stay huddled up near the counter.

"Karen, I-"

"No, I get it. You think because you're having a baby that you've got him wrapped around your finger. Well you don't."

Both (Y/n)'s arms pressed into her stomach and she swallowed a gasp when Karen roughly barged her shoulder into (Y/n)'s chest on her way past her.

Why did she have to be like that? Why did she have to be so crude and snarky and possessive over Jim? (Y/n) always thought when she got married that she would have a great relationship with her in-laws. And when Jim told her about his mum, (Y/n) wanted to get to know her. She wanted to know the woman who had gone to prison to protect him, but that wasn't the same woman who was walking away from her right now.

This woman was bitter and manipulative, and maybe that was because she had to toughen up when she went to prison. Maybe she really did kill her husband to protect Jim, but she was using that as an excuse to control Jim and his life and worm everything to her advantage. And she knew (Y/n) wouldn't stand for it, which made (Y/n) an obstacle in her path.

God, (Y/n) hoped the worst Karen would do would just be to spit insults at her. She could endure this for a few more weeks, it wouldn't be for long.

Jim had agreed that his mum could stay with them for a few months, but she had to go when they had the baby, preferably just before they had the baby. The house was going to be lively when they had their daughter and they would be busy.

(Y/n) couldn't be looking after her baby and dealing with Karen and her vindictive nature. And she and Jim wanted to be a family and have their home to themselves when they had the baby.

Just a little while longer, and then Karen would be living on her own.

***

"Karen?" (Y/n) rapped her knuckles on the door and gingerly leaned around to peek into the spare room. Her hands stayed clinging to the door and she bit down on her lip, trying to pluck up as much courage as she had within her to both have this conversation and stay calm.

"Yeah?" The older woman looked less than interested in a conversation with her daughter in law.

She rose a brow and nudged her glasses further up her nose while she twisted on the bed so she was looking in (Y/n)'s direction.

"Have you seen my notebook? The blue one, I use for work?"

The flicker that danced over Karen's eyes and had her lips twitching made (Y/n) press further into the door. She knew it. She felt so stupid for even asking when she knew deep down that her book wasn't anywhere to be found, because of her mother in law.

(Y/n) worked from home, she kept all of her notes in two separate notepads which were always either in her and Jim's bedroom or tucked under her arm. (Y/n) needed her blue notebook with the sparrows drawn on the cover, it was all her dates and details and facts that she had to type up and send across to her boss this week.

The last time she saw her notebook was yesterday when she had been writing in the living room. Now the book was gone, and (Y/n) knew exactly who had moved it. Jim had been at work all day yesterday and he had gone again this morning. There was no way he would of moved it when he came home and went straight for a shower before climbing into bed. He didn't go in the living room.

"No, I don't think so. Why, is it important?"

She knew it was. Karen knew it was important, if (Y/n) didn't have those notes she would have to start from scratch and it would delay her and cause her to be reprimanded by her boss.

"It- it's my work, I need that book." Her voice was unusually quiet and she could feel defeat clawing at her throat.

"Oh, well I haven't seen it."

Nodding, (Y/n) turned on her heels and walked down the hall. She wasn't standing here arguing. She was going to search the house from top to bottom and if that made her look like an idiot or stressed her out then so be it, because she needed that notepad.

The living room had already been searched. (Y/n) had moved every book and magazine, looked beneath the sofa and the cushions and the bookcase. She looked everywhere she could think of.

She made her way into the kitchen and scanned over the few papers on the table, again. She looked in the little wooden crate on the windowsil that was for important letters and bills. She looked in the messy drawer and the cupboards.

Sweat rolled down the back of her neck and adrenaline sparked in her stomach that was churning and rotating awfully. She felt like she was going to be sick. What was she going to do if she couldn't find her notes? She was going to have to work late into the night to redo everything. (Y/n) would have to rewrite her notes and then type up her essay and her notes and then she would have to edit and make sure everything was ready to send off.

Grabbing a few wrappers from the counter, (Y/n) scrunched them up in her hands and started to tidy up. She may as well tidy the house as she tore it apart looking for what she needed, something (Y/n) wasn't so sure she was going to find.

She flicked open the bin, about to toss a few bits in until something caught her eye.

A sparrow.

A flash of blue.

(Y/n) leaned down, dragging her fingers through the bin with a wince, trying not to touch last night's dinner or the cereal from this morning.

She choked on a sob that had her lips curdling like sour milk when her fingers curled around her notepad and she wrenched it out of the bin.

The book was lathered in sauce from last night. Splotches of milk painted the cover and the pages were crinkled, cracking and sticking together.

(Y/n) couldn't stop the tears falling down her face or the way her chest shuddered and jumped when she looked through the pages. All her work. All those hours, those notes, the tentative, neat handwriting. Stained. Destroyed. Ruined.

Karen had put her work in the bin. She had dumped it in the bin and threw the leftovers on top to try and hide it and keep (Y/n) from realising where all her hard work had gone.

Why did she have to do this?

"Hey baby, what're you doing?" Jim leaned against the doorway to the nursery, glancing his eyes around the room. The walls were still pale magnolia from when they bought the place and moved in last year. They hadn't decided what colour to paint the nursery yet, all they knew was that they didn't want this pale, bland colour when the baby was born.

(Y/n) was five and a half months along now so anytime soon, Jim would get ready to paint the nursery and he would start setting up the crib and units soon too.

His arms folded over his chest and his head leaned against the door while he looked down at his wife.

She was knelt on the floor, a few onesies and bibs and little trinkets surrounding her.

A fond look swarmed through Jim's eyes, right until his wife turned around. The smile faded from his lips and the warmth in his eyes turned ice cold the moment he noticed the tears streaking down (Y/n)'s face. Her eyes were overwhelmed with tears, the colours blurring together and meshing around her pupils that were as wide as saucers.

He noticed the puffy look beneath her eyes and the way her lower lip kept wobbling as she tried to draw in a proper breath.

"Hey, hey what's the matter?"

He moved before he could stop himself and he slumped down to his knees beside her, trying not to kneel on any of the clothes scattered around. What had happened while he had been at work? They had been to their scan last week and everything had been fine with the baby, so he hoped she wasn't upset or panicking about the baby.

He reached out for her hands and gently pulled them onto his lap, smoothing his thumbs over the back of her hands while he waited for her to explain so he could help.

"I'm not doing this anymore Jim." (Y/n) pulled her hands away from his touch so she could run her fingertips up and down her face. It didn't matter how many times she tried to swipe away the tears, more drenched her face and had her breath bubbling and catching in her throat.

"What, doing what? Baby what's happened?" He tried to reach out for her again but (Y/n) moved faster.

"Look."

Something twinged in (Y/n)'s chest like her heart had physically been slashed when she looked across the floor. She scrunched up the blanket in her hands and roughly tossed it at Jim, sending him leaning backwards when it hit him in the chest.

Jim's stomach pulled inwards and his lips parted when he looked down at the blanket.

It was the one (Y/n)'s grandma had knitted when she was little. The blanket was a worn shade of white with a deep blue ribbon stitched around the edging. (Y/n) had had this since she was little and she had started adding a few flowers and embroidery stitches to update it ready for when she had her baby to pass it onto.

It was ruined.

The bottom corner had either been cut or pulled and the wool was unspooling. Half the blanket had been pulled so the woven stitches were undone, leaving a tangled mess of wool attached to what was left of the blanket.

"What happened?" Jim swallowed harshly as he held up the blanket and looked it over.

It would take a skilled knitter to fix this and even if someone could fix the blanket, there would be telltale signs and stitches that showed it had been wrecked and patched back together.

This was important to (Y/n). She didn't have a lot to remember her grandma by and their baby would never know her. (Y/n) wanted to give their child something that would remind them of someone they would never know, and now it was damaged, possibly beyond repair. "I- I found it in the drawer like this."

"Maybe… maybe it got caught in the drawer-"

"It's been cut! She's cut it. Jim, you- you know what this meant to me." (Y/n) swallowed harshly, wiping her hand beneath her eyes as she took the blanket back from Jim.

She wanted to throw it across the room, unravel it completely and toss it in the bin, but she couldn't. Her touch was unnaturally gentle as she folded what was left of the blanket and ravelled the loose wool around the blanket to stop it from unravelling further.

"And where's the stuff I bought?" (Y/n) motioned around to the clothing she had set out on the floor around them and Jim took a moment to look at it all.

There was the onesies Jim had picked out. A few items Deacon had given them last week when he and Annie went through their old baby clothes they didn't need for their girls anymore. And a few things from the others at Swat who had either donated their kids old things or like Chris, had gotten a few things to surprise Jim with.

But nothing (Y/n) had bought was here.

The few teddies she had picked out. The jumpsuits and mini dresses and tights she couldn't resist from town. The bibs and socks and little things to stock up on, everything (Y/n) bought, wasn't here.

"I- I don't know, maybe I tidied them in the chest of drawers-"

"Jim, everything I got is gone. The stuff you bought, that's all here. The things Deacon donated to us, that's here. Can't you see what she's doing to me?"

Jim ran his hand up and down his face, trying to take a deep breath but he found he could barely breathe at all.

This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening. It was just a mistake.

There was no way his mum would be this spiteful and vindictive. She wouldn't toss away the things that were bought for her first- and only- grandchild. She wouldn't cut up something so important to (Y/n) and unravel it like this to hurt her. She wouldn't wreck and mess with everything to wind (Y/n) up, Karen wasn't like that.

She was his mum. She loved him, she did everything for him, she had spent years in prison because and for Jim and now she was out. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardise what she and Jim and (Y/n) had here.

"No, mum wouldn't do this."

"No, no Jimmy I'm not doing this anymore, okay? You go to work but I work from home, I'm the one dealing with your mum's tantrums and her fits of rage. She doesn't like me, she scares me Jimmy and now she's doing this to me. What if it gets worse?"

(Y/n) couldn't do this anymore.

She had spent a month living with Karen and it was too long, too frightening. She had gone too far. First she had been rude when Jim's back was turned, then she started being horrid whenever she passed (Y/n). She had thrown (Y/n)'s notebook in the bin.

Karen watched as (Y/n) screamed and cried and sat on the living room floor for hours rewriting her notes and trying to salvage what she could from her notepad. Now Karen had gone as far as to throw things away that were for their baby, and she had destroyed something that was so important to (Y/n).

This couldn't keep happening. (Y/n) couldn't carry on like this, she wasn't staying home when Karen was here. She wasn't going to keep living like this with a cruel mother in law who was out to upset her.

(Y/n) was pregnant, she couldn't be stressed and panicked and she couldn't stay with Karen when she her temper was flaring. What if Karen lashed out at her? What if she went from verbally aggressive to being physical? What would (Y/n) do then?

"I'll talk to her."

With a broken smile and a shake of her head, (Y/n) moved her hand to Jim's shoulder and got up from their position kneeling on the floor.

"Thanks." The sarcasm dripping from her tone made Jim shiver and his expression dropped completely. He watched her leave the room, doing her level best to control her breathing and calm herself down before she made herself sick.

Part of (Y/n) didn't expect Jim to go and talk to his mum straight away. She thought he would take a few minutes to calm down, maybe look around the nursery and try to prove (Y/n) wrong and find all the clothes she couldn't find. But she heard him storm out of the nursery and when she looked over her shoulder, he was aiming for the spare room where his mum was since she wasn't at work today.

(Y/n) couldn't help herself.

She took a few seconds to calm herself down and clear the tears from her face before she backtracked and shuffled along the hall. She stayed close to the wall and a few feet away from the door. She didn't want to watch, but she wanted to know what Karen would try to say to defend herself.

She wished she hadn't listened.

Jim seemed to start off strong. He walked in there with the intention of telling his mum that whatever went on while he was at work needed to stop. But Karen's words were like a knife cutting right through (Y/n)'s stomach. She moved both hands down to cradle her stomach as she coiled in on herself.

"Jimmy she's pregnant, all those hormone changes and she's always so temperamental these days. She doesn't want me here, this is her way to get rid of me but I don't wanna leave you, baby. I'm finally out, finally able to be with my little boy again."

"I know, mum. I just… I need you both to get along, you're both my family and this is upsetting (Y/n). Try and be nice to her-"

"She needs to accept that I'm staying. We're meant to be together after all the lost time, Jimmy. (Y/n)'s just emotional."

"I guess."

Moving her hand to her mouth, (Y/n) swallowed down whatever cry was desperate to claw at her throat. She wasn't doing this anymore.

If Jim couldn't have her back and stand up for her, then she wasn't going to stay here. She didn't feel safe in her own home and that wasn't fair. (Y/n) had a right to feel safe where she lived and right now she didn't. She didn't want Karen living with them in the first place, but she didn't really have a choice.

If he wasn't going to help her and Karen was going to target her, then (Y/n) wasn't staying here with them.

Karen could have what she wanted. She could have Jim to herself until he worked out what he wanted to do and who he wanted to prioritise.

They were both his family but Jim was picking Karen over (Y/n), he was believing her over his wife and (Y/n) couldn't stay and be victimised any longer.

Staying wasn't an option.

***

"She doesn't wanna talk to you."

"Chris please. Five minutes, please?"

The pleading look in Jim's eyes won Chris over, although she still looked disappointed and angry.

Her lips rolled together, her eyes narrowed and she placed her hand on her hip before slowly opening the front door to let him inside. She didn't want to let him in, but he was here, again, and he was begging her. He had called and called (Y/n) and Chris but neither of them answered and this was the fifth day and he thought he was going to go insane.

He hadn't seen his wife in five days, that was almost a week. The longest he had gone without her was three days when Swat had been low on staff and everyone had been on a big assignment. This was different.

This was (Y/n) staying with Chris because she didn't feel safe in her own home and Jim wanted to do whatever he could to change that. He wanted his wife home where she belonged, not here with her best friend to get away from him.

Jim squeezed Chris's shoulder and bypassed her to get into the living room where he could see his wife.

He bounded up to her before she got the chance to see who it was and before (Y/n) could try and get up, Jim was already plonked down on the sofa next to her. He reached out and clamped his hand down on her wrist, his touch comforting but desperate at the same time as he leaned forward until there was barely an inch of space between them.

His knees bumped into (Y/n)'s thigh and he was close enough that (Y/n) could feel each rapid breath fanning against her cheek.

She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to turn and see those puppy dog eyes that could win him whatever he wanted. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. But when Jim tilted his head down and attached his lips to her shoulder, (Y/n) shivered.

She felt his hand let go of her wrist and slide round to cradle her lower back and when his other hand moved to squeeze her thigh, (Y/n) finally looked down at him. He was glued up against her side, his chest pressing into her arm, his fingers twitching against her skin like he feared she was a figment of his imagination and would fade away any moment.

"Baby…"

"Why're you here?" (Y/n) couldn't hide the pain from her voice and she couldn't stop her eyes from welling up with tears when Jim flinched against her. He squeezed her thigh tighter, shifting his hand up higher, testing the waters to see if she would throw away his touch or not.

"You shouldn't be here, you should be at home-"

"Not while she's there." (Y/n) didn't want to stay with Chris, she didn't want to impose on her friend, but Chris had more than welcomed her to stay.

She was the one who told (Y/n) she couldn't go home until Jim realised just what his mother was doing. The whole team knew how crazed Karen was becoming and they understood that (Y/n) was being targeted, she wasn't losing her mind or imagining anything or overreacting. Chris told (Y/n) to stay with her as long as she needed until things settled down and Karen was sorted out.

"Baby, come home. I've talked to mum, properly, I swear, it's sorted now."

(Y/n) wanted to believe him, she really did. She wanted to let herself sink into his touch and the way his lips were feathering across her neck, feeling her in without having to do much at all. But if Jim was just saying this to get her to come home, (Y/n) couldn't do that. She had to know that he was taking her seriously and he would listen if anything else happened.

"You didn't listen to me, Jim. She called me hormonal, and you agreed." Tears welled up in her eyes as she gripped his chin and tilted his head away from her neck so they were face to face. "I can't come home if you won't take me seriously."

"I'm looking at flats."

"What?"

His words sent shivers running up and down (Y/n)'s spine and she couldn't help but lean away from him. What on Earth did that mean? Was he truly believing his mum over her? Was this it? Had Karen well and truly got in the way of their marriage like she strived to do?

"Mum staying with us was- is, temporary. I'm trying to find her a place of her own, somewhere nearby. Then she's still close to home, but we have our own space again, just you, me and our girl."

His mum living with them had never been a permanent thing. Jim only agreed because his mum needed a place secured or else they wouldn't approve her for parole. She had to have that security and Jim couldn't let her rot inside a day longer. But he had always had the intention of helping his mum find her own place.

It wasn't healthy for her to be living with them and be so attached to Jim and he and (Y/n) needed their own space now they were extending their family. He was trying to get his mum a place of her own as soon as he could so they could all have a better, healthier relationship together.

When he shifted his hand up from (Y/n)'s thigh to trace her bump, (Y/n) couldn't help the tear that slid down her face.

He could feel her resolve melting away when he started to trace designs across her stomach with his fingertip.

Five days had started to feel like five weeks away from (Y/n) and all the team knew something had been up. Chris was the only one who knew the details, but all of them saw how tightly strung up Jim had been. He felt like he had been having withdrawel symptoms when he came home to an empty bed and he couldn't have his arms around (Y/n) or his hand on her stomach.

"Come home." Jim didn't take his hand away from her stomach, but the way his nose twitched and his lips drew to one side told (Y/n) he was one minute away from crying.

She saw a tear slither down his cheek when she nodded and that was all Jim needed to practically push her back into the sofa and steal a starved kiss from her.

She could feel his teeth grazing her lower lip and the way he smiled into the kiss as he took all the breath from her lungs, leaving her starving and lightheaded. He wanted both his girls to come home, he missed them more than any words could say and he wouldn't let this happen again.

He would listen next time.

***

A quiet, lulling hum filled the nursery as (Y/n) moved towards the window. She could faintly hear the music channel playing on the tv downstairs and it was loud enough for her to know what song was playing and to hum along to the music.

Her head ticked from side to side as she looked up at the window frame with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

They had decided on a pale shade of lilac for the nursery with a bleached white ceiling. The colour looked beautiful and when the sunlight hit the walls just right, (Y/n) could almost see sparkles twinkling off the walls. They had finished the second coat over the weekend while Jim was off and now (Y/n) was just adding a few more details.

They still had another three and a bit months left until their girl would be here, but Deacon had told them it was better to plan ahead and be prepared. According to him, the last few months would go by in a flash and they didn't want to be rushing about trying to sort everything at the last minute.

Grabbing the chair from the corner of the room, (Y/n) dragged it across and took her time climbing up.

Her fingers scrunched around the dusty white curtains that had a mixture of burnt orange, beige and bright pink flowers painted across them. She unclipped one end of the curtain pole and started feeding the curtain rings on.

Once these were up, the only things left to do in the nursery was to put up some shelves, assemble the crib and sort the changing table. Then they would be well and truly prepared.

"What have you said to Jimmy?"

A gasp tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she wobbled, quickly regaining her balance before she toppled off the chair.

She fed the last ring onto the pole before she glanced behind her over her shoulder.

Karen didn't look happy.

The elder woman stormed into the nursery she had barely looked at since they started decorating it. If (Y/n) had thought before that Karen wasn't interested in her grandchild, she well and truly understood now. She could see the way it started to gnaw at Jim when they had been getting things ready and Karen could barely manage a smile. Whereas everyone down at Swat was more than delighted and listened intently if Jim ever talked about the baby.

"Excuse me?" (Y/n) took a deep breath to steady herself for the upcoming argument and she pressed her hand to the wall to climb down off the chair.

She had no idea what Karen was going on about and she was sure whatever it was, Karen was blowing it out of proportion. But she just had to do this now, when Jimmy was still at work. He would be coming home around about now, why couldn't she just wait until he got back so they didn't have to argue any more?

She had promised Jim she wouldn't argue or upset (Y/n) or fight with her. (Y/n) knew she wouldn't stick to it.

"He's looking at flats. He's trying to find a flat for me, he wants me to move out before the baby comes. What have you said to him? Why are you trying to get rid of me, he's my son I've sacrificed everything for Jimmy so I can be with him now. Why do you have to get in the way?"

"Karen calm down-"

"Calm down? When you're taking my son from me?!"

(Y/n) coiled her arms to her chest and took a strangled breath when Karen grabbed the nearest object and threw it her way. Thank God it happened to be one of the teddies Chris had given them, but seeing what she had thrown only riled Karen up even more.

She reached out for one of the coat hangers on top of the chest of drawers and launched it so hard and fast (Y/n) barely had time to move.

She bit back a scream when the plastic hanger collided with the edge of the windowsil and snapped on impact.

What the Hell was she doing?

"He's my husband, I'm not taking him from you. But you… you can't think that it's normal to live with us forever? We're having a baby, things are gonna change." (Y/n) held her hands out in front of her as if trying to act peaceful as going to make a difference when her mother in law was on the warpath.

"You little hustler. You're turning my son against me and I won't have it." Karen's voice heightened until she was at the point of screaming and (Y/n) winced at her pitch and tone.

She sidestepped and slumped into the wall when Karen tossed a paintbrush her way and when she threw the paint tray to the floor, (Y/n) cowered back.

She was aiming things at her. If Karen got hold of the screwdriver set or something heavy, she could aim it just right and cause (Y/n) some real damage.

"You and that bloody baby are destroying him."

Would Karen go as far as to hurt the baby? (Y/n)'s hand moved down to her stomach at the thought and she winced, feeling the baby give out a strong kick. She had no idea if Karen would try and come over to hit her or push or slap her or toss something directly at her, but she didn't want to find out.

She was scared. Karen had killed her husband. She had been so riled up and defensive over Jim, wanting to protect him that she had shot her husband in cold blood. Of course she had her reasons, she was a battered wife protecting her only son. But now, Karen was thinking of (Y/n) and the baby as a threat. A threat to Jim.

(Y/n) needed Jim to come home. She needed to go get her phone and call him to find out if he was on his way home or not. She couldn't stay here and argue with Karen who was only getting angrier by the second. Being here with her wasn't safe for (Y/n) or her unborn baby.

"You need to stop."

She kept one hand on her stomach and held the other out towards Karen, both to try and calm her down and to keep a good distance between them both.

Pushing forward, (Y/n) quickened her steps in haste and cowered down when Karen screamed. She bolted past her, giving Karen a nudge to get her out of the doorway so (Y/n) could fly past her.

Her phone was downstairs. She had to call someone. She had to get hold of Jim or Chris or even Hondo at this point, just someone that would help and not think she was overreacting or being silly. She had to keep as much distance between her and Karen as possible.

"Where are you going? You can't do this to me and Jimmy, he's my son! You hear me, he's mine."

(Y/n) couldn't help the scream that slipped past her lips when she felt a hand smashing against her shoulder. She wasn't sure whether Karen tried to punch her or grab at her, but either way it threw her off balance and had her falling into the wall that stopped her from going down on her knees.

She flung her arm out behind her, managing to scratch her nails along Karen's arm and push her back. She had to get away from her. She had to get downstairs and either get her phone or get out the house. Karen was trying to attack her.

"Get the Hell away from me!"

"Does your girl know you've invited us all round?" A wide grin spread across Luca's face as he leaned forward and grabbed Jim by the shoulders, giving him a little shake.

He pushed down on Jim, nudging the shorter man forward while Luca practically jumped up and down behind him like an excited child. It had been a while since the whole team gathered together to hang out after work, and this was the first time they would see Jim's new home.

Luca had spent almost five months living with Jim and (Y/n) two years ago in their old apartment. They had been gracious enough to put up with him for that long and let him stay and he had loved being around two of his closest friends.

"Nope, she wants to see you all though." Jim fished his keys out his pocket while Luca continued to shake him back and forth.

He could hear Chris laughing somewhere behind them and Hondo and Deacon were close by.

They had all agreed to come over for a few drinks, and Hondo and Deacon were more than willing to help Jim set up the crib he had been having trouble with over the weekend. They knew what they were doing, Hondo was good at fixing things and Deacon had four kids, he had done this before. Luca was the only one who wouldn't be so good with sorting out the furniture so he would stick to sorting the music. Chris knew what she was doing, but she was here to see (Y/n) more than to do any DIY.

"Course she does, she's missed us." Hondo grinned and shimmied his back pack higher on his shoulder as Jim finally reached the front door. They watched him make a big effort to wave his hands in front of the house, showing off with a cheesy grin before he unlocked the door.

Jim had never heard a scream quite like the one that hit his ears when he walked over the threshold.

It was so perfectly timed to when he walked inside that he thought for a moment that someone was playing some sort of prank on him. Like he had stepped on a trip wire and a fake scream sounded through a megaphone.

But he knew it was real.

He knew that scream was real, and he knew exactly who it belonged to.

The clouting thud that followed had Jim shivering and backing into Luca who in turn took a step back over the threshold. None of them knew what they had walked into. Had they interrupted a break in? Had some sort of accident happened? Had they done something by walking in at this exact time?

"No!"

"Oh Jesus- someone call 911!" Luca flapped an arm behind him, hitting any of his team that he could to make them listen while his other hand fisted Jim's shirt as if to make sure he hadn't vanished or fallen down with shock.

Jim bolted forward, feeling the team close behind him but he didn't care. He wrenched out of Luca's grip and took double strides until he was five paces up the stairs.

(Y/n) had fallen.

His left arm bashed into the bannister while his right knee bent out and punctured into the wall, wedging himself in place on the stairs so he could find his balance without falling down.

His hands were quick to find her neck, his thumbs smoothing over her jaw as he tried to be as gentle as he could to tilt her head away from the bannister. Her temple had been pressing down on the wooden beam until Jim turned her so she was facing him.

"Baby? Baby, oh come on, open your eyes for me." Words flurried past his lips before he could realise what he was saying.

His fingers pressed down into her neck and he winced, hoping he wasn't hurting her when he realised the grip he had but he couldn't let go. His whole body was shaking as he looked over his wife.

She was laid in the middle of the stairs, crumpled at an odd angle. Arms bent and stuck near her waist, legs curled awkwardly with one foot pressed against the opposite wall and the other hanging off a lower step. But she wasn't moving. She wasn't opening her eyes like Jim was telling her to. She wasn't even moving her head or acknowledging him.

"She's not waking up." Panic entwined in with Jim's words and he glanced over his shoulder, tears already streaming down his face as he begged any of his team to help him. To do something to make this better, to help his wife.

But when Jim glanced up, he wished he hadn't. He wished he never bothered lifting his head because the sight he was faced with made his stomach churn and had him gagging.

Karen.

His mum. Stood at the top of the stairs, one hand stretched out for the bannister to stabilise herself while her other hand was pressed against her mouth to cover her shock. She had tears streaming down her face and Jim realised she was shaking her head like she was trying to tell him she didn't do this. She hadn't wanted any of this to happen. But the guilt was written across her face.

The look in her watering eyes, the shock that was making her tremble back and forth like a lead. The way she was backing away from the stairs with little gasps and croaks.

She had pushed her.

When Jim heard Hondo's voice, it sounded faint and distant like his leader was calling from across the street instead of the bottom of the stairs.

Hondo's hand found Jim's shoulder and he quickly and expertly climbed over Jim and (Y/n), stepping over the entwined couple on the stairs with Luca hot on his heels. The pair of them bolted up the stairs towards Karen, both so they could stop her from trying to wander away and restrain her in case she tried to lash out at any of them.

"Do something." Jim's voice was oddly low but the desperation was clear. He spat the words with venom and he leaned into Deacon until the older man could see the fright blowing up his brown orbs.

Deacon rested his hand on Jim's shoulder and knelt beside him, leaning around to try and reach out for (Y/n). He pressed his hand to her neck to check her pulse before he gently peeled back her eyelid, but her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. Only allowing them to see the whites of her eyes with prominent veins crawling across them.

"Chris we need that ambulance." He glanced at the bottom of the stairs towards Chris. She had one hand tangled in her hair, a determined look on her face and tears in her eyes. Deacon couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Chris cry. "We can't leave her here like this, we need to get her down in the recovery position. Okay?"

He didn't want to wait for an ambulance with (Y/n) in this position, she was crumpled up like a piece of paper. It was going to hurt and if she had any internal injuries, lying like this was going to make them worse.

Deacon moved to try and hold her legs but Jim was moving off a different schedule.

He was already easing (Y/n)'s head onto his shoulder and curving her arms around her waist to keep them out the way so he could lift her up. Biting his lip, Deacon helped ease (Y/n)'s legs over Jim's arm and kept a hand on Jim's back to support him standing up on the stairs.

They walked backwards, slowly easing down the stairs until they were safely in the hallway and Deacon held the back of (Y/n)'s head and her waist to help lower her down.

"Airways are clear and open, breathing is good. Pulse is high… I can't tell if she's broken anything." Deacon tilted (Y/n)'s head down just in case she got a nosebleed or she started to throw up.

He tried to check her over but he couldn't see any obvious breaks or feel any dislocations. That didn't mean her ribs weren't broken or that she didn't have any internal injuries. They needed the paramedics here. Now.

"Two minutes," Chris gripped Jim's shoulder and gave him a little shake. She had dispatch on the line. They were already relocating an ambulance and a squad car down to them. This was an emergency and they would have help soon. Chris would ring Captain Cortez and tell her the situation, they would get hold of Karen's parole officer and sort this out for Jim so he could go with (Y/n).

"What have I done?"

"Street, you couldn't-"

"S-she told me. She told me she wasn't safe here, and I- I didn't- I never… God, what have I done?"

She told him she didn't feel safe with his mum. She told him everything his mum had done and he didn't believe her. He wanted to see the best in his mum, he wanted the family he hadn't had since he was eleven. He wanted a proper, loving, caring mum in his life, not one that sent him letters from behind a secured facility. He wanted his mum to get along with his wife and be involved in her granddaughter's life.

This wasn't how it was supposed to work. This wasn't the family Jim had tried to build. He hadn't kept his family safe. He hadn't listened to (Y/n) and now both his girls were in danger.

Why didn't he listen?

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