#sorry for making you wait SIX MONTHS for...this

[madelynraemunson]

HEY MADDY, WHAT’S ON TV? 📺

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 (…𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬) part 1/2

🥡 steddie x freaky friday fanfiction • RATED: NC-17 🥡

SUMMARY: Dustin’s science experiment goes horribly wrong and his two ‘bickering besties’ have to suffer the consequences.

WORD COUNT: 11.4k words

CONTENTS CONTAIN: (EASTER) EGGS, WHEAT, METAL, PARALLELISMS, A PINCH OF COMEDY, ANGST, AND LOTS OF SWEARING

ALLERGENS: CHEESY, CORN(Y), SHELLFISH (sorry eddie)

author's note: might put this on ao3 idk this one's a big boi.... hey y'all! i’m a little late to the steddie body swap train, but have arrived nonetheless! also i’m so stoked that jamie lee curtis and lindsay lohan are currently working on a freaky friday 2!! one of my fave childhood movies and i can’t believe we’re getting a parte dos :,) also, jake alan = corroded coffin in this AU

🥠

“Jesus Chr— what did you do to my hair?!”

“What did you do to MINE?!”

Perhaps a rewind is necessary. Metaphorically, of course. Time travel’s not real! ;)

      ◄ ◄ ◄  R E W I N D  🎞️

The year is 1989. Camp Knowhere. And since it’s the last year before he ages out of summer camp, Dustin Henderson is determined to 'WOW' everyone with his newest invention.

“They’re kinda like boner pills.”

“Oh...! WOW...?”

It’s not the weirdest thing Steve's heard come out of Dustin's mouth. In fact, he's practically immune to insanity at this point, having been surrounded by hormone-driven teenagers for a month and a half straight.

“Look I know, it sounds crazy,” Dustin pleads. “But imagine being able to walk a mile in someone's shoes just by eating a cookie. They'd be like the Viagras of empathy!"

Again, not the weirdest thing Dustin has said. 

And for as long as Curly keeps hanging out with Eddie Munson, his Other Older Male Friend (O.O.M.F.) constantly like he has been all summer, it certainly won’t be the last.

Being a volunteer camp counselor hasn’t panned out as expected for Steve Harrington. 

For the past six weeks, Dustin has spent most of his time locked in his cabin trying to perfect his new creation. But he's been MIA for so long, Steve hasn’t been able to teach him how to start a fire, pitch a tent, or even pick Dustin's brain about being his guest for Show and Tell. 

Making s’mores. Canoeing. Telling scary stories in the dark. Dustin and Steve are missing out on actual summer activities. The real reason he signed up to be counselor in the first place. 

But you know who has been able to spend time with Dustin?

"Eddie and I spent almost every night trying to come up with good fortunes," Henderson boasts.

Not the counselor, but the Certified Loiterer.

Steve bitterly kisses his teeth. “That’s awesome, man! But hey, speaking of spending—"

"They are so clever too. You gotta hear 'em!"

"I'm sure they are! But now that you're practically finished, I was sorta hoping—"

“AND,” Dustin adds. “if you get a good one you can add ‘in bed’ after for some comic relief.”

Steve crosses his arms as he finds himself fading back into silence.

“You are destined for great adventures…in bed,” Curly smirks, waving a fortune in Steve’s face. “You will be met with great luck this week... in bed. You are a pleasure to have around…in bed.”

“Agh, please tell me one of Harrington’s lays said that,” comes a voice. “Otherwise this interaction is very concerning.”

Dustin gasps. “EDDIE!”

Speaking of The Devil.

Like nails on a chalkboard, in walks Eddie Munson with his fucked up voice, fucked up rep, fucked up hair, and a fucked up sense of humor to match.

“Hey, Henderson,” Eddie gives a curt nod. “Hey, Steve.”

“Munson.”

“I was just telling Steve about my fortune cookies,” says Dustin. “I can’t wait to win people’s hearts over at Show and Tell, along with my spotlight secret weapon.”

“What’s your spotlight secret weapon?” Steve inquires.

“You’re looking at him,” Eddie quips. “I’m Dustin’s music act for his Show and Tell.”

There’s a pang in Steve’s heart that he wishes wasn’t there. All summer, the Retired Cub Scout had been secretly hoping that Dustin would ask him to be his Show and Tell buddy. He had so many survival skills up his sleeve that he wanted the little twerps to know before they age out. 

But the stars had other plans, he supposes.

“My friend’s friend’s dad is a music scout for Cardinal Records,” Dustin explains. “If he shows up and sees Eddie play, Corroded Coffin may have a chance!”

“Yup,” Eddie nods. “We’re performing our new song Take Me Away.”

He hands Steve a piece of crinkled paper from his back pocket, to which Steve reads after clearing the lump marinating in his throat.

“Don’t wanna grow up, I wanna get out. Hey, take me away,” Steve reads.

“Aren’t the lyrics so metal?!” Dustin beams in admiration.

“They’re uh, very edgy…” Steve shrugs.

“And incredibly fitting, when you consider the circumstances. Just wait ‘til you hear Eddie and his band perform it!”

“I think I’ll be busy with camp duties...” Steve grimaces, handing the sheet back over to Eddie. “Sorry.”

“No worries, they will just perform in your garage. They still gotta practice. Been needing another place to do so too."

Steve's eyes widen.

“What?!” he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. When did we agree on this?”

“Uh, beginning of summer?" Dustin points out. "You said you’d be willing to accommodate any of my needs. Especially since my mom’s gone to her spicy book retreat and basically threw away keys to the house.”

Steve now recalls telling Dustin that. But nowhere did it say babysitting his replacement would be in the cards.

"I'm sorry Harrington, I know I'm kinda butting in…" Eddie acknowledges.

Finally, something he and Steve can agree on.

"But we're kinda desperate at the moment, so it would mean the world. You won't even know we're there."

“It’s still no!” Harrington blubbers. “Okay? With the loud music and Eddie’s screaming, I’ll have the Loch Nora book club moms with pitchforks at my door. We have a reputation to uphold.”

“Who’s to say the Loch Nora moms don’t want in on all the angsty fun?” Eddie smirks. “Corroded Coffin’s an acquired taste, but I’m sure your… progressive… neighborhood wouldn’t mind.”

"It's not that," Steve shakes his head. "Even though we’re ‘progressive’, my neighborhood is still very much suburban-families-with-young-kids. They'd call the cops on us, for sure."

But Loch Nora was just a decoy for Steve’s true feelings. If everyone sees how cool Eddie is, they’re going to make him their Comfort Grown Up. Then where would Steve go?

Especially if they caught a glimpse of those big, brown eyes and the way they glisten in the amber sunset. And apparently Dustin’s caught wind of this Munson Magic as well; because not too long after, he’s imitating Eddie, the coercion-via-cuteness factor ramping higher on his part. And how could Steve say no to his lil face?

“Just this one time, Steve?” Dustin begs. “Please, please, pleaaase?”

“Dustin…” Steve shakes his head. 

“Pleaaase,” a pouty Eddie chimes in, slyly gazing up at Steve through his long, batty lashes. “We’ll behave, Stevie. We promise.”

But Harrington is standing his ground. Eddie already stole his best friend away from him. His gig. His spot at the Cool Adults table. Did he want Harrington’s life too?

“NO!” Steve insists. "NO!"

“YEAAAH!” Eddie croaks into the microphone while he seductively strums at his guitar. “YEEEEAAAHHHH!”

Performing in Steve’s garage was a YES-go after all. Especially if free bud has anything to do with it.

"This dude and his band are pretty good," Argyle comments as he takes a long, savoring drag from his hefty blunt. "Corroded Coffin, man. They're gonna be big one day."

"Just wait til you hear his guitar solo," Jonathan adds. "Eddie's been working on it all summer for Dustin’s show.”

The walls of the Harrington household are forced to withstand a migraine-inducing bass while everyone — but Steve —  jams out, losing themselves in a song about wanting to stay young forever.

“Don’t wanna grow up, I want to get out. Hey! Take me away…”

Jealousy festers within the host as he watches, taking in the sight of an awestruck Dustin playing his air guitar alongside Eddie, resonating with the lyrics the way he passionately yells,

“I wanna shout out, ‘take me away…away away away’…”

“Someone take me away,” Harrington’s inner monologue spews.

But it’s not that Steve hates the song, nor is he having a miserable time with everybody. It’s not that he hates Eddie or his stupid raspy voice, or the way he makes the guitar sing with every calculated twiddle of his fingers and every provocative buckling of his knees. In fact, it’s the opposite. Steve just didn’t want to admit that Dustin’s O.O.M.F. — and the other members of Corroded Coffin — were actually… pretty cool. 

And judging by the fact that Eddie was most likely Dustin’s first choice for the talent show, there was a cornier, more ominous second thing that Steve isn’t willing to admit: it’s that the exclusion really hurts him.

“Same old SHIT,” Eddie sings. “Never ends.”

“WHOA!” Harrington exclaims, waving his disapproving hands in the air.

The band stops the song immediately, the negative feedback from the amp plaguing the air while they stare around in confusion.

“What?” Eddie demands.

Any chance there was for Steve to try to humble 'The Freak', he took. And clearly this time around, there was no hesitation.

“You’re not really gonna say the S word when you perform at Show and Tell, are you?”

“The S word?” Munson retorts. “What, is this preschool?”

Ba-dum-tss! goes the drummer.

"Gareth," Eddie scowls.

Gareth Emerson digresses with a sheepish shrug.

“No," Steve shakes his head. "But it’s still a summer camp for kids.”

Eddie chuckles at this. “Come on, Harrington. Don’t act like YOU weren’t cussing up a storm at their age. The kids are all in their rebellious phase anyways. They’re gonna love it.”

Eddie’s known Steve since elementary school. This is the same guy who held swear contests, who cussed because he thought it made him look ‘mature’. The same guy that used to call women “bitches”. The same guy who almost got suspended because he and Tommy H. were yelling out slurs during an assembly, but luckily his superintendent mom was there to pull some strings to simmer it down to one afternoon of detention.

Harrington couldn’t possibly choose now to care about profanities.

“I’d rather you not bend the rules of Camp Knowhere.”

Bend the rules?!

It doesn’t take too long for Eddie to figure out that the issue goes beyond Camp Knowhere. In fact, both of Dustin’s O.O.M.F.s know that. 

 “Why the sudden change of character, Harrington?” Eddie crosses his arms. “Huh? After all these years?”

"All these years, what do you mean all these years?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

Captivated, nosy eyes bounce back and forth between the two as they argue... on and on and on and on.

“This happens every time,” Jonathan hisses to Robin at a low whisper so that they don’t hear. “Do you think they ever get tired of it?”

"I actually don't know what you mean," Steve counters. "And quite frankly, I feel like you don't seem to really know me at all."

“Hey, I’m just following your lead,” Eddie shrugs. “You never took time to get to know ME when we were in school. Unless I had something you and your friends wanted of course.”

“So all of this is MY fault?”

“I never said it was.”

It’s almost ritualistic at this point, the arguing. 

Just then, Gareth starts up again, issuing a theatrical drumroll to ease the tension. It only seems to make it worse, judging by how Eddie and Steve hiss at him immediately.

“GARETH!” “EMERSON!” 

The drummer refrains once more. 

Steve is quick to pick up where they left off. “I can read between the lines.”

“Crazy thing to say for someone who’s paid people to write his book reports.”  

“I’m just…looking out for everyone, okay?” Steve snaps, reverting the conversation back to the kids. “The children might not care, but it may look bad on the counselors. And I like my summer gig, spending time with my best friend. I don’t wanna jeopardize it.”

A self-serving response. Eddie knew to not put it past Harrington.

Regardless, Eddie chooses to comply. Not to give Steve what he wants, but because Dustin's happiness is on the line. And if his best friend is happy and Corroded Coffin gets a record deal, then Eddie wouldn’t have to deal with Steve Harrington or Hawkins much longer. 

The band starts up again and, this time, remains uninterrupted. 

Meanwhile, Steve sulks back in his seat, unable to pinpoint why he felt like the issue wasn’t resolved. But he soon realizes that for as long as Eddie Munson is part of the equation, the problem will remain a constant.

“Same old stuff,” Eddie bitterly corrects himself. “Never ends.”

“Fortune cookie, anyone?”

Two hours feel like days when everyone is stoned. And given that everyone’s too tired (and high) to drive themselves home, a sleepover at Steve’s quickly becomes inevitable. 

“Did we get the same fortune?” Jonathan asks Argyle.

“No, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “Guess we’re not feeling sorry for each other tonight.”

Dustin chuckles.

“What are we feeling tonight? I’m thinking pizza.”

Leaving everyone else to decide on munchies, Steve and Eddie appoint themselves as the Designated Clean-Up Crew, searching for and rounding up any trash they see laying around.

“So, what are you up to nowadays?” Steve questions. “Since we graduated high school.”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Eddie offers a tense chuckle. “Still in The Biz, but the money’s good. Thankfully this time I’m doing it without my pops around.”

It strikes a nerve in Steve. He’d give anything to have his dad around. 

He also wouldn’t be proud to be in the same position as he was in high school. Didn’t Eddie want to grow as a person?

“That’s amaziiing.” Steve lies.

Uncomfortable now, Eddie clears his throat, shifting his attention back to Steve so that he can eat his own words.

“What about you? What’s The Hair been up to?”

“I work at Family Video and then help out at camp right after.”

“Try bringing that to the career fair,” Eddie scoffs jokingly.

“Sorry?”

“I said great gig you got there,” Munson perjures.

Their gazes meet for a brief, charged moment before quickly averting. 

Eddie watches Steve with both curiosity and disdain. 

This is who his best buddy is seeing on the side? It’s hard for Eddie to think of anything Dustin and Steve could possibly have in common. What would they even talk about? Maybe the new Brook Shields movie, hair gel, and their favorite ice cream flavors, but that’s just about it. And Steve Harrington doesn’t seem like the best influence for Dustin anyways.

Steve’s eyes flicker towards Eddie, trying to hide his scrutiny behind a thinly veiled expression of disinterest. 

He notes the way Eddie’s band tee has seen better days, the sleeves ripped and the print faded, and the way he absolutely reeks of Mary Jane and indistinct rubber from a Spirit Halloween store. If Dustin brought Eddie home to Mrs. Henderson, she’d probably stroke out. 

Just then, a very intoxicated Robin chimes in.

“Duuude, Eddie. It’d be awesome if Coffin got this gig.”

“Oh, I know right?” Eddie lights up immediately. “We’d be out of this rugged town once and for all and living life in the big city.”

The distaste for Eddie only amplifies with that statement. 

All of Steve’s life, he’s had nothing but good experiences in Hawkins. To have a “rough” upbringing, you had to be looking for trouble. Which is something Eddie and his father, Al seemed to have been doing since the beginning of time. 

“What’s so rugged about Hawkins?” Steve challenges Eddie.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” Eddie mutters.

“I would, actually,” Steve taps his feet impatiently. “Go on, tell the class, Eddie. What is so rough-and-tough about this part of town?”

Eddie knows Steve is trying to set him up. He thinks for a moment, carefully crafting his words before speaking.

“There’s just…” Eddie says with trepidation. “A lack of equal opportunity to succeed. Always has been. But in the city, opportunity is everywhere. For everyone. Indy would be a perfect, clean slate for us.”

It’s like a sock to the face. 

Lack of opportunity? Eddie is most definitely looking for problems now. If he wouldn’t consider Steve being nice enough to lend him his garage — even when he didn’t like him — an ‘opportunity’ to succeed, then what would he consider?

“I mean, sure. Hawkins has issues like any other city, but I think there are equal opportunities for everyone,” Harrington protests. 

“Very rich coming from you, Suburbia.”

“Uh oh,” Dustin mutters.

Now Steve is pissed. 

Does Munson think that just because Steve lives in a nice house he’s never had problems in his life? With that logic, Eddie isn’t going to get himself very far. It’s very evident now, given where he currently is.

“Why can’t you accept the fact that life comes for others too?!” Steve spits. “Life is also hard for me, you know!”

“Guys…” Dustin starts.

A bitter laugh expels from the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

“Life is hard for you?!” Eddie exclaims. “It’s hard for you? How can life be that hard? Hey, I’m Steve Harrington. My life consists of Daddy’s money, wearing hair pomade to the ceiling and getting rejected by girls!”

“Hey, why don’t we play that one song again!” Jonathan suggests. “You know the take me away, away, away, away, away!”

But Steve and Eddie are way too locked in, committed to tearing each other to bits because the other one started it. Eddie wanted to play that game huh?

“Well all YOU know is complaining about the consequences of your own actions!” Steve spews in return. “Oh look, I’m Eddie Munson, I’m painfully self-unaware, I’m inconsiderate of everyone around me, and I commit petty crimes then wonder why the cops hate me. AND I still live with my uncle – AT MY BIG AGE.”

“YOU STILL LIVE WITH YOUR PARENTS, HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT?”

“AND! You’re as loud as your guitar. NEW-NEW-NEW-NEWWW. How about you evaluate your priorities if you want a good life, Munson? And make sure you at least have some ammo under your belt before coming for me.”

“Wow,” Eddie laughs. “I don’t know anyone more tone deaf. You think my walk of life was a choice?! Not everyone was handed everything on a silver platter, Steve. Not everyone’s lives are perfect like yours!”

“Sweethearts, anybody?!” Robin butts in, desperately waving the candies in the air. “You are what you eat, and everyone in this room is VERY, VERY SWEET!”

But the boys are only getting started. If this is Robin’s version of sweet, she was about to know what sour is real quick.

“You think my life is perfect?! At least you have a father figure.”

“I want you to assess the room we’re in, Harrington,” Eddie implores. “Family must love you a lot if they’re letting you throw parties and use drugs that a loser like me was nice enough to hook you up with.”

“Leave what I do outside of camp out of this! You know, as a counselor I’m not sure I like my kids hanging out with some loitering criminal all the damn time.”

“Not sure I like them hanging out with someone who acts like an overbearing, insufferable parent.”

“At least I have parents.”

Simultaneous gasps fill the room. 

The color drains from Steve’s face when he realizes the damage he’s done. He watches as Eddie seemingly deflates, shrinking himself down at the shoulders, and then sulking in place. A blank stare overcasts his eyes, lips desperately trying not to quiver while in front of an involuntary audience. 

“That was not cool,” Steve breathes. “I’m sorry.”

But Eddie is past the point of forgiveness. And caring. Steve’s already embarrassed the fuck out of him, so what’s Dignity at this point? Steve won. Whatever game he was playing.

“You’re right, Steve,” Eddie nods, bitterly. “You have everything I want. So why can’t you just give me this one thing?”

Steve really fucked up this time. He doesn’t even know why he even said that. It isn’t necessarily a brag that Steve has parents if they aren’t active in his life. Did he really want the last word so badly, he willingly let his anger steer the direction of the conversation? Sure, Eddie has backed off now, but the thick veil of suppressed tears did not make it worth it.

“Here,” Eddie quips as he chucks Dustin’s invention at Steve’s chest. “You win. You want a cookie for it?”

Before leaving the room, Eddie helps himself to one as well. Steve watches ashamed as Eddie storms away, not seeming to care who he bumps into on his way out. With the intention to make amends, Steve darts after Eddie, following him to the bathroom only to have the door slammed in his face.

“Eddie!” Steve knocks. “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I thought I’d gotten over my anger issues and pettiness, so I don’t know why I said all that. It’s something I need to work on, for sure.”

No response. Steve tries again.

“You guys sound really good…” he musters. “I wish I had the courage to put myself out there like that.”

Steve gently taps the door with two fingers now. 

“Eddie?”

On the other side of the wall, Eddie is angrily wiping away his tears, upset at himself for letting someone who wears women’s hairspray and Tiger Beat cologne get under his skin. 

Giving up now, Steve sighs to himself and turns around to prop his back against the door. And in case Eddie decides to come back out, Steve decides to wait a while longer, reading the fortune from his fortune cookie in the meantime. 

“A journey soon begins, its prize reflected in another’s eyes. When what you see is what you lack, then selfless love will change you back.”

“What could that possibly mean?” Steve thinks to himself as he takes a bite from the cookie. 

And at the same time on the other side, Eddie also cracks open his cookie. A nice little dessert with some kind words are sure to make him feel better. He reads his fortune.

“A journey soon begins, its prize reflected in another’s eyes. When what you see is what you lack, then selfless love will change you back.”

“…in bed,” he adds with a chuckle.

Just then the ground begins to rumble. 

The sudden JOLT causes Eddie to drop his cookie and latch onto the sink for stability. Meanwhile, Former Cub Scout Steve who knows everything about Stop-Drop-and-Roll dives for the nearest piece of furniture, crawling underneath to protect himself from any debris that may fall onto him.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!”

“JESUS CHRIST!” Eddie yells.

Hawkins doesn’t get many earthquakes. But according to the news, Roane County was due for a big one. This could well be it. 

But as fast as the earthquake happens, it fades away. And next thing Eddie knows, he’s taking deep breaths, gathering his composure before he swings open that door. 

“Shit — Harrington, are you okay?”

Steve scans the room, looking around for any debris that may block his plight towards safety. 

“Yeah I’m fine, thanks Munson,” Steve gulps. He allows Eddie’s firm hand to hoist him up. “Just a bit shaken up. Are you okay?”

Eddie nods his head rapidly. “I’m fine too,” he insists. “I’m just worried about everyone else.”

Running back over to the garage now, a frantic Steve and Eddie call out to their friends to make sure they’re okay. But when they arrive, they’re shocked to see everyone conversing, laughing, and ordering pizza, almost as if nothing had ever happened.

Steve coughs to make his presence known. “Did you guys feel that?”

Everyone turns to them.

“Feel what?” Dustin inquires.

“There was an earthquake.”

“No, there wasn’t?” Robin cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes there was!” Eddie insists in agreement with Steve.

“Are you sure?” “An earthquake?”

“There wasn’t an earthquake.”

“What earthquake?”

“A chicken bake?” Argyle questions, clearly high as shit.

“An earthquake,” Jonathan repeats for him.

“An Earth Cake?!”

“QUAKE!” Jonathan hollers. “EARTHQUAKE!”

“EARTHQUAKE?!” the startled stoner yelps.

“No no no!” everyone yells out, doing their best to contain Argyle’s panic. “No, no, no!”

———

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington. I wish I could hate you.”

Eddie winces as his neck partially kinks, due to the fact that Steve was too short-fused to get him a pillow for tonight.

At least the futon is comfortable. After flopping around like a fish out of water for a few minutes, Eddie finally feels completely relaxed. And as he flips through his mental catalog of Dream Scenarios, the aspiring rockstar begins to drift off to Dreamland, envisioning his guitar solo and jamming out with his favorite herd of sheep.

Meanwhile upstairs, Steve is too emotionally uncomfortable to hit the hay.

“Get a grip, Munson,” Steve grumbles, angry at the thought of the freeloader below him. “If you stopped thinking the world is out to get you, maybe you’d actually see some progress in your life.”

After one last fluffing of his pillow, Steve reaches into his drawer and pops a gummy into his mouth, bracing himself for more Camp Knowhere shenanigans that lie ahead and having to deal with the Freakazoid-With-a-Victim-Complex in the morning. 

12:00 MIDNIGHT

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ [insert creepy, grandfather clock noises here]

8:00 AM

Obnoxious, fluffy duvet covers stir Eddie awake.

Maybe Steve did come with some goodies after all.

Munson begins to execute his morning routine: a gangly-limbed stretch followed by an exaggerated bellow and blissful smacking of his lips.

BONK.

A lamp on the nightstand interrupts his ritual. It is then that Eddie realizes.

He’s in a bedroom. 

“What the—” Munson mutters.

Sitting up slowly now, Eddie takes a moment to assess the room around him.

Trophies and medals. Cologne and hair gel. A work desk with a basketball net over it, and a Tommy Hilfiger pop-up shop in the closet.

He’s in Steve’s room.

But where is Steve?

Curious about the time and day, Eddie instinctively goes to consult his watch that normally rests on his wrist.

It’s not there. 

Eddie then looks at his hands…his palms… Not a single blister, callous or hangnail. Those are not his hands.

“Those aren’t mine…” he thinks to himself.

Eddie then runs some stressed fingers through his hair, only to discover that its length is half of what it was when he fell asleep last night.

“That’s not mine either.”

Eddie shoots up immediately. When he finds himself standing, Eddie notices his food belly is gone, and that six pack abs have taken its place. Eddie then stares down at his feet, which are now exponentially larger. And hairier. And his thighs, now they’re a lot bulkier.

Suddenly Eddie’s hands explore his thighs, grazing his quads shortly before going to grope the two plump mounds of tissue behind him, both cheeks comparably twice the surface area of his palms!

“That’s DEFINITELY not mine.”

Absolutely panicked now, Eddie releases his grip on the butt that isn’t his and dashes out the room.

It appears that he is somehow not in his body. And the only person in Loch Nora with a dump truck for an ass — that Eddie knows of — is Steve Harrington.

But if he's Steve, then where is Eddie’s body?

The couch.

Eddie bolts over to Steve’s living room in search of his corpse. And to his surprise, he does find himself there, the chest that was his – but not his – at the same time rising and depressing as he watches himself sleep. 

“Christ if that’s not Steve in there, then I’m dead,” Eddie thinks to himself. “And quite frankly, I don’t know which one is worse.” 

Eddie clears his throat.

"H-hello? Steve?”

Nothing.

“Steve?” Eddie attempts again. “Hey. Steve. It’s Eddie. Wake up!”

Nothing.

“This is an emergency, Steve. I need you to wake up now, please.”

He gets a good snore out of the entity. Completely frustrated now, Eddie does not hold back.

"This is alarming, Steve! WAKE UP!”

Eddie unearths the bottom half of Steve's…his… body by pushing the blanket aside. When he tugs at his legs, Presumably Steve retaliates, grabbing onto the arms of the sofa to keep him in place.

“EARTH. TO. KING. STEVE!” Eddie screams.

"Whaaat, dude?!" the host in Eddie’s body grumpily demands.

"Aha! So you are Steve!"

"Duh, who the fuck else?" It demands. "Are you still high?"

"If I was, then that would better explain this."

Steve must’ve really done too much last night. Because for a while there, the person who he assumed was Eddie sounded a heck of a lot like him.

"That’s fucking weird," Steve shakes his head, turning over to look at Eddie. "For a second there, you sounded a lot like m—AAAH OH MY GOD!"

Palms clasping his… (well, Eddie’s) mouth now, Steve can only gasp in horror.

"WHO are you?” he demands. “WHAT are you?"

"It's me! It's Eddie!" Eddie gulps. "I'm... I’M INSIDE OF YOU!”

There’s a pause.

“I don't like how I worded that,” he admits.

"Yeah, neither do I..." Steve agrees. Suddenly he squints. "Is that a zit on my forehead?"

He reaches to swat it but Eddie swats him away. Through Steve's gritted teeth, Eddie hisses,

"THAT'S what you're worried about right now? What in the sane hell is happening?!"

“This isn’t the first weird dream I’ve had after taking an edible,” Steve remarks.

“Harrington, this ISN’T a dream. Okay? This is real life.”

“Yeah, okay Munson,” Steve scoffs, finally hoisting himself off of the couch to pace around. “I know a dream when I’m in one. I just gotta… pinch myself or slap myself around and I’ll be awake.”

But Eddie wastes no time.

“OW!” Steve yelps. “You just pinched my nipple!”

“You mean my nipple?”

He does it again.

“OW! Quit it dude, that’s harassment.”

The two make their way over to a mirror in the living room. To test out the impossible, Steve raises his right hand. The mirror shows Eddie doing it. Eddie begins to touch his face. The mirror responds with Steve doing it. 

It’s the confirmation they were too in denial to come to terms with. They somehow switched bodies.

“Oh god, I’m…” Steve stammers. “Wow…”

“Oh…GOD!” Eddie shrieks. He inches closer to the mirror. “I’m like an off-brand George Michael!”

“HURTFUL—”

“Harrington!” Eddie exclaims, turning back around to face himself. “What was the last thing you remember from last night?”

“Uhh,” Steve stammers. “A-all I remember was us arguing during dinner time and going separate ways after. And then there was a big earthquake that everyone insists that they didn’t feel. And then…we all went to bed, and I forgot to get you a pillow.”

“It’s okay, I’m over it,” Eddie pants. “Way bigger issues than a pillow right now.”

“And now we’re here.”

The two frantically pace around the living room. How can something like this possibly happen?

"Okay,” Eddie exhales. “Yesterday we were here with everybody. All of us were seemingly having a good time until we got pretty into it. Then the earthquake happened, we went to bed, and woke up sober… but in different bodies. Is this like…a rare phenomenon…some kind of medical emergency?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Steve shrugs. “This has never happened to me before. There has to be a scientific explanation for this."

Suddenly their two brain cells click.

"Henderson," they utter in unison.

“It was probably Dustin’s Empathy science experiment,” Steve infers. “Although I'm not sure how a fortune cookie would take walking-in-another-person's-shoes so damn LITERAL."

"God, we’re cooked!” Eddie groans. “And we can’t tell anyone but our friends about it or else we’re REALLY gonna end up as test subjects!”

Eddie starts biting his new nails and frantically pacing back and forth. Meanwhile, Steve centers in on his breathing before emotionally responding to the situation in front of him.

“Okay…” Steve exhales. “Let me just gather my thoughts… You’re in my body and I’m in your body.”

“...Right,” Eddie nods, annoyed since they’d already established that. “Does it seem less scary now that you’ve said it out loud?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head.

“Alright, cool,” Eddie shrugs. “Just checking.”

They look at each other, absolutely petrified of the reality that has now sunk in. And before they seek any other forms of help, there was one more final thought the two needed to share alone… one O.O.M.F. (Other Older Male Friend) to another, in the comfort of Steve’s living room.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

[cue panicked guitar rift here 🎸⚡️]

“This is so not cool, man, this is SO not cool!”

Argyle, Jonathan, and Robin are the first ones at the scene. Along with Dustin, of course, who is now evidently spiraling. 

“I need some air,” Dustin sighs. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

The scientist darts outside for a very reasonable and private mental breakdown. Meanwhile in his absence, everyone else attempts to get their Thinking Caps on.

“I mean…” Argyle pants. “It’s one thing to have a funky acid trip, it’s another to have an out-of-body experience…but this is…this is…”

“Freaky,” Jonathan finishes for him.

“It’s FREAKY!” Argyle agrees. “And it’s not like we can go to the cops, I mean, they'd never open their minds to something like this. They'd just ship us to the Kerley County KOOK HOUSE.”

“Or worse,” Eddie gulps. “The Lab.”

The room is drowned with frantic rambling once again as all the young adults talk over each other.

Will this be the new normal? A head-banging Steve and a preppy Eddie? It sounds like pure nightmare fuel. A disaster waiting to happen. And Dustin only programmed his fortune cookies for this… unintentionally. He didn’t program a way to undo it. 

Everyone is running out of ideas. That is until…

“Wait!” Robin exclaims. “What if you guys just…combined?”

The idea is met with retaliation.

“I beg your finest pardon?” “WE WHAT?!”

“Wait!” Eddie exclaims. “No, no, yeah! I get it. What if we… what if we just… RAN… into each other and the force will be great enough to switch us back?”

“Right! Right!” Steve frantically agrees. “Right, the greater the force, the greater the impact, and we’ll be back in our bodies in no time.”

Steve and Eddie are on opposite sides of the room before anyone else can register it. Kicking his foot around like a bull, Eddie warms himself up while Harrington takes deep breaths, grounding himself before the ordeal.

“Are they really about to…” Argyle begins.

“Sh.. sh..” Jonathan stops him.

“I really wanna see how this goes,” Robin adds.

“Okay,” Eddie huffs before he lets out a battle cry. “EN GUARDE!”

“OH GOD!” Steve shrieks.

“AHHHHHH!” 

“AHHHHHH!”

SMACK! PLOP!

Luckily the floor breaks their fall. The commotion grabs the attention of Dustin, who had just finished his meltdown. But at the sight of seeing his two friends attempt to combine, he could feel himself being launched into yet another one. 

“Okay,” Dustin sighs as he walks back in. “What the hell?!”

———

“Language, Dusty!”

The next brainiac to consult on the list is Suzie, Dustin’s girlfriend. Spawning from the Mormon Capital of the world (Salt Lake City, Utah), Little Miss Beauty and Brains is known to have a solution for just about anything. Until now, it seems.

 “I’m sorry for the language, Suzie. I’m just freaking out,” Dustin blubbers. “It’s not every day my best friends switch bodies and I have no idea how to change them back.”

“So let me get this straight…” Suzie sighs. “Steve is inside of Eddie, and Eddie is inside of Steve.”

“Okay, can we please stop wording it like that?!” Eddie pleads.

“Sorry, Steve.”

“I’M EDDIE!”

“Jiminy Cricket, this is so confusing.”

And what a sight for confused eyes it also is.  But as painful as it is to admit, it’s interesting watching “Steve Harrington” stomp at the ground muttering “Jesus H. Christ!” while “Eddie Munson” nitpicks everything about his hair in the mirror.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Suzie suggests. “How did this start? What did you use for your ingredients, Dusty Bun?”

“Passionfruit and cohosh,” Dustin answers firmly. “Well-known, NATURAL stimulants of oxytocin.”

“And you said they ate the cookies containing these ingredients?”

“Yes, and they got the same fortune which I programmed for them to feel empathy for each other when it happens. Their bodies should’ve released an immense amount of oxytocin. Instead, they uh well, they switched bodies.”

“Dusty Bun… there is no such thing as an oral oxytocin!”

“Why not?” Steve questions.

“Because it would just get destroyed in the GI tract,” Suzie explains. “Meaning there wouldn’t be any ‘stimulants’ to absorb into the bloodstream.”

“Meaning oxytocin would’ve never been released in the first place,” Eddie’s breath hitches.

“It’s also notorious for being unable to cross the blood-brain barrier,” Suzie adds. “Something always happens before it’s able to. This may as well be that something.”

“But… if it gets destroyed in the stomach…” Dustin wonders. “Then how the hell did Steve and Eddie still end up switching bodies?”

Suzie shoots Dustin a dirty look.

“How the heck…” he corrects himself.

Suzie softens up immediately. “I don’t know. Our Heavenly Father works in mysterious ways. This may have happened for a reason. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’m sure it serves a Divine purpose.”

“Well, can it SERVE a little faster?” Eddie grumbles. “I’ve got a Show and Tell to practice for and Harrington’s got children to babysit. We obviously can’t do that for each other. People are going to think we’ve gone crazy.”

Suddenly a light bulb goes off in his head.

“Wait. Henderson! Give us a couple more cookies. Maybe if we get the same fortune again, we’ll switch back!”

“NO! No more cookies!” Steve butts in. “Who’s to say you won’t end up inside another person whose body you didn’t wanna be in?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Okay…” Dustin stops him, disgusted at the fact. “Enough.”

“Dustin is right,” Suzie nods. “Enough arguing for now, and no more fortune cookies with matching fortunes until we can find out what’s wrong!”

The boys watch as Suzie walks back towards her desk and returns with some papers and pencils.

“Here. My homework for you two is to write down every little detail there is to know about each other. This includes your day-to-day, your hobbies, and even habits. No one can know what is really going on behind the scenes.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t like what you’re implying. We don’t have to… live life as each other… do we?!”

“In the meantime, yes. You do.” Suzie confirms. “And it will be uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie. But what else can we do?”

“Uh, go through all of Dustin’s fortune cookies until we find a pair so Steve and I can ingest THOSE!” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, and there goes BOTH my Show and Tell items!” Dustin hollers.

“Dusty, don’t worry,” Suzie speaks again. “You will get to showcase your friends and fortune cookies at Show and Tell. I’ll be doing my own research to ensure that this happens. This includes talking to some monks, priests, and rabbis. We WILL get to the bottom of this.”

The three leave Suzie’s cabin feeling absolutely defeated. 

Of course this would happen the summer Steve finally got his hair under control. And of course this would happen the moment Eddie has a potential record deal at the palm of his hands. Any other circumstance would have been okay, despite the freakiness factor. This was just shit timing if they ever did see it.

And if Suzie can’t fix it, they’re screwed.

When they get far enough away from the girls' cabins, Steve excuses himself to the nearest water fountain. In contrast, Eddie shows himself to the closest Porta-Potty, the safest place for him to have a conversation he wouldn’t be caught dead having.

“Hey God,” Eddie grumbles. “Me again.”

———

Adapting to each other’s lives certainly wasn’t easy.

It started with switching cars.

Steve’s BMW has sensitive brakes. Eddie’s beloved van, Halen, on the other hand requires more force, more aggression, something Eddie believed Steve would bust his toe doing.

And Eddie can only hope that when Steve is running around town as him, he doesn’t embarrass him all too much. He’s already not off to a good start, with a stupid Thundercats t-shirt on and his hair up in a bun.

“And when you’re outside with the kiddos, make sure they wear sunscreen,” Steve advises him. “You're a camp counselor, after all.”

“Got it.”

“And that an epipen is with you at all times,” Steve adds. “Some of the kids have bee and nut allergies and those reactions can be lethal.”

Make sure this. Make sure that. It’s odd for Eddie to be hearing it all in his own voice. Has Steve always been this annoying?

Eventually Eddie gets tired of it and consults his Walkman, blasting “Take Me Away” through his headphones to drown out Steve’s rambling. Rambling on and on and on and on… on and on and on and on….

“Eddie!” Steve shouts. “Are you listening?”

“Don’t wanna grow up I wanna get out,” Eddie sings. “HEY! Take me away.”

Eddie was listening. In fact he listens and pays attention more than Steve knows. He just doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“I’m gonna get you a real job,” Steve says to Eddie.

“A real job?” Eddie tuts. “My job is real. I sell real drugs and bring in real money to help my Uncle afford our really real rent.”

“But I’m not gonna be the one doing it.”

“Sure you are. You’re me.”

“Munson, no!”

“Harrington, yes.”

“I’M NOT SELLING KETAMINE TO MINORS, EDDIE.”

“Aw. But you fit the stereotype,” Eddie smirks, rather cheekily. “Now chop chop, Rick’s expecting royalties on said sales.”

“Maybe I can land you a hospitality job. Or maybe a front desk job. Something that comes with benefits. Something practical.”

“A Munson with a normal job in Hawkins?” Eddie can’t believe his ears. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Perhaps there is a silver lining in all of this. 

For the average Hawkins resident, getting a job is no issue. It was never a choice for Eddie. Given his father’s less-than-cookie-cutter reputation – and Eddie being an involuntary extension of him – he couldn’t believe Steve couldn’t grasp that getting a conventional job is hard. And Eddie always thought Harrington needed some humbling. This is the perfect scenario for it.

“Take your feet off your dash,” Steve grumbles. “Steve Harrington doesn’t do that.”

“AyAy, Captain.”

“And stop head-banging in my body, will ya?” Steve begs. “You’ll break a sweat and un-pomade my hair.”

“God, you’re so anal about everything, Steve!” Eddie scoffs. “I feel sorry for those kids, I really do.”

If Eddie’s going to be walking around in Steve’s body, he at least wanted to relax first. But even that was impossible, given that Steve is a talker and alleged goodie-two-shoes-who-discovered-empathy-on-drugs-and-that’s-all-he-preaches-now (with the rules of a mother whose son was allergic to everything but water).

The car ride is more tense and quiet as the two approach Knowhere. Eddie is quick to scurry out when Steve approaches the drop-off curb, a little speech already prepared from the first nerve Harrington managed to get on in the morning.

“Loosen up that manbun,” Eddie commands once he’s out of the car. “You look like the Buddha went thrifting in Chicago. You also need to unclench your asscheeks a bit more if you wanna be me. And to put more fiber in your diet. How’s that for advice?”

SLAM! goes the door. Steve normally would’ve been pissed, but since he’s driving Halen, he’s lenient about it. So he watches Eddie walk away, in a stride that looks like he's constantly got a wedgie, over to the camp and towards the kids he is to watch until Show and Tell Day.

“WEAR SUNSCREEN!” Steve hisses, one last time. “…I don’t play about my skin.”

———

“Hey, Steve!” a group of campers greet Eddie as he makes his way into Knowhere.

God, this is so weird.

“Hey…kiddos?” Eddie greets them in return.

“We’re gonna go diving in the lake, just letting you know.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Eddie tuts. “Sounds like a lot of fun. Just uh, wear sunscreen.”

“Well, we try to invite you but you never wanna come with us.”

“Says who?” Eddie demands. “It’s summer, everyone goes to the lake.”

“Everyone but you,” a kid points out. “You turn us down every time.”

“I do?”

“All the time,” another kid confirms. “You say it ruins your hair.”

"I was...joking," is all Eddie can come up with.

"Really? Because it doesn't sound like you were," another child counters. "You already don't like that the UV rays have the potential to damage your hair cuticles, which aids in your fear of dryness and breakage. Furthermore, swimming in a lake filled with miscellaneous, unidentified bacterium is another concern, apart from the warm water having the potential to dry your hair out even more. Also, at windy temperatures of about 80 degrees, typical for a Hawkins summer, your hair when damp will start to frizz. Which is where your pomade and Farrah Fawcett spray come in handy. And on summer days, you give your hair 32 hours before the next hair wash rotation, to which the cycle starts again. We know the drill, Steve. You've explained it multiple times. And we get it now that you don’t like the lake."

Even the kids think Harrington's insufferable. Eddie can only shake his head in disbelief.

"I'm not who I was a day ago," Eddie shrugs. "...literally."

"Huh?"

"You gonna let me join or what?"

Suddenly, the kids’ eyes begin to light up. Steve Harrington joining them at the lake? It was going to be the most fun day they’ve ever had!

"Sure!" the kids cheer excitedly. "Al-right! Steve is joining our party!"

Eddie smiles to himself, proud of the reaction he got from the eager children. Excited cheers? Smiling faces? Now THAT is how you Camp Counsel.

And now that Eddie thinks about it, he realizes something. He’s spent most of his youth in survival mode that he never got to let loose and have fun. And while he has Steve’s body and physical activity levels, he is certainly NOT about to let that go to waste. Pomade? Eddie thinks to himself. Meet Trash Can.

“Hey guys! Wait for me!” Eddie calls after the campers. “CANNONBALL!"

Meanwhile Steve sets off to find Eddie a job.

A real job.

He tries Hawkins Mart. The roller rink. The movie theater. The coffee shops. Something that involved social interaction and hard work. 

"Hi there," Steve grins politely. "I'm Eddie Munson, and I'd like to apply for a job."

But Hawkins is anything but receptive to it.

"No."

"Nope."

"Sorry."

"Munson, eh? You related to Al Munson?"

"NO!"

Apparently misdemeanors and run-ins with the law make it impossible to land a good gig. It was no wonder now why Eddie stayed where he was comfortable.

Though, it's unconventional.

Steve is just about to lose hope when those looking for help didn't even want him.

But he wasn’t giving up. There has to be something Steve can do to increase Eddie's chances of landing a good job.

Just then, he realizes. 

Maybe it’s not Eddie’s past, but his demeanor. The way he carries himself. If he didn’t dress like a vessel for Satan every single day, this conservative town would probably take him more seriously.

It's one of life's twisted games. Steve didn’t make the rules. And he sure as hell can't change it. 

But there is one thing he can help Eddie do. He can help Eddie play the game. Master it.

And that’s when Steve sees the scissors.

———

So you can say sunscreen is the least of everyone’s worries.

“Jesus Chr— what did you do to my hair?!”

“What did you do to MINE?!”

“I had to let her breathe man,” Eddie explains. “God, Harrington. No wonder you’re always in a mood. Holding your hair up with so much gel, MY HEAD FELT HEAVIER THAN A BOWLING BALL.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve challenges him. “Well your hair was so greasy, I could’ve pat it down with a paper towel like it’s PIZZA.”

The two are at it again, reaching at each other’s hair and then swatting each other away like flies. Suddenly Robin butts into the quarrel, emerging from the kitchen with amusement spread all across her face. 

“Oh…my…god…” she says.

Steve and Eddie simultaneously stop their bickering and pan their gazes over to her. Unable to contain her laughter, Robin releases a hearty chuckle in front of them.

“Holy shit, this is the greatest thing since disposable cameras,” Robin tsks. “On that note, let me go get mine.”

“NO!” both Steve and Eddie refuse.

“This is so humiliating!” Steve whines. “I look like someone literally mopped the floor with me!” 

“You're embarrassed?!” Eddie exclaims as he points to his own, original body. “Whose Peepaw died?! Why am I wearing a grandpa sweater sourced from the crusty back bins of Goodwill?!”

"I thought it'd be fitting attire for your library job that I got you."

"You got me a job at the LIBRARY?!” Eddie shrieks. “Out of all places?"

"No other place would hire you!"

"Can’t say I didn’t warn ya."

“And why does my hair LOOK LIKE THAT?!” Steve demands. “You went into the lake with the kids, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

Eddie shakes his head at him, baffled. “God forbid, I – the camp counselor — do camp counselor things! I did exactly what you told me to do.”

“WHERE DID I SAY YOU COULD MESS UP MY HAIR?”

Steve takes a moment to mourn his glorious mane. Meanwhile, Eddie starts brainstorming how he’s going to rob a high end salon for all their hair growth serums. 

Just then, Robin reemerges from the shadows with her camera, panning it directly at the two of them, as if she were some eager journalist fighting for her spot on the front page of National Geographic.

“Say cheese, freaks!”

———

Eddie was having a hard time being Steve.

Being Hawkins’ most desirable male apart from Billy Hargrove was harder than he thought. Because while women worshiped the ground Steve walked on, it was hard for flight-risk teens to take the Pretty Boy seriously.

“Christopher!” Eddie hisses. “I told you to stop domesticating the raccoons, you little shit.”

Living in the trailer park, Eddie’s no stranger to those feral, yet adorable, beady-eyed beauties. And while they were cute, holding your hand, refurbishing your trash, and performing for crackers, there was an unspoken agreement when it came to those kinds of animals: you are to never take them in.

“But it’s for research!” Christopher pleads.

“I wouldn’t care if it was for the Nobel Peace Prize,” Eddie scolds him. He places his angry hands frustratedly on his hips. “Those things can be rabid, violent, and aggressive when you least expect it. Trust me on this. Raccoons are better left alone in the wild. They can’t live with people like us.”

A low, miserable groan furls at the base of the boy’s belly. He kicks at the dirt beneath him.

“Ugh, you ruin all the fun, Steve,” Christopher whines. “Eddie Munson would never treat us like this.”

That statement just about nipped Eddie in the soul. Was this what being a buzzkill is like? Little did Christopher know that it’s actually Eddie scolding him. And that the kids were not only hurting Steve’s feelings but his as well. 

Meanwhile Steve wasn’t having a grand time being Eddie either.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY?!”

He almost died. Quite literally. And if it hadn’t been for Wayne launching himself across the room to stop it from happening, the odds of he and Eddie ever switching back would’ve gone from unlikely to zero.

“What?!” Steve demands.

“What do you mean, what?!” Wayne demands. “You eat that thing you’re going to wound up in the hospital! Again!”

Steve’s eyes trail down to the delicious shrimp tacos he had bought for takeout from Estrella’s. 

Eddie is deathly allergic to shellfish. And with just a single bite of that shrimp taco, he would be in the back of an ambulance with hives and a closed-up throat. And judging by the fact that Eddie and his uncle didn’t necessarily bring home the ‘big bucks’, an invoice from Hawkins Memorial Hospital wouldn’t be an ideal situation to put him through.

“We’re already two months behind on rent,” Wayne grumbles. “You eat those tacos, kick the bucket, and rack up them bills, I may as well join ya six feet under.”

No tacos, no time and a half at work, and no solution to the problem at hand. No wonder Eddie was always an angsty mess. It definitely showcases in those lyrics too.

———

“Take me away, away, away, AWAY”

A killer guitar solo rips through the Harrington garage as Eddie strums away at the chords. 

In hindsight, it looks like Steve is the rockstar. But the feral energy is unmistakably Munson’s, to which Dustin can’t help but get lost in, dancing along as a one-man-mosh-pit to the brilliance of Corroded Coffin’s discography.

“Same old stuff, it never ends.”

“The song sounds so cool hearing it in Steve’s voice,” Dustin beams. “And I can’t believe you put him in a crop top.”

“It’s like dressing up a Barbie doll,” Eddie jokes as he puts his guitar away. He then turns his torso towards Henderson’s field of view. “Look… Harrington’s an innie.”

Dustin cackles at the sight.

“Hahaha, no way!” he cheers. “I’m an outie.”

“Me too.”

The garage lets out an insulated hum as Steve strides in with the tacos. He cocks an eyebrow, confused at the sight of Dustin and Corroded Coffin comparing navels with each other. 

“What did I just walk into?”

Eddie’s eyes light up at the sight of Steve.

“Ooh, is that Estrella’s I smell?” he inquires.

“All yours,” Steve grumbles. “Found out today that I can’t have shellfish.”

Eddie smirks at the realization.

“But I can,” he sings. “Because I’m Steve Harrington.”

Eddie rushes over to Steve to acquire the food. Steve goes over to greet the rest of the boys and to issue Dustin a long-awaited high five.

“Mmm…” Eddie coos. “Take a good look at these washboard abs, Innie. They’ll be gone for as long as I can have these tacos.”

Steve makes a face. “I can’t believe you put me in a crop top.”

“I can’t believe you cut my hair,” Eddie shrugs.

But he seems to have gotten over the fact. Hair will grow back. There were larger issues at hand today. Like how exactly Eddie is going to perform with Corroded Coffin at Show and Tell.

“Listen,” Eddie wipes his mouth. “Harrington. I have a favor. If worse comes to worst and we can’t switch back on time, I need you to perform as me for Show and Tell.”

“And why exactly would I do that?”

“Because it’s our one shot to make it big.”

“Again, why would I do that?”

“Because you love me,” Eddie sneers.

But his face drops when Steve doesn’t return the energy. 

Nowhere in the fine print did it say ‘Steve Owes Eddie’. So why would Steve bother? It’s a lot for Eddie to ask of someone he’s openly mocked for years. But now that he needs something, suddenly Steve is the coolest person in the world? It doesn’t work like that. 

“Hey…” Eddie begins. “I know you don’t like me, okay? Whatever animosity you have towards me, I hope we can move on from it one day.” 

Steve refuses to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“If you do this for me, I’ll be eternally grateful,” Munson adds. “And maybe just maybe — when Corroded Coffin makes it big and we start touring around the world — I’ll be out of your hair forever. Literally.”

“Seems transactional.” 

It leaves a bad taste in Eddie’s mouth. It was always ‘Terms and Conditions’ with Harrington. Never has he ever considered the other person’s feelings. Never has he ever done anything out of the goodness of his heart. It was always, “What do I get out of it?”. Always some sort of fucked up business move. Just like his father.

“You view everything as a transaction, don’t you?” Eddie scoffs. 

“Why would I do favors for someone who’s done nothing but disrespect me? I value my time and energy. I’m not wasting it on you.” 

“But you can waste it on being a camp counselor, right? The kids aren’t so hot about you anyways, so I don’t know why you keep showing up.”

“Because Dustin is there. Because I’m a good friend. You wouldn’t know sacrifice and loyalty if it hit you in the face.”

“Ah, there it is. The performative activism in plain sight. We all know that this is about Dustin. AAAAlways been that way.”

“Of course my summer is about Dustin,” Steve argues. “You’ve had him all year. Spending every second with him and breathing down his neck.”

“I’M the one spending too much time with him?” Eddie scoffs. “Breathing down his neck?! You’re the one who got a gig to be closer to him.”

“Does it register with you that it’s because I DON’T SEE HIM MUCH AT ALL ANYMORE?” Steve shouts. “He’s always at your stupid D&D games and never wants to hang out with me! You’re taking the spotlight, like you always seem to do!”

“That’s IT!” Dustin barks. “I have HAD it with you two fighting all the time.”

Finally, it’s quiet. And normally the two would be stoked about it, but seeing Dustin on the brink of tears does not make the last word worthwhile at all.

“Not even a life-changing catastrophe will make you guys stop! You’re in each other’s bodies for Christ’s sake and still going at it like cats and dogs.”

Dustin starts back towards the house, kicking at the chords beneath his feet that are blocking his dramatic exit. All Dustin has ever wanted from those two – and quite literally every adult in his life – was co-existence. A notion so easy, yet no one has ever been able to give him that. Not even with his damn empathy cookies.

“It all makes me feel like a failure. Locking myself in my cabin for six weeks to have my fortune cookies yield THESE results? My last year at camp too.”

“Dustin–”

“And if you guys keep this up, then I don’t wanna spend the rest of my summer with either of you. How’s that for compromise?”

“Hey. Buddy…” Steve starts again.

“Henderson!” Eddie calls at the same time.

But it’s already too late. Off Dustin goes, Camp Nowhere notebook in his arms, walkie in his pocket, and car keys jingling furiously around his fingers. Nothing worth displaying at Show and Tell if the grown ups were going to act younger than the campers there. And if Dustin’s anger wasn’t already prominent, the way he backs out of Steve’s driveway is a dead giveaway, judging by the screeching tires and the pop of the engine as he steps on the gas.

“Damn,” Jeff comments. “Taco ‘bout a tough crowd…”

Ba-dum-tss! the drum sounds.

“GARETH!” Steve and Eddie growl.

"Scott Clarke."

Hearing that name nearly gives Eddie whiplash. Especially because it came out of Steve’s mouth.

"Huh?"

Steve repeats himself. "Scott Clarke? Our middle school science teacher?”

Steve is perched at the bottom of the stairs, wading aimlessly around in guilt. Eddie watches as he props himself against the rails of his fancy staircase, almost as if to serenade him with an apology song of sorts. 

"When we were kids, he headed the Hawkins Middle AV Club,” Steve recalls. “Nancy was in it, and so was Mike and so was Sinclair, Baby Byers, and Dustin.”

“Go on…”

“Well…whenever they ran into trouble, Mr. Clarke was always there to help,” Harrington shrugs. “Always been very personable, non-judgmental, and most of all, he’s knowledgeable.”

“Okay…”

 “And with his degree from MIT, he’d be the one most likely able to get us out of this mess,” Steve emphasizes. “Just in time for Show and Tell.”

“What makes you think he’d want to help former students like us?” Eddie demands. “We weren’t in the AV club or anything.”

“Because he cares, Eddie. Current students or not.”

There’s a pause.

“Remember that one time you came into homeroom with a black eye?” Steve reflects. “And Clarke made you stay after class so he could ask if everything was okay at home?”

Attempting to mask the mushy feelings underneath, Eddie simply shrugs. Steve persists.

“Other teachers would have assumed you got in a fight or something. Even if that was the case, none of them cared to look further into it. No one except Mr. Clarke.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie admits, choked up now. “Yeah, I almost forgot about that.”

It actually was a fight that happened that day. Some random kid at school. But there were also times Eddie has gotten in scuffles with his father, typically when Al Munson stumbled home too drunk for his own good and tried laying a hand on either him or Uncle Wayne. And Mr. Clarke, having grown up with Al, knew what he was capable of. Meaning it was his unspoken civil duty to look out for (Munson) Junior.

“And,” Harrington sighs. “I’m kinda really desperate here. I want you to be able to perform at Dustin’s Show and Tell. You and the band have a shot at this. I wholeheartedly believe that. And I don’t have much faith in my ability to perform as you. Neither does Dustin, it seems.”

“Steve…” Eddie begins. 

“And sure, I was upset about not being Henderson’s first choice for a while,” Steve rambles. “But I’ll be okay. The kids can learn survival skills another time. ”

Grateful tears start to form in Eddie’s eyes. He’s never seen this side of Steve before. 

“My hopes and dreams don’t depend on Show and Tell,” Steve mumbles. “And if it means a producer from Cardinal Records is going to be there, then getting Wayne and yourself out of debt does.”

Their eyes meet again.

“I can’t take that away from you.”

Suddenly the rocker feels his knees buckle.

It feels as if Eddie’s soul is about to leave his body. Or Steve’s in this sense. Struggling to keep his composure, the ever-so-rugged Eddie Munson clears his throat.

“…I didn’t think you paid attention to any of that, Steve.”

“I pay attention more than you think,” Steve counters. “And if my observations are right, Mr. Clarke might have the answer.”

Steve shrugs, dangling the keys to Eddie’s van around his fingers. He hula hoops them around as Eddie remains floored, pondering above him.

“Well?” says Steve. “You just gonna stand there and gawk, ‘Harrington’? Come on.”

Perhaps walking and gawking would be more productive. Without further hesitation, Eddie races down the steps and follows closely behind Steve before shutting the door to the house.

“Wipe your feet,” Steve commands as he unlocks the doors to Halen.

“What do you mean wipe my feet?” Eddie snaps. “It’s MY van!”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who’s been driving it,” Steve counters with a glare. “And I’m saying wipe your feet.”

Nonetheless, Eddie sighs and does as he’s told. But he’s not happy about it. 

Never in a million years did he think Steve Harrington would tell him how to run his own van. Nor did he think Harrington would actually end up being a good dude. Both were very humbling experiences. And while King Steve drives them off to Hawkins Middle, willingly blasting Metallica and doing his best to head-bang, Eddie crosses his arms and stares blankly out the passenger side window.

“I’m never eating anything Dustin makes me again.”

———

"So..." Eddie prompts. "Can you fix us?"’

“If it isn’t broken, then do not fix it,” Mr. Clarke advises. 

There was only so much that could be disclosed to their former teacher. Being an educator also meant being a mandated reporter, and it’s without a doubt government officials would bust down the doors of Camp Knowhere and run a freak raid on Dustin’s science experiment had they known the truth. Steve and Eddie had to gloss over practically everything.

“I appreciate and am honored to know you two trust me with your dilemma,” Mr. Clarke nods. “That being said, it is normal for gentlemen your age to go through an identity crisis after experimenting with recreational drugs. It will subside, but only if you don’t fight it.”

A decade can certainly change things. Steve and Eddie never expected their most logic-driven teacher to embrace his heart, dressed in a brown linen robe, as he calmly kept them on standby with soothing, meditative “Ommm”s while they spiraled into desperation in his ‘BACK TO (S)C(H)OOL’ classroom.

“But what is the science behind this?” Steve demands. “Is something happening in the…the… what did Suzie call it? The blood-brain barrier? Why would… Harrington and I both feel like we are living the life of the other person?”

“To question everything is to not know peace,” Mr. Clarke soothes them.

He’s saying this while criss-cross-apple-sauce on his desk, by the way.

“Sometimes, it is best to simply let things be,” the educator warns. “By going against the grain of the water, you are blocking the potential you can reach if you had been in a flow state.”

“Good God, you choose NOW to go on a spiritual retreat?!” Eddie hisses. “When we need science and your genius mind the most?!”

“If not now, then when?” Mr. Clarke mumbles. “If not you, then who?”

For the first time in his life, Eddie feels plagued with academic regret. He wishes he paid attention in Clarke’s class. Meanwhile Steve is considering having a word with his superintendent mother, because no way in hell is some barefoot, most-likely-vegan lunatic about to indoctrinate the future kids of America. 

“If not you… then who?” Clarke repeats. “If there's one thing I learned during my time in research… and mindful meditation…  it's that sometimes the answer is right in front of you. Or within."

Steve and Eddie look at each other.

"The world is full of obvious things," Mr. Clarke says. "...which nobody, by any chance, ever observes. Sherlock Holmes."

Accepting the absolute bust, Steve and Eddie storm out of the door and back down the stairs of their prepubescent alma mater. 

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie curses under his breath. “The damn hippies got to him before we did.”

As the two walk down the stairs, Steve sneaks a few quick glances Eddie’s way. Seeing him upset didn’t necessarily make him feel so hot. The answer is clear: they need to venture beyond a Mormon child and a middle school science teacher. They need to consult the big dogs. 

“We can go to the Indianapolis Science Center,” Steve suggests. “And maybe ask some people there. There’s also the university. If we flag down a professor from the physics or chemistry department, maybe they can offer us some insight. Or…”

“Just give it a rest, Steve,” Eddie surrenders.

“What?” Steve questions. “No! We’ve got to figure this out before Show and Tell. It’s in a couple days.”

“What’s a couple days?” Eddie demands. “We’ve been like this for nearly a week. What makes you think it won’t last another week? Or indefinitely.”

Eddie kicks at an empty carton of orange juice at his feet while Steve watches with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He didn’t want Eddie to give up. Not yet, at least.

“Hey I’m not going to let you blow this shot, Munson,” Steve demands firmly. “I know how much this means to you. This could finally be your ticket out of Hawkins. You guys were meant for the Big City.”

“No,” Eddie disagrees, absentmindedly. 

Eddie’s gaze veers off to the side, a sadness in his eyes so profound that Steve almost starts tearing up as well. 

“All… the answers… point…to no,” Eddie continues. “Can you imagine what the world would be like if everyone followed their dreams? We’d have no one doing the conventional jobs. It's not in my cards, I fear. Maybe I was always meant to stay in Hawkins, being everyone’s weed man and no one’s first choice.”

“Eddie…”

“But thanks for trying though, Harrington. Doesn’t go unnoticed.”

———

To be continued…

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[jogetsobsessed]

Dominos (Part 2 of The Prophecy) - Paul Lahote x reader

Could technically be read as a stand-alone!

I'm so sorry for the long wait for this, I simply could not figure out what I wanted to do. Also, the two OC characters are simply random and are just there as space fillers (but I did choose the name Evan from 911 #wewillgetbuddie). P.S. This has a lot of dialogue and I don't know how to properly write dialogue so oopsie.

My present to all of you for hitting 200 followers!!

Always enjoy, I hope this lived up to all your expectations!

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

It hurt for a long time.

It felt like you were drowning and that you were never going to be able to surface. Life was moving in slow motion, as you grappled with the sudden change in your life. 

You lost everything. 

Everything important to you was gone. Your friends, your support system, the man who you loved. People tried to reach out at first. Emily and Kim called you every day for weeks, but after a while, the calls stopped coming. Embry and Quil both texted you, checking to see how you were doing and if they could help anyway, but like the calls you ignored the texts. 

You felt pathetic. 

They all felt bad for you and you know it. They knew how in love you were with Paul and they were all witnesses to the tragic ending. And you hated it. 

Hated how people would look at you. You felt that you couldn't go anywhere without someone looking at you with sympathy in their eyes. And you could only take that for so long. 

So after months of hiding in your bedroom and wallowing in your despair, you decided to make a change. You were going to do something for yourself. Something that was going to be hard, one of the hardest decisions you had ever had to make. 

You found an apartment 250 miles away. Growing up you had made the almost five-hour car ride to Portland, Oregon a couple times a year, so you knew that you liked the city well enough. It was a massive change, going from small-town living to city life. But it's what you need. Being somewhere where no one knew you, where no one knew about the unnatural life that the people of the tribe lived. It was your chance to live a normal life. 

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

Normal life suited you well. 

The move had been hard at first, you left behind your parents and the few friends outside of the pack that had still been in contact with. It took a while for you to start feeling like yourself again. But that's because you didn't know who you were without Paul. Moving to Portland was a chance for you to find who you were. 

Six months after you moved you experienced your very own meet cute. 

It happened at work, you had blindly reached out to hit the button for the elevator when your hand met someone else's. Quickly your phone was away from your face and you looked up and swore you almost swooned.  

His name was Evan. 

The company he worked for had just opened up a Portland office and was renting space on the third floor. You told him you worked on the seventeenth floor when he had asked and watched the number seventeen light up. Immediately he started a conversation. It was small talk, you told him that you also had not been in Portland long and chose the simple way out by saying that a long-term relationship ended so you wanted a fresh start. 

It hadn't occurred to you that he never got off on the third floor. 

He rode up to the seventeenth floor just to talk to you. And once the elevator stopped and the doors started to open he asked you out. He insisted that he needed a tour guide to find the best ramen that Portland had to offer. 

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

5 years later 

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

“And after that the rest is history”, you laughed as you felt Evans's arm slightly squeeze your waist in affection. 

You wouldn't believe where you were, back home in Forks. You had managed to avoid it since you left because your parents moved down to just outside of Portland after they realized that your move was permanent. 

Your engagement to Evan had come just over a year after you met him. After swearing up and down that after Paul you were never going to let yourself love someone again you found yourself drowning in the love that you had for Evan. And when he got down on one knee you didn't even let him finish what he was saying before you were throwing yourself in his arms shouting ‘yes’. 

But your parents hadn't moved down until you Facetimed them a year after your wedding holding up ultrasound photos. They screamed and cried tears of joy, they were going to get to be grandparents. You hadn't told them everything that had happened with Paul but they knew enough. They knew that he had broken your heart and now saw how your husband was putting it back together piece by piece. They saw how happy you were. 

And you are happy. 

You were getting everything that you wanted, everything that he had promised you. 

Marriage, a big house with a white picket fence, and children.

That’s why when you received an invite to Emily and Sam’s wedding you gladly accepted. There was no reason for you not to go, you learned a long time ago that letting the thought of Paul control your life was no way to live. If after all these years Emily still sent you an invite obviously she wanted you here. 

So here you were, standing with Jared, Kim, Embry, and his imprint Ava. Kim had just about burst into tears when she saw you sitting with Evan and your son in the back of the ceremony. She was standing beside Emily at the altar and you could have sworn she almost ran back down the aisle to scoop you in her arms. And that's what she did as soon as Sam and Emily were announced as Mr and Mrs Uley. 

There was so much catching up to do, that was evident. Five years of not talking to one of your best friends, especially at the stage of life all of you were in. You could see it in all of their eyes when you introduced Evan to them that they approved, it was almost a look of relief like they were glad that you had been able to move on after everything that had happened. You had both apologized for not inviting each other to your weddings but that could be forgiven. Especially when you both realize that you had young sons. Her and Jared’s son is three and your son is almost two. 

The two of them quickly got along and were off playing in the designated kid's area of the field where the reception was being held. You were having so much fun laughing with old friends and introducing your husband to everyone that you almost didn't catch the moment she walked by. 

Rachel Black had her arm hooked through the extended arm of some man, one that you recognized but didn't know quite where from. All you knew was that it wasn't him. 

Embry was the first to clock your glance. He followed your gaze and quickly noticed who you were looking at.

“Who the hell is that?” 

You had cut Jared off in the middle of his story about getting thrown out of the Mariners game and saw his eyes bug out of his head when he followed your gaze. She moved carefree throughout the wedding, stopping to say hi to people here and there as she and her mystery man made their way to a table near where her father was talking to Chief Swan. 

“Her fiance”, Kim mumbled over the rim of her champagne glass. 

“What!”, you were definitely louder than you had meant to be, guests nearby turning to look at you and your friends. Sheepishly you gaze at them all, a smile wincing at the sudden onset of attention. 

“It’s a long story Y/N”, Embry said pleadingly. He did not want to get into this right now, you know he didn't. However, there is absolutely no way for you to let this go. 

The woman who had unintentionally wrecked your relationship was now hanging off the arm of another man. And now you were wondering if that's why you hadn't seen the said man at all tonight. As far as you know he’s still one of Sam’s best friends, not that you cared to double-check. 

One look from you Embry’s way was enough for him to huff and motion to an empty table a little further away from the impromptu dance floor. Pulling your husband behind you, you marched your way over plopping down on one of the empty chairs. 

“I’m gonna go check on our boy”, Evan said, emphasizing the word as he kissed the top of your head and started to cross the field. You knew what he was doing, he was making everything easier. You were sure that your old friends had assumed that you had let Evan in on the pack's secret (which you had after you had gotten engaged). But you figured that he thought they would want to talk as freely if he was around. That's why you love him so much, he knew how to read a room and understood the special circumstances surrounding your past relationship and the baggage that followed you because of it. 

After everyone else had made it back to the table, barring Ava who had gotten swept into a conversation with Leah and her mom, you shot them all looking waiting to see who was going to start. 

“They got married…six months after you moved” 

This information was shocking, I mean Paul had always been one to move fast, but six months? 

“And everything was okay for a while. They seemed like they were really in love”, you flinched at Jared's words and Kim, noticing your actions, slapped her husband's chest with the back of her hand, rolling her eyes at his carelessness. Jared however wasn't phased and kept going. 

“And then the fighting started. It was small things at first, we would see them bicker when walking up the steps at Em’s, or when Paul phased we could hear him replaying their argument over what to have for dinner the night before”. 

He paused, taking in a deep breath, resting his hand on top of Kim’s where she had it laid on the table in front of her. Lucky for him Embry decided to take pity on his brother and cut in. 

“Y/N things got bad. Paul and Rachel both have very strong ummm…personalities”. He chuckled nervously as he bit his lip. You knew this made him uncomfortable and part of you felt bad for making him tell you all of this but you needed to know. You needed to know for the sake of knowing, it's not like anything in your life was gonna change because of it. Happiness had finally found you, and part of you felt bad that Paul’s had only been temporary, even though he had shamed your heart. 

“The small fights turned into screaming matches, and they weren't always private. And umm at some point the screaming escalated to the two of them breaking things. Rachel would throw glasses and beer bottles and such and Paul broke one too many kitchen chairs for them to keep replacing them”. 

“Eventually we had to step in, I mean the boys had to physically step in Y/N”, Kim cut in, the look in her eyes telling you that she was reliving the drama. “Sam, Jared, and Embry let themselves into Paul and Rachel's place one day when he was home and she wasn't and they had to drag him kicking and screaming out of there practically”. 

“It's not like he was abusive, it 's just that they are both so damn toxic”. Jared chuckled as he struggled to describe what it was like watching their relationship from start to finish. 

The three of them filled you in on specific instances of when the crazy started to show, while also reiterating how sorry they felt for how they handled everything that night years ago. 

“So where is he now?”, you blurted out. The wine finally made your head feel a little fuzzy and your filter started to thin. This question caught them off guard, the three of them exchanging awkward glances back and forth. 

“I don't know, none of us do. He was supposed to be here but since last night it's been radio silence. No one has heard a word from him”, Embry said. 

----------

You felt like you were being watched. 

After finishing your conversation with your friends the four of you walked over to where the kids were running around. Evan and Ava had been making small talk as they gave the four of you space. 

And now as you watched your friends interact with your son and husband you were trying to have a good time and appreciate the moment. 

But you couldn't, because someone was watching your every movement. 

You tried to brush it off, but the longer the night went on you could still sense it. Trying your best to act nonchalant you looked at the outskirts of the field and just beyond the tree line. You didn't want to worry anyone, especially your husband. Evan was having such a good time, he and the boys got along well and you knew that as soon as you got back home he was gonna start bugging you to come back up here. 

You were scanning the tree line again when you saw something or someone. And as you squinted to get a better look your heart stopped beating. 

Paul. 

He was hidden (not very well) in the trees, just past the makeshift dance floor. He looked disheveled, his pants and partially unbuttoned white shirt were wrinkled and slightly dirty, no doubt from spending the entire night stalking from the trees. 

He looks different from the last time you saw him, he looks…older maybe? No longer clean-shaven, some scruff was clear even from where you stood. Lines and marks litter his face and his eyes. Oh, his eyes look so tired. 

His body stiffened when the two of you made eye contact and he realized that he had been caught. But he didn't skitter away like a scared animal when you excused yourself from your group, promising your husband that this should only take a minute. 

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

You couldn't believe it, here you were face to face with the man who you swore up and down that if you ever saw again you would kill. But here you were, face to face with him and you couldn't even think of anything to say. 

Because the thing is you weren't mad at him anymore.

No, you felt bad for him. 

You had everything and he had nothing. 

He looked like a scared little boy as he stood before you messing with his fingers, something you remember him doing to try and relax. Gone was the macho-man personality. He looked embarrassed. 

“Hi”, his voice was shy, even more unlike him than acting embarrassed. 

“What do you want Paul?” he startled at your tone but you didn't care. You weren't going to give him the time of day. This conversation was not between two old friends catching up after now seeing each other for a few years. No, you were having this conversation out of necessity and necessity only. 

“I just wanna talk, it's been a while”. 

“Yeah I know, last time we talked you dumped me over text and when I went to try and talk to you about it hours later you didn't even look phased. Already cuddled up to your imprint”, you made sure to lace your words with venom, you wanted to make it hurt. Make him relive his actions and decisions. 

His nostrils flared at your last word. He hated being reminded of her, of that bond that they still shared. The stupid bond that had ruined his life. The same bond he thought had ruined your life. But seeing you here, walking hand in hand with a man, a small child in your arms he realized he had been wrong. 

The only thing that had gotten Paul through all his fights with Rachel and all the time he spent alone after was the thought of you. How after he worked through everything he could get you back. Paul knew how devastated you had been. He had never told anyone but he knew you were there that day at Emily’s. He knew you had started up the porch and decided to put his arm around Rachel, to send you a message. 

In some sick way, that thought of you being alone and missing him got him through the darkness. But now he realized that he had been wrong. 

You hadn't spent the past five years moping around and waiting for him to confess his love for you. The love for you which almost killed him. He had tried to shove it down, he had been blessed with an imprint, and he should be happy. 

But that wasn't the case. 

He hated himself for it, dragging Rachel into the mess that was his life. Because she wanted him to love her, she wanted a happy marriage and a long life with Paul. And that's what Paul thought he wanted. The bond did make Paul feel for Rachel, he wanted to protect and keep her safe. He didn't want to see her sad. But those feelings didn't stop his love for you. 

You had become the center of their marital problems. 

Hundreds of miles away, completely moved on and completely oblivious to the stake that you held in their relationship. 

Rachel learned very quickly that she wasn't the only woman Paul loved. And she had tried to live with it for a while. Growing up she had learned how special it was to be an imprint for one of the shifters. It was devastating to realize that she would never get that from Paul. 

And after a while of trying to make it work and a little intervention from their friends, they called it quits. She had moved on, meeting someone who truly loved her and could put her first. 

Paul however hadn't. 

“I’m sorry about that Y/N. I just wanna…” 

“You wanna what Paul? I’m not playing these games, it's late and I don't wanna spend the rest of the night arguing with you, because guess what we have nothing to argue about anymore because we are nothing”

“Don't say that Y/N”

“Don't say what Paul said? Don't say that we are nothing, are you crazy? Like generally have you lost your damn mind?” 

“Y/N I love you and I know you still have to feel the same, I know how upset you were after we broke up”, his voice cracked as he pleaded with you. And you couldn't help but laugh. 

“We didn't break up Paul, you dumped me…over text. Five years ago might I add, and you really must have lost it. I’m fucking married Paul, I have a child with a man that I love, someone who isn't like you, he isn't a coward”. 

“No, no don't say Y/N, please”, he was begging now. Full-on begging. 

“Paul I have nothing to say to you because I’m not going to say anything that you wanna hear. I don't love you”. 

Time seemed to stop at your admission. 

The forest seemed to be still, the soft breeze dying down and the rusting of the animal inhabitants went silent. And the light from Paul's very sad eyes seemed to dim even more if that was even possible. He truly had spent all this time that you still loved him and believed that the two of you could happen again. 

What happened next was something you could have never predicted, not after knowing Paul for as long as you had. 

He dropped to his knees, blubbering like an infant and pleading with you. 

“Y/N please, we can make this work I know we can. Just give me one more chance, I still love you”. 

He was making a scene. People were starting to notice the distressed man at your feet as he sobbed into his hands pleading with you to come back to him. Luckily Jared noticed the mumbling of some people near him and immediately saw what was happening. 

“Shit”, he muttered under his breath as he grabbed a fistful of Embry’s suit jacket to pull him with him as they took off jogging trying to act nonchalant. This was still their friend's wedding and there was no chance they would let Paul and his inability to get a hold of his emotions ruin it. 

The rest of the pack spotted the incident and quickly jumped into action. Sam had noticed what was happening and was putting all his trust in his friends to handle it, the last thing he wanted for Emily’s day to be ruined. 

“Come on buddy, I think you need to calm down”, Jared told Paul as Jacob helped him pull Paul off the ground. Paul was still breaking down, it was like the floodgates had broken. Every emotion that he had buried for so long was just pouring out of him. It was hard for the pack to watch as one of their own, someone who was normally so stoic and cocky completely broke. 

“No, stop, I'm not going anywhere. She’s not listening”, he protested, trying to shove off the various sets of hands trying to control him.

“I think she's listening perfectly fine Paul, I mean come on man, she has a husband. This isn't new news”. Seth said from his spot next to you, his body slightly angled in front of yours, ready to defend if Paul lost control and shifted. 

“But I still love her”, he wailed. The boys were shoving him back now, deeper into the forest, for the sake of the wedding but also partially for his dignity. 

And that was the last you saw of him, getting half-carried, thrashing around like an angry toddler sobbing as he disappeared into the woods. 

Once he was gone you couldn't hold it in anymore. It was your turn to sob. 

Even after all the pain and suffering he had put you through you hadn't wanted to hurt him like that. Seeing someone usually so strong shatter and at your words devastated you. 

You don't know how long you stood there before Kim darted in front of you and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. 

It's confusing, you didn't know why you were crying. You had no reason to feel bad after what he had done to you and everything you had said was true, after everything he had done even if you weren't happily married you wouldn't get back with him. However, you felt so guilty, like you had been the one to ruin his life, even though Paul had made his decision. 

Paul had been the one to knock down the first domino and start the chain reaction. He had made his bed and now he has to lie in it. 

However, while you knew all this to be true you couldn't help but call out to him, you knew he was listening, wherever they had carried him to. 

“I’m sorry Paul, I’m so sorry”. 

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

blobsblobican (you asked to be tagged in part 2!)

[ochrearia]

8 BFs In a Room

Hell on Ochre technique is making myself balance 8 characters in one drabble because I feel guilty about leaving anyone's BFs out when they're on my list. Have fun shenanigans with a gut punch of angst at the end (sorry) <3

BFs in this drabble: PoPr!BF (Biff, mine), cs!BF (Beefer, mine), fc!BF (Boyf, Keyy's), wyd!BF (Beef, Karl's), sfa!BF (Peacock, Shed's), S2!BF (Bee, Isaac's), Candy!BF? (Blue, Slushgut's, unsure of a prefix for now), Yourself (YS)

“Why did I ever agree to this?” YS grumbled, rubbing a hand across his throat. “Fucking hell, I’m going to have such a sore throat tomorrow morning because I decided to indulge you shitters.”

“Well no one said you had to do them all one right after another, that was you, dumbass.”

YS glared at Boyf. “Oh and how else was I supposed to comprehend the request? Not a single one of you looked willing to wait your turn. No concept of patience in this room.”

“How am I supposed to have patience when you have such a cool song?! I got excited and so did everyone else!” Blue complained, contrasting the grin on his face.

“At least it was only six times and not seven. I had my turn months ago.” Biff was grinning as well. “Though I also had the thought in the back of my head that you wanted to kill me, potentially, so it was nervous fun.”

“I wasn’t gonna-” YS huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, fair enough, I literally smacked you across the room. Sorry. Have I ever actually said I was sorry for that? I’m such an idiot.”

“You were forgiven a long time ago, I don’t care.” Softer tone from Biff now. “Though I think you should have recreated the experience for everyone else. Or at least Beef.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Beef hollered, making angry faces at Biff. “Fuck you in particular!”

“Fuck you also!”

“I’m not smacking everyone across the room.” YS said bluntly. “I’m not going to be physically hurting any of you on purpose, thank you.”

“Aaah, big guy cares about us.” Peacock teased.

“Okay you’re making me consider going back on what I just said.”

“Can you reconsider that for Beefer specifically I kinda wanna see who’d win between you two.”

“He’s a literal dinosaur?? Who the hell do you think is gonna win?” YS asked incredulously.

“I haven’t figured out how to go into battle mode yet and I’m too nervous about how my situation’s playing out to ask yet.” Beefer shrugged. “If that makes you feel better. I can’t do much other than bite and scratch without it.”

“Can you hurry up and figure it out a little faster though? I’m not the only one who’s curious about all of that you know. I want to see what a dinosaur me would look like!” Insisted Bee, practically stars in his eyes.

“Hey I thought the specimen here was YS, not me!”

“You guys aren’t actually fucking calling me a specimen right. I wasn’t even awake for that shit you can’t just decide that’s one of my nicknames.” YS complained.

“Biff was the one who said it, and also laughed about it.” Peacock pointed.

“Snitch!”

“Holy fuck, you’re all toddlers. All seven of you, I swear to god. Why am I in charge of any of you? Isn’t that what your Picos and GFs are for, I should not be responsible for this.”

“What’s wrong with putting you in charge? You have the best ideas out of all of us.” Blue insisted. “I haven’t been here for too long but you’re pretty cool! The rest of you are too!”

“Him? Cool? Nah, just wait until he’s scared of upsetting you and he starts getting all subdued and nervous.” Boyf snarked with his phone.

“Wait until you find out that he’s-”

“Beef you better not finish that fucking sentence or the dumb corner will PERSONALLY have your name on it.” YS threatened.

“Blame Biff for talking his shit man, that wasn’t my fault.” Beef grinned with a shrug.

“Can you guys stop keeping all these secrets? I want to know the YS lore too. Sharing is caring!” Peacock asked. “How come Biff and Beef get to know but the rest of us don’t?”

“Because Biff’s an asshole and figured it out on his own because he has the same issue.” YS huffed, crossing his arms. “And he decided it would be a wonderful idea to tell Beef, who doesn’t have that issue, and who would sooner exploit it instead of being a kind person.”

“We were doing it to cheer you up, shut up man, you ruin my life with the same problem and I’m at a disadvantage because your tall, lanky ass can pick me up like I weigh nothing!” Biff countered, anger playful.

“Anyone else feel like they’re missing a couple seasons here?” Beefer asked to the rest.

“Sounds like we need to interrogate those two for some info.”

“Beef, we’re buddies… you can tell me!” Bee tried to tempt him. “We played Nun Massacre together that one time, come onnnn, tell me!”

“You tell anyone about that and I’m actually going to go back on what I said earlier. I don’t need anyone else knowing that there’s a way to incapacitate me and you two knowing is already bad enough.”  YS hissed.

“Why would you say that though?” Peacock laughed. “Now we know there’s a way to incapacitate you. Yeah, you’re definitely one of us if you can’t think that far ahead to realize saying that’s only going to make us more curious.”

“Fucking- Shut up. Forget I said that.”

“I’m still stuck on the mental image of him picking Biff up like a toothpick.” Laughed Blue. “Can you do that with all of us? Oh, oh, how many of us do you think you could pick up at once?”

“I am not doing that.”

“Oh my god, this guy is so fucking grumpy and boring. Would you just live a little?” Biff sighed, standing up from his place on the floor. “Think fast chucklenuts, you better catch me or we’re both going to the floor!”

“Biff-!”

Biff ran at YS, jumping halfway there and practically slamming into the taller’s chest. He stumbled, frantically trying to keep himself steady and also make sure the small asshole didn’t crash to the ground between his hands.

“Jesus fucking- Why. Why are you like this. Don’t do that again or I will just drop you on purpose.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that, you care too much about your little brother to let him get hurt.” Biff teased snidely.

“Just saying, YS, if you wanted to reconsider him being your first little brother, you still can.”

Biff glowered at Boyf like he’d just tried to commit murder. YS snorted out a laugh, shaking his head at how ridiculous things got when all of them were in the same room.

“So wait, Biff’s not the only one who can have little brother status?” Bee asked. “Wait, where can I sign up?”

“Is there a form we have to sign, or…?” Peacock questioned with a hint of mischief.

“Wait, I want a big brother too!” Blue butted in.

YS wanted to be swallowed into the ground in sheer embarrassment over how happy this was making him. The bloom of warmth in his chest was still so unfamiliar, but incredibly addicting for the times he actually had felt it. Starting right in his heart and aching in the best way, spreading across his chest and successfully chasing away his cold body temperature for a time.

“I’d say me too, but I don’t think he can handle hearing one more of those with how his face is starting to turn red.” Beefer snorted. “You’re so bad at hiding the joy on your face, man. But I think it looks like it belongs on you, to be honest.”

YS couldn’t stifle the groan when his arms were still occupied by Biff, who was an annoying little asshole for jumping at him, causing this to happen all at once, and expose him for how happy he could get over the sentiment of having them all as little brothers. Of course it would be the littlest brother that could cause so much damn chaos in a matter of seconds.

“Shut up…” He protested feebly, but what was he supposed to do when Biff moved closer to give him a proper hug now? Fuck this guy, knowing how to derail everything. He wasn’t used to feeling so loved, hadn’t felt anything like it in a good while.

“I didn’t know this guy even had the capacity to blush. See, these are the things we should be telling each other, every little bit of information is going to help if we have any chance of helping him out like he does with us.” Peacock seemed like he was going to make a list of things at this point.

“True! Even the little things help paint a better picture. Makes it feel like the puzzle we’re solving is an actual person instead of some stranger.” Bee added in agreement.

“You’re all so-” What could he really say? All of them seemed so determined, like they’d all already had this conversation to agree to care. Maybe they had and YS just hadn’t noticed. He didn’t always read every message they sent in the group chat, especially since they could get rather loud in there. The sentiment all directed at him made him lose his words entirely.

“He’s thankful.” Biff answered for him with a softer smile. “Emotionally constipated idiot. I told you, man. Told you everyone was going to come to the same conclusion. You made a point to reach out to everyone in this room and the first thing you said to them was how you wanted to help them. First impressions aside, did you really think we were just going to take your help without wanting to give it back?”

“Man, you really are dumb if you thought that.” Boyf teased. “It’s okay, you’re still the smartest one. Probably. Blame yourself for getting us so addicted to your hugs. As if we weren’t going to start caring about you when you were so insistent to give out such affection.”

“Dude thought giving hugs to the group of idiots who are suckers for physical touch wasn’t going to make us care about him too.” Beefer snorted. “Are we sure we can call this guy the smartest?”

God I hate all of these idiots… no I don’t. YS thought, almost cringing at how fast he went back on his own thought. “Well it wasn’t originally part of my plan to make you guys care about me, I was making the support network for everyone else. So that you’d care about each other.”

“So you’re extra dumb then, because that was not fucking happening.” Stubbornness, the universal attribute. Peacock was a victim to it as much as the rest were.

So… did he have seven little brothers now? What a chaotic family. YS supposed one of them could have been joking and he just wouldn’t know. If they were serious about it, he was too scared to ask still. They’d have to talk to him about it like Boyf and Beef had. He felt a little guilty for forcing them to be the first to bring it up when realistically he wanted to be able to treat them all the same like that. Talk about being addicted, he was addicted to the idea of being  family. Addicted to being kind to them, addicted to the idea he’d get so much more affection turned his way if he could just be honest and ask about the brother stuff.

They were all looking at him with soft looks, expressions also teasing for some of them.

They’re so determined and happy to do this. YS thought, a twinge of guilt stabbing through his chest. I can’t tell them what I’d planned for the support network when I connected enough of them… They care too much about me now, I can’t tell them I was supposed to be… gone… by now.

They didn’t need to know. That plan had gone out the window weeks ago anyway. YS knew he cared too much, as selfish as it was. But now, knowing how much they cared about him too? He couldn’t. And it was fine. They didn’t need to know the extent of it. It was fine.

YS was sure they could tell how much he cared about them all by now anyways. Apparently he was terrible at hiding the joy from his face.

[sailoreuterpe]

Ship asks! For a ship/s of your choosing. Feel free to answer all, none, or just some.

Who sets the mousetraps?

Who eats off their chapstick?

Who has a snort laugh their partner loves?

Who would eat crackers in bed?

Who teaches their kid/s how to wash their hands properly?

Who would wear earrings that look like fish in a bowl?

Who would cry over the dedications at the start of a good book?

Who rolls up socks so their kids can get them onto their feet more easily?

Who relates way too strongly to the narrative arc of Matilda?

Who has a very specific hangup about a piece of media they consumed as a child?

Ship asks! For a ship/s of your choosing. Feel free to answer all, none, or just some.

(I got tired of trying to come up with in-depth answers and thus stalling, so here are some off-the-cuff answers!)

Who sets the mousetraps? Teddy, but only the humane kind

Who eats off their chapstick? Linda

Who has a snort laugh that their partners love? Linda

Who would eat crackers in bed? LINDA (it’s literally canon)

Who teaches their kids how to wash their hands properly? Bob

Who would wear earrings that look like fish in a bowl? Linda, Teddy, Bob if he were drunk

Who would cry over the dedications at the start of a good book? All of them, although Bob would deny it and Teddy would go overboard

Who rolls up socks so their kids can get them onto their feet more easily? All of them, although Linda is the only one any good at it

Who relates way too strongly to the narrative arc of Matilda? BOB and Teddy; Linda’s too far in denial and also had more friends as a small child

Who has a very specific hangup about a piece of media that they consumed as a child? Teddy (dude has hangups for his hangups)

[milo-is-rambling]

I forget how much I hate the taste of vodka but the whipped cream vodka is so much better my god

[queenofbaws]

Hello! ♡ How are you? Thank you so much for your previous post, I loved it! ^^ Your writing is adorable and no amount of delay will make me love it less! Also, thanks for your attention, I'm going to celebrate Halloween at Disneyland paris! I'm really looking forward to it, and I hope you'll have fun tonight too, no matter how you celebrate Halloween! ♡

And I know it's not really the weekend anymore but I still have a little request for you! I'm pretty upset that Josh didn't get his birthday in October! Our prince of horror deserves better than that. -_- So how about writing our favorite little ghost hunters organizing him a surprise party? ♡ (bonus point if Alan and Edgar make a fun appearance)

As far as birthday parties went, this one was, Josh had to admit, pretty choice - what with the food, the card games, the presents, the ice cream cake that was only mostly still a frozen brick - he just had one question about the whole shebang: “You invited my fucking therapist?”

“Our therapist,” Sam corrected him, playfully nudging her present along the conference room’s table to be closer to his arm, “And no, I didn’t invite him...that sort of seems like a, uh, breach of contract or something.”

A mouthful of ice cream didn’t stop Ashley from correcting her, “Conflict of interest, actually, and uh...I didn’t invite him either, sooo...”

“This will shock you all I’m sure,” Alan sighed, pointedly looking anywhere but them as he filled a flimsy paper plate with party food, “But I’m simply here because it was brought to my attention there was cake of which I was invited to partake.”

“So Edgar invited you,” Josh said, just as Chris whipped around, a terrified expression on his face as he asked, “Wait, do you know how to text?!”

From out in the library proper, Edgar sighed a flat, “Of course not - I sent word by way of carrier pigeon and simply hoped for the best...it’s how I proposed, too, were you wondering.”

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

[classyrbf]

SHE SAID IT'S HER FIRST TIME! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...older bf!nanami finds out he’s your first time and he intends to make it very special

INFO...older bf!nanami x virgin fem!reader, age gap (earlier 20s, early 30s), virginity loss, consent checks, praise, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy eating, penetration, slight blood, slight crying, creampie, nanami grows kinda feral, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Having Nanami as an older boyfriend was such a joy. The maturity, thoughtfulness, communication, love, commitment, and patience you received from him was more than you could have ever asked for. You were always so open with him, telling him everything and just being the annoying girl friend you were. But, there is one thing that you’ve kept hidden for the last six months of your relationship.

Every time things got heated between you Nanami while making out or getting handsy, you always backed out last minute telling him that you “weren’t ready” and he always understood and respected your boundaries. Though, you are ready. If you were to lose your virginity to anyone you’d want it to be your sweet loving boyfriend. But voices in the back of your head start to make you overthink, wonder if he’ll even want you anymore if you confess to him.

It isn’t until you’re here on his bed, hands tangled in his hair while kiss him slowly, passionately. His hands are roaming all over your body, still careful to be respectful. You’re pushing into him, smiling in between kisses. “Have I ever told you how much of an amazing kisser you are?” He chuckles, peppering kisses along your jawline.

A blissful sigh escapes your lips before you answer, “no.” You shake your head, his lips traveling lower down to your neck. Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, enjoying the moment. His tongue glides along the skin of your neck, gently sucking and kissing, earning little whimpers from you as a reward. His hand grabs at your leg, hooking in over his waist as he pushes his hips into you.

Your breathing grows shallow, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. You gulp, feeling things grow more intense with each passing second before you push Nanami away. “I’m sorry, Kento, I just—”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand you want to take your time with this kind of thing.” He gently grabs your hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. His brows furrowed as he studies your features, eyes wandering every where else but into his. “What’s wrong, hm? You know you can talk to me,” he says in the most smooth voice, one that makes you wanna spill every secret. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. “Sweetheart?” He draws out the pet name, he knows something is on your mind.

“Ken, I feel bad for keeping this from you for so long, but,” you sigh, fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt, “I’m a…virgin.” You finally look in his eyes, clenching your jaw. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, ears ringing loudly it almost drowns out your heart beat.

His lips part, eyes widening at your words. Deafening silence falls upon you like a tidal wave and you feel the embarrassment rush in. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything I…I’m just gonna go.” You quickly scramble to your feet, grabbing your sweater from off of his bedroom floor. Maybe those voices in your head were right. Why would a man like Kento want anything to do with an inexperienced girl like you, compared to a woman who would know how to please him, give him a what he wants.

Just as you were about to walk out his bedroom, you feel a tug at your arm pulling you back until you hit his broad chest. “Where are you going?” He asked, looking at you. “I never said to leave, sweetheart.” He walks you back over to the bed, taking your sweater from your hands and placing it on the back of his chair. You sit on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting for the next words to leave his mouth. Eyes follow his every movement, watching the way he walks over to you and kneels down in front you, grabbing your hands in his. “Look at me.” And you do, eventually, meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

You find it hard to speak, to even get a peep out. Nerves are shot and it feels like your stomach is twisting in knots. “I just thought that—”

“That I’d be upset you’re a virgin?” He asked, putting it all out there. You nodded your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sweetheart,” he chuckles, flashing a smile at you, “you’re too cute for your own good.” He caresses your cheek. “No wonder you’ve been so nervous each time we’ve made out.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath in before speaking again, “listen, we don’t have to rush into anything. You should’ve just told me, but I understand your feelings.”

You blink a couple of times, your heart rate finally drops, feeling more comfortable with the situation. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders, and even more importantly, you were glad Nanami took it so well. “But, I am ready.” You look away from him.

“What?” His brows furrowed, confusion written on his face.

“I’ve been ready, just been scared, nervous…I don’t know.” You shrug, your voice getting quieter with each word you say.

His hand comes up to your cheek, gently cupping it as he directs your gaze back towards him for the millionth time. “Are you asking me to be your first?” He asks in such a gentle tone, eyes carrying a look of adoration in them. Sheepishly, you nod.

“Always wanted it to be you, Ken. You’re so kind to me, and so patient,” you admit.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, “I’d love nothing more than to be your first.” He kisses the top of your hand, soft lip pressing against your skin as he stares into your eyes. “We’ll go at your pace, yeah?” He smirks.

Everything in you is telling you to pounce on this man and go at it like animals with how he was treating you. It only made him a hundred more times attractive than he already was. Your lips find his as you both fall back onto the bed, resuming the make out session from minutes ago, only this time it’ll actually lead somewhere. The kisses felt more feverish, more passionate, something that’d you been craving this entire time.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He asked, placing a kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take mine off too.”

“Yeah.” You nod, feeling his hands tug at the hem of your shirt. The fabric slipped over your head, your first instinct was to cover your chest, feeling completely vulnerable in this position. His hands carefully undid your pants, pulling them down along with your panties, discarding the items of clothing on the wood floor. You covered yourself up, shutting your legs and holding your chest.

As you watched him get undressed, your eyes landed upon the obvious tent in his shorts, leaving you turned on. His body seemed liked it was carved from the gods, toned biceps, shredded six pack. He looked like he could just easily toss you around, put in whatever position he wanted. Not to mention, you could see how big he was through his boxers, your nerves starting to wrack up again as you began to wonder if it’d even fit. And once he pulled them down, your eyes widened and worry flooded your face.

Nanami let out a light laugh at the look on your face. “What’s the matter?” He asked, rubbing his hands over your thighs.

“Do you think it’ll fit? It’s just…really big, Ken.” Your eyes couldn’t help but wander. He was thick, and slightly long, which is reasonable excuse for your worry.

“It might hurt a little, sweetheart, but that’s why I need to prepare you, yeah? Make it feel good for my sweet girl. Now, don’t hide yourself from me, okay? I wanna see all of you, praise all of you.” He leaned over, kissing your lips again, trailing down further with each one. His hands replaced yours, gently groping your tits, squeezing them in his hands. “Such soft and pretty tits.” He kissed each one. “Can I suck on them? I promise you it’ll feel good.”

Once he gets your approval, he wastes no time, his lips latching onto your hard nipple, hot tongue swirling around the bud. His eyes fluttered shut, a muffled moan escaping his lips. Your hands find themselves in his hair, little pants and whimpers leaving your lips at the foreign sensation. His other hand pulls at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he gets lost in thought. He pulls his head up, hazy eyes staring back at you. “Doing okay, baby?” He asks.

“Yes, please keep going.” You bite down on your bottom lip, earning a smile from his as he moves over to your other nipple, tip of his tongue circling over the sensitive skin before taking it in his mouth, suckling on it. “Mmm, Ken,” you whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Feeling good?” He places kisses all over your tits, his touches so gentle. You buck your hips up towards him, grinding against him. “I’ll take that as a yes. You’re feeling needy, aren’t you, baby? Go on, you can tell me.” The flat of his tongue lays against your nipple again, slowly licking, teasing you.

You bring your hand up to your face, covering it, too embarrassed to look at him, to let him hear you. But with each flick of his tongue more whimpers spill out of you, overflowing. His warm lips press kisses to your sternum, traveling down towards your stomach, getting lower and lower until you jolt up. “What…what are you doing?” You ask, dumbly. It was clear what his intentions were with his mouth just inches away from your cunt.

“Just sit back and relax.” He caresses your side. “Open up for me, wanna get a taste,” he murmurs. He gently pushes your thighs open, scooting lower on the bed. His mouth slightly parts, eyes gravitating towards your wet cunt. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re already so wet,” he chuckles, looking up at you. He rests his head against your thighs, lips kissing your skin, worshipping you, savoring you. He plans to tease you as much as possible, he wants you ready.

You body twitches when you feel his fingers ghost over your throbbing cunt, light touches making you yearn for something you’ve never even had before. He kisses down your thighs and towards your pussy, pausing when he finally reaches. He looks up at you for approval and when you scoot your hips closer towards him with the cutest whimper, he dips his head down between your legs and presses the slowest kisses on your clit. The way you gasp makes him smirk, he wonders how you’ll sound when he uses his tongue.

Finally, you feel the flat of his hot tongue dip between your soaked folds, pushing its way up your slit and finding your clit. You sit up on your elbows, brows furrowing in pleasure as Nanami wraps your his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place. He moans against you, pulling you closer towards him as he starves for more of your taste.

He flicks his tongue across your clit, his chin coated in your juices before he moves his tongue lower, tongue fucking you. You bite down on your plump lower lip, quietly moaning while your eyes watch his every movement, like you were studying him. His tongue slithers back to your clit, circling it before he gently sucks on it. “Hah, fuck,” you gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his blonde locks of hair.

He lifts his head, licking his lips to not waste any drop of you. “Hey, pretty girl, can we try something?” His voice is gentle, a sense of security in it. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” The pad of his thumb rubs your clit in circles, his other hand caresses your thigh. “Wanna try fingering you while I eat this pretty pussy, get you ready for me,” he explains.

You gulp, nervously looking down at his hands. “Will it hurt as much?” You ask.

“Might hurt a little, but it’ll help. I’ll make you feel good, baby. I never wanna hurt you.” He sits up, moving closer towards you.

You nod slowly, “okay,” you meekly say. Nanami, wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting your leg around him as you both lay on your sides.

“You ready?” He asks, kissing your cheek, his fingers rubbing your slick over your entrance and back over your clit, trying to get you prepared. “Just gonna do one finger for now until you want more,” he whispers into your ear. Slowly, he slides his thick digit into your entrance and you immediately let out a pained sigh. He removes his finger, pressing another kiss to you cheek. “Take your time, baby. You’re okay. Hold on to me if it gets too much.” He continues rubbing your clit in slow circles until you give him the nod of approval to try again.

He pushes his finger past your folds, feeling your walls clench around him as he goes inch by inch. “Mmm.” Your eyes screw shut as you cling onto his broad shoulders, feeling the sting of the stretch. He finally gets it all the way through and you’re panting, clawing at his skin.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he reassures. “Hey, look at me,” he grabs your face in his direction, “it’s okay.” He kisses your lips as you whimper against his. “I’m gonna start moving my hand now.” You hold onto him tighter, the burn making you wince as he pulls his hand back and pushes his finger back in, slightly gaining in speed.

You can’t seem to look away from him, melting into his touch as the pain slowly turned to pleasure, feeling your body accept him just like you wanted this entire time. He presses his forehead against yours, bodies pressed up against one another as you fight back the urge to kiss him until you’re breathless. Your hips rock into his hand, following his movements. “Want more,” you whimper, nodding at him.

“Want more, pretty? Yeah?” He pecks your lips, carefully sliding his ring finger into your entrance. You whine at the stretch, taking in a deep breath when you feel his fingers curl up, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your cunt squelches around his fingers, sucking them in. “You’re doing such a good job,” he whispers, working fingers faster until you’re a moaning mess.

Wet kisses make their way down your neck, moving lower down to your chest as he repositions himself at the end up of the bed, fingers still curling inside you. He pushes one of your legs back, eyes intently watching the way your pussy takes his fingers so well. Without warning, the flat of his tongue presses down your swollen clit. “Oh fuck!” You gasp, gripping at the sheets below you. Your body shivers with pleasure, the sensation of his tongue and fingers sending you to cloud nine.

Your head falls back on the pillow, eyes rolling back, legs threatening to close around his head. He slurps your pussy, tongue working its way through your folds to get every last drop. He’s moaning at your taste, breathing heavily through his nose. His hand pushes your leg back farther, nearly up to your chest, as he works hard to drive that orgasm out of you. “Ah! Oh my gosh!” You cry out, clutching at his hair, pushing his head down when he sucks on your sensitive clit once more. “Ken, baby, I think—fuck!” You squeal, rocking your hips on his face. Your legs close around his head as your orgasm arrives, body quivering, and every touch is heightened. That doesn’t stop Nanami, low eyes watching how prettily your back arches off the bed, your walls squeezing his fingers. “Hah! Ah! Yes!” You moan.

Nanami finally lifts his head, chest heaving up and down as he looks at you with the most love in his eyes. “Fuck, baby, you did so good. Come here.” He rushes to plant his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His dick is throbbing, oozing pre from the tip just from watching you cum. “You alright?” He asks, petting your cheek.

“I’m okay.” You nod. “Thank you.” The sweetest smile spreads across your face, one that makes his chest fill with warmth. “But, I think I’m finally ready.” You look down towards where you two meet, only inches away from one another.

“You sure? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I want you to be comfortable,” he says softly.

“I promise I am. Just…go slow,” anxiousness riddled your tone.

“Of course. Let me know at any time if you wanna stop.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. The nerves build in your chest, and your stomach fills with butterflies. He repositions his hips, rubbing his length through your folds, smearing his precum. He lightly groans, slowly moving up and down, nudging your clit with each thrust. Nanami notices you watching, he can see you’re still nervous. “Baby, look at me, okay. It’s gonna be fine.” He gently grabs your face, staring into your eyes before his fat tip pushes its way through your folds. Your eyebrows raise in surprise before furrowing. He goes as slow as possible before removing himself, letting you take a breather.

You spread your legs further before another attempt, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushes into you again, inch by inch you feel the stretch, the stinging sensation making you grit your teeth. “Ah!” You bury your face in his neck, when you feel his hips finally meet with yours.

Tears fall down your cheeks, and he’s quick to kiss them away. “I know it hurts, sweetheart. Let’s stay like this for a minute.” He wipes your tears, massaging your thighs as you try to accustom to his size. “Gonna start moving now.” He pulls his hips back, his length coated in a mix of your juices and slight blood. “Oh, your bleeding baby.” He looks at you with the most empathetic expression.

“Mmmph, sorry, I’m sorry.” A wave of embarrassment washes over you as it came to mind that it was most likely on his sheets.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s completely normal.” He kisses your lips as he pushes his hips against your again, the head of his cock grazing over a sweet spot deep inside you that you didn’t even know existed. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?Hah, my sweet, sweet girl—fuck,” he breathily chuckles. And now he’s moving faster, wrapping your legs around his waist, clinging onto him like you never want to let go. “So fucking tight,” he grunts.

You feel so full of him, like he was made for you. His dick dragging along your walls, his hands holding you close, wrapping around you as he whispers praises in your ear in the most sweetest voice. Your eyes roll back, nails leaving marks on his skin, your toes pointed. He’s fucking you into the mattress, but being oh so gentle about it. “It feels so good,” you mewl as he fucks you deep, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

“This pussy was made for me baby—oh shit—taking me so fucking well. You feel so fucking good,” he moans. He presses into you, each thrust sending your mind spiraling as shivers run down your spine, your body covered in sweat. Nanami squeezes you tightly, kissing your neck, and nibbling at the skin.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” It feels like your breath is being sucked out of you, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. “Gonna cum!” You cry out. “Hah—yes, yes!” He keeps the same rhythm, tip of his dick kissing your cervix before your shaking under him.

He holds you tightly, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as you cum around his dick. Your hands cup his face, searching his eyes. “That’s my girl, let it all out,” he says. He can feel you clenching down on him, the feeling making his dick throb harder. “Always be my good girl, right baby?” He asks. And all you can do is nod, when he starts fucking you faster, almost like he’s grown feral. “It’s good that you know because I’m about to fuck you like you aren’t.” He pushes your knees to your chest, lifting your hips slightly so that he reaches the deepest parts of you. “Nngh, fuck!” He grunts.

“Ken! Oh fuck, fuck!” You squeeze your eyes shut, the bed rocking and creaking with each other his hard thrusts. A hand clasps over your mouth in a weak attempt to muffle your screams of pleasure.

“Pussy feels so good, sweetheart. Can’t get enough—fuck—I’m sorry,” he heavily pants. Strands of blonde hair cling to his forehead, eyes fixated on watching his dick disappears in and out of you, your pussy creaming around him, leaving a white ring around the base. He can feel you clenching down on him again, your nails leaving crescent marks in his forearms as you’re cumming for a third time tonight, barely able to form words. “Atta girl. Look so pretty cumming on my cock,” he smirks.

Your back arches into him, legs quivering as he thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier. “Nnngh, shit,” he moans. “Gonna make me cum—ah!” His brows furrow as he fucks you harder, a primal feeling rises in him as he thinks of cumming inside of you for the first time ever. “Baby,” he says with desperation, “baby, let me cum inside you.” A rosy red spreads across his cheeks as he stares into your eyes.

Your arms reach out to him, dragging him down for kiss, legs locking around his waist as you push him closer to you. Nanami groans into the kiss and you swallow every last one as his seed fills you up, coating your walls. He slowly fucks you, making sure to get every last drop of his cum in you before pulling out.

“Oh my god, sweetheart,” he chuckles, a glint in his eyes. You laugh with him before he rolls both of you over, you now on top of him. He caresses your cheek and you melt into his hand, a blissful sigh leaving your lips. “You did absolutely amazing.” He smiles. “You doing okay, though?” He wonders, fingertips tracing patters on the small of your back.

“Yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes shut, “I’m doing great actually.” You smile. You rest your head on his chest. “Thank you, Ken.”

“No, thank you. I’m glad that you trusted me to be your first, honestly. It means a lot to me.” He kisses the crown of your head. “You’ll always be my girl.” He continues tracing your skin.

“Really?” You ask, lifting your head to look at him. “Promise me?” You pout, batting your lashes.

“I promise.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lips before you press a kiss to it. He chuckles at the small gesture. “Let’s get in the shower, together, yeah? Maybe order some food? You deserve it.”

[incorrectbatfam]

Tim starts spreasing a rumor that every Robin is the same person, they just work like Doctor Who.

Even better: no one was ever told otherwise so everyone just assumed they were the same person and the kids lean into it

Bruce: This is my sidekick, Robin.

8-year-old Dick: Nice to meet you, Mr. Superman!

Clark: Nice to meet you too, Robin.

———————

12-year-old Jason: 'Sup.

Oliver: Robin, you look... different.

Jason: What's that supposed to mean?

Oliver: Nothing. I mean, different is good, right?

———————

14-year-old Tim: I'm here! Sorry I'm late.

Barry: Wait, I thought Robin died.

Tim: I got better.

Barry: I see.

Barry: The pants are a nice touch.

———————

Damian: I have arrived. You may now grovel in my presence.

Arthur: Alright, this one MUST be a different child.

Damian: What are you talking about?

Arthur: You are six inches shorter than last month.

Damian: Perhaps you got taller.

Arthur: That... actually makes me feel better. Thank you.

———————

Steph: *walks in*

Hal: Someone tell me what the hell's going on.

Steph: I transitioned.

[hoshigray]

𝐂𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | s. gojō + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Three powerful empires, two childhood companions, and one you. What is supposed to be a peaceful alliance is slowly turning into a rocky relationship between royal friends...Is there any way you can save it?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo + true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - royal-like + fantasy AU! - porn with plot - Gojo + reader is age 28 + Sukuna is older; mid-30s - mutual pining + confessions - size differences - threesome - double penetration; anal & vaginal - virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - back-to-chest + cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play - cerfix-fucking - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, dove, human, little one, pet, sweetie) - marriage proposals - cameos: Utahime and Miwa - Gojo and Sukuna can't stand each other, obvi - humor + drama - mention of drool, blood, spit and tears - will be proofread later.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.4k words (BRUH, i hate it here.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: aight, after 10 whole months, it's FINALLY dropped! this took foreverrrr, ughhhh. anyways, sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy this one, and thanks again for 11.2k starlings, ilysmmm!! ☆☆

“…”

“—y Lady…My Lady!”

“Huh?” You blink and face the door where the voice is coming from. “Oh, I’m sorry, Utahime. You can come in.”

“Jeez, I was knocking for a whole minute.” Your lady-in-waiting, Utahime, closes the door behind her when entering your chambers, walking up to where you were sitting by the mirror. “And I thought I told you to refer to me by my last name, my Lady.”

You smile at the reflection of the other coming behind you, kneeling and readying the iron basin filled with warm water and rose petals. Her hand and the washcloth swish the surface for the floral scents to enter your nostrils. “Well, we’ve been friends for how long? I’ve referred to you by your first name for all my life, even before you became my handmaiden.”

“Hmph, even then,” Utahime scoffs before taking your feet and dipping them in the warm water. “You don’t see me dare call the sole, precious child of this empire’s greatest warrior by their given name.”

“No, but I always tell you I don’t mind. Besides, you usually do it when we’re alone, and that’s enough for me.”

“If that’s what makes my Lady hap—“

“It does.” You look at her with a pleasant aura, and the dark-haired one snickers before straining the washcloth. 

“As you wish…Y/n.” You puff your chest with satisfaction; however, your handmaiden isn’t done talking, “But I know the matter of my name isn’t something that’s having you lost in your thoughts.” Her observation takes you slightly aback, and her brown orbs peer up to capture your attention. “Would you like to tell me what’s corrupting your mind?”

With a heavy sigh, your back touches the chair as you slouch. Your eyes glance to the open window as the blinds drift gently with the calm wind. The swaying motions of the curtains almost convince your stress to wither away along with the quietness. Almost.

“Utahime,” you begin with her name, still facing the window. “…What do you think about Lord Satoru Gojo?”

“Tch,” you didn’t have to turn to know that the woman had the most disgusted expression, the click of her teeth was telling. “What is there to think?”

“Hehe, well, we’ve known each other since we could walk—“

“Yeah, and — pardon me, my Lady — but that bastard is such a nuisance, even if he just became the crowned heir of the Gojo bloodline and the holder of the Six Eyes.” The dark-haired woman scrubs your feet with vigor, but you don’t say anything, containing your laughter. “That man–ugh! Every time he visits the palace, he will never stop teasing me for deciding to leave my family and become your lady-in-waiting. Who does he think he is!”

The laugh you try to hinder seeps out in hushed giggles. “Well—ahem—what about Lord Ryomen?”

Utagime stops her hand and washcloth between your toes, her face in your direction. Both brows trenched with a thin line of her mouth. “……As of recent…Scary–no, intimidating would be an understatement...my Lady, perhaps the visit and stay of the two lords is what have you down?”

Another heavy sigh, “I guess that would be the case…”

You reside in the founding empire of the great continent. In the ancient past, it is said that the Great Saint Tengen came from the heavens and blessed this world with miracles, living in the country that you’re standing in right now. It was said that Tengen was the benevolent child of Gods and the Parent of Beings who graced everyone – both human and non – with compassion, kindness, and love through their sorcery. When they disappeared, the world fell into a divide, their people sticking amongst themselves while following the teachings and words of Saint Tengen.

As the centuries came following this tale, the countries of this world have maintained a relatively peaceful union. However, the main continent – your continent – is home to three major empires: the North, the East, and the West. As mentioned before, you live in the founding Western nation, also known as the homeland of Tengen. 

You are a royal of this land and the sole heir to the throne right after your father, a mighty war soldier and sorcerer respected by his people and allies. As the crowned king of the Western capital, your father has done his job in using his strong leadership to maintain a functional structure for the people, using his wisdom to tread on matters with a tranquil mind, and making decisions that would not only benefit his own people but also his allies. Sometimes, you forget that such a great man could be your father. Yet his undying love for you, his sole child and princess, proves how lucky you are.

In the Northern Lands above are known as the land of Sorcery. Your father may be a powerful sorcerer, but the empire he rules does not harbor the majority of the population who practice sorcery (or lack thereof). That would go to the snowy Northern Empire, a land where many of Tengen’s scholars and practitioners have come from and implemented their teachings. The current head of this nation is bestowed to the affluent House Gojo, who recently crowned their heir after the death of its late king. Satoru Gojo, the first royal after a century gifted with two of the most intense abilities made by Saint Tengen – the Six Eyes and Limitless – sits on the Northern throne. And is also a dear family friend.

To the East lies a country mostly comprised of harsh deserts and dangerous forests, filled with creatures that aren’t of the human imagination. Once referred to as the land of “Tengen’s True Children,” the eastern empire is known worldwide as the Demon Country. Creatures reside in this part, beings that can easily overpower the average human – or worse, kill. They are ruled by the King of Demons, Sukuna Ryomen. As the scariest, cold-hearted, and violent beast of the empire, Sukuna is regarded as Tengen’s “Fallen Star,” a soul that embodies the precise opposite nature of the saint. And yet, this brutal master is also a cherished companion in the company of you and your father.

“What about their visits seems to make you upset?” Utahime lifts the bottom of your nightgown to scrub further up, the warm, damp towel scraping the skin of your left femur. 

“I don’t know…I suppose it’s because things are different than a decade and a half ago.” It was one way of speaking the truth.

“Why, of course, things would be different now. You expect I’d be looking after a tiny heir all my life?” She giggles. “Although, that would be quite nice.”

“Oh, to be young forever would be a treat, wouldn’t it?” You add on to her humor. “Yet, that’s not what I meant. It’s been so long since the three of us been in this palace together – let alone in any space together. The War of the Blood and Magic has been ongoing for years now. Whenever my father wishes to speak with them about an issue, one must be here while the other is in their respective territory.“ 

“Mmm, I have observed that…But still, even with this war going on, it shouldn’t negate the fact that you three have been friends for so long. I still remember the day young Gojo came to the garden where you and I were making flower crowns.“

You smile at the memory. “I remember how upset you were when he grabbed my hand one day and took us to his guest room to show his Limitless.”

You try your hardest to keep in your laughter when she glares up at you – not at you, but at the recollection instead. “That fool, even as a child, knows nothing of boundaries. He was a bright boy — still is, I’ll give him that. But my Gods, the way he would do everything in his power to impress you was so cocky of a young lord, especially in the presence of the next heir to the continent. The nerve of him…And then! The time he had the nerve to question me when I told you I wanted to be your handmaiden. That little blue-eyed weasel said, ‘You? The daughter of a mediocre house, as the princess’ personal maid? You should try and aim lower or marry someone who’d tolerate your un-ladylike attitude.’ I was too stunned to speak…I should’ve choked his ass out!” 

“—Pfffthahaha, stop, you’re scrubbing too hard!” You halt your lady-in-waiting with stiffened giggles, the poor woman sighing for displaying such aggression unbefitting for her title. “You could never stand him, and to think I thought you had a crush on him.” 

“Please, my Lady, never say that aloud, or else my father would try to make my worst nightmare become reality.” She shakes her head, putting your left leg into the basin and switching to the right. 

“And the day I introduced you as my maid to him, you had the smugest smirk that couldn’t be wiped off that night.”

“You’re goddamn right, my Lady!” That coarse remark had the both of you in a fit of cackles, water damn near splashing out as you wiggle your legs. “Ahhhh, but those were the days. I believe Lord Ryomen came into the picture after that. I remember the first day your father accepted the young demon king’s wish to seek an audience; he was a bit shorter than his current eight-foot-tall stature. Four arms were tiny like a teenager, and his,” she waves a hand up and down over the left side of her face. “This was distinguishable.”

You hum along with the description of the once young teenage demon king. “His human mother died during childbirth, and his father a demon who was exorcised for impregnating the poor woman. He was the first hybrid sorcerer of his time to utilize sorcery with the dark techniques of demon arts, becoming the most powerful and making a name for himself in the Eastern empire. He was alongside my father during the Great Demon War, using his powers to take down opposing cursed forces from outside nations. The two earned each other’s respect – more on my father’s part.”

“That, he was…truly a hard one to read, outside of always looking like he’d cut something out of boredom. I worried for the day he’d catch sight of me looking at him the wrong way and slice my throat,” the mere thought of the deadly being’s scowl was enough to send goosebumps up Utahime’s way. “Even the spars he had with your father and Gojo, I’m amazed to see this palace still standing in one piece.”

“Hehe, imagine how I felt when he’d catch me watching and then pull me aside to train with him — not asking, demanding that he teaches me how to wield a weapon.”

“Ohhh, my Lady, my nerves were never calm whenever he instructed you. Fearing for your life was my biggest sport. He couldn’t stand the fact that the sole heir of the greatest warrior didn’t have the drive to wield and charge.” She places your other leg down, rinsing the washcloth with more water before asking for your right arm. “It’s not like your father ever dared to entertain the thought of you entering battle anyway! That man, truly a scary thing…”

You throw your head back, resting it on the rail of the chair. “For my eighteenth year, he gifted me my own sword — handmade and light for my hands.”

“Men.” Utahime shakes her head once again. “Yet, despite how odd he and Gojo are, they seemed at ease whenever you were around. Whether it be visits from them to discuss with the King or attending events here at the palace, those two acted a lot more…calm.” 

Her observations stuck with you, closing your eyes to think more. “I only wonder if we could revert to those days when we were close. Unfortunately, with this current war between the two, this vision is impossible to imagine….”

You and the two lords have been friends for years – decades, even. And you were no fool; it was apparent that this relationship would dwell into something less familiar once the two become distant. And the war between the two empires proves this statement true…

It was your twenty-fourth year when you heard the news of the War of Blood and Magic. A year prior, an incident in the northern empire occurred where a sorcerer and his company were butchered by invading demons. Enraged, many men would go down to the demon continent to pillage and exorcise demon villages and towns as a form of justice. However, it only sparked the increasing tension between the factions into a conflict past the phase of talk and civilized words. 

Taking matters into his own hands, Sukuna found the men responsible for the rampage and had their bodies sliced within seconds, sending their bloody, severed heads back to the North as his declaration of war. In the coming years after that, there was nothing but ongoing bloodshed between the two; every battle and atrocity shared with your father made you squeamish – not just because of the brutality, but also the loss of Sukuna and Gojo’s relationship with every passing day.  

It made you feel sick — powerless in wanting the two to remember their merciful ways and talk like men. But you knew that was child's play — the time for miracles and fairy tales vanished with Tengen. And now, as the fourth year of this constant battle between humans and demons of this continent shows no signs of stopping, your worrying nature is on edge more than ever. 

“It may seem impossible to imagine, but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth the execution,” Utahime’s voice rings you back to the present, alternating to your left arm to wipe before dismissing herself from the night. “I’m sure your father believes that as well; otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited the two here for the first time in four years. I think he and all the people of this empire grow worrisome for the fate of this continent if all that’ll be left is a clash between two factions.”

“That may be true,” yet your tone was somber. “But if he can’t convince his two trusted allies to cease this fight, then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but see who comes out victorious. And I’d hate to see one stand and the other down in a pool of their blood…”

Utahime hums and lets the silence take over for a few seconds. And then she speaks again, “….Maybe, if not your father, then you should be the one to bring the two together.”  

Me? “Me?”

“Yes, my Lady. You may be the princess of the greatest warrior, but you are also the dear friend of his allies. Your word means law to them — they trust your input when asked and see you as a perfect successor in line.”  

“But that’s just based on titles and old conversations that don’t hold up to the now…Out of the three of us, I was the one who stayed put in this castle while the others played dirty, severing limbs and creating craters on this sacred continent. We are not children anymore, yet I feel like the one who’s still a naive babe with hands clean.” 

“Now that is not true, my Lady!” Fierce brown eyes bore to you. “Just because you don’t have blood on your hands doesn’t make you unfit as a leader. You are the sole child of the King of the Western Empire, the land that Tengen once slept and walked on. That makes you the one next in line after your father.”

“That is my stated birthright—“

“And so!” You held your tongue; she was not done yet. “You have proven that birthright true from what you’ve done so far. I can count on my hands and toes all the times your father came to you for advice on a matter that didn’t sit right with him, knowing that your wisdom and compassion aid your judgment. And let’s not forget how you’ve kept a neutral stance on this issue thus far, knowing it’s the best and safest option for your father and his people. You are his child, after all…What I’m saying is that people change. And that goes the same for you; you’ve become a face I can trust and depend on, and I’m glad to have the right to watch over you until you see fit.” 

You knew she meant every word, so you kept silent for her to finish.

“So, I say this with all the genuineness in my heart. I believe you can smack some sense up those two’s minds. You are the princess, but you are a friend above all else. Lord Gojo had just arrived today, leaving Lord Ryomen on his way in three days' time. Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance.”

There was nothing wrong with her words; everything was well-spoken with a perspicuous style and valid points. She was your closest friend – no one knew you better than she did. So, there’s no reason to try and find whatever flawed construct that was in her argument. 

Finally, after she was done dapping your arm with the washcloth and drying your feet after taking them out of the metal basin, you smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right; I’m your best friend!” Utahime stands with a puffed chest filled with pride, picking up the basin by the handles. “And as the right one, I reckon you should turn in for the night. Leave this matter for tomorrow so the solution you’re looking for will be easier to find.”

“Mmm, your advice is well-received like always.” You stand from the chair, stretching your limbs. When she approaches your door, you bid your handmaiden farewell for the night, “See you in the morning, Utahime.” 

With a wink, she parts before shutting the door, “Sleep well and tight, my Lady.”

The warm presence of your friend is missed now that you’re alone in your room. The candles around your chambers exhibit a warm glow that should make you feel safe, but that wasn’t the case today. Even after your night routine, the cold still resided in your skin. You sigh again through your nostrils; the invisible weight on your shoulders makes it impossible to lift them.

You turn back to your mirror – your reflection brings up the conversation with your best friend minutes ago. Examining your features, placing your hand on your cheek to sense your skin, alone with your thoughts. Did I really change that much? Your face tilts to the side, but the different angle doesn’t seem to help give a proper answer. Hmm…Perhaps it’s something I’m not supposed to see. 

With a yawn, you stand straight again, deciding to take up Utahime’s advice and retire for the night. You face your queen-sized bed, anticipating your figure sinking into the soft, comfortable mattress. 

What you didn’t anticipate was releasing a big gasp when turning to your bedding, your body going rigid, and your blood stopping circulation. 

“Hey.”

Something was sitting on your bed. No, someone was on your bed. And judging by the deep, guttural timbre of their voice, you are familiar with this person. 

You turned to your left once you heard a word. A figure was coming into the lighted room from the dark of the balcony – a giant, no, ginormous figure. Based on the height, he was inches from touching the entrance frame, way taller than any royal you’ve ever met — or, at least, any human royal you’ve ever seen.  

The body was broad and could engulf you even from ten steps away. Four burly arms protrude from the torso, and black nails that resemble claws match the black tattoos painted on his shoulders, biceps and triceps, wrists, back, and chest. The markings also reside on the right of his face that’s morphed with another, which holds four red eyes instead of two, along with earrings that stretch his big earlobes. Aside from his bloody orbs, one thing that contrasts his appearance is the rusty salmon color of his hair. And that was the first thing you saw — the first thing that had your mind recollect him.

“Lord Ryomen.” His name didn’t feel proper to say. It’s been almost a year since you last saw him, but he was still the same brutal man you’ve heard about all this time…yet a companion of yours nonetheless. “Father told me you would be here in two days. How did you—“

“You know I’m not one to wait.” He crossed his lower arms, the upper ones covered by a black robe that matched the black hakama pants he wore. “Especially when it comes to visiting this place.”

“And of Uraume?” The mention of the demon king’s trusted adviser quirks his brow. “Is it okay to leave them alone without you to watch over?”

“You think I’m weak on my own?”

“N–No, of course not!” You were quick to refute — you had to be when it came to him. “It’s just that I would feel bad; they’d worry about where you are.”

“And here you are worrying about them worrying about me. Hmph, humans,” he scoffs, and the mouth on his stomach grins. “Uraume knows to look after the ship when I’m gone or be my eyes when I’m not around. I’m not a child that needs protecting.”

You bow to him. “Of course you aren’t, my Lord. Forgive me for having you think as such.”

He hums, tilting his head while examining you. “Good. Lift your head.” You do as you’re told, watching him take a few steps closer to you. “It’s cold; why is your fire not set?”

You look at what he’s referring to, seeing that your fireplace harbored no flame. “I told my maids that I would be fine tonight without it, the heavy blankets will do—“

Your eyes travel back to Sukuna, only to see he isn’t where he stood. He vanished, nowhere in your room to be found. You turned behind, but he wasn’t there either. But once you heard heavy feet thunder on your floor again, you spun around to see the beast carrying four logs, one in each hand. You were marveled; you only heard talk of his speed, now it was a little scary seeing the real deal.

Sukuna bends down in front of your fireplace, setting the logs down perfectly. “Ignoring the cold’s existence is an ignorant game. A princess should be warm during this time of night.” Once the logs are set, he makes a sign with his upper right hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together to his mouth. He blows, and a string of fire spits out to the logs. The sound of crackling bark from the flames confirms his work. “You are not me; you should fear the cold.”

You nod to his lesson. “Thank you, Lord Ryomen.” 

“There’s no one here. You have the right to refer to me by my first name.” Sukuna straightens himself up. The light from the fire has his face aglow, and the crimson in his eyes flicker while they hook onto you.

You don’t know why — maybe it was because of the instant heat touching your neck instead of the sudden allurement you’ve noted from the demon king. Regardless, you avert your gaze downward. “Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

“Hmm.” He croons, walking towards you to prompt your chin up with a hand. Your eyes widen at his action; this is the first time in forever since he’s laid a hand on you. Talks of those he touches die shortly after spark in your mind. “You still have the sword.”

It wasn’t a question – an observation. He noticed the weapon lodged above the fireplace, like a memento meant to be honored rather than used. You smile, “Yes, I make sure it’s nice and clean from dust.” 

Sukuna scoffs. “I give you a present, and you treat it like a trophy.” 

“It would be wise to treat a gift from the demon king like a treasure. It wouldn’t sit right with me knowing I used or damaged a present given to me by someone I care about.” 

He tilted his head again. “And when I give a weapon to someone I wish to protect,” The word caught you off guard. Protect? “I expect them to use it as it’s intended. I will allow it this time, but I won’t be too forgiving the second. Understood?”

You heard him, but your mind was still wrapped around the word. Protect? Lord Sukuna wants to protect me? What for?? You didn’t mean to say it aloud; it just slipped. “Protect?”

His mood shifts into neutral. A subtle softness is displayed in that inhuman structure of a face — or maybe you imagined it because of the late hour. Your breath hitches when you feel his lower hands pull and wrap around your right hand; the way your palm dwarfs in his hold is appalling. And then he kneels. Sukuna, the eight-foot-tall demon king, kneeling before you. This was a bizarre night, candidly. 

“Princess,” he starts with your name. It was the perfect method as he fully has your undivided attention. “You know why the King has wished to see me despite what’s occurring outside these chambers. He believes there is still room to talk, and I believe he's wasting his time because I'm close to setting the entire Northern front ablaze and nailing this score for good.” 

You knew he meant that, and it scared you because if he really could, he would. He actually possesses the mentality and the drive to do it. And yet, all three parts of the continent continue to stand. Why?

“But that would result in more problems for me. I’d have the entire world after my head for terrorism. All the leaders will not rest until I’m gone — your father would have to come put me down. And I would kill him, all of them.” His eyes were on you, dead serious. “…But that would make you upset, and it pisses me off that you'd hate me for my drive for survival.” 

“My Lord,” it was your turn to speak. “I wouldn’t hate you. Being upset would be justified. But when it comes to war, survival is the paramount destination. I only wish to avoid such significant losses – both for the people of our nations and the people I hold dear.” 

“Mmm.” He took your words. There’s no need to say anything, knowing Sukuna heard your piece is good enough. “I can see where you stand in this, stubborn and naive like your father. So, I come to you with a proposition. Something I need for you to listen before I consider seizing this battle.”

The way he spoke had you on edge, truthfully. Yet, if he’s coming to you in the middle of the night to hear your piece, who are you as a friend to push him aside? You give him a nod, “Yes, my Lord?” 

“Princess, I want to—“ he stops mid-sentence, his pink-slitted brow suddenly drew up before it furrowed at the next second. He lets go of your hand in a hurry, standing up in a flash. It had you squeak. “He’s here.”

The sudden change in tone had you blink up at the giant, startled. “Wh–Who?”

“….No, they will not be seeing you. The hour is late; they are heading for bed!”

“Oh, c’mon Utahime — an hour, give me one hour!”

“Don’t you DARE open that door—HEY!” 

You and Sukuna’s eyes dart to your chamber door, which opens with an abrupt vigor as if it was kicked open — it was kicked. The foot that was prominent at the front goes down and swings in a figure that brightens the area. Baggy white paints contrast with a black dress shirt mixed with white, intricate, and alluring designs. Subtle blue patterns map around the black collar and cuffs, dancing down the white material behind gold buttons. It’s covered by an ocean-blue shawl that drapes the figure’s left side. But the most significant detail that gave away who the person was – outside of their voice alone – was the snow-shite hair that decorated the top of his head. 

Your wide eyes take in the person before you, and a dainty smile comes to your lips when you say his name. Unlike Sukuna, who sucks his teeth with a deep scowl. “Lord Gojo, it’s—“

“PRINCESS~~!” Chipper as ever, Gojo greets you with a happy tune that is so familiar to the ears. His sky-blue eyes gleam and narrow whenever he’s in your presence, just like he’d do during your childhood years. “Glad to see that I’ll be able to see your beautiful face tonight, after all. And I thought I told you to call me by my first name, like when we were kids!”

His jest has you giggle, “And I thought I’d told you from the last visit to knock on my door before entering. You have my poor handmaiden chasing after you at this hour.” 

“I second that notion wholeheartedly, my Lady.” Utahime comes into view, approaching from Gojo’s shadow. If looks could kill, she’d stab Gojo’s throat with dual-wielding daggers. Not that the white-haired man was paying her glare any mind. She sighs heavily before bowing to you, “My apologies, my Lady. Lord Gojo caught me leaving the stairs towards your hall, figuring he’d come to speak a word with—Holy Tengen!” Your lady-in-waiting gasps when she lifts her head to see that you aren’t alone in the first place. “L-Lord Ryomen!? F-F-Forgive me for not noticing your grace before.” She quickly returns her head for a bow, hoping the trusty, short right-hand retainer and advisor, Uraume, wasn’t here to lecture her. 

But thankfully to her anxious stars, the demon king grunts, “You’ve been forgiven, human. I came here not too long ago to discuss matters with the heir.” His red eyes leave the bowing woman to look at Gojo, whose lighthearted cadence is stilled. “Alone.” The final word was all for the white-haired lord’s watch to switch to a silent, menacing tone, shaded by his bangs but perfectly seen by Sukuna. 

“Yes, my Lord, I shall leave you two to yourselves then,” Utahime replies to the salmon-haired creature, lifting her upper body ready for dismissal. But she then grabs for Gojo’s arm and tugs. “That includes you as well, Lord Gojo.” 

“Ehhhh, me? What about the giant freak across from me?” Gojo questions the woman who pulls him to the doorway. “I also have things to discuss with the princess I’ve expressed earlier for when I have the time, which is now. At least I made my appointment known. Unlike him, who came into their quarters unannounced.” 

“And here you are, barging into their room!” she almost popped a vein; you worry for the poor woman dragging the tall figure out of your room. “Kicking their door and making yourself known doesn’t modify the definition of being unannounced. Come back tomorrow – I’m sure my Lady will be available to listen to your quarrels then.” 

It was now that you finally decided to interject. “It’s all right, Utahime. Sleep still evades me for me to rest.” You look to Sukuna, his gaze already on your figure, and then to Gojo, who awaits your assertion. “…I will listen to both Lords and have them dismissed before I retire for the night. You may let Lord Gojo go now and get sleep yourself.” 

Utahime gives you a concerned look, yet she silently lets go of the man when you give her a tiny nod. “As you wish. Have a good night, my princess. Lord Sukuna. Gojo.” She slams the door at the last name she says, her stomping footsteps and grumbling curses fading into the night. 

And now here you were, alone in your room, with the two lords of two superpower empires – two childhood friends. Nevertheless, it’s back. The suffocating tension you’ve mentioned before returns and drapes over the three of you that the word “friend” feels teeny within it. You can’t lie to yourself; you’re weary to have either of them in your chambers, let alone be in the same space as you. You knew there would be a day when the two would come together; however, you were far from being prepared for said event. 

Then again, it’s better now than never, right? You three used to be the best of friends – close companions that you could depend on and trust. Close companions that you desperately wish to continue trusting and having an unbreakable bond with. If not for you, then for your father’s and respective empires’ sake. So, with a deep breath, you exhale and think of how to go about this predicament. Be the heir that your father raised you to be.

“So,” You turn to Gojo to start with. “Lord Gojo—“

“Oh, c’mooon, what did I say about using my last name?” Gojo flashes a quick smile at you. “We’re friends, no? It’s not fair you refer to Maiden Iori by her first name; you should know mine like the back of your hand!”

His little pester does help swade a bit of stress off your shoulders. “My apologies, Satoru. It’s just that I must be respectful to my royals, even if we are long-time friends.”

The white-haired man chuckles, taking steps to be closer to you. “Even so, I want my princess to call me by my name, for you are the one I trust and hold dear the most. And I don’t want our familiarity to be tarnished by titles.” 

“…If that’s what will make you happy, Satoru.” The address to the northern prince made you avert your gaze to the ground, and your cheeks dial in warmth. Who knew that he thought so deeply about a little gesture? And then there’s what he referred to you as—

“Your princess?” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to the present situation: you and Gojo are not the only ones in your room.  

Gojo takes his eyes off you and places them on the giant behind your shape. He taunts, “Yes, my princess, as they are the fair heir of this great empire who will rule after their great father. I’d say they are as much my princess to me as the other Lords and Maidens. But I’d be lying since I see them as more than that.”

Sukuna’s quadruple eyes darken as they narrow at the man before him. “Every time I see your scrawny self, you prove you’re the biggest fool than all the other senile jokes of Lords I’ve ever dealt with.” Two steps is all he takes to be right behind you. You can practically feel his shadow on you. “The person before us is indeed a royal above many – above you. So, I find it amusing that you would be dumb enough to emphasize such a ludicrous claim. You fail to know your place when in their presence. And in mine.”

Oh, that ticked something inside Gojo. Because the prince was no longer smiling, his attention was wholly on Sukuna. Many wouldn’t dare to glower at the giant creature the way Gojo was — let alone look at him. “Hah, you sure know how to make unfunny jokes, Sukuna. Because I’d rather eat demon shit than have you think for a moment that you are above me.”

“Hmph, I’m surprised your childish behavior has gotten you this far,” you can see from the shadow on the floor that Sukuna folds his lower arms. “Don’t think that you’ll be lucky with me.”

“Oh, believe me, my childish manner has gotten its fair share of tongue lashings and trouble, but I’ve been able to talk my ass out of shit ever since I was a kid. But I guess talk is too cheap for an oversized brute like you, huh?”

“Very. I’m a being of action—“

“Action? Or destruction?” The light blue of Gojo’s eyes shifts to that of a deep, cold shade under his bangs, with no sign of backing down. “Because from all I’ve heard about you, everything can crumble beneath you with just a swipe of the fingers. Outside of your lands, who’s to say you’re worthy of ruling when your methods and policy are more forbidding than mine? Or better yet, who gave you the gall to think that such a monster like you has a right to even be amongst civil people like me and the princess? Hell, the fact that you snuck in their room as you please sickens me to the core.”

“I can say the same for you, Satoru Gojo. Your entire occupancy does worse than bore me. Standing here with the man governing the family who’s killed many of my kin and demons fills me with inextinguishable anger. You have no idea how much excitement I’ll have for the day I cut that head of yours clean off, but because of my business with the princess, your death will be pending.” 

“Not if my business is taken care of first.”

The demon growls. “Like hell, it will.” 

“My Lords, please!”

The tense atmosphere is relieved by the abruption of your voice, bringing the lords’ quarrel to a standstill to face you. You squeak when their eyes land on you, forcing yourself to turn to the fireplace and deal with the growing storm of anxiousness inside you. 

Gods, I should’ve had Utahime here with me! You curse yourself for being in this situation. Why tonight of all nights must you deal with this? It was as if your lady-in-waiting had this all planned — or worse, your father, having you treat the matter of your allies. You groan internally to your hands, letting your frustration be released.

You twirl back to face the two men before you, a deep inhale before saying, “Lord Satoru, what would you like to discuss with me at this hour?”

“Hah?” The disapproving mood of the demon king had your heart sink to the floor. “I was here first.”

“Yes, you came to my room first tonight. But Gojo was here first at the palace. He told me earlier that he wanted to speak, so I should hear him.” You could only hope your reasoning satisfied the tall being, who puffs his tattooed chest. And Gojo quickly flashed the other a vexatious look at Sukuna before you pivoted to him. “Now, Lord Go—“

“Aht aht!”

“…Lord Satoru,” He beams a big grin. “What do you wish to speak with me?”

“Well, although this is something meant for the two of us,” meant to be a stab to the other person in the room, who couldn’t care less about his presence being unwanted. “But this’ll suffice; it doesn’t hurt to have an audience.” You watch the silver-haired man take your left hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing on your knuckles. 

“My Lady,” he looks at you with delicate azure eyes, his gaze so captivating that it locks you in position. “I’ve known you for quite a long time. Before I met you, my life as a royal was barren. Nothing sparked joy in me. The mundane tasks to uphold as the next heir, being pampered and sheltered as the gifted member of the Gojo House. I felt trapped in a mold — a mold that I resented having as my birthright, so much so that I wished to claw my eyes out at the age of five.” 

You could tell he was speaking from the heart, his hands gripping yours tighter.

“But then, three years later, my father took me to meet the King of the western lands; at the time, it sounded like such a chore having to meet all these old, disgusting guys that I had to ‘maintain a good relationship’ with. And then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, I saw you. I’ve met many royal kids before me, most snobby or kissing up to me for my good graces. Yet, none of them have been as alluring and breathtaking as you have been.” He pauses for a light chuckle. “I can still remember how your sweet voice addressed me when our fathers introduced us together. You stood tight to his leg, but your grace was ever present.”

“Mhmm, and I recall how angry your father was when you didn’t take a knee and instead greeted me with a handshake.” The two of you share a laugh, unaware of the disdained aura of Sukuna right next to you for a moment. “There are many things I hold close to my heart — you and our friendship being part of them.”

“I agree. I mean it when I regard you as one of my greatest treasures. This friendship we’ve had these years – decades, even – has been a blessing that I do not want to take for granted. Even with this war on my shoulders, I wish for it to be put to rest so I can finally have you by my side again. And that’s why…” 

Gojo lifts your hand to his face; the soft feeling of his pillowy lips on your fingers has you holding your breath. Just like Sukuna…

“Princess, merciful child of Tengen’s Blessed Ground, I ask for your hand in marriage.” 

It all took one second — one mere second. 

One second for your world to come to a complete standstill, the cracking of the firewood no longer poking your eardrums and the breeze from the outside no longer grazing your skin. Your body instinctively refuses to move so much as a toe to disrupt your processing.

One second for your thoughts to absolutely vanish. No words of your own occupying your brain, no guesses on where this conversation was going. There was nothing. Nothing except the last seven words Gojo said that replay in your head. Over and over and over again.

One second for you to be in a perfect state of perplexity. Right before Sukuna grabs your free hand and yanks you to his side the next. Three giant hands wrap around you while one grips your wrist tightly. 

He snarls, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Gojo sucks his teeth before straightening yourself. “Ehhhh, is your demon brain screwed on right? You don’t know what a marriage proposal is?” His question struck you more than it did the beast. Huh? A marriage proposal? Marriage!?

The fingers of Sukuna’s upper left-hand grips your shoulder, claw-like nails poking your skin as if to draw blood. “Hmph, the nerve of you humans never fails to disappoint me. Especially you, Satoru Gojo, who remains a thorn in my foot. Must I kill more of your men to keep you at your place as you did to my demonfolk?”

“Khh, don’t act like you ever cared about the lives sacrificed on your behalf. It’s gross.” Gojo takes one step, and Sukuna swiftly lifts his upper right hand at him, his fingers positioned at the same sign when he made flames for your fireplace. Your eyes widen, please, not in my room! Gojo takes a stance for battle. “Acting human doesn’t suit you at all, fuckface.” 

The roar of laughter that the demon bellows out was chilling to hear. The vibrations coursing from his body to yours rocked you to your core. “Hah! Me, human!? There’s a reason I let go of that part of myself a long time ago. It made me weak – held me back from my full potential. You are right, though; it’s beneath me to care for those below me. However, I don’t tolerate those that mess with what’s mine.” 

The word had Gojo’s eyes taper. “Let them go.”

“No. If anything, I should skin you here and now for even laying a finger on them in front of me.” You peered up at Sukuna, your anxiousness refusing to settle down during this high-stakes scenario. “Because any man that dares touch my wedded deserves to be torn and shredded by my hands alone.” 

You couldn’t hide your gasp. It snuck past you – the perfect reaction to what you heard. H–His wedded? Me? Lord Sukuna’s wedded-to-be!? No wonder he was acting like that…!

“Your wedded?” Gojo was just as taken aback as you were. “You’ve got some huge balls to declare that right after bearing witness to me proclaiming my request for their hand.” 

“Tch, bastard, why do you think I was here before you?” Sukuna flashes his big teeth, pride exuding from his form. “Did you honestly think I’d allow the princess to end up with the likes of you? Now, aren’t you too old for fairy tales?” You’re still in shock of this madness. Two marriage proposals within the same hour? Both from your childhood friends who unequivocally despise each other’s existence? Any regular person would feel as if they’re experiencing a whirlwind right now. 

Wait a minute…

“Oh, we’re talking fairy tales, you repugnant jackass.” It’s Gojo’s turn to get a kick out of this. “From what I can tell, the princess is meant to spend the rest of their life in comfort with a handsome human prince who swears to protect them and those they care for. Not a creature whose source of joy comes from killing and mayhem. You? Capable of love? Heh, be real. Not even your own dead mother was able to show you real love for her abomination of a—“

He stopped talking when he felt something warm roll down his cheek, a red fluid streaking to drop from his chin. You see a cut and blood, and a wave of dread hits you like a wall. It was Sukuna’s doing, no doubt. Your best friends were fighting in front of you, in your safe space. Your nerves have long forgotten what it meant to be in a state of calm. 

Please, wait, stop—

“I already told you your death has been postponed, you northern shit,” red eyes darken, Sukuna's tone and aura unveiling a sense of brutality that shadowed your very being. It had you trembling. “But I don’t mind severing your tongue to make a point.”

The skin around the cut on Gojo’s skin begins to morph to find each other, seaming itself back to mint condition with a blue glow. Healing magic fixed his cut and cleared his blood, but the anger boiling inside him was prevalent in those striking eyes. Wanting nothing more than a bleeding head between his hands. “I’d like to see you try, you ugly prune.” 

NO, STOP IT!!

This was all too much for a single night. This whole ordeal was far from your expectations. It was already stressful enough thinking about what would happen when the two lords were in this palace together. Now, in your quarters, you’ve never experienced a more life-and-death crisis having your friends — companions you used to laugh and engage with together — wanting to rip each other’s throats, especially for your hand in marriage. And, Tengen forbid, if you were to accept one’s proposal over the other…that would ignite a war above all wars. The bodies that fall on this mainland would all be in your undoing. The thought enough was too much to bear! 

“I accept both!!”

The hostile complexion of the room vanished into the air in the blink of an eye. The sound of burning logs and dancing flames filled the space like before; the crashing ocean waves could be heard from your balcony. Nature was speaking without noises to interrupt it. It was quiet, too quiet. 

You didn’t know what you just said until the last morphemes left your tongue. You silently remove your figure from Sukuna, covering your mouth in disbelief. And without having to see for yourself, you could tell that the two lords were just as flummoxed from your sudden sentence. What…What did I say just now?

“What did you just say?” As if he could read your mind, Sukuna relays your inner turmoil to be addressed. 

Your heart was beating at an unbearable rate, your ears ringing like they’d soon set off and bleed. The trembles get worse with every second, and wiping your face off this Earth at this exact moment is all you wish for. You were so nervous that you were mere seconds away from the brink of tears. Oh, Tengen, why did I say that? What was I thinking?!? What am I to do? What do I—

“…Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance…” 

And then, like a strange flash of an angelic tune, the words of your lady-in-waiting come back to you, instantly calming you down and reminding you who you are. You are the princess of the Western Front, the next heir after your father. This matter was bound to fall onto your lap one way or another — preferably less drastically and excitingly like this.

I am the princess, but their friend above all else…You remove your hands from your face, exhaling a shaky breath before standing tall. “….I accept both marriage proposals of my Lords.”

The men’s bewildered expressions were expected, just like the dismay in their voices. “Both of our—…! Surely you don’t mean that—” Gojo was the first to speak, silver brows screwed with confusion. 

“I do.” A deep breath before you answered him. “I will only accept the proposals of both you and Lord Sukuna.”

The demon took one thunderous step, the vibrations crawling up your bones. “And just why is that?”

You exhale through your nostrils, chewing on your bottom lip. “Understand that I am humbly flattered by your perspectives — it fills me with gladness to know I can be hospitable to my dear friends again…As you both mentioned, I, too, cherish the two of you profoundly, and my trust for you two will never be extinguished. To be asked for my hand by either of you is an honor I’ll forever appreciate….But I cannot choose one over the other.”

“Bullshit,” Sukuna folds his upper arms, the lower resting on his hips. “You can; you just choose not to.”

“No, I care for you both, and choosing one alone would have people hurt. Both between us three and the people of this continent…” You maintain eye contact with both lords while your hands fidget with your nightgown to ease yourself. “A rivalry is happening between the Eastern and Northern fronts; blood’s already been spilled and soaking Tengen’s soil. If I were to choose one proposal, I can’t be guaranteed that this onslaught of violence will cease. Or, would either of you guarantee that you wouldn’t take the life of the other?”

That question had the two royals look at each other briefly, followed by their scowls and groans. Gojo is the next to speak, “What happens between us shouldn’t concern you, my princess.”

“You’re wrong; it concerns me tremendously. It is a concern that’s been eating me alive, watching my allies – my friends – fight each other on the sidelines, refusing to pick a side with my father. Now, you two come here, bend your knees, hold my hands, and ask for my hand, silently requesting my involvement for more bodies to drop like flies under my reign?… No, I would not find rest from this night forward, knowing that more innocent lives plummet from my answer.”

“It wouldn’t be blood on your hands.”

“…But it would be blood that I paint with my very shadow.”

The response sounded foreign to him, yet you stood tall, making sure your heart didn’t falter with your stance. Silence welcomes the three figures again, an old friend that goes well with the tense atmosphere. Two pairs of red observe you, like cerulean orbs that stay on your appearance.

A few seconds go by, and Gojo screws his eyes shut. “So, that’s it, you accept both proposals.”

A curt nod. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Your final decision?”

“Correct.”

The snow-haired man nodded aimlessly, slouched with a large sigh, turned, and headed for your bed to flop face down — like it was his bed. “Haaaaaah, you are your father’s kid, all right,” you could make out his words even with his face in your sheets. “A pacifist heart.”

“Hmph, such a dumbass reason,” Sukuna huffs with absolute annoyance, and you’re amazed he hasn’t already skinned you and Gojo. “You are not a child anymore. You can’t possibly be serious about taking up two husbands for the sake of peace.”

“You’re right: I am no child, for I’ve never been as serious as I am now.” Look at you, sticking up for yourself in the presence of the demon king. Although, you know he can hear the quiver in your voice trying to crawl out. You swallow, “It’s either both of you or nothing at all.”

His left eyes squint as they examine your features, the mouth on his belly gritting its teeth. “Tsk, both or nothing…Meanwhile, you know I can’t be in the same room with him. Not even Tengen could command me to share you with this brat.”

Gojo swifts on the covers to lie on his back. “Finally, something I can agree with the devil himself. He’s right, though; there are many things in my life I would rather not share with anyone — you being the top of my list.”

You take their concerns with patience and a lifted chin. “I understand you both, but if you two can’t let the fog clear and talk with each other, how can I see myself—“

“Let the fog clear?” Sukuna repeats with furrowed eyebrows. “Sorcerers came into my land and ransacked my villages — sorcerers from this bastard’s empire!” 

“An action that validates your anger and course of action,” you remind yourself to take tiny breaths. “…However, Satoru didn’t order the attack himself; they went against procedure and stormed your country with poor judgment.”

The tall demon rolls all of his eyes and clicks his teeth. “Ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ‘ridiculous’ is how you fail to acknowledge why those sorcerers went to your zone.” Gojo’s turn to interpolate. “One of the noble sorcerers and his company died because of your demon folk invading my country without permitted passage. That noble had a family, students that followed his footsteps—“

“Are you saying my people didn’t have kin of their own to return to, Gojo Satoru?”

“Your people sure kill like they don’t—“ Another swipe of Sukuna’s fingers glid the air; this time, Gojo’s Infinity was on guard, ricocheting the cleave to mark a scratch on one of the curtains. “Hah, just like their leader.”

Sukuna flexes his knuckles to crack, black fingernails appearing sharper. “The demons who killed that sorcerer acted on their own accord. Just like the many men of your land who came to mine, whom I corrected for your lack of oversight.”

“Then allow me to fulfill my mistake,” the silver-haired man’s eyes glow. “And let me kill the demons responsible — just like you did to my men, fucking cretin.”

“Over my dead body, human trash.”

“My Lords!” The men concurrently exchange their gazes back to you. “This is why I will not be accepting either proposal solely. You come to my home to ask for my hand because you see me as of value, correct? Well, you both are people I care deeply for, and the thought of walking beside either of you for eternity is something I’d accept unmistakably under different circumstances…But, please acknowledge my position in all of this: I am the princess of an extraordinary continent and heir to the throne after my father, a man who has maintained peace and harmony all these years. Now, that peace is hanging on the brink of death and will soon be a matter I should issue alone, and the men who’ve grown with me and cherish me combating each other until one stands tall….or none stand at all.”

Word spilled after another as if a dam had broken down — fingers jitter even when clasped together. Your throat dries up after every sentence, yet your unwavering resilience pushes you to keep going.

“I’m sorry if what I’m saying or doing is selfish, and…you may be right that I’m going at it with the whims of a child. But, please,” Do not cry, do NOT cry. “Standing idly every passing day watching the men I’ve grown to—“ Love? Isn’t that too intimate of a word to assume? “…treasure kill themselves and others without doing anything wounds me enough. And if you think I can sit here in this palace and watch my intended go far and yonder to kill another person whom I cherish with no guarantee that they will return to me wholly, think twice.”

Your shoulders threaten to tremble; of course, you’re frightened beyond belief by what you’re saying. But you’re sure if she was here, Utahime would pull you in for a hug and acclaim how well you’re following her counsel.

“Please, I just…can’t bear it.”

Uncomfortable muteness gnaws you alive within the muteness of your room. You’re bound to draw blood on your bottom lip with how much you’re chewing it. If only your father were awake in this hour, his guidance at a moment like this would be beneficial, or merely observing from afar how you’re managing would give you some hope. Alas, you know he’s in deep sleep halls away. It’s just the three of you in this space — or just you versus the huge opposing auras thick enough to be slit by Sukuna’s cleaves. 

Speaking of whom, the demon king watches you the entire speech. Same with Gojo, whose blue eyes dwindle back to their typical hue. The two men don’t dare break the silence as you stand before them, mentally swimming in thoughts alone to yourself….Well, at least the northern prince wouldn’t dare to do so first because Sukuna initially ripped the stillness to shreds. He says, “And how would your father respond to this feckless plan of accepting two marriage proposals?”

A worthy question to ponder. “…I’m sure he’d come to an understanding once I explain my reasoning,” the belly of the eastern king grumbles. “I’m sure he’d be contended at the fact that his two trusted allies would want to join houses.”

Gojo sits up straight atop your bed. “Well, that sounds all nice and dandy on that front. But, the problem still lies in us acting like…a ‘real couple.’ Face it, princess; you may seem okay with being with us both, but that doesn’t mean we’d be on the same page.”

Sukuna nods curtly. “I’d rather eat every human alive than entertain the thought of someone other than me touching you.” 

The other shrugs. “Even if the world’s fate depends on it.”

The men’s grievances are valid arguments for why your plan can backfire, particularly when suggesting a relationship where two people can’t stand each other. What you’re posing is an action that has been practiced before yet isn’t entirely favored in the public eye. Nevertheless, your stance doesn’t change; you refuse to go back on your word, believing that it’s a better alternative to condone than the others. The only tricky part is convincing your childhood friends…

…Which is why what you’re about to do is indubitably unlike you. 

“…What are you doing?"

But despite that, it’s a course of action that highlights your determination.

“—Woah!! Princess?! Why are you undressing??!”

Even if it’ll go down as the most downright humiliating thing you’ve done to yourself.

Your nightgown meets the ground of your feet, the cool air wrapping your nude frame with the heat of the fireplace hovering on one side. Arms free of sleeves, nipples easily spotted now with the dismissal of clothing, the region between your lower thighs bare, and delicate skin exposed for only the men in the room to see. And even then, your face doesn’t decline the miserable hotness. Embarrassed? No doubt about it.

“My Lords,” you croak, balled fists muster to contain whatever left of dignity you can. “This form…isn’t meant for any regular eyes to see — an offering only a slim few I’d trust to witness. Tonight, I want you two to see me like this.” You slowly step forward, gradually getting closer to Sukuna’s giant size. “As your princess, I offer my whole to you both, as you are mine…and I am yours.”

Sukuna blinks at your small figure close to his; the intensity of his stare is enough to have your heart sink into a pool of regret. Until he bends to scoop you with his lower arms, you yelp at the sudden action with hands finding his sturdy shoulders to grab. Now, he is way closer than you anticipated, his very chin inches away from brushing your naked chest. Holy shit.

“You are mine, and I am yours?” he lifts his eyebrow. “Was that not true already?” You gulp thickly before answering, daring to cup his cheek with a hesitant hand. Again, you’re surprised to see it still attached, let alone see him lean to your palm. 

“You’d have to prove it true — here and now, make this ceaseless battle end by claiming me as yours…You too, Gojo.” You and the demon holding you turn to the man sitting on your bed. The pale skin of his face now harbors shades of pink that cascade across his cheeks and the dip of his ears, expression dumbfounded to what he witnessed. “Demonstrate how serious you are for my hand, or you and Sukuna can leave my room.”

Sky-blue eyes blink absentmindedly, words hard to pick and choose for the human prince in this bizarre minute. Sukuna then speaks with a huff.

“Well, are you going to start moving or what? Because whether you stay or not, your princess will become mine tonight.” He grins before leaning in to lick your skin, and you hold a whine when the mouth of his navel lightly chews on your tummy. “And on the many nights coming after.”

The beast’s words flip a switch, causing Gojo to chuckle and shake his head while unbuttoning his shirt. “Not if I have something to do about it, four-eyes…”

You drew in breath while watching Gojo undress, more of his milky skin stripped out of his clothing, revealing parts of the prince that you could only imagine in your fantasies. Heat flourishes to your ears, and another gasp is pulled out when Sukuna sneaks his free lower hand to cusp your buttcheek. He then brings an upper hand to your chin to face him and his sneer. 

“You’ve made this night a whole lot more interesting.”

And that was the last time the sound of the fire cracking caught your attention.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Mmmm…Ahh—Ahhh!!”

“Keh, sure are tight as hell; definitely a virgin.”

“Fuck, I can hear the sounds from here…Oh, fuuck…!”

The sea breeze climbs up to your terrace, crawling into your room to swing the curtains of your canopy. The candles around your room continue to flame and provide light for the room to glow. The scent of lavender and rose from your bath and lotion an hour earlier remains in the air and sticks to your skin. The midnight hour isn’t yet, but the sky is dark enough past the twilight hues. 

Expected as the former home of the Great Saint Tengen, the palace is as enormous. Harboring many rooms, halls, and floors for the company of the royal family and their subjects, the castle is unchallenging for a newcomer to get lost inside without a proper guide. Every room is catered to a specific event, person, meeting, or occasion in this place. On top of that, multiple guest chambers are meant for the guests invited under the King’s audience to rest.

…But it seems that Gojo and Sukuna are not retiring for the night anytime soon.

How could they sleep when you’re being a courteous host, letting your childhood friends spend the late hours in your room? Just like when you were young and playmates or learning to master a weapon. The only thing is that these two aren’t the same as two decades ago; they are men, branded with titles and responsibilities, blood already stained their knuckles, and duties hold them to a high expectation that you know all too well. 

And, like all men, they have a salacious curiosity only appropriate for the bedroom. An interest you knew would one day be prevalent in your life if you agreed to take either as a husband…Yet, you’re not as prepared on the chance you’d face both realities simultaneously. 

All three of you are stationed in your bed, clothes decorating your floor to leave you all bare for each other to see and marvel at — more so on your part. You lie on your back to a giant broad chest and stomach, Sukuna right behind you with his lower arms holding your feet by the back of your knees. Knees spread apart, your naked lower half is out, free for the monster to insert a single thick digit of his left upper hand into your wet chasm while the right fondles your left tit.

Never in your life did you think you were capable of producing such indecent noises. Low whimpers are embarrassing to recollect as the demon king plays with your most tender parts. His big fingers tweak your nipple, and the digit – way thicker than yours – inside your cunt is enough to stretch your opening, wiggling and scratching the inside. Fingering yourself never felt like this, your body experiencing a refreshing sensation you hadn’t known of. And to have the eastern king of all people to bestow this feeling on you brings just as much awe as humiliation.

Nonetheless, that indignity doesn’t cease. Gojo stands on his knees before you, propped between your sunder legs, while his hand strokes an erect limb. Yes, as a virgin maiden, tonight would be the very first time you ever see a living, breathing member, and the northern lord takes that honor with a lustful smile. His solid cock gets stiffer with every jerk, a left curve protruding the more your appearance excites him. To be observed and used as material as your slit is fingered? How lewd!

“Nnnn, ahaahn…” Sukuna’s finger rubs on your velvety surface, your legs wanting to squirm despite the monster’s hold. “Oh Gods…Ohhh!!”

“Damn, you look so good,” Gojo mutters under his breath, precum drizzling his fingertips. “Looks like it feels good, huh, princess?”

“Sure feels like it,” every word that Sukuna utters causes tremors to pass down his abdomen to your back, the very vibrations crawling on your skin like the tongue that licks your back to make you arch. “Hm? Tell us how you really feel, little one.”

The usage of that name causes your vaginal walls to twitch; he has never called you as such, and picking such an intimate time to do so makes your frame feel awkward and warm. “…I-I—fffmm!—don’t know…”

“Hmph, you dare lie to me,” he bends to your ear, and his deep chuckle ignites your stomach to knot itself. “Like your body doesn’t speak for itself, clenching on my finger like you want to snap it off.”

“Th-that’s not—“The graze of your upper wall cuts you off, and your hands struggle to find places to grab, gripping the skin of Sukuna’s thigh and grabbing tuffs of his apricot hair. 

The demon king snickers more when his middle finger teases your taint, pressing a kiss on your cheek before a quick bite. “Only one finger in, and you’re already wailing like a common whore; be lucky that I haven’t added another, then you’d really be prepared for me…” You feel something brush up against your back, the tips of Sukuna’s cocks reminding you of his eventual promise.

“Wooow, calling the future heir a whore; must’ve forgotten whose room we’re in.” The white-headed man had something to say about that, satisfyingly ruining the mood for the demonic being. 

“They don’t seem to mind, at least their cunt doesn’t,” uncouth cords that speak truth, your vulva squeezing his finger constantly. “Who would’ve thought the beautiful, refined, and compassionate princess,” each enunciated word has consequences that are a lick and bite to your helix. “Was, in fact, a dirty, nasty girl?”

“Holy shit,” Gojo’s hand goes faster, his dick ready with stiffness. The image of you melting under the Fallen Star’s hold is too hot for the young man to witness. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad, baby…”

Sukuna clicks his teeth. “Well, hurry the hell up and do it before I change my mind and fuck them myself.”

“And have them bleeding to death because of your giant dicks on their first time? Fuck that,” He ignores the four rolled eyes as he maneuvers closer to you, Sukuna pulling his finger out of your wet slit and slithering further down to your anus. He coaxes you to relax your tense muscles, pushing his digit into your puckered hole second by second. The gasp you release once it’s added sends shivers up Gojo’s shoulders. “A princess should be treated like a pearl – tended to with the utmost care.”

“Go–jooo…” You whine as the human heir cups your cheeks to squeeze.

“What did I say about using my family name?” He scolds with a cheeky tune, gauging your reaction as he disposes his cockhead to the folds of your vagina. 

“…S-Sa—Mmmph!” The push of his pink tip is a new sensation.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Relax, just focus on me.” Your eyes lock with his, distracted by the twinkle and swirl of his azure irises, like a whirlpool sinking into the darkness of his dilated pupil. “What’s my name, cutie?”

“Saaa…Sato—Ohhh!!” And just like that, the tip of his limb enters inside, bypassing your knowledge until the wince of pain snaps you out of your distraction. “…to’ruu…”

His teeth glisten under her grin. “That’s my good girl.”

Gojo keeps propelling himself inside you, gradually shoving every inch of his lengthy girth. You bite your quivering lip at the stretch of your opening, accommodating the foreign body part burrowing inside your inner channel. The left curve of his has his penis rubbing on parts of yourself you hadn’t thought possible; a graze of your G-spot causes your legs to quirk and toes to curl. 

But then, once his silverish pubes meet your outer labia, he reaches the depth of your cervix and gives it a chaste kiss. And your frame suddenly shuts down briefly, your senses running cold before you cry aloud without knowing. Your hands rush to cover your mouth, but the damage is too late.

Sukuna raises a brow. “What a shout.” He then uses your reaction to add another digit into your ass.

“Ahhhh, there it is,” Gojo swallows thickly, hips speaking for themselves as they sway. “That was cute as hell–the way you twitch feels so good…” Another poke to your cervix, and your legs can’t help but wrap around Gojo’s waist.

“Satoru, please…!” You plead with knitted eyebrows. “Pleasee, be gentle with me…”

Blue eyes narrow. “God, who told you to be so adorable?” Gojo angles down to your face, his nose mere centimeters to yours. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll treat you right tonight…Hmmm.”

The man leans in to place his lips on your forehead before his own, and the pace of his thrusts quickens to mediocrity. The rubs on your silky texture become frequent, lightly pounding his shaft into your to till his testes knock your chasm, the whimpers you try to repress boost to a louder volume. His left curve spikes up your nerves with every push and pull, easing the itching heat that permeates around your lower half. 

Hands writhe around to calm around Gojo’s cold back; you say his name in prayers. You can feel something coming, and if he keeps rutting to you like this, it’s bound to come earlier than expected. “—Nnaaa, Sat’ruuu, w-wait!! I can’t—Ahaann!!”

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…” He doesn’t listen, too lost in your warmth and wetness that he can’t stop. The flex of his abs increases, plunging into your pussylips desperately as if he can sense the eventual you fear. 

“T-Toruu, wait, go slooww!!” Words mean nothing, hips not declining in their needing cadence. Oh Gods, I can feel it; it’s coming! Nerves climb to a peak way too fast for your comprehension, nails digging into Gojo’s skin before your orgasm hits you, choked squeaks leaving puffy lips as your cunt contracts around the prince’s girth and your asshole clamping around Sukuna’s fingers.

And Gojo is right there experiencing your climax with you, moaning under his breath and pressing his forehead to yours before he completely melts under the fluttering motions of your genitalia. “—Mmfff, ffffshit, so tight…!” He can’t stop thrusting into you, moving his pelvis slowly to draw out the sensation before he sinks into a crescendo of his own. “Fuuck! Yeah, cutie, that’s right; ride it out,” he snaps an abrupt drill to your aching entrance. “Ride it out…”

Sukuna scoffs lightly before whispering in your ear. “Done already, human?” Patronizing attitude to make you fidget. “Better be ready for me still.”

“Ehhh, but I’m not done here.” The snow-haired man retorts, massaging your waist out of the quakes. 

A thread snaps in the wake of the other’s words, and Sukuna’s lack of patience drives him to push you and Gojo off of him. The two of you roughly position to where you are essentially straddling Gojo, his erection still inside your slick-coated cavern. The devilish man swiftly ends up on his knees before contorting his massive figure to dwarf both humans beneath him.

“Gahhh!! Sukuna, what the fuck w—Mmmph?!?” With the spawn of a mouth, the eastern king shuts the northern man up by slamming his upper left hand onto his mouth for an unexpected kiss. Gojo muffles under the other’s palm, the tongue shoving itself inside.

“Shut up,” Sukuna orders with annoyance. “So damn chatty…And you,” he uses his lower hands to steady your ass, and you stifle a yelp at the contact of something pressing up against the opening of your butt. “Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad.”

His warning is enough to keep you immobile, following his instructions and stationing your breathing to a steady rhythm. Your hands-on Gojo’s chest ball to fists once Sukuna pushes his tip to your asshole, your mouth forming a permanent ‘o’ shape once he eventually gets the cockhead inside. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more extreme, you had forgotten about the taller individual’s well-endowed self: two hefty, girthy limbs that you NEVER, in your wildest dreams, imagine would put inside your body — not even one!

However, tonight was the night that would be put to the test, and at the very least, Sukuna compromised, using one of his members to ravage your interior while the other skims the crevice of your asscheecks. He goes excruciatingly slow; rather than just ramming the entire thing in one go, it’s better. Gods, no, you’d be shedding more tears than you already are. Every inch that’s plunged inside you pushes out shaky breaths, sobbing from the intrusion and bits of drool slowly escaping you.

“Daahhnn, ohmyG—Nnnm!!” It’s finally all in, all swallowed up by the ridge of your bottom. You call to him, “S-Sukunaa…fuull, so fuulll…”

“I bet you are.” He adds more weight, scrunching down, making it worse by caging you under his bow. Sukuna grinds his hips, which evoke sharp cries, “Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

The salmon-haired behemoth rocks his enormous hips, the propulsion strong enough to rock you and Gojo concurrently. This time, unlike the northern man under you, Sukuna’s movements exude dominance; from his firm grip on your waist to the confident pull of his hips, everything he does is marked with a purpose. You can tell by how his big, weighty balls smack on your sexed union with Gojo.

Speaking of whom, the polar royal subsists in the kiss with Sukuna’s hand. Yet as the seconds turn to a minute, his expression morphs into a less perturbed display. Instead of fighting it, he kisses back with the palm and bucks his hips into you. The action of his cock rubbing on the sweet spots of your vagina while the one carves and churns your butthole and the other glides on your crack grinds your brain to turn into mush. Your nerves have yet to calm down from the prior orgasm, senses overloaded with constant commotion going on in your private parts.

Sukuna’s pushes become quicker and mightier, and the more he ruts, the more your clit grinds onto Gojo’s pelvis, sending shocks straight to your head. There’s no room for rest…! “—Ohhh, hooooh’Kunaaa, Kunaa, pleaseee…!”

“‘Please, please,’ please what?” He mocks you, knowing you’re powerless to reprimand him in this predicament. “Just whining and whining like a bitch in heat; have you no shame, princess?”

“Ohhh, I’m gonna—shtoooop!!” He licks your ear as you moan aloud, steamy tears striking down your hot cheeks. The pace increases, and so does the swipe of your clit and the bump of your womb. “Ohhhfuck, fuck, fuckfuuuuck…!!”

“Kehaha, look at you; the poor princess finally breaks their poised picture,” dark, pleased chuckles seep out of the demon king’s lips, biting onto your shoulder harshly to make you scream. And judging by him licking your added wound, you’re sure he drew blood. 

“Ahhsshh—ohmyGod, ohmyGod!! S’kuna, don’t!!” Desperate pleads slur out. “I’m gonna break; y’re gonna break meee…!!!”

“Good, I want you to be broken,” he sneers as his upper right arm pushes you to face him. “Break for me; think of nothing else other than being mine. Right now, your mind, body, and soul are mine to torment and tear apart. You are my little dove, small and easy to break from now till your dying breath. Am I clear, pet?”

Scared? Of course. The way his scarlet orbs bore holes into your very being had you petrified; he doesn’t need his hellish aura and brawny hands that can snap a tree in half to assimilate fear into your heart. Witnessing the true power of the King of Demons with just his stare, nothing scarier than that…And yet, your anus and chasm can’t stop squeezing like crazy.

“…Yess, my Lord,” you croak, his finger wiping the saliva on his fingertip. “I am your pet from this—nnmm!!—this moment until the…very last.”

Anxiety doesn’t diminish when he broadens a devilish smile, but it transforms into perplexity once he slams his lips onto yours—your first kiss, taken by the eastern King, along with the chastity of your rear hole. And there’s Gojo, who is the very man who has taken claim of your virginity. Two men, your childhood companions, taking your firsts! Tonight, indeed, is marked down as an eventful occasion for you. 

You sink into the passionate kiss, your tiny tongue swirling around with Sukuna’s, his fangs grazing the muscle teasingly before he nibbles on it to hear you shrill for him. All the while, his hips go erratic, motivating Gojo to increase his tempo. The feverish rhythm leaves you breathless, crying in the company of lust and rapture to the point that you’ve become numb. Your vision becomes blurry, your head foggy, and the air between you three misty. Noises of skin smacking onto each is all you hear, drowning you further into another spazz you couldn’t adequately foretell.

Gojo and Sukuna chase their climaxes together after your walls quirk and spasm uncontrollably, letting their fluids burst inside to fill your holes to the very brim. You howl in Sukuna’s mouth, who chews on your bottom lip roughly, same with Gojo’s with the palm before snatching his hand away. The snowy-headed man huffs and pants, nearly choking on spit as his midsection flexes with every jerk of his ejaculation. And the giant above you groans while rutting into your ass, not stopping until his high passes through, the free girth ejecting semen to paint across your sweaty back.

For a few seconds, it’s utterly hot and cold at the same time, your figure trembling with the acute shocks coursing through your bones. Eyes roll to the roof of your canopy, and limbs wobble and give way for you to slump after Sukuna releases you from his breathtaking kiss. Luckily, Gojo is there to catch you, the comely noble attending to you with kisses to your temple.

“Look what you did,” he spits to his left, wanting to rid his mouth of whatever remnants Sukuna left with that disgusting kiss. “You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you wanted to break them.”

“Hmph, don’t ever take me for a liar,” the demonic man stretches after withdrawing his length out of your butt, chortling at the sight of his essence sticking to you. “Oi, dove, you hear me?”

“Princess, you all right…?”

Whatever words the two were saying to you had begun to fade away despite their proximity. Your eyelids refuse to fight the urge to close, and your skin allows the cold breeze to blanket you. Everything goes black, your breathing returns to balance, and the sound of the fire cracking comes back to sing you to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“My Lady, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Huh?” You snap out of being zoned out for the sixth time today. Your vision is now present with the gazebo view, the ocean glistening from the morning sun in the distance, contrasting with the beautiful greenery of your garden. Many flowers of different shapes and sizes, various colors painted on top of the veins and roots separated from the yellow brick road coursing around it.  

You sit at the gazebo for your morning tea; it’s part of your morning routine after a nice bath and Utahime helping you pick what to wear for the day. Usually, when you sit here, you admire the tranquil sounds of the outside space and the sweet taste of your hot beverage.

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…”

“Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad…Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

Memories from last night flash one after the other, ringing your ears with nothing but the erotic noises and voices from the night before. Your cheeks dial in warmth, recollecting the senses of having both men — your childhood friends — so intimately close to you. The hotness of their breath touching your skin, the wet, teasing licks of the tongue from Sukuna’s stomach, Gojo’s slender fingers swiping and pinching your clitoris as he sucks on your nipple, and Sukuna using one of his arms to restrain your hands behind your back as he uses two others to keep your hips still to hammer your holes with his girth. 

“Princess…” the way Gojo says your name, your stomach flips to the smooth tone of his voice. His striking blue eyes survey your expression like you’re his lost treasure. His hard body meshing together with your sweaty, soft figure is a sensation you’ll probably never forget…

“Princess…” Sukuna, with his red eyes and demonic face structure, put you in a paralysis spell, and his intimidating aura suffocates you to submit to his gaze and hold. Under his bow, you felt as though you were nothing but his and his alone. And you can’t tell if that is scary or intriguing…

“…—dy Lady….MY LADY!!”

“Y–Yes!?” Your attention swerves to reality, Utahime’s face mere inches from yours. Her brown eyes filled with worrisome confusion, scanning your expression. 

“What on Tengen’s Earth is going on with you?” She says with a sigh, “Are you sick? Did you not get enough rest last night? Tsk, it must’ve been Lord Sukuna and that blue-eyed jerk. My apologies, my Lady. I hope their intrusion didn’t keep you awake for too long.” 

You shake your head to your best friend. “No need to apologize, Utahime. And it’s all right; the Lords didn’t give me too much trouble.”

She gives a nod to your response, observing you picking up your teacup and taking a sip before setting it back down gently. “Still, I find it odd that both lords wished to see you so late at night. At the same time, too…If you don’t mind me asking, my Lady, what did they wish to speak with you?”

Again, she is your best friend, so you can trust her with the information you’re about to give. “…Apparently, both Lord Sukuna and Lord Gojo wish to have my hand in marriage—“

“MARRIAGE!!??”

“Shhhh!!” With haste, you stand from the table to cover your lady-in-waiting’s mouth from uttering another word. You swiftly survey the entire garden to see if anyone from the castle heard the shout. Luckily, it was just the two of you. “Please, Utahime, not so loud.”

The woman with her mouth covered blinks once, twice, before giving an assured mod for you to release her lips. She now speaks in whispers with you, “My apologies. But…marriage??”

“I know, it surprised me, too. It seems my father gave them his blessings to ask for my hand. It could be for the sake of our families and  relations or to strengthen the bond of our empires to maintain the powerhouse that is our continent.” 

“Mmm, those are valid reasons to consider, especially after the Great War, and that the bond of the three empires would give a good message…Or perhaps, did the Lords wish to wed you for more personal reasons?”

They did. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead, all you could do was think about their proposals from last night. The way they both stood on one knee and took two hands. Gojo’s eyes never looked so sincere and soft when looking at you, placing his soft lips on your left ring finger to gently kiss it. He looked like his princely self. But that night, he showed the caring and soothing cadence you had fallen in love with all these years. And Sukuna, oh Lord. Never did you think you’d live to witness the day this giant being before you took a knee for anyone – especially for you. Your right hand easily dwarfed in his grasp, brought to his lips that you’d only ever dream to have touch you. And those piercing eyes of his, red like blood, examining every single feature of yours as if you were the thing that made him strong yet weak. It was subtle, something only meant for your eyes to see. But most of all, it was genuine. 

“…That might be it, as well.” You mutter under your breath, your cheeks becoming warm while reminiscing the scenes to yourself. 

However, your chambermaiden was no fool at all. She could tell from your wandering gaze that something, in fact, did happen between the three royals that night. She lifted a brow at your response, “I think that is the case, seeing as though you’re trying to hide the smile from me.”

You squeak, immediately facing in her direction, seeing the foxy grin on her beautiful, scarred face. “I’m smiling?”

“Aha!” Oh no, I fell for it. “Gotcha! Oh my, it seems my Lady is having troubles with the heart. Could it be you are considering the marriage proposals?”

“W–Well…I don’t know myself,” it was an honest answer; you didn’t know the answer yourself. “The matter caught me off guard; I wasn’t expecting either of them to come to my quarters, let alone propose to me on the night of their arrival—“

“That’s not my question, my princess.” You gulp when she cuts you off, Utahime narrowing her feline eyes as she speaks. “It made you incredibly nervous that the three of you would be here at the same place, thinking those two would go at each other’s throats. Now, two Lords still stand, asking for you to be by their side, and you can barely keep a straight face. If you ask for my piece, I’m relieved they came here with the thoughts of marriage rather than spark up talk of another war in this continent.” 

You hum along to your maiden's words, taking in her reasoning. Yet she continues, “And judging by how fidgety you appear to be on this fine morning, something tells me you’re on the fence of accepting. Who will take my Lady’s hand? Lord Ryomen? Gojo? Ugh. If it’s the latter, I’ll only deal with him for your happiness. And Lord Ryomen, oh my. Being the spouse to the most powerful beast of Holy Tengen's continent , it’s something out of a fairy—“

“Utahime, calm down!” You stop the lady from her excitement bubbling into something substantial. You can tell she’s itching to plan your wedding – whenever that be – once your tea time is finished. “I…I didn’t accept their proposals, not yet.”

The dark-haired woman drops her jaw; how unfortunate it is for you to lie to your best friend. “What do you mean!? You didn’t? Then how come you three were discussing for such a long time? I saw Lord Gojo return to his quarters in the middle of the night, and I figured it was because you all had an in-depth discussion.” You open your mouth, but your words are caught on the back of your tongue. You couldn’t formulate a proper excuse or lie in time. Because of that hesitation, Utahime’s brows draw upward with wide eyes, her mouth changing into a small “o” shape. It was at that moment that you realized you dug yourself a grave.

“Princess,” her voice was still hushed, speaking slowly as if not to jump so hard to her assumptions. “…What exactly were you doing with Lord Satoru and Ryomen?”

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS!!”

Saved by another voice entering the fray, you and your lady-in-waiting turn around to see another person coming to the garden, running down the brick road to your destination. As they came closer, you could tell from the bright blue hair and uneven bangs that it was Utahime’s apprentice, the lower-status handmaiden Kasumi Miwa. Your lady-in-waiting was the first to correct her before getting closer, “Maiden Miwa! I’ve told you about running so freely around the castle. What if you were to bump into someone?” When Miwa is in the presence of the two of you, she’s huffing and puffing. “And stand up straight!”

“Eek! Sorry, Lady Iori, but I come bearing news for the princess!” Miwa fixes her posture and messy blue hair while trying to situate her breaths steadily. “Princess, I’m here to tell you that Lords Sukuna Ryomen and Satoru Gojo wish to speak with you!”

Huh??!! “Pardon??”

“Yes, they wish to discuss their proposals with you from last night. At least, that’s what they told me…Oh, there they are!” 

“Miwa, shhhh, don’t point!” 

You pay no mind to your chambermaid lecturing her young student because your eyes follow the brick pathway up to the castle steps where two figures stand. Sukuna and Gojo stand at the entranceway to the garden, both wearing their respective clothing. Not that it matters, though, because the memories from last night with your nude bodies being connected still haunt your senses. And now they’re here, big grins on their faces that share the same reason. They know, and they know that you know. Who knew that such a night full of unexpected passion and heat would happen to you and with your closest friends since your little years, who have grown to become such strong, handsome, and powerful men. 

Perhaps this was the union you’ve wished for — the union that could finally bring you three back together…Perhaps.

“…Tell them that I’m available to speak.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by @cafekitsune.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats Pt. 2

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI

Part 1

“Princess Y/N of house Velaryon.” The guard announces.

Rhaenyra’s heart skips a beat, surely he is mistaken.

“Mother,” Y/N says, racing toward her. “Your grace,” she corrects herself.

Rhaenyra wraps her eldest child in her arms. “Mother will do just fine.”

Y/N buries her face in Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

“How did you get here?” Aegon would never let her go of his own free will.

“Daemon,” Y/N breathes. Knowing that her stepfather will owe her for the half truth.

“Where are the children?”

“In King’s Landing.” Y/N tells her, “to keep Aegon’s wits about him in my absence. He wants to come to an agreement, he’s more than willing to bend the knee. I only ask that he and Helaena be spared…as for Aemond Targaryen, he is a murderer.” Y/N’s voice breaks, “we will avenge the murder of my brother.”

Rhaenyra’s strokes a hand over her hair, feeling the dark waves that remind her of Lucerys. “Aegon and Helaena will receive full pardons based on your testimony. Rest assured I appreciate what you have done on my behalf.”

“Thank you.” Y/N pulls back marginally, realizing her mother’s pregnant belly should be between them. “Where is the babe?”

Rhaenyra shakes her head.

Y/N covers her mouth with her hand, “I am terribly sorry.”

“It is no fault of yours, darling girl.”

“I should have been here with you.”

“When I offered your hand in marriage, I had no idea Aegon was capable of love. It has complicated all of this.”

Y/N nods, “speaking of my husband. I should send word that I am well, lest he take out his frustration on Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra taps her chin, affectionately. “I will fetch a scroll.”

————————————————————————-

Aegon’s youngest son is the only one of his children to share Y/N’s dark locks. His wife insisted they name him Aegon. After my dearest love. She said.

Aegon agreed of course as he can deny her nothing. The child wails nonstop, in the absence of his mother. At all of four months old, Aegon is the only one who can quiet him besides Y/N. As such, the King is now attending the small council meeting with a babe in his arms.

Their daughter, Dahlia, the eldest of the twins will sit the iron throne one day, through his line of succession and Rhaenyra’s. At all of six, she is sitting at the table. His other children Visera and Laenor have not been properly protected under the guard, they too must stay in his sightline.

“Gods be good.” Alicent frowns at her son.

“What is it?” Aegon huffs, arching a brow at her.

“The small council is no place for children, your grace.” Alicent explains. “They would be better tended by their maids.”

Aegon nods, “right. As you all know, two nights ago, the Princess Helaena was attacked in the children’s chambers. Our heirs were threatened and Queen Y/N was taken from us. During which time, not a single guard could be found on the entirety of the royal floor! Because you were-”

Aegon looks to his children in turn, “cover your ears my darlings.” He smiles, waiting until they have done as they’re told, holding his own hand over his infant’s ear. “Where were we, mother? Oh, that’s right, no one was guarding my children because you were fucking the royal guard.”

The council members lower their heads in acknowledgement.

“The men who carried out this attack, entered under the guise of rat catching. I want them found and swiftly executed.” Aegon demands, patting his sleeping son’s leg.

“We have been interrogating rat catchers for days, thus far we have no leads.” Otto explains.

A slow smile spreads over the King’s face. “Then hang them all.”

Alicent blanches.

“Anything else?” Aegon asks, watching Visera begin toying with Otto’s chair.

“A letter arrived from Dragonstone, your grace.” Lord Tyland informs him.

“Oh?” Aegon says, “from Rhaenyra?”

“From Queen Y/N.”

Aegon swallows, “did you read it?”

“No, my King.”

“Good,” Aegon reaches for the rolled parchment.

‘My dearest Aegon,

Please know that I am well. We would like to begin negotiations to end the blockade and create a peaceful transfer of power. This will require your cooperation, I hope you will meet me at Dragonstone to discuss this matter farther.

Forever yours,

Y/N’

Aegon exhales, sharply.

“What is it, your grace?”

“The children and I are off to Dragonstone.”

“Whatever for?”

“To negotiate the terms of Y/N’s return.”

“My King…”

“And if you cannot agree on said terms?” Alicent asks.

Aegon frowns, lifting a shoulder. “To war then.”

“He is unhinged,” Otto whispers to his daughter.

“As I warned he would be.” Alicent rises from her seat. “He is quite…devoted to her.”

————————————————————————

“It has been three days since you sent word to King’s Landing. We must assume Aegon’s silence is his response.” Daemon seethes, around the drawing table.

“Give it time.” Y/N insists, “you owe me that.”

Daemon smirks, “I owe you nothing, spoiled thing.”

“Mmm,” Y/N hums. “My mother does not yet know how I came to be here.”

“And you are not going to tell her. Otherwise, my distaste for your usurping cunt of a husband will be demonstrated at length.”

Sunfyre roars, calling their attention to the nearest window.

Daemon huffs, “I’ll be damned.”

“And he’s brought the children.” Y/N rejoices, running out to join her family.

Jacaerys is already helping to unload her children from the makeshift carriage on the dragon’s saddle.

“Mother!” Dahlia and Visera charge Y/N nearly knocking her backwards.

Laenor runs after them with his little legs as Aegon the fourth, stares at her, babbling in his father’s arms.

Y/N is moved to tears, “you came.”

“You didn’t think I would?” Aegon cocked his head to the side.

“It’s a rather large ask,” Y/N explains.

“For you, the world.” He replies, with a kiss to her temple. “Now, where is Rhaenyra? We have much to discuss.”

“Her grace will join us soon.”

Aegon nods, “I request a small audience, before the council.”

“That can be arranged.”

“After which your brother might tend the children whilst you show me your quarters.” Aegon whispers.

Y/N smirks, “of course.”

Part 3

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight

[pucksandpower]

To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

[augustinewrites]

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

[shoyudon]

𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 .ᐟ

them forgetting a date night.

starring. gojo, sukuna, toji x fem! reader

heads up. cursing, no fluff, sukuna can use a phone (bcs u taught him lol /j), sukuna calling u "woman"

note. haiii, how are you guys doing? make sure to take care of yourself!! i'm feeling a bit angsty today, so i'm gonna write a bit of angst. i miss gojo, like so much u guys :( i might make a part two for this btw hehe

──────〃★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

the one thing you hated more than people being late was people who don't keep their promises — your boyfriend wasn't an exception to it. gojo's a busy man, you get it. for months you haven't been able to see him because he was so caught up in the jujutsu world; he saves people dan and night from lingering curses that it broke you a bit.

the jujutsu world treats him like a weapon; and you never liked it. despite your constant battering on him, trying to get him to quit and just settled in for a quiet life, he tells you that he can't. that people needed him, and you felt selfish.

but isn't it fine to be selfish sometimes?

clutching onto your phone, you'd tried dialing gojo's number at least six times before he answers. his voice groggy and slow, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, "huh . . . hello?"

you wanted to yell at him, especially because he was the one who has been reminding you about this particular date night — and he was the one to forget about it, "good sleep?" you ended up asking him, voice hard.

"y/n . . . why did you—"

"why did i call? oh, i don't know. maybe because my boyfriend stood me up for an hour and a half. i look like an idiot sitting here, satoru," you mutter out in embarrassment, avoiding the lingering gazes from both waiters and waitresses around you.

for the past hour, you've lost count of how many times you'd ask them to refill your glass of tea — embarrassing. then telling them you were waiting for someone when they tried to ask you if you were going to order anything since there were people waiting for a table, just for the said person not showing up.

"what time is— oh, fuck. baby, i'm so sorry, i fell asleep when i was work—"

before he could finish his words, you finished it for him, "working. i get it, you're always working. clearly, you don't have time for anything else, right?" you ask him, signaling the waiter nearby for the bill.

"baby, i know. i'm so sorry, i'm on my way, okay? please," he whispers. you could hear a few shuffling on the background; along with a few curses he muttered under his breath as he stumble over his feet, mind hazy from all the sudden movements he was doing despite just waking up.

"no need. i'm leaving the place," you mutter, walking out of the restaurant — heels clacking on the pavement, "and 'm leaving you, because clearly you're not ready for a relationship, so bye."

gojo yells out, "what? no, baby. i swear — i'll make it up to you, please. don't leave me . . ." he rambled on the same words over and over again, "where are you? i'm picking you up. please, can we talk about this? i'm sorry, i know i should've—"

"bye, satoru," and with that you ended the call.

──────〃★ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

you fiddled the hem of your dress as you sat inside the almost closed restaurant, the last speck of hope you had on your boyfriend —sukuna— dissipating into hopelessness. standing up you walked over to the cashier, taking out your card to pay for the one glass of shrimp cocktail and one glass of white wine.

the cashier shot you a sympathetic look, and you didn't dare to look her into her eyes. face hard from embarrassment and shame, "thank you for coming, come again next time, ma'am . . ." she bids you goodbye as she returns your card.

walking out of the restaurant that now had the 'closed' sign flipped made your stomach churn in mixed feelings: anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness, everything all at once.

sinking your nails onto the palm of your hand, you muttered out strings of curses. you knew being in a relationship with someone who had no understanding to the concept of love was a hard thing — but honestly, you thought you got a hang of it. all this time you had been nothing but patient with sukuna, but maybe even that wasn't enough for him.

three hours. you sat alone inside the restaurant you booked for the both of you for three hours — each hour depleting your hope even more. and sukuna just managed to fuck it up even after he said he'd try. well, you should've underlined the keyword there: he said he'd try not that he'd come.

maybe you saw it coming yet it still disappointed you anyways.

your phone rang. even before you see who it was — you knew it's none other than sukuna. your heart screamed at you to answer his phone call, but your mind told you to leave it ringing because you were in no mood to talk to him. yet, at the end — you still pressed the answer button.

"what?"

"where are you?" his rough voice echoed through the line as you walked down the nearly empty street, holding onto your purse, "place's closed."

scoffing, you answered, "'f course it's closed, it's almost ten. i've been waiting for three hours, ryo. three hours."

you could hear him inhale sharply, "i was caught up with something, woman. where are you now?" he questioned. hearing a few car honking behind on the background, "where are you? answer me."

"doesn't matter, i left. and i'm leaving you, i was wrong thinking maybe i could've changed you — turns out, i couldn't. good luck to you," you mutter out sternly.

sukuna raised a brow, "y're kidding."

you weren't, and all he could hear next was the loud dial tune of the other line hanging up — now did he realize that this was all serious and you were actually leaving him for good.

──────〃★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you sighed, dialing toji for the first time of the night when he said that he was going to pick you up for a date, the phone rung for a while before going into voicemail. grumbling under your breath, you tried dialing him again for the second time, which ended up the same way.

all these time spent on makeup and picking out the best outfit — all for nothing as your boyfriend, toji failed to show up on time. angry, you tried calling him again for the third time, only for it to end up in voicemail yet again. this time you decided to leave a message for him.

"hey, you forgot. didn't you? hope you're happy with yourself, cause 'm not."

dating toji wasn't the easiest — but you love him, no matter what he was like. and it was stupid of you to do so, all this time you've defended his name against your friends' malice towards him, saying how he wasn't treating you well enough and that you deserved so much better.

despite all that, you love him. disregarding their words, retorting back to how toji treats you well, which he does — except for the times he tended to forget about everything, even you. maybe it was time to open your eyes and actually break up; because you did deserve better than this.

it would be a shame to let all this makeup go to waste, and so you hailed a cab and decided to go out for a treat. and made the best out of everything, that is until toji decided it would be the most convenient time to call you back amidst your little "me time".

wiping your hand on the napkin, you answered him, "huh, you're alive," you muttered out, huffing.

he sighs, "i forgot, sorry." you couldn't see him, but toji actually looked remorseful, already on his way out of his apartment to yours, "i'm on my way."

you chuckled, "doesn't matter. i left my house," you informed, taking a bite out of the crab meat, "so don't bother coming — and i don't think i don't deserve this kind of treatment from anyone, even you, toji. i'm breaking up with you because clearly you don't take this relationship as seriously as i am."

toji furrowed his brows, "i forgot, i fucked up, i can make it up. where are you right now?" he asks, his voice still as calm as cucumber. but the look on his face contradicted the tone of his voice.

"bye, toji. good luck."

© shoyudon 2024 . no copying or reposting allowed !

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men Making Up With You After A Fight

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna, FAB!Reader

Content Warning: sex, makeup sex, fighting, public sex, choking, dirty talk!

Word Count: 5,453

A/N: Hot diggity damn, makeup sex time. Gojo’s had me cackling!! As always, requests are open!! I don’t bite. . unless you ask nicely 😈

Gojo Satoru

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you ignored it, much like the other ten times it rang. You instead headed for the concession stand at the theater. Your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, had pissed you off beyond all means. He'd forgotten all about your date. The specific date you had been planning for a month. You intended to celebrate at the fanciest restaurant and made reservations two weeks ago. All for him! Because they had world-class desserts.

You got there before him; they took you to your private table. Where you waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, forty-five minutes later, you called him.

“Hey, babe!” He said over the sound background chatter. “What's up? I'm out at the new cafe with Suguru and Nanami!”

“Oh?” Gritting your teeth, you tapped your nails against the table. “Are you having fun?” The tone of your voice was bitter and cold.

Your boyfriend hesitated, “Uhm yeah, the desserts are delicious.” Rage boiled in your gut.

“You know who else has delicious desserts?” He hummed, but you didn't give him a chance to answer. “The restaurant I'm at! You know the one I made reservations for three weeks ago?!”

You could practically see the fear in your boyfriend's voice. “Oh fuck, shit! That was tonight?! Stay there; I'll be there in a couple of minutes.” Your eyes stung with unshed tears.

“No, you can come, but I won't be here.”

You had done just as you said, quickly paying for your tab before hurrying out of the restaurant before Gojo could teleport there. You crossed the street, heading towards the movie theater. There was not a chance in hell he would find you in here. You were heartbroken; all the effort you put into your date was wasted.

You sat in the very back of the empty theater. You were feeling some ease that there was no one here. Then again, they were playing older movies anyone could stream nowadays. You seriously doubted anyone would be joining you to watch Titanic. You could zone out, cool down, and try to figure out what to say to Satoru the next time you see him.

As the opening credits started to play, you heard a door slam open. Peeking down, you choked on popcorn as you noticed your boyfriend scanning the theater. Bright blue eyes seemed to glow as he held his blindfold in one hand. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckin stupid Six-Eyes! Those blue eyes instantly found you, and you could see the relief wash over Satoru. You hid your face behind the bucket of popcorn, internally groaning as you heard him bounding up the stairs.

“Y/N! Why didn’t you wait for me?!” You ignored him, slowly lowering the bucket to stare at the movie screen. “Hey, hello?”

“Shh!” You scolded before stuffing more popcorn in your mouth. Avoiding his questions altogether.

His shoes stepped over the soda-sticky floor, blocking your view of the screen. “We need to talk.” His hand gently reached out, index finger lifting your chin to look up at him.

“Fuck you.” You said, getting up and moving further down the row, plopping down in a seat.

“Y/N baby!” The groan he let out had you rolling your eyes. “Please, I’m sorry I forgot!” He bounded after you, only for you to get up stepping into the lower row. Your action had Gojo stopping in his tracks, the two of you staring at each other. “Are you playing keep away?”

A rich laugh escaped him, one that was full of humor and delight. It had him hunching over as he cackled. You hated it, but you found your smile tugging at your lips. Here he was, groaning and whining like a child, and you weren’t any better. You were running away from him, pouting like a toddler that didn’t get their way.

Gojo’s laughter the tears forming in his eyes, had your heart feeling lighter. God, he was such a cutie. A cutie who forgot all about your date. A date you’d spent time, money, and energy on! All for his benefit. Holy shit, the Gojo charm almost had you forgiving him!

“No!” You snapped, stomping down your foot like the mature adult you were. “Shut up! I’m mad at you.”

Turning to head further down the row, you gasped as Satoru jumped over the row, landing right in front of you. “Look, just give me a chan—“ he started before you threw a handful of popcorn in his face, “okay, and here I thought I was the immature one.” His tongue darted out, licking at the salty butter off the corner of his mouth.

“You are! Toru, seriously! I put all that time and effort into planning that for you!!” You threw another piece directly at his forehead. He allowed the abuse with the popcorn to continue. He was staring at you as you tossed another piece at him.

“Are you done now?” He asked as you hugged the bucket to your chest. “Awesome, cool.” He reached out, ruffling your hair. “I can’t make up for missing the date that I seriously appreciate you planning and paying for. I can, however, make the most out of the night I fucked up.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” You flung one more piece of popcorn at him. It hit infinity before he snatched the bucket from you, placing it in one of the empty chairs.

“You’ll see.” A childlike smile was plastered across his face as he ran down the stairs, grabbing two bags before running back up to you. “We might not be at the fanciest of restaurants.” Your heart soared as he held out a take-out bag from the restaurant where you had made reservations. “But dinner and the Titanic?” He learned by pressing his forehead against yours. “Sounds like a great fuckin’ date to me.”

Taking the bag out of Satoru’s hands, you sighed, your fingers grazing over his longer ones. He didn’t have to pick up dinner from the restaurant you planned to take him to. Satoru didn't even need to try to find you when he knew you were angry, yet here he was—trying to prove to you just how sorry he was. Those were some of the things you loved about him. Cocky, annoying, and charming in more ways than one.

With your free hand, you grab onto Satoru’s wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Has anyone told you that you're a charming asshole?” Seeing your smile, Satoru let out a sigh of relief before intertwining your fingers.

“Nope, that one's new.”

“Don't push it.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He grabbed the popcorn bucket before following you back to the top row. The two of you cracked open the takeout containers, eating the delicious food while whispering as you watched the movie.

Halfway through the food and movie, you hummed, watching the infamous steamy car scene before you turned to Satoru, who yawned. “Hey, Toru.” he tilted his head, turning to look down at you. “Do you think we could recreate this scene?” He perked up. “In a veil?”

“Oh, holy fuck!” You yelled, hand gripping Satoru’s shoulder as you bounced up and down on his cock. “Fuck, oooh fuck!”

Your boyfriend's head was tilted back against the chair. Whines and whimpers escaped his pressed lips as you slammed yourself up and down as hard and as fast as you could. The tiny viel Satoru had put around the two of you was keeping you concealed, and the heat within the small space.

The thick, musky, almost sweet smell of sex was getting to you, making you hotter and hornier. Knowing the two of you were fucking in such an open space, without people knowing, God, it was so hot. You were going to fuck Toru’s brains out as both punishment for forgetting your date and for making it one you would never forget.

“Y/N, please,” Satoru cried out, “please fuck.”

“Please, what, Toru~?” You cooed, rocking yourself back and forth on his dick, making his jaw drop into a wide ‘O’. “Tell me what you want baby~”

“I wanna cum; I wanna cum in your pussy.” He begged, his hands groping and massaging your breasts. “Please, baby~?”

You giggle just before you can respond to the people entering the theater. The cleaning ushers, no doubt. Your body seized up, clamping down on Satoru’s cock, causing him to growl. Your hand flew up, covering his mouth as you listened to the staff talking. While they couldn’t see you, the thought of strangers walking around while you had sex, god, it made you wetter than wet.

Keeping your hand over Satoru’s mouth, you fucked yourself down on him like he was your own personal dildo. His whines grew louder under your hand as he gripped your ass, helping you fuck yourself on him. He was so close, so, so close.

All he needed was a little push. That push is your twitching cunt. You rocked faster, your free hand resting over his chest, as you felt your orgasm coming in fast before your back arched. A silent scream etched your face as you came hard. Satoru gaped into your eyes, eyebrows furrowed together, as one hand gripped your ass and the other smacked into the veil.

Or rather, through it.

A bloody murder scream came from one of the workers as a disembodied hand popped out of thin air. The co-workers followed her out, screaming and yelling. At the same time, Satoru pulled his hand back inside the veil. The two of you were coming down, your bare chest resting against his. You just stared at each other for a long moment before you both started to giggle loudly.

“G-Guess the handprint scene doesn't work well in the veil.” Satoru chuckled, cupping strands of hair behind your ear.

“Guess not.” Was your confirmation, as you slowly pulled yourself off of Satoru’s lap with a wince. “Such a shame. I was hoping for better results.”

“Hmm, it might not work with the veil, but I have an idea where we could try because I’m not done yet. I still haven't apologized to you in the way you deserve.”

“Oh?” You both picked up your trash and readjusted your clothes as Satoru lowered the veil.

“Yeah, I wanna apologize to you in the shower, in our bed, fuck even the balcony.” The two of you ran for the exit door. “It's a good thing that the restaurant you picked out is known for the aphrodisiac desserts.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oooh, sweetie,” Satoru sneered down at you with a mischievous chuckle.“Why do you think I kept bugging you to take me to that restaurant?”

It was going to be a very long night for you.

Nanami Kento:

“Damn!” The soft curse woke you up; you rubbed your eyes, watching your fiancè searching for something on the dresser.

“Kento?” Your groggy voice drew his attention towards you. “Welcome home.”

Your beloved fiance had been gone for two weeks. He'd just gotten home last night; Gojo had picked him up for you. You had been working your ass off for the previous two weeks. You picked up the work of another co-worker who had just walked out without notice. Gojo knew you had been running around for two weeks filing paperwork, assigning missions, and helping Shoko. He was instant on you getting some sleep. He assured you he'd get Nanami, and you were thankful for him doing that for you.

This way, you could spend more time with Kento.

“Where are my cufflinks?” Nanako snapped, his eyes full of annoyance.

His tone had you blinking in stunned silence. “Right there,” you motioned to the box he always kept them in, “was your mission rough?” That would explain his cold, sharp tone.

“Yes, Y/N, it was rough.” He opened the box, grabbing the links before slamming it shut. “You wouldn't understand.”

His words sliced through you like a hot knife. “Excuse me?” You three the sheets off your body, standing to face him. “What the hell do you mean I wouldn't understand?!” Nanami Kento rolled his eyes at your anger.

“I'm simply stating the truth. You don't understand what it's like to go out on missions, fight, and do more than paperwork.” His hand ran through his still-damp hair. “So I'm just trying to understand why you couldn't pick me up last night. Gojo told me that you were burning the candle at both ends. I fail to see how that is even possible.”

The bedroom was nearly silent. The only sound that you could hear over the boiling rage was your heartbeat in your ears. “Get out of my way.” Was all you could manage as you pushed past him, digging through your drawers for clothes.

“Honestly, why are you acting like a child?”

“Why are you acting like a dick?!” Nanako was seconds from snapping back, but his words evaded him when he saw you crying. “You have no idea how hard my job is!” Your hands wiped uselessly at the stream of tears. “My worthless coworker quit. So I'm stuck doing my job and hers!”

“Y/N.”

“Yes! I do loads of paperwork, and I sit in front of a computer most of my day.” You pulled on your pants, stepping out of Nanami’s grasp. “It may not be physically demanding, but in a mental aspect, I'm drained. Paperwork, mission assignments, and death notices!” Honey-brown eyes went wide. “Yeah, that's why my coworker quit! She couldn't handle it!”

“Love, I—”

You held a hand up, silencing Nanami. “So last night, Gojo picked you up instead of me because I was in Kyoto. Telling a mother and father that their eighteen-year-old son died!” Flashes of Yu Haibara flashed through Nanami’s eyes.

He could barely handle his death, imagining what his parents went through. When someone in your position told them that their child was gone, he couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Emotionally and mentally draining. He had no idea how much your job consisted of because you hardly brought it up. More concerned with him.

“Y/N, I had no clue—”

“No, fuck you.” You turned on your heel, racing for the door. “Welcome home! Kindly go fuck yourself.” With those words, you left, leaving Nanami alone in your apartment.

It took you a couple of hours to cry out your feelings. The exhaustion and stress of the last two weeks hit you all at once with Nanami’s cruel words. He had no clue what you went through without him here. It didn't matter if he was just as exhausted as you were. Both of you had been ground to bones in two weeks apart.

Despite all of those factors, he still had no right to talk to you the way he had.

But as much as you wanted to stay away from him, your apartment, reality, you had to go back. Your engagement ring glimmered as a stupid reminder, even if he had crossed a line today. Nanami was still the love of your life.

The second you unlocked the door to the apartment, you sighed. “I'm home.” Your voice was barely audible.

Just as you finished removing your shoes, you looked up to see Nanami. His cheeks and neck flushed as he looked at the floor. Your fiance looked like a dog that had been scolded, as he should. Despite wanting to throw yourself into his arms and cry out your frustration, to hit, to beg him to hold you tight, you just walked past him.

Entering your living room, your heart lurched into your throat as you gasped. A large bouquet of roses is on your coffee table, surrounded by all your favorite snacks. The words ‘I’m Sorry’ were spelled in rose petals on the floor.

You had thought you were incapable of crying anymore, yet fresh tears spilled over your tear-stained cheeks. Nanami’s body looked over you, his hands hesitantly rubbing your shoulders. To Nanami’s relief, you didn't attempt to pull away.

“Y/N, I'm so, so, sorry.” you leaned back into his chest, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. “The way that I acted this morning was utterly disgusting. I took my frustration and anger out on you, the last person I should ever hurt.” His fingers began kneading and rubbing at your sore muscles. “Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? For being an irrational ass?”

”A major ass.” Nanami’s whole body relaxed at your soft voice.

He turned you around to face him, his strong arms holding you flush against him. “Yes, a total and complete asshole.” Once your arms wrapped around his waist, he fully relaxed. ”Are you okay?” His smooth voice whispered, his chin resting on top of your head. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No, I just want you.”

Pulling away to look up at him, he noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “Yeah? Do you need me to help you fall asleep?” His hand trailed down, gripping your hips. Your nod was the only confirmation he needed.

Sprawled out over the bed, candles burning, soft music playing, you gasped and whimpered. Nanami’s face was buried between your thighs, kissing and sucking at your drenched folds. Those honey-brown eyes that had been filled with concern and worry earlier were now drowning in lust. His needs could wait until later. This was all about you, making you feel better.

”Fuck Ken!” Your fingers grazed over his undercut before gripping the longer strands of hair. “Don’t stop, please, fuck.” Obeying your wishes, Kento’s tongue moved faster. Sucking and slurping at you. Quenching the thirst he had been craving for the last two weeks. “Yes, yes, yes!’

Feeling your cunt clenching, Kento shoved two fingers inside of you, his tongue focusing on your clit. You gasped, eyes wide as his two fingers rubbed expertly against your g-spot. You swore he nearly sent you to heaven as white spots flooded your vision. You screamed before squirting all over his face. The sensation, the taste of your cum had him rutting his hips into the mattress. His tongue did not once let up. It was your orgasm, the content sigh that left your lips that had him stiffening. His cock spurting cum all within the confines of his boxers and sweats.

Your dazy eyes trailed down over your nude body, focusing on Kento’s rutting form. Humping the mattress until the last waves of both of your orgasms came to an end. Kento hummed, his voice vibrated against your still trembling pussy. When he found the strength to pull away, You smiled as he trailed soft kisses up your thighs, hips, stomach, and chest before finally landing on your lips.

You kiss back softly, his arms pulling you close as he pulls you to lay on his chest. His hands gently caressed up and down your back, a slight frown gracing his face. “Ken,” you kiss his chest, “it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it anymore.” His eyes glanced at you before back at the ceiling, his fingers never once pausing.

“I know, I just, I didn’t know your job consisted of so much.” His eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunching together. “You do all those reports, help Shoko, inform families of deaths, and on top of that, you take care of our home.”

His words from over, repeated over and over, on a loop. Just a desk job? You didn’t know what he went through. When it was the other way around, he didn’t know what you went through daily. His words were cold and cruel. All because he had taken his exhaustion and frustration out on you. The most important person in his life.

Your slender finger gently rubbed up and down the bridge of his nose. Grounding him, pulling him out of the deep void of his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he was met with your glimmering Y/E/C eyes. Your sleepy gaze and gentle smile had his heart clenching in his chest.

”Ken, it’s okay. You didn’t know, much like I don’t know about all of the struggles you go through.” Your gentle touch had him relaxing against the mattress. “Let’s just agree not to downplay each other again. We both work hard, every day, to make this life for us to share.” Slowly pulling your hand away, you leaned up, kissing his lips. “As long as we come home to each other at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”

Kento smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Y/N.” Your warm, tired smile had him melting. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home, Kento.” You whispered against his lips.

Ryomen Sukuna:

You loved your boyfriend, really you did. But for the last week, he’d been almost insufferable. His younger brother Yuuji was on Spring break. His best friend Megumi had invited him to join him and his family for the week on the beach. Sukuna all but packed Yuuji’s bags for him, ushering the twerp out of the apartment before locking it up, heading to spend the week with you.

It was like his own personal spring break away from his brothers.

Which also was the start of a week from hell for you. At first, the weekend was lovely. The two of you stayed in, had crazy, animalistic sex, and just enjoyed each other. But when Monday rolled around and you left for work, things took a turn.

You came home to find Sukuna’s clothes all around the room, the dishes from breakfast still in the sink, and he was snoring on the couch. At first, you were upset. The poor guy was raising his young brother while their other brother, Choso, was on vacation with some college friends. Sukuna truly did bust his ass for his brothers, so it made sense that he was beat.

So you let it go, picked up, washed the dishes, and made the two of you dinner. It had been somewhat annoying, but it was alright. You wanted to make sure Sukuna got as much rest as he could before he went back to work the following week.

Tuesday afternoon, you came home to a similar situation: clothes everywhere, dishes in the sink, only Sukuna had just returned from the gym. When he got home, he started helping you before taking a shower. Maybe he had just been so interested in getting to the gym that he forgot to do the dishes. That sort of thing happened when you were in a rush, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But when you got home today, it was the same damn story. You looked around the apartment, groaning out loud as Sukuna scrolled briefly through Netflix. There were empty soda cans, trash, and, of course, his gym clothes all over the floor. This was not the man you knew.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” Your sharp tone had him turning in your direction. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to watch on Netflix?” He raised an eyebrow as if it wasn’t obvious what he was doing.

“I can see that!” You scrubbed a hand over your face. “I meant all the trash, clothes, and everything!”

“Oooh,” he looked around the apartment, “I’ll get to it.”

You tugged at your hair with an exasperated groan. “That’s not the point! Why are you trashing the place to begin with?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“So?!” Your tone had his full attention now. “When I have a day off, I don’t trash your place.”

Sukuna pinched at the bridge of his nose with a grumble. “Are we seriously going to fight about this?” He narrowed his gaze at you, those eyes you normally adored full of irritation. Irritation that had no right to even be there!

“Yes, we are! How is it fair that I make us breakfast, go to work, come home, and make dinner? On top of that, you expect me to come home and pick up your trash and clothes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah.” The answer that came out of his mouth far faster than you thought. “I mean, that’s your job. It’s what you’re good at.” Sukuna rolled a shoulder as he twirled the remote between his fingers. “I exercise spirits, and you—“ He finally turned, seeing the rage and darkening of your cheeks. “You—are good at caring for the house and cooking.”

Oh, he’d fucked up.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you scoffed and stormed to the bedroom, slamming the door. Sukuna winced and turned his head to face your room. Perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of words. He had meant to say, well, that you were a good caretaker, wifey material. Now that he was looking around the room, truly taking in the state of your usually well-kept home, your words were beginning to settle in his gut.

Had he been that lazy and messy? The take-out containers, his gym clothes, and empty cans confirmed that, yes, he had. Ever since his brothers left, he didn’t have to move constantly. He didn’t have to take Yuuji to school, helping Choso with homework. He had time to himself, where he didn’t have to ensure everything was in tip-top shapes. This was a chance for him to mellow out and relax.

He’d wanted to spend this mellow time with you, his girlfriend, the most amazing woman he’d ever met. But instead, he’d gotten lazy, stuck in a rut of not having to do such a damn thing. This wasn’t how he normally acted, so why now? Fuck, and to tell you you were nothing but a maid, that it was your job. Yeah, no, he totally fucked up.

You were his girlfriend, partner, and the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Most of his other partners hadn’t been able to handle the fact he was a single dad. He had raised his two brothers, just the three against the world. But you, god, you were an angel. You helped him out, making dinners and teaching him the best ways to cook and stir certain foods, which grocery stores had the best sales. You had made him a better man, a better brother.

And he’d gone and turned himself into a shitty boyfriend, trashing your apartment, making misogynistic comments, hurting you. He had to fix this. Or he might very well end up losing the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Without a second thought, he got up, executing his plan.

You needed an hour and a half to yourself before you had completely calmed down. You glanced at your reflection, whipping at your tear-stained cheeks before entering the living room. All you needed to do was grab something to eat and go back to bed. When you walked out into the messy living room, you stopped.

The trashed room scattered with clothes was completely picked up, and the coasters and books were neatly put back into place. Sukuna was nowhere to be found. So you headed into the kitchen, which was also spotless. No crumbs were on the counters, and the dishes had been cleaned and put away. There was still no sign of Sukuna.

Part of you was still angry and didn’t want to see him. The other part of you wanted to thank him and hear what he had to say. Just as you were pulling your phone out to call him, your door opened. Sukuna stepped in with a bag of takeout. He took his shoes off, placing them where they were supposed to go before he locked the door.

“Suku?” He jumped, startled by your voice. But he slowly turned to you, giving you a remorseful smile.

“Hey,” he put the takeout on the counter, “Y/N, I—“ his cheeks flushed as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You know I’m not the best with apologies, and I suck at fucking using my words.” With a heavy sigh, he grabbed your hand. “But what I said earlier was fucked up, and I’m sorry. I don’t see you as some maid, I just.” You couldn’t help but smile as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t want you ever to feel like I don’t appreciate everything you do. You’ve made me a better man, and I unfortunately haven’t been like that this week.”

You hummed, nodding in agreement as you interlaced your fingers with his. “Yeah, you’ve been a manchild. Yuuji would have been more mature than you.” He cringed, dropping his head down. “Then again, you did clean up your mess and pick me some dinner.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “So maybe you haven’t been as bad as you think.” Sukuna was leaning in to kiss you, but you squeezed his hand tighter and tighter until it was almost painful. “But if you ever tell me it’s my job to take care of you or the chores again, I’ll put you in my trunk and help people look for you.”

Your boyfriend winced before nodding in understanding. “Right, yes, understood.” The second your hand softened, he pulled you towards the bedroom. “Come on.” You blushed, watching his back. His neck was a soft, rosy color.

“What are we doing?”

“You’re not doing anything.” He said, pushing you back against the bed. “I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you.”

Oh, and Sukuna did just that. He licked and sucked on your clit until you came. His fingers slammed in and out of you, fucking you until you squirted all over his hand. His smirk was sinister and hungry each time you came. Only when you were fucked out of your mind did he decide to fuck you with his cock.

“Please~ please, Suku~” You panted as he rubbed his cock head up and down your entrance. “Please.”

“Why are you begging?” He grunted as he slid his entire length into you. “You want my cock that bad.” He smirked at your tiny whimpers, his cock stretching you in the most delicious way.

“Yes, yes, I want it.” You grabbed his hand, and he went to hold it, only to watch as you placed it over your throat. “Give it to me.” You felt his cock throb inside of you.

He squeezed without having to be told twice. “Such a dirty slut I have.” He squeezed harder as he pulled out. “Here I’m trying to be romantic.” He slammed into you, the bed creaking under the force. “And my slutty little Y/N wants me to fuck her pussy like I normally do.” You whimpered, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, that’s the best way to show you how much you mean to me, right? Fuckin’ that tight cunt until you can’t walk. Making sure you’re ruined, only I can satisfy you and your needs.” He grabbed your thighs, pressing them to your chest, forcing you into a mating press.

“K-Kuna!” You cried out as he released your throat, his hands fisting the sheets.

“That’s right, scream my fuckin’ name.” He groaned, pressing a searing kiss against your swollen lips. “Scream it, let everyone know how much your boyfriend appreciates you, how good he fucks you.”

His words, the deep thrusts, and your already sensitive pussy clenched. “I-I’m so close.” You cried out, eyes locked on Sukuna’s.

His hips sped up, cock throbbing hard as he growled. “Go on then, cum for me again.” You screamed as he slammed harder and harder into you, sending you over the edge. Your screams were muffled by Sukuna’s growls as he kissed you desperately, fucking you through your orgasm right into his own.

He stilled, lips pressing harder against you as his hit cum filled you. Your soft whines of pleasure had Sukuna’s hips moving slowly until he was sure your pussy was done milking him. Pulling back, Sukuna panted, smirking at the blissed-out look in your eyes—a look he always wanted to see.

“Love you, Suku.” You breathed out, leaning up and kissing him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. But his large hand cupped your face.

“And I love you and everything you do for me.” Without another word, his lips were on yours, his hips slowly rutting against yours. He intended to make you know just how much you meant to him. Even if that meant you’d have to call out of work tomorrow.

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.