#repeating in my head over and over WHAT IF THEY HAD BABIES WHAT IF THEY HAD BA | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 3 days ago

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Legacy (what was promised)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: long live the king

- Next part: the judgment

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The heavy door creaked open, and Tywin stepped back into the chamber, his face as composed as ever, though his sharp gaze immediately swept over the room. The air was warm and thick with the scent of herbs, sweat, and the faint coppery tang of blood. The midwives bustled quietly around the bed, their hands deft as they tended to both you and the newborn.

Pycelle, still stationed awkwardly near the wall, stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward Tywin. “My lord,” he rasped, his voice trembling with a mix of nerves and lingering irritation. “It is a son.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though his piercing green eyes flickered briefly with something unspoken. He moved toward the bed with measured steps, his presence commanding as he approached the midwife who held the swaddled infant. She looked up, her hands steady but her demeanor reverent, as though handing over the child to a king.

“My lord,” she said softly, placing the child into Tywin’s waiting arms.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Tywin looked down at the tiny bundle. The child’s face was delicate but unmistakably strong, even in its infancy. Wisps of fine hair crowned his head, a striking mix of silver and gold that shimmered in the dim candlelight. His eyes, though barely open, revealed a vibrant violet hue flecked with pale green—an eerie but captivating blend of Targaryen and Lannister traits.

Tywin studied him in silence, his expression unreadable as he cradled the infant in his large hands. The weight of the moment was not lost on anyone in the room. Here, in his arms, was the future of House Lannister—a child born of two powerful bloodlines, a child who could command loyalty and fear in equal measure.

He turned toward the bed, where you lay propped up against the pillows, your face pale and glistening with sweat but your eyes bright with determination. The midwives had cleaned you up and tucked you under the covers, their whispered reassurances fading into the background as Tywin approached.

“You did well,” he said quietly, his tone softer than usual as he stopped beside the bed. His eyes met yours briefly before he held the infant slightly forward. “A son.”

Your breath hitched as you looked at the baby, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief, love, and exhaustion. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly, and Tywin lowered the child into your arms. The weight of him felt almost surreal, his tiny form warm and vibrant against you.

“He’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you brushed your fingers gently over the soft tufts of his hair. The baby stirred, his small hands curling into fists as he let out a faint whimper.

Tywin stood over you, his gaze fixed on the child with an intensity that betrayed his usual stoicism. “He is strong,” he said, his voice low but firm. “He will carry the legacy of both our houses.”

You glanced up at him, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Have you decided on a name?”

Tywin didn’t hesitate. “Damon,” he said, his tone resolute. “It is a name that commands respect. A name worthy of his heritage.”

You looked down at the child again, the name settling over him like a mantle. “Damon,” you repeated softly, the syllables rolling off your tongue. It felt right—strong, regal, and steeped in history.

The baby stirred again, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a soft cry. You rocked him gently, murmuring soothing words as you held him close. Tywin watched silently, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

“He has your strength,” you said finally, your eyes meeting Tywin’s. “And your determination.”

“And your fire,” Tywin replied, his gaze unwavering. “He will be more than either of us. He will be great.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of Tywin’s words settling over everyone present. The midwives exchanged glances, their movements hushed as they continued their work. Pycelle, still lurking in the background, cleared his throat as if to speak, but Tywin silenced him with a single glance.

For a moment, it was just the three of you—the powerful lord, the resilient mother, and the newborn heir. Damon, a child born of fire and gold, was the bridge between two dynasties, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The dungeon was cold and damp, the only light coming from the flickering torches along the stone walls. Tyrion sat on the uncomfortable bench, his hands resting in his lap as he stared at the floor. The clinking of keys echoed through the corridor, followed by the measured footsteps of Varys, whose shadow preceded him.

“Ah, my favorite spider,” Tyrion drawled, looking up as the eunuch stepped into view. His voice was sardonic, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. “Come to spin me another web of half-truths and cryptic warnings?”

Varys gave a small, almost apologetic smile as he stepped closer, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I come bearing news, my lord. Whether it’s welcome or not, I leave to you to decide.”

“News?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Cersei wants me dead. Or is it that I’m to be executed before the trial even begins? Do tell, Varys, don’t leave me in suspense.”

The eunuch tilted his head slightly, his expression calm. “You are correct in part. The queen regent is… insistent on seeing you punished for her son’s death. However, there will be a trial. Your father, as Hand of the King, has ensured that much.”

Tyrion let out a bitter laugh, leaning back against the cold wall. “Oh, a trial. How magnanimous of him. I’m sure it will be entirely fair and just. And by fair and just, I mean a complete farce orchestrated to appease Cersei’s bloodlust.”

“Your sharp tongue does you no favors, Lord Tyrion,” Varys said softly, his tone carrying a hint of reproach. “You’ve antagonized your sister and the late king more times than I can count. Did you truly believe it would not come to this?”

Tyrion shrugged, his smile grim. “Cersei would want me dead no matter what I said or did. It’s not as though I could have charmed her into civility.”

“Perhaps not,” Varys admitted, his gaze steady. “But threats, no matter how veiled, are never wise when dealing with someone as volatile as your sister—or the late King Joffrey.”

Tyrion snorted. “Volatile is a generous word for them, Varys. But do go on. You didn’t come here to lecture me on my lack of tact.”

“You’re correct again,” Varys replied, his voice lowering slightly. “There is another matter.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? Do enlighten me.”

Varys stepped closer, his tone quiet but deliberate. “Lady Sansa is nowhere to be found. She vanished shortly after the chaos began during the wedding feast.”

Tyrion’s expression darkened, though his voice remained light. “Gone, you say? Good for her. I hope she’s far away from this nest of vipers. Though I suppose that will only give Cersei more ammunition against me.”

“Indeed,” Varys agreed. “The queen regent is convinced that Lady Sansa’s disappearance is proof of your guilt. It’s yet another thread in the tapestry she’s weaving to see you condemned.”

Tyrion sighed, running a hand through his hair. “A tapestry I’ll no doubt be strangled with in the end. Lovely.”

“There’s more,” Varys said, his voice even softer now, as though reluctant to continue.

“More?” Tyrion looked at him with mock surprise. “What could possibly be worse than being falsely accused of regicide and knowing my sister will gleefully see me executed?”

“The Hand’s wife,” Varys said, his words deliberate, “went into labor during the wedding feast. While the chaos of the king’s death unfolded, Lady Y/N delivered a son. The child was born one day ago.”

Tyrion blinked, the news momentarily silencing him. “A son,” he said slowly, as though tasting the words. “Tywin’s long-awaited male heir. Of course. The gods do have a sense of humor.”

“Yes,” Varys confirmed. “By all accounts, both mother and child are healthy. Lord Tywin now has what he’s desired for so long—a legacy to carry on the Lannister name.”

Tyrion let out a sharp laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “Oh, how poetic. While one king dies, another is born. Tywin must be beside himself with satisfaction.”

Varys gave no response, his expression carefully neutral.

Tyrion leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. “A son with silver-gold hair and violet eyes, I presume. A perfect blend of fire and gold. No wonder my father wanted her so desperately.”

Varys inclined his head. “The child is indeed a striking mix of both houses. He will no doubt be a significant player in the years to come.”

“Significant?” Tyrion repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, he’ll be more than that, Varys. He’ll be Tywin’s pride and joy, the embodiment of everything he’s ever wanted. Meanwhile, I’ll be rotting in the dungeons, condemned for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Not necessarily,” Varys said, his tone pointed. “There is still time to turn the tide.”

Tyrion looked up at him, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, do tell me, dear Varys, what grand scheme do you have in mind this time?”

Varys didn’t answer directly, his enigmatic smile returning as he stepped back toward the door. “I merely suggest you keep your wits about you, my lord. The game is far from over.”

As the door closed behind him, Tyrion leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. A son for Tywin. A son born in the midst of chaos. He couldn’t help but wonder what ripple effects this child would have on their already fragile world.

The sun was setting over King’s Landing as Jaime stepped into Cersei’s chambers. She was pacing near the window, her golden hair catching the fading light. A goblet of wine sat untouched on the table beside her, a rare sign of her restraint. When she turned to face him, her emerald eyes were ablaze with frustration.

“You came,” she said sharply, her voice laced with irritation. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten where my chambers are.”

Jaime sighed, his golden hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve been busy, Cersei. The city is still in chaos after Joffrey’s death, and father has me overseeing the preparations for Tommen’s coronation.”

“Oh, father,” Cersei sneered, her expression twisting with disdain. “That’s all anyone cares about, isn’t it? Tywin’s plans. Tywin’s legacy. Do you even realize what he’s doing?”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Cersei stepped closer, her voice lowering as her anger grew sharper. “He’s preparing to name that child—the dragonspawn—his heir. Can’t you see it? Everything he’s done, everything he’s built, will go to that boy.”

Jaime’s expression didn’t change, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

Her tone turned desperate. “You’re the firstborn son, Jaime! You should take your rightful place as the heir to Casterly Rock. Leave the Kingsguard. Father will listen to you if you claim what’s yours.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “He’s already offered, Cersei. I refused.”

Cersei froze, her mouth slightly agape. “You… what?”

“I refused,” Jaime repeated calmly, though there was a faint edge of irritation in his voice. “It’s not my place. I swore an oath, Cersei.”

Her shock quickly turned to fury, and she stepped closer, her hands clenched into fists. “You swore an oath? To a king you killed? To a boy who laughed at you? And now to a child barely old enough to hold a crown?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “Tommen is innocent, Cersei. He needs protection, and you know that.”

“What about us?” she snapped. “What about our family? That boy—” She spat the word with venom. “—is not one of us. He’s a Targaryen. He’ll taint everything we’ve built.”

Jaime’s expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his tone hard. “That ‘boy’ is our brother. Whether you like it or not, he’s father’s son. Have you even seen him?”

Cersei’s eyes flared with fury, and she shook her head sharply. “No, I haven’t. And I don’t need to. He’s not my brother, Jaime. He’s a usurper. A reminder of everything I hate about our father.”

Jaime let out a humorless laugh, his golden hand tapping against the table. “Your hatred for father blinds you, as always. This isn’t about the child, Cersei. This is about you wanting to control everything. You can’t stand that father’s attention is on someone else.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Don’t you dare lecture me, Jaime. You have no idea what it’s like to be pushed aside, to watch everything you’ve sacrificed for handed to someone else.”

“Sacrificed?” Jaime shot back, his voice rising. “You’ve sacrificed nothing. You’re the queen regent, Cersei. You’ve had everything handed to you, and still, it’s never enough.”

Her face twisted with rage, and she pointed a finger at him, her voice trembling. “You think you’re better than me? Because you play the noble knight, clinging to your pathetic oaths? You’ve thrown away your legacy for what? For pride?”

Jaime’s expression hardened, and he turned toward the door, his voice cold. “At least I’m not consumed by bitterness. The boy is our brother, whether you accept it or not.”

Cersei’s voice followed him as he left. “He’s no brother of mine! And if you had any sense, you’d see that.”

Jaime paused at the threshold, his back to her. “Maybe it’s time you stopped seeing enemies everywhere, Cersei. Not everyone is out to destroy you.”

He walked out, leaving Cersei alone in the fading light. She stood frozen, her chest heaving as her anger boiled over. With a scream of frustration, she hurled the goblet of wine across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall, red staining the stone like blood.

The air was quiet save for the faint coos of your newborn son nestled in your arms. Damon’s tiny hands curled around your fingers, his silver-gold hair shimmering in the light, and his violet eyes, flecked with green, blinked sleepily at you. His warmth grounded you, a comforting presence that momentarily eased the burdens pressing on your mind.

The door opened softly, and Olenna Tyrell stepped inside, her cane clicking against the stone floor. She surveyed the scene with a knowing smile, her sharp eyes taking in the peaceful tableau of mother and child.

“Well, don’t you look the picture of serenity,” Olenna said, her voice tinged with amusement. “And the boy—” she stepped closer, peering down at Damon with an approving nod, “—a fine heir if ever I’ve seen one.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a hand over Damon’s hair. “He’s everything I could have hoped for.”

Olenna settled into the chair by your side, her sharp gaze flicking to you. “I saw Lord Tywin a few hours ago,” she began, her tone casual but edged with mischief. “He was in the hall, looking as stern as ever, but I swear, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the man was smiling.”

You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing your face. “Tywin Lannister smiling? That must have been a sight.”

“Oh, indeed,” Olenna chuckled. “Though I can’t blame him. He’s waited for this—” she gestured to Damon, “—for over a decade. Or so I’ve been told.”

You glanced down at your son, your smile softening. “He’s certainly made it clear how much this means to him.”

As the midwives and servants finished tidying up the room and quietly excused themselves, Olenna’s expression shifted. Once the door closed, she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a more personal tone.

“You know,” she said, her gaze fixed on you, “I wanted to thank you.”

You looked at her, startled. “For what?”

“For helping dispose of Joffrey,” Olenna said bluntly, her tone as sharp as ever but carrying a faint note of gratitude. “That boy was a menace, and the realm is better off without him.”

You stiffened slightly, your fingers tightening on Damon’s blanket. “I didn’t—”

“Please,” Olenna interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t insult my intelligence, dear. You may not have poured the poison into his cup yourself, but you were part of the plan. Your presence gave it legitimacy, distracted the right people, and ensured everything went smoothly.”

You met her gaze, your expression guarded. “I did what was necessary. For Sansa, for Margaery, for the realm.”

Olenna nodded, a glimmer of approval in her eyes. “Exactly. And I, for one, am grateful. But speaking of Sansa…” She trailed off, watching your reaction carefully.

Your stomach tightened at the mention of the girl. “Is she safe?”

Olenna’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Baelish is taking care of her.”

Your brow furrowed, concern flashing in your eyes. “That doesn’t reassure me, Lady Olenna.”

“Nor should it,” Olenna admitted, her tone turning serious. “Littlefinger is an opportunist, always looking for the next move. But for now, he values her. She’s safe under his care, at least until she’s no longer useful.”

You let out a slow breath, your gaze dropping to Damon’s sleeping face. “Sansa has been through so much already. I hate the thought of her being under his influence.”

Olenna leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “The girl has strength, more than she realizes. She’ll survive this. And if she’s clever, she’ll learn to use Littlefinger as he uses her.”

You shook your head, your voice soft but resolute. “I just want her to find peace. She’s been a pawn for too long.”

Olenna reached out, patting your hand gently. “We all play the game, dear. Some of us are just better at it than others. And speaking of the game—” She glanced down at Damon with a faint smile. “—your little lion-dragon here will have his own part to play soon enough.”

You followed her gaze, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and trepidation as you looked at your son. Whatever the future held, you were determined to protect him—and those you cared about—from the dangers of the game you were all forced to play.

The dungeons of the Red Keep were damp and cold, the stench of mold and decay clinging to the air. Your footsteps echoed softly as you descended the stone steps, Ser Barristan trailing a few paces behind. The torches lining the walls flickered weakly, casting specters that seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness. Despite the discomfort of your recent childbirth, you pressed forward, determined to see Tyrion before the trial drew any closer.

As you approached his cell, Tyrion looked up from the bench where he sat, his features shadowed in the dim light. For a moment, he appeared genuinely surprised, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he doubted the reality of your presence.

“Well, if it isn’t my esteemed stepmother,” he drawled, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his tunic. “Shouldn’t you be resting in the comfort of the Tower of the Hand, basking in the glow of new motherhood? What brings you to my humble accommodations?”

You stopped just outside the cell, your hands clasped before you, your posture composed despite the lingering soreness in your body. “I couldn’t rest knowing you were here, Tyrion.”

He tilted his head, studying you closely. “Careful, my lady. Such kindness might make one think you actually care.”

You ignored his jibe, your tone steady but edged with seriousness. “I came to tell you that I’ll speak to Tywin. Whatever sentence he has in mind, I’ll try to temper it.”

Tyrion let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re wasting your breath, my dear. This entire charade is a trap, and we both know it. Father’s decision was made the moment Cersei pointed her finger at me.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with regret. “And I’m sorry.”

Tyrion’s sharp eyes locked onto yours, his expression shifting as realization dawned. “You know,” he said slowly, his voice dropping. “You know who did it.”

You met his gaze but said nothing, your silence speaking volumes.

He barked a humorless laugh, his hands spreading wide in mock incredulity. “Of course you do. The silent conspirator. And here I thought Varys was the best at keeping secrets.”

“This isn’t a game, Tyrion,” you replied, your voice firm but laced with sorrow. “Joffrey’s death was necessary, but this… what’s happening to you… it’s not right.”

“Ah,” Tyrion said, leaning back against the wall, his tone sardonic. “Spare me the pity, my lady. I’ve lived my life knowing I was a convenient scapegoat for every misfortune that befell this family. Why should my trial be any different?”

You stepped closer to the bars, lowering your voice. “I’ll do what I can. Tywin listens to me.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Does he? Or does he simply indulge you because you’re the mother of his heir?”

You straightened, your composure unwavering. “That child is your brother, Tyrion. And he deserves a chance to grow up in a world where his family isn’t constantly tearing itself apart.”

Tyrion sighed, his expression softening slightly. “Speaking of the boy… how is he?”

A faint smile touched your lips as you thought of Damon. “He’s healthy. Strong. He has his father’s resolve and his mother’s fire.”

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully, his gaze turning distant. “Good. He’ll need both if he’s to survive in this family.”

His tone shifted, becoming more serious as he stepped closer to the bars, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “Listen to me carefully,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Once I’m gone—and I will be gone—Cersei will turn her attention to you and the boy. She hates you, and she’ll see Damon as a threat to her precious Tommen’s reign.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Stay close to father,” Tyrion said without hesitation. “For all his faults—and there are many—he won’t allow Cersei to harm you or Damon. He’s staked too much on you both.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his advice. “Thank you, Tyrion.”

He smirked faintly, his tone softening. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not sure my wisdom is worth much from a cell.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken fears and regrets. Finally, you stepped back, your gaze lingering on him. “I’ll do everything I can to help you, Tyrion. I promise.”

Tyrion gave a faint shrug, his smile bitter. “I suppose we’ll see how far promises go in this family.”

With that, you turned and began walking away, your steps echoing softly in the dim corridor. As you ascended the stairs, your heart felt heavy, the weight of the coming trial pressing down on you. But Tyrion’s warning echoed in your mind, a reminder that in this dangerous game, survival meant more than strength—it required cunning, alliances, and a steadfast resolve to protect what mattered most.

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lila-lou · 2 days ago

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✨His second exception - Pt. 25/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 3966

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 25 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

You smiled and glanced over your shoulder at Ben, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Got any idea for a name?”, you asked, your voice light, but with a hint of genuine curiosity. You’d been thinking about it yourself, but you wanted to hear what he had in mind.

Ben paused, chewing on the last bite of his pizza as he thought about your question. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was actually giving it serious consideration.

“Haven’t given it too much thought”, he admitted, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips, as if he was already toying with a few ideas.

Ben’s smirk lingered, his fingers brushing against your belly absentmindedly as he continued, “But if it’s a boy… maybe something like Jack or Ethan".

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his arms around you, the comfort of being wrapped up with him like this. “Jack”, you repeated thoughtfully, testing the name on your tongue. “I like that. It’s classic”.

Ben nodded, as if satisfied with the choice. “Yeah, solid. No one messes with a Jack”.

You chuckled at that, tilting your head to look at him. “And if it’s a girl?”.

Ben grumbled softly, his voice low and playful, “It won’t be a girl”, he muttered, his hand brushing over your belly as if making his claim known. You could feel his lighthearted stubbornness, the same confidence that he’d been carrying since the beginning, convinced you were having a boy.

You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow. “You don’t know that”, you teased, glancing back at him with a grin. “It still could be a girl, you know”.

Ben sighed dramatically, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “If it’s a girl, I’m in trouble”, he said, shaking his head as if already preparing himself for the possibility.

You smiled softly, leaning your head against Ben’s chest as you whispered, “I like the name Aria”.

Ben paused for a moment, his hand still resting protectively over your belly. He hummed softly, almost reluctantly, before mumbling, “It’s a good name. Strong, but… still sweet”. His voice was gruff, but there was no mistaking the affection behind it.

Still, he couldn’t resist adding, with a playful grumble, “But it won’t be a girl”.

You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as you nestled deeper into his embrace. “But what if you’re wrong?”, you teased, looking up at him.

Ben leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered in that gruff, teasing tone, “I won’t be wrong, you know why?”. He paused for effect, his lips brushing just slightly against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “The moment I shot my load, I was only sending my boys”.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, shaking your head at his ridiculous confidence. “Oh my gosh, Ben”, you giggled, pulling away slightly to look at him. “You’re impossible!”.

He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “What? I’m just telling you how it is. Science, baby”.

You playfully smacked his chest, still laughing. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how good your ‘science’ is when we find out it’s a girl”.

Ben chuckled, pulling you even closer against his chest as he mumbled softly, “You’ll see”, his voice carrying that same playful confidence. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment as if sealing his words with that small, tender gesture. His hand, still resting on your belly, gave a comforting rub, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment.

“You’re so sure of yourself”, you teased, looking up at him with a smile, your laughter still bubbling beneath the surface.

Ben’s grin softened as he met your gaze. “I’m always sure of myself”, he said, his tone low and affectionate.

When you and Ben finally returned home, stepping through the door with your suitcases in tow, you were met with an unexpected sight: your parents sitting comfortably on the couch as if they owned the place. Your dad was leaning back with his arms crossed, while your mom sat forward, clearly mid-bicker.

“I’m telling you, he doesn’t have the guts”, your mom said, her voice tinged with playful challenge. “Ben probably chickened out the moment he thought about actually getting down on one knee”.

Your dad snorted, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? The guy didn’t ask for permission—he demanded it. Like he was claiming a damn kingdom”. He crossed his arms tighter. “No way he didn’t go through with it. The man practically made it a decree”.

You froze, your mouth hanging open slightly in surprise as you took in the scene. Ben, standing behind you with a suitcase in each hand, blinked at the unexpected visitors before muttering under his breath, “What the hell?”.

Your mom noticed you first, her eyes lighting up when she saw the two of you standing there. “Oh, there they are!”, she exclaimed, jumping up and rushing over. Her eyes immediately scanned your hand.

Your mom’s eyes grew wide as they locked onto the ring glinting on your finger. She stood frozen for a moment, looking back and forth between you and Ben in disbelief. “He actually did it”, she muttered, her voice soft with shock.

Your dad, who had risen from the couch, let out a booming laugh, his grin stretching wide. “Hah! Told you so!”, he said triumphantly, pointing a finger at your mom. “Now you owe me ten bucks, Darling”.

Your mom shot him a glare, but it quickly softened as her attention returned to the two of you. She stepped closer, grabbing your hand to inspect the ring, her face lighting up with a mixture of amazement and approval. “It’s beautiful”, she whispered, her tone awed before she looked up at Ben. “And you—when did you even—how did you—”.

Ben shrugged casually, though the proud smirk on his face betrayed his nonchalance. “Had it planned for a while”, he said, setting the suitcases down with a thud. “Figured Brazil was the right place to do it”.

Your dad clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, his expression full of amused respect. “Gotta admit, kid, you’ve got style”, he said with a chuckle. “But you know, she’s stuck with you now”.

Ben didn’t miss a beat, his smirk turning into a full grin as he shot back, “Oh, don’t worry. She’ll be too busy loving it to mind”.

You groaned, though you couldn’t help but laugh at their banter. “Seriously? You two are ridiculous”.

Your mom pulled you into a hug, still beaming. “Ridiculous or not, I couldn’t be happier”, she said, squeezing you tightly before turning to Ben with an approving nod. “You did good, Ben”.

“Yeah, I know”, Ben replied with a wink, his hand moving instinctively to rest protectively on your back.

Your dad grinned, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the couch. “You know”, he said, his tone light but teasing, “now you’ll have to put up with us for holidays, right? Every single one”.

Ben, ever the cocky one, smirked as he folded his arms and shot back, “Oh, I’m already prepared for that nightmare”.

Your mom, ignoring the banter between the two men, stepped closer to you and placed a hand gently on your now quite prominent belly without even asking. You were used to her motherly habits by now, but it still caught you a little off guard. Her face softened, a warm smile spreading as she spoke. “It’s only ten weeks left until the big day”, she murmured, her voice tinged with excitement. “Is he finally moving more?”,

You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully as you glanced down at your belly. “Why is everybody expecting a boy?”, you muttered, your tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Your dad raised a hand, shaking his head with a grin. “Nah, I’m thinking it’s a girl”, he said confidently, his eyes flicking between you and Ben as if daring him to argue.

Ben leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes at your dad with a smirk. “Oh, it’s definitely a boy”, he said, his tone firm. “No way it’s not”.

Your dad scoffed, clearly enjoying the challenge. “We’ll see about that”, he shot back. “I’ve got a feeling about this”.

You groaned dramatically, rubbing your belly with a wry smile. “Great. Even before he´s born, the kid’s already causing debates”.

Shaking your head with an amused smile as you rested a hand on your belly. “And yeah”, you said, glancing between your parents, “he finally made himself known—hard. Kicked the air out of my lungs while we were in Brazil”.

Your mom gasped, her eyes wide with excitement, while your dad leaned forward slightly. “Really?”, your mom asked, her hand moving slightly as if hoping to feel something. “That must’ve been incredible”.

“Incredible? More like shocking”, you replied with a laugh, looking down at your belly. “It was so strong, it actually made me jump".

As you spoke, Ben stepped up beside you and kissed your temple, his touch grounding and affectionate. “Told you”, he murmured quietly, the pride evident in his voice. “Strong little guy. Definitely takes after me”.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but the warmth in his voice made your heart flutter. “We’ll see”, you said, smiling up at him.

Ben gave your waist a gentle squeeze before straightening up. “I’m gonna get these suitcases out of the way”, he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Don’t go starting any more debates while I’m gone”.

Your dad chuckled. “No promises”.

As Ben disappeared into the bedroom with the suitcases, your mom’s gaze lingered on your belly, her expression soft and full of love. “It’s so exciting”, she said, her voice quiet but filled with emotion. “I can’t wait to meet this little one”.

You smiled, feeling the baby shift slightly under your hand. “Me neither”, you admitted. “But he can stay in there a little longer—I’m not quite ready for all the sleepless nights”.

Your dad leaned back again, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “Oh, trust me, you’ll be ready when the time comes. And if you’re not, well…”, He gestured toward your mom. “That’s what grandparents are for”.

Your mom laughed, patting his arm. “And don’t you forget it”, she said, winking at you. “We’re just a call away”.

Ben returned just in time to catch the end of the conversation, leaning casually against the doorway. “Yeah, just remember”, he said with a smirk, “grandparents don’t get veto power. This kid’s ours”.

Your mom tilted her head, her hand still resting lightly on your belly as she asked, “Anything odd happening? Any surprises?”.

You shrugged, catching her curious tone. “Not really”, you said, glancing at Ben for a second before looking back at her. “I mean, the cravings have been wild, and I’ve been pretty exhausted lately. But nothing out of the ordinary”.

“Cravings?”, your mom asked with a knowing smile. “What’s been on the menu for you?”.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes as you leaned back into the couch. “Oh, you name it. Fruit salad one minute, burgers the next, and then pastries and smoothies. It’s like I’ve got an appetite I can’t control, and everything smells so good”.

Ben smirked from his spot in the doorway, crossing his arms. “Don’t forget the five different meals in one day”, he teased, his voice warm with affection. “I’ve never seen anyone eat that much and still have room for dessert”.

You shot him a playful glare, but your mom burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Sounds about right. I remember being like that with you”, she said, her tone light and nostalgic. “And the exhaustion? That’s just par for the course, especially in the last few weeks”.

Your dad chimed in from his seat, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, darling”, he said to your mom, “but you weren’t carrying a supe, were you?”.

You sighed, rubbing your belly absentmindedly as you replied, “We don’t even know if he’s got powers or not. He probably will, eventually”, you admitted, glancing at Ben with a small shrug. “But for now, he seems like a normal baby”.

Ben, standing by the doorway, muttered under his breath, “Tomorrow we’ll find out more”. He walked over to sit beside you, his presence grounding. “Next appointment will check his size and, finally, the gender. Since, you know…”, he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, his protective side showing through. “He’s been measuring a bit small”.

Your mom’s smile faded slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “Small? Is that… normal?”, she asked, her tone careful but worried.

You quickly reassured her, your voice calm. “The doctor said it’s nothing to worry about. Just something to keep an eye on”. You placed your hand over Ben’s, squeezing gently. “And he’s definitely moving plenty. Trust me, he’s doing just fine in there”.

Ben nodded, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Yeah”, he said softly. “We’ll get more answers tomorrow”. His hand brushed over your belly in that now-familiar motion, almost like he was silently communicating with the baby.

Your dad leaned forward, his tone lightening the mood. “I’m sure he’s fine. Just waiting to surprise us all. Probably already planning how to take over the world—classic supe kid stuff”.

Ben let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Great, just what we need. Another me”.

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be way more charming than you ever were”.

As the evening settled in, you found yourself lying comfortably across Ben’s lap on the bed, your belly resting right in front of him on his thighs. You wore nothing but your underwear, the warmth of the room and the intimacy of the moment making you feel completely at ease. While you twirled the ring on your finger, admiring how perfectly it fit, Ben was rubbing oil on your belly with a mix of focus and clumsy determination.

“Am I doing this shit right?”, Ben grumbled, his voice carrying a tinge of frustration as his large hands slid over your skin. His movements were careful, but he was clearly out of his depth.

You chuckled softly, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “You’re doing fine, Ben”, you reassured him, though you couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he looked about it.

Suddenly, Ben lifted his hand and licked a bit of the oil off his pinky, immediately scrunching up his face in disgust. “Feels like fucking lube”, he muttered, his expression turning sour as he grumbled, “but tastes like shit”.

You burst out laughing, the sound filling the room as you covered your mouth to stifle the giggles. “Why would you lick it?”, you managed to ask, still laughing as you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

Ben shrugged, his cocky smirk returning despite his initial reaction. “Had to check. For all I know, you’re making me rub motor oil on you”, he teased, though his hands continued their careful motions across your belly.

You shook your head, still smiling as you settled back down. “It’s just regular belly oil, you big idiot”, you teased, feeling the soothing warmth of his touch despite his lack of finesse. “Not everything has to taste good”.

Ben grinned, his hands slowing as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Fair enough”, he murmured, his voice softening as he looked down at your belly. “But you better appreciate the effort, kid”, he added, directing his words toward your unborn child. “Your mom’s already got me doing shit I never thought I’d fucking do”.

"You should talk to him more often", you whispered.

Ben paused his clumsy but earnest rubbing of your belly at your words, his hands still resting on your skin. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked down at you, clearly intrigued. “Talk to him more often?”, he repeated, his voice low and thoughtful.

You nodded, your hand trailing over his thigh as you gazed up at him with those big, adoring eyes that he secretly loved—though he’d never admit it out loud. You could see the way his usual cocky facade softened under your gaze, a rare vulnerability peeking through. “Yeah”, you whispered, your voice warm and full of affection. “I think he’d like that. You know… hearing your voice. Knowing you’re here”.

Ben tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if to brush off the idea, but his hands stayed steady on your belly. “You really think he’s paying attention in there?”, he asked, his tone a little skeptical but not dismissive.

“I know he is”, you said confidently, your hand moving to rest over his. “And I think it’d mean a lot. You’re already his hero, you know. You’re his dad”.

Ben let out a deep breath, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Well”, he muttered, his eyes flicking down to your belly, “guess it’s never too early to start, huh?”.

Ben leaned in closer, his large hand pressing firmly but gently against your belly. His voice dropped into a low, rumbling tone, the kind of commanding voice that had probably struck fear into countless opponents, but now it carried an unexpected warmth. “Alright, kid. Listen up”.

You bit your lip to hold back a smile, watching him with quiet awe as he stared at your belly, fully committing to the moment despite the lingering skepticism in his expression.

“I don’t know if you can hear me in there”, Ben continued, his tone softer now, “but you better know one thing—when you get out here, you’re gonna have the best mom in the world”.

Your heart squeezed at his words, your hand instinctively resting over his as he spoke.

“She’s smart, tougher than she looks, and she’s got more patience than anyone I’ve ever met—trust me, I’ve tested it”, he said with a small chuckle, glancing up at you with a grin before refocusing on your belly. “So you’re lucky, kid. Real lucky. Even if she´s a fucking pain in the ass sometimes”.

Ben shifted his hand slightly, his thumb brushing slow circles over your skin. “And me? Well, I’m still figuring this shit out”, he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “But I’ll tell you one thing—I’m gonna do everything I can to keep you and your mom safe. No one’s messing with my family. Not a chance”.

You felt your throat tighten, the emotions of the moment catching up to you. Ben’s gruff honesty, his protective nature, and the way he was opening himself up like this—it was everything.

He glanced back up at you, noticing the way your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “What?”, he asked, his voice teasing but gentle. “That good enough for you?”.

You smiled through the lump in your throat, nodding as you leaned up to kiss him softly on the lips. “Perfect”, you whispered.

As if on cue, the baby kicked—a strong, deliberate movement that landed right against Ben’s hand. His eyes widened for a moment, clearly startled, before a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Guess he heard me”, he said, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, placing your hand over his on your belly. “Maybe he’s agreeing with you”, you teased, your voice warm as you leaned closer to him. “Or maybe he’s just saying, ‘Yeah, Dad, I got it’”.

Ben smirked, his thumb brushing over your skin again. “Good”, he murmured, his eyes still locked on your belly like he was waiting for another response. “Better get used to listening to me now”.

Just as he finished speaking, another kick landed, this one softer but still unmistakable. Ben’s grin widened, a rare, unguarded expression of pure joy crossing his face. “He’s got a hell of a kick”, he muttered, his tone laced with pride. “Kid’s gonna be a damn first class soldier”.

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t stop smiling. “Or a dancer. Or an artist. Or, you know, anything that doesn’t involve punching people”.

Ben snorted, shaking his head. “If he’s mine, there’s gonna be some punching. It’s in the DNA”.

Eventually, you shifted slightly, leaning back more fully against Ben’s warm chest, his steady heartbeat soothing you as his arms wrapped protectively around you. One of his hands remained firmly on your belly, where the baby had been kicking moments before. You let out a soft sigh, the weight of the day settling over you like a blanket.

“You really feeling alright?”, Ben asked, his voice low and cautious, the concern evident in his tone.

“Just exhausted”, you mumbled, your eyes fluttering closed as you nestled against him. The truth was, you did feel drained, but nothing out of the ordinary for someone nearing the final stretch of pregnancy—or so you hoped. “The little guy’s keeping me busy”, you added with a weak smile.

But Ben wasn’t convinced. His jaw tightened as he glanced down at you, his gaze lingering on the rise and fall of your belly. A bad feeling gnawed at him, one he couldn’t quite shake. Your pregnancy had been too peaceful so far, almost unnaturally so. And while he’d kept his doubts to himself for the most part, it was becoming harder to ignore the uneasy voice in the back of his mind.

You were just human, after all. And inside you, the first supe baby ever known was growing. Ben couldn’t imagine how your body was managing to handle it all. What if it couldn’t? What if something went wrong? The thought sent a shiver through him, though he kept his face composed for your sake.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “You let me know if anything changes, alright? No toughing it out, no brushing it off”, he murmured, his voice firmer now, edged with his protectiveness.

You opened your eyes briefly, glancing up at him. “I promise”, you said softly, though you couldn’t help but notice the tension in his jaw, the way his grip on you seemed just a little more desperate than usual. “Ben, I’m okay. Really”.

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “Yeah”, he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. “Let’s keep it that way”.

As you drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion finally catching up with you, Ben stayed awake. His hand never left your belly, his mind racing with thoughts of what might come. He’d do anything to keep you and the baby safe—he just hoped he wouldn’t have to.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #the boys #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #the boys soldier boy #ben x you #ben x reader #ben #the boys amazon #the boys tv #his second exception

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petriwriting · 2 days ago

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The Adventure Beyond. - JJ Maybank X Reader

A/N: A mini-series (Sort of) inspired by the Dad!JJ or Family man JJ fics i've been seeing. Also have been using an AI writing assistant to help with some grammar and hopefully to better the flow of my writing. I hope you enjoy. This is for everyone in need of JJ Fluff after season 4.

Summary: An epilogue of JJ's Story. His life is one huge adventure. Told in time-skips and memories.

The Outer Banks was always a place for wild memorable adventures—surfing, treasure hunts, and late-night bonfires with your friends. It was home. But this was a different kind of adventure, one that JJ Maybank never expected, yet found himself excited for in ways he couldn’t quite describe. It was the kind of adventure that lasted a lifetime.

You were sitting on the porch of Poguelandia, staring out at the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore usually calmed you, but today, your thoughts were far from peaceful. Cleo & Kie had gone to brunch together and Cleo and Pope were with John B enjoying an early morning surf. You were alone, except for JJ who had previously been sleeping on the couch. You hand found your head. You had been feeling nauseous for weeks now, but you brushed it off at first—chalked it up to stress or maybe something you ate. But now, with the test in your hand, the reality was clear.

You were pregnant.

Your heart raced as you thought about the next steps, the future, and how this would change everything. But more than anything, you wondered what JJ would think. He wasn’t exactly the "settling down" type, and you didn’t know how he’d react to the news. You had to tell him, but you didn’t know where to start. After uncovering his true parentage, JJ had been acting strangely whenever you mentioned marriage or family. He was insecure about the topic.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden deck behind pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked up just in time to see JJ’s familiar figure walking toward you, his signature smirk plastered on his face. He was always so carefree, so full of life, but today, there was something different in the way he looked at you.

"Good mornin', Baby-girl." he said softly, his voice full of warmth as he took a seat beside you on the steps. His arm brushed against yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound casual, but your nerves were obvious. You felt the test in your pocket like it was a weight you couldn’t escape. You had no idea what he would say or how he'd react.

JJ noticed the change in your tone, the way you seemed distant, and his grin faltered just slightly. He placed his hand over yours, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand as he searched your eyes.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice softening. "You’ve been acting weird for a few days."

You took a deep breath, the test still weighing heavily in your pocket. This was it. There was no turning back now. It was now or never.

"JJ," you began, your voice shaky. "I need to tell you something. Something big."

JJ turned his body toward you, his gaze intense as he waited for you to continue. The wind picked up slightly, blowing strands of hair into your face. You pushed them behind your ear and swallowed hard.

"It might change everything." you giggle slightly nervously. "Hey, whoa, i'm right here," JJ reassured you.

"I’m… I’m pregnant."

The words felt like they were hanging in the air between you two, heavy with uncertainty. For a moment, JJ said nothing. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

"Pregnant?" he finally repeated, his voice low, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue.

"Yeah," you said, nodding slowly. "I just found out. I didn’t know how to—"

Before you could finish, JJ pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. You froze for a second, stunned by the sudden closeness, but then you melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," he murmured into your hair. "This is… This is crazy, but we’ll figure it out. We’re in this together."

You looked up at him, surprised by the calmness in his voice. JJ had always been a whirlwind, a guy who lived for the next thrill, but in this moment, he was steady. He was here for you.

"You’re not mad? Or, Or- upset?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. You had been worried that he’d be overwhelmed, that he’d run like he always did when things got serious.

JJ shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mad? No. Freaked out? Yeah, a little. But mad? Nah. This is big, but we can do this, Y/N. We’ve always figured things out before, haven’t we?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, feeling a weight lift off your chest. JJ may not have been the most conventional guy, but he had a heart bigger than anyone gave him credit for. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

"We’ll be okay," you said, more to yourself than to him.

JJ pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his face softening. "We will. And hey, I’m not exactly an expert on this whole parenting thing, but I’ll be there. I’ll be there for you and for this little one, no matter what." You stay stiff for a moment, glancing down at your hands and fidgeting for a moment before meeting his eyes again as he continues. "Baby Maybank is going to have the best aunts and uncles in the world, and-" JJ stops himself and his expression sobers up. "I know I want to do better than My dad or Luke ever could."

"JJ-..." Your heart swelled with emotion, and you couldn’t help but smile. "You mean that?"

"Yeah," he said with a confidence you hadn’t expected. "I do."

For the first time in a long while, JJ Maybank was serious. And you realized that even in the face of something that would change everything, you weren’t alone. You had each other. And maybe, just maybe, this would be the greatest adventure yet. It was only the start.

. . . .

It had been roughly 9 months or so since you told JJ about the baby, and while the news had initially thrown him for a loop, it was clear he was more than ready to take on fatherhood. He’d been there for every doctor’s appointment, every late-night craving, and every moment when you needed reassurance. And now, as your due date grew closer, you both found yourselves feeling the weight of what was about to happen.

It was a quiet evening when it started. You were sitting on the couch, your feet propped up, and JJ was next to you, watching some random show on TV. The sound of the waves outside was soothing, and for a moment, everything felt like it was in its right place.

Then, you felt it.

A sharp pain radiated through your lower abdomen, making you wince. You tried to ignore it, but then another one came, stronger this time. You winced in pain and groaned.

"Hey, are you okay?" JJ looked over, noticing the shift in your expression. His eyes narrowed as he sat up straighter. "Y/N?"

"I—" you gasped, clutching the edge of the couch. "I think it’s almost time."

JJ’s eyes went wide with realization. "No way. You’re… You’re sure?"

You nodded, trying to keep your breathing steady. "I’m sure. The contractions… they’re getting closer."

JJ leaped to his feet, looking around like he didn’t know where to start. "Right. Okay. I… I’m gonna go get the car! Wait here. Don’t move, okay?"

You grabbed his arm before he could go running off in a panic. "JJ, slow down. We’ve got time. Call the hospital first."

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself down. "Okay, okay. I’ve got this. I know what to do. You just breathe, alright?" He reassured. He had read that in a parenting book he had gotten, and he was suddenly trying to recall several books worth of information. He wanted to know exactly what to do to be the best dad he could, better than his own.

You smiled, despite the pain. "I’m not the one freaking out, J."

With his usual energetic (and slightly chaotic) demeanor, JJ grabbed his phone, calling the hospital to let them know you were on your way. Then, he hurried back to you, his face full of determination.

"Alright, baby. We’re going to get you there. Everything’s going to be fine." He kissed the top of your head and grabbed the bag you had packed weeks ago.

The drive to the hospital felt like the longest ride of your life, but JJ stayed calm, keeping up the reassuring chatter, telling you that you were doing great, that this was just the beginning of your new adventure together. The way he held your hand and squeezed it between contractions made you feel grounded, even as everything around you seemed to be moving too fast.

When you finally arrived, the nurses quickly whisked you into a room. JJ stayed right by your side the entire time, despite the chaos of doctors and medical staff running around. He even tried to joke with you between contractions, telling you that you were doing better than he would’ve expected.

"I’d probably be the one freaking out if I had to do this," he said with a grin. "But you? You’re amazing, Y/N."

The hours felt like a blur. The pain was intense, but JJ was right there, holding your hand, whispering words of encouragement, and reminding you that you were almost there. You were in such pain that your head threw back, and the last thing you remember of those seconds before was the ringing in your ear, the bright wash of cool white lights from the ceiling, the sweat on your forehead, and release.

And then, when it seemed like you couldn’t take any more, you finally heard it.

A cry. A tiny, beautiful cry.

You blinked through the tears in your eyes, your heart racing as the nurse placed the baby in your arms. JJ leaned in, his eyes wide with awe as he gazed at the tiny bundle being handed to you, the doctors cleaned the baby's eyes and nose.

"Look," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Our kid."

You looked down at the little one in your arms, the feeling of love and joy washing over you in a way you never thought possible. The baby’s small fingers curled around yours, and you felt a rush of emotions you couldn’t put into words.

JJ’s hand rested on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving the baby. "We did it," he whispered, the disbelief in his voice turning to wonder.

"Yeah, we did," you said softly, smiling as you looked up at him. "And I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else." he whispered.

JJ’s face softened, his usual carefree attitude replaced with a tenderness you’d never seen before. "You and me," he said quietly, as if making a promise. "We’ve got this. Together."

JJ reaches to hold his baby, and once she is in his arms, it becomes real. The baby let out another soft cry, and JJ, in his own awkward yet adorable way, gently rubbed the baby’s little back. "Hi Baby girl, It's your daddy..." he coos. "I love you so much already kiddo," he murmured, eyes glistening. "You’ve got the best parents in the world. and uh, No pressure, but you better be ready for the best adventures."

. . . .

A year had passed since you and JJ had welcomed your little one into the world. Life had changed in ways you never could’ve imagined. Parenthood had its challenges— sleepless nights, endless diapers, and adjusting to a new routine. But through it all, you and JJ had grown stronger, learning how to navigate this new chapter of life together.

One night, after the baby had finally fallen asleep in their crib, you and JJ found yourselves sitting on the porch again, just like you had when you first told him you were pregnant. The sky was painted with the colors of the setting sun orangey, peachy, faded into a deep sea color, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore adding a peaceful hum to the evening. The cicads just starting their song and the breeze settling in your hair.

"You know, I've been thinking," JJ said, his voice unusually quiet.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "About what?"

He was staring at the horizon, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Us. Everything we’ve been through. The baby, our little family. And how much I love you. I don’t want to just talk about it forever, you know?"

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you. You had no idea where he was going with this, but you could feel your heart racing anyway.

"I love you too, JJ," you said, your voice soft. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

JJ took a deep breath, his usual cocky smirk fading into something much more serious. He turned to you, his eyes filled with that intensity you loved. "Then I want to make it official. I want you to be mine, always. I want to be your husband."

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. Did he just say what you thought he said?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal a simple, yet stunning ring. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a rush of emotions flood over you. JJ Maybank, the carefree, wild guy who never seemed to settle down, was asking you to marry him. There had been so many moments in the past when you doubted if he could ever truly commit to something like this. But here he was, asking you to be his forever.

You examined the ring, it was in a shiny velvet dark red box that was worn. The initials in a faded gold cursive 'LG'. It was something of his mothers'.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out for the ring, holding it in your hand. "Yes. Of course, yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with happiness.

JJ grinned, looking both relieved and ecstatic at the same time. He slid the ring onto your finger, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. You leaned in, kissing him gently as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

"I promise, I’m going to love you every single day," he murmured against your lips.

. . . .

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of excitement. You and JJ had agreed on something small and intimate—just the two of you, the baby, and a few close friends. The thought of having a big, extravagant wedding didn’t feel right; it was about the two of you, your family, and this new life you were building together.

When the day finally arrived, you stood on the beach where you and JJ had shared so many of your first moments, the waves crashing gently behind you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you gazed out at the horizon, feeling the same nervous excitement you had felt when you were first pregnant, unsure of what the future held but knowing you were ready to face it together.

JJ stood at the end of the makeshift aisle, dressed in a simple yet handsome suit. His eyes never left you as you walked toward him, a grin spreading across his face. The moment you reached him, he took your hands in his, the same hands that had held yours through every high and low.

"You look perfect," he said, his voice full of awe.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," you teased, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

The officiant, a close friend of yours both, non other than John Booker Routledge, smiled at the two of you. "We’re gathered here today to celebrate the love and commitment between these two people…"

But you hardly heard the rest of the ceremony. All that mattered in that moment was JJ—the way his hand gently squeezed yours, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. The sea breeze, the smell of marsh and the glow of the sunset. You could feel the promise in the air, the certainty that this was where you were always meant to be.

When the officiant pronounced you both husband and wife, JJ didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply, his heart and soul laid bare in that simple moment. The world around you faded away as you held each other, knowing that no matter what life threw at you, you were ready to face it together.

As you walked back down the aisle, hand in hand with your new husband, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming joy.

. . . .

It was a perfect summer day in the Outer Banks. The sun was high in the sky, casting its golden glow over the beach, and the ocean was calm, its waves gently lapping at the shore. You and JJ had taken your little one out for the day, and while you were content to lounge on the sand and soak up the sun, JJ had something else on his mind.

"Daddy!" Your daughter’s voice rang out, high-pitched with excitement as she splashed around near the water’s edge. "I want to go further! I want to swim like you!"

JJ grinned from ear to ear, watching his daughter run toward him with her tiny swimsuit bouncing as she ran. "You sure you're ready?" he asked, crouching down to her level.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, her face full of determination and a little mischief, just like her father. "I want to be like you, Daddy! I want to swim in the big waves!"

JJ chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Alright, cupcake," he said with a wink. "Let’s start with the basics. You trust me?"

She nodded, her blue eyes wide with trust, mirroring his. It was clear that she adored her dad, and JJ, always the carefree and energetic guy, was more than happy to pass on his love of the water to his daughter.

"Okay, here’s the plan," JJ said, scooping her up and carrying her toward the water. "We’re gonna take it slow. First, we’ll just get your feet wet, then we’ll move on from there. Don’t worry, I’ve got you."

You smiled as you watched the two of them interact. You knew how much JJ had grown since becoming a father. The wild, unpredictable guy who once couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes was now patiently teaching his daughter something as important as swimming, all while making her laugh, and cracking jokes to entertain both of you.

As JJ waded into the shallow water, holding his daughter carefully, he turned to her and said, "Okay, listen. The first thing you need to remember is to keep your head above the water. No matter what, keep your eyes on me, alright? I’ll be right here."

She nodded eagerly, gripping onto his neck as he gently waded deeper into the ocean, letting the water rise up to their waists. She giggled as the cool waves splashed over her legs. She was scared, but like her father she wouldn't admit it. That Maybank firceness.

"This is fun," she squealed, her voice high with excitement.

JJ smiled at her, his usual confident smirk turning softer. "I’m glad you think so. Now, ready for the next step?"

You could see his nerves underneath the surface, but he was determined to make this moment count. You knew he was a natural when it came to making people feel safe—especially his daughter—and you could see the bond between them growing with every moment.

"Okay, we’re gonna practice kicking," JJ explained. "You want to kick your legs like this," he demonstrated, giving her legs a gentle nudge to show her the motion. "Big, strong kicks, just like a dolphin."

His daughter laughed and kicked her legs, splashing water everywhere as she mimicked him. "Like this, Daddy?" she asked excitedly.

"Exactly like that!" JJ exclaimed. "You’re a natural, kiddo."

You watched as he continued to guide her through the motions, his voice calm and reassuring. "Good job. Now, let’s try floating on your back, alright?" he said, holding her securely in the water. "You’ve got to trust the water, trust that it’s going to hold you up."

She hesitated for a second, her tiny hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "But what if I fall, Daddy?" she asked, her voice small but brave.

JJ's face softened with understanding. He looked her in the eye, his hand gently smoothing back her wet hair. "You won’t fall. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. You’re safe with me, okay?"

She looked up at him, her trust unwavering. "Okay, Daddy."

And just like that, she let go of her fears, leaning back into the water with JJ’s arms supporting her, guiding her to float. You could see the relief in her face as she finally relaxed, her tiny body gently bobbing in the water.

"There you go," JJ said, his voice full of pride. "You’re swimming, just like I knew you could. That's my girl."

. . . .

It was a warm Saturday afternoon when JJ came home from work, pushing through the front door. The moment he stepped inside, he noticed the scent of freshly baked cookies drifting through the house. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. No, it was the sound of his daughter’s giggles from upstairs—her voice light, teasing, and clearly way too excited about something.

He had taken a job that paid the bills, kept his family safe and fed. taken care of, even if he didn't really like it. an office job was boring, but he got to give his expertise on treasure hunting, and he worked with a lot of fun young archaeologists.

"Hey, kiddo, what’s going on?" JJ called out as he kicked off his shoes and made his way to the staircase.

Your daughter appeared at the top of the stairs, looking unusually... polished. Her hair was done in cute little braids, and she was wearing a floral dress you must’ve helped her pick out. JJ’s eyes narrowed as he gazed up at her.

"Dad!" she grinned down at him, clearly excited. "I’m going on my first date!"

JJ froze. He blinked, taking a moment for his brain to process what she just said. "Wait, what?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the edge of disbelief was undeniable.

"Yep!" She bounced down the stairs, twirling around in her dress as if she were some grown-up at a fancy dinner. "His name’s Tyler. He’s from my history class, and he’s super nice."

JJ’s eyes widened, and he crossed his arms. "Hold up. Tyler? You’re going out with a guy named Tyler?" He shot a look at you, who was standing in the kitchen, trying (and failing) to hide a smile at JJ’s growing concern.

You stifled a laugh, seeing the protective father in action. "JJ, she’s just going on a date. Let her have fun."

JJ didn’t seem to hear you. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on his daughter. "How old is this Tyler?"

"He’s 17, Dad. Just a year older than me!" She said the last part like it was supposed to reassure him. But to JJ, that was exactly the problem. He had been that age once too. he could remember when he was all over you.

"Seventeen?" JJ muttered, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern. He wasn’t angry, but he was definitely... apprehensive. "I don’t care if he’s 25, you’re my little girl, Cupcake, and I—" He paused, trying to find the right words. "Are you sure about this?"

His daughter rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness behind her teasing. "Dad, I’m fine! He’s a good guy. You can trust me."

JJ stood up straight, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Trust you? Of course, I trust you. But him?" He rubbed a hand through his hair, pacing for a second. "You’re my baby girl. What if he does something... something dumb?"

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of JJ—usually so calm and laid-back, now pacing like a lion in a cage. "JJ, she’s 16, not 5. She knows what she’s doing."

Your daughter crossed her arms, giving her dad a look that could only be described as an eye-roll combined with affection. "It’s not like I’m going to be out past midnight." she was just as sassy as he was.

You smiled softly, walking over to JJ and placing a hand on his arm to stop his pacing. "She’s going to be fine, love. It’s just a date, not a life-altering event. And you’ve raised her well—she knows what to look out for."

But JJ wasn’t entirely convinced. He turned to his daughter, his expression softening, though there was still a protective edge to his voice. "I want you to be safe. Text me when you get there, and when you leave, alright? And no funny business—no getting into cars with anyone, especially some dude named Tyler. Got it?"

His daughter snorted, clearly amused by his protectiveness, but she nodded. "Fine, fine, Dad. I’ll text you constantly so you can feel better."

"And no sneaking away or doing something crazy. You aren't some grown-up," JJ continued, his tone light, but there was no mistaking the worry behind his words.

"Got it," she said, shaking her head with a smile that screamed, “I love you, but you’re impossible.” JJ exhaled sharply, running his hand through his hair again. "And if you need me to come pick you up, for any reason, you call me. No questions asked."

"Dad, I’ll be fine," she reassured him again, now with an extra layer of affection in her voice. "Tyler’s cool, I swear." JJ’s face softened, his voice quieter. "I just... I just want to make sure you’re safe. That’s all. You’re my girl, and I love you more than anything."

You could see the softness in JJ’s expression, the deep affection for his daughter that made his words sound so heartfelt.

"Love you too, Dad," she said, hugging him tightly. "And I’m gonna be okay. Promise."

JJ hesitated for a second before hugging her back, lifting her up for a moment like she was still his little baby, even though she wasn’t. "Alright, alright. But if anything feels wrong, you come straight home, understood?"

"Understood," she replied with a smirk. "Can I go now?"

"One last thing." He ushers her to step forward, she shares his golden curls and has a few pieces astray that JJ pushes behind her ear in a loving way. "I just wanted to say that you look beautiful hun." JJ let her go, still looking a little too serious for your liking, but clearly trusting her judgment, even if he didn’t quite trust Tyler.

"Okay, but one last-last, thing," JJ added, running his hand through his hair again. "If he makes you uncomfortable at all, or if he’s not respectful—"

"Dad!" Your daughter groaned, cutting him off with a laugh. You chuckled as you watched JJ try to hold it together, clearly still struggling with the idea of his little girl dating. "Have fun, sweetie," you said, trying to ease the tension. "You’re going to be fine. Just be careful and enjoy yourself."

JJ watched her leave, his arms still crossed, eyes scanning the door long after she was gone. You could see the wheels turning in his head, but you knew it would take him a little while to relax completely.

As soon as the door closed behind her, JJ sighed deeply and flopped down onto the couch, running a hand over his face. "I swear, I’m going to need a drink after this."

You sat down beside him, wrapping your arm around his shoulder. "She’s growing up, JJ. But she’s strong, and she’s smart. She’s going to be okay."

JJ let out a long breath, resting his head back. "Yeah, I know. Just... give me a minute to breathe, okay?"

You laughed softly, kissing his cheek. "Of course. I’ll be right here. Don’t worry."

. . . .

It was a Saturday evening when JJ’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He was at home with you, the two of you enjoying a rare quiet moment after a busy week. Your daughter had gone out earlier in the day, saying she was meeting some friends at the park for a “social event.” She’d been passionate about certain causes recently, always talking about how she wanted to make a difference. You and JJ had talked about it, of course—your daughter was growing into a young woman with strong ideals. Still, the way she talked about it all made you both a little nervous, especially when you didn’t always know exactly what she was getting into.

She was just as mischieveious as her father was at that age, but less reckless. The Protesting was something she had been talking to her Aunt Kie Kie about recently. she was passionate, firey and full of life.

JJ was just pouring a glass of orange juice when the ringing sound cut through the silence again, followed by the unmistakable sound of an incoming call. He glanced at the screen, his brows furrowing when he saw the caller ID.

"It's the police," JJ muttered, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Y/N, ...something's wrong." You stood up immediately, your heart leaping into your throat as JJ answered the call, his voice tense. His free hand ran through his hair, clearly trying to maintain his cool. "What’s going on?" You held your breath as JJ’s face changed from concerned to something darker, more protective, as he listened to the person on the other end. Finally, after a long pause, he hung up, his face pale.

"JJ?" you asked, worry flooding your voice. He turned to you, his eyes wide. "It’s our daughter... She’s been arrested." Your heart dropped. "What? What happened?"

"They—she was protesting at a rally downtown," JJ explained, his voice shaking with barely contained anger. "It turned into a bigger protest, and things got out of hand. They arrested her for—" He stopped, shaking his head. "For disorderly conduct. Y/N, she’s in jail." Your daughter? Arrested? A thousand thoughts raced through your head. Your daughter, your sweet girl, had always been so passionate about causes she cared about, but you never imagined she’d get caught up in something like this. Your protective instincts kicked in, just as JJ’s had, but the question was: How did we get here?

Without another word, JJ grabbed his jacket and car keys. "Let’s go. We need to get her out of there." You nodded quickly, grabbing your purse and following him out the door. As you drove toward the police station, neither of you spoke much. There was nothing you could say to calm the growing sense of dread.

When you arrived, JJ wasted no time. He stormed inside with you following closely behind, his steps heavy with determination. The receptionist at the desk looked up with a weary expression as JJ slammed his palms onto the counter. "I’m here to get my daughter out. She’s been arrested. What do I need to do?" JJ demanded, his voice low but full of authority. The receptionist blinked but quickly typed something into the computer.

"Name?" she asked, clearly used to dealing with situations like this. "Maybank," JJ said, his voice not softening in the slightest.

After a brief exchange, the receptionist handed over some paperwork for JJ to fill out. The moment he finished, you both sat in a cramped waiting area, the silence between you only interrupted by the occasional footsteps echoing down the hall. JJ was vibrating with tension, his fingers tapping impatiently on his knee, his jaw clenched as he stared at the door leading to the holding cells.

"She’s gonna be okay, alright?" You asked quietly, even though you weren’t sure you believed the words yourself. JJ let out a breath, trying to calm himself. "I don’t know. I just… I never thought she’d be in a situation like this." He shook his head, frustration and fear clear in his eyes. "She was always so careful. Always so smart."

You could see his mind running through a dozen worst-case scenarios. He was terrified, and it broke your heart. You knew how fiercely protective he was of their daughter, how much he loved her.

"She’s strong, JJ," you said gently. "She’s been through tough things before. She’s a fighter. and she's just like you in that regard. She’ll be okay." Just as the words left your mouth, the door to the holding area opened, and a police officer appeared, followed by your daughter.

When JJ’s eyes locked on her, his breath hitched, and he shot up from his seat, rushing toward her. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice breaking, as he reached out to hold her. She looked tired, but she was alive and, more importantly, unharmed.

"Dad, I’m okay," she said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. "I didn’t mean for things to escalate like that. I just—"

JJ pulled her into a tight hug, his voice rough. "I don’t care what happened, baby girl. I’m just glad you’re okay. Don’t ever scare me like that again." You joined them, wrapping your arms around both of them. You could feel your daughter’s shoulders trembling, and you squeezed her tighter, knowing that she probably needed reassurance as much as JJ did.

"I'm so sorry, Mom, Dad," she whispered, her voice full of guilt. "I didn’t think it would go this far. It was supposed to be peaceful. I swear, I didn’t mean to get arrested."

JJ pulled back, his hands still on her shoulders as he looked at her. "I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, but you’ve got to be careful. You’re my little girl, and I don’t want you getting involved in something dangerous. You could’ve gotten hurt."

Your daughter nodded, tears slipping down her face. "I just wanted to make a difference. I thought this was the right thing to do. But… I don’t know anymore." You wiped away a tear from her cheek, your heart aching for her. "You are making a difference. But we need to make sure you’re safe while you do it, alright?"

JJ nodded, his voice much softer now, but still full of that protective fatherly instinct. "We’ll figure this out together, okay? But for now, we’re getting out of here. And next time—" He shook his head, unable to continue. He pulled her into another tight hug. "Next time, you text us first. No more surprises, okay?"

She nodded, her arms squeezing him tightly. "I promise, Dad." As you all walked out of the police station, JJ’s arm wrapped protectively around his daughter’s shoulders, the weight of the world still lingering on his shoulders. He hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon, but you knew that no matter what, he would always protect his daughter—just as fiercely as he loved her. Even if she reminded him of himself.

. . . .

You both sat on the porch once again, this time many many years in the future, graying and old. The cicadas still singing the same, the waves still lapping in the same old rhythm. The mosquitos out in full swing and the breeze tangling your silver hair. The moonlight is brisk.

You turn to the love of your life, the man who has been your everything since you were young once. You cut through the comfortable and loving silence finally. "JJ," you whisper. "Yes love?" His voice is now deeper, aged. It's raspy. "As our adventure comes to an end," you say. "I just want you to know that I love you." you say softly.

"I love you too." JJ says, "I wouldn't have wanted to have this life with anyone else. You are my everything." He smiles. You look out into the yard and remember all the highlights, highs lows and all, every moment up until now.

You gently rest your grayed head on his shoulder, the same as you did when you were young, and close your eyes.

#reader insert #my writing #x reader #jj obx imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj outer banks #jj x reader #jj maybank alive #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #obx #outerbanks #outer banks fanfiction #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader

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sherewrytes · 2 days ago

Text

Possessive Satoru 😈

Just a had a cute giggle in my head Here's a possessive Satoru drabble

The club’s hazy glow didn’t hide him. Not from you. Not when you knew every inch of him like a scar you couldn’t forget.

Satoru Gojo was leaning against the bar, all cocky confidence and devastating charm. The lights caught the edges of his white hair, making him look untouchable. And yet, his gaze was fixed on you like he had every right to still look at you that way.

Your stomach churned. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be moving on, leaving behind the whirlwind of late nights and whispered promises that he’d shattered months ago. But here he was, striding across the room, cutting through the crowd like a storm headed straight for you.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice smooth as silk, but there was a razor edge beneath it.

You turned away, pretending he didn’t still have that effect on you. “I was, until you showed up.”

“Cute,” he quipped, stepping closer until you could feel the heat of him at your back. “Funny how you say that, but you didn’t seem to mind when you wore that dress, knowing exactly how I’d react.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s just a dress, Satoru.”

“Just a dress,” he repeated, his voice dropping, mocking. “Tell that to the guy who couldn’t stop staring at you like he’d win you over. Like you’re not already mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you shot back, finally turning to face him. But the words felt hollow with the way he was looking at you—hungry and possessive, like he was barely holding himself back.

His laugh was low, humorless. “You can say that all you want, sweetheart. But we both know you don’t believe it.”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall, his arms caging you in. “You forget, I know you. I know what you like. And I know,” he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, “that no one else could ever give it to you the way I did.”

Your breath hitched, your resolve cracking as his lips hovered over your skin, not quite touching. “Satoru, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” His hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. “Don’t remind you what it feels like to have someone who actually knows how to handle you?”

You hated the way your body betrayed you, leaning into him even as your mind screamed at you to push him away. “This doesn’t change anything,” you whispered, but your voice wavered.

“No?” His lips finally brushed your jaw, soft but devastating, before trailing up to your ear. “Then why haven’t you stopped me?”

The weight of his presence, his scent, the heat rolling off him—it was too much, too familiar. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your neck, pulling a shaky exhale from you.

“Face it, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his words dripping with possessive pride. “You might’ve left me, but you’ll never stop being mine.”

His lips ghosted over your neck, the pressure of his hand on your waist making your knees feel weak. You knew you should tell him to stop, to walk away, but the way his body pressed into yours felt too familiar, too tempting.

“Satoru,” you whispered, gripping his shirt to steady yourself, “this isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “You should’ve figured that out when you walked away from me. But since you’re here, looking like this—” His free hand gestured down your body, appreciation simmering in his icy blue gaze. “You’ve got my full attention now. Let’s go.”

Before you could protest, his hand slid down to grab yours, the action firm and possessive. “Satoru, I’m not—”

“Not what?” he cut in sharply, his voice holding a dangerous edge. “Not coming with me? You and I both know that’s a lie. Don’t make me carry you out of here, baby. I’d hate to cause a scene.”

You scowled, trying to pull your hand away, but his grip was ironclad. “Always so damn dramatic,” you muttered under your breath, heat flooding your face.

He smirked, tugging you gently but insistently through the crowd, his other hand finding the small of your back to keep you close. “You’re one to talk,” he teased. “But that’s part of why I can’t let you go, isn’t it?”

The ride to his place was tense, the silence heavy with unspoken words and the weight of everything you’d left behind. His car smelled the same—clean with a hint of the cologne you used to tease him for overusing.

You crossed your arms, staring out the window, ignoring the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze flicking to you at every red light.

The moment you stepped into his apartment, it all came rushing back—the familiar scent, the soft lighting, the memories you’d tried to bury.

“Satoru, I—”

“Sit,” he ordered, voice calm but firm, pointing to the plush couch.

Your jaw tightened, but you complied, folding your arms as you perched on the edge of the seat. He stood in front of you, hands on his hips, looking down at you like he was trying to figure out where to start.

“This isn’t a good idea,” you said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Oh, I think it’s a great idea,” he countered, stepping closer until he was standing between your knees. He crouched down, bringing himself to your eye level, his hands resting on your thighs. “Because we need to settle this once and for all.”

“Settle what, Satoru?” you snapped, frustrated. “You’re the one who broke us. You pushed me away.”

“And you’re the one who let me,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t regret it? You think I don’t wake up every damn day wishing I’d done things differently?”

His grip on your thighs tightened, his gaze boring into yours. “But you’re here now, and I’m not letting you walk out again.”

You stared at him, your breath catching at the raw emotion in his voice. “Satoru…”

His hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “We’ll talk,” he said softly, his lips hovering over yours. “But not tonight.”

Before you could argue, his mouth captured yours, silencing every thought, every protest. His kiss was hungry, desperate, like he was trying to pull you back into him, piece by piece.

His mouth moved against yours with the kind of possessive desperation you hadn’t felt in months, hands roaming your waist as though trying to remind you of everything you’d once shared. You leaned into the kiss before pulling back slightly, your breaths mingling in the heated space between you.

“Still think this is a good idea?” you murmured, your voice laced with a mix of sarcasm and something softer.

Satoru smirked, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The best I’ve had in a long time,” he said, leaning forward again—but his lips stopped short of yours.

His eyes sharpened, his playful smirk fading as his gaze landed on the faint mark just above your collarbone.

His fingers brushed against the spot, gently but deliberately, his expression darkening. “What’s this?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he already knew.

You tensed, tilting your head slightly, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “It’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t,” he shot back, his jaw clenching as his fingers lingered on the mark, like he could erase it by sheer will. “Who gave you this?”

You leaned back, crossing your arms. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Satoru. You’re not—”

“Don’t say it,” he cut you off, his voice low and laced with warning. “Don’t say I’m not yours, because we both know you’re lying. This,” he pointed to the hickey, his glare cutting through you, “is you trying to convince yourself that I don’t matter anymore. But guess what? I do.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your pulse quickened. “You’re ridiculous. It’s just a stupid mark—”

“A mark that shouldn’t be there,” he snapped, standing up abruptly. “You think some random guy can just leave his claim on you, and I’m supposed to be fine with it?”

You stood, squaring up to him despite the height difference. “Claim? I’m not some possession, Satoru. You don’t own me.”

His gaze softened for a fraction of a second before the fire reignited. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. “You’re right,” he murmured, his voice like molten steel. “I don’t own you. But don’t stand there and pretend I didn’t leave my mark first.”

His lips brushed over your neck, just shy of the offending hickey, his breath hot against your skin. “You want me to believe someone else can give you what I did?” he whispered, his hand sliding down to your hip. “Because I’m not buying it. Not for a second.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words dissolved as his tongue flicked against the mark, a sharp inhale betraying the effect it had on you.

“That’s what I thought,” he said darkly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand still gripping your waist. “This? Him? It doesn’t mean anything. But this—” He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, his other hand cupping your jaw to keep you still. “This is everything. And I’ll be damned if I let you forget it.”

Thats how you found yourself in this position

Satoru's eyes darkened with a feral intensity as he gazed down at you, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm, driving himself deeper into you with each thrust. The sight of the hickey on your neck, a stark reminder of another's mark, fueled his possessiveness, driving him to claim her more fiercely.

"Fuckin' tell me who this is," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His fingers traced the edges of the hickey, the touch both possessive and challenging. "Did that lame fuck suck on your neck like this?"

Satoru's thrusts grew harder, more animalistic, as if he could erase the memory of another man's touch with the sheer force of his own. His fingers gripped her hips, holding you in place as he pounded into your wet, sopping pussy, the wet sounds of their coupling filling the room.

"You're mine, Y/N," he snarled, his voice laced with a mix of jealousy and lust. "This pussy, this heart, this soul—all of it belongs to me. No one else can have you, no one else can fuck you like this."

As he spoke, Satoru's eyes locked onto yours, a silent challenge in their depths. He sought your gaze, needing to see the truth in your eyes, needing to know that despite the evidence on your skin, your heart still belonged to him.

"Say it, Y/N," he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper against your ear. "Tell me who marked you, who dared to touch what's mine. I need to know; I need to hear you say it."

Satoru's hips never faltered in their relentless rhythm, his desire to claim you, to make you his,

You rolled your eyes at him, trying to just feel good and not answer useless questions.

Satoru's possessiveness reached a boiling point as you rolled your eyes, the defiant gesture stoking the fire of his jealousy and desire. A feral growl tore from his throat, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor, determined to prove his dominance, to claim you in the most primal way possible.

"That's it, keep pushing me," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Keep testing my patience, keep defying me, and see where it gets you."

Satoru's fingers dug into your hips, his grip bordering on painful as he held you in place, his thrusts becoming erratic, fueled by a desperation to assert his control. His other hand moved to your throat, applying just enough pressure to remind you of his power, his ownership.

"You're mine, you," he growled, his voice a harsh whisper against your ear. "This body, these moans, these pleasures—they all belong to me. You think you can roll your eyes at me, think you can seduce another man, and I won't notice?"

Satoru's movements became more intense, more deliberate, each thrust a silent declaration of his possession. He could feel your walls clenching around him, your body reacting to his touch despite your defiance, and it only served to fuel his determination.

"I'll fuck you until you can't walk straight," he promised, his voice a dark promise. "Until the only name you can scream is mine, until the only touch you crave is mine. I'll ruin you for anyone else, make you forget the existence of other men."

Satoru's body moved with a primitive urgency, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more animalistic as he lost himself in the heat of the moment. The sight of your eyes rolling back in pleasure, combined with the way your body responded to his possession, sent him hurtling towards his peak.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his impending orgasm. "I can feel you squeezing my cock, milking me. You're gonna make me cum, aren't you?"

His hand tightened on your throat, not enough to harm but enough to assert his dominance. His other hand moved to your clit, rubbing small, tight circles, determined to push you over the edge with him.

"Cum for me," he commanded, his voice a low, demanding growl. "Let me feel you come undone, let me feel your pussy clench around my cock as you scream my name."

Satoru's hips snapped forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. With a hoarse shout, he found his release, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep within you. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place, ensuring that every last drop of his essence was claimed by your body.

As the waves of pleasure crashed over him, Satoru collapsed onto her, his chest heaving with exertion. He nuzzled her neck, his teeth grazing the hickey, marking you as his own.

"Mine," he whispered, his voice a satisfied rumble. "This is mine. You are mine."

Satoru stayed buried inside of you, his softening cock still claiming her, unwilling to relinquish his possession of you

#black reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x black reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk gojo

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amethystarachnid · 2 days ago

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Hello, I’d love to request something for you

It’s for Tony and female reader, they are friends with benefits and she ends up getting pregnant, she’s afraid to tell Tony and afraid of his reaction because their arrangement doesn’t involve feelings (but they are so deeply in love with each other already) so she starts getting a little cold with him and Tony gets sad, until one day they decide to talk and reader tells him that she’s pregnant and that she understands if he doesn’t want the baby but Tony is so happy to be a father and to be a father of a baby with the woman he loves 🤍 after the news they will turn into a real couple and be so happy together. Thank you! 🤍

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: spicy, some mixed angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Accidents happen, right? That's what you keep telling yourself the days after the condom broke while you and Tony were...together. Your period doesn't come but you lie to Tony and tell him it as, because he surely doesn't want a kid, right?

ᯓ★ TW(s): a small spicy scene, condom breaks

ᯓ★ I love family man Tony so much, matter of fact, I love every character seen as a family man I don't know why lol.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The fluorescent lights of the Stark Tower kitchen are glaring, but not as much as Tony Stark’s smirk. He’s leaning against the counter, casually sipping coffee like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. But you know better. You see the faint twitch of his lips, the amused glint in his eyes that’s practically begging you to break the silence.

“You’re being weird,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the fridge.

“Weird?” he repeats, mock-offended. “I’m drinking coffee in my own kitchen. What’s weird about that?”

You raise an eyebrow. “The way you’re looking at me. Like... like you’re picturing something.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’m definitely picturing something.” He tilts his head, eyes roaming over you in a way that’s anything but subtle. “Something that happened roughly seven hours ago, give or take.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you quickly avert your gaze. Seven hours ago, you’d been in Tony’s bed—or rather, sprawled across it while his hands did things you’re not entirely sure you’ll ever recover from. It’s supposed to be casual, the thing you have with him. No feelings, no strings. Just… stress relief, as Tony had so eloquently put it when this arrangement started.

But Tony Stark has a way of making casual feel like a loaded gun, just waiting to go off.

“Keep it down,” you hiss, glancing toward the door. “Do you want the others to hear?”

Tony raises his eyebrows in mock innocence. “What others? I’m pretty sure we’re alone.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you grab an apple from the counter, pretending to be far more interested in it than the infuriating man in front of you. Tony doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at you with that stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip in a way that’s both exhilarating and dangerous.

“You know,” he says after a beat, “if you keep trying to play the ‘nothing to see here’ card, it’s going to make things more obvious.”

“Obvious?” You scoff. “There’s nothing to make obvious.”

Tony sets his mug down and closes the distance between you in two easy steps. You barely have time to react before he’s towering over you, his arms boxing you in against the fridge. His cologne—some kind of absurdly expensive blend that probably costs more than your rent—wraps around you like a second skin.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine. “I’m a genius. You think I don’t notice the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, you do.” His lips curve into a smug grin, and damn it, why does he have to look so good doing it? “And let’s not forget how you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself when we’re alone.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, his voice dropping another octave. “Don’t worry. I like it. But you might want to work on your poker face, darling, because if I can tell, you can bet your ass the others will.”

The implication makes your stomach twist. “They don’t know.”

“Not yet,” Tony agrees. “But I wouldn’t underestimate Romanoff. Or Rogers, for that matter. The guy might be old-fashioned, but he’s not blind.”

You groan, pushing against his chest to create some distance. “This is exactly why we need to keep things… professional in public.”

Tony chuckles, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “Sure. Professional. That’s exactly the vibe we give off.”

You glare at him. “I’m serious, Tony. If this gets out—”

He interrupts you with a finger pressed to your lips. “Relax. I’m not exactly running my mouth about it. What we do—” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “—or don’t do—is nobody’s business.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you hate how easily he gets to you. You know you should say something, maybe call him out for being so infuriatingly cocky, but the words catch in your throat when his hand brushes against your hip, his touch just light enough to make you ache for more.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter.

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Before you can respond—or do something stupid, like kiss him—the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you shove Tony away, nearly knocking the apple off the counter in your haste to look casual.

The door swings open, and Steve Rogers walks in, his expression as neutral as ever.

“Morning,” he says, nodding at the two of you.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice a little too high-pitched for comfort.

Tony, of course, is the picture of nonchalance. “Cap,” he says, raising his mug in a mock salute. “How’s it going?”

Steve gives him a once-over, his gaze lingering just long enough to make you sweat. But if he notices anything unusual, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and heads for the door.

“Training in ten,” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

As soon as he’s gone, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “See? This is why we need to be more careful.”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “Relax. If anyone could smell trouble, it’d be Rogers. And he didn’t say a word.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t suspect something.”

Tony smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe. But then again, maybe he just thinks you can’t resist my charm.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” He steps closer, his voice dropping to that dangerously seductive tone that makes your knees weak. “You keep coming back.”

Before you can respond, he’s gone, sauntering out of the kitchen like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You, on the other hand, are left standing there, your heart racing and your head spinning.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

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Tony’s fingers tangle in your hair, his lips trailing hot, demanding kisses down your neck as your back hits the soft sheets of his bed. The city lights outside cast long, flickering shadows across the room, but you barely notice. You’re far too focused on the way Tony’s hands roam your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you, the rough pads of his fingers igniting fire wherever they touch.

"You're incredible," he mutters, his voice thick with reverence and hunger as he leans back to look at you. His gaze rakes over you like you're the most exquisite thing he's ever laid eyes on, and for a moment, you're lost in the intensity of his expression. It's almost too much. Almost.

"You're not so bad yourself," you tease, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. It doesn’t matter. Tony doesn’t need words to know what he does to you.

He smirks at your reply, his trademark arrogance mingling with a rawness he rarely lets anyone see. He dives back in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that leaves you dizzy and aching. Everything about him is overwhelming in the best possible way—the taste of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the way his hands grip your hips like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go.

The night is a blur of heated whispers, tangled sheets, and the sound of your name falling from his lips like a prayer. By the time you both collapse back onto the bed, spent and panting, the world feels a little hazier, a little quieter. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his body warm against yours as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice soft but edged with that familiar playful lilt.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, your heart still racing as you close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you.

But then, his hand stills on your hip. There’s a beat of silence, followed by a quiet curse under his breath.

“What?” you ask, your voice sharp with alarm as you sit up slightly to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Tony doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls back just enough to inspect the condom in his hand—what’s left of it, anyway. The air between you shifts instantly, the charged intimacy replaced by something colder. His jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to yours, and you don’t need him to say anything to understand.

It broke.

Your stomach twists, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. You know what this means. You know the risks, the possibilities. And judging by the way Tony is staring at you, his usual confidence momentarily stripped away, he knows too.

“Okay,” you say quickly, sitting up fully and reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. We’ll handle this.”

“Handle it?” he echoes, his tone sharp. His fingers curl into a fist around the useless piece of latex, his frustration evident. “Do you have any idea—”

“Yes,” you interrupt firmly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know. But freaking out isn’t going to help.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know. But it did, and we’ll deal with it.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find something—reassurance, maybe, or some kind of solution to a problem neither of you can undo. Finally, he nods, though his jaw is still tight.

“I’ll take care of it,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “I’ll get the pill tomorrow morning. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mixture of skepticism and concern. “Not a big deal? Y/N—”

“Tony,” you cut him off, your tone firmer now. “I’m serious. It’s fine. These things happen. That’s why emergency contraception exists.”

He doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks more agitated, his mind no doubt racing through every worst-case scenario. You can practically see the calculations happening behind his eyes, his genius brain working overtime to solve a problem that can’t be solved with tech or money or wit.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching up to cup his face. His stubble is rough against your palm, but his skin is warm, grounding. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he does, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a vulnerability there, buried beneath the layers of charm and bravado he wears like armor. It’s a side of him he rarely lets anyone see, and it makes your chest ache.

“It’s going to be okay,” you say, your voice steady. “I promise.”

He exhales slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at your words. He places his hand over yours, holding it against his cheek like he’s drawing strength from your touch.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he murmurs, his tone softer now. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” you say firmly. “It just happened. And it’s not the end of the world.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze searching yours like he’s trying to gauge whether you really believe what you’re saying. You hold his gaze, willing him to see that you’re not afraid—that you’re in control, even if the situation feels precarious.

Finally, he nods again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Alright,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Now, stop overthinking it and come back to bed.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“Someone has to be,” you tease, lying back down and pulling him with you. He goes willingly, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go.

As you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you feel the tension slowly drain from his body. He still holds you a little tighter than usual, and you know the worry is still there, lurking beneath the surface. But for now, you’re both safe in the quiet cocoon of his bed, and that’s enough.

The morning sunlight spills into the bedroom, cutting through the blinds in thin golden slats. You wake up before Tony, which isn’t unusual. His arm is slung lazily over your waist, and his face is relaxed in a way that makes him look younger, softer—like he’s let go of the weight of the world, if only for a few precious hours.

You slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. Your feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and you grab one of his shirts from the edge of the bed, slipping it over your bare skin before padding out of the room. The small box you picked up from the pharmacy the night before sits on the kitchen counter, unopened. Your stomach twists as you pick it up, the weight of it heavier than it should be.

It’s not the first time you’ve taken the pill, and logically, you know what to expect. It’s supposed to be a fail-safe, a last resort. But something about the circumstances makes your chest tighten as you swallow the pill with a sip of water. The air feels thicker this morning, heavy with an unspoken tension that you can’t quite shake.

By the time Tony joins you, freshly showered and looking far too put-together for someone who stayed up so late, you’ve shoved the box deep into the trash and plastered on your best neutral expression. He doesn’t mention the pill. He doesn’t ask if you took it, though you know he’s probably been thinking about it. Instead, he leans casually against the counter and makes a joke about the kitchen being out of coffee, his easy demeanor doing little to mask the faint tension in his voice.

You don’t call him out on it. The last thing you want is to drag the conversation back into that same spiral of worry. Instead, you focus on normalcy—breakfast, half-hearted banter, the comforting rhythm of your strange, secret dynamic.

Days pass. A week. Maybe more. At first, you’re fine, brushing off the gnawing anxiety at the back of your mind. But when the calendar flips over to a new month and your period is nowhere to be found, the panic starts to creep in.

You check your phone obsessively, googling every possible explanation that isn’t what you’re afraid of. Stress, you tell yourself. Hormonal shifts. The pill can do this, right? Throw off your cycle? It’s not like your body works on a perfect schedule anyway.

And yet, as the days continue to pass, your chest tightens a little more every morning. The thought of telling Tony lingers at the edge of your mind, a shadow that grows darker every time you push it away. You think back to the night it happened, to the way he looked at you when the condom broke. The frustration, the fear—it’s all burned into your memory, and you’re not sure you can bear to see that look again.

So you don’t tell him.

When he asks casually a week later if “everything’s sorted,” you force yourself to smile and nod. “Yeah,” you say, your voice far steadier than you feel. “It was just a big scare. Everything’s fine now.”

The relief that washes over his face makes your heart sink. He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as his lips curve into an easy grin. “Good. That’s good.”

He doesn’t realize the way your stomach twists when he says it. He doesn’t notice the faint tremor in your hands as you reach for your coffee cup, your fingers brushing against the ceramic edge like it’s the only thing grounding you.

Tony doesn’t dwell on it after that. He’s good at compartmentalizing—too good, sometimes. Once he’s reassured, the topic is filed away in whatever mental vault he keeps for things he doesn’t want to think about.

But for you, it lingers.

You try to push it down, to bury it beneath layers of distraction. Missions, training, pretending that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. But every time you’re alone, the weight of the lie presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe.

You catch yourself staring at him sometimes, wondering what he would say if you told him the truth. Would he panic? Shut down? Or would he surprise you, the way he sometimes does, with a level of vulnerability that makes your heart ache? You don’t know, and the uncertainty is almost worse than the fear itself.

One night, as the two of you sit curled up on the couch watching some old black-and-white movie he insisted you’d love, you feel the words bubbling up in your throat. The urge to tell him is almost overwhelming, the silence between you stretching thin and taut like a thread about to snap.

“Tony—” you start, but he cuts you off with a lazy smirk, his hand brushing against your thigh.

“You’re not actually paying attention, are you?” he teases, nodding toward the screen.

The moment slips through your fingers like water, and you force a laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admit, though the words feel hollow in your mouth.

He grins, leaning in to kiss your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The warmth of his touch should be comforting, but all you feel is the gnawing guilt in the pit of your stomach.

Days turn into weeks. You’ve never been particularly religious, but you find yourself silently praying every night, begging for some kind of resolution that doesn’t involve your entire world unraveling. You know you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, the truth will come out, whether you want it to or not.

But for now, you cling to the fragile illusion of normalcy, pretending that everything is fine, that the ache in your chest isn’t growing louder with every passing day.

It’s late one evening when the weight of it all finally becomes too much. You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin looks paler than usual, your eyes shadowed with exhaustion. You press a hand to your stomach, your fingers trembling as you let out a shaky breath.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep pretending.

But when you step out of the bathroom and find Tony sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on his tablet with an easy smile on his face, the words die in your throat. He looks so… unburdened, so relieved.

You sit down beside him, your movements stiff and robotic. He glances at you, his expression softening as he sets the tablet aside. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You okay?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

It’s not fine. None of this is fine. But as Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, you let yourself fall into the comfort of his embrace, even if it feels like it’s built on a crumbling foundation.

Because right now, it’s easier to let him believe the lie than to face the truth.

And for better or worse, you’re not ready to let go of the fragile peace that lie has created. Not yet.

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The bathroom feels colder than usual, the air thick with a kind of tension you can almost taste. You’re sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the small white stick on the sink like it’s a bomb waiting to go off. Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that it drowns out everything else—the hum of the air conditioning, the distant city sounds drifting through the window, even your own breath.

You’ve been here for what feels like an eternity, though it’s probably only been a few minutes. The instructions on the box said three minutes, but you’re too scared to look. Too scared to confirm what your body has already been hinting at for days.

Your period is ten days late. Ten.

You’ve always been irregular—stress, missions, even the pill you took that morning can throw your cycle off—but ten days? That’s more than a delay. That’s a sign.

You’re holding your breath, your hands clenched tightly around the fabric of your pajama pants. You want to stand up, to take that final step and see the result, but your legs won’t move. You’re frozen, caught between the urge to know and the overwhelming fear of what you might find.

When you finally gather the courage to stand, your knees feel shaky, like they might buckle under you. You lean over the sink, your trembling hand reaching for the pregnancy test. It takes everything in you to flip it over, to look at the little window that holds the answer to the question you’ve been too terrified to ask.

Two lines.

Positive.

You blink, your breath catching in your throat as the reality of it sinks in. For a moment, you feel like the ground beneath you has shifted, like the whole world has tilted on its axis. This can’t be real. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, as you stare at those two little lines, a strange, unexpected feeling blooms in your chest. It’s faint, fragile, but it’s there—happiness.

Your hand flies to your mouth as tears spill down your cheeks. You don’t even know why you’re crying. Is it shock? Fear? Joy? Maybe it’s all of it, a tangled knot of emotions you can’t begin to unravel.

You sink to the floor, your back against the cold bathroom tile, clutching the test in your hands like it’s a lifeline. Tears blur your vision, but you don’t wipe them away. You just sit there, letting the wave of emotions crash over you.

You love him. That’s the thought that breaks through the chaos in your mind, clear and undeniable. You love Tony Stark. Of course, you do. You’ve loved him for longer than you care to admit, longer than this arrangement of yours has been going on. And now, you’re carrying a piece of him inside you—a tiny, fragile piece that terrifies you and fills you with a strange, aching kind of hope all at once.

But then the fear creeps back in, sharp and insistent.

You think about the way he reacted that morning after the condom broke, the tension in his shoulders, the way he’d paced like he was trying to solve an unsolvable equation. You think about the relief that washed over his face when you lied and told him your period had come.

He doesn’t want this.

The thought makes your chest ache, the tears coming faster now. You know Tony. You know the walls he’s built around himself, the way he keeps people at arm’s length, even when he’s letting them into his bed. You know how hard he fights to keep control over his life, his world, his emotions.

A baby? That’s not part of his plan. Hell, you’re not even part of his plan. You’re supposed to be casual, no strings, no complications. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, here you are, clutching a pregnancy test and crying alone in the bathroom, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to navigate this new reality.

You can’t tell him. The thought hits you like a punch to the gut, but you know it’s true. You can’t tell Tony. Not now. Not when you can still see the relief in his eyes from the last time you reassured him that everything was fine.

He’ll leave. The thought makes your stomach twist painfully, but you can’t shake it. If you tell him, he’ll panic. He’ll shut down, pull away, and you’ll lose him completely. And as much as the idea of raising a child on your own terrifies you, the thought of losing Tony is worse.

So you don’t tell him.

You wipe your tears, setting the test on the counter with shaking hands. Your reflection in the mirror looks haunted, your eyes red and puffy, your cheeks streaked with tears. You take a deep breath, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to calm yourself. You need to pull it together. You need to figure out what comes next.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, staring at your reflection, trying to reconcile the life you thought you had with the one that’s suddenly, irrevocably changed.

The door to the bedroom creaks open, and your heart leaps into your throat. You scramble to compose yourself, swiping at your eyes and plastering on a shaky smile just as Tony’s voice drifts into the bathroom.

“Hey, you alright in there?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with concern.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Yeah,” you call back, your voice only wavering slightly. “Just… needed a minute.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he hums softly, like he’s satisfied with your answer. “Well, don’t take too long. I ordered breakfast, and you know how I feel about eating alone.”

You let out a weak laugh, your chest tightening at the sound of his voice. “Be right there.”

When you step out of the bathroom a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your expression carefully neutral, Tony’s already sprawled on the bed with a plate of food balanced precariously on his lap. He grins when he sees you, patting the spot beside him like nothing’s changed.

And for now, you let yourself fall into the illusion of normalcy, even as the weight of your secret presses heavily against your chest.

The air between you and Tony shifts subtly at first—so small, so gradual, that neither of you comments on it. Nights that once burned hot now fizzle out before they even begin. The once-electric tension, the playful banter that led to tangled sheets and breathless laughter, is replaced by something colder. It’s you who pulls away first. At first, it’s subtle—an excuse here, a brush-off there. “I’m not in the mood tonight,” you say, avoiding his eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed, a little too far from him.

Tony lets it go. He always does.

He’s not the type to push, and you know he’s trying to respect your space. But as the days stretch into weeks, your distance becomes harder to ignore. Every time he reaches for you, his touch hesitant but hopeful, you step just a little further out of his reach. It’s not that you don’t want him—god, you want him more than ever. But every time he’s close, every time his lips brush against your skin or his voice drops into that low, teasing tone that always used to make you weak, you feel the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone.

You don’t know how to face him, how to look him in the eye without feeling like a liar. So you pull away.

Tony notices. Of course he notices.

At first, he thinks it’s stress. You’ve been juggling missions, the chaos of your lives, the constant push and pull of being in the public eye while trying to keep your relationship—whatever it is—a secret. Stress makes sense. It’s logical, explainable. But as time goes on, and your coldness toward him hardens into something sharper, something unrelenting, the doubts creep in.

It’s late one night, and Tony’s lying in bed alone, staring up at the ceiling as the soft glow of the arc reactor casts faint, shifting patterns on the walls. You’re not there. You’d excused yourself earlier, claiming you were tired, but instead of lying down beside him like you used to, you’d retreated to the living room.

He wants to follow you, to ask what’s wrong, to tell you he misses you even though he knows it’s not the kind of thing you say to someone who’s supposed to be a casual fling. But he doesn’t. He stays in bed, his chest tight, his mind spinning with every possible explanation for your sudden distance.

Maybe you’re over him. The thought sends a sharp pang through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. People lose interest all the time. It’s normal. Expected.

But then there’s another thought, one that he tries to push down but can’t quite ignore: Maybe there’s someone else.

He hates the idea of it. Hates the way his stomach twists every time it crosses his mind. But the way you’ve been avoiding him, the way you’ve stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped touching him, stopped letting him touch you—it all feels like proof that he’s losing you.

The thing is, Tony Stark isn’t good at feelings. He’s spent his whole life hiding behind sarcasm, distractions, and whatever shiny piece of tech he can throw together to keep people from seeing the cracks beneath the surface. But you? You’ve always been different. You’re the one person who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to pretend, like he doesn’t have to be “Iron Man” all the time.

And that scares him. Because if he loses you, he doesn’t know how to go back to the person he was before.

He tries to bridge the gap one night. It’s been weeks since you let him touch you the way he used to, weeks since the warmth of your body pressed against his in the dark. So he decides to take a chance.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice tentative as he steps into the living room where you’re curled up on the couch, your knees drawn to your chest.

You glance up at him, your expression guarded, and his chest tightens.

“Hey,” he continues, trying to keep his tone light, casual, like he’s not unraveling inside. “I was thinking we could—” He hesitates, the words catching in his throat. “You know. Watch a movie or something.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m not really in the mood, Tony.”

It’s the same excuse you’ve been giving him for weeks now, and it stings just as much as it did the first time. He nods, stepping back like he’s been burned.

“Right,” he says, his voice clipped. “Of course. You’re… busy.”

You feel the weight of his disappointment, and it makes your stomach twist with guilt. You want to reach out, to tell him the truth, but the words won’t come. You’re too scared—scared of what he’ll say, scared of what he won’t say.

Tony doesn’t press the issue. He never does. Instead, he retreats back to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. But you know him well enough to know he’s hurting. You’ve seen the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, the way he avoids looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You hate it. You hate yourself for causing it.

But every time you think about telling him the truth, about letting him into the tangled mess of emotions you’re drowning in, the memory of his relief when he thought everything was fine stops you. You can’t bear the thought of seeing that same relief again, of watching him pull away from you because this—whatever this is—was never supposed to be more than just sex.

The problem is, it’s so much more for you. It always has been. And the thought of him not feeling the same way, of him walking away when he finds out about the baby, is enough to keep you silent.

So you stay distant, building walls around yourself even as your heart breaks every time you see him. And Tony, for all his brilliance, doesn’t know how to break through them.

It’s late when Tony finally breaks. The night air is cool, flowing in through the windows of the lab as he works, tinkering with something that doesn’t need fixing but still allows him to focus on something other than the gnawing feeling that’s been growing in his gut for the past few weeks.

He can’t ignore it any longer.

You’ve been so distant, so closed off. Every time he reaches for you, you pull away, your smile strained, your touch hesitant. He knows something’s wrong. You’ve been avoiding him—more than usual—and it’s like the light that once sparked in your eyes when you were around him has dimmed. You’re still there, physically, but emotionally? Mentally? He’s losing you, and he doesn’t know why.

At first, he thought it was just stress. You’ve both been running at full speed with everything going on in your lives—missions, the Avengers, the constant media circus that surrounds everything you do. But as the weeks have stretched on, and you’ve pulled further into yourself, Tony’s mind starts to wonder. He tries to brush it off, tries to tell himself that maybe you’re just going through something, or maybe you’ve just gotten tired of the arrangement you two have been navigating.

But that would mean he’s losing you, and the thought of that makes his chest ache.

He’s pacing now, a strange sense of urgency growing inside him. He can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. He can’t pretend he hasn’t noticed the way you flinch when he touches you, how you go out of your way to make excuses not to be close, to keep that emotional distance between you. It hurts. It cuts deeper than any physical wound he’s had, and if he doesn’t get to the bottom of it, he feels like he might lose himself entirely.

Without thinking, Tony heads toward the living room, his footsteps heavy as he approaches the place you’ve been hiding out in for the past hour. He’s not sure what he expects when he opens the door, but he knows he needs answers.

When you look up at him from the couch, curled up with a book in your hands, he sees it again—the sadness behind your eyes, the coldness in the way you hold yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve looked at him like that, and it hurts more than he’s willing to admit.

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice more strained than he meant it to be, “We need to talk.”

You blink at him, like you were expecting him to say something else, something easier to hear. But instead, you set the book down, letting out a long breath. “What about?”

Tony steps closer, his brow furrowed in frustration, eyes searching yours for any sign of the woman he once knew. “You’re not fine. I know you’re not. And I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay between us when it’s not.”

You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not ready to tell him, not yet, but Tony’s insistent stare makes you feel like you don’t have a choice.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on. I—” He cuts himself off, not sure if he’s about to confess something he isn’t ready for. “I hate this distance between us. I hate how you’ve been avoiding me, and I’m not going to let you shut me out. Not when I know something’s wrong. So please, just tell me.”

You stand slowly, turning away from him, eyes cast down to the floor as you try to steady your breathing. You know you can’t keep this secret any longer. He deserves to know, but you’re terrified of his reaction. Terrified that he’ll leave, or worse, that he’ll shut you out just like you’ve been doing to him.

“I—” you start, your voice cracking slightly as you turn back to face him, your words hanging in the air like a fragile glass balloon ready to pop. “Tony, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the room feels impossibly still. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest is louder than anything else. Tony’s face doesn’t change immediately, and for a second, you wonder if he’s even heard you. Maybe he didn’t catch it, didn’t really understand what you just said.

But then his eyes meet yours, and you can see the shock flicker across his face, his mouth opening as if he’s about to speak but nothing comes out.

The silence between you both stretches, and you hate it. You hate the tension that fills the space where once there was laughter, banter, comfort. You take a deep breath, the weight of your confession settling on your shoulders like an anchor, and you brace yourself for his response.

“I know you don’t want this,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I saw the way you reacted when I told you my period had come. You were relieved, and I know that means you don’t want a kid. And I—”

But Tony doesn’t let you finish. He’s already moved toward you, his expression softening, and before you even realize it, his hand is gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t know had fallen.

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his voice quieter now, but his words are firm, like he’s trying to make you understand something important. “I wasn’t relieved because I didn’t want the baby. I was relieved because I remember you saying you didn’t want kids right now.” He lets out a shaky laugh, almost embarrassed by the way his own words feel in his mouth. “I guess I got scared for a second, thinking this was all happening too fast, but it wasn’t about not wanting a kid. It was about… us. About where we are in life. I wasn’t sure if you were ready for this, for everything that comes with it.”

You stare at him, blinking as the shock of his words sinks in. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, trying to process what he’s saying. He’s not angry. He’s not freaking out. He’s—he’s relieved? And then the smile that spreads across his face is one you’ve never seen before. It’s so full of hope, of joy, that it almost knocks the wind out of you.

“You’re happy?” you whisper, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound steady.

Tony’s grin widens, and his eyes are shining with something so genuine, so raw, that it’s impossible for you to look away. “You have no idea,” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted to be a dad for a while now. I’m happy, Y/N. I’m so happy.”

The air between you both changes instantly. The heavy weight that’s been pressing down on your chest—your fear, your anxiety—lifts just a little. You feel like you can breathe again, the walls you’d built around yourself crumbling with every word he speaks.

You look up at him, your own smile breaking through the uncertainty, and before you can stop it, the words spill out. “I think I’m happy too, Tony.”

Tony’s expression softens, his eyes softening as he reaches for you, pulling you into an embrace so tight it almost feels like he’s never letting you go. You bury your face in his chest, your heart racing with a mix of emotions—relief, happiness, fear, but most of all, love.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re doing this together. Okay?”

You nod against him, your arms wrapping around his waist as if you never want to let go. “Okay,” you whisper, a quiet laugh escaping you as the weight of the moment finally settles in. “Together.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

Later that night, after the quiet joy of shared smiles and whispered promises had filled the room, the weight of the moment seemed to settle in more than ever. The excitement, the relief, the joy of the baby—all of that felt real now. But there was still one thing neither of you had addressed. The question that hung in the air just as heavily as it always had: What are we?

You weren’t sure when it started. When the blurred lines between “friends with benefits” and something more had begun to form, but you knew it was there now. It had always been there, from the moment his lips had first brushed against yours, from the first time you’d shared something deeper than just casual touch. The emotional attachment had crept in slowly, quietly, and for a long time, you had tried to ignore it.

But now, with a baby on the way and the delicate balance of your secret relationship on the verge of shifting, there was no denying it any longer.

Tony had been unusually quiet after the rush of emotions had faded, after you both had settled into your shared space on the couch, your legs tangled beneath a blanket. You’d both exchanged small touches, playful nudges, and soft words of reassurance, but as the night wore on, the air between you thickened again, and you both knew what was coming.

Tony wasn’t the type to shy away from hard conversations, especially not when it came to the things that mattered most to him. And now, with the future of your relationship hanging in the balance, he had to know: where do you two stand?

“Y/N,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence that had wrapped itself around the two of you, his voice low, hesitant. “We need to talk about… us.”

You glance up at him, your heart picking up speed at the seriousness in his tone. He’s not looking at you now, not like before, when his eyes had been filled with a bright, carefree joy. No, now his gaze is intense, studying you in a way that makes you feel exposed. Vulnerable.

“I know,” you reply softly, the words almost a whisper, your fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket. You’re nervous now, your chest tight, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. After everything that’s happened, after the whirlwind of emotions surrounding the pregnancy, now comes the quiet storm that you’ve been avoiding. The talk about what your relationship is—what it could be.

Tony shifts, his body language tense. “We’ve been doing this for a while now—casual, no strings, no commitment. But now… this changes everything.” He lets out a breath, rubbing his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away the uncertainty. “I can’t help but wonder if we’ve been fooling ourselves, pretending we’re just two people with a little arrangement. I need to know if you feel the same way I do.”

Your stomach flips at the sincerity in his voice. The seriousness of it all hits you in a way you weren’t expecting. You’ve always been good at keeping things light, at pretending that this thing between you both was just about fun, just about the thrill of being together without the complications of a real relationship. But now, with the baby coming, everything has changed.

Tony continues, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t know about you, but… I’m not just some guy you hook up with and then move on from. That’s not what I want anymore. I never thought I’d say this, but I—I want more than that with you. I think I’ve wanted more for a long time, even before we got here, and now… with the baby, I don’t know how to act like we’re just two friends. I can’t.”

You swallow, the knot in your throat tightening, making it harder to speak. You want to say the right thing, but you don’t even know what that is anymore. For so long, you’ve kept the walls up, kept yourself detached from him, from the idea of ever needing more than just him in your bed, in your life.

But now, after everything that’s happened—the broken condom, the shock of the pregnancy test, the tenderness of his touch, the way he looks at you now—you can’t pretend anymore. You know what you feel. You’ve known for a while.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. You can’t stop the truth from slipping out, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself be honest with him. “I’ve been so scared, Tony. I was scared to let myself feel more than just… this. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I didn’t want to fall for you, but I did. And now, with this… I don’t know what that means for us.”

He leans in, his hand coming to rest gently on your knee, grounding you with the warmth of his touch. “It means we figure it out. Together.”

You meet his gaze then, really look at him, and for the first time since all of this started, you feel the fear melt away, replaced by something that feels like hope, like relief. Maybe it’s too soon to figure everything out—maybe the fear will still be there tomorrow, when you wake up and face the reality of being parents together. But right now, in this moment, you realize that whatever comes next, you’re not alone.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than this,” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want us, Y/N. I want this—whatever it is—if it’s with you.”

Tears well in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “Are you sure? Because, Tony, this is… a lot. We’re talking about everything changing. Our whole lives—”

“I know,” he interrupts, cutting you off softly. “But that’s the thing, Y/N. It’s supposed to change. It’s supposed to be big. And it’s gonna be scary. But I’d rather be scared with you than pretend we’re okay with something less.”

You smile, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks, but they’re not tears of fear anymore. They’re tears of relief, of joy. “I feel the same,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anything else either. I want us.”

The air shifts around you both. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid, the uncertainty, the fear, all of it starts to dissipate in the wake of your words. In the silence that follows, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you, something unspoken but deep. You’re not just two friends anymore. You’re something more. Something real. Something that might still be terrifying, but you’re willing to take that step together.

Tony leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “We’re gonna figure this out, Y/N. We’ll do it together, okay? All of it. No more running from it. No more pretending.”

You nod, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the peace of knowing that he feels the same way. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to guard yourself, to hold back. Whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it with him by your side.

And for the first time in months, you allow yourself to feel the hope that the future might not be so terrifying after all.

“Together,” you whisper back, your voice full of resolve.

“Together,” Tony agrees, his smile softening as he leans back into the couch beside you. You both sit there for a long moment, the world outside forgotten, the future uncertain but no longer so intimidating. With each other, you feel ready for whatever comes next.

The decision to tell the Avengers comes surprisingly easy, though Tony initially overcomplicates it—as is his style. He drafts no fewer than six different ways to break the news, each one more elaborate than the last, from a staged press conference to a spontaneous "Oops, did we drop a clue?" moment during dinner. Ultimately, it’s you who insists on something simple: just sitting everyone down and saying it outright.

The team gathers in the common area after a particularly grueling mission briefing. Steve sits on one side, arms crossed in casual curiosity, while Natasha and Clint exchange knowing looks, as if they’ve already pieced together whatever you’re about to say. Thor leans back with an air of amused disinterest, and Bruce glances between you and Tony with a subtle frown, clearly trying to deduce what’s happening.

Tony clears his throat, standing with his hands shoved into his pockets—a nervous habit you’ve grown to recognize. You sit beside him, trying not to laugh at the way he fidgets like a kid preparing to confess he’s broken something.

“So,” Tony begins, his voice smooth but a little too loud, “we’ve got some news. Something big, something life-altering. Not world-ending, don’t worry—though it is arguably more exciting than an alien invasion or a helicarrier falling out of the sky.”

“Get to the point,” Natasha cuts in, raising an eyebrow, though her smirk betrays her amusement.

Tony glances at you, and you take his hand, offering him a reassuring squeeze. You look at the group, your heart racing but a soft smile playing on your lips. “We’re together,” you say simply, “and… we’re having a baby.”

The room falls silent for a beat, and then chaos ensues.

Clint immediately lets out a loud, theatrical “Called it!” while Thor booms a congratulatory cheer, clapping Tony on the back so hard he almost topples forward. Natasha simply smirks, her sharp eyes flickering with something close to approval. Steve blinks once, then twice, before nodding with a small smile. “Well,” he says, “it’s about time.”

Bruce, for his part, is the most measured. “Congratulations,” he says warmly, his expression soft as he looks between the two of you. “That’s… big news. You’ll both be great parents.”

Tony, who thrives on reactions, looks around at the mix of responses, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Wait, that’s it? No one’s shocked? No dramatic gasps? No ‘Tony Stark, settling down, what has the world come to?’”

Natasha tilts her head. “We’re not blind, Tony.”

“And you’re not exactly subtle,” Clint adds with a laugh. “The sneaking around was cute at first, but come on. The looks? The way you guys act around each other? It was only a matter of time.”

You laugh, leaning into Tony’s side as he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t care if they saw it coming—he only cares that you’re here, by his side, sharing this moment with him.

As the weeks pass and your belly starts to grow, Tony’s excitement becomes something of a full-time personality trait. He’s protective in a way that sometimes makes you laugh and sometimes makes you roll your eyes—like when he insists on scanning the ingredients of every snack you eat or hovering too closely while you climb the stairs.

“Tony, I’m pregnant, not fragile,” you remind him one evening when he’s fussing over your attempt to carry a laundry basket up from the bedroom.

“Yeah, well, you’re carrying my kid,” he retorts, taking the basket from your hands with a flourish. “And I’m not taking any chances.”

But it’s not just the protectiveness. There’s something else, something deeper. Every day, he seems more in love—not just with you, but with the idea of the life you’re building together. He tells you often how beautiful you are, how the so-called “pregnancy glow” makes you shine brighter than any reactor core he’s ever built. And when he’s not busy marveling at you, he’s completely, utterly enchanted by the baby growing inside you.

Tony spends hours talking to your belly, as if the baby can already hear and understand him. He lays his head against your stomach whenever he can, his voice soft and full of wonder as he murmurs stories about the world, about your life together, about the adventures waiting for the little one.

“You know,” he says one evening, his hand resting gently on your belly as he leans in close, “you’ve got it pretty good in there, kid. Mom’s amazing. She’s brilliant, and funny, and stubborn as hell—you’ll learn that soon enough. And me? Well, I’m not so bad either. We’re gonna be a great team, the three of us.”

You watch him, your heart swelling at the sight of the man who, not so long ago, had been the epitome of carefree, refusing to be tied down. Now, he’s the man who can’t wait to be a dad, who looks at you like you’re his entire world.

“I think they’ll be lucky to have you,” you say softly, running your fingers through his hair as he continues to talk to your belly.

Tony looks up at you, his expression tender. “Nah,” he replies, his voice teasing but warm. “They’ll be lucky to have you. I’m just along for the ride.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him, and he smiles against your lips, his hand never leaving your belly. Moments like this are becoming your new normal—quiet, intimate, filled with the kind of love that feels like it’s been there all along, waiting for the right time to bloom.

As the baby kicks for the first time a few weeks later, Tony’s excitement is nothing short of infectious. He whoops loudly, startling you for a moment before his hand immediately presses against your stomach again, his grin wide and boyish.

“Did you feel that?” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

You nod, tears springing to your eyes as you smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, your hand covering his. “I felt it.”

“That’s my kid,” he says proudly, leaning down to kiss your belly. “Already making an entrance.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart full to bursting. In moments like this, it’s hard to remember why you ever doubted this—why you ever doubted him. Tony Stark, for all his flaws, is everything you never knew you needed. And now, as you prepare to welcome the biggest adventure of your lives together, you know one thing for sure: you’re in this together, every step of the way.

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formylovetodaryldixon · 3 days ago

Text

"For life." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gifs)

Daryl tells his daughter about the day she was born (And she asks him an awkward question)

A/N: Just a continuation of my first imagine with dad!Daryl. My everything. I don't know why but I always imagined his daughter as Lexi Rabe, Iron Man's daughter, (I took a scene too, sorry hehe) but as always, you can imagine her differently. Thanks for the love my imagines are receiving! I had so much fun writing this so i hope you like it♥

“Shit…” Daryl whispers, and the group around him sinks into silence.

The few present, some members of his family, including his wife, stare at the map on the dining room table, plotting in their minds what was the best option to attack Negan’s clan before he attacks Alexandria again, before he puts at risk the lives of the innocents who had been caught in the crossfire.

But the silence is broken by a small voice, as sweet as honey since she learned to speak.

“Shit.”

They all turn to the staircase behind them, especially Daryl, who could recognize his daughter’s voice among a sea of murmurs, even if they were louder than her small voice. Daryl had a good memory, and he had memorized her voice since Marley said her first word, which, to his delight, was daddy. But now Marley Rose Dixon is 4 years old already, and although her bag of words as he used to call it was still limited, she had learned to memorize a lot of things at her young age.

Daryl walks over to her, who is sitting on the bottom step, wearing her pajamas with little baby elephant prints on them, and he lifts her up in his arms, enveloping her in his warmth. For her part, Marley hugs his neck, and she smiles back at him, a little sleepily because it is already past midnight.

“What are ya doin' up, youn' lady? It’s late and ya should be sleepin'.”

“Shit.” She repeats, laughing, just to make him uncomfortable, although she didn’t know she was actually doing it.

You chuckle, as do Rick, Michonne, and the others.

“No, angel, it ain't 'kay to say that word.” Daryl scolds her, softly as he uses one hand to push some strands of her brown hair out of her face. “That word belongs to mommy, so only she can say it.”

Marley frowns, tilting her head to look at him with her deep blue eyes and an accusatory expression.

“But you said it, daddy.”

He clears his throat before answering.

“Yeah, but only 'cause Mommy lends it to me sometimes, right, Mommy?” Daryl glances in your direction, and when everyone turns their gazes to you, the weight falls on your shoulders, so you just nod with a solemn expression. “See? Now we’re gonna take ya back to yer room, 'kay?”

Marley hugs his neck closer, their noses touching, making Daryl smile.

“But can you tell me a story?”

Before you or Daryl can speak, though, Rick ends the meeting. Everyone retreats to their own homes, kissing Marley on the cheek or stroking her hair on their way out, and when the three of you are alone again, you all head up the stairs to her room.

Once there, Daryl sets Marley down on her bed, tucking her into her blanket as you grab a book from her shelf. There weren’t many children’s books in that new world, so the two of you had started reading Marley books about wild animals, exotic flowers, and more.

He lays down next to her on the blanket, their heads touching on the pillow as you hand him a book. But Daryl skims through it first, frowning as he looks back at you.

“What? No pictures this time?”

“Borin’!” Marley replies, mimicking her father’s expression.

Her words make you let out a deep breath, but you chuckle too, just because even though you had given birth to her, she looks more like her father than you.

“Oh no. Look what we did. We created a little Daryl Dixon. As if we didn’t have enough with the one we already have at home.” Shaking your head, you walk out of the room, hearing your husband’s voice behind you.

“I’m so proud of the daughter I raised!”

You hear the laugh in his deep voice, but before Daryl can open the book, Marley gently pushes it away.

“Daddy, tell me one of your stories.”

He settles down on the bed, looking into her eyes that were just like his own. Daryl could get lost in the depths of her blue eyes, all day, all night, or all his life: it was like that from the first time he saw her anyways.

“Did Mommy tell ya about the day ya were born?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, we were waitin' for ya for several months now, but ya were two weeks early. It seems that Mommy’s belly wasn’t very comfortable anymore. That night, Daddy had gotten to the gates after a run when Aunt Maggie told me that Mommy was ready to give birth, and when I got to our room, she was very, very scared. So I sat behind 'er on the bed and told 'er how brave she was, that she jus' needed to endure the pain a little longer to meet our baby.”

Daryl smiles slightly at the memory despite the fear he felt, because there was always a chance of losing his wife or his daughter, and Marley looks at him curiously.

“Were you scared?”

Daryl chuckles, stopping himself from saying shit again.

“Terrified, angel. Daddy couldn’t do anythin’ to stop Mommy from havin’ that pain, but we both know how strong Mommy is, and I knew she could do it. Ya took a long time to be born, but in the end, yer cry was the most beautiful sound I ever heard. Ya were healthy, and that was all yer mommy and I asked of life. Then the doctor put ya on mommy’s chest, and suddenly ya stopped cryin' when ya looked into 'er eyes.”

“How did I look at Mommy?”

Daryl smiles, bringing a hand up to Marley’s face to caress her cheek.

“Ya looked at each other like ya’d known each other forever.”

“And how did I look at you?”

Marley chuckles as he leans closer to her, so close that he can rub his nose against his daughter’s, hearing that sweet sound he’s memorized as well.

“Ya looked at me like ya were goin' to love me yer whole life.”

Marley smiles.

“But I love you, Daddy.”

“For life?”

She nods quickly.

“For life.”

For Daryl, who was never given a touch of affection, he knows well that he would give his life for his daughter, because she had loved him long before she knew what love was. But she grew up surrounded by it, by her family, by her mother, and most of all by him, who always knew how to love despite not having been loved when he was a child.

And it is easy for him to say the words that he never received.

“Daddy loves ya, Marley, with all his heart.”

She smiles, kissing his nose before wrapping an arm around his neck.

“I love you too, daddy, with all my heart.”

“That’s good to know, ma little angel.” Daryl caresses her cheek one more time before pulling away from her, getting up to tuck her in before leaving. “Ya must sleep now, sweetheart. It’s late.”

“Daddy?” Just as he adjusts her blanket for the last time, he stops. “Can I have a pet?”

Daryl thinks for a moment: it’s been a while since anyone had seen a pet.

“How about a fish? Daddy can take ya fishin' and we can come home with a pet fish.”

Marley wrinkles her nose.

“I don’t want a fish. You can’t take them for walks.”

He chuckles.

“And what animal would ya like?”

“An elephant!”

Daryl can’t help it, he frowns at her, head cocked to the side.

“What’s that word Mommy always uses when I get obsessed with somethin'?”

“Fixation.” She laughs, finding the word before her dad does.

Daryl chuckles.

“Ya really got a thin' for elephants, angel.” He leans down to kiss her forehead before leaving, but on his way to the door, her voice stops him again. “Yeah?”

“And how did I get into mommy’s belly?”

Daryl chokes on his own breath: but he would rather face 100 walkers than explain to his daughter how a baby was made.

“What?”

“You said I was in mommy’s belly.” Marley cocks her head, an action she learned from him. “How did I get there?”

“Well…” Daryl frowns in a thoughtful expression, because Merle had told him about it when he was a kid, but in a very grotesque way. “Daddy will try to get ya an elephant, I make no promises, but I'll try, 'kay?”

Marley smiles.

“Okay.”

Daryl can feel the relief as he closes her door, but he knows that sooner or later, she’ll ask again. When he gets to his own room, he can see you standing in front of the window, staring out at the cold world, but at least inside his home, it was always warm. Like a good hunter, Daryl comes to you quietly, wrapping you in his arms, his face hidden in your neck, his warm breath tickling you.

“How did yer parents tell ya how a baby is made?”

You laugh.

“What?”

“Marley asked me how she got into mommy’s belly.” Daryl lifts his head, meeting your amused gaze. “Merle told me when I was 6, and I ain't repeating the words he used to ma daughter.”

You shrug, agreeing with him.

“I met him, so I can imagine his words. I was never told that babies are delivered by the stork or anything like that. But, we already talked to Marley about calling her private parts by their names, so we can start there.”

Daryl growls.

“I’ll be there but, could ya do it? I ain't ready to teach ma baby how to make a baby.”

You laugh.

“Fine, I’ll do the talking. Although now that I think about it, my brother once told me that he was explained it when my mom was pregnant with me, so it was easier for them and him.” When you look back at him, Daryl is looking at you with an amused smile, the one he used before asking you if you wanted to make love. “I’m not saying we have another baby! So keep your hands off me.” You pull away from him a little, looking at him with a serious expression. “Before you say it, no. No, no, no, and definitely not. And if that wasn't clear to you, hell no.”

Daryl shoves his hands into his pants pockets, smiling like a child.

“I jus' think maybe it’s the right time to give Marley a little brother or sister.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? Are you planning on giving birth to that baby?” You ask, but when he shakes his head, you narrow your eyes. “Then think twice, Dixon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to sleep. And if you dare lay a finger on me, I’m going to bite it. I’m not kidding.”

The moment you turn your back at him, however, Daryl has you in his arms, kissing the arch of your neck before you can ask him to let you go.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon twd #dad!daryl dixon

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staysdelulus · 3 days ago

Text

Power Outage - Bang Chan

Fluff~~

WC: 641

“Channie, are you almost home?” I whisper, my hands trembling as I curl in on myself on the bed, hugging a small pillow. I shiver again, sniffling as I peer out at the window, my phone hooked onto the charger as the trees continue to shake outside as the wind whooshes past the building again.

“I’ll be home soon, baby, just hang in there for me, okay?” Chan says softly, the background noise growing louder from the phone as he finishes packing up. “I’m heading home right now, okay? Stay on the phone with me.”

Just then, the lights flicker, and I immediately whimper, shrinking into myself as I lay down, hugging the pillow closer. “Channie, what if the power goes out?”

“Then I’ll be there as soon as I can, baby,” Chan says, the beeping of the car filtering through the phone as he settles down. “I’m in the car, going home now. If the power goes out, I want you to hang up the phone, okay?”

“But-”

“Sh,” Channie shushes gently. “You need to save your phone battery, okay? I’ll be home soon, I promise. I love you, okay?”

“I love you,” I repeat, my eyes wide as I huddle under the blanket. “Drive safe, Chan.”

“Of course. You know I always do,” Chan says, chuckling softly. My face flushes at the sound, a small smile blooming on my face. Just then, the lights flicker out. At the sound of my sharp inhale, Chan is immediately on alert. “Y/n? What’s wrong?”

“The power’s out,” I whisper reluctantly. Chan curses softly, his voice gentle. “Y/n, I’m almost home, okay? I can see that some traffic lights are out, but I’ll be home in just a few minutes. Will you be able to be alone for just a few more minutes?”

“Y-Yeah,” I stutter, shivering as the temperature in the house drops. “Yeah. O-Okay, Channie.”

“You’ll be okay,” Chan says gently. “Hang up now, okay? Almost there.”

Nodding, I mumble a quick word of agreement before squeezing my eyes shut, ending the call before I chickened out. As soon as the call cuts, I put my phone down on the side, the silence deafening as I sniffle, shrinking into myself.

It wasn’t that I was scared of the dark. It was just oddly uncomfortable. Growing up, I had lived in an area with many power outages, but I always hated them. It was something deeper than just fear. Something that made me feel almost nauseous. My fingers curl around the pillow as I sniffle again, huddling under the blanket to save warmth.

Just then, the sound of the door opening catches my attention, a soft whimper escaping my lips as I flinch, the sound jarring me from my reverie. Chan enters the room soon, a flashlight in his hands as he carries his jacket in the other.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs softly, immediately placing the jacket over the blankets, the weight of it immediately comforting. He places a kiss on my forehead, brushing my hair back as he quickly changes, pulling on a clean pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.

He crawls under the blankets, gathering me in his arms as he peppers my face with kisses, a small giggle escaping me at his wet kisses. “Channie, that tickles-”

“There it is,” he grins, flicking my nose gently. “That small giggle I love.”

“I love you,” I whisper, my eyes softening at his words.

He smiles back, placing a kiss on my lips. “I love you, too. Now, let’s stay here until the power comes back, hm? Even if it’s for days.”

“I always feel warm with you,” I mumble softly, snuggling closer to him. “So warm, Channie.”

He chuckles softly, the sound coming from his chest as he kisses the top of my head. “Anything for you, baby.”

A/n: So my area had a bomb cyclone warning, and we didn't have power for a few days. It was super cold, and I just ended up hugging a pillow pretending it was Bang Chan.

Got tickets to see SKZ too!! If you're still looking, don't give up, and best of luck!

#skz #stray kids #skz fanfic #skz x reader #kpop #skz au #bang chan #bang chan stray kids #stray kids bang chan #bang chan skz #skz bang chan #bang chan fluff #fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan fic #kpop fluff

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ray935sworld · 3 hours ago

Text

Child of divorce rosquez AU

My baby, my baby

Chapter 1: The fallout

Marc knew he should be grateful for the life he lived.

He had everything and more he could have ever dreamed about.

He was a big name in the sport he loved after only 2 season. He had won 2 titles in those years, making him a 4x wdc before he turned 22.

He earned a lot of money while living his dream. He made his hobby to his job and it worked out perfectly. Better than anything they could have expected.

He had healed from an almost career ending accident and had started to win everything. He learned how to handle crashs and he was pretty good in dealing with the injuries resulting.

He had a brother who he loved dearly. They were basically glued together. He was his best friend and always had his back. They had the same profession and could spent lots of time together.

And he had a wonderful little son who would turn 2 in January.

David was everything to him. He had never expected to became a father as early as he did but he would trade it for nothing in the whole world.

He loved David like it was breathing and now he could have never imagined not having him in his life.

He knew he should be grateful for a life like that. Most people weren't as lucky as he was. For most people, their dream didn't work out. Many in his profession even suffered a terrible fate. Most people weren't as lucky to have a support system like he did when it comes to an unexpected pregnancy.

And he was grateful. He would never not be grateful

But as he looked in the news, he couldn't help but curse the world for putting him through something like that. Actually he wouldn't care if it was just about him. He'd be able to handle that.

But dragging David through it?

He swallowed, cursing silently as he read how his toddler got weaponized.

'The cuckoo child of motogp - whose the real father of Marquez's bastard?'

He wanted to take the paper, roll it up and beat the crap out of who ever had the idea, who wrote it and who deemed as as appropriate enough to be published.

It was bullshit. The world knew who David father was, even if they refuse to acknowledge it. He - They had always been honest about David's father.

Fuck.

Vale had been the one to step up about it. He hadn't want to hide Marc or their relationship and his fatherhood of David. So he publicly picking David up from the Honda garage and carrying him to yamaha.

The baby had been crawled on his chest, Vale still on his race suit, as he talked with his mechanic. The hugh 46 over his head seemed to fit perfectly with the red MM93 top David had been wearing. A gift from Santi.

As expected, the whole media went crazy. They asked them about the reason behind that.

Vale had just laughed and said "Allora, I gotta take care of my lovely son, no? Can't let Marc do all the work. He did all the hardest work already. I mean - If it takes two to have fun, it takes at least two to care of our little bambino"

And the papers went wild. As expected. Valentino Rossi, having a son - the news spread like wildfire through all of Italy.

They repeated it the next day. Vale had grinned widely as Marc handed their baby over, knowing that many journalists had only waited for this.

They had managed to arrange the schedules that while Vale went over some data, Marc had a little free time to look after David. And as soon as his occupation started, Vale was free and took their son.

It didn't always work but luckyly Julia was happily to look after his grandson in the meantime. Or Alex and Luca stole him away. For some uncle time, as they called it.

Vale and Marc had early on decided not to investigate what their brothers put their baby through after catching Alex trying to teach David to say "batman" instead of papa as his first word.

They just trusted the newly founded uncles in crime union - to which the academy boys counted as well - not to do something extremely stupid.

"Your fault if you let a bunch of teenage uncles babysit cause you don't know how to pull out" Luca had said as Vale asked him why his son was currently wearing a green baby wig, sunglasses and a glittery jacket.

He had turned to Franco, knowing that this was an argument he couldn't win against. He hope his oldest boy would at least have some sense as he gave him a strong 'care to explain?' look. But he just shrugged and answered "What? It's fun. And David loves it! Look at him"

As on cue, David started giggling and reach for his papa. "He's a baby. He loves everything." Vale replied as he took his son back in his arms. "OH come on Vale" Marc had said. "It's cute. And our baby looks really cool like that"

That had always been their system. And it worked. They were a happily little family, living in Spain or Italy, attending races all over the world.

Then things went south and now he had to see articles like that.

It wasn't just the fact that he was publicly accused of infidelity he didn't commit or trying to baby trap Valentino, it was the way it was phrased. It was phrased to be against his son. Not just him but a literal baby.

And that made him angry. He could handle backlash. There has always been some idiots, searching for gossip, starting all kinds of rumors about Vale and his relationship.

But this was new.

Because now, Rossi's comments indicated that even he wasn't sure about the fatherhood.

"Who knows... if he is capable of screwing me over like that, he probably already did in other ways"

Sepang.

He still got shivers when he remembered hearing that in the press conference the first time. Back then he had been foolish enough to believe it was a joke. A hard comment like they often do after a race like this.

He had laughed along, ignoring the sting in his stomach.

It had started with that accusation and it spiraled into an avalanche against him. One quote followed the next one. One worst than the one before and at the end, Rossi had managed to paint a devastating picture.

David - their son, being a lie. The boy they worried about together, who they cared for, who they loved before he was even born, was supposed to be a manipulation technique?

He accused Marc of sleeping around, trying to pass a strangers child off as his.

He wanted to scream and cry. So he went to Vale's motorhome that night. He couldn't control his emotion so he yelled and sobbed and begged him to think straight.

It had been Vale who welcomed David in tbe world, who sat next to Marc's bed, holding his hand waiting for him to wake up after the birth.

It had been Vale who had spent hours thinking about designs and decorating the nurseries at the ranch and at their place in Spain. He had even asked his academy kids for help.

He had asked everyone he knew and loved how to be a good parent.

He had loved David the second he knew he existed. He had been so incredible happy about the pregnancy despite the circumstances. He loved David always and forever.

He had hold him in his arms every day and every night. He had sang him a lullaby. He had told him stories and showed him pictures of their families. He had told him everything about everyone.

He had shown David how loved he was the second he was born.

He had supervised his boys as they stood around the cradle, the first time they were in Italy again. They were all standing there cooing over their newest addition.

Marc's heart had melted as Vale put his arms around his boys, heads still lowered over David. "Remember, moments like this are the reason, we take calculated risks not blind ones. Cause no amount of point is worth this. Understood?"

But apparently that was a lie.

Because now he had stood there, his eyes cold, his face drawn a fascade that could only be described as disgust and hate.

The love they had shared was gone. Yes they had relationship problems in the last weeks. But not like that. Every couple had its ups and downs. That was normal. But this...

Marc huffed. He stared at Vale.

"You can't be serious. David - David IS YOUR SON! YOU KNOW THAT!" "I only know what you told me and you are a liar. You have proven that many times. Why should he be a difference!"

He spoke coldly about him. His voice filled with hate as he spoke about their son. "Keep David out of this! He has done nothing but breath and love you unconditionally since the moment he was born" "I don't care. You're a fucking liar. This is not worth it!"

Their child wasn't worth it? Worth what? Trying? Finding a way to make up? Discussing things? Clearing doubts and misunderstandings up so they can be happy together?

"Valentino, he is your God damn son! Are you really that blind? There is a HUGH difference if I lie to the media about an injury or which tyres I'm using and the paternity of our child!"

Rossi just huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. It felt like he was making fun of Marc. He didn't take Marc serious. Neither this issue. And that hurt even more.

"You are a liar and you use me for your own advantage. You don't care about me. So why should you even want a kid with me in the first place?" "Because I love you, you stupid idiot! I love you like crazy! I always have"

He loved him for longer they actually knew each other and his love for him had just grown since the.

"You are a liar" the Italian insisted. "I am not a liar! I love you! You mean everything to me. What do you think why I'm here trying to figure this out? I love you. I will always love you and I'm trying to figure this out with you. I mean-"

He was getting desperate. He didn't know what to say anymore. "I - I will always love you and you will always have a place in my heart and my home and my family. And that boy - the boy we are raising together - is your child. He is your own flesh and blood! You know that!"

But no amount of yelling and begging could change anything. And Marc tried. He tried harder than he was racing. He was ready to let all of hids dignity go.

He tried until it was too late. It had been too late the whole time but he now had to admit it.

"So that's it...? You lied to your own academy kids?" he had asked still holding anger. His voice hoarse and his eyes red. He had no strength left. "Points are worth more than your own family. A championship means more than your own baby. After everything-"

Vale looked at him with cold eyes. He meant what he would say. "No. But that fucking bastard isn't my baby"

There it was.

'Bastard.'

'That fucking bastard.'

About David. About their child. He had insulted their baby and with that, he had hurt Marc enough to finally walk away.

Insulting David made a switch flip in his head. It told him it wasn't worth it. He wanted to fight and he had sworn he would but there was nothing left fighting for.

David was no longer their baby. He was only Marc's baby.

So he stopped begging. No more yelling, no more tears and devestation about a man that didn't gave a fuck about them.

David deserved loved. He deserved to be loved unconditional and he had people that were willing to give him that love without having to beg.

Marc would not force someone who clearly didn't want to have anything to with him to stay in his life. He wouldn't do that to his kid.

He had always promised himself to never settled for someone that he had to beg to stay. Especially not if he had to dealt with the anxiety of being left on a daily basis.

And David didn't deserve that too.

So he left. He didn't persue legal action against Vale even if he had considered it. But he wouldn't ask for anything. He wouldn't give him more things to put against him. And he didn't need his help either. He could prove that they were fine without him. And he would.

That weekend marked tbe first of many after which they didn't joked on the drive to the airport or sat cuddled up in the back of a taxi that drove them to the hotel. They didn't shared a flight home and didn't talked about their child.

They didn't bickered about when to unpack their stuff. Marc didn't roll his eyes sarcastically cause Vale had once again forgot that after locking the car he had to unlock the door with the same bunch of keys.

He had always immediately let them slide inside his pockets and then had to fish them out.

Instead he got out the car, took his stuff and followed his brother and father inside the house without a word. He hadn't really spoken since the confrontation with Vale.

He just entered the house, hugged his mother a little bit longer than usual. It worried her but she knew what was going on. He whispered a tired "I love you" to his family as he headed to his child's room.

He went quickly, but instead of happiness and excitement, his steps now showed sadness and hurt.

It was late so David was already in bed. Marc didn't want to wake him. He didn't want him to see that only of his parents had come home to him.

He wanted that David got one last night of peaceful sleep in the knowledge that both his parents who loved him dearly would be there when he woke up. Marc feared the moment this would crash.

So he just sat down next to David, his hand reaching for his face that was plastered against the mattress. There was some spit drooling around his mouth and his thick dark curls were covering his forehead.

Softly Marc put his hand on his cheeks. He felt the warm of the skin. He felt his happiness. He felt his love.

It felt domestic and normal. It put everything to a stop. The spins of thoughts stopped and there was only David and this moment left.

He took a deep breath and just looked at his son, the baby light - a smiling turtle - was making sure the child wouldn't get scared.

Marc looked at it. Luca had found it in a store and thought it was on brand for them.

Marc would replace it soon, claiming it broke when in reality he just stored it far away, hidden in a box no one ever looked in.

He shook his head and just lifted his baby out the little bed. Without a second thought he sat down in one of the comfy chairs and leaned back, David still sleeping peacefully. He was now resting on his chest.

"I will never leave you" he whispered in his sons hair. Je kept sleeping. "I will love you for the rest of my life and even in death I will always love you. You're my son."

He kissed his head and breathed in. He smelled the soap and shampoo his mother had used when he bathed David.

"You are mine forever and nothing will ever stop that. I love you so much, baby. I will never leave you. I promise. You will never be alone. I will always be with you."

He closed his eyes and locked everything out of his head. Only David mattered. Only his son was important.

But his own words didn't hold any meaning. Not even to himself. Because that's what Valentino Rossi, the man who had walked out on both of them, who had left both - Marc and their beloved baby - had said as well.

#Child of divorce AU #motogp rpf #motogp #marc marquez #valentino rossi #vr46 academy #david alonso #Ups.#Feel free to share your thoughts #I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

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