#mom dad and their toddler in between them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pearlywritings · 1 year ago

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In father’s embrace

synopsis: HSR men as dads and what your family dynamic is like.

pairings: Blade, Gepard, Loucha, Sampo, Jing Yuan x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, implied initial mortal x immortal in Blade’s

word count: 5.2k words

a/n: Luofu Xianzhou timeline is hell, so Blade’s one is quite vague. Here’s the Genshin version!

Blade

Blade tends to say that he has no connection to his past, but that is not true and very few (mostly Kafka) know he is lying. Even with his life and death fucked up he can't simply let go of someone his heart has been always full with, of someone who he promised himself to by the altar, even if under another name, of someone, who gifted him the joy of both his previous and current life - your daughter.

The blade - a cold weapon with no feelings - should not experience being lucky, but that’s what he was, when you clutched him in your arms the first time after his return from the dead and sobbed in his chest, telling him how much you missed him, how much his little angel missed him.

Back then he should've left without a trace, maybe even coming to you in the first place was a mistake, but he just couldn't. And his resolve crumbled completely when a white-haired toddler in your arms gazed at him with the same soft eyes as yours and reached out to his face, hesitantly asking "dada?".

As much as Blade is capable - he loves you and your daughter. He is quite absent due to his involvement with the Stellaron Hunters, but you understand how important that magenta-haired woman's ability is when it comes to restraining the mara in his body. After all that's the reason why he can visit without fear of hurting you or his little girl.

Some other sacrifices had to be made - one of them was moving from the Lofu Xianzhou, but that was alright and your daughter loved her new environment. Besides, dada has been visiting more often ever since you moved! And no one really bothered or chased after you (after all, you are still registered as his wife and higher ups of Lofu know), which, you assumed, was somehow connected with a young girl that once came with Blade.

Kafka once brought up a proposition of moving you two to the Stellaron Hunters' base for Blade's easier access, but he declined. At least his loved ones should have a peaceful everyday life.

With a tired sigh the black-haired man lowers himself on a sofa in the living room of the house you two purchased to start a seemingly new life. The red-hot iron in his eyes disappears behind the heavy eyelids and for a moment Blade allows himself to relax. The little wonder, that is his daughter, ran to your bedroom to fetch some hair accessories, after you encouraged your husband to let her style his long locks.

He doesn’t move when you sit next to him, hip to hip and heart to heart. He welcomes your sneaking fingers, curling his, creating a secure lock of hands. The weight of your head resting on his shoulder is grounding and he can’t help but press his cheek against it.

It’s soothingly silent.

It almost reminds him of the past.

“For how long will you be staying this time?

Even your question, spoken in a tender, understanding voice, is familiar. You used to ask him the same thing in-between his Cloud Quintet-related missions.

These days it’s difficult to sneak and see you during breaks though.

“Fifteen days,” his breath is even, and eyes are still shut, but he senses a smile that tugs on the corners of your lips.

“That’s a lot. She will be so happy,” and he knows that you are as well.

The rapid stomping of little feet bursts into your peaceful serenity, and you simultaneously glance at the doorway. Low and behold - the soon-to-be hair stylist is proudly running into the room, tightly clutching your jewelry box with various hair pins inside.

“Dad, I practiced! Mom says I’ve been making huuuuuuge progress!”

A tiny smile touches his pale lips - it’s such a miracle that a monster like him is blessed to have the most adorable child in the whole universe. With her and you by his side, this life gets more and more bearable.

“If mom says you’ve been, then it must be the truth,” he nods, letting go of your hand - but not before giving it a little affectionate stroke with his thumb, - sliding down and onto the floor, turning his back to the girl.

Giggling excitedly, she gives you the box, which you quickly unlock, and starts looking through the many intricate pieces of jewelry (many are your beloved’s presents), until finding the perfect one.

Having his hair being touched is weird. He was aware that the white luscious locks used to draw attention, but only you were honored to run your fingers through them, and only his baby was allowed to tug on them, making her father wince. Now it’s different - she is oh so careful, brushing, collecting stray locks and braiding, not once causing him pain.

Blade sighs again, but looks at you from the corner of his eye, catching you snickering in your palm upon gazing at something that your daughter is turning his hair into. Well, that’s concerning.

But at this very moment he can’t bring himself to care. If he gets fifteen whole days before his next mission, he is going to savor this time with his family - no matter how disastrous he’s going to look by the end of it.

Gepard

A family man. So no one was surprised when in the end the leader of the Silvermane Guards ended up with three kids - two sons and a daughter. Partly it was dictated by the rules of nobles and his family among them, but ultimately it was your mutual sincere decision.

It’s obvious he is not there for many of his kids’ first times, as sometimes his duties prevail and even the Supreme Guardian cannot help it, but he really-really tries to be there as much as possible. He appreciates the videos you send him, has every single one stored in his phone’s memory and sometimes, when there is no communication, in his spare moment he replays them to remind himself that soon he’ll return home and see his kids and you.

Only one time he really fucked up because of work - during your first pregnancy you both underestimated the soon arrival of your due date and he left on a mission with his troops, reassured that he’ll be back before the day you go into labor. The snowstorm was severe and the connection was cut, so the message Serval sent him when your water broke was not delivered. His soldiers would bring to their graves the image of a deathly pale Gepard, when many hours later he checked his phone back at the base and nearly broke the screen, trying to type his sister’s number.

After that he started taking paternity leave seriously.

You do not keep in touch with his parents a lot - there were instances where they disapproved of you, but all of his siblings are always welcomed in your house and to see their nephews and niece, because they supported your relationship from the moment they met you in flesh.

Serval is an enormous help when it comes to babysitting. It’s like her part-time job honestly - you even offered to pay her, but she declined, suggesting offering her a helping hand whenever she’d need instead. Oh, and to be the first one out of all the Landau siblings (after her brother, of course) to know about the latest updates on your kids.

The kids that are adorable. All three won the ‘blue eyes’ lottery, which, given the previous generations of Landau, is not a big surprise; both boys look like Gepard, while the girl took more after you in appearance. The man really doesn’t want to play favorites, but sometimes he is just too weak for his little princess, who looks just like her mom. She is the youngest too with a pretty big age gap between her and her brothers, who were born a year apart, so there is literally no jealousy, because your sons took their father’s example and became her protectors.

Even from a 'big bad dragon' that is their aunt…

When you step inside your house and hear the kids still fussing somewhere in the rooms, involuntarily your gaze falls to the old grandfather’s clock in the foye. Almost midnight. All three should be long asleep with Serval sending you a notification of her success. Which you didn’t receive and for that reason had to cut your date short and hurry back home.

Your husband looks as concerned as you are, locking the door and straining his ears to determine what’s going on. With both your coats abandoned, you carefully step further into the house, making your way to the line of light coming from under one of the doors.

Two jaws almost kiss the floor when you see Serval lying on the floor tied and gagged with a scarf. Alone. For a moment you fear the worst.

Rushing inside, you let Gepard search the other rooms for intruders. Helping your sister-in-law to sit is no problem, but the knot behind her head is awfully tightened. In the end you manage to yank it down to free her mouth, quickly switching to the rope constricting her hands.

“Y/n, oh my god,” she gasps, finally able to speak. “Who taught your sons to tie knots like this!? I didn’t know a sixteen- and fifteen-year olds can be so strong-”

“Come again?” Stunned, you stop untying her wrists, looking at the woman with widened eyes. Your boys did what?

“My precious nephews - whom I really do not want to strangle - took the game of knights too seriously, and when - maybe a half an hour ago? - I decided to play the dragon who was stealing the princess - my niece of three years, - they attacked and tied me!”

“Huh…” is all you can say, feeling relief wash over you. At least there are no burglars or kidnappers and your kids are safe.

When, listening Serval’s huffs of complaints, you move to untie her legs, the heavy steps of your husband are heard in the hallway, accompanied by the boys whining and begging their dad not to come to the living room, because the dragon would eat their sister.

His tall figure appears in the doorway, with your daughter in his arms, looking very sleepy, and two almost carbon copies of their dad pulling at his jacket to give them their sister back.

“Serval, what in blazes have you told them?” The judging tone and the squint of his blue eyes are directed at his elder sibling.

“It was just a game, Geppie! A silly game they turned into reality.”

“Aunt said she’d eat her,” your oldest pouts, eyeing her cautiously. “And she told us stories about the cannibals the other night-”

“Serval, you what?”

“Hey, they asked me to! Oh, thanks, Y/n,” she shrugs the loosened rope off of her. “Where did you even get this?”

“Aunt Lynx gave us,” the second son chirps, hugging Gepard’s side. “She showed us how to do knots.”

“This little-”

Suddenly you feel a headache coming. With big family come big challenges, but something of this caliber hasn’t happened in a while. It makes you smile though - you almost forgot what it was like - to raise two boys. Seems like your girl brings the borderline naughtiest out of them.

Loucha

To begin with it's worth mentioning that your and Loucha's marriage started as an unpredictable necessity. You both needed to enter the world that allowed only married foreigners' access. So, quickly figuring that your goal matches, you got married on a neighboring planet, spent a month there to make the marriage more believable in the sense of its duration and learning more about each other. Yeah, all of that just to fulfill your respectful jobs. You invented and rehearsed all the possible answers to the questions, perfected your affectionate act and were actually feeling quite comfortable around each other.

It was almost funny, when on the 'how many kids do you plan to have?' Loucha confidently answered 'two', and a couple of years later your first son was born, and then, after 7 more years, another one was too.

Admittedly, the oldest one was kind of unplanned, but at that point you traveled so much together, shared so many memories, even ended up caring for each other on a lover-like level, that you decided to give it a shot, just like you did with the continuation of your marriage.

And Loucha couldn't be more pleased. Surprisingly, he found the peace of those first years he spent settled down to raise your boy delightful. And there was something exciting about having a little wonder with a perfect mix of both of your features in your arms, as your husband's hand is resting on the small of your back, leading you through the crowds of the new planet's lively market, as the child's eyes shine with marvel, taking in his surroundings.

When Loucha suggested having another one it simply felt right.

Your sons are so lucky in the sense of seeing the universe, because their father is a traveling merchant. Sure, he doesn't always take you and your two boys with him, but whenever his deal allows him enough freedom and your kids are doing great in school and can be taken on a little vacation - you three are going with him.

Usually he gets to take care of the youngest one, since only Loucha's vast knowledge can satisfy his curiosity, while the oldest one calmly walks hand in hand with you, content with listening to their conversation and pointing out to you the things he already knows himself, receiving a soft praise from you and an approving nod from his father.

Back home the roles reverse - the oldest is spending most of his time with Loucha to learn all about medicine and healing techniques, while the youngest is more interested in sharing your hobbies.

The two hardly ever quarrel as siblings tend to do, and it must be because of the overall serene atmosphere of your family dynamic, your soft nature and your husband's tranquil behavior.

More than a decade ago Loucha wouldn't have imagined himself with a wife and kids. Nowadays, however, he doesn't like the thought of not having the three of you by his side.

It is a quiet afternoon. A little house you rented for a little vacation has a nice yard - perfect for the kids to have fun outside. You occasionally glance at them from the window of the kitchen to make sure everything is fine, while your hands never stop moving - washing, cutting, stirring.

At some point you are so caught in the moment of tranquility, that you do not hear your husband walking in, until he softly hums to alert you of his presence, and puts his palms on your waist.

“Smells delicious,” you smile, feeling his chin on your shoulder, and grab a piece of a tangerine you are meaning to use for dessert, offering it to him.

“Mhm, I am trying to cook what we had yesterday at that restaurant.”

Ah, right, the restaurant the kids enjoyed. He remembers how you sneaked to the kitchen and came back with a little less credits, but with new recipes and an excited smile on your face.

“Hopefully my rendition will be to our boys’ liking. And don’t think I forgot about you - those Loufu Xianzhou-style noodles are already on their way!”

“So thoughtful of you, darling,” his silky voice caresses your ear and not a second later a kiss is pressed to your cheek. “Do you need any help?”

“Weren’t you busy?” You decide to clarify, clearly recounting how he locked himself in one of the rooms earlier that day to test something. To your question Loucha shakes his head.

“All done already. And I missed you and the kids.”

“Then go and play with them,” you urge, turning to face him to offer a sweet smile. “I’ll handle it here, but the boys could use some quality time with their father.”

“You say that as if they didn’t drag us all around the city yesterday and then climb into our bed and refuse to leave.”

“I mean, it’s the first time in two months they properly see you. That last deal of yours was exceptionally time-consuming.”

“You kept me updated on them so well and those video calls we had… it didn’t even feel like I ever left.”

You only huff and return your gaze to the stove, yet leaning into his chest a little. For a minute it’s quiet, and the man is taking his time before parting from you. That is until he takes a deep inhale and nuzzles his face in your neck.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“What for, handsome?” There is that teasing lilt in your voice he came to love. Over the course of your lives together he discovered many things to love you for, and if not for that desperate decision to get married - he thinks he’d hardly ever feel the same about his life.

“For everything.”

He leaves your side with a kiss on your shoulder and the next time you glance out of the window again - he is already there, hoisting his youngest in one arm and chasing after the oldest one with his hair swaying in the gentle wind. And your heart is at peace.

Sampo

In all his life Sampo has managed to never impregnate a single woman and he considers that a success. For all the crap people speak about him Sampo is not an idiot, even though he acts like a fool at times. He is extremely self-aware and bringing a child to this world is probably the last thing on his list.

But no one said anything about someone else’s child, right?

Your and Sampo’s relationship is… strange, not going to lie. One evening you happened to help a scared woman to escape from some drunkards (whom you lately found out were the Silvermane Guards, sober and on duty), only for the long wig to slip and the heavy coat to slide down, revealing shortly cut but nicely styled hair and obviously male broad shoulders. The only thing the man managed to get out was a sheepish “hehe”.

And boy did that “hehe” change your life.

That day Sampo Koski got off the hook, since you didn’t comment anyhow and just let him go, which, given you were an overworlder, he found intriguing. So he dug a little bit, out of pure curiosity. Besides, this man didn't like staying in debt to someone and he needed information to see how he could pay you back.

That’s when he found out you were a single mother. An opera singer, but divorced and with full custody over a six-year old daughter.

And honestly, he didn’t give it much thought at first. He simply arranged a nice bouquet of red roses for you, paid Natasha a little for a handmade plushie and left it all at the door steps with a ‘thank you’ note.

Until a couple of weeks ago, disguised again, he didn’t stumble into a group of kids obviously bullying a little girl, mocking her for not having a father, and throwing something among themselves that she tried to catch. And he recognized the toy. And one glance was enough to see how much she looked like the woman he met only once. And against his better judgment Sampo walked to the children, easily snatching the toy and effectively scaring everyone off. Only with that little girl still being there, eyes full of unshed tears and fingers digging in the skirt of her pretty dress.

That tiny ‘thank you’ when he handed the plushie back to her and she hugged it tightly to her chest made the conman’s heart clench, and for the second time that day he sent his plans to hell, keeping her company near the house you lived in until you arrived from work.

That day he learned many things - how much your daughter loved the toy and what a sweet little thing she was, how tired a person can look and how much a throat can hurt from the whole day of singing during rehearsals, how nice a home-made dinner can be once you are invited, but most importantly - how even such a damned man like him can be gazed upon with gratitude and not from one, but two people.

From that day many other instances happened, but in the end he just stuck around. It was strange, it was new, but in a sense it was comforting, especially when you would come home - on Friday, for example, - and he’d be there, entertaining your daughter and then greeting you with a smile and a silly wave of his hand.

You don’t have a husband, and your daughter doesn’t have a father - but with his presence Sampo Koski manages to fill those voids even if a little bit.

Aeons you love days off. A morning to finally sleep in and do not run around like crazy in attempts to get yourself and your kid ready. Even breakfast wasn’t on you today, because the ‘silly man’ stayed the night and told you to get your sleep, assuring you with that confident puff of his chest that the Sampo Koski would offer you his best service, which effectively made you giggle.

Tonight he even cuddled with you, letting you bury your face in his neck and be a little vulnerable in the arms of a man with whom you had the most peculiar relationship ever. But after such equally peculiar moments you really start thinking of suggesting moving from the couch in the living room to your bedroom permanently. It’s been months already, who would’ve thought.

Barefoot and not even glancing at the robe on the chair near the window you leave the room, rubbing at your eyes and brushing your hair away from your face. You are craving the cup of your morning drink, and so you let your legs carry you to the kitchen at first. However two voices coming from your wardrobe room instantly peak your interest and make you halt in your walking. What on earth could your daughter and your clown of a man be doing there?

And soon enough you find it out.

“Sit still, please!” The girl begs with an eye shadow palette in one tiny hand and a huge brush in the other. “It’ll smudge if you keep turning to the mirror!”

“Just can’t wait to see how beautiful I am, princess, ‘s all~”

There, on the floor among the rows of your clothes and shelves with beauty products and accessories, none other than Sampo is sitting, willingly offering his face to your daughter’s practice of applying makeup. And gods he looks absolutely hilarious.

But that’s not what exactly concerns you.

“Is that my dress?” You point at the red shimmery thing snuggly sitting on the man in front of you and that’s when the two notice you.

“Yes, mommy!”

“Say I pulled it off, right?” With a smirk the green-eyed menace winks at you and it looks even worse with poorly done lashes. You have to stifle your laughter. “Though I must admit, we had to keep it unzipped - my chest appeared to be bigger than yours-”

And that’s when you regret not bringing slippers with you - one flying in his head would be of great help.

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Nuh, sweet thing, you love me!”

“Well,” you step closer, grabbing a tissue to try and fix at least the overly bright blush on his cheeks, “maybe. Maybe I actually do.”

Suddenly Sampo is tongue-tied and silent, trying very hard to fight off the stupid grin forcing its way onto his face. But with thoroughly smeared red lipstick on his mouth it looks so damn comical.

“Mom, do you think pa looks pretty?” Your daughter hopefully asks, putting aside her tools, and that little two-letter word doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you. You feel a real blush burning under your deft fingers.

“Yes, sweety, Pa-mpo looks very pretty,” his head whips in your direction like you’ve just told him to go and surrender to the Belobog’s esteemed order keepers.

“...Pa-mpo?”

“Would you prefer Da-mpo instead?” Cocking your head in question, you smirk at him, relishing in the pout he is wearing at the moment. “Or maybe Sam-pa?”

“No, thank you very much,” he huffs. “Little princess called me ‘pa’, so be nice and respect it.”

And now it is you who is surprised. You haven’t really discussed with Sampo who he was to your daughter, and who she was to him - but if he is making this step of acknowledging the matter, then who are you to spoil it? Who knows, maybe things will work out quite pleasantly in the end.

“Alright, pa, I will respect that.”

“Hey! For you I am your precious popo baby, a koskiss to your lips, the love of your-”

“Don’t even dream of it.”

Jing Yuan

Yanqing would be enough of an answer to the kid question, but it is not. Sure, his young disciple is practically a son to the General, but it doesn't mean the man doesn't want his own children.

He does and he has. On multiple occasions Jing Yuan's subordinates walked in on him with a small figure sitting in his lap or perched on his strong arm, observing what the dad's been up to with his plans and documents. You scolded your husband for this many times, but the bastard only smiles and keeps stealing his daughter to work to keep him company. Or she sneaks on her own - that caused you many almost heart attacks when she was no older than a couple of decades.

For Jing Yuan it’s all good though - he gets to spend time with his baby and have you inevitably join him in search for your adventurous child.

The General has a separate folder for all the pictures of his daughter on his phone - every single one he takes and every single one you send him when he couldn’t bring his girl to some of his meetings (yet he really tried, until you put your foot down and saved many of his subordinates from the prolonging of said meetings). Even the background, hidden from prying eyes behind the passcode of your and her birthdays, is his little one, cradled in your arms, as the two of you are watching kites flying in the sky.

Yanqing at first was set on treating her with the same respect he does his mentor and you, his wife, but you quickly put an end to it, basically turning the boy into her older brother. He didn’t mind at all - if anything he is sometimes way too eager to push the two of you to go on a date so he can babysit. Often you would return to the two fast asleep either on the girl’s bed or cuddled to Mimi with toys scattered and at least two books lying on the floor. The huge lion adores the girl - sometimes you feel like it thinks of her as its own cub, and the thick mane of hair your daughter got from her father does not help.

And it appeared to be as eager to steal your daughter from you as your husband is…

“Y/n!” You practically jump when the doors to your bedroom fly open and Jing Yuan bursts inside. Immediately you notice his disheveled state - hair down and a mess, the robe he wore this morning for comfortable work in his home office is falling off one of his shoulders and a shoe is missing from his foot.

“Aeons, Yuan, don’t scare me like that,” you put a comb down on your vanity table and fully turn to face him. “What happened?”

“Is our precious baby with you?” He steps further into the room and starts looking around frantically. Okay, now that got worrisome.

“No? You took her earlier this afternoon after lunch to play in your study while you work. Have you really forgotten that? My love, you are getting old.”

You hear clearly as he curses under his breath, raking thick fingers through his hair. The golden eyes look at you and in them you spot a flicker of anxiety.

“...Jing Yuan, don’t tell me that you managed to lose our daughter.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” he winces at the full name usage, watching you rise from your seat and quickly approach him. “She was right by my side, watching the animal videos on my phone, but then I got immersed in the latest reports from the Sky-Faring Commission and when I finished whose - she was gone!”

“Uh, want me to call your phone? Maybe she still has it.”

To that he puts a hand in the robe’s pocket and brings out his device. Oh god.

“It was lying on the floor, still playing videos.”

“Okay, deep breaths,” you are not sure if you are telling it to him or to yourself, but you too take an inhale, meanwhile busying your hands with adjusting his clothes. “Even buried in work you’d still notice if a human sneaked in, right?” He nods. “And you’d notice if she left - she would’ve warned you about that.” He nods again, lips pursed and eyes staring at one point. “Yanqing is not as skilled to come unannounced and take her, and he wouldn’t do it without your permission, so-”

“Wait,” his hand catches yours and realization flashes in his features. “Mimi came.”

“...Mimi?” Before you can ask him to elaborate, your husband turns around and rushes out of the bedroom. Concerned and a little bit intrigued, you quickly follow.

In one of the rooms of your huge house the two of you finally find the lion, and Jing Yuan almost drops on the floor in relief when his girl is spotted in the animal’s embrace.

“Is she…sleeping?” You ask, glancing from behind his broad back.

“It appears so. Hey, Mimi,” the maned head lifts, two ambers taking in your appearances and a pleased huff is let out through the nose upon recognition.

“Well, my dear,” you pat his shoulder, shaking your head, “it appears that people were right - like the owner, like the pet. Congratulations, your lion took your habit of stealing our daughter to heart. Good luck prying her from it.”

“You say it like it’s something hard to do,” there it is, a confident smile is back on his face as he strides closer to the animal, ready to bend down and get his girl. Only for that lift of the corners of his lips to be gone when Mimi growls at him in a warning and shields your daughter’s little body with its head.

You only smirk and leave the scene to go and get your phone - there is no way you are not filming your husband dealing with the consequences of his own behavior.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #blade x fem!reader #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x fem!reader #loucha x reader #loucha x fem!reader #sampo x reader #sampo koski x reader #sampo x fem!reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x fem!reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff

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haikyu-mp4 · 2 months ago

Text

Welcomed mess

Your daughter's bedtime routine with dad Sakusa, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @act-nat-ural. word count; 344 – f!reader

Sakusa’s nose scrunched as he scrubbed away at his toddler while also trying to make her stay seated in the tub. The girl giggled wildly, and after trying to make her sit still and not splash him for too long, he finally sighed and sat back, looking his daughter in the eyes and lifting an eyebrow. “I thought we were a team.”

“Mama,” the girl cooed, making grabby hands at him.

A small smile crept its way between the frown lines and settled on his mouth. “Your mom’s out with her friends tonight, Gremlin.” He leaned back over the tub, carefully lifting her arms one at a time to scrub under them while she babbled.

The smile got stuck as he looked at the tiny mixture of him and you with adoration.

“Yeah, I miss her too,” he answered her as if what she said had any coherence. “But it’s just us tonight and I’m just as capable of getting you to bed without making a mess.”

He was not as confident 15 minutes later, after drying her off and getting to brushing her teeth, only to watch as she spit out any toothpaste and clapped her hands at the white art on his t-shirt.

“You’re a true artist.” Maybe he should have done the bath last.

Eventually, tiny Sakusa was dressed in pyjamas and lay in her bed, which resembled something Goldilocks would deem a little too small.

Her dad sat on a little stool beside her, stroking her cheek with heart eyes as hers started to fall closed. When you first got pregnant, Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he was ready, but nothing could have prepared him for the protective love he felt when he finally met his daughter. Despite wanting to keep everything clean for most of his life, she was a welcomed mess (but if anyone asked, she got that from you).

“I love you so much,” he whispered before finally getting up, throwing one last look over his shoulder to check the baby monitor was on before leaving the room.

masterlist

for the requester: thank you for another great request!! sorry it's a little short this time<3

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rafeandonlyrafe · 10 months ago

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pink unicorn

inspired by this adorable video of drew

words: 600

warnings: dad!rafe, mom!reader, very soft and fluffy

“rafe.” you sigh, rubbing your forehead with your fingertips, eyes flicking between his hunched over frame and your daughter. “she doesn't even want it anymore! she's moved on.”

you watch as rosie occupies herself with your phone, giggling every time she presses the button to turn the screen on and off, looking at the picture of herself and rafe on your lock screen.

“she said she wanted it, im going to get it.” rafe grunts, putting more coins into the claw machine. he tries for a fifth time to get the pink unicorn stuffie that your three year old became obsessed with having for an entire minute before moving on to the next sparkly thing.

“baby, come on.” you groan. you knew when you married him that rafe was stubborn, thankfully it didn't rub off on your daughter, who is the happiest and most agreeable little girl you've ever seen.

“my princess deserves whatever she wants, including this stupid-” rafe jerks the claw machine “fucking- stuffie.”

he groans when the claw machine grips the unicorn, only for it to fall before he can navigate it back to the shoot.

“rafey, please. you've been at this for like five minutes. we can just buy her a unicorn stuffie.” you don't point out that she already owns probably twenty similar ones.

“one more try.” rafe glances at your daughter, frowning when she really is completely disinterested in the toy.

“okay. then can we keep going?” you question. you were supposed to be walking around the mall to look for a present for a birthday party rosie got invited to, of course also getting distracted by everything along the way, rafe bending to whatever store rosie wanted to go into, whether it was candy or video games, anything bright that looked exciting.

“mama.” rosie whines, your phone now sitting on the floor.

“come here, baby.” you pick rosie up, grabbing your phone at the same time and slotting it into your pocket. some people try to tell you not to baby your toddler so much, but you love being able to carry her around and keep her close, dreading the day that she's too big for you to lift easily.

“daddy, wheres my unicorn?” she pouts as the claw drops the stuffed animal again. rafe just gives you a look as he loads more coins in.

“for real, babe, last try or we are going to the toy store and leaving you here.” you know rosie is just going to find a million things she wants inside of the toy store anyways, probably another five pink unicorns.

rafe nods, concentration overtaking his features. rosie cheers him on from your arms as he hooks the unicorn around the center, claw raising up and bringing it over to the shoot. it falls perfectly down, both rosie and rafe shouting in excitement.

rafe gets the pink unicorn out, holding it out for your daughter to hug into her little arms. “thank you daddy!”

“anything for you my little princess, come here.” rafe opens his arms as rosie practically launches herself from you to snuggle into his chest.

“i wanna introduce pinky to my other unicorns.” she babbes about having a big tea party as rafe glows just looking at her.

“of course.” rafe nods. “let's go home right now so me you and pinky can play together.” you don't point out how all of rosies pink toys share the same name.

“babe!” you call out, following rafe out of the mall towards the exit. “we still haven't gotten our gift!”

“ill order it on amazon!” he calls out as you catch up to him and his long strides.

“come on, mommy, i wanna play.” rosie pouts, face mimicking her expression with big pleading eyes.

“fine.” you sigh, unable to say no to either of them. “but you have to clean up your tea party when it's over!”

“yesss!” rafe pumps his fist in the air, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips.

“and no real food! you’ll spoil your supper!”

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grapejuicestyless · 3 months ago

Text

Leader Of The Landslide

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: John B was always your dad’s favorite. You always assumed it was because he blamed your mother leaving on you. Though he never outwardly neglected you, you always seemed to live in your older brother’s shadow. To everyone except one.

I remembered it from a young age, as early as seven, the way they all shunned me. My mother had been long gone, and my tired brain hadn’t held a single warm memory of her other than one.

We were at the chateau, as my dad called it, sitting on the old porch. Only, it wasn’t old then, it was new, and without the cigarette buds littering the once vibrant oak. There was an old wicker chair in the corner, pushed where the dusty couch now lay. It rocked slightly, not because it was meant to, but because it was broken. The distant memory of mumbled yelling and crashing from outside. Arguments that kept me and John B hidden under his covers until daylight broke. I loved that chair.

When I was young, my mom used to hold me in that chair. She never thought I was too old to be held, to be doted on by my mother. I still called her “mama” in my toddler years, pawing at the ends of her hair and the old fabric of her shirt. She sang soft melodies to me, songs I had never committed to memory, but songs I found in the simple things I enjoy now.

Popes dad says I had her eyes, and John B once told me that our dad thought I had her laugh. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me, he tells me he loves me, but he doesn’t like me.

Right before she left, I had been padding along the grain of the wood floors, my blanket dragging between my legs and my dad’s shirt were my makeshift pajamas hanging down to my ankles. A storm, ones we got often in the summertime as the air became warmer and pushed out the cold, had broken down a few large branches in the yard, and in an effort to find comfort, I ran to my mama.

“You favor that girl over our son!” My dad shouted, his voice thick with a simmering anger I had never heard before. I swore even then I could feel it through the walls.

“How dare you! They are my babies! I love those kids more than anything I have ever loved, and I love them just the same!” My mama argued, but her voice was softer, more conscious of her young ones who she believed were tucked into bed just a few feet away.

“I should have known you would have been this way. You haven’t seen them the same since they were born.” My mama added softly, her words bitter and heavy with an unspoken truth.

There was a heavy silence, and then, a crack. I wasn’t sure what it was, the sound of rings hitting skin and the soft clanking of another hitting the ground. I ran quietly, light on my feet as soon as the collision happened, crawling over to John B’s bed and pulling the sheets up to my chin. He didn’t even stir, so used to the feeling of my legs curling against his, expecting to wake up nose to nose when the sun would shine through his thin curtains. The arguments happened so often, it became rare that he wouldn’t wake up with me tucked into bed beside him, a nervous wreck and furrowed brows.

That was the last time I saw my mother, or heard her voice. I hadn’t known it then, but the way my father seemed distant that morning told me it was more than one of the usual fights. She wouldn’t be walking through that door again in a few days like she sometimes would, and she would never sing to me again.

I remember laying out across that old chair, pulling my small knees to my chest. Her perfume lingered on the cushion tied around the back, and her voice was carried over the breeze. She wasn’t coming back, and the pain in my father’s eyes and the churning of his stomach told me that much.

A few days later, dad called my brother and I into the living room to tell us how mama had skipped town, set off for a better life. I could tell they both blamed her, bother hated her secretly for it almost instantly, and being so young and impressionable, I nearly agreed, I nearly believed it. But I saw the way my father spoke to her and the way he had the ability to make her snap back. She deserved that life my father said she was chasing, even if deep down I knew it was a lie.

I never told my brother that dad was lying, though sometimes I did whisper it in his sleep like a prayer, like my truth would reach his dreams and taint his false sense into seeing whats real. But even as a little kid I wasn’t innocent enough to blabber on about how horrible our last living parent was. Especially not when our dad was to John B as what our mother was to me.

The chair was gone soon after, and my dad refused to tell me where he’d thrown it. At first I thought he had broken it, but he was a sensible man at times, and the extra cash lying around the kitchen told me he had sold it, and he had killed her memory too.

Years later, with barely any recollection of who she was, and lacking the foundations of which she should have built for me, sometimes I found myself curled up in that corner, my knees pulled to my chest tightly in the same ball I wound myself in all those years ago, and sometimes I found myself still calling out for her, like if she had heard how much I still needed her, she would sing for me one last time.

But I am much older now, and it has dawned on me repeatedly like some sick prayer that I am too old to be held, to be shown the affection of a mother and her infant, and I have been since the day she left.

Early mornings and stained glass windows, not from paints, but mold. Old rotten wood and dusty broken furniture. A safe haven to call home, a quiet room on the heart of the cut. My brother and I often pulled out patches of grass in the backyard, and sometimes we’d sit together on the hammock, see how high we could swing and loop our fingers around the rope to hold on.

Dad would sit inside, sometimes by the kitchen window where he could look out and watch over us, but he mainly spent his time inside of his office, which had at one point, been moms bedroom.

He used to leaning over the dirty counters, feeling the sun on his skin, letting the gentle breeze cool the back of his neck. But dad loved a lot of things, and unlike mom, he lacked a discreet touch about those things.

I guess it could be traced back to when my brother and I had just turned eight. A week after the party had rolled over, and glasses kept piling up around the house, sticky and stained a faint brown from his favorite cheap whiskey. Sometimes I tried to clean them up, and I would place them in the sink, but the colors never faded, not even after my small palms would bleed and callous.

Once, John B asked me what I was doing. He had been playing outside with Pope and JJ, and JJ had been screaming for me to come outside and be his partner in ‘signs’, our favorite childhood card game. Though, JJ and I often lost because we too, lacked the ability to be discreet in any situation.

I told him I’d be out soon, I was just doing the dishes and I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face. The usually happy, calm man looked down at his feet with something I’ve later identified embarrassment. I never blamed dad for drinking. I figured if mom leaving was still hard on me after all this time, it must have been hard for him too.

He began using his coffee mug after that. The dark liquid less shameful in a cup that gave him the ability to not only disguise his problem, but to commit it at any time of day, because John B was too oblivious to notice, and I was too naive to believe he would.

“Bird.” Dad called for John B in the backyard, not caring how Pope and I were arguing nonsensical things over each other, waving our arms and pointing fingers. JJ happily mediated, laughing at our schoolyard taunts and remarks, encouraging us to snap back, though we all knew our words were nothing more than that, and we all loved each other a great deal too much to mean any of it.

If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own thoughts, maybe I would’ve seen the way dad was swaying. The way his knuckles were white around the frame of the door. His glasses were crooked, and his breath rotten with substances. But I didn’t notice, and so little John B happily walked towards our father with open arms.

Dad hugged him. He hugged his son and held back his tears like it was the most beautiful moment he could ever dream of. He held John B like he was precious, and not to deny that he wasn’t, to me my brother was worth more than anything in the world, but to my dad, it was something more than that, and to me, it felt that way too.

Because dad never held me, his daughter, who cleaned his dishes, and covered his tracks, and lied, and stole, and cried out for him, for some peace. He never hugged me like that. Because he blamed me.

He blamed me for my mother leaving because unlike my mother, he could never love my brother and I the same. He couldn’t love two of something if he barely wanted one. He never hit me, but he was cold, calculated, cruel when he wanted to be.

That day, at just eight years old, I sat in the grass with dirt under my nails and heavy breaths wondering would it would be like to feel the warmth of my father. Would it solve all my problems or only tear me apart further.

Because maybe if I continued to never feel the embrace of the man who gave me life, it would be easier to disassociate and pretend that it didn’t hurt. Maybe it would be easier to not like him anymore, and the unbearable guilt I carried even as an eight year old, would go away finally.

I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t fighting Pope anymore, or how my gaze had drifted over to watch how tenderly my dad held onto my brother, because I couldn’t even feel the way tears burned into my skin in slow droplets that fell into my lap.

JJ hugged me then, and it felt special, I felt special, because I knew even at that age that affection was a rarity in my life, and JJ, as much as I knew he loved me, was not a physical person. Still, he held me from behind while Pope spewed out apologies, swearing on everything he believed that he hadn’t meant a word. I could tell that he too, felt confused because we had gone after each other multiple times and never had I broken down.

In that moment it felt like I had gained something more than a hug from my father, but a silent acceptance with my best friends. Because soon, even Pope shut up and looked to where JJ’s eyes were glued, and even as flustered as he had been, everyone who sat in the dirt that day understood that no words that were thrown around had ever hurt me, nor did they even reach me, because what had made me so inconsolable was the fact that my happy brother received all the praise while I laid out in the lawn, crying until I dry heaved, ignored by someone who I only ever wanted love from.

“It’s gonna be alright, Y/n/n.” JJ mumbled quietly into my ear, and for the first time, I didn’t believe a word he said.

“Dad, dad stop.” I defended myself for the first time when I was thirteen. I was only half his height and he was triple my age. I thought that somehow, if I stopped enabling his behavior, he would get better. He would see how much I cared and he would finally love me.

That was the first time dad yelled at me, really yelled at me.

My dad refused to lay a hand on me, so when my friends ask if I was ever abused, I tell them no because it feels laughable to compare my psychological trauma to the welts on their ribs when they barely escape home.

When JJ asks me whats wrong, why my eyes look so puffy in the afternoon, after I stumble out of the house in the same clothes as the night before, I tell him I didn’t get enough sleep, because how do you tell your best friend who has been climbing through my bedroom window since we were nine that my dad hurts me too, you just can’t see it.

Dad called me a liar and a psychopath when I told him he was hurting me. He told me that it wasn’t true because he loved my brother and I and he would never lay a hand on either of us, not then and not ever. Dad says that he deserves respect, that I’m only a kid and he’s the adult so I better start acting like it. He tells me that it’s like a switch went off in my head ever since I became a teenager and all of a sudden I can’t stand him. But that’s not true.

The truth was even at such a young age, I always knew I would lay my life on the line for my dad. He meant more to me than I could ever express, because to me, he was the man who hadn’t left, even when he was given all the right reasons to bail out. So, for years I tried to cover for him, clean up and take care of everyone to show him what I could never articulate into a phrase of my affection. Still, he preferred John B’s half hearted sentiment over anything I could give him.

I wished so deeply that I was born different, that I wasn’t me. Because maybe if I wasn’t the clone of my mother, maybe then my father would like me more.

I guess the worst part of it all is that I can never be sure if my father’s anger could have been my mother’s, only given to him in her absence. Would his hands have been hers as I grew older? Would her hugs turn into the white knuckles wrapped around my throat? And would her songs become the vile words my father threw at me in drunken rage?

Maybe if I kept hiding behind the cruelties of his excuses for the way I cowered around him, then John B wouldn’t have to live in the same sense of shock I have been stuck in for a decade.

Dad never laid a hand on me, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to touch me to kick me in the stomach, all he had to do was show me how he was capable of being a loving father, but never put me on the receiving end.

He found time for John B, even as he buried himself in his work, searching for some gold that seemed far away and unimportant. He locked himself away while I slid food under the door, and I watched as he kissed my brother’s forehead and bid him goodnight, leaving me to sleep on the couch.

Even as a thirteen year old girl, an age so tender and impressionable, I felt so much more mature than I should have. I felt the effects of neglect I couldn’t wish on anyone. In my self pity, even after he gave me every reason to turn on him, I couldn’t hate him, so I began to hate myself.

“Dad, when was the first time you felt love?” John B asked one night. For the first time in a long time, we were all lying in the living room. My brother hung over my dad’s lap and my head resting on the floor as I sank off of the old dusty beanbag.

Dad thought carefully, his large hands splayed out against my brother’s small back.

“The day you were born.” He answered thoughtfully, and I watched as my brother’s eyes lit up.

I had every right to scream, to beg for an answer because the little girl trapped inside of me didn’t deserve this kind of pain from her own blood. But I didn’t. I sniffled and sat up, storming out of the house that I wasn’t even sure I could call home. How foolish I felt for ever believing my dad would ever love us the same. How stupid I felt for thinking that my brother, who inherited our fathers name, would never be preferred over my mother’s child.

“Y/n Routledge, get back inside now!” Dad yelled, storming down the porch to catch me. But I had become good at slipping away, and neglectful parents raise angry children.

“Go to hell!” It was the first time I swore at my dad. Even I shocked myself, because it had never occurred to me that I could do that.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” He asked me, and it made me want to laugh because when had I ever done anything to him that wasn’t in good faith? “Just like your mama! Storming off!” My dad cursed under his breath, not really bothering to chase after me. How easy would it have been for me to have ran away.

I could live under a tree, a big willow with drooping leaves and heavy branches. I could make friends with the squirrels and be a good mother to them, the mother I never had, but always dreamed of.

“My mama was a good woman!” I cried out, suddenly overwhelmed with my freshly made emotions, ones that felt too strong for a new teenage girl.

“You know nothing about her! She left, I’m the one who stayed!” Dad yelled, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

I did something I had never done before. In all of my life, not once had I ever blamed my dad for my mom leaving. Not even after I heard their fights from when I was no taller than the notches in the doorframes, and not after he began to spend his paychecks on alcohol instead of new shoes for John B and I. I never blamed him because he always blamed me, and if it made me feel so worthless, then how could I ever do that to him?

“I don’t blame her!” I fought back, tears burning my eyes almost as hard as the back of my throat stung. “And I don’t blame you.”

I couldn’t stay mad at dad for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t blame him, and I couldn’t lie and say I did when I didn’t. Dad didn’t say anything then, so I turned on my heels in the dirt and I stormed off.

That night, I knocked on JJ’s window. I was wearing an old Star Wars t-shirt that he once called nerdy and my rainbow pajama pants. I looked thirteen going on seven, my cupcake slippers caked in mud.

But JJ didn’t pull on my braids like my brother did when we fought, and he didn’t poke fun at my pants. He opened his window and leaned out, his messy blond hair and tired eyes adjusting to admire my face.

“Y/n/n? What happened? Why are you here?” He asked, and I could tell he sounded a little on edge. His dad used to be discreet about how he dealt with JJ, but after middle school had began, he stopped caring as JJ stuck around the same kids he grew up with. So, I stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting any trouble.

“I just missed you.” A lie. The first of many lies I would spew out to my best friend because I felt too awkward to confess my own feelings and burden him when he had it so much worse.

“Oh.” His face lit up slightly, and I could tell my words made him feel nice. “C’mon, I’ll help you in. Wouldn’t wanna lose a slipper.” He teased with a toothy grin, a smart ass from birth.

I playfully smacked his shoulder, holding my breath until my feet hit his dirty floors. He held onto my arms longer than he had to, and I wondered if he could feel my body shaking.

“Don’t make fun, okay? I like my slippers.” I smiled, blinking away the old tears that I cried on the way over, and pawing at the scrapes from the bushes I cut through to get to his house quicker.

“I would never!” He defended softly, his arms raised in a scouts honor. “Cross my heart, cupcake.”

Sometimes I wished that JJ and I were older, I thought about it often. It kept me awake after long fights with dad, that I would one day save up all the money I could scrape together and take JJ with me. We’d go around the globe, just me, him, and open ocean surrounding us, and only the scars on our skin and in our heads to remind us of the past. But we wouldn’t care, because we would be there for each other, and the ocean would wash away the evil men on the shore.

“I wish I had a more appreciative daughter!” Dad yelled at me as he packed up his things in a hurry, chasing yet another lead on his quest for the gold, a passion driven by his valiant greed.

It hurt, but it would have hurt me a lot more three years ago. At sixteen, his words meant nothing to me, because at sixteen, I had finally come to terms with the fact that my dad simply did not like me, and that was okay.

So instead of sitting in self pity, or swallowing myself whole in a another bottomless spiral of self hatred and depression, I finally found the spark that was burning so fiercely somewhere deep inside of me.

“Fuck you!” The second time I swore at dad. “Fuck you and all your promises to get better!” I stepped forward, crossing into his office, which I swore to never go in, not only because it reeked of him, but because it was only a reminder of how quickly he let mom go, and how quickly he shifted the blame onto me, an innocent infant with no real chance to do anything to anyone.

“Fuck me? Oh, fuck me? Your father? I have done everything for you! I have given you the chances my own parents couldn’t give me and you are so ungrateful! I pray for a day you wake up and see the damage you cause around here!” Dad spat, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck all your pride and fuck all your prayers!” I stepped closed again, and my knuckles pawed at his shirt desperately, my eyes looking up at my father, who stood ten times taller than me, or so it felt that way. “All this time I waited like a fool, because you’re my dad. Above anything else, before the treasure and before the alcoholic, you’re supposed to be my dad!”

“Are you drunk?” He asked. I wasn’t, but I might as well have been with how quickly my mind passed through emotions.

Here he was standing in front of me, and here I was already done processing all my grief. He wasn’t dead, I could feel each breath under the palms of my hands, yet for years it felt like walking next to a ghost with how absent and withdrawn he always was from my life.

“All I ever wanted was a father.” I told him softly. “Was that too much to ask?” I deserved to know, but I should have known better.

My dad was an asshole, and he always would be. It was in his fashion that he would brush right past me, unfeeling and lacking empathy for his own daughter.

I felt angry. Before, I felt betrayed, sad, even embarrassed by him, and by how easily I let him get away with all his faults simply because he was my father and if my brother loved him, then there had to be some good in him. But there wasn’t.

Here he was, walking out of my life, the keys to the car that I paid for in his hands, dangling just as carelessly as he was with my life. I don’t know why that set me off, but it had. I heard my feet slap against the floors before I felt myself moving.

“Give back my damn keys!” I caught up behind him, snatching the carabiner from his dirty knuckles and pushing him into the wall. He wouldn’t hit, but god, had he made me wish I could. “I paid off that loan it’s under my name!” I stuffed the clasp into my back pocket tightly.

“You wanna leave, thats fine. But you’re walking out of my life if you’re going!” I breathed out heavily, the frames on the wall rocking back and forth from the force he hit the wood with.

“What is wrong with you? Where’s my sweet little girl I used to love?” My knuckles loosened on his shirt again, but my elbows remained pressed into his stomach.

“Loved? Like you ever loved me. You couldn’t have, because you wouldn’t have taken it out on me. You wouldn’t have gotten rid of her existence in spite of me. You wouldn’t have tossed that damn chair, and you wouldn’t have burned the things she kept for me!” I wanted to cry, but more than that, I wanted him so see how exhausted I felt.

“All I wanted was a fucking father, John.”

“And you got one, and look at you, you’re a strong young woman now!” He laughed bitterly, fighting against my shaky hold. He could barely look at me. I wondered if he was asked, could he even tell a friend the color of my eyes? If I were to wash up on the shore, could he even report the body? Would my grave lay empty simply because he hadn’t known me for years, and he never would.

“I was a little girl! I was a little girl, and I still am! I’m sixteen, dad! Stop treating me like some type of problem when I’ve been nothing but great to you!” I cried this time, pushing him harder until the wood splintered and my arms gave out. We both stumbled away from each other.

“All I ever wanted was a father, but for the first time, finally I can see you are the leader of the landslide.” I scoffed pathetically, staring him down with a broken heart.

I deserved to smash all the plates in the house, to rip off all the wallpaper and spray paint the rotting white paint bright blue just in spite of my father. But even though he wasn’t kind to me, I couldn’t ignore how good of a dad he had been to John B, and more than anything I ever held close to me, I loved my brother dearly. I wiped my tears and let dad walk out on me. Neither of us said a word.

He clapped John B over the back when he got outside, promising to return soon, this time with the promise of an unpromising fortune. He swore that he loved my brother more than anything, called him by the nickname he earned long ago, and left without saying another word.

I watched wordlessly from the front steps.

We lost the gold. Once or twice. The gold we had found first was a slap to the face, but having the cross stolen right out from under us felt so much worse, especially with Pope being tied into it on such a deeper level.

We all sat around the first now, our bodies tucked close together like a perfectly woven blanket, arms tangled around each other and weak laughter echoing around the smokey fire. We didn’t have much left to fight for, but to me, I felt deeply that in a more important way, we had gotten the gold, and we had been filthy rich all along.

The gold we’d found couldn’t be measured on a scale and dealt between the seven of us evenly, but unmeasurable and sought after by anyone who understood. Because in the end, we still had each other, and to me, this was family.

JJ’s blonde hair tickled the top of my forehead. We sat close together on the low swinging hammock in the backyard. His arms wrapped around me tightly, and my legs thrown over his lap carelessly. We talked quietly with Kiara about the little things. We found alternatives to seek out her dreams of preserving the ecosystem and to swim with the turtles.

It all felt so real, so domestic for a group of friends who were always running from something. It felt like the first time in a while I had time to stop and catch my breath.

“What are you thinking about, cupcake?” The nickname rolled nicely off the tongue, his crooked smile endearing to me, and his eyes sweeter than any doe I’d ever encountered.

I sighed contently, cuddling closer to the boy and soaking up his warmth greedily. Though we both never said it would loud, it always felt nice to share close proximity with someone we trusted so deeply. To feel affection for someone when we had grown up scarcely to it.

Dad had been dead for nearly two years now, and the truth was, I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I wasn’t the sad little thirteen year old who hated herself more than anyone else, who climbed through the blondes window at midnight in her muddy slippers, and I wasn’t the timid toddler who could barely walk without tripping on her blanket she dragged around everywhere for a pathetic kind of comfort.

John B took it hard at first. I wanted so desperately to tell him everything. He was my older brother after all, but most days now I felt like it was my job to look out for him. It always had been. He was my brother and I would never have let him suffer, but sometimes it was hard not to wish for once I could selfishly struggle openly and degrade the man he saw as his hero.

It would be wrong for me to taint that image of a dead man, a man I still believed John B was openly grieving, even if he said he was okay now. You are never okay after losing someone like that, no matter how evil, and I think he forgets that he was still my father, even if he never saw us in the same context as he saw him.

“Thinking about how comfortable you are.” I mumbled, stretching my limbs out tiredly along his tanned skin. I laid like a lap dog on his chest, my head tucked under his chin and my hands playing with the rough fabric of his dirty t-shirt.

“Not about John B?” He prodded quietly. JJ always knew when the wheels in my head were turning, just like I could always tell when something was wrong. It was like our super powers, to know each other so well we couldn’t hide anything.

“He’ll come back, he wouldn’t leave you.” He assured softly, his fingers dancing gently along my curved spine. It felt like oddly in times like these, the calm after the storms, that it truly would always be just JJ and I against the world. Like we were the only two people who truly understood each other, through the laughter and under the deepest scars littering our skin.

“I know. He’s my brother, he wouldn’t do that.” I agreed, and just as I was about to let the serenity of the lazy swinging of the hammock lull me into a sleepy haze, the crunching of boots on leaves alerted me elsewhere.

There he stood, his clothes still grimy from the tropical heat and wet mud from Barbados. His hair was stuck to his forehead in the same curl pattern from a few days ago, but the deep rooted brunette seemed to become a shade of dirty blonde from all the harsh sun. His skin was tanned and covered in sweat, but he was still my brother, and he had finally come home.

I sat up quickly from JJ’s arms, pushing off of his chest with so much force, I felt him bend at the waist and let out a puff of air. I shouted an apology before wrapping my brother in a bone crushing hug, relief filling my stomach and the unease dispersing finally.

“Where have you been!” I pushed him away with a smile, I didn’t even notice the seriousness in his gaze as he called out for me softly.

“Are you crazy? Staying behind like that in a foreign country?” I laughed breathlessly, my eyes searching his face and settling on his lack of a smile.

“Y/n/n.” He called out again softly.

“What? Whats wrong?” I breathed out, my smile fading slightly into a dimmer smirk, confidence slipping from my face into a deep furrow between my brows.

“John B, what happened? Did someone hurt you…d-did-“ My happy touch became a panicked grip on his clothes, my knuckles white and face pale as I searched for answers.

“Y/n.” He cooed calmly, the ease between his eyes and brows calming the pace of my breath. “I found him.” He said with a soft smile.

“What?” I breathed out. “Who?”

I racked my brain for answers, mulling over every possible explanation for what could have made me stay behind, leave behind all the good that had surrounded him for the past few years, and the good that would continue to grow with him.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own dad?” An old voice called out from behind the brush, long greasy hair and an un-groomed bears covering a good portion of his old face. From his glasses alone I could see who it was, never mind the voice that often haunted me even in my sleep, the ghostly presence that lingered even as I slept on my own.

He was a poltergeist haunting my life, torturing my soul until I bled out completely blue. Had the punishment of forcing a child to clean up his mess for over a decade not been enough karma for all the bad I hadn’t done yet? Would I forever be stuck in the broken glass of his aftermath? How much longer would I have to hide behind the shell of who I once was just to please those who don’t yet know about who I am, of who I could have become?

I decided then I couldn’t do it, and I let go of my brother, and I let go of my pride.

“No.” I spoke softly, looking between the boys. John B looked more and more like dad every day.

I watched my brother’s face crumble in confusion, my heels dragging against the dirt, I backed away like a scared dog, no longer the eager retriever with a bird at the door. My tail was between my legs.

“Y/n/n, it’s dad!” John B gestured like it would click for me, but that was not my father. Maybe by blood, but he would never be more than that to me, just evidence that linked me back to John B.

“No, I-I can’t.” I tried to explain through staggering breaths, choking out my words like tranquilized venom.

“I know it’s a lot, but everything’s going to be the way it was.”

My back hit JJ’s chest, and for the first time in the last few seconds, the ringing that blocked out my brothers bargaining seemed to fall deaf on my ears, and all I could hear was the sound of my heart beat dying in my chest.

“No, you don’t get it.” I cried out, though my eyes felt dry. “You don’t get it and you never will!” I begged silently for him to see the way the spark seemed to die as soon as dad came back, the way that my shoulders slumped and the confident young woman I had become faded back into the teenage daughter who wished for nothing more than to run far away from here.

“Y/n, come on, don’t be like this.” Dad tried to reason, like it was his say to decide how I would handle his return, like he could decide when I stopped feeling the effects of his abuse, because that was a word I had learned to call it, because that is what it was. Abuse.

“How dare you!” I shouted, anger making my skin hot. I felt queasy, like the world was crashing down on me, betrayal hot on my face. He didn’t know, my brother didn’t know because I protected him from it.

Couldn’t he ever notice how much happier I seemed after dad left? How I finally started living for the moments between us instead of for the times when I could go to sleep, where I could quietly call out for our mother who I didn’t know.

JJ knew, of course he knew. He knew by the time dad left. I’d confessed it all in a drunken ramble in the backyard after he commented on how happy I seemed, and though I laughed when I told him, neither of us found it funny. He apologized for making me feel like my problems were minuscule compared to his, but I assured him it was my own self doubt, and never his own actions. Neglectful parents raise insecure kids.

So if my best friend had known, if he could see just how happy I was without the burden of my father’s blame, how could my other half not see it? My own DNA? It led me to believe he was neglectful of me in his own ways, pushing aside the obvious signs of my own struggle just for his own benefit, for the gain of a relationship with the father that severed ours long ago.

“How dare you come back here after all the shit you put me through!” I cried, and I hit him. I hit him in the chest and I watched as he kept his ground, his shoes not even sliding against the mud. I had grown weaker without his constant fighting, and it showed in just how quickly the flame flickered out.

“How dare you come back and expect me to just be okay with it when all you’ve given me is years of therapy that I can’t afford!” I hit him in the jaw, and this time, I felt a pair of arms pull me away, my hot tears burning their tan skin. I kicked and I screamed, and my brother dragged me off until I couldn’t reach him anymore.

“You’re a piece of shit! I owe you nothing!” I pointed at him, staring him down as he rubbed the quickly blossoming bruise on his skin, his beard covering the welt almost entirely. The mark didn’t make me feel better at all, and instead, I only felt more pathetic.

“I gave you everything!” My limbs fell limp, all fight leaving my body as my tired joints ached, my head falling onto JJ’s shoulder. The boys passed me off like some kind of child, and looking at the man who tormented me my entire youth, I felt just like the timid child once again, like all my growth meant nothing.

The bright moon was replaced with the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, clouds traded in for floral curtains that hung crooked over the windows, and the cool grass fading into hard wood beneath my feet.

“Y/n, hey…” JJ cooed, his hands brushing against my shoulders.

“I just…fuck…I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why I hit him, I don’t know, I just-“

“Y/n, cupcake, hey, baby,” he called for me again, a plethora of nicknames tumbling from his lips that I had never heard him call me before, but all that held a genuine affection in them. I stopped my senseless rambling at the tenderness of his touch and softness in his voice.

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He affirmed quietly. “You earned your anger, it’s okay.”

I nodded, my gaze drifting from just beyond his shoulder were my brother stood dumbfounded with my father, looking at him with a mix of question and anger towards the man that he once saw with stars in his eyes.

“Jay, I don’t know what to do.” I confessed quietly, feeling like we were ten again, sharing secrets through a game of telephone, just the two of us stuffed in the corner of my bedroom at midnight, my father unaware that the blonde was still in the house, let alone snuck in my room.

“That’s okay.” He nodded again, and this time his palms molded against the apples of my cheeks, thumbs brushing away my stale tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, we can run, or we can stay and kick him out, or we can do nothing.” I focused on the way he said each option with the use of we, because in our minds, we always escaped hell together.

“Can we just stay here for a little longer?” My eyes found his, and I saw the way his flickered down in a way that felt too intimate for just best friends.

“We can do whatever we want, it’s you and me against the universe, cupcake, and we’re winning it.” He promised.

And just as I always had, I believed every word he said.

#jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x you #jjmaybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jjmaybankangst #maybank #maybankxyou

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sukunas-wife · 1 year ago

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HI OML I LIVE UR WORKS THEY MAKE ME BAWL MY EYES OUT AH 😭

can you please do sukuna reader and yuji going in the caffe and yuji trying hot chocolate for the first time ?

i literally live you so much <3

🥹 ILL DO IT DO IT FOR BABY YUJI

“What the hell, why?” Sukuna eyed you suspicious of your question.

“Ryomen Sukuna-” covering your toddlers ears you gave his dad a look. “You walk around shirtless with four arms and two faces at 8 foot whatever everyday, I’m just asking you to down size and lose the second pair of arms for maybe 2 hours.”

Sukuna grumbled crossing his arms over his chest taking his son when he reached out for his dad “Shame I’m the only one who walks around shirtless in this house.” Holding Yuji on one arm the ruffled his boys hair, “What do you say brat? Do we go do whatever your mom wants or do we rip our shirts off?”

“Shirts!” Yuji screamed immediately trying to rip his shirt to copy his already shirtless dad. “That’s my boy!” Sukuna cheered him on when he managed to tear the hem slightly, “We don’t wanna go, two against one remember that parable or something you read a cord of 2 or whatever.” Sukuna turned away from your cold glare propping Yuji on his shoulder “It’s not like we really belong in public anyways.”

You huffed, looking down, sniffling, the tears burning your eyes as they start to roll and you took a shaky breath “Ryo please, I just wanted to spend some time with you and Yuji at the cafe where I first saw you. Yuji hasn’t seen the city and I just wanted one maybe two hours of your time but you won’t even do that..” your shoulders shaking as you tried to not cry, Yuji who was piggy backing on his dad’s broad shoulders pulled his hair “You made mommy cry!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes sighing heavily, “crying won’t solve your problems y/n, I said no.” Yuji pouted tugging he dad hair as if they were reigns to a horse, “daddyyy” he whined and leaned over his dads head to look at him.

Sukuna huffed before trying to gently flip his brat onto the bed “Stop you’re not helping.” Yuji giggled before running over to you, wedging his body between your knees to hug your waist, “It’s okay mommy we can still go, daddy doesn’t have too.” You sniffled rubbing Yuji’s back, “My sweet little Yuji.” Your teary eyes broke Sukuna when he finally looked at you, “FINE. Im killing anyone who gets in my way.” You smiled standing up and taking Yuji’s hand, “Good we’ll be waiting at the entrance.” You placed a quick kiss on Sukuna’s cheek and he just looked at you in disbelief, “You turned my own blood on me with your fanciful tears, disgusting.” He side eyed you as you closed the room door not hearing or seeing him smirk “What a woman.”

He stood there before calling for Uraume to come get his robes ready, he’d be needing smaller attire for the day.

❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to alter his appearance. He stood in a simple wide armed white Robe with a printed belt and plain scarf. On his shoulders was a giggling Yuji who kept reaching up to the passing branches his chubby hands smacking Sakura branches making them shake and fall. On the occasion step Sukuna would purposely shake him to make him hold tighter and scream. You’d smile watching until you got to the city, “let’s hurry! It’s just before lunch.” You hugged Sukuna’s arm, looking up at him with that damn smile, he caved “Hold on brat.”Yuji immediately gripped tightly to his dad’s hair as Sukuna hoisted you up, “I’ll make this quick.”

It felt like a breeze to before you refocused and Sukuna was already putting you down keeping Yuji on his shoulders. “Down.” Yuji bounced on his dad’s shoulders. “No, if I put you down you’re just going to run around.” You smiled at Sukuna placing a hand on his arm, “Sit down with him Ryo I’ll do everything else.” Sukuna looked at you with his usual resting face that looked like a frown, Yuji unknowingly matting his dad’s hair while he played with it. Sukuna caved leaving your side to sit in a corner booth away from everyone, he crossed his arms over his chest after he put Yuji down to sit next to him. Yuji smacked his hands on the table “daddy!” “Hm.” Looking down at his son “That’s man’s talking to mommy!” He stood up in the bench one chubby hand smacked on the table the other chubby finger pointing at a man talking to you, “That’s the cashier brat.” “…. oh…. WHAT ABOUT HIM!” He pointed to man who was now talking to you, you had a forced smile and almost a sympathetic look, “Go bite him.”

There went Yuji throwing himself under the table running to fight his dad’s battles, “for daddy!” Was all you heard before you watched the man in front of you yelp and shake his leg, looking down you saw Yuji clinging to the man’s pant, jaw locked on his thigh almost growling. “Yuji.” You forced back your smile coughing to cover a laugh. “Baby let go.” He side eyed you when you grabbed his sides and he let go, standing up you held Yuji’s hand, “Like I said this is my son and that’s my husband.” The man turned to find Sukuna staring at hin with more than an intimidating look, “forgive me.” The man bowed his left and quickly moved off, you smiled down at Yuji ruffling his messy hair, “My little knight in shining armor hm?” He puffed out his chest smiling “yeah!”

After you grabbed your tray with drinks and let Yuji carry the paper bag of sweets you ordered, you made your way to the booth where Sukuna was staring aimlessly out the window. Watching as Yuji slid into your side of the booth you set the drinks down, “Black coffee with 6 packs of sugar,” you turned to Yuji smiling pulling him into your lap “I got you some special, the waitress has to bring it okay?” He nodded “okay!” He still hadn’t let go of the paper bag Sukuna had been silently eyes as he drank his Coffee, “hand em over.”

You sighed smiling watching your husband try to pry the paper bag from Yuji’s hands, Yuji who slipped off your lap holding the bag to his chest and turning away, “no!”

“Here are your drinks! Two hot chocolates one kids with extra whipped cream.” The waitress quickly left after seeing how your husband was playing tug o war with Yuji who was standing on the booth seat. “Listen brat-” Yuji let the bag go mouth and eyes opening wide as he saw the pile of cream on the short cup, “What’s that?” Bringing his tiny fists to cover his mouth you could see the sparkle in his eyes, “I want you to try it.” He sat himself in your lap reaching for cup that you slowly put in his chubby hands. He spread his fingers over the cup “it’s hot.” “It is, so be careful.” You guided the cup supporting it from below when he tried of drink from it. The first thing to happen was mushing his face into the whipped cream that made you laugh and Sukuna scoffed with a slight smile. Pulling the cup away, “Let’s try to clear some of that up,” you took a spoon scooping out a dent in the whipped cream to see the hot chocolate, bringing to spoon to Yuji he opened his mouth wide. You watched as he closed his mouth and his eyes widened and he clapped his hands “Is good! Daddy! Try!” You both looked at Sukuna, the smile on his face unfaltering as he rested his face against his propped up hand, “You try it first brat.”

Yuji nodded looking determined “I will!” Taking the cup in both hands, your hand guiding the cup, you saw how he stuck his tongue out to test both chocolate first before starting to drink. You looked at Sukuna who looked equally as shocked when your son started to take bigger brinks. When he put the half empty cup down he let out a loud “Aahhh dalichous.” (Delicious) Your smile couldn’t be held back as your peppered the side of his face you could reach with kisses “Look at my little man,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, “so grown you have a little mustache.” He giggled at your kisses shaking in your hold. “Try it daddy…” Yuji wiggled out of your lap just to run to Sukuna, trying to climb into his lap. Sukuna who wanted to resist couldn’t when Yuji looked at him with those big pleading eyes and pulling and on his sleeve, something he definitely learned from you. Sukuna rolling his eyes let Yuji into his lap grumbling about how he better not get comfortable. You watched as Sukuna opened his mouth, his free hand guiding Yuji’s so he could drink from the cup. Yuji’s closed eye smile making Sukuna waver, “it’s… good.” You and Sukuna both watched as Yuji never shifted off his dads lap, holding his cup with two chubby hands drinking and eating pecan cookies until his tummy with round and he fell asleep leaning back against his dads chest. Watching as Ryo held Yuji against his chest, you couldn’t help but awe.

The rest of your visit with your husband was filled with Yuji’s soft snoring, as you both talked quietly about how much things had changed, Sukuna suggesting another child, preferably another boy. You rolled your eyes and would’ve swatted him if Yuji wouldn’t have been cradled against him. Soon enough you all got up ready to go. The quiet snores because Sukuna had fixed Yuji to let his chest on his, and his head tucked between his neck and shoulder. “You’ll stay warm like this.”

Your walk home was peaceful, Yuji was sleeping, drooling on his daddy without a care in the world and you were hugging Sukuna from his side. His free arm moving to hug your waist and keep you warm and with him, he looked down at you, that mischievous smirk, “So, about that second son-“ he was hit with falling snow that had you laughing so hard you had to stop the breath, “We’ll see.”

🖤❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️🖤

Ty everyone and for my tag list! My Brains been everywhere but i try!

Sorry it’s so long! I need some background lol

@cyder-puff @domainofmarie @satorisgirl @sad-darksoul the other 2 wouldn’t let me tag!

I’m sorry 🤍 but tyty for everything

#sukuna ryomen #daddy sukuna #jjk anime #ryomen sukuna #sukuna thirst #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x wife reader #yuji and mom reader #yuji x mom reader #son yuji #son Yuji iadori #sukunas wife #sukunas wife speaks

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reysdriver · 4 months ago

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i need more dad James 🫣🫣🫣🫣

James comes home from a trip to the farm supply store with a wild surprise — dad!farmer!james x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little bit of fighting but it's absolutely not angsty, some parental nervousness ig

words: 1.3k

a/n: I need more of him too lol (I'm gonna use this ask to test out my new au tho so I hope you're ok with that <3)

James came home right when you were starting to prepare dinner, much to the joy of you and both your children. You scooped up your baby girl from her play mat on the ground, then right on cue, your toddler showed up at your side, rushing to the front door with you.

“I guess you heard the door too, Haz?” You asked your son, holding out your hand for him to take.

As he looked up at you and nodded, he took your free hand so that the three of you were all going together to see James.

Once you saw your husband at the door, all you felt were the butterflies in your stomach that still hadn’t flown away even after all these years. But then, you noticed how he was leaving very little space between him and the door as he closed it, and how he was covered in little strands of fur even though he was just running a few quick errands.

Before you could even ask him about it, he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and pressed his lips against yours. It took you a bit of time to register what was even happening, but as soon as you started to melt into the kiss, James pulled away and flashed you a sweet smile.

He then bent down to greet both Ivy on your hip and Harry standing beside you.

“I have a surprise for you and the kids.” James said, mostly excited with a hint of guilt.

You raised an eyebrow at your husband. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged and touched the door handle, ready to open it. “I can’t really tell you. It’s better if I show you.”

He opened the front door to reveal a ridiculously small horse standing fifteen feet away from you and tied up to the bannister outside.

It was half your size and incredibly fluffy. You had to resist going over to pet it just because you were so in shock at the fact that your husband came home from the farm supply store and surprised you with a whole horse—or maybe just a third of a horse, based on its size.

A thousand and one thoughts raced through your head but before you could make sense of any of them, Harry giggled loudly and began to run towards the horse in front of you all.

Panicking, you called your son back and walked him back to the porch. You used your free hand to hold him tightly against your thigh so he wouldn’t run back the animal James just surprised you with.

“You bought a pony on a whim?” You asked your husband.

“No, of course not.” He shook his head. “She’s a miniature horse. They’re totally different. The guy I bought it from told me all about them!”

Of course. Now that the horse’s title is settled, everything is fine.

“James, we need to speak in private. Stay here.”

His face flushed. He knew you were mad because you almost never called him by anything other than your various pet names for him unless you were upset.

You then ushered Harry back inside the house to the living room, where you set Ivy back down on her play mat.

“Play with your sister for a minute, Haz. If she gets fussy at all, you can come get me outside, okay?”

He smiled and nodded, sitting down next to the one year-old. “Can we play with the pony soon?”

You exhaled, unsure of how to respond. “Your dad says it’s a miniature horse, not a pony. And maybe, if you’re good.”

The boy seemed satisfied with that, so you pressed a kiss to the top of his head and walked back outside, where you found your husband looking extremely guilty as he awaited your return.

Once you closed the door behind you, he immediately tried to make the situation better.

“Lovie, I knew you’d be reluctant about all of this, but I swear I can explain—”

“You bought a horse, James! You were only supposed to be going out for a new shovel and some paint, then you come back with a horse?!”

“Well, I got the other stuff, too, it’s just in the truck. I just got to talking with a man at the supply store and he said he was selling some of those cuties right out of his horse trailer in the parking lot.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “How much did it cost?”

“Not much at all! The guy was selling them for bottom dollar ‘cause he’s moving soon and needs ‘em gone!” James rested his hand on your upper arm and stroked lightly. His voice softened, and so did his expression. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have bought her if we couldn’t afford her. I’m always thinking about our family.”

You were trying real hard not to look into your husband’s pretty eyes because you knew the second you did, you would have no choice but to give in. You stared at the porch swing, the miniature horse, the chicken coop, anything but James.

And he could clearly tell you weren’t convinced just yet, so he kept going.

“Look, I know we got rid of most of the animals before Harry was born, but those were the more unstable ones, and that was back when we were nervous about everything. Now we’re more experienced, and she’s just the sweetest thing.”

You exhaled, peeking through the window to check on Harry and Ivy playing on the living room carpet.

“They’re just babies, Jamie.”

He bit back a smile at the use of his nickname, letting him know you were warming up to the idea.

“Harry’s already three, love.” He removed his hand from your arm and gestured at himself. “I was just barely older than him when I started riding the real horses, and now look at me!”

He smiled and posed with open arms, which in turn made you smile.

“I love looking at you.” You said sincerely. “You’re the best.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You giggled, then pulled him in for a kiss. And not just one to distract like when he first came home. A real kiss, and a good one too.

When you pulled away, you left your hands where they were and caressed softly.

“Next time you want to do something extravagant for the kids like this, talk to me about it first, okay? If you kiss me enough, I’ll say yes to anything.”

James raised an eyebrow, insinuating things that made you glad the kids were inside.

Your jaw dropped in mock stun. “Not like that, Jamie! What do you take me for?!”

The two of you both laughed, and he pulled you in for a sweet hug. “My wife, the mother of my incredible kids, the love of my life. I could go on.”

You would have claimed he was just flattering you as an apology for buying the horse, but you had already told him he could keep it. Plus, he says things like that far more than he had ever bought something crazy and needed forgiveness.

“So I can go introduce the kids to the horse for real now?”

Your gaze moved over to the animal a few feet away from you, and you nodded as a response to your husband’s question.

“As long as you have a saddle for that thing.”

He grinned, then kissed your nose quickly before darting away. “Thank you! It’s in the truck! I love you!”

You laughed to yourself, and shook your head amusedly while you walked towards the miniature horse that you now owned.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” You greeted, brushing her mane with your fingers. “Welcome to the family. James there can be a bit daft, but I think you’ll like it here.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x wife!reader #dad!james potter #dad!james potter x reader #dad!farmer!james potter #farmer!james potter #farmer!james potter x reader #james potter fluff #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #dad!marauders #harry potter

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macfrog · 4 months ago

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I miss our beloved scom family. How are they doing this fine day?

god, i miss them too. here's what they probably got up to today.

something blue 3.6k words | series masterlist warnings: y'all know the drill: being a mom.

Sarah leads Ellie, the way she always does, into the kitchen at seven a.m. sharp.

She stops by Joel first, squeezes into his size at the counter, and pushes onto her tiptoes. When he sidesteps to let her see (even though he point-blank refused to let you), she wraps two arms tight around her sister and hoists her up.

“Pancakes!” the three-year-old squeals, and loses her grip on her plastic dinosaur. He falls headfirst into the counter.

“Shh!” Sarah hisses, slinging Joel a disgruntled look. She sighs and swipes the T-Rex from his hand.

“The heck you lookin’ at me for?” he grumbles.

The girls eye you the entire walk over to the table. One as suspicious as the other. Sarah moves smooth, floats over to her spot with her chin skyward.

Ellie thumps at her heels, staring you down and almost stumbling into a chair.

“Careful, Nel,” you whisper, and her poker face cracks. You turn to Sarah. “I know it’s pancakes. It’s the only thing your dad ever figured out how not to burn.”

Joel’s shoulders jump. He swallows the laugh in his chest and says nothing.

Ellie sucks the chocolate clean from her dinosaur’s head. Last week, she decided his name was Bill. You, Joel, and Sarah are still trying to figure out where the hell she came up with it. Whoever he’s named after, she doesn’t like him much – not with the rate she lobs him around.

Kid’s an enigma. She suits it just fine.

She stares at you, still, as Sarah helps her up into her chair. Judders forward with each shove under the table. Comical, the two of them; like Pinky and the fucking Brain, you once told Joel – though you’re still not sure who’s who.

Your eyes drop to a stain on the toddler’s outfit. “You want me to wash that yet, Gagarin?”

She looks down. An arm swishes up to dab at the tangerine splotch. She grins, amused with herself, and shoves the dino back between her gums.

Sarah shakes her head. She turns back to you and flashes a trademark Joel frown. Eight years old and somehow, she manages to encapsulate the same fifty-six-year-old, unimpressed glower.

“Nel,” she turns, uttering between teeth, “You can’t wear dirty clothes today, remember?”

“I don’t think spacesuits are allowed at preschool,” you sigh as you push yourself up. “Much too sophisticated – huh, baby girl?”

Ellie giggles and flings her arms to the ceiling, sending Bill in a somersault across the table. She’s in nothing but pull-ups underneath the onesie – although it’s rare for her to ever be in much more than her pull-ups and, usually, one loose sock.

The suit means she’s feeling fancy. But what the fuck for?

All of Sarah’s leftover chaos, the magic she left in your veins after she was born, seems to have poured into her little sister. Smaller, mightier – more reckless, but not half as savvy.

Rarely seen without one of her prehistoric pals in her fist; evidence of what she had for lunch smeared around her lips. Chasing after Sarah, after Shimmer, after a butterfly that found itself trapped in her bedroom last month.

She scaled a chest of drawers trying to reach it. Joel caught her just in time. Some nights in bed, you can still feel his heart pounding from the scare she gave him.

Chalk and cheese. Sarah and Ellie. The former calm, composed. Candid and levelheaded, book smart and (alarmingly) wise beyond her years.

The latter – well.

It’s her first time on the planet, too, you try to remember.

You wander over to the washer, tossing the suit into the drum. You dig an elbow into Joel’s side and he flinches.

“Can I see yet?”

He turns, shielding whatever’s in front of him with a wide shoulder. “Not yet, baby. Not done.”

“You’re taking fuckin’ forever,” you mumble, pressing the words into his shoulder blade. From the corner of your eye, you watch the girls babbling to each other, scratching Shimmer between her floppy ears.

Joel twists, still hiding with his hands, and dots a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose. He smells like coffee and toothpaste. It still dizzies you every time he’s near enough for you to breathe it in.

“I’m almost done. Promise.”

You steal a kiss from his lips and smirk, stepping away. “Okay,” your eyes drift down to the counter, “If you say s…Alphabet sprinkles?”

His jaw slackens, moves like a bubbling fish. “Uh – they’re for – they’re for somethin’…Duck?” he clears his throat, “Tell your mom what they’re for, would ya?”

Sarah freezes. She stammers just like her dad. She does a lot just like him.

“A…a…a school project,” she says, and stares down at the dog.

“A – a – a school project?”

Your daughter nods. Still fixed on the smudges of sable around Shimmer’s eyes. “Bake sale.”

“You never told me about any bake sale,” you cross your arms, “What’d you make?”

She’s quick as lightning. “Cupcakes. But we haven’t made ‘em yet. Tonight, right, Dad?”

Joel’s voice is hoarse with panic. “Tonight,” he rasps.

You lean back against the counter, eyes shifting to the right. A different tactic. A rogue tactic, that’s for sure, but she has her moments. “…Nel?”

Your youngest looks up from her belly button.

“Not Nel,” Joel pleads, catching your eye for half a second.

“Why not Nel?”

His voice drops. “That kid would spill a state secret if you dangled a marshmallow in front of her.”

You tsk. “That’s mean. And wrong, anyways. The reason they have state secrets is ‘cause of kids like her. We should be proud, Miller.”

Ellie’s clutching the dinosaur when you look back over, chewing on his tail. She blinks back, and you wonder if there’s anything other than mastermind plans of mischief behind her eyes.

Joel says she has the same look in her eye that you do. Like you’re in on something the rest of the world has yet to catch up on. Twins, from the moment she stumbled ass over foot out of your body.

She talks just like you, and acts just like you, and – some nights, chatting sleepy gibberish under the slow turn of her rocket ship nightlight – you figure she must think just like you, too.

The perfect little riot.

Joel nudges you away, whispering, “Go on,” and you snicker, pushing off.

The sun combs through the room, glinting off cutlery and radiating from your daughters’ smiles. They chat and giggle and kick their feet; Sarah blows raspberries and Ellie sprays saliva all over the table when she tries to copy.

This is life, now.

You used to wake up to a silent house, sip your coffee and watch the oven clock count down the minutes until you had to leave for work.

You used to keep the radio on, even when you were out back – just to feel like someone was home with you. You used to sing to yourself as you flicked every light off at the end of the night.

Now, the laughter lives in the walls. It echoes even when you’re home alone. The oven clock counts down until there’s another pair of smaller hands in yours; until your man’s arms are back around your waist where they belong.

Come nightfall, you pluck odd socks and toy cars from under the couch. You tuck your children into bed, nuzzle your nose into their cheeks. You curl up beside Joel and trace shapes into his palm.

I love you, you write, some nights.

Dickhead, on others.

It takes a village, they all say. And sure, sometimes it does.

Sometimes, though, all it takes is two neighbors, a handshake deal, and a little bump named Duck.

“Woah, Nellie,” Joel chuckles, setting the first plate down. He clicks his teeth and taps a light knuckle on the girls’ hands, locked in a death grip. “Play nice. I got yours here, too, kiddo.”

Ellie straightens immediately. She watches, eyes fixed and glasslike, as her own breakfast is presented to her. And then she breaks into a wide grin, cheeks swelling. Her heels thud thud thud on the legs of her chair.

You lean over, cocking your head to see.

Two stacks of fluffy pancakes – a healthy dollop of chocolate spread on Sarah’s, and Ellie’s drizzled in golden syrup. Shards of strawberry and slices of banana scattered over the towers; blobs of whipped cream like clouds.

And on top of each, in clumsy sprinkle letters: Duckie and Nellie.

Sarah grins, two front teeth brand new and beautiful. She picks up her cutlery and raps them against the table, a nervous jitter about her.

You realize, just as her eyes flicker across yours, that she’s not beaming at her pancakes.

You realize, as he sways over to your side, that she’s beaming at him.

He’s holding two more plates. He sets his own down, a messy crater carved into the chocolate.

Your brows pull. “What happened –?”

“Bill happened,” he scoffs, shooting Ellie daggers.

She’s too busy tearing her stack apart, mixing a paste from syrup and cooked batter. There are few things the kid loves more than food and mess – and nothing she loves more than both at the same time.

She looks out of her mind happy, smothering the glossy mixture all over her cheeks, chewing in contentment.

“Like ‘em?” Joel asks, and you glance up.

“Yeah,” you laugh, eyes welling, “I love them. What’s the occasion, Miller?”

“Just…” his head wobbles as he considers it, “…we wanted to ask you somethin’.”

You turn to Sarah.

She’s still smiling, wider than you’ve ever seen. So bright that you worry she might shatter the glassware on the table.

“We?” you ask, smiling much the same.

She gives nothing away, and yet, at the same time – everything. Her knee bounces with excitement. Her breathing quickens.

“You wanna read yours?” Joel asks, tilting the plate in his hand.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you sniff, “I’m scared.”

He lowers the plate.

The letters blur in and out of focus as you blink.

Red, green, yellow, pink. The second M is an upside-down W. The Rs lean into each other, chocolate pushing from the middle of the letters. A question mark crafted from a C and half of another letter.

Your lungs jump, though you knew it was coming. Though you’ve talked about it for months, now.

Let’s just get it outta the way, make it easier for the girls when we’re older. Few forms to fill out then it’s done. We don’t gotta make a big deal of it.

Can’t afford to make a big deal of it, anyway.

Wouldn’t want to make a big deal of it.

You’ve never been one for big deals.

This is a big deal. This is a big fucking deal, Joel.

All multicolored, flecks of whipped cream on them. Silly little alphabet letters.

Marry me?

Joel kneels as you swivel around to him. He kisses your cheek, takes your hands, rubs his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Look,” he says, voice trembling, “I know we said we wouldn’t make a big deal of it. But…you gotta let me make a big deal of it, honey. You gotta let me make a big deal of you.”

You laugh, tears spilling down the front of your shirt. Your heart is pounding, body alight with nerves or excitement or both, in one lightning bolt of feeling.

It’s everything you ever wanted, and nothing you ever expected.

“Everything I have –” Joel says, “– the kids, the house, the dog – I found it all with you. Because of you. I love you so much, and I can’t – I can’t take another minute that we’re not…”

His hands squeeze yours, and you swear you feel your pulses align. Beating together, two hearts on the same bassline.

He swipes the tears from your cheek, catches them in his palm. “…It don’t have to mean anything, I know that – but you, darlin’…you mean everything. What do you say we go do it?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world. And not just because you knew it was coming, knew to expect it soon enough.

Joel could’ve asked you the minute you found out you were pregnant with Sarah, and you reckon you would’ve said yes.

It’s easy. Loving him is so easy. Being with him is so fucking easy.

Coffee at sunrise, low volume TV in the bedroom. Skin and sheets, marks on your neck and chest and thighs. Laughter for breakfast, homework for dinner. Two bodies squeezing into one tiny shower cubicle, Joel’s hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles.

“Today,” you whisper, cupping his jaw. “I want to do it today.”

“Today?” his eyes flash over your shoulder to his daughters, “We gotta take the girls to –”

“No, we don’t,” your head shakes, “Do we have a marriage license?”

“Got it last week.”

“Then they come with. We get all dressed up, all four of us, and head down to the courthouse. We’re married by the end of the day.”

He laughs, loose and disbelieving. Shakes himself back into the room. “Today,” he repeats. “As in, right now?”

“Right now, baby.”

“Okay. Yeah, alright. Today.”

“Ask me.”

Joel’s cheeks lift. Tears disappear into his beard.

You lean forward, lining your forehead against his. “Ask me, Miller,” you whisper.

It’s no big deal. It’s a regular Wednesday. Packed lunches and dinosaurs with Nutella in their teeth.

It’s no big deal, but when he asks you, time stops.

“Will you marry me?”

“Fuck yeah, I will.”

Sarah takes forty-five minutes to apply your mascara, some powder, and a pink lip. She promises she’s being neat, and you tell her you don’t care – you’ll love it either way.

She says she knows, but she promises she is anyway.

Ellie curls up in your lap and twists your necklace around her fingers. She asks four times if her spacesuit is dry yet.

“Ellie,” Sarah warns – and you know it’s serious when she uses her sister’s real name – “You can’t wear a costume to a wedding.”

“Mama is!”

“No she ain’t! Brides are s’posed to wear white. Mama’s dress ain’t white. What you got on is fine,” she decides.

Ellie knows better than to keep arguing. She catches her heel in her hands, huffing. “Wanted to be an ass-traut.”

You catch Sarah’s eye. Don’t.

She bites her giggle.

“You are an astronaut,” you squeeze your toddler, “Our astronaut. Whether you’re in your spacesuit, or you got your big bare butt out for us all to see.”

She giggles into herself, a sound sweet enough to convince the sun to rise at dawn. Her baby teeth are small and wonky. She snorts, settles in your arms again, and watches Sarah lean in with the lipstick.

You lift your chin, holding steady. “Is Dad ready?”

She pauses, letting go of her breath. “He says he’s been ready the last half hour,” she mutters, and dabs more color on.

“Is he nervous?”

Her eyes lift. Eyelashes long and thick – black mascara that you made her pinkie swear she’d wipe clean the moment she gets home.

She smirks. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Are you?”

You press your lips together, blending the pink. “Little bit. You think that’s a good sign?”

“Mhm.”

Sarah straightens, capping the lipstick. She smiles at her masterpiece. “You look beautiful, Mama.”

“Well,” your chest fills, “I’m only beautiful ‘cause you made me that way, Duck.”

Joel’s voice sails upstairs and into the little pink room.

“Courthouse is closin’, sun’s almost down, they’re diggin’ my damn grave already. Are we good to go, or what?”

Sarah grins and leaps over an upturned toybox in the middle of her room. She pirouettes out to the landing, pursing and then smacking her lips together.

You fix Ellie’s skirt and lead her out after her sister. “’s go, Nellie.”

“Mama,” she tugs at the fabric, “I gotta…Need…need…”

“Shit,” you whisper, watching the ballerina twirl downstairs to her dad. “Uh…Duckie?”

“Hi, pretty Duck,” Joel calls, catching her in his arms. He spins her around and the skirt of her dress billows.

Her little heels click when he lets her down. She keeps on spinning, watching herself in the mirror.

“Baby?” Joel calls. “Y’all ready?”

“Nel’s gotta go!” you reply.

He scoffs. “She nervous or som’?”

“Or som’,” you sigh, walking the kid into the bathroom.

Ellie takes about as long as a three-year-old should, to be fair to her. It requires an amount of determination that right now, neither of you have the focus to lend it. Potty training doesn’t wait up, even for weddings.

Eventually, she announces with a triumphant shout that she’s done, Mama! – and claps her hands as the toilet flushes.

You carry her downstairs, heels clunking on the solid wood. At the bottom you set her free – and she sprints out to join her sister on the lawn.

The pair run circles around one another. They cartwheel on the grass; they race Shimmer and use the flowerbeds as hurdles. They dirty their dresses – ivory stained with bursts of green – though they look better that way, anyway.

They take turns playing Swingball with the only remaining racket (a mysterious disappearance that neither will own up to, and both are most certainly involved in). Sarah tells Ellie that she won – and the smaller girl throws her fists in the air and roars in victory.

Joel stands on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching. Even from behind, you can see the shape of his cheeks: he’s smiling. He crosses one foot over the other and taps his heel against the wood.

You emerge from the house slowly, quietly. “We didn’t get matching corsages this time,” you say, and he turns.

He starts, as though he glitches for a second. As though his world tilts on its axis, just from looking at you. His expression softens, his lips curve into a smile.

Then he breathes a laugh – a shaky thing, like he’s seventeen again, watching his homecoming date saunter over.

“That’s alright,” he replies, and slips a hand into his suit pocket. He fishes out two white tulips. “Remembered Alice dropped these off the other day. Here.”

Delicately, lighter than the breeze, he tucks the flower behind your ear. He steps back to admire his work, just like his daughter did.

All the best parts of you, you reckon, are the parts that are loved by them.

“How do I look?” you ask.

Joel sucks in a shattered breath. “Beautiful,” he chokes, like it’s all his voice will allow. He sniffs, drags his knuckles across the bottom of his nose, and says, “You ain’t never looked more beautiful.”

“Your turn.”

You take the second tulip from his fingers and drop it into his breast pocket, turning it until it looks perfect. “There,” you pat his chest, “Now we both look beautiful.”

He steps forward, dipping his head to kiss you. Arms around your waist, hands splayed on your back. He laughs against your lips. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is,” he mumbles, tugging at the pale material.

“It still fits!” you say, running a palm down the smooth silk. Flashes of light, a squealing guitar, heated kisses and a thudding bassline. It spins past your eyes as he leans in again.

He tastes the same. Less alcohol, sure – but that same, sweet-as-honey, instantly intoxicating taste. Like you were a goner before you even hit the mattress.

You look back up, and Joel’s eyes are on yours.

“After two kids, it still fits,” you whisper.

“Hm,” he muses, glancing down. His hands slip around your ass. “Looks even better than it did then, Mama.”

You laugh against his lips. “It’s my something blue.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “What else you got?”

“Well, something borrowed –” you hold your left hand up, a plastic ring glinting in the sunlight, “– Duck gave me some of her finest jewelry. Something new –” you wiggle your earlobe, “– Mother’s Day earrings, and…something old…”

Joel tilts his head. His expression tightens, tightens, tightens – until he understands. He clicks his teeth and steps back. “Funny. You’re so funny, I ever tell you that?”

You giggle, letting him drag you across the porch. “I’m just bein’ realistic, man. What else do I got that’s as old as you?”

He ignores you. It makes you laugh even harder.

It always did.

The wind surfs through silk, lifting your skirt as you stride over the driveway. Your hands stay interlocked – and you know that, secretly, Joel’s as nervous as you.

He whistles and his daughters look up.

“Serena, Venus,” he calls, nodding to the truck. “Get in.”

They skip over. Sarah takes her dad’s hand – the picture of royalty as he aids her up into the backseat – and Ellie swings into your arms.

You strap them in, point fingers to warn them not to bicker, and climb in the front.

The doors slam closed and you exhale slowly. Two kids aren’t any more complicated than one – especially in yours and Joel’s case – but holy shit, they’re tiring.

They compare dresses in the backseat. What color is yours, Duck? Pink, Nel. Is mine’s pink, Duck? Yours is yellow, Nel.

Joel’s hand slips around your knee. He smiles. Gives your leg a little squeeze. He flicks the radio on, and an Eagles track sways through the cabin. He fixes the tulip in your hair, peppers kisses along your wrist.

His voice is as soft as Henley’s, when he asks –

“Wanna go to a wedding?”

#something of a love letter to ellie williams ig #chats #anon #fic: sweet child o' mine #joel miller ficlet #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

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aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on.

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

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capquinn · 6 months ago

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Homeward | Q. Hughes

summary: 3 times you both dream about the future + the one time you’re finally living it pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes content: nothing but sweet, sweet baby talk word count: 3.5k ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Quinn has always been a family guy.

And even now, his actions speak loudly of the family values that shape him. He never misses an opportunity to weave his parents and brothers into his day even when thousands of miles seperate them so it hadn’t been a complete surprise when Quinn first mentioned his desire for a family of his own.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Quinn has always been a family guy.

Growing up in the Hughes household had been like living in a constant embrace of love and laughter with enduring sounds of chaos — the clatter of hockey sticks on the driveway, the hum of conversations around the dinner table and the inexplicable bickering between brothers. But most of all, it was the magical winters on the frozen pond behind their house that Quinn cherished the most. Spending hours with his dad learning how to skate, hanging onto every single piece of advice and words of encouragement, and how his mom always had cups of hot chocolate waiting for them when the cold finally drove them inside. The joy of spontaneous family road trips; the confidence that came with knowing his parents were always in the crowd, cheering him on; and the comfort of returning home. Those moments were etched into Quinn’s memory.

He remembers growing up wishing he would find someone the way his parents had found each other, and by some miracle, he had found it. He recalls the way his parents looked at each other, a silent communication that spoke volumes. Love unwavering. Evident in the small gestures that often went unnoticed by others but meant everything to Quinn. The way his dad would always wake up before his mom just so he could bring her a cup of tea to enjoy quietly in bed, or the way his mom would leave little notes in his dad’s lunchbox, small reminders that she loved and adored him. It was the way they always prioritised family dinners, making sure to sit down together no matter how busy their lives became. The way they listened to each other with patience and respect, even during disagreements.

They showed Quinn that love wasn’t just about grand gestures but about showing up every single day and making the choice to love the other.

And even now, Quinn’s actions speak loudly of the family values that shape him. He never misses an opportunity to weave his parents and brothers into his day even when thousands of miles seperate them.

He’s a family guy through and through so it hadn’t been a complete surprise when Quinn first mentioned his desire for a family of his own.

“I want that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, watching his teammate holding his toddler, making her laugh and smile. The words slip out before he can catch them.

You turn to him, eyes shimmering. “What, kids?” You ask, a small smile tugging at your lips, though you both know the answer.

Quinn scratches the back of his neck, and a flush starts to creep over his skin. He clears his throat, as if the action would be enough to get rid of any other lingering thoughts that might catch you both off guard.

“Yeah, y’know, the whole thing,” he affirms with a nod, nice and concise. He sneaks a sideways glance your way and when he meets your eyes and you smile, he feels his cheeks start to burn crimson so he casts his gaze away again, heart hammering at lightning speed in his chest. Nervous to hear your response

“‘The whole thing,’” you muse, heart skipping a beat at his words and everything in between. All the things you’re both too shy to say aloud just yet, but you understand all the same.

A too big house with a little bit of land that you can grow into with children and a dog or two. Swatching paint colours on bare nursery walls, and putting together a crib that will see all your children through their infancy. Introducing you as his wife and him as your husband. The patter of running feet and slamming of doors. The first summer by the lakeside with a tiny human who was half you and half him. Cups of tea in bed and love letters tucked into hidden pockets for him to find at away games. Late nights followed by freakishly early mornings. The chaos of family gatherings and having everyone all together all at once. The excitement of seeing you and your children standing in the crowd, cheering him on, and the thrill of meeting his eyes across the ice. Sick days on the couch. Bedtime stories. Homemade Halloween costumes. Friday movie nights. The whole thing.

“Hopefully someday,” he adds bashfully after he realises the weight of his confession, cheeks pink, circling an arm around your waist.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach, frantically dazed and desperately relieved to hear that everything you hope for he hopes for, too.

With a shy smile, you lean into him. “Definitely someday,” you simply reply.

It’s then that Quinn realises that his dreams are no longer distant aspirations. They are tangible and in reach.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The sun is beginning to drop below the horizon, casting golden hues over the Hughes’ sprawling backyard. The air filled with the hum of conversation and laughter, mingling with the faint smell of barbecue. The patio bustling with family members from all stretches of the country, all coming together for the annual summer family reunion, and Quinn is at the heart of it. Leaning against the railing, chatting animatedly with his cousins and relishing in time well spent with those he cherishes the most.

“Are you and the boys planning another fishing trip this offseason?” His cousin Dan asks, grinning as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, we’re thinking about heading up to the cabin again. The spot by the lake was great last time,” Quinn replies. “I caught a bass that was almost as big as my arm.”

“That’s right. Jack swore up and down that he had one just as big but it got away.”

He laughs, “he’s never living that down.”

Laughter ripples through the group but it’s cut short when Luke approaches, tapping his brother on the shoulder.

“Hey, Quinny, have you seen your girlfriend? She disappeared on me.” He tosses a football between his hands. “Think she’s scared of losing our bet.”

“I tell you every time — don’t bet against her. You always lose,” he warns, looking over his shoulder, half expecting to find you hovering in the kitchen and trying to be useful as you always were. When you’re not, his brows scrunch together, and he turns back to his brother, quietly surprised.

Luke shakes his head, laughing. “Not this time.” He rests the football under his arm and places his other hand on his hip. “We’re betting on who can kick the furthest field goal. It’ll be the easiest twenty bucks I’ll ever make,” he says confidently.

Quinn nods, not quite believing his brother. Sure, Luke is taller and stronger but somehow you always have luck on your side. A divine intervention that always saw that you pocketed the winnings.

“I’ve gotta see this,” he chuckles. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he tells his brother.

Quinn excuses himself from his cousins and as he makes his way inside the house, he’s greeted by the delicious aromas of various dishes being prepared in the kitchen.

He skilfully dodges around his Aunt Linda, who is juggling a hot tray of cookies, and then squeezes past his Uncle Bob, who is vigorously stirring a pot of chilli, just as his mom catches his eye.

“Oh, hey, Quinn, taste this!” Ellen calls out, holding out a wooden spoon coated with a rich, savoury sauce. “Tell me if it needs more salt.”

He obliges, stepping closer towards his mom and taking the spoon. He tastes the sauce, savouring the layers of flavour. “Nope, it's perfect. You, uh…,” Quinn's eyes are drawn to the doorway of the living room, where he can just make out your voice. “You always nail it,” he tells her, distracted.

As she takes the spoon back, her eyes follow Quinn's gaze towards the living room.

You’re sitting comfortably in an armchair, cradling cousin Kate’s newborn baby. Face lit with a gentle smile as you coo softly to the baby, eyes sparkling with joy.

The unassuming longing for ‘the whole thing’ quietly transforms into a fervent hope. A hope that is surfacing in the most unexpected moment, and now, it’s impossible for Quinn not to imagine you holding your own child one day, introducing the newest and smallest Hughes to the family. His mom, eyes brimming with tears, leaning in close, fingers gently tracing the back a tiny hand. Jack and Luke, unable to contain their excitement, hovering over your shoulder, each vying for a better view of the newest member of the family, and his dad standing close by, watching everyone fawn over the little one.

Ellen follows his gaze and smiles knowingly. “She’s wonderful with babies, isn’t she? It suits her.”

Quinn nods, blinking away his daydreams, though unable to tear his eyes away. “Yeah, it does,” he agrees softly, voice filled with a mix of admiration and affection.

Ellen squeezes his arm gently. “Go on, then. You don’t want to miss this.”

Taking her advice, Quinn navigates the rest of the way through the kitchen, weaving around the busy cooks and stepping into the living room.

You look up as he approaches, smile widening and eyes twinkling with a warmth that makes him feel even more at home.

“There you are,” you greet, voice barely above a whisper. “Come and say hi.”

Quinn moves closer, settling on the arm of the chair to get a better look at the baby nestled in your arms. The baby, fast asleep, looks peaceful and content. Tiny fists curled in a way that makes his heart race. He reaches out hesitantly to brush his finger over her cheek.

“Would you like to hold her?” You offer, watching his face soften.

He nods silently, positioning himself in a way that allows him to take the baby carefully into his arms. She starts to stir during the exchange, eyes squeezing tight, so Quinn starts swaying side to side, fixing the swaddle tighter around her tiny body. It’s enough to settle her, and with a crisis avoided, Kate grins.

“Natural, isn’t he?” she remarks, glancing in your direction.

You smile proudly. “I think he’s got a hidden talent.”

Quinn laughs lightly, trying to stay cool despite the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Hidden talent? You make it sound like I’ve been practicing in secret.”

Kate chuckles. “Well, you’re doing a great job for someone who hasn’t.”

He glances down at the baby, feeling a rush of emotions as the tiny life rests against his chest. The delicate weight, the rise and falls of her breaths and dainty features. It makes him feel a connection he hadn’t anticipated. A surge of readiness for ‘the whole thing.’

It’s fleeting, but glimpses of the future flash through his mind. He can almost hear the hum of a soft lullaby and feel the rhythm of rocking a sleepy baby in the wee hours of the morning. It’s a future he has always envisioned but perhaps hadn’t fully embraced until now.

You lean closer, curling your legs onto the chair and resting your cheek against Quinn's bicep, eyes alight with adoration, gazing at the baby. “She’s perfect, right?”

Quinn’s gaze shifts from the small human in his arms to you and he wonders if you’re thinking the same as him.

As if reading his mind, Kate innocently asks, “So, when’s it going to be your turn?” Eyes dancing between you both.

Quinn bites back a growing smile. He’s sure it’s a dead give away for all he’s feeling and wishing for right now. “Someday,” he replies, exchanging a meaningful glance with you.

Kate raises an eyebrow playfully. “You two talk about it often?”

You nuzzle your face closer against Quinn, trying to hide your grin, fidgeting with the blanket wrapped around the baby so, with any luck, she won’t be able to see just how desperately you want this life with Quinn. “We do. I mean, we still have a few more things we’d like to do first but… It’s definitely on the table.”

“Yeah, we’re in no rush.” Quinn nods in agreement, though the gleam in his eye suggests he wouldn’t mind if the day came sooner rather than later.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“I don’t want to jinx anything but this house is ticking all the right boxes so far,” you grin.

It’s a nice change, too. House hunting had been exciting at first but once the novelty wore off and the reality of the gruelling journey it’s going to take to find the home of your dreams sunk in, things started to move more slowly and with each viewing, you weren’t sure if your forever home truly existed. Physically, they had all been great in their own right but when you crossed the threshold, heart beating steady and unable to imagine your lives in the space, you would spare Quinn a look and he would agree. “It just doesn’t feel right,” he’d explain to the agent at the end of the tour.

But this house… It had been a surprise, last minute decision to view it. The agent adamant that this could be the one. “It has good bones,” he told you both over the phone. “Lots of character and it has everything you guys are looking for. It hasn’t hit the market yet so if you’re interested, now is the right time.” And that was it.

"This kitchen is perfect," you say, twirling around, eyes alight with possibilities. A wide timber island would go here, a large window that opens onto the deck over there.

Quinn nods, envisioning lazy Sunday mornings spent soaking up the morning sun while you whip up pancakes. "And the backyard is great. Plenty of space for a pool,” he says, sticking his head out of the stain glassed back door to sneak a peak at what the outdoors offers. Plenty of space for a barbecue and full outdoor setting deck, too.

And then after wandering through the halls, picking out the master bedroom and wistfully rattling off all your ideas and renovation plans for the bathroom, you enter another room. It's smaller, cozy, and the afternoon sun pours through the window, bathing the room in a warm glow.

You both stop in the doorway, an unspoken understanding passing between you.

“This is our nursery,” you murmur, stepping further into the room, floorboards creaking under foot.

Quinn follows behind, smile dancing on his lips, taking in the room. Wainscoting, large window that overlooks the sprawling backyard and the ornate cornices that are unique to each room throughout the house but are subtle reminders of the old age charm it upholds.

When you turn around to meet his eyes, he catches your hand. “This whole house is ours, isn’t it?” He asks, voice soft, almost reverent, though it needn’t be questioned.

“We have to make an offer,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Everything is perfect. It feels right.”

His eyes drift around the room, mind painting vivid pictures of what it could be. “So obviously the crib is going against that far wall.”

You giggle, “obviously. And the armchair will go by the window because this lighting is so…” You sigh, imagining lazing half awake in the armchair with a little one curled against your chest, light filtering through sheer curtains. And over there, in the middle of the room, you see Quinn beckoning a wobbly toddler to take their first steps.

But back here, where life is falling right into place, Quinn pulls you close, a hand resting on the small of the back, and presses a kiss to your temple. His mind is never too far from the very same musings.

“I can see us here,” he murmurs with an air of finality.

Decision made.

No other house will do — this is it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s summer at the lake house, and the Hughes are making the most of the wonderful weather. The warmth of the sun filters through the leaks of a towering oak tree, casting dappled shadows on the ground and the air hums with the sounds of insects and the soft lapping of the lake’s waves against the shore. You and Quinn are sprawled out against pillows side by side on a faded picnic rug, and between you, six month old baby Oliver sits with a floppy ahead askew on his head, tiny hands exploring colourful toys.

You let out a tired chuckle, smile tinged with exhaustion. “He’s still wide awake,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

Quinn sighs, waving a rattle in front of his son. Encouraging him to reach, stretch or turn. Anything to burn some more energy and tire him out faster. “I really thought the fresh air would work. That article made it sound like a sure-thing.”

Since arriving at the lake house, your sweet baby boy had decided now was the best time for a sleep regression. Quinn thinks it’s the change of environment and whilst you hoped that to be the case and after a week of adjusting, things weren’t improving. In fact, the past few nights have been the worst of all with Oliver waking up every few hours, leaving you and Quinn to take turns soothing him back to sleep for periods far longer than usual. Admitting defeat, you had both accepted that this was going to be your life for the next little while. That dark circles under your eyes might just become a permanent feature and coffee your new best friend. But every time you look at your baby’s bright, curious eyes, you’re reminded of how you used to hope and dream for this life. Nothing could ever be bad enough for you to wish it all away.

“It could be worse, right? At least he’s happy,” you reply, rubbing your eyes.

Quinn nods, his heart swelling with love as he watches his son play. He thinks about how much his life has changed in just a few months. The nights are shorter, and the days are filled with more challenges than he ever anticipated, but they’re also filled with immeasurable joy.

He rolls over onto his back and reaches for Oliver. He pulls him into his arms with ease, resting him on his lap. “It’s just way too fun at the lake, isn’t it, Ollie boy? All the swimming and boat rides. You don’t want to miss a thing,” he says, grinning, giving the small boy a little wiggle. Oliver drops the rattle with a grin and falls forward, lying flat on his father’s chest, his tiny hands clutching at Quinn’s shoulders in a hug. “Oh,” he laughs, smile widening, arms wrapping around his tiny body.

He sweeps his palms in soothing circular motions over the baby’s back, cherishing the moment. The softness of his son’s body against his own and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. He knows these moments are fleeting, that Ollie is only ever going to be this small once. That soon enough, he will be crawling, walking, and running, leaving these quiet, tender moments behind.

You smile, watching Ollie’s energy ebb away under Quinn’s touch. “Look at him, finally lying still,” you whisper. His little lips are squished into a pout against his daddy's chest, making him look even more adorable. You reach out to gently brush your fingers slowly over his forehead and down the bridge of his nose repeatedly, an attempt to lull him into a slumber. Ollie’s eyelids grow heavy. “Remember last summer? We were talking about how different it would be here with a baby.”

“Nah, it won’t be that different,” you recall Quinn telling you one night on the porch. “Just a bit more packing and a few more naps in the day.”

Your hands came to rest on your growing belly. “Babies change everything,” you countered as a sudden rush of nervousness washed over you. It crashed into you, making you feel unprepared for the huge change in the horizon and all that will follow.

He shrugged, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. “It doesn’t have to change. We’ll just, I don’t know, make adjustments. We’ll get a couple of baby gates and a top notch baby monitor,” he said half jokingly, sensing your change of mood. He noticed the furrow of your brows and how you chewed on the inside of your cheek, a tell tale sign that you’re worried. Gently, he leaned in and kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment longer than usual. A reminder that you weren’t in this alone. “He’ll fit into our lives, baby. It’s going to be great,” he murmured, voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

Quinn’s eyes meet yours, soft with understanding. “You were right,” he breathes a chuckle, his hands still working circles against Ollie’s back. Sleep is close, he’s sure of it. “It is different. But it’s also better, too.”

You nod, heart brimming with an all-encompassing love. The way Quinn is gently soothing Oliver, his tenderness evident in every touch, makes you fall in love with him all over again. And your sweet, spirited boy, now peacefully relaxed and drifting in and out of almost-there sleep, breathing steady and synchronised with his dad’s. You’re acutely aware of the life you have built together and the perfect tiny human you’ve brought into the world.

“So much better,” you agree, shuffling closer towards your two favourite boys. You rest your head against Quinn’s shoulder, dropping a kiss to the back of Ollie’s hand. “I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

And why would you? The life you had both always envisioned is unfolding with a quiet beauty, and it’s more perfect than you could have ever dreamed.

#a lil baby fever never hurt anyone right?#this is one of those fics that I just hadddd to get out of my system lol #I met a friends newborn and then that photo of Quinn with podz’s baby came out and I was going crazy #quinn hughes #capquinn's writing #quinn hughes x reader #dad!quinn

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rimqueen · 1 month ago

Text

trailer park trajectory

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. daddy-daughter incest, smut, mention of vomit, mentions of pregnancy and abortion, anal, piv sex, creampie, daddy kink

note. not liking this but whatever who gaf! unedited per usual. feedback n rbs always appreciated :3

The year Jimmy spent with his high school girlfriend might’ve been the best year of his life. Man, he had it fucking cushty. He had a pierced ear and she had a bad boy fantasy, but Jimmy isn’t bad he is just a piece of fucking shit to be entirely honest. Columbine bad maybe. He’s sure any dentist would be delighted to drill the rot out of him, it goes deep.

She had lotion-smelling rich-girl skin and a velvet cunt, fit like a glove. All round and soft, shaped by a silver spoon. He liked her heated toilet and fluffy pillows and fuck-proof bed. He liked using her walk-in shower, body jets included, it felt nice to go to school not stinking of ammonia and wet dogs.

It was their senior year and he had never been particularly popular, maybe because of his shitty shoes and shittier attitude, but she liked him more than he ever liked her. He liked having something he couldn’t have. Jimmy liked that look on her dad’s face anytime he came over, somewhere between constipation and resignation. He had tried to talk it out with his daughter, but she was so hopelessly in love with Jimmy, stubbornly so, she seemed to take his flaws as a personal affront. It didn’t matter what clothes he wore, the bands he liked, his postcode—She loved him, trailer-trash scum and all.

Jimmy didn’t get it, but he wasn’t complaining.

Then she went and got knocked up. She spent prom night in the bathroom hacking up her guts. It was disgusting. She was disgusting; vomit caked around her pink mouth, face crumpled like a used tissue as she clung to the leg of that fancy tuxedo she got him. He couldn’t believe he had ever fucked her, wanted her, kissed her.

Whether it was Jimmy’s or not it didn’t matter. She had something inside of her. He had fucked her and she had that thing growing, taking up space in her abdominal cavity like an alien parasite. He had fucked her and it was in there. At the time killing her crossed his mind, once or twice, thrice at the very most. Jimmy came over one day with a coat hanger and opioids from his mom’s makeshift pharmacy in the bathroom cabinet. He told her it was going to be okay, that she didn’t have to worry any longer. Unfortunately, that did not work out. She kicked and screamed and her parents came in and it was a big mess really. They found out with a little coaxing of course, as if the hanger wasn’t a big enough hint, and it was an even bigger mess really.

Paternal tests were taken so Jimmy couldn’t get out of it. He prayed every night to gods he didn’t even fucking believe in, took up Buddhism during the third trimester. Much to his dismay it wasn’t stillborn it was a fucking girl.

Before you were born, Curly had asked him several times if he was sure he wanted to be inside the delivery room. Obviously he fucking did not. Nobody wants to see their girlfriend’s fucking guts. No man should have to see a pussy that isn’t intact. But it felt like a dig at Jimmy, the implication being he wasn’t able to handle it.

(He threw up when he saw the epidural, passed out when she got split open in all the wrong ways.)

Her father pushed him out little by little, Jimmy was glad. Fresh out of the womb and you were living newborn life in circles Jimmy has never belonged, making connections with toddler oligarchs. You didn’t need him and he didn’t want you. What was the point of sticking around? Parenting is not his forte, children are not his niche, in fact Jimmy would prefer for them to be kept fifteen feet away from him at all times. They’re leeches - eat your food, drain your savings, complicate your sex life, and worst of all they cry.

Jimmy finds no point in pretending to be nice, but to you he is deliberately cruel. Precise like he is cutting into you with a scalpel, surgeon-steady hands tearing you a new one. He doesn’t think you remember what he told you growing up—I never wanted you, I never wanted you, I never wanted you—because your laughter is light like the world has never been cruel to you.

“You can’t even do this for me, James?” She is using his full name so he ignores her, but she continues looking at him expectantly, wanting something from his empty pockets.

After all these years, his ex has still got it, that’s what money can get you. Her tits are in the right place, high on her chest, like the two halves of an evenly sliced melon were stuffed down the front of her blouse. Her ass is tight courtesy of her newest doctor. It could’ve worked out if she had just got rid of you.

Jimmy is sitting at his dining table rolling cigarettes to light on the stove. The table is round and white like a giant bottle cap, foldable to make extra space inside his trailer. He eats breakfast, lunch and dinner here, there’s no room for two plates. There is no room for you here or anywhere, especially no room in his life.

“She’s not gonna like it here.” He shrugs, and he’s not wrong. You’re going to go running for the hills the minute you step foot in the trailer park. “I heard they got nice things to do in England for Christmas.” Jimmy doesn’t have a single clue on what goes down in England and whether they’re even that big on Christmas.

“There’s nice things to do everywhere, but you won’t be there.”

“Why does it matter if I’m there?” When has anybody ever wanted Jimmy to stick around for longer than absolutely necessary? When has she ever wanted him to stay? Everything was made clear to Jimmy when she decided to have you, she didn’t want him then so why does it matter now?

“Because you’re her dad? If I needed a babysitter I could drop her to Candy, but she’s an adult and she doesn’t need one, Jim.” All of her friends have stripper names, Jimmy had told her that once. “I am asking you to spend time with our daughter, your daughter just for a week and you can’t even do that for me?”

“She’s a big girl now, sure she can handle a week on her own.” Jimmy does not look up once, you’re simply not interesting to him.

Defeated, she lets out a laugh. It’s half-aborted and exhausted. “Fine. Fine. Whatever. She’s never going to speak to you again when she finds out about this, I’m serious.”

“Good,” Jimmy bites out, gritting his teeth so hard they feel as if they’ve come loose.

“Don’t say that, Jim.” The toilet flushes and Curly steps out of the bathroom wiping his hands on a tea towel. “You should let her come over, he’s spending Christmas at my place this year.”

Oh, fuck off.

Fucking Curly and his hard-on for good deeds.

“I didn’t know you were here, Curly.” Her eyes light up because Curly is the saviour of the masses, he is modern day Jesus fucking Christ and Jimmy is useless as tits on a nun. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude, it’s different if it’s just Jim, but…”

“Course not, kid’s like family to me.” He smiles, all bright and cheery, a burning ball of gas that is blinding and clearly noxious because he’s making Jimmy sick.

“That’s sweet.” She sighs, her voice taking on a dreamy tone, head tilted to the side as she smiles at Curly sweetly. Like she wants to fuck him. “You’re sweet. Thank you, I didn’t want to leave her alone, but dad’s going to be in hospital and I just need her to have fun, I mean it’s Christmas.”

“I get it.” Curly pats her on the shoulder, she side-hugs him and Jimmy watches like some sad sack of shit cuck. “See you soon, alright? You take care now.” He sees her off like a gentleman.

“If you want her so bad you take her.”

“Who, the kid or her?” He nudges Jimmy playfully. It’s a joke, but Jimmy does not take it as one. He knows that Curly is perfectly capable of doing both.

Jimmy scoffs. “The kid—She’s not a kid, y’know?”

Curly waves his hand dismissively. “C’mon, she is to me.” Swooping in like a saviour and he hasn’t even seen you since your sweet sixteenth. Curly doesn’t know that you zip around town in a shiny sports car now, it whizzes down the road like a bullet. He doesn’t know how you wear your hair, what clothes you wear, that you drink and smoke and fuck.

Jimmy knows.

“Are you kidding, she’s big as fuck, man.” Jimmy makes a motion with his hands, gesturing to his chest lewdly. “Like her mom.”

“Knock it off, Jim.”

“There’s no snow this year because of global warming, Uncle Curly.” You’re as dull-witted as ever this evening, helping yourself to the expensive wine you brought along. Nothing on your plate has been touched apart from a single grape and half a cracker. “The ice caps are melting, we should cut down on our meat consumption.”

Showed up at Curly’s doorstep decked out in your tightest cashmere sweater and smallest skirt, no holes in your stockings and one of those expensive scarves that don’t leave fibres all over the rest of your clothes. An American Girl doll all grown up, dabbling in cocaine and Saturday night DUIs, mouth painted red like a whore. He doesn’t know what part of you is him, that’s something to be glad about.

Jimmy looked through the peep-hole and double locked the door.

Curly let you in because of course he did.

“Is that so?” He’s such a phoney, pretending to care about what you say while he loads his plate with glazed ham, lamb and turkey. “Don’t know if I’ll be able to do that if I’m honest.”

“Everybody knows that, you don’t have to sound so interested.” It’s just a little bit ironic that they’re getting lectured at by a girl who’s luxury is polluting the ecosystem. Curly could cut down on meat and Jimmy could start cycling everywhere he goes but that still wouldn’t make a difference. Your million-dollar smile is shedding microplastics, and you have an arsenal of beauty products with enough chemicals to run a fucking meth lab, but sure Jimmy is supposed to pedal himself half to death and Curly is going to eat tofu till he gags all in the name of the environment that you are using as a playground.

“Jim.”

“Sorry,” says Jimmy, who is very unsorry. It’s less about remorse and more about keeping peace. He knows how Curly gets, that he likes to keep things rainbows and sunshine, he likes apologies. Treats them as a currency of sorts. “Weren’t you in Paris last week?”

“Yes, dad, I was really stressed out about finals.” Right. Right. Jet-setting is amazing for the planet of course. “Mental wellness is so important, that’s why mom still looks so young, she looks good, right?”

“Her doctor did great.”

“That’s not funny, dad.” You wag your manicured little finger at him. He wants to break it. The irony isn’t thick, it’s suffocating. Recycle, reuse, reduce all you want but somewhere in the world there’s a girl like you with a closet full of clothes you have worn once to show off online, taking last minute trips to tropical destinations for spa treatments you could get down the road. “You get it don’t you, Uncle Curly?”

“Oh yeah.” Curly smiles, blinding. “You only live once, gotta make the most of it.”

“Exactly!” Your chirp, leaning towards him as you smile, equally as blinding. “It’s a balance, you have to enjoy yourself in moderation and recycle.” Moderation says a girl who hasn’t worn the same pair of socks twice, a girl whose hands have never touched a vacuum, and neither have Jimmy’s but for different reasons. You’ve never had to. He’s just lazy. “Oh, you know, Uncle Curly, I thought you would be married by now.”

Sheepish, Curly shakes his head, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Not yet, not had any time really.”

“I think you’re a catch, Uncle Curly.” Little bit weird, but okay. Jimmy says nothing. “You have those big working-man hands.”

“Oh, I guess I do.” He laughs it off, but it’s taut, a faint tension in his square jaw.

“Yeah, they’re huge, Uncle Curly—Look!” You hold yours up, blinking at him expectantly to do the same, and Curly cannot say no. Not when it comes to Jimmy and not when it comes to you. “See!”

“I do.” Curly’s smile is doing its best not to fall.

“Mom always sets me up with, like, losers, I mean they don’t know how to do anything, I doubt they could screw a lightbulb in—I can’t screw a lightbulb in, but that’s not my job is it, Uncle Curly?”

“No, it’s not.” Your hands have intertwined, you’re giving him this smile that is making Curly uneasy, and Jimmy thinks for the first time that maybe you really are his.

“You turn forty next year, right?” You ask, a hidden intention behind your seemingly innocent question. Curly hums, nodding slowly. “We should get together if you don’t get a girlfriend by your birthday, Uncle Curly.”

Curly splutters, his words tangled in his throat, looking at Jimmy for help. “I don’t think—“

“No, really, I’m serious, Uncle Curly.” You squeeze his hand tightly, eyes sort of crazed. “I’ve got a thing for, like, blue-collar guys, and mom likes you and I mean your dad’s best friend so…” You’re a child who hasn’t been denied anything, you don’t know what limits are. “I just think it’s sexy, all that heavy-lifting and sweating, it’s so different.”

Jimmy snorts, the corner of his lip lifting in amusement. “You go right ahead, got my blessing for sure.”

“Jim,” he strains, jerking himself out of your grip, “I think you should get her home, had one too many drinks, didn’t you, sweetheart? It’s okay, happens to the best of us.”

“I’m fine actually, Uncle Curly, don’t worry about me—“

“Jim.”

Jimmy groans as he stretches, taking his time getting up and putting his boots on. “C’mon, we’re going home.”

“But dad—“ You’re pouting, that doesn’t work on him like it would your mother.

“We’re going home,” Jimmy tells you, making it clear there’s no room for any ands, ifs or buts.

“Are you going to murder me?” You blink rapidly as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. Jimmy’s rusty pick-up clunks and clanks down the narrow dirt path that leads home.

“Nah, not worth it.”

“Then why are you taking me here?” You take in the deconstructed metal structures, washing hung on lines that span the whole field. “This isn’t where you live is it, dad?”

See, this is why he used to babysit at your place. You’re a prissy piece of shit. He pulls up beside his trailer, undoing his seatbelt. Nails dig into his arm, you cling to him like you never have before. “Dad, I don’t want to sleep here!”

“Then sleep in the car.” Jimmy sighs deeply, inconvenienced by you like he has been his whole life, a faint vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Are you serious?” You hold onto him tighter. Fucking parasite. Ungrateful, good-for-nothing, la-di-da sorority girl. “What if get raped, dad? Do you want me to get raped, is that really what you want.”

Jimmy thinks on it, he smiles for the first time that night. “If it shuts you up, yes.”

“That’s awful! You’re awful!”

You end up following him inside, sniffling into the arm of his jacket and making little noises of disgust. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Will you be quiet?”

“I will, I swear, I won’t make a peep, dad.”

You do move a lot though so Jimmy traps you under his arm, it curls tight around your waist like a snake and you let out a soft whimper. “Stay still.”

“Sorry…” You whisper, and then you proceed to move again, the curve of your soft ass pressing against his crotch.

Women are either beautiful or not, and it might be bad to say—When has that ever stopped Jimmy before? You’re hot for a girl that’s supposed to be his daughter. Like Pornstar Barbie and Ken bumped plastic uglies to make you. It’s why he doesn’t fully believe it, you could be Curly’s for all he knows.

(The paternity test says otherwise. It says you are his. His baby, his parasite, his responsibility.)

“What are you trying, little girl?” Jimmy hisses in your ear, the hand on your waist slides up to grope your breast through the fabric of your silk nightie.

You don’t seem upset. Which is what a girl should be when her father touches her fucking tit. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Jimmy squeezes tighter, fat tit caged in by his fingers like netted meat. “You’re soaking your panties over some fucked up poverty fetish, you weird little bitch.” Just like your mom and her weird fucking trailer park princess fantasy. Look where that ended up. “What did you say to him? Working-man hands,” Jimmy recalls, and he can’t help but laugh, it’s so fucked up. What is wrong with rich girls? “Uncle Curly didn’t want to fuck you so you’re trying it out on your dad, hm? Is that what this is?”

“You’re my dad…” He thinks something normal is going to come out of your mouth for a split second, and then you say, “Of course you were my first choice.” Defying all expectations as usual.

“I never wanted you.”

“Do you want me now?” You take his hand and guide it between your thighs, his calloused hand gliding over your rich-girl skin. It feels like hers used to.

”No.” Jimmy cups your cunt, the heat coming through your panties.

“You do… I can feel you, dad.” You wriggle your ass, hard dick slotting perfectly between the two peachy cheeks. “You want me.”

“I don’t want you.” He’s never wanted you, and he won’t start now.

“Then why are you touching me?” You sound all smug, and he’s glad he can’t see your stupid face in the dark.

“Because.” You’re another hole to fuck, that can never do a guy any harm. Jimmy slides your panties to the side, two fingers on your stiff clit, rubbing it from side to side.

“I can feel you.” You whine in your whiny little voice, and he’s too taken by the faint sound of your squelching pussy soaking his fingers to be irritated.

“Yeah.” His breath comes out sharp, grinding his dick into your ass while he gets you off. “Dad started thinking about spoiled little pussies, think you could help him out?”

“If he asks nicely—Oh!” You yelp when Jimmy flattens you to the creaking bed.

This is what you wanted, so it’s what you’re going to get. No milky-soft, sappy rich boy shit. Jimmy isn’t going to kiss your ankles and tell you that you look beautiful tonight, he’s going to fuck you how you want to be fucked.

“Look at you, you’re asking for it.” Jimmy drags the neckline over the swell of your full breasts, they droop slightly when out of their confines and that’s how you know they’re real. Porn tits.

You nod, wide-eyed and pouty-lipped. “I’m asking for it, daddy.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck. Daddy? God, he doesn’t even like being dad let alone daddy.

Beneath him, you shift, spreading your legs as far as they go and reaching down to part your plump pussy lips with your pink nails, it’s so soaked your fingers slip when you try to spread your labia. “I need you right here, daddy.

Jimmy’s cock throbs. Hard as a diamond. He fumbles to take off his boxers. Whatever you’re doing to him, fucking around with his brain like the little parasite you are, it’s downright wrong. He’s going to fuck right through you. A silvery strand of pre trickles down the underside of his shaft, his dick twitches, balls tightening the longer he watches your soft cunt flutter around nothing.

With your ankles behind your head you’re infinitely prettier. You part your whore lips and whine, still spreading yourself open for him, this time with the addition of your cute, bleached asshole. It’s puffy and tight and he wonders if you’ve ever let anybody in.

“Slut.” Jimmy spits on your cunt, it’s unneeded, but this is how real men fuck. His spit dribbles down your crack, wetting your tighter hole. “Is this what you wanted?” He asks, voice low and rough as he drags the head of his cock up and down your slit, swiftly sinking into your tight cunt. A single, fluid thrust and he’s buried to the hilt, pussy sucking him in because you’re greedy.

“Yes, yes—Yes, daddy.” Your fingers tremble as you hold yourself open for him, bottom lip jutting out as a moan builds in your throat. “I wanted it so bad, daddy—Needed you.”

You get everything you want. Of course you do. Here he is giving it to you, eating out the palm of your hand. Jimmy can’t think when you tighten around him, sweating like he’s in a fucking sauna. His mind blanks, driving his hips forward like nothing else matters, the mattress nags at him with each thrust, creaking noisily. Stupid rich-girl cunt taking every inch without hesitation, wet and warm and so fucking tight he can’t breathe.

Somewhere between each frantic, feverish thrust of his dick, Jimmy slips out and the fat head presses to your asshole. You don’t say anything. That’s like giving him the go-ahead. So when you are too busy whimpering about the loss of his cock in your stretched little cunt, Jimmy breaches your ass, the head pops in no problem. You’re dirty. You’ve been used over and over. So many dicks before him even in your tightest hole.

“You’re a slut,” Jimmy mumbles into your neck, hips jerking forward, pushing against the resistance your hole puts up until he is sheathed inside of you.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You like it. You like the burn as he forces his way in, breaking open your asshole so no one else will ever want to use it.

“No you’re not.” All you do is take and take and take. Parasite. Spoiled. Stupid whore. He fucks into you, riled up by your fucking audacity. His daughter is a slut. All because he didn’t stick around, you had to rely on your incompetent airhead of a mother.

The fat tip of Jimmy’s dick pops out of your hole, you cry out, begging him to put it back in. Give it to me, dad. Please, daddy. I want it, daddy. Dad. Dad. Dad. I want it now. Daddy. You don’t even know how to say please, he doesn’t think you’ve ever had to say it.

“Shut up,” Jimmy groans, face strained like he has a terrible headache, “shut up.”

You pout, that’s all you know how to do. Want. Want. Want. You’re holding yourself open for him still, he can see your insides. Jimmy guides his cock back up, slapping it against the puffy rim, watching your hole wink at him. “Fuck me,” you demand, whinging at him, brown drawn together in a scowl that’s almost his.

“Do it yourself.” He levels you with his glare. “Slut,” he adds for good measure, “c’mon, work for it.”

You must be a natural because Jimmy knows you have never worked a single day in your life. The way you work his cock, lifting your hips up and humping upwards, taking him deeper each time, it drives him crazy.

Absent-mindedly, Jimmy’s fingers find your clit, eyes trained on your asshole stretching open around his shaft, his hips have started to move again. He can’t help himself. He does it better. Faster. Harder. Makes you cry, cheeks wet as you sob for him.

Daddy, daddy, daddy.

Jimmy hates it, but he tunes you out, pinching your clit so hard you wail and swear to fucking god the whole park must hear it. Your cunt gushes all over his hand, dripping into the cupped palm of his hand while he pounds into your ass, the slap of his balls on your skin getting louder the closer he gets to his high.

With a strained noise deep in the back of his throat, Jimmy’s dick gives a few last thrusts into your hole, the wet click, click, click of your throughly fucked asshole drives him nuts. He spills his load inside of you, it dribbles out when his cock slips out.

Jimmy flops down beside you. “I never wanted you,” he mumbles, hoping you know where he stands on your existence, still one of his hands finds itself rubbing your hip tenderly.

“You do now.” He almost misses the cheeky smile on your face in the dark. You’re clearly satisfied, preening and cuddling into his chest like you’re his girlfriend, tingling from head to toe, draping yourself over him like he is a trophy he’s won.

“Go to bed.” He taps you sharply on the ass.

“Okay, daddy.” Jimmy feels you tracing hearts into his skin, soothing him to sleep. “I love you,” you say, pressing a kiss to his clavicle, you smell like your mom. Rich-girl skin. He pretends to be asleep.

#mouthwashing jimmy smut #jimmy mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing x you #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing x y/n #jimmy smut #jimmy x reader

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milkteabinniechan · 7 months ago

Text

*⁠♡Happy Father's Day - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY membership // m.list

pairing: single dad! Chan x afab reader

warnings: fingering, lots of mouth sounds, angst (if you squint your eyes)

I’ll tell him about you.

Your friend had an adorable three year old. A loud, sticky, energetic three year old. But adorable nonetheless. You had a pretty regular babysitting gig going. A few people around your neighborhood had talked and heard about your services and now you were basically a seasoned vet when it came to entertaining toddlers.

But your friend was a full time stay-at-home mom now and could watch her own adorable, sticky three year old. And now you needed another spot to fill those last bit of monthly bills. So she said there was a new dad at the preschool that seemed like he was struggling. “Struggling”, she said in air quotes. You agreed and asked her to give this new dad your information. Even though you mostly worked with the mothers, money was money.

A few days passed and eventually your phone rang, an unknown number flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi. This is Chan. The.. uh.. Dad from Sunnyvale Preschool? I was told you could help me out with babysitting?”

He sounded nervous, or maybe he was just a shy person. Maybe he hated talking on the phone. But did his voice sound sexy? There was a deep, velvety smoothness to the way he spoke. Even between the stutters and pauses. You lingered for a moment, lost in the thought of that voice of his.

“Are you still there?” His voice pierced through your eardrum.

“Shit. Sorry, yeah. I’m here. And yes, I am available. Do you have time this week to set up a meet and greet?” your voice quickly went into customer service mode, knowing exactly what to say, memorizing the script you had made for yourself months ago.

THe two of you agreed on a time and day and said your goodbyes. You took a deep breath and tried to forget the way the sound of his voice made you feel. And you prayed all night that he didn’t look as good as he sounded.

Soon, you found yourself at the front door of Chan’s house. An expansive four bedroom home with one of those driveways that was nearly at a ninety degree angle. The door itself was large with two thin lines of stained glass running vertically down the front. A wooden WELCOME sign layed lazily against the door. A novelty sign you could buy as a last minute purchase at a hardware store. The front door clicked open and Chan stood in the doorway, child on his hip.

“Come on in,” He said warmly, arm gesturing for you to walk inside, “Did you find the place okay?”

Inside was a long staircase leading up to the bedrooms, a chandelier hanging from the top floor and swinging down gracefully into the foyer where the three of you stood. Past the stairs was a long hallway that led to the living room and an open floor plan kitchen. Windows surrounded the rooms in a sunlit blanket that made the whole house seem as if it was holding its arms out to you, embracing you.

The three of you sat down on the sectional couch in the living room. You sat on one end, while Chan and the small child sat together on the other corner. Chan introduced the small girl as Lilly. She clung to Chan tightly, her small, chubby finger gripping onto his shirt as if it were a lifeline. You smiled at Lilly and introduced yourself to her. You held eye contact with only her and asked her about some of her favorite things. You had learned over the years that children appreciated when you spoke to them like you understood them. Like everything they said was important, because to you it was. Lilly lit up and talked excitedly about some of her favorite books, jumping at the opportunity to show you. She ran to her room and hastily returned with a few small books. One was about animals, another was about a tractor that made a new friend. You exclaimed in amazement at Lilly’s amazing books. She was smart and she was quiet, but you could tell she was very well loved.

Chan watched the two of you talk about books and the different noises that animals make. It had been a long time since he had seen Lilly open up to someone so quickly. It made his heart feel full to burst, seeing the way you interacted with his daughter.

“You’re hired.” Chan said as you started to walk out of the door. His sudden decision startled you, usually it took most parents to call a few days after the meet and greet. You smiled warmly at Chan, giving him a firm handshake. The two of you quickly made a schedule of the days you would be working and before you knew it, you were in the routine with him.

Months went by with the three of you falling into this routine. You knew exactly when Chan would get home, you knew the foods that Lilly liked to eat, with her tastes changing by the week. You knew when to have dinner on the table and when to have Lilly in bed. And there was comfort there. A comfort in Chan coming home, in making a meal for him. You loved Lilly, and you couldn’t ignore this role that you were easing into.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

Chan walked in the door to find you greeting him with balloons and a cake on the dining room table. Lilly ran to Chan and squeezed his leg. You stood by the balloons and cake, waiting for his reaction. But for a moment he just stood there. Then, he picked Lilly up, propping her on his hip and walked towards you, embracing you with his free arm. He pulled you in close and whispered a soft thank you against your neck. As he pulled back from the hug, the two of you lingered there for a moment, caught heavily in the tension building thick between you. Later that evening, you walked back downstairs from putting Lilly to bed. You entered the kitchen to see Chan cleaning off the rest of the plates and silverware, blue frosting speckled on forks and spoons alike.

“I hope the cake wasn’t too much,” You spoke softly, moving towards Chan at the sink, “It was Lilly’s idea, she really wanted a cake.”

Chan chuckled softly at the thought of his daughter begging for a cake, with only blue frosting, blue being her current favorite color.

“It was perfect,” Chan stopped washing dishes and turned towards you, “you’re perfect.” Chan slowly moved his hands from the warm sink water, to your waiting waist. His fingers crept along your stomach and landed flush along your back, pulling you close to his body. You gasped at the sudden movement, but your body reacted reflexively to his touch. He took you by the hips and propped you up on the kitchen counter. He moved in towards your legs, spreading them open, making room for him. He gripped your thigh with his large hand and pulled it up and around his waist. Your eyes burned bright at his brazen actions as you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep, possessive kiss. Chan forcefully glides his tongue into your mouth, letting it graze across your teeth. You let out a soft gasp as you feel his tongue slide inside, sending a shiver up your spine. You open your mouth wider for him, letting your tongues tangle together in a slow, sensual dance. You press against Chan, craving more of his touch, desperate for it.

He lets his hand fall lazily down your chest, then your stomach. He easily unclasps the button of your pants and lets his hand slip inside. The rush of warmth from his hand causes your head to fall back, your back arching at his every movement. A low growl escapes from inside Chan’s chest seeing how responsive you are to his touch. He lets his teeth graze lightly along the skin of your neck while his fingers trace hypnotic circles around the entrance of your cunt. He can feel how wet you already are for him and it causes something feral to happen in his brain. He buries his fingers deeper inside you, the sudden impact and pressure causing you to squirm and squeal pathetically in his strong arms.

A small, faint cry comes from the top of the stairs and suddenly the two of you snap back into parent mode. The sound of Lilly’s tiny voice pushing all other thoughts and feelings aside. The two of you run upstairs to find Lilly in her bed, crying from a nightmare.

Chan melts instantly at the sight of his daughter safely lying in her bed, instantly thinking the worst may have happened. He sits on the bed with her and holds her close. He consoles her and reminds her that dreams cannot hurt her, he reassures her that he is here to protect her. That he will always be here for her. But as he speaks, he looks at you too. He looks at you as if he wanted you to hear what he was saying as well, like he was speaking to you and Lilly. That you were both important to him. As if he wanted to protect you too. And love you too. You gave Chan a small nod, so he knew you understood. You loved him too. And you would protect both of them with your whole heart.

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