#the one that’s almost like a son to you

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][fingering][passionate][ex!fwb][quiet reader][slight breeding kink][light choking][hair pulling][quiet sex][no nudity][nipple play][nipple sucking][promise of pregnancy][low-key right person; wrong time][not proofread because my beta reader's asleep]

"I have a fucking kid and you didn't think to tell me?!"

Dick's voice is low, frustration bleeding into his words and his fingertips dig into his palms, blunt nails leaving crescent indentations in the flesh as he stares down at you.

The worst part is, you look so fucking nonchalant about it too.

Sitting crossed legged on the couch, a mug of steaming hot chocolate cradled in your hands and a plate of cookies resting on the surface of the coffee table. The TV plays one of the older episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and God, the sight of you so relaxed while watching trashy TV makes Dick falter in his anger.

"How do you know he's yours or even mine?"

You speak, your voice soft and gentle, despite the way your eyes burn with annoyance at the fact that Dick's just.... Standing there, in your space, his suit clinging to him like a second skin in the way it always has.

Dick leans forward, his breath fanning across the surface of your face and he gives you the opportunity to see the stormy rage that swirls in brilliant blue irises, darkened by the sense of betrayal at the fact that you've kept his son from him for so long.

"Because he looks like me. He looks fucking just. Like. Me." Dick grits the words out like they're liquid sulphur, burning his throat on the way out.

Before he lets out a breath, dropping onto the seat beside you and he cards a gloved hand through his hair.

"And he told me I look.... Romani. And proceeded to call me a 'gypsy bastard'."

Your apartment looks different from when he was here last.

Warm, pale blue walls, a dark leather sofa and a bigger TV mounted on the wall. Fuzzy blue throw pillows and the bowl of fruity gummies on the coffee table is a fun new addition, just like the drawings that line the walls of the living room, and clutter on top of the fridge.

On each drawing, Dick can make out the scribbled out 'Mommy And Me', usually in a colour that has no match in the palette and he can't deny the heaviness in his heart when he reads that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dick speaks softly, hands moving to carefully remove the mask from his face, tossing it onto the coffee table and he grabs one of the throw pillows, resting it on his face.

You can practically smell his emotions.

Confused, hurt, betrayed. Frustration's a big one though, and you purse your lips.

"I didn't wanna have the 'is it mine' conversation."

You speak so softly, so sweetly and it reminds Dick of how much motherhood's softened you. It reminds him of the way that you'd have pushed him out the window for showing up unannounced, but instead, you're letting him sit on your couch, and you talk.

Not argue.

You just... Talk.

"I'd know he was mine." Dick murmurs. "We were... Exclusive."

The way Dick says it makes you feel like it was more than just occasional hookups, more than the odd movie date that ended with your ankles touching your ears.

The silence between you is comfortable.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops dropping against your aluminium window, pot plants on the terrace watered so gently and the TV continues to play, although at a much softer pace.

Dick lowers the pillow, looking at you with big, almost teary blue eyes. Eyes framed by long, inky lashes, full brows and striking hues that make you feel like your breath is dying in your throat with every passing second.

"He's beautiful."

Dick's voice is soft.

"A little bit of an asshole, but he's beautiful."

Before you can answer, before you can even fathom properly what Dick's saying, you hear the crack of a door and the shuffle of tiny feet as Riot stumbles into the living room, fists balled and rubbing at his eyes.

"Mommy, my eye." He sniffles, continuing to scratch at his eye before you let out a quiet hum, your hands hooking underneath the little boy's armpits before you tug him onto your lap.

And you open his eye, the sclera just a bit red and you hum softly.

"Dickie, can you put on the light, please?"

Dick doesn't question the nickname, because it makes his heart swell in a way that has him internally screeching, even as he reaches for the overhead lamp and switches it on.

And your lips purse as you blow on Riot's eye, watching the way his lashes flutter and his eyelid twitches before a teary droplet plops down his cheek.

And you wipe it away, feeling the distinct strand of cat fur against the pad of your thumb.

"We don't even own a cat." You mumble, before using your index knuckle to wipe the watery eye.

"All better?" You muse softly and Riot nods his head, before glancing at Dick with sleepy eyes, lashes fluttering even as he clambers across your lap, and into Dick's.

And his tiny arms wrap around as much of Dick's midsection as he can, his chubby and rosy cheek pressed against Dick's chest.

And the man's expression crumples.

Brows twitch and eyes begin to sting as one of his long fingered hands move to rest on Riot's back, feeling the soft fabric of his pajamas through the glove. And Riot lets out a content sigh.

"Deadbeat gypsy." The words are muffled, but they're audible enough for Dick's lips to part in shock, brows raising before letting out a bark of laughter.

Before he glances at you.

"He's just like you." Dick murmurs, before watching as Riot climbs from his lap, and heading back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

There's a still silence in the air, only filled by the sound of Kim's voice and rain droplets crashing down outside before Dick clears his throat.

"My— uh...— my patrol ended early." He murmurs softly.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?"

The way you're slot under Dick's bicep, your head against his chest and your legs tossed across his lap makes him feel 4 seconds away from crashing out. Because God, you're so warm and so much softer.

Dick stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his side as you snuggle closer, before ultimately decided to pull the quilt over the both of you.

Your eyes remain glued to the TV, occasionally letting out snorts of laughter as you watch Grown Ups for what you could guess would be the 60th time on your lifetime.

But you can feel Dick's eyes.

Following the curve of your face, watching the way your lashes fan out and watching the way breaths leave your soft, glossy lips. And before Dick can even fathom it, his arm behind you is shifting, hand moving to wrap around your neck, long fingers stretching effortlessly and he brushes his thumb along your pulse, the action causing your head to tilt up and you meet his gaze.

And Dick's lips are pressed against yours, his fingers twitching against your neck before leaving the column of your throat, instead, shifting until you're resting back against the sofa.

You can't refuse. Well shit, you don't want to refuse.

Dick's kissing you like he's dying tomorrow. Lips pressed against yours, his hips nestled between your thighs and his arm moving to support his weight, elbow braced on the armrest above your head, and his other hand cradling your face.

His thumb strokes along the soft skin of your cheek, his hips pushed against yours and his tongue brushing along yours, but his movements stutter when your thighs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck and bringing him down to deepen the kiss.

Dick swears he sees heaven when your fingers card through his hair in that way.

Starting right at the nape of his neck, before dragging those manicured nails, up up up, before they disappear beneath silky raven strands and he sighs into the kiss, before pulling away.

Dilated pupils, and heavy breaths are exchanged between the two of you, and Dick swallows hard.

"Is he a heavy sleeper?" Dick whispers softly, gaze darting towards the bedroom he saw Riot disappear into and you nod your head.

"He is but you're pretty loud." You tease softly and Dick pushes his hips into yours, his bulge prominent beneath his suit and you can feel the way his tip brushes against your clit, even through the layers of fabric between you.

Dick always could find it in record time.

"Fair point." Dick whispers softly, a breathy laugh slipping past his lips, just a bit reddened from the intense kiss and he speaks again.

"But you never were loud."

Two digits bully their way into your cunt, your shorts and panties tugged to the side and Dick's lips are pressed against yours, muffling any sound you could even think of letting escape from your lips.

His tongue is buried in your mouth, thumb rubbing sloppy circles against your throbbing clit and your nails dig into Dick's biceps when he prods at a particularly sensitive spot. Your lashes flutter, and you take a shaky breath when Dick's fingers curl, his glove abandoned on the surface of the coffee table, and Dick pulls away from you, a thin, glossy string of saliva between the two of you before it ultimately breaks.

Landing across your chin and he giggles.

The man fucking giggles, as he uses his free hand to wipe away the mess, before ultimately moving your hair out of your face, staring down at you with pretty, big eyes that look at you so adoringly.

"You're so pretty." Dick murmurs softly, pressing a peck to your lips as he stares at you.

And fuck, you are.

Pretty eyes fanned by long lashes, perfect eyebrows and rosy cheeks, wet and parted lips (both pairs), and a few strands of hair clings to the thin sweat on your forehead and Dick sighs softly.

You're perfectly spread out too.

Hands gripping at him like you're scared he'll disappear, thighs spread messily and your panties and shorts tugged aside. Gummy walls thrum around his digits, pulsing at the intrusion and all he does is he continues to tease your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling the sensitive and swollen nub as he continues to look at you with those heart eyes.

"Can I take you out tomorrow?" Dick's question is unexpected but he can't lie and say he hasn't been thinking about it since he saw you.

Plush, squishy, and so soft.

And he'd do anything to see you pregnant.

To watch you move around in oversized shirts, a belly swollen and heavy breasts that he could tease because they're just so sensitive and pretty.

And God, he can't even imagine the way your perfect, plump pussy would look, nestled between even rounder thighs, clit completely hidden until he uses his thumbs to spread the lips.

Dick swallows.

Hard.

And he doesn't even notice that his fingers begin to move, curling and prodding, nudging at that little fleshy spot that has your toes curling in your mismatched socks and your nails dig into his forearms.

And Dick remembers just what a sight you are when you come.

Brows pinching into the cutest little frown, lips forming a little 'o' and that gasp that leaves you has him leaking in his suit and he's so glad it's dark.

"That's it, princess, come on my fingers." Dick coos softly. "Use my fingers to make your pretty pussy feel good."

Your eyes roll back, you hide your face in your shoulder and your body freezes, the only movement being the rhythmic spasm of your cunt around his fingers.

His stupidly long, incessant fingers that keep dragging out your orgasm even as you nod your head, a silent answer to his prior question.

And Dick gleams, dimples in his cheeks and brilliant blue eyes lighting up in a way that can only be described as cosmic.

Blue eyes flecked with silvery stars and the gleam of the moon, dilated pupils and pretty lashes and Dick nods.

"Okay." He breathes out. "We're gonna go to the museum, okay? He's a little artist so I think he'd like looking at the paintings?"

You nod meekly, chest still heaving even when you watch as Dick licks his fingers, cleaning them up like he's just licking syrup from his fingers. His long tongue swivels around his digits before he carefully tugs up the fabric of your T-shirt, exposing your torso to the cold air.

Perfect tits, dotted with pebbled nipples and Dick swallows.

He never thought he'd be someone to have a kid out of wedlock but fuck, is he happy to be your baby daddy.

"Come on, princess." Dick hums sweetly. "Let me worship those pretty fucking tits before I leave."

Dick leans down, breath fanning across your chest before his tongue drags along one of your sensitive nipples, and he watches the way your face screws up, biting your bottom lip to stifle any sounds.

And you look at Dick from beneath your lashes, bleary eyes and rosy lips and he groans low.

A rumble in his chest that has your needy pussy pushing out a trickle of slick.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll get you pregnant again." His lips latch onto the sensitive nub, his free hand moving to palm your other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple.

"Fuck that, I'll get you pregnant anyway."

Taglist:

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[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 8 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains HEAVY TRIGGERS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE. ABUSIVE PAST RELATIONSHIP. MANIPULATION. GASLIGHTING. DISSOCIATION. CHILDHOOD TRAUMA. PTSD. PANIC ATTACK. explicit sexual content, fem rec oral, orgasm.】

ꨄ words: 13.8k

ꨄ a/n. hello my loves, we are back! this is a very, heavy chapter. pls read the triggers before proceeding and read at your own discretion. i actually cried writing this chapter. i'll see you at the bottom ♡ (art by @/hanamin_0123 on X )

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter → pending

ch 8 // inhale, exhale

Mornings like these make you feel like you’re walking through someone else’s life. Sunlight seeps through the curtains in buttery streaks, and you murmur, stirring slightly under the blankets, the feeling of fingers threading softly through your hair.

Whose fingers? Are you dreaming? Oh well, if it’s a dream, it’s one you’d rather not wake up from. It’s a peaceful morning—domestic, even—and for a moment, you let yourself breathe it in, almost succumbing back to sleep, wondering if this is what normal feels like.

The peace you’re building with Satoru. This life. You let it settle over you like a soft blanket, hoping it might chase away the prickle of unease that had been clinging to your mind since last night.

Ah... but of course. Something is off. And unfortunately, the thought coils into your mind yet again, slithering in before you can stop it—an itch you can’t quite scratch.

It jolts you awake, your eyes fluttering open as the thoughts fester their wake into your mind, but as the fogginess of your heavy eyes begin to focus, the first thing you see is him.

Satoru—propped up on one elbow, looking down at you affectionately as he lays beside you on the bed—fingers brushing lazily through your hair.

“Hey you,” he murmurs quietly. “Good mornin’.”

Your cheeks blush.

Oh. This isn’t a dream. Fuck. Of course. You just remembered that you snuck into his room last night.

Your body moved on its own, and now you’re unsure what to say this morning.

Because Satoru’s smile last night outside the jacuzzi, the one that said—Everything’s fine—you’d seen past it. After all, his smile isn’t just charm; it’s armor. But this time he wasn’t shielding himself; he was shielding you.

And perhaps you would rather convince yourself it is fine. To believe that the life you’re building together isn’t as fragile as it feels—poised to crumble under the weight of the unknown.

Yet, in the stillness of the night, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. No. After saying goodnight to Satoru, returning to your separate beds, most of your night was spent tossing and turning restlessly—thoughts racing in endless circles.

And then, before you knew it, there you were—standing in the hallway, barefoot and hesitant as your fingers brushed lightly against the doorframe of his room. His door was slightly ajar and the faint glow of moonlight spilled out into the dark hallway.

Fuck. What are you doing?

Honestly, you weren’t sure what you needed exactly. Reassurance? Comfort? To hear him say one more time that everything was fine, even if you knew deep down it wasn’t? All you knew was that the weight in your chest felt unbearable, and you didn’t want to be alone with it anymore.

Quietly, you stepped inside, slowly making your way to the edge of his bed. After lowering yourself onto the mattress, you perched there—hands nervously twisting in your lap as you watched him.

He looked so… peaceful. And beautiful. His white lashes rested against his cheekbones, the faintest hint of color blooming there. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic. The mere sight of his expression sent a wave of longing crashing through you.

Without thinking, your hand moved, brushing lightly against his hair. The soft, silken strands slipped through your fingers, and you smoothed them back from his forehead in a gentle motion.

“Mmm…” he stirred beneath your touch, brow furrowing as a quiet murmur slipped from his lips—something too soft to make out.

You froze, hand stilling against his hair as your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you thought he might fall back into the rhythm of sleep, but then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened, heavy-lidded and hazy with sleep.

“y/n…?” His voice was low, gravelly, and his gaze landed on you, soft and unfocused.

“Oh… hi…” you whispered. A warmth crept into your cheeks as his eyes lingered on you. “Sorry I, uh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked slowly, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Hey… no it’s fine. You okay?”

“Yeah… um. I…” You swallowed hard, your gaze darting down to your lap as your hands curled into the fabric of your nightgown. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Immediately, his expression softened, the lingering traces of sleep in his gaze giving way to a quiet concern. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow as his other hand reached for yours.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze as the words caught in your throat.

“Nothing,” you hesitate. “I just… couldn’t stop thinking.”

He let out a quiet hum, filled with understanding, before sighing softly. His hand tugged at yours, gently pulling you closer.

“C’mere…”

Before you could protest, you found yourself lying beside him, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He shifted slightly, his chest pressing against your back as the blankets rustled around you both.

You felt his chest rumble against you as he let out a sleepy hum, his hand brushing lightly against your abdomen in a slow, comforting rhythm.

“Better?”

Your breath caught for a moment at the intimacy of it all—the way his face nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his nose brushing lightly against your skin.

“Um… yeah,” you whispered, letting yourself relax into him. “You’re… warm.”

“Mmhm…” his lips curved into the faintest smile as he burrowed closer. “One of my many talents… ‘m like… a human heater,” his words slurred slightly as sleep tugged at the edges of his voice. “Should charge for this, honestly.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, carrying away the weight of your earlier worries.

“Yeah… right. Is there anything you don’t think you should charge for?”

As he considered your question, his head tilted slightly, breath ghosting across your neck.

“Dunno…” he murmured, halfway between wakefulness and sleep. “Smiles, maybe. Those are free… but only f’you.”

You shifted slightly, turning your head just enough to peer back at him. The corners of his lips tugged up into a slow, lazy grin as one eye cracked open at you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” his grin widened. “See? Free of charge.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, returning his grin.

Ah… all your worries were once again melting away.

As you shifted in the bed to face him, you allowed your eyes to fully meet his.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, and his hands slid to rest at the small of your back—tracing lazy circles, lulling you into a calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

“And you’re thinking too much again,” his nose brushed against yours in a playful nudge. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You held your breath as your fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his shirt, gripping it for some kind of anchor.

“I… I dunno…” you exhaled heavily. “I just… I’m worried, I guess.”

“About Haru?” he asked gently.

You hesitated, your gaze falling as your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The silence hung between you.

He’s not wrong… but that’s not entirely all of it.

You’re worried about… everything. About him. About this.

About… us.

The weight of your quiet made something shift in him. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, his hand continued its soothing motion against your back.

“Hey now…” he murmured sleepily. “Nothin’s gonna happen. You’re safe. Haru’s safe. I got this.”

You look up at him through your lashes, and his own gaze was heavy lidded—the striking blue of his eyes softened by a quiet intimacy.

“How… can you be so sure?” you whispered shakily.

“Because ’m me,” he replied simply, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. It was lazy, sleepy, but so undeniably Satoru. “And I don’t lose. Ever. It’s, like… my whole fucking thing.”

You couldn’t help it—the small laugh that escaped you was quiet and soft, muffled against the broad expanse of his chest as he pulled you closer.

“Your confidence is almost as annoying as it is reassuring...”

“See? Multi-talented,” he quipped, and his hand against your back slowed as the sleep threatened to overtake him, but the lazy circles never ceased. “Seriously, though… whatever’s got you tied up in knots, don’t carry it alone. ’m here… always.”

His words settled over, wrapping around the edges of your anxiety. Your cheek nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt as you nodded wordlessly—molding your body against his.

“I just… don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple in a fleeting kiss. “You’re kinda like… my favorite person, y’know?”

All the unease that was weighing you down burned away as a warmth curled throughout your body. His breathing began to slow, evening out into a steady rhythm.

Once you felt his hand on your back grow still, you thought he’d drifted off, but then his drowsy voice broke the silence—filled with a quiet conviction.

“I got you princess… always.”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Thanks, Satoru…” you whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.

The hum that rumbled from his chest in response was faint, coupled with the way his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you even closer. And in his warmth, enveloped by the steady cadence of his breathing and the solid presence of him beside you, you felt the faint stirrings of peace. Sleep crept in gently, pulling you under in soft, lulling waves, and this time, you let it.

“Yoo-hoo, sleepyhead. Still waking up?” His voice breaks through your thoughts, teasing, and very much awake.

Your eyes snap to his again, startled, and now, you found him smirking at you, propped up on one elbow. His hair is tousled from sleep, white strands falling messily over his forehead, and his eyes—those piercing, crystalline blues—hold a glint of amusement.

“Oh… um, yeah. g’morning,” you blink, heat rising to your cheeks as the weight of his gaze settles on you.

He rests his head on the pillow beside you, reverently running his hand up your cheek. You hope he doesn’t feel how hot it’s growing under his gaze.

“You’re red.”

Well, fuck.

“And you’re staring…” you murmur quietly.

“Can you blame me?” he replies with a smirk. “You look way too fucking good in my bed.”

Your blush deepens, and you turn your head slightly to break his gaze, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“I… just…”

“Was trying to seduce me, huh?”

Your eyes snap back to his, wide with indignation.

“Wha—I told you I couldn’t sleep!”

“Sure, sure,” he scoots closer to you, lips curling into a devious grin. “Buuuut… you were clinging to me a moment ago. Should’ve seen it. Super cute.”

“Tch… I was not clinging,” you protest, pulling the blankets over your body as your cheeks burn hotter.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, unconvinced, growing impossibly smug. “You sure about that? Pretty sure you mumbled my name in your sleep, too.”

Your mouth falls open, words failing you as you sputter, “I—I did not!”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he replies smoothly, grin stretching into a smirk. “It was quite adorable. Almost melted on the spot.”

Fuck… did you?

Your eyes narrow as he flashes those pearly white teeth at you.

Nah. He’s fucking with you, you know better.

“Yeah right. You’re making that up,” you huff, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder casually. “But you’ll never know, will you?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You snore!”

He scoffs. “I do not snore.”

“You do,” you counter smugly. “Loudly. Like, so damn loud I’m surprised it didn’t wake up Haru.”

His eyebrow rises and a mischievous glint flickers in his gaze. “Ohhhh? Alright, alright. Fine then,” his voice drops low as he murmurs, “you really wanna play that game with me?”

Before you can react, he moves. You yelp as in one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists gently against the mattress as he hovers over you—grin downright wicked.

“Satoru!” you laugh, squirming beneath him. “Get off me!”

“Nope,” he says smugly, his face dipping closer to yours. “You accused me of snoring. That’s slander. Hate to tell ya, but I can’t let it slide.”

Your laughter fades slightly as you feel his weight press against you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask breathlessly, “And… just what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Perfect?”

Those vivid blue eyes darken, and your breath hitches as he dips his head lower, into the crook of your neck, making your heart flip as you feel his lips press a featherlight kiss behind your ear.

“Hmmm… let’s see… I wonder…” his breath tickles your skin as he trails soft kisses down your throat. “How shall I punish you?”

You blink, absorbing his words as a shiver of warmth spreads through your core.

“P-Punish?!” you stammer breathlessly.

“Mhmm...” as his kisses continue downwards, his hands loosen from your wrists, gliding down your arms reverently. “What did y’think was going to happen?”

His hands gingerly descend down your curves, palms pausing at your hips. You feel his fingers slip briefly underneath the hem of your nightgown, just above your abdomen as his lips fall lower, gentle nips against your skin.

“S-Satoru…” you whine as he hums against your skin, a smirk curling upon his lips.

“C’mon now… you come into my room… crawl into my bed… wearing these thin little pajamas…”

His thumbs rub smooth circles across your abdomen, and you feel yourself beginning to get hot.

“I wasn’t—haaa” the words die on your lips as his hand rises to the curve of your breast, thumb grazing the hardened peak of your nipple through the material of your sleepwear.

“Wasn’t what?” you’re squirming as he pebbles your nipple slowly. “Trying to drive me crazy? Showing up like this… what’s a guy to do?”

His other hand slides higher, slipping beneath the hem of your gown, and with a gentle tug, he pushes the fabric up. His eyes darken as more of your skin is revealed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb rolling over your bare nipple now, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Last night… couldn’t see you clearly in the dark, but now…”

His lips follow his hands, closing around your nipple, and the warm, wet heat of his tongue makes your body arch, your fingers gripping the sheets as a soft whimper escapes you.

“Nngh… S-Satoru…”

“Mm… fuck yes, say it again,” he pants, his lips releasing your nipple with a sinful pop. “Say m’ name, baby. Wanna hear how bad you need me.” He switches his attention to your other breast, lavishing it with the same care—licking, sucking, each gentle nip sending another rush of arousal pooling down your thighs.

With a shake of your head, you try to bite back the desperate sound clawing its way up your throat, but as his hand descends lower, gliding down your hip, you feel his fingers brush against your inner thigh and your body betrays you.

A needy whimper slips out as you open your legs eagerly for him, earning you a cocky smirk. It curls upon Satoru’s lips as he nibbles your nipple between his teeth—vivid blue eyes looking up at you through fluttering white lashes.

“Hah. Look at that,” he breathes, flicking the hardened peak with his tongue. “Didn’t even have to ask, and those pretty little legs opened right up for me.”

The pure arrogance in his voice sets your skin on fire.

“Sh-shut up,” you snap weakly, trying your best to glare at him as a flush creeps up your neck. “You just—haaa…”

The words are stolen from you the moment his mouth begins its descent—trailing kisses lower, his tongue swiping down your abdomen in slow, wet circles, agonizingly closer to your dripping pussy.

“Hmm?” His head tilts as his thumb brushes so close to your center that your entire body shudders. You feel his breath between your legs. “Something you want, sweetheart? You gotta use your words.”

Fucking cocky ass.

Your lips part, but you hesitate—pride warring with need, the unbearable ache between your thighs clouding your thoughts.

He clicks his tongue, mockingly disappointed. A pout on those pretty lips—lips you want buried in your cunt.

“Tch. Guess you don’t want it that bad, huh?”

His fingers continue to skate up your thigh, stopping short of where you need him, and your frustration rises—hands twisting into the sheets.

“Satoru—” your hips buck involuntarily, but he tuts softly, pulling his hand away just enough to leave you aching for it.

“Mm-mm.” His voice is smooth, cruel in its amusement. “I told you, princess. Use your words.”

Your jaw tightens, nails biting into the sheets as your body trembles with need.

“You are insufferable and so fucking unfair.”

A low sinful laugh rumbles through his chest as he turns his head to your thigh, trailing gentle kisses slowly up to your pussy.

“Unfair?” he echoes as his nose ghosts dangerously over your soaked panties.

He inhales, eyes momentarily slipping shut as he takes in the sweet scent of you. And Jesus, he groans. Actually groans. Like he’s drunk on you.

Your body jerks, hips shifting impatiently under him, but he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

Instead, he arches a brow, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smug expression as he presses a fleeting kiss to your clothed core, making a violent shudder roll through you as the soft hum of his satisfaction vibrates against your heat.

“You said you wanted to savor me, didn’t you?” His lips drag slowly back up your inner thigh, teasing, taunting.

You’re pouting now, glaring down at him like you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time, and he just chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well?”

“What, expecting me to beg?”

“Tch… stubborn girl…”

His mouth finds its way back to the soaked fabric, and this time, he presses his tongue against it, mouthing at your cunt through your panties. A desperate cry slips past your lips as your head falls back—pussy dripping. His smirk falters.

Fuck, he wants to bury his face in your cunt.

Now he’s the one struggling. You feel his fingers press into your thigh harder, nails biting into flesh, and as he pulls back, eyeing the dark, damp patch of fabric clinging to you.

"Fuck, baby…" His fingers skim slowly over the outline of your soaked folds—his hardening cock twitching in his sweats at the realization. "God… you’re fucking drenched."

You continue to bite your lip, fighting back the needy whimper that is desperate to slip out. His head tilts, shifting into something darker as he looks up at you with those ocean-blue eyes—dilated, raw and starved. God you could get lost in those eyes.

But then, that smug ass grin returns.

“All this? Just f’me?”

“Satoru…” you whine.

He clicks his tongue, resting his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you affectionately.

“Fair’s fair, baby. I’m gonna savor you. Now then, my pretty girl… what do you want?”

Asshole. He’s playing you. And you want to resist. You really do. But you’re so fucking wet, so aching, so unbearably needy for him. Another breath shudders out of you, and as your voice breaks, your resolve snaps.

“Satoru… please—”

There’s that word. His grin shoots up, something dark and hungry flashing across his face.

“Oh?” His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. “Please what baby? Be specific.”

Fucking hell. You’re losing it.

“Jesus, fuck. Touch me,” you gasp, finally breaking. “Fuck, please Satoru—just touch me already.  Want you—eep!”

Before you can even breathe, he’s ripping your panties down, shoving your thighs wide open, spreading your needy, dripping cunt out for him to see as he curses under his breath. His restraint snaps and oh, he’s wrecked. A filthy groan slips from his lips as he admires you, laid out for him—his cock twitching violently at the sight.

"Look at this perfect little pussy," he groans, and you mewl as he presses two fingers to your soaked folds, just barely parting them as he spreads your slick between his fingers in awe. “Heh… so fucking wet. Your little cunt is just begging to be filled, isn’t it?”

As he circles the rim of your sex, your body clenches needily around nothing, making another whine escape you as your thighs threaten to snap shut—but he grips them firmly, keeping you spread.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Let me see you. Fuck, look at you," he watches transfixed as his finger presses in—just barely the tip sinking inside before pulling back.

You can feel your slick glistening down your thighs, and you shudder, back arching, voice quaking as he finally sinks his long, thick finger fully inside.

“Ahhh—Satoru!”

A downright dangerous smirk stretches across his lips as he begins to stretch you.

"Mmn… fuck, you feel so tight," your spongey walls grip him as he slowly twists his finger inside, your arousal dripping down his knuckles.

And he’s utterly transfixed, his cock throbbing against the mattress where he lays—watching you take it. He releases a shuddering breath as he shifts, gripping your thighs as he presses you forward, keeping you pinned.

"Greedy fucking hole...” he groans, eyes glued to where you're clenching around him, pumping into your pussy with slow, deep thrusts. “Wanna stuff this hungry little cunt so fucking full..."

The moment he curls his finger just right—dragging against that perfect spot, you cry out.

"Ahhh... ah ahhh... ‘toru... nngh...please… more."

There’s that pretty little word again. His eyes flick up to your face, and he’s relishing in this—you—blushing, panting, watching him with an expression that absolutely wrecks him. Licking his lips, he exhales harshly, leaning forward.

“Good girl, begging so sweet f’me.”

You feel his hot breath fanning against your core, and your thighs tremble as he ghosts those glossy lips over your slick folds—teasing you with the contact you desperately crave.

The moment his pink tongue flicks out, he groans—licking a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance up to your throbbing clit, making your whole-body jerk. A sharp cry rips from your throat as he hums against your cunt.

“Fuck…” he pants, licking and curling his finger in tandem now, “nngh… taste better than I imagined.”

His grip slides lower, kneading your ass before he yanks you closer, burying himself deeper between your thighs. The sudden force makes you yelp, but the sound quickly dissolves into a whimper as his mouth wraps about your clit—curling, flicking, savoring every drop of arousal dripping onto his lips.

“S-Sator… nnngh… fuck.”

You see stars, squirming and trembling around his face as his tongue accompanies his finger— delving deep into your tight hole. His hips rut involuntarily against the bed, cock straining unbearably in his sweats as precum leaks through the fabric.

“Mmm...” he hums against you, a sinful smirk curling as he drags his tongue up your slit again, slow and deliberate. “Fuck yes… wanna drown in your cunt.”

He’s back on you voraciously, low hungry moans mixing with the wet noises of your pussy. You pant, looking down at him and oh, he’s ravenous. His face buries between your legs as those blue eyes flick up through messy white lashes, drinking in the way you writhe for him.

And writhing for him you are. Satoru is loving it—seeing your face flushed a pretty pink, panting, your breasts heaving as you shudder against him.

“Haaa—look at you,” he pulls back, flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit now. “Heh… wanna make you squirm and shake until you're nothing but an incoherent mess, beggin’ for my cock."

You’re squirming now, eyes fluttering shut as your clint tingles from the rising pressure building within your tummy. But as you feel his second finger slip into your cunt, your eyes snap open and a desperate sob breaks from your lips. You were so close.

"Ohmygod—Satoru, please—"

He hums in amusement, lapping at your sweet essence. "Haaa... I dunno… maybe I'll grant you what you want, pretty girl,” he’s panting now, scissoring your cunt fervently between each filthy word. “Stuff your needy little hole with my thick, hard cock until you can't take any more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

Your voice is barely coherent now, broken between ragged gasps and desperate whimpers. “Yes… yes… wan’ you ‘toru… m’close…”

Desperate to grip onto something, your fingers find purchase on his hair, slipping through the soft white strands as you pull him close, shamelessly grinding yourself on his pretty face, clenching against him as your arousal coats his lips.

“Mmmngh…” Satoru groans against your cunt, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you use his mouth. His cock throbs eagerly against the mattress as he devours you like a man starved.

Fuck, he's so hard it hurts, aching to bury himself inside your perfect little cunt.

He fully gives in, releasing his fingers to pull you close—wrapping your legs around his shoulders as his tongue plunges deep—fucking into your entrance as he laps up your dripping arousal—nose brushing against your clit as you rock on his face. You’re on the brink of coming undone.

"Haaa... yes, yeahh! J-jus' like... mmnn... that! Oh fuuuck!"

As your fingers tug at his hair, hips rolling wildly, Satoru groans into your heat, reverberating through your core. You look down to see those glassy eyes flutter open, locking onto yours, watching every little tremor of your body as the pleasure wrecks you.

And then you snap.

Your pussy clamps down around his tongue, a sob ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Satoru groans through it, tongue pressing deeper as your walls pulse violently, drenching his eager mouth as he savors every drop of your release.

His cock jerks violently, aching with need as he drinks you down, eyes flickering shut as he hums against your overstimulated clit, prolonging your pleasure until you’re trembling uncontrollably above him.

Finally spent, your grip on his hair loosens, and your hips still as your trembling slows. Satoru gentles his kisses as he eases you down from your high, his hands trailing light, soothing circles on your thighs.

"Mmm, that's it, princess. Came so fucking hard for me..." he murmurs smugly against your sensitive flesh, pressing one last lingering kiss against your swollen clit before pulling back. His lips and chin glisten with your release as he smirks down at you. "You taste fucking incredible..."

As you watch him lick his lips hungrily, you realize he’s still not sated—not even close. Your gaze narrows to the obscene bulge straining against his grey sweats, pooling with precum. He follows your line of sight, eyes dragging down to the tent in his pants before meeting yours again, his smirk deepening.

“See what you do to me?” he pitches forward, and you shudder as his forearms bracket your head, looming over you. “Fuck… want you…” His lips graze your jaw, his voice a low, desperate rasp. “You felt so good around my fingers… can just imagine this greedy little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

But then, suddenly, the bedroom door swings open.

"Mama! The sun is up. Let’s go downstairs and play!"

Oh God.

The air is sucked straight from your lungs as Haru’s tiny voice rings through the room like a gunshot. Both you and Satoru freeze, horror crashing down like a tidal wave.

Thankfully, Satoru reacts first.

With lightning-fast reflexes, he rolls to the side, yanking you with him, shielding your naked body as he drags the sheets up in a last-ditch effort at preserving what’s left of your dignity. Haru stands in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with tiny fists, completely oblivious to the absolute disaster she’s just walked in on.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying—failing—not to let out a panicked squeak, and Satoru, still rock-hard and reeling from the sheer whiplash of the moment, clears his throat.

“H-Hey, kiddo… uh… what’s up?”

Haru pouts at him, unimpressed. “Where’s Mama? I want Mama.”

“Oh, uh… right.” Satoru laughs, but it’s high and strained, barely holding it together as he tightens his hold around you.

You can feel the mortification radiating off him in waves, and before either of you can scramble for a better excuse, there’s another voice.

“Haru? Where’d you go? Oh—OH MY—”

The nanny—Remi.

She halts in the doorway like she’s just walked into a crime scene, brown eyes going comically round as her hands fly to her mouth. Her sleek dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, her uniform crisp as always, but her composure? Completely shattered. Her face turns a shade of red, one that rivals yours as she sees you and Satoru tangled up in the sheets.

“Oh! Uh—Haru, sweetie—” She clears her throat, trying and failing to sound normal. “Why don’t we head downstairs? Your parents will be down soon!”

Satoru audibly chokes on air, and you feel his body tense beside you. But Haru, ever persistent, pouts.

“But I wanna—”

“I’ll make waffles! Extra syrup! Maybe even some whipped cream—doesn’t that sound fun?” Remi is already halfway out the door, all but dragging Haru with her.

Haru hesitates for a split second, then gasps. “Whipped cream?!”

“Yep! Let’s go!”

And just like that, they’re gone. The door clicks shut, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. You and Satoru remain frozen, your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, wide-eyed and horrified.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Oh. My. God.” you whisper, hands flying to your face as if you can somehow will yourself out of existence. “I am never showing my face outside this room again.”

Beside you, Satoru exhales deeply, stretching out like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

“Well,” he grins, tilting his head toward you, “that was fun.”

You gape at him, your mortification reaching new levels. “Are you—are you fucking kidding me?”

He just blinks, completely unbothered. “What?”

Groaning, you curl onto your side, burying your face into a pillow. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Satoru’s chuckle rumbles through his chest as he shifts onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. His other hand reaches over, tugging at the pillow you’re desperately clinging to.

“Oh, c’mon, princess,” he hums, infuriatingly smug. “Worst day of your life? Pretty sure five minutes ago you were having the time of your life.”

Your entire body burns hotter than the sun. “Quiet. Do not start—”

“What? Just saying,” his grin widens as his fingers trace lazy patterns down your arm. “One second you were cuming on my tongue, and the next—”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can finish that sentence. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

The smirk beneath your palm only deepens, and you shriek, jerking your hand back as his warm tongue flicks out against your skin.

“Satoru!?”

He bursts into laughter, utterly shameless, before effortlessly pulling you into his arms. His grip is warm, steady, and one hand slides up, smoothing down your messy hair as he tucks a stray strand behind your ear.

“You’re always so cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, dropping into something softer.

“I am not flustered,” you huff, scowling as you bury you face into his chest, grumbling “I am humiliated.”

A quiet, amused sigh rumbles through him as his fingers begin to trace slow, lazy circles over your hip, featherlight, absentminded. Neither of you move, neither of you rush to untangle from each other—it’s a rare moment of stillness.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently, nudging his nose against your temple. “It’s okay.”

You pout, cheeks still burning, as you peek up at him through your lashes. “How am I ever gonna look Remi in the eye again?”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering behind his bright eyes before he rolls them with exaggerated ease. “Baby, you don’t have to,” he says. “Just stare at her forehead.”

You groan, swatting at his chest as you roll onto your back. “You are so not helpful.”

Satoru laughs, deep and unbothered, before tugging you right back against him. His arms wrap around you easily, pressing you close, his nose nudging against your hair. You feel yourself melting into him as his lips brush a lingering kiss against your temple, soothing the heat burning under your skin.

All you want to do is remain here—tangled up in him, forever. But of course, he reminds you of your reality.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, fingers tracing delicate lines down your spine. “We’re gonna have to go downstairs at some point.”

You let out a quiet whine, curling in on yourself. “No. We absolutely do not.”

He chuckles, nosing at your temple again. “Why don’t you go ahead and clean up, hm? We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Suguru is expecting us.”

You mumble something unintelligible against his collarbone before sighing, reluctantly peeling yourself away from him, the cool air replacing his warmth making you shiver. As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reality crashes back down on you.

"You know, I should’ve known this would happen," you grumble, trudging towards to bathroom. "You never lock the damn door. It’s like the whole fucking bathroom fiasco all over again.”

Satoru grins, plopping back onto the bed lazily. "I didn’t see you complaining when I had my face between your—"

A pillow smacks him square in the face before he can finish. He yelps, half laughing as he dodges your second attempt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle the damage control,” he says smugly.

You pause at the bathroom door, squinting at him in pure suspicion. “…What exactly does ‘damage control’ mean?”

That wicked grin stretches across his lips, slow and self-satisfied, his bright eyes gleaming with mischief. “It means I’ll flash Remi a dazzling smile, crack a joke, and act like nothing happened. Works every time.”

You groan, shaking your head as you shuffle through the doorway. “Great… I am so screwed.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Satoru smirks, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. He can hear the water running, but it barely registers, his mind still clouded with the remnants of you—your warmth, your scent, the way you had unraveled beneath him just minutes ago.

And then his gaze flickers downward.

Your panties—still damp, tangled in the mess of bedding, glistening with your arousal—catch his eye.

His throat tightens. His cock twitches, still painfully hard, still aching with need.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But he’s already reaching for them.

The fabric is still warm, still sticky, and the moment he hooks a finger around the waistband, lifting them to his face, your scent floods his senses. A violent shudder rips through his spine. It’s obscene. It’s filthy. And it makes him impossibly harder.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as his hips press into the mattress, instinct taking over. Rolling onto his back, his free hand shoves down his sweats just enough to free his aching cock. Precum smears against his abs, and the first tight stroke around the thick base has his head falling back against the pillows, lips parting on a sharp gasp.

“Haaa—baby…” he grunts, pressing your panties to his face as he his hips buck into his fist.

His mind is still clouded with the way you came apart for him—the way you rode his face, rolling your hips, thighs trembling, voice breaking as you cried his name. His jaw clenches, fingers twisting in the damp lace, pressing it harder against his nose, drowning in the sweet, intoxicating scent of you.

God, he’s obsessed.

His breath turns ragged, his wrist flicking faster as heat coils deep in his gut. He pictures you—perched on top of him, sinking down onto his cock, stretching around him, taking him so perfectly. His body reacts on instinct, rutting up into his palm, fucking into his tight grip with reckless abandon.

“Nnngh… oh yes… fuuuck just like that,” he whimpers, thick with need. “Baby… haaa�� gonna have you dripping down my cock next time—ahhh, fuck—"

His rhythm stutters, muscles seizing, toes curling as pleasure crashes over him like a tidal wave. His stomach clenches, his breath catches, and then—

A strangled moan tears from his throat as he spills over his fist, thick, sticky ropes of cum painting his stomach. His body trembles, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as the last waves of his orgasm rip through him. His eyes squeeze shut as he milks himself dry, accentuating each pulse of release with a shuddering whine, muffled against your panties.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing, his limbs lax and boneless against the bed.

Then his eyes flick toward the bathroom door.

The water is still running.

A lazy, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he reaches for a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning himself up at an unhurried pace, basking in the post-orgasm haze. His muscles are still tingling, pleasure simmering warm and slow in his veins.

And then he sees them—your panties, still resting on the bed beside him.

He hesitates for only a second before smirking, reaching for the nightstand. The drawer slides open, and with a flick of his wrist, he tucks them inside.

His dirty little secret—maybe for later.

Anyways. Right.

Time to handle damage control.

ꨄ

“Oh! Good morning, sweetheart,” Remi chirps, voice light, easy. “I was wondering when you’d come down.”

She sets a fresh cup of coffee at your usual seat, so natural, so routine, that it momentarily soothes the buzzing in your chest. Oh. She’s being nice. And not weird about it at all.

But then—

“Did you sleep well?”

You freeze mid-step while heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks before you can smother it. Satoru pauses too, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, but unlike you, he just smirks. That infuriating look flashing in his eyes as he watches you with far too much amusement—scrambling into your seat.

“Oh—uh…” your throat bobs as you swallow hard. “Yeah. I did. Thanks.”

Awkward…

As your throat clears, you internally will yourself to sound as normal as possible, while Satoru—little shit that he is—just keeps watching, just keeps smirking, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say something that will make you wish for the sweet release of death.

But thankfully, Remi either doesn’t notice or chooses not to comment.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, already moving toward the counter. “Satoru made you a plate.”

Satoru hums, lazily swirling his coffee.

“She worked up an appetite, m’sure…”

Your foot connects with his shin under the table, and he yelps, nearly spilling his coffee while Haru giggles at his suffering.

With a huff, he rubs his leg, muttering “Violence before breakfast. Unbelievable…” His lips drop into a petulant pout. “Tch… I even slaved over the stove this mornin, all for you…”

Your brow lifts, unimpressed, as Remi giggles—setting the dish down in front of you with an easy flourish. The moment you look down at your plate, you immediately know he’s full of shit.

Waffles. Golden brown. Crisp edges. Beside them… flower-shaped eggs? Yeah, right. Satoru doesn’t make flower-shaped anything.

Slowly, your gaze drags back up to meet his, eyes narrowing. He’s grinning at you far too suspiciously.

“You didn’t make these,” you say matter-of-factly.

His smile falters, just for a second, before he dramatically slumps back in his chair, pouting like a scolded child. “Wow. You didn’t even try to believe it… not even for a second.”

You arch a brow. “Did you expect me to believe it? You—making flower shaped eggs?”

“I tried,” he sighs, slouching forward as he cradles his chin in his palm, looking thoroughly betrayed. “But Remi threatened my life.”

“No, I saved you,” she corrects with a small chuckle.

Satoru groans while Remi shakes her head, muttering quietly to you, “Trust me, sweetheart… you wouldn’t have wanted the eggs he made.”

Haru nods enthusiastically, mouth stuffed full. “’toru’s eggs were crunchy.”

Satoru scoffs, scandalized. “Excuse me. They were caramelized.”

“They were burnt,” Remi supplies sweetly.

“They were enhanced,” Satoru insists, crossing his arms.

You stifle a laugh, finally cutting into your waffles. And just like that, your worries melt away. The morning falls into an easy rhythm—the air humming with warmth, filled with the quiet clatter of silverware, Haru’s happy little kicks against the chair legs. It’s simple. It’s comfortable.

Remi moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, topping off Satoru’s coffee without needing to ask, pausing to wipe a stray smudge of syrup from Haru’s cheek with a fond shake of her head. Everything about her is effortless, warm. Kind.

She takes a seat across from you, cradling her tea in both hands—posture relaxed as she blows gently over the rim.

“So,” she muses, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Any plans for today?”

You glance at Satoru before answering, catching the way he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated groan.

“We’re heading into Gojo Corp for a bit,” you say, slicing another piece of waffle. “Got some things to take care of.”

“Ah, work, huh?” Remi hums, taking a slow sip of tea. “Must be nice, working together like that. I imagine it makes things easier… or harder?” Her eyes flick between you and Satoru, a teasing lilt curling at the edges of her voice. “Do you ever get sick of each other?”

Satoru snorts, setting down his coffee with a smirk. “She wishes she got sick of me.”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Oh, constantly.”

Remi laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Mmm, I doubt that.”

The conversation drifts easily—small talk about work, about how Haru had insisted on watching the same cartoon three times in a row yesterday. But then, after a comfortable lull, Remi shifts slightly in her seat, her fingers curling gently around the rim of her cup as her voice turns more measured.

“You’re meeting with Suguru Geto today?”

Your head lifts slightly—the shift in her tone catching your attention. Across the table, Satoru’s eyes flick toward her, just barely. So quick, so subtle, you almost miss it.

“Mhm...” you nod, hesitating slightly. “That’s right.”

Remi exhales, shaking her head.

“That’s gotta be tough…” she swirls her tea absentmindedly, watching the liquid move. “The custody case, I mean… he’s got his work cut out for him.”

Your grip tightens slightly around your fork—there’s nothing inherently off about what she’s saying, but still… the reminder sends a ripple of unease through your chest. Maybe it’s the weight of the case itself, or maybe it’s just the exhaustion that comes with constantly thinking about it. You’re not sure.

“He’s exceptional,” Satoru says smoothly, matter-of-factly. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. “There’s no one else I’d trust more than him with this case.”

Remi hums, nodding, but she doesn’t quite meet your gaze right away. “Of course,” she murmurs, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I just mean—it must be a lot for you to deal with. I hope things go smoothly. It’s good that you have someone like him in your corner.”

The warmth in her voice should be comforting, right? Why aren’t you comforted? You find yourself nodding, but the weight of her words begins to bury you. Satoru eyes flick to you as he catches onto your unease. Tilting his head slightly, he studies Remi before immediately shifting gears.

“Remi,” he says, tapping a finger against his plate. “Could you grab some more syrup? Pretty sure I saw it in the cabinet earlier.”

“Oh! Of course,” she chirps, setting her tea down and rising to her feet as she moves toward the pantry.

The moment her back is turned, Satoru leans slightly toward you, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “Don’t let it get to you,” he murmurs, warmth curling around the shell of your ear. “Remember? I got you… always.”

His fingers ghost over your knee beneath the table, brief but grounding, and as you blink up at him, something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, certain—eases the tightness in your chest.

“Yeah…” you whisper, returning his soft smile while your hand settles over his, offering a reassuring squeeze.

But from the corner of your eye, you catch it—Remi, standing by the counter, fingers lingering over the syrup bottle.

…a pause?

Then, so seamlessly it’s almost unnoticeable, she picks it up and turns back around—expression easy, light, slipping back into place like nothing happened.

"So,” she says cheerfully, placing the syrup in front of Satoru before settling back into her seat. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Just wondering if Haru will need dinner before you get home."

The question is innocent. Logical, even. It makes perfect sense for her to ask. And yet—

Something about it feels… off?

No. Perhaps you’re imagining it. Maybe you’re just on edge. Overthinking things.

After all, Remi is kind.

ꨄ

“Every time I walk in here, I think it can’t possibly get worse,” Suguru mutters, loosening his tie as he sinks into one of the chairs opposite Satoru’s desk. “And yet, you continue to outdo yourself.”

Your gaze sweeps over the office, and you find yourself reluctantly agreeing. The space is massive, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sprawling, ridiculous view of the Tokyo skyline. It looks professional, should feel professional—but the illusion is broken the second you take in the state of the room.

Satoru’s desk is buried under a chaotic mess of papers, some crumpled, others half-stacked, as if he had started to organize them before giving up halfway. A small dish of candy sits beside the keyboard, its contents long gone, save for the sea of discarded wrappers. Against the far wall, an obnoxiously comfortable-looking leather couch sits, one you know has seen more of Satoru’s midday naps than actual work.

And then, there’s the final touch—Suguru gestures toward the golf club leaning against the bookshelf, his brow arching.

“You don’t even play golf.”

Satoru barely glances up from where he’s lazily spinning in his chair, a smug grin curling his lips.

“It’s for decoration.”

Suguru groans, rolling his eyes as he tries to make room for his documents on the desk. You sigh, already moving to help, straightening the mess with quick, practiced hands.

"Everything in this office is for decoration,” you mutter, stacking papers into an organized pile before flicking your gaze to Satoru. “Including you.”

Satoru is pleased—gasping dramatically as he places a hand over his heart.

“Oh? So you admit I enhance the ambiance?” His smirk is all teeth. “Always knew I was a statement piece. Finally, my wife admits I’m nice to look at.”

You roll your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah… that’s not what I said.”

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbows on the desk, vivid blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Mmm, no, but it’s what you meant.”

Suguru doesn’t even look up from his folder. “I know what she meant.” Then, flipping a page, he glances at you. “Lemme guess. He makes you do all the work?”

“Yup.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, unimpressed, before turning his unimpressed stare on Satoru. The man, unbothered as ever, leans back in his chair, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

“What?” Satoru says, unabashed. “I’ve always loved her work ethic. It’s inspiring, really. Besides, delegation is the mark of true corporate genius. You wouldn’t understand, Suguru.”

Suguru levels him with a flat stare, then tilts his head toward the far end of the office.

“Oh yeah? And tell me, how exactly does a gumball machine contribute to your corporate genius? Or is that also for decoration.”

You follow his gaze toward the bright red gumball machine standing proudly in the corner, positioned beside a sleek espresso maker.

“Oh, that?” Satoru grins like he’s just been waiting for someone to ask. “That’s for morale.”

You scoff, cutting Suguru a knowing look before shaking your head. “I hate that I kind of believe that…” you mutter under your breath.

Suguru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging a hand down his face. There’s a tired sort of patience in his movements, like he’s been through this song and dance too many times before.

“Right…” he mutters, shaking his head. “I swear you designed this office specifically to avoid working.”

Satoru���s grin only stretches wider, unabashed. “Exactly.” He props his feet up on the desk, reclining with the ease of a man without a single real responsibility.

Suguru gives him a flat look. Then, with a quiet thud, he slides a thick folder onto the desk.

“Well… not today.”

The energy in the room shifts. Satoru’s gaze flicks to you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he drops his feet back to the floor. You straighten slightly in your seat as Suguru clicks his pen, tone all business now.

“Alright. Custody battles always boil down to one thing—what’s in the best interest of the child.” His eyes flick between you and Satoru as he flips through his notes. “The court isn’t concerned with what either parent wants. They’re focused on stability, consistency, and overall well-being for Haru.”

You nod, but there’s a pressure settling in your chest. You already know what’s best for Haru—being here, with you, with Satoru. She barely even knows Naoya. The idea of a judge, a complete stranger, making that decision for her makes your stomach twist.

Suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “First things first,” he says, flipping to another section of his notes. “We need to establish parental involvement. Has Naoya been active in Haru’s life at all?”

“No,” you don’t hesitate.

Suguru doesn’t look surprised, but his gaze lifts slightly, assessing. “Never?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together.

"He didn’t want to be involved," you say quietly. "I tried… but it was like pulling teeth just to get him to acknowledge her, especially before we separated. It wasn’t until I filed for child support that he started using her as a tool, and he kept delaying the court date, always coming up with some excuse.”

“Oh?” Suguru’s brows lift slightly. “You filed for child support? When was that?”

“Um… about a year ago.” Your fingers fidget in your lap. “Shortly after I left him.”

There’s a pause as Suguru jots something down. His expression remains neutral, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes, a calculating edge as he pieces together the information.

Then, as casually as ever, he asks, “And how did he react? When you left him?”

ꨄ

Dinner was plated, still steaming.

You had made his favorite—teriyaki salmon, perfectly seared, a side of rice, miso soup. You had set the table, poured him a drink. Everything was in its place, arranged to look as normal as possible.

But it wasn’t normal. The packed bags by the door gave everything away.

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your ears ring. Haru sat on the floor, cross-legged, focused on her blocks. Her little hands moved diligently, stacking each one with careful precision, humming to herself—untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest. When the tower inevitably toppled, the wooden blocks clattered against the floor, breaking the silence for only a moment before fading back into stillness.

Your palms pressed flat against the kitchen counter; fingers splayed against the cool surface as you tried to steady yourself. Any minute now. Any minute now.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as Naoya stepped inside. The keys in his hand clinked as he set them on the entry table. Exhaling, he rustled his hair as his gaze swept across the apartment, moving from the dinner waiting on the carefully set table until suddenly, he froze—eyes narrowing as they landed on the bags.

For a second, there was nothing. No words. No movement. Just a long, unnerving silence. And then—

“The fuck is this?”

His voice was quiet. Too quiet—the kind of quiet that had always meant danger. Your stomach curled in on itself, your muscles locking as if bracing for impact. You opened your mouth, trying to summon the words you had rehearsed in your head over and over and over again—but they lodged in your throat.

Instead, all you could manage was—

“I… made your favorite.”

You gestured toward the table—toward the salmon. As if that was the thing that needed explaining. As if that was the thing that mattered. He rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes before striding toward the bags.

“You know that’s not what I fucking asked.”

Grabbing the zipper of your bag, a scoff ripped from his throat as he yanked it open, revealing its contents. Clothes. Toiletries. Haru’s favorite stuffed Pikachu. The things people pack when they don’t plan on coming back.

“You goin’ somewhere, sweets?”

Every instinct was screaming at you to run, run, run. But your feet stayed planted, rooted to the spot as if the very air had turned thick and unmovable. Your fingers curled against your palms as you forced the words out quietly.

“I… I think we need time apart.”

The moment the words left your lips, Naoya barked out a laugh—loud, sharp, mocking. He actually doubled over, hands on his knees, shaking his head as if you had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“That’s cute,” he mused, catching his breath between laughs, his voice dropping into something almost patronizing. When he straightened, his eyes pinned you in place, something unreadable flickering behind them. Something dangerous.

“And tell me, sweetheart—where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Your breath caught, and he saw it—your hesitation, the way your lips pressed together, how your fingers twitched by your sides. A slow, cruel smirk curled at his lips, dripping in amusement.

“Oh,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “So, you don’t even have a plan?”

Another sharp laugh pushed past his lips—low, cruel, unforgiving. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished. His expression hardened, eyes darkening as his jaw clenched. The shift was so sudden, so jarring, you felt the air leave your lungs.

Holding your breath, your gaze followed him as he began slowly pacing, like he was working himself up. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered, fingers pressing against his temples. His next exhale came out shaky, forced. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that?”

“Naoya… please—”

“Stupid BITCH!”

The explosion came out of nowhere.

The sheer force of his voice rattled through your chest, slammed against the walls, reverberated through the floor beneath your feet.

A brief silence followed—Haru’s humming stopped. As you stood there—eyes wide, Naoya glaring at you—in the corner of your eye, you saw your daughter stilling, suddenly silent in the middle of stacking her blocks.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, you forced your voice to steady, lowering it, softening it, as if that would keep things from spiraling further.

“Naoya… let’s just talk, okay? I—”

The next thing you knew, a ceramic plate shattered at your feet.

The impact was violent—shards splintering across the floor, cutting through the quiet like a gunshot. You flinched so hard your entire body jerked back while Haru let out a sharp breath from across the room.

Chest heaving, pulse thundering, your eyes zeroed in on the scattered debris, glinting under the kitchen light—sharp, jagged edges that could have easily torn through skin if you had been just one step closer.

“Fuck… see what you fucking make me do?” he muttered, shaking his head as he paced across the kitchen. “You always push me, always fucking nagging, like some goddamn broken record. I give you everything, and you still bitch like an ungrateful little—”

His voice blurred. You were barely hearing him anymore. Your pulse was too loud, roaring in your head as a ringing sound began to drown him out—drown everything out.

"Shit, baby…"

The shift was instantaneous.

You blinked, refocusing, and suddenly—he was in front of you.

Close. Too close. His fingers curled around your wrist—not harshly, but firmly.

“Look, I…” He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before raking it through his hair. When his eyes met yours, something in them was different. Softer. More open, more human.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, quieter now. “You know I—” He let out a heavy breath, like he was the one suffering. “I love you, baby. So much. You just make me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

The whiplash sent your thoughts into a tailspin. The heat of his palm against your wrist. The gentleness in his voice. Your body screamed at you to pull away, to resist.

But your heart—your stupid, aching heart—

“You don’t have to do this, baby.” Naoya’s thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, slow, soothing. Tethering. “I get it. Things have been… rough lately. I’ve been stressed, work’s been a fucking nightmare, and I know I take that out on you sometimes.”

You swallowed hard, breath hitching, vision blurring as you blinked back the sting behind your eyes. This is what he did. This was how he made you stay.

He spun words into silk, wove apologies into something tender, something careful.

A beautiful lie.

"I'll fix it," he promised, his lips curling into something almost boyish, like he already knew he'd won. "I'll take better care of you, yeah? You and Haru. We can fix this. Just… stay. Stay right where you belong."

For a second—just a second—your mind whispered the possibility.

Maybe it could be different this time. Maybe he meant it. This is fixable…right? Things could be okay if you just—

No.

No.

This was the cycle. The same fucking cycle that had been spinning over and over and over again.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

You had seen this moment before. Felt this warmth, heard this regret, let these pretty little words lull you into submission. And every single time—every single time—you had fallen for it.

But not this time.

Naoya’s grip tightened the longer you stayed quiet, making your breathing quicken now—shallow, panicked. His gaze flicked across your face, calculating, searching for an answer he wanted—needed—to hear.

"Baby?" His voice was still soft, but there was something sharp underneath. "You wanna sit down with me?"

You swallowed hard. And then, somehow—somehow—you found your voice.

"I… can’t," you whispered.

For a second, nothing moved. Not the air, not the world, not even him.

His fingers curled tighter around your wrist—just long enough to send ice shooting through your veins—before loosening again.

"You can’t what?"

“I’m leaving Naoya. And I’m taking Haru.”

His lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out, until finally, those wicked lips curled into something cruel—amused.

"C’mon now… you don’t mean that," he said, like it was a joke, like you were saying something ridiculous. "You’re just upset."

His hand lifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Too soft. Too gentle. Your skin burned under a touch you once leaned into, once believed in.

"You don’t really wanna do this, baby," his thumb ghosts over your cheek. "I get it. Things have been stressful, I haven’t been at my best, but you’re being ridiculous. You don’t have to go and make a scene."

As his fingers skimmed the curve of your jaw, cradling it like something fragile, you held your breath. It’s the very same caress he’d always use after losing his temper—after breaking something—brushing the tear trailing down your cheek, like he was trying to rewrite reality, trying to pull you back into the script.

"Let’s just sit down and eat, hm?" he coaxed, smooth as silk. "You made my favorite, didn’t you? It smells incredible. We should eat before it gets cold."

He was smiling now, gentle, reassuring—like none of this had happened. Like if you just sat down, everything would go back to normal. Like you wouldn’t still feel the tremble in your hands, the stinging heat of his words.

As you opened your mouth to speak, he pulled you close.

"Don’t do this, baby," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours for just a moment. His breath was warm against your lips. "Just… be good for me, okay?"

Be good for me.

The words settled over you like oil, thick and suffocating. And suddenly, blinking through your own empty haze, everything became too clear.

The shards of ceramic scattered at your feet. The tiny splinters of glass catching the light. The dining table still set, untouched. Waiting for someone to sit down. As if there wasn’t a shattered plate on the floor.

As if he hadn’t just thrown it. As if he wasn’t capable of so much worse.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

"I’m leaving," you repeated.

His fingers twitched, then released you altogether. Exhaling through his nose, he shook his head, disappointed—as if you were being unreasonable.

"You’re nothing without me," he muttered.

The words settled like a weight in your stomach, but you remained silent.

His lips curled as his head tilted slightly, scanning you like he was recalibrating, assessing—trying to find a new way to break you down.

"N o t h i n g," he repeated, slower this time, dragging the word out like it was something filthy.

The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. A quiet, shaky sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it back.

Naoya wasn’t finished.

"Look at you," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Pathetic. You wouldn’t last a fucking week without my money. You’re a failure. A desperate little bitch who got knocked up and thought she could trap me with a useless kid."

A sharp breath punched from your lungs, a gasp—small, broken. He could degrade you all he wanted. He had done it before, and he would do it again. But Haru?

Something inside you splintered, something that had been held together by fear and exhaustion and the faintest hope that maybe—maybe he could change.

"Haru is not useless."

The words left your mouth before you even realized you had spoken them, and Naoya stilled—brow arching slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to speak at all.

Your pulse thrummed; your hands curled into fists at your sides. You could feel the wetness in your lashes, the tremor in your shoulders. But you didn’t stop.

"And… I’d rather be miserable than be stuck with you."

Silence.

For once, Naoya was stunned into stillness. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You had never spoken back like that before. And for a fleeting, reckless moment—you felt something close to power.

But then, his expression twisted. Something ugly. Something furious. And you knew.

Fuck. You had just made a mistake.

"YOU—"

Closing your eyes, the drywall beside your head shook, caving in under his fist while dust and plaster rained onto your shoulder.

The ringing in your ears swallowed everything—your own heartbeat, the distant hum of the light, the sharp inhale you barely managed to take as your body locked up.

For the first time, you thought—really, truly thought—he was going to kill you.

You didn’t dare move.

He was yelling now, screaming in your face, his words pouring out in a torrent of unfiltered venom. But his voice was just noise now. A violent storm battering against you, word after word, crashing like waves, over and over and over.

You couldn’t hear him.

Your mind had detached, floating somewhere far away, just outside your own body. Your vision blurred at the edges; your limbs trembled so violently you thought your knees might give out.

Then—through the haze, you saw him move.

A sharp pivot. Footsteps, heavy, stomping toward the bedroom. The door slammed so hard the walls shook. And then—

Silence.

Your body didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The seconds ticked by, stretching into something unbearable, something suffocating. Your chest was so tight it ached, but your lungs kept shuddering, gasping for air.

Then, like a puppet whose strings had been severed, you crumpled. Your back hit the wall, legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed onto the floor—a sob ripping through you before you could stop it.

It tore out of your chest, raw, unrestrained. It wrecked through your entire body, like something primal, something beyond your control. Your fingers curled against your arms, clutching at your own skin, trying to hold yourself together—trying to keep from unraveling completely.

Choked gasps echoed into the emptiness of the apartment, your sobs reverberating against the walls. You sucked in a shuddering breath—trying, desperate to regain control—

And that’s when you heard it.

A whimper.

Your entire body jerked. Your head snapped up so fast your vision swam. The air in your lungs froze.

Haru.

You turned—where she had been sitting, where her tiny hands had been stacking blocks—

Empty. She’s gone.

Panic surged through your veins, crashing into you like ice. You scrambled onto your feet, nearly stumbling in your haste, your vision tunneling as your breath came fast, sharp—

"Haru?"

Silence.

Dread curled around your ribs, sinking its claws deep. You turned frantically, scanning the apartment, searching, praying.

"Haru?!"

Nothing.

Your heartbeat was deafening as you staggered forward, checking behind the couch, peering around the kitchen island. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

Then—

Another small, muffled whimper.

You spun, pulse hammering against your ribs as you followed the sound, eyes landing on a cupboard. A small, low cabinet beneath the sink. The one that had never really locked properly. The one just big enough to—

Your breath hitched, and dropping to your knees, your fingers shook as you reached for the handle. You pulled the door open, and there she was—curled up inside, her knees drawn to her chest, tiny hands covering her ears, her small body trembling.

Tears streaked her round cheeks, her lower lip wobbled, and when her wide, terrified eyes met yours, something inside you shattered.

She had hidden herself away.

From him.

From you.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you reached for her, arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against your chest. She melted into you instantly, her little hands fisting into your shirt, burying her face into your shoulder as soft, hiccupped cries wracked through her tiny body.

You rocked her gently, whispering her name like a prayer, your voice breaking as your lips pressed against the crown of her head.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Over and over, you murmured it into her hair, against her temple, into the delicate curve of her ear, as if sheer repetition could make it true.

"I'm so sorry, Haru. I'm so, so sorry."

And that was the day you swore—you would never, never fall back into Naoya’s grasp again.

ꨄ

“y/n?”

The sound of your name pulled you back.

The past dissolved like mist burned away by the sun, fading into the recesses of your mind. The dim, suffocating glow of your old apartment vanished, replaced by the cool, sterile overhead lights of Satoru’s office. The warmth of Haru’s small body against yours was gone, replaced by the unyielding leather of the chair beneath you.

You blink, the weight of memory still lingering in your chest.

Across the desk, Suguru was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed slightly, his pen poised between his fingers. Beside him, Satoru had straightened in his seat, his usual playful smirk nowhere in sight. His bright eyes—always so full of mischief—were sharp now. Piercing. Concerned.

Swallowing hard, you realized your hands had curled into fists in your lap. Slowly, deliberately, you forced yourself to breath—loosening your fingers, unclenching one joint at a time.

"Sorry," you murmur hoarsely. "I was just—" exhaling, you shake your head. "I was remembering."

Satoru doesn’t speak, but his gaze lingers, tracking every subtle shift in your expression, every flicker of emotion. He’s perceptive—too perceptive. Suguru, too, holds your stare, though something in his expression softens.

"I asked how he reacted," he prompts, gentler than before.

Wetting your lips, the words tangle in your throat.

"Not well," you finally admit.

Suguru’s pen barely moved, his focus entirely on you.

"Did he put his hands on you?"

As you hesitate, Satoru’s jaw clenches—hands curling into fists under the desk, knuckles going white.

"He didn’t—" you pause, pressing your fingers into your temples. "He threw things. Punched the wall. Screamed in my face until I couldn’t even understand what he was saying anymore."

Silence.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching before he folds his arms tightly across his chest. His lips press into a thin line, tension radiating from every part of him as Suguru sets his pen down.

"That’s important," he says carefully. "If there were witnesses, records of damage, anything like that, it could help.”

"I… didn’t call the police," you murmur. "No reports, no records. Just… me."

Suguru nods, as if he had already expected that answer.

"And the child support case?” he continues, voice even. “Do you still have the documentation for that? Any filings, court dates, official correspondence?"

You stiffen, and something flickers across your face—guilt, unease, something you can’t quite name. Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, catching the slight shift in your posture.

"I…" your fingers curl against the fabric of your blouse. "I never went through with it."

Suguru tilts his head. "You never went through with it?"

You swallow; throat suddenly dry.

"I filed," you admit, barely above a whisper. "I started the process. I needed the financial support… he shut down all our joint credit cards, stopped paying the rent… kept delaying, making excuses, pushing back the court date. And then…"

Your gaze drifts toward Satoru, your expression softening despite yourself. A wry smile tugs at your lips.

"And then I married Satoru."

Satoru reaches out without hesitation, his hand finding yours, fingers curling around it with a reassuring squeeze. His thumb strokes the back of your hand—gentle, steady, grounding.

"And you no longer needed the financial support," he murmurs, piecing it together.

You nod. "Yes. So… I stopped responding to his messages."

“Can I see those messages?”

Suguru’s voice pulls your attention back to him—something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Oh… um, sure. Why?"

"Because the way you stopped responding could make a difference," he says evenly, holding out a hand. "We need to see how this will be interpreted in court."

A small knot tightens in your stomach, but you don’t hesitate for long. Pulling away from Satoru’s grasp, you reach into your bag, fingers unsteady as you unlock your phone. Scrolling through the old message thread, you hand it over.

Suguru takes the phone, his expression unreadable as he starts scrolling. The room feels eerily quiet. His brows furrow slightly, his thumb pausing at certain messages, and the longer he reads, the more apparent his concern becomes. His jaw tightens. The pen he had been twirling between his fingers stills completely.

Satoru notices. His easy, lazy demeanor shifts, shoulders straightening, his eyes flicking between Suguru’s face and the phone. Your fingers press into your lap, anxiety twisting in your gut.

“What’s up Suguru?” Satoru says. “I know that face.”

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately. His thumb halts on the screen, and when he finally speaks, his voice is careful.

“y/n… did you ever explicitly tell Naoya you got married?”

Your stomach knots. “Um… no…”

A pause.

“Did you tell him you no longer needed financial support?”

Dread coils around your ribs, squeezing. You already know where this is going.

“No…”

Suguru exhales slowly, setting the phone down on the table before meeting your gaze head-on. His expression is unreadable, but the weight behind it makes your pulse pick up.

“Did you ever tell him that both you and Haru moved in with Satoru?”

You hesitate, glancing at Satoru before answering.

“No… um, he… kept contacting me, but I never picked up his calls. I just… ignored him.”

Suguru leans back slightly, his fingers steepled together as he releases a slow breath through his nose. You can see him choosing his next words carefully, and somehow, his silence feels heavier than anything he could say.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, unease crawling up your spine. "What?" Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

Suguru’s eyes flick between you and Satoru before he finally says it.

“That’s not going to look good on our behalf.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“It paints the picture that you up and left without informing him of Haru’s whereabouts. Legally, he had parental rights—even if he wasn’t actively involved. If the court sees this as you cutting off access to his child, it could be a problem.”

The words hit like a slap.

Nausea rises in your chest as the weight of it settles over you—heavy, suffocating. You had been so focused on escaping, on surviving, that you hadn’t thought of how it would look on paper. You hadn’t considered what it meant legally, hadn’t realized that in the court’s eyes, your silence might be seen as something calculated, something deliberate.

You had unknowingly made this harder.

You just wanted to be free. To disappear from him. To never hear his voice again, never flinch at the sound of his footsteps, never have to wonder which version of him you’d be facing that day.

"Hey.”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind, gentle but firm. You blink, grounding yourself as his warm palm finds yours beneath the table, fingers wrapping around your own.

"You're spiraling," he murmurs, grip reassuring, anchoring you. "Breathe, sweetheart."

Realizing only now how tight your chest has become, you suck in a shuddering breath. Across from you, Suguru watches silently, but he doesn’t interrupt—letting Satoru handle it.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," Satoru continues, voice low and steady. "You didn’t owe that bastard anything. And you did what you thought was best at the time."

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a slow, comforting motion.

"You’re not the one who abandoned Haru," he murmurs, tone firm. "He did."

“Exactly,” Suguru chimes in, measured but sure. “And now we know what he’ll latch onto, how he’ll try to twist things in his favor. And we’ll be prepared for it.”

Satoru gives your hand one last squeeze before finally letting go, leaning back in his chair. He tilts his head at Suguru, lips curling into something sharp.

"Good thing we have a damn good lawyer then, huh?"

Suguru sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"You mean the best lawyer. Keep up."

Satoru scoffs, stretching lazily as he folds his arms behind his head. "If you're the best, then why does my name bring in the bigger checks?"

"Because people like looking at you, not listening to you."

Satoru gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Wow. That hurts, Suguru. That hurts."

"Good. Feel it.”

A breath escapes you—something close to a laugh. Small, but real. Satoru catches it immediately. His eyes flick to you, and for a brief moment, the teasing glint softens, just slightly.

Like he’s cataloging it. The way your shoulders have eased, the way a bit of color has returned to your face.

"See, sweetheart? He’s so mean to me," he whines, nudging your arm. "Did you hear that? Just, like, zero respect."

Rolling your eyes, your smile grows—the weight in your chest lifting, if only for a moment.

"You act like I haven’t been carrying you since we were kids," Suguru drawls, flipping a page in his folder.

Satoru straightens immediately. "Excuse me? That is blatant slander."

"Is it?" Suguru quirks an eyebrow. "Who was the one who got you through high school? Barely, might I add.”

"Hey now," Satoru objects, leaning forward. "I was a bright and capable student."

"Sure. When you weren’t slacking off and being a goddamn menace."

You shake your head, amused as their bickering continues—like muscle memory, like second nature. It’s effortless, this constant push and pull between them, a rhythm so ingrained it feels like breathing.

And for a brief moment, you let yourself sink into it, warmth curling in your chest. Like nothing has changed. Like you aren’t in the middle of preparing for a custody battle. Like there isn’t a pit of anxiety still gnawing at your ribs.

Satoru and Suguru make it easy.

Then your phone buzzes against the table where Suguru placed it, face down—a tiny vibration against the polished wood, so quiet it barely cuts through the noise of their conversation.

It’s nothing. Just a text. A notification.

Without much thought, you reach for it while the boys go at it—Satoru gesturing wildly, his voice dramatic, animated. Suguru flipping a page in his folder, unimpressed, already prepared to dismantle whatever ridiculous argument Satoru is making.

Unlocking the screen, your eyes flick to the message.

Naoya: We need to talk. When can I see you? Just… be good for me.

The words register slowly, their meaning sinking in like ink bleeding through paper.

The air turns thin—the office warping at the edges, colors leaching into something muted, distant. Your pulse spikes, hammering wildly in your chest, and your fingers slacken—the phone slipping from your grasp, clattering onto the table.

“Sweetheart?”

Satoru’s voice is muted, and you barely register the scrape of his chair against the floor because all you can see, all you can hear, are his words—echoing in your head.

Just be good for me.

The words crawl over your skin, wrapping tight around your throat. They coil around your ribs, squeezing, constricting, suffocating—

You don’t really want to do this, baby. Let’s just sit down and eat.

The edges of your vision blur, warping, swallowing color and sound. You’re not here. You’re there—the dim apartment, the sickly glow of streetlights bleeding through half-closed blinds, the remnants of shattered ceramic at your feet, a voice too soft, too calm—too dangerous.

Be good for me, okay?

Your body won’t move. Your ribs won’t expand.

“Baby, what is it?”

A different voice. Familiar. Safe.

As you blink, light and color slowly bleed back into your vision, and something warm presses against you—solid, steady. Satoru. His careful grip finds yours, anchoring you, pulling you back, back, back.

His other hand reaches for the phone, and his expression darkens the moment he sees the message—a muscle jumping in his jaw, his fingers clenching before he wordlessly hands the device to Suguru.

Then, he’s turning back to you.

"Hey, sweetheart…" his voice is soft, coaxing, and he cradles your face tenderly. "I need you to breathe for me."

Oh, are you not breathing?

The realization hits all at once. Your lungs are locked. Your breaths are too shallow, too fast, too panicked. The walls are still closing in, the weight still crushing your ribs. Your fingers clutch at Satoru’s sleeve, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

"You’re okay," pulling you in, his arms wrap around you completely. "He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I’ve got you."

The scent of him—clean linen, something crisp and warm—fills your senses. The thump-thump of his heartbeat echoes against your ear, a steady rhythm cutting through the chaos while his thumb brushes slow, deliberate circles against your back.

"Breathe with me."

You inhale, slow and shaky, then exhale.

You’re not there. You’re here.

Satoru feels the moment your body starts to ease. The moment your fingers loosen from their iron grip on his sleeve, the moment your breath finally evens out—but he doesn’t pull away, cradling you in his warmth.

Finally, you find your voice.

“I’m… okay,” you whisper, dragging your head up, meeting Satoru’s concerned gaze. His thumb brushes against your cheek—just once, fleeting, and his eyes search yours, not convinced.

A beat passes. Then, Suguru clears his throat.

"I’ll respond."

His voice is even, but there’s an edge beneath it. Cold. Measured. And you don’t protest. You can’t. Because the thought of speaking—of addressing him—sends another wave of nausea rolling through your gut.

Your body instinctively tenses again, and Satoru doesn’t let go. His fingers continue tracing slow, steady circles along your back as Suguru stares at the phone, jaw tightening just slightly before his fingers move over the screen.

The soft tap-tap-tap of his fingers against the glass is the only sound in the room. Then, a pause.

A slow, deep inhale drags through his nose, his thumb hovering over the screen for a brief second before he presses send. And the silence that follows feels heavy, expectant.

“He’s going to respond,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Suguru leans back slightly, watching the screen. Waiting.

“He will,” he confirms, voice unreadable. “But that doesn’t matter.” His eyes lift, meeting yours with something unshakable. “Because we’re meeting him tomorrow.”

The words settle like a weight in your chest.

You stiffen. “We are?”

“You don’t have to see him, sweetheart.”

Satoru’s voice is gentle but firm, his fingers tilting your chin up just enough to guide your gaze back to his. There’s something quietly resolute in the way he’s looking at you—something absolute.

“Me and Suguru will go,” his voice is unwavering, a promise wrapped in steel. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Let us handle him.”

The finality in his tone settles over you like armor.

You inhale—slow, deep. The tension still lingers, an ache sitting heavy in your ribs, but it no longer feels crushing. It no longer feels insurmountable. Because you don’t have to do this alone.

You have them.

a/n. ahhh, i hope you guys liked this chapter. it was very, very tough for me to write. i can't tell you how much i despise naoya—fucking gaslighting asshole, lol. i hope this gave you a glimpse of what y/n actually lived through. this is the reason she has a lot of issues—the difficulty trusting, reluctance to open up. with naoya, y/n had no voice—she was powerless. but satoru brings out the spark in her, rather than diminishing her flame, satoru nurtures it. i feel like i didn't even get to accomplish everything i wanted in this chapter 😅 but oh jeez, i couldn't do another 20k chapter. just know that there's still a lot i'm setting up for. i'm so excited for what's to come 🥹 also, y/n and satoru finally shared some intimacy, hehe. hope it was worth the wait for ya'll 🤭 remember, SLOW BURN. thanks so much for reading, and as always, i would really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! the support with this fic floors me, every single time. i appreciate each and every one of my readers—THANK YOUUU💕 -aly → you are currently all caught upꨄ

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@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[kashverse]

yuji and papamin would probably collect a bunch of flowers for mamamin during their walks🥹💞

evening walks were sacred in the nanami household. they were as essential as brushing your teeth, drinking water, or nanami sighing dramatically at the state of the world. but tonight, you had to sit this one out, thanks to your monthly. yuuji, however, refused to let this injustice go unchallenged. "don’t worry, mama!" he declared, fists on his tiny hips. “i will walk extra for you! double! no, triple!” nanami, already anticipating the inevitable "papa, carry me" halfway through the walk, merely nodded. "that’s very kind of you, yuuji."

“yeah! and i will bring you back something nice!” 

with that, your brave, noble knight and his weary father set off into the cool evening air. 

it didn’t take long for yuuji’s side quest instincts to kick in.

"papa, look! flowers!"

nanami followed his son's pointing finger to a random field of wildflowers. pink, yellow, blue, purple—the whole place looked like a painter sneezed on it. yuuji marched in with purpose, stopping every few seconds to pick a flower, inspecting each one with a level of intensity that made nanami slightly concerned. "this one is pink, like babykuna's hair!" he beamed, twirling a tiny blossom in his fingers. “this one is soft, like your bread, papa!” nanami raised an eyebrow. "my bread is much softer."

"yeah, but I can’t pick your bread from the ground."

nanami opened his mouth, then closed it. fair point. but then came the hardest challenge of all. 

choosing colors.

yuuji, ambitious as ever, decided he needed every color that reminded him of you. which, apparently, was every single color known to mankind. and so, overwhelmed by his own high expectations, he dramatically plopped down in the middle of the field, arms spread like a fallen soldier. "papa, it's too hard," he whined. "mama likes all the colors. i can't pick them all. the world is too big."

nanami, who had not signed up for a philosophical crisis in the middle of an evening walk, sighed and crouched beside his son. "then take a little of everything, yuuji. that way, you won’t have to choose."

yuuji's eyes widened in awe, as if nanami had just revealed the meaning of life. "papa… you’re so smart."

"i try," nanami muttered, gathering some flowers and carefully helping yuuji tie them together with a sturdy piece of grass.

by the time they got home, yuuji stormed into the bedroom at full speed, launching himself onto the bed like a small, enthusiastic meteor. "mama, mama! i bringed—i mean, i brought you something!"

you barely had time to react before a very serious bouquet of wildflowers was shoved into your face. "i picked them just for you!" he beamed, chest puffed out with pride.

"oh, yuuji, they’re beautiful!" you cooed, admiring the colorful mess of flowers and slightly bent grass. meanwhile, nanami, who hadn’t even taken off his walking shoes, was already settling into place beside you, effortlessly resuming his official foot massager duties.

"you went through all this trouble just for me?" you asked, smiling down at your little boy. yuuji nodded furiously. "yep! i walked extra, i picked flowers, and i almost got lost in the big big world."

nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “he sat down in a field for five minutes.” yuuji pouted. "it was a long five minutes."

you giggled, reaching out to ruffle his soft pink hair. "thank you, sweetheart. this is the best bouquet I’ve ever gotten."

yuuji grinned so wide his cheeks almost swallowed his eyes. "i love you, mama!"

"i love you too, baby."

nanami pressed a tired kiss to your temple, still kneading your foot with expert precision. "i think I deserve some credit too," he murmured. "i carried him half the way back."

yuuji nodded sagely. "yeah. papa's muscles are the only reason i made it home alive."

you laughed, your heart full, as your two favorite boys settled in beside you—one with flowers, one with strong massage therapist hands, and both with all the love in the world.

[4mrplumi]

(concept: redstart) batfamily x reforming criminal reader

tw: vv small description of burning bodies.

> reader, who used to scramble around the depths of another city, homeless, hungry and orphaned at nine. naturally became independent, turning to petty crime and sometimes even violence to survive.

> gets caught in the middle of a brawl between adults and almost dies, then caught again by an unmeaning police officer, who relocates you to a children's home.

> your adoption is coerced by the odd head-lady, who justifies it by claiming a strict, but caring family could reform you from your "unruly behaviour" within the centre halls.

> she was right about the strict, not about the caring. father was a hyper-militaristic, obsessed with proving worth through strength type of guy. even had a whole base of operations dealing in organised crime, without even doing so much as hobby-boxing.

> you were incredibly indoctrinated into "goods" and "bads" and how to solve the issue of corruption by a moralistic, anti-moral man. he was the corruption, but painted himself in bright lights.

> you were a lonely child. you began to look up to him. obsessing over everything he said and did and holding it like a knife to your throat.

> adoptive father never much considered you as much compared to his other two, older sons, and treated you as a tool for some unmade project.

> life was like lucid dreaming. you had full control, but none, none, at all.

> concious enough to feel hurt by his treatment and dismissal, but felt too indebted to ever complain, or speak about it. grew up knowing little outside of subservierence. brothers were shadows in the backgrounds, implied ghosts of what you wish you could've been.

> not allowed to be a part of society. father considered it weakness, a threat, a vulnerability. the one time you did get friends, you were punished for it harshly, and isolated further.

> no personal aspirations outside of hoping, barely, to make the man who so tediously took you in proud.

> trained obssesively, five times harder than the brother's you'd never outshine, with ten times less the recognition or support.

> firmly believes your father's course in life is correct, and wants to support it, but can't because he doesn't trust you enough to tell you his goals.

> completely in a frienzied panic when your father and brothers drop dead. your way of life, your identity, all gone with them. completely. a mere child, with nothing to live for.

> batman bad come originally as an 'ally', to take your father's side jn subduing crime worldwide. but you had identified his ploy to take down your father's plans immently as soon as he earned his trust.

> your father was not a clever man. did not think batman knew of his intentions, his mannerisms. believed himself to always be superior.

> but he didn't believe you when you told him, and you watched as their conversations progressed with desperation. he believed this old bat more in these few days than he had you in your whole life.

> when batman reveals his intentions, an accident causes your father to set off an esplosive he himself had planted incase of emergencies. you couldn't help, watching with raw agony as his skin burnt away to reveal boiling flesh. watched with uncontrolable shaking at the batman trying to put it out, trying to perhaps save him and your brothers.

> lunging at him with such practiced fervour, he was caught off guard for a second. realising that the man had another child (not knowing of their mistreatment), he felt immensly guilty and indebted. to stop you from trying to claw his face off, your weapons hidden away by your father before his death, he knocks you out.

> when you wake up, two days later; not due to the force of his hit, but sheer exhausation from all the gruelling work you did daily, you're suprisingly compliant.

> even as an eldey man dressed in a deep black suit, accompanied by a tall black-haired boy you're sure you don't recognise, you don't struggle or scowl.

> they had expected you to.

> maybe it was slow adaptibility, shock, subconcious relief and unconcious reasoning that resulted in your quiet demeanor. without the antics of your usual routine, you were a little timid, like a little doe.

> the boy takes to you immediately, speaking warmly, introducing himself as dick grayson. the name strikes no bells, and you only stare in response. he talks of friends, family, getting better and getting up, but you listen only to half of what he says, nodding once in acknowledgement.

> and so begins the guilt-ridden journey of the batman, trying to protect gotham, the world, and reform a child whose parent he didn't kill, but couldn't save. you begin shadowing your guardian and his... guards (so you term them) on patrols, stalking behind them at gatherings, make appearences in a civilian identity crafted for you on the media. everything you do feels lost, like a deer caught in traffic.

> later, when they talk to you more about your life before the manor, jason simply says, "bruce didn't not do anything. he didn't do anything at all."

> you think he might be sad.

> you piece together the little memories you have, training, fighting, eating, sulking and sleeping with both eyes open into a big, big story. you look at the family come together atleast once a month, a warmth from them you've felt so very rarely, from a distance.

> you feel bruce's reassuring pat on your shoulder, encouraging you to join them.

> you think you might be sad.

INTERACTIONS & Reblogs appriciated !

gahhh i love this idea thingy in my head. so much angst potential. fluff potential. character expansion, relations, dynamic potential... cass, damian, steph, on your end of the coin. tim, dick, duke, on the other... jason, on the edge. i think the whole concept of wanting but not feeling like you deserve what u want is such a batfam thing, a reader with that attribute would be a puzzle piece locking in, or the exact opposite.

anyway, hoped u liked this little drabble. tell me if u think this is smth worth going after.

thank you for reading!!

[museiest]

WE'RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER .ᐟ gojo satoru

PAIRING. ceo!gojo x kindergarten teacher!reader

ABOUT. ceo!gojo discovers he has a son which leads him to the harmony fields kindergarten, where the woman who almost ran into him with her car in the morning is his son's teacher and the cause of his future sleepless nights.

NOTES. it's finally here!! had some trouble with the written part of this smau so that's why i took so long in posting it, this was the winner in this poll. this is a multi-part smau. harmony fields is the name of the kindergarten.

WARNINGS. enemies to lovers ⋆ typos ⋆ ignore timestamps ⋆ english is not my first language ⋆ written part (is sh!t y'all) ⋆ gojo's is insufferable ⋆ utahime's the owner of harmony fields ⋆ written part takes place a day after the incident and it's 1,04k words.

part one | part two | part three | more?

“Okay. . .remember what we practiced?” the white-haired man immediately asked as he helped the boy out of his car.

The kid nodded slowly and looked up at Satoru, waiting for him to hand over the chips he bought for him on the way here.

“I’ll give them to you, kid, but first, let’s practice one more time,” Satoru warned, “You're going to say that i'm your dad and that your mom is away on a trip, 'kay?”

“But you said that you weren't my dad, and my mom isn’t on a trip,” the boy pointed out seriously, making the blue-eyed man sigh.

“Just say it, please? if you don’t, i’ll take you to the police station and let them deal with you," Satoru threatened with a unsettling smile.

“He’s my dad, and my mom is away on a trip,” Megumi repeated, irritated by the man.

Truth is, he missed his mom and he wished she was there with him instead of the stranger who was taking care of him now.

“Yes! Good boy,” Satoru ruffled the Megumi’s hair like he was petting a dog, he definitely wasn't used to dealing with kids, especially one his age.

How do you even treat a five-year old? Was what had been going through Gojo's head since his son arrived at his apartment.

“Ah, Gojo! Right on time, looks like having a son is finally doing you some good,” Utahime called out as she walked towards the entrance of her kindergarten, where the dad and son duo were.

“Utahime, my least favorite person! it's been, what? two months?" he sneered.

“It’s always such a disgrace seeing you, Gojo," she said bitterly before putting on her best smile and looking at the five-year-old, “And you must be Megumi, right?”

“He’s my dad, and my mom is on a trip,” Megumi stated almost robotically, making the Harmony Field's director laugh.

“Wow, how cool!” she exclaimed, gesturing for them to follow her inside.

“Yeah, his mom is at a seminar in Europe,” the ceo lied smoothly.

“Europe? You must be very proud, Megumi,” the dark-haired woman tried to make some chitchat but Megumi remained silent, walking behind them as quietly as possible.

“’Gumi doesn’t talk much, but it’s something i- we’ve been working on. . .” Satoru excused himself with another lie, though Utahime barely paid attention, too focused on you approaching. It was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the new dad and the new kid joining your class.

“Yn! Come over here, this is Gojo Satoru and his son, Megumi,” Utahime introduced, making your eyes widen in surprise as soon as you locked eyes with the man you almost hit with your car on your way to the kindergarten.

“You?/You?” you both said at the same time, his eyes sharp enough that if looks could kill, you'd be in a coffin with people saying how good of a person you were; and you just forced a polite smile to hide your annoyance at seeing him at your workplace, such arrogant man didn't seem like a father to you, not even a bad one, he just seemed like the kind of guy who didn't care for kids at all but there he was, putting on his best smile with his son who didn't look like him at all except for his eyes and messy hair.

“You two know each other?” your friend and colleague asked, looking between you both expectantly.

“Yeah. . .turns out this dad likes to go running in the middle of the street in the morning,” you muttered through gritted teeth, making the man scoff.

“Right. And it seems like there's more and more of those crazy drivers these days, dangerous, isn’t it?” Satoru shot back. You barely heard Utahime’s response, too focused on the annoyance bubbling inside you. Who did this guy think he was? He had to be some kind of irresponsible deranged idiot.

You rolled your eyes once more before glancing down and noticing the little boy looking at you curiously.

You crouched down to meet his eyes and be able to speak to him directly, the first impression with children was always the most important to you rather than the one with the parent, “Hi, sweetheart! you must be Megumi, how are you?” you asked kindly, you've loved kids since forever and it didn’t matter that this particular kid belonged to the most insufferable man you'd ever met.

Megumi’s eyes looked sad, distant and lost, as if all he wanted was to be anywhere but here. Still, you tried talking to him, sensing his struggle in interacting with people.

When he didn’t respond, you continued, “You know, in the classroom there's lots of kids your age who can’t wait to meet you. They’ve been so excited ever since we told them a new friend for them was coming. And guess what? Today’s your lucky day because we have a special activity with puppies! How does that sound?” you asked with a warm smile and at the mention of 'puppies,' Megumi’s eyes lit up, an expression of excitement appearing on his face for the first time since he got there along with a soft smile. Even Satoru seemed surprised to see it, he hadn't smiled at all when he was at his apartment and now he does with a complete stranger? not that he wasn't one either but the father (if you could call him that) had tried everything the day before to make the kid laugh and all he got was a 'you're not funny' from him.

“Are there really going to be puppies?” Megumi asked, a special glimmer in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Of course! So what do you say? Want to wait for them with the other kids?” you asked, extending your hand to his smaller one. Megumi glanced between his dad and you before nodding and taking your hand with a small smile still on his lips and that was the first step to make this kid as happy as he could be.

Without hesitation, you led him towards the rest of the class, happy that your first interaction with the boy had been a success. You just hoped things would stay that way, today, tomorrow and hopefully forever.

ARTIFACTS .ᐟ

• hari fushiguro is megumi's aunt, she's took care of him for two weeks and that was it. she didn't have enough money to raise him and her daughter so she went to gojo's apt since she remembered he had a lot of money when they hooked up and made up a story about her sister and him.

• toji's dead and tsumiki doesn't exist in this one since toji died before megumi was born.

• his mom died two weeks ago but since he's still a kid, he doesn't know how to process it so he thinks his mom left him and that's why his aunt didn't want him either.

• ofc gojo isn't his father but they make him believe he is.

• that's all!! enjoy <3

© MUSEIEST 2025

[pretty-little-mind33]

Friedrich Harding x wife!fem!reader

Summary: The letter with the news of your cousin's death comes with something more sinister; a marriage proposal. (7k words)

Genre: SMUT (mdni)

Warnings: age gap (35/22), porn with heavy plot, reader is Anna's younger cousin (no physical descriptions), enemies to lovers, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, arranged marriage, dubious consent in the beginning, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink, manhandling, aftercare

As a child, you remember dreaming of your wedding day, your hand clutching linen sheets, hidden under woolen blankets, cheeks burning, hair a mess, as you laughed with your sisters in the darkness. You would talk of gourmet four-layered cakes, blooming lilies, and of whose lips yours would kiss at the altar.

You can vividly remember how important Anna's wedding day was to your Aunt and Uncle, how much they fussed over their oldest daughter, your Aunt brushing out her blond curls as you and your three sisters watched from the doorway. Anna's marrying the son of a wealthy shipman, your mother had said, explaining all the happy commotion. You couldn't understand why that could possibly matter so much, especially because Anna had told you months earlier that she was madly in love with her future husband. 

That is what seemed so important to you. Love. 

Anna's wedding was beautiful. She looked like an angel in her white-lace gown, the color almost matching the white in the blond of her hair, and she looked up at her husband with so much adoration.

You were always Anna's favorite, perhaps because you only had six years difference in age, so she insisted you be her flower girl (even if you had just turned fourteen and many of your younger sisters sobbed for such an important role). 

Anna had kissed your hairline in the halls of the cathedral, squeezing your hand in hers as she promised someone would love you as Friedrich did her. Her words, albeit reassuring, must have confused your young mind because all during the ceremony, your gaze was stuck on her future husband and on the way he cupped her cheek so delicately as he kissed her.

A new, unfamiliar, feeling blossomed up in your stomach. 

However, as soon as the happy couple was wed, they'd sailed away, leaving you heartbroken and without hearing from Anna, apart from the occasional birthday letter, for eight years: eight long years, four of those you spent in America, working as a governess.

You hadn't married as your family wished. You had no interest in any man once you'd made up your mind you would only marry for love for there was no man you did love. So your father had sent you away to make money instead. As the oldest daughter in a family of only girls, that was your duty and you never once resented your role or that Anna's love set unfulfilled expectations for you. 

Not until you received news of her death, along with a marriage proposal. 

Friedrich Harding wanted to marry you? 

You'd almost burned the letter in fear it was some sick trick, but the more you stared at the cursive and read his words, the more the memories from the one time you had seen him came to mind, and with them the burning in your stomach you still do not understand even in adulthood. 

He gave no explanation, just that he needed another wife, that Anna loved you the most, and that he wanted you on the next ship to Germany as soon as possible. 

You read the letter again and again. How could he ask you to make such an important decision so quickly? How could you marry Anna's husband? Your poor, innocently sweet, beautiful cousin, who was now dead. Grief washed over you.

How could you take her life? Replace her?

You had wept yourself to sleep that evening and still, you had quit your job, sent a letter to your parents, and taken the first ship out—not exactly understanding why you had.

~ * ~

"Aunt Y/n!" you hear the small shrill cry of a girl as you lift the hem of your dress and gently press your boot into the gravel. The sky is bleak and cloudy, convenient for a graveyard. You strain a smile, making a small huff as a small girl wraps her arms around your knees. "Oh, you did come! Papa promised you would." 

Your hug envelops the small girl's back, your hand skimming her long blond curls, which remind you so much of Anna's. Your lip trembles. "I am here, darling," you murmur, holding her close. You lift your head and look up from behind your bonnet, the black lace ribbon digging into the skin of your neck. You see a person in the distance, a man who is reluctantly closing the doors to what you assume is the mausoleum. 

Bile rises in your throat but you hold it in as you stroke Clara's head. 

"Is that your Papa?" you ask her hesitantly. 

Clara nods, turning her head and holding you even closer at the distant sound of thunder. "Mhm. He is just saying goodnight to Mama and Louise. He brings them flowers every day." 

You nod solemnly, watching Friedrich approach and Clara moves to your side, her small hands still clutching the skirt of your dress. You press your palm over your stomach, suddenly wishing your corset was ten times looser than it is as you hold your breath.  

Once Friedrich is closer, Clara runs to him and he doesn't hesitate to pick her up. Her small black dress bunches up around her ankles, her legs against his hip, as she hangs from his neck, nuzzling her head under his chin. Friedrich looks at you and you inhale, shame burning in your cheeks at the way his gaze lingers over you. 

It is as if he looks past you.

"Herr Harding," you greet, moving closer, but pause when you realize the motion is clearly unwanted. 

Friedrich clears his throat, no hint of a smile on his face. "Thank you for coming so quickly," he pauses and looks to the side, adjusting his hold on Clara. Your journey had taken around three months, which is hardly quick, but you simply nod, unable to find your words. "I see that Sylvester informed you where you could find us upon your arrival."

He looks at his coach, where the man who had driven you stands by the door and tilts his hat. You turn and meet his gaze, your eyebrows scrunching up in confusion and you turn to Friedrich and shake your head.

"Actually, Herr Harding, I did not know you nor Clara would be here. I- well, I wanted to visit my cousin." You leave a solemn pause before continuing. "Sylvester kindly recommended the ride upon my request. Please, do not be cross with him. I told him I would have walked anyway—" 

"Walked? This late? And unaccompanied?" Friedrich sounds horrified. Clara, hearing his tone, hides herself further into his neck, her tiny hands clutching at the collar of his fur coat. He smoothes a hand up her back and sends you a disapproving look. "I am pleased Sylvester offered his services. I will not have my bride out alone at this time of night. It is simply inappropriate." 

You tense, sensing his irritation with you already. As punishment for your foolishness, you assume, he has you take Slyvester's coach home, alone, while he and Clara are in the other just behind yours. 

He had explained it was too painful for him to open the mausoleum again, but promised you could visit Anna another time. You try your hardest not to cry so soon as you sit in the coach, your body jostling around as the wheels travel across the cobblestone. You hold onto hope that the situation will improve. It had only been half a year since Anna and Louise's death. 

You knew to give Friedrich time. 

Your wedding day approached quicker than you had wished, your family sending their approval for a small ceremony with only you, Friedrich, and God. They couldn't make the journey so soon, and Friedrich didn't care to listen to your request to have, at least, your mother with you. So the ceremony happened in his local church, with only Clara (upon her insistance which Friedrich did not deny) and the priest as witnesses. 

As a simple courtesy, and what you liked to think was an apology, Friedrich had left a gorgeous white satin dress in your bedroom as the morning of the wedding approached. Next to the dress lay a veil, the same one Anna had worn. 

You felt like an imposter, staring at yourself in the mirror, the intricate lace of the accessory covering your face and shoulders. The dress was new. You assumed Friedrich didn't want you in Anna's dress. The veil was tradition, naturally it would be passed on. As Anna's cousin, it was only fair. 

You adjust the puffed sleeves near your shoulders as your mind wanders. Friedrich clouds your mind involuntarily, images of his lips on yours and his hands squeezing your hips. You remember Anna's whispering, all those years ago, about what happened on a woman's wedding night, and you can't help but feel warm. Guilt gnaws at your stomach, realizing you're fantasizing about Anna's husband. You shut your eyes but you can still picture Friedrich's hands; those long, strong fingers threading themselves in your hair as he kisses you and tells you he loves you.

Your eyes snap open as you stare at your reflection. Because he must love you? Or want to love you? Why else would he have asked you to marry him? 

Your corset feels tight once again, the wedding dress feels itchy, and your heels hurt as you stand at the altar listening to the priest's questions. Your future husband's face is concealed and blurred behind your veil but you can imagine his sharp blue eyes piercing through you. 

"On behalf of God, you may kiss the bride."

Slowly, Friedrich's hand lifts your veil over your head, wisps of hair fall into your face and he pushes them away as his thumb presses against the apple of your cheek, for only a moment. You lift your arms, hesitant to touch him, and you barely have the chance because as soon as his lips press against yours, he's dropping the veil over you again and pulling himself away, his breath shaky.

Your vision goes blurry again and you aren't sure if it's from the veil or the tears that threaten to fall down your cheeks. Your stomach is in knots as you convince yourself that it is a mistake. That he hadn't meant to kiss you so coldly. That he still wants you here and that he'll hold you in his arms tonight like a husband is supposed to. 

"Go upstairs," Friedrich demands calmly, hanging his hat near the front door. He reaches for a cigar in his pocket and mutters for Clara to go with her governess. 

He doesn't look your way but you listen to his request anyway, creeping up the stairs like a ghost; all dressed in white. You enter the main bedchamber and sit on the end of the bed, simply waiting. 

You aren't sure what to do as you wait for him to join you. For him to bed you like you had been taught to expect on your wedding night. But the sky soon grows darker and the door doesn't open. You hear no movement from out in the hall, no indication that Friedrich is near, and you don't even realize you have fallen asleep until you hear the birds chirp from outside and at the first indication of morning, you rip off your veil and throw it at the vanity in the corner.

You don't bother to remove your wedding dress as you hurry down the stairs, hands gliding down the mahogany railing, anger and hurt coursing through your veins. You search around the house, finally finding Friedrich in his study, sitting on his armchair while he has his breakfast.

You don't think as you storm inside. "You did not join me," you state, your voice strained as you stand in front of him. 

Friedrich lifts his gaze, mustache twitching when he sees you still in your dress. He doesn't look pleased but he doesn't answer and that only hurts more. 

"Ah, so you have nothing to say?!" you hiss angrily, walking closer to him. This time, he stands and you pause in your advancing. 

"Why should I have joined you?" Friedrich asks calmly.

You look horrified. "Because I am your wife!?" 

Friedrich chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he runs a hand over his jaw. "You are not my wife, Y/n. Anna is my wife. In every way that matters to me, she is my wife." He stares at you, his expression hard and unforgiven, and your heart shatters.

"I- I do not understand," you whisper, your eyes becoming glossy. You show him your wedding ring as if that proves something. "Then what is this? What does this mean, Friedrich?" 

Your gaze drops to his hand as you finish the question and you see that he hadn't removed his previous ring. His ring from his marriage with Anna.

He had taken off yours as soon as he had gotten home.

You lift your eyes to lock onto his, your eyes stormy with hurt and fury—which only worsens once he continues, "On paper, you are Frau Harding now. Which means, you will take care of my estate, you will help care for Clara as a mother would, and you will keep up appearances for the sake of my business and our families, but we shall never consummate the marriage. We shall never share a bed, do you understand me?"

Every word he speaks hurts you and you suddenly feel so humiliated. How could you have been so foolish? You clench your hands into the skirt of your wedding dress, the tears finally slipping down your cheeks. Your head hurts. All your efforts to have love have just led you into a loveless marriage, with a man who was never yours to love.

You turn your head away, his words sinking in as you frantically wipe at your tears, desperately erasing them from existence. You look up at him and see he hasn't moved, his expression still unreadable and his stance tense. 

"As you wish. Then I shall never be yours, and I shall hate you till my last breath," you spit, your voice unwavering.

~ * ~

Being Frau Harding proved much easier than you imagined. Clara is a sweet girl and she's an obedient child who learns quickly. The servants are friendly and the estate is grand. And your husband, although he does not spare you a second glance, isn't cruel. He doesn't lay a hand on you nor does he force you into his bed whenever he feels like it, which you learned from some of your high society friends is worse than a man who won't kiss you. 

You are incredibly lonely, all alone in the huge house, but you've learned to live with the feeling. Friedrich is away on business most days, which mostly leaves you and Clara on your own. 

Once more, on a sunny afternoon, you find yourself sitting on the carpet in her playroom, your dresses, the black color replaced by light pastel creams, splayed across your legs as she shows you the new porcelain dolls Friedrich had bought for her from his latest travels. He'd return in the early hours of the morning.

"This one looks like Mama," Clara says and brushes the blond hair of one of her dolls, framing the doll's pale skin, andhumming happily. 

You smile. "Ah, yes, well, she looks like you." You pretend to move around the little china tea set Clara loves so much, pouring some invisible tea for her. Memories of Anna's face cloud your mind, causing a familiar gnawing in your chest.

"Tell me more about Mama," Clara whispers and crawls over to you. She climbs into your lap, not caring when the skirts of your dresses become cumbersome as you chuckle. Clara tucks herself into your arms, still holding her doll. Lately, she's been asking you to tell stories about you and Anna as children, and as much as the memories cause an undeniable hurt, you always indulge her.

Just as you finish the story, one of Clara's favorites, you hear the creak of the playroom door closing and you turn your head. You see the faint remnants of smoke from Friedrich's cigar where he had been standing and your stomach twists.

"May we climb up an apple tree, like you and Mama did?" Clara asks innocently. 

You look at her again, a faint crease in your eyebrows. You aren't sure if you have any apple trees to climb in the gardens, but you don't want to deny Clara something that may make her feel closer to her mother so you simply nod. You stand and hold out your hand. 

"Well, go on, go find Edith and ask her for your coat. There is a slight chill outside." You squeeze Clara's hand and watch her hurry out to find one of the maids.  

You sigh, holding a hand over your stomach to calm your nerves. Just as you walk out into the hall to find your shawl and shoes, you see Friedrich standing in the opposite doorway. His gaze is hard and you gasp, "Oh!" 

"I pray Clara is mistaken when she tells me you plan to take her climbing," he says, holding his cigar between his index and middle finger, pressing it to his lips momentarily. He looks at you with what you can only describe is pure disdain. You feel nauseous.

"I was simply taking her outside, for some fresh air," you say, keeping your distance from him. 

"Without my permission?"

Your jaw tightens and you narrow your gaze. "My apologies, I did not realize I had to ask your permission to take my child out into my gardens." Your tone is curt and harsh. Friedrich narrows his eyes in return. 

"Do not take that tone with me," he states firmly. You almost wish he'd scream at you. Instead, he's always so controlled and restrained. It's almost more infuriating than if he would lose his temper. It is as if he is unfeeling. "Clara is not your child." 

Hurt swarms your chest. You know she is not yours, but the reminder hurts after all the months you spent with her. "Oh? Is she not? Then what, pray, is my role here, dear husband? This is what you asked of me. To care for your daughter. It isn't like I will have any children of my own, now is it?" you retort, venom in your words and Friedrich's jaw clenches.

"No. Because that would require a husband willing to touch me." 

"Stop," Friedrich growls, looking away and taking an inhale of his cigar. "Stop acting like a petulant child for once, Y/n." 

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. "Oh! I am the one being childish?"

"Neither you nor Clara are to go outside at this hour. It is cold and dangerous and ladies do not climb trees. It is unbecoming."

"It is September! And hardly—"

Clara runs up, pulling on her father's trousers. "Can Y/n and I play in the gardens?" You stare at her, then your gaze flickers to Friedrich. He twirls his hand in Clara's ringlets, careful not to mess them up too much, and smiles at her with a softness he's never awarded to you.

"No. It is dangerous. Plus, you need to finish your French studies, Schatzi (Treasure)," he explains plainly and you juststand there, unable to speak up even when a look of disappointment crosses her features. She just nods, listening to her father. Once Edith takes her upstairs to her room, you glare at Friedrich. 

"You cannot keep her locked up in here! She's a little girl who craves adventure!" 

Friedrich looks more and more agitated. "You are a horrible influence on her. She needs stability, routine, not vapid stories that will put foolish ideas into her little head!" 

"Vapid? I was telling her of how Anna and I—"

"She does not need to hear stories that will make her sad—" Friedrich says sternly. 

You walk closer, clenching your hand in your dress. You're much closer to him now. "Make her, or you, sad?" you challenge and that seems to be the last straw for him because he slams his palm into the doorframe, causing you to flinch as ashes from his cigar fall. Friedrich lets out a shaky exhale and glares at you.

His eyes flicker from your face and then downwards for a moment and something burns inside them that you haven't seen from him in the months you've lived here. You open your mouth to make another comment but decide against it when shuts his eyes, his lip trembling with hurt. He doesn't speak either and instead, he leaves you standing alone in the hall.

~ * ~

Rain drums against the window as you lace up your boots. Clara stands by the door, looking outside as she watches the sky turn orange and pink. She turns to look at you and smiles, but there is also a hint of hesitation behind her icy-blueeyes. "Will Papa be angry with us?" She asks you, her voice small. 

You smile at her, putting on your coat and bonnet. You kneel and adjust the buttons on her coat as you wink. "That is the fun of it, pumpkin," you pause and think, plus he's an arrogant prick so who cares.

Clara nods and she looks outside at the rain and mud. She grins. "Okay."

All her worries seemed to melt away as soon as the raindrops hit her bonnet with a soft splat. She's a giggling mess as you lead her further into the gardens, the damp grass wetting her shoes. You take her small hands in yours as you dance in the rain. 

"Mama would not have allowed this," she says breathlessly, grinning as she dances with you happily and kicks more mud with her shoes. "But, I am glad we can do this. I am glad you are here," Clara adds in a whisper and happiness spreads inside your chest. You laugh and laugh and twirl so hard your expensive bonnet falls into the mud, rain drenching your hair as it continues to pour over you. 

Thunder claps, the rain falling harder and harder, and eventually, the sky turns dark, chasing you both back inside the house as you slam the grand front door, leaning against it and laughing.

You drop your wet fur coat onto the carpet as Clara does the same. The little girl keeps giggling. You kneel next to her to undo her shoes and run your hands over her arms to warm her up. Clara wipes at the soaked fabric of her dress, holding it up as it drips, and she keeps giggling. 

However, the sound of someone clearing their throat startles you both. 

Clara tenses. She drops her dress, turning around to stare at her father. "Papa," she whispers. Your heart is pounding as you stay on your knees, dropping your hand from Clara's arms. Your wet dress is clinging to your corset, the cream color of your dress turning half-translucent from the water. You don't dare look up at your husband as you bite down on your lip, tasting blood in your mouth. 

He wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow.

"Edith," Friedrich's voice cuts the tension as he calls over the maid. He doesn't sound more angry than he usually does and Clara's hand finds yours, squeezing. You hear the faint sound of Edith entering the hall and then Friedrich continues, his voice unemotional. "Bring Clara upstairs. Run her a warm bath, clean her up, and then put her to bed, thank you. It is past her bedtime." 

"Y/n," Clara whispers your name as her shoes, coat, and then herself, are hurried upstairs without a word. You keep your head low as goosebumps explode across your exposed skin. Your wet hair sticks to your cheeks and you realize you've left your bonnet outside and the curls in your hair have flattened. Your dress, the one you assume must have been Anna's dress is ruined—the expensive satin completely covered in sticky mud.

"Stand up," Friedrich demands, his voice strained. You do as he says, holding your breath. You hesitate to look up at him, but when you do you feel heat rush up to flame your cheeks. Your husband doesn't look upset, not in the same way you have seen him look before. Instead of contempt, his eyes are dark and intense with a feeling you can't quite discern. His gaze drops to the collar of your dress, where the sleeves hang and expose more of the skin of your collarbone.

"I can explain," you whisper, knowing that whilst he truly hadn't been cruel to you up to now, your behavior tonight was unacceptable and warranted any punishment he deemed suitable. 

Friedrich stalks closer, his jaw clenched. You back away a little, gasping as your back presses against the wood of the door again. "Please. I am sorry," you mutter, hands and body shaking. You aren't sure if it's out of fear or from how cold you are. "Please do not be angry," your voice trembles. Friedrich is still walking closer and what's worse is he hasn't said a word. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for a blow of any kind. He would be in the right to scream at you—strike you even. You had deliberately disobeyed him. None come. Instead, you feel his hand on your cheek, gently caressing your cold skin and you tense. This is the first time he's touched you since your wedding.

"You're shaking," Friedrich points out, looking over your frame. His eyes meet yours. "Do I scare you?" 

Your stomach twists at his words and your eyes snap open. You're breathing heavily now and his touch feels so foreign on your skin. You don't quite know what to do. "N-no–" you whisper. It's the truth, he's never scared you. What you're feeling now feels completely different than fear. It's a feeling you don't quite understand. You feel the dampness between your thighs, something that only happens when you are around him. 

Friedrich quirks a small smile, the first one you've seen directed at you. His hand slides down from your cheek and trails down your arm until his fingers curl around your wrist quite tightly. "Come. You will catch a cold," he says, pulling you closer and down the hallway into an open door. 

You don't move at first, eyes wide, but when he looks back at you and sends you a nod, you follow him into the parlor. "Friedrich, I- I must go upstairs. I need to clean up, please. What are you doing?" 

He leads you into the room, gently guiding you into his armchair. Your dress soaks the fabric and you feel out of place and cold. You watch him as he kneels by the fire, beginning to make it for you. To warm you up. You've never seen him make his own fire, the servants have always done that but he doesn't call them in. Plus, it seems like he knows what he's doing. The flame sparks and warmth slowly spreads across your skin. 

Once the fire is going, your husband turns to you. You're still shivering, but the warmth helps. Friedrich is still down on his knees, looking up at you with an unreadable expression.

"Is it working?" he asks, kneeling closer.

You feel dizzy and you whisper, straining a smile. "Ah, the fire? Yes, it is working. Thank you, Friedrich." You can barely focus on his question as his fingers start delicately unlacing your boots. He's being so intimate. You open your mouth to question him, but he speaks before you do. 

"No. Not that. Your little outbursts," Your husband chuckles, smiling. His hand slides up your calf now and hooks into your stocking, peeling the drenched fabric from your skin. You gasp, shifting against the chair and sitting up.

You open your mouth to protest but he does the same with your other leg. The flames from the fire cast a glow on his features as he sends you a warning look not to question him and your stomach burns. 

"My outbursts?"

"You think I have not realized how hard you try for my attention? How you do anything for even a sliver of my time. Have I been neglecting you, hm? Is that it? Do you crave me that much, Mein Liebling (my darling)?" His voice is sharp, almost mocking. 

Your eyebrows crease and your lip trembles. "You know what you have done. You have kept me, chained to you forever, without so much as the solace of your liking. I am an accessory, not a wife—you have said as much—nothing more so please, Friedrich, do not mock me." 

Friedrich looks up, his gaze dark, and he hums. Then, he lifts your skirt and disappears underneath the fabric. You sit up, your skin shivering as you feel his lips slowly inching up your thigh but you cannot see him. Fear strikes you. "Friedrich? What is—What are you—oh—" 

He's still underneath your skirt and he hooks his hand under your undergarment, his palm splayed upon your hips as you slouch in the armchair. 

Your face is burning warm and you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand, as he pulls down your undergarments and exposes you. You squeeze your thighs instinctively, attempting to hide yourself from his gaze. You wish to kick him away, but something inside you stops you. Almost like a desire you do not understand. Friedrich clicks his tongue, pushing them apart as he continues to kiss your inner thighs, near your most intimate place. 

"S-stop—" you whine behind your hand. A burst of unfamiliar sensations explode in your stomach. It feels good, but you're also scared of what this means. Friedrich continues for a moment until he feels you shaking and then he emerges from underneath your skirt. He pushes the fabric down, his hair is a little messy and his face is flushed. He wets his lips.

"It is alright, let me," he tries convincing you, gliding his hand up your legs and bunching up your skirt near your waist. You whimper, knowing he can see you bare and needy for him. You can see him now, see what he wants to do, and your fear eases a little. Your mind is spinning as you begin to understand. He wants to take you.

What had changed?

You shake your head, scrambling to sit up, and frantically push your skirt down. "You shall not touch me. I am not your wife," you say, your voice shaking. He has no right to touch you after what he had said and done.

Friedrich chuckles, his hand still splayed on your thighs. "But, you are, aren't you? My wife. Now, I am only doing what you want so let me show you what a good wife does with her husband." 

He grabs your ankle and lifts your leg onto the arm of the armchair, opening you up and you gasp. However, his lips find your slick hole, kissing and licking like a starved man.

He's rough and clearly a little angry. You tremble, tears in your eyes as you focus on the new sensations. You're whispering his name, your voice hoarse as you let out small whimpers. "I have been good to you," Friedrich grunts, tasting you some more and he moans into your folds. "I have kept my distance, I have let you stay pure, but you consistently disobey me. You put my daughter in danger and why? For my attention?" 

Your legs shake and you push up your skirt, finding his hair to hold onto as his tongue explores inside you in ways you didn't even know were possible. Tear stains fall down your cheeks as you accidentally tug on his hair harder than you'd meant to, whimpering. Your leg falls from the arm of the armchair and Friedrich leans back on his heels. 

"Stop being so damn difficult," he reprimands and lifts you up into his arms. You gasp. He's surprisingly strong and it doesn't take long for him to practically throw you onto the maroon, plush, loveseat near the window. 

The rain still hits the window and you gasp again, choking on a sob as Friedrich reaches behind you and with a grunt, half-rips your dress and corset. The materials fall over your shoulder, exposing your breasts to the cool air. You look up through teary eyelashes at your husband and your stomach twists in anticipation. Friedrich's blue eyes are dark and he licks his lips once more. 

He stands and begins to undress as your chest heaves. You sit uncomfortably on the loveseat, half hanging on the end, simply waiting for Friedrich to touch you again. Your mind screams at you that you should be scared, but you aren't. You're almost excited.

His hands are back on you, tearing more of the dress as his hands grip your hips and pull you flush against him. "I shall buy you a new one," he whispers in your ear as the dress, which was already covered in mud, falls from you—torn and ruined. Friedrich promises this as if he has noticed this dress was one of your favorite dresses. As if he's noticed you would wear it more than the others.

Which is impossible. Friedrich doesn't notice you.

You feel something hard press against your core and you gasp, hands grasping the cushions as you look down between your naked bodies. Friedrich looks different than you do between his legs and it looks hard and angry. You whimper, hand grasping for something more to hold than some cushions. You try moving away, but Friedrich's hands tighten on your hips as he keeps you close. 

His lips attach to your nipple, causing a small cry from your mouth that he quickly muffles with his lips. Your eyes widen as he kisses you, one of his hands leaving your hip to rest against your cheek, his thumb pressing under your chin. You melt into his kiss, your mind going fuzzy as he finally gives you what you've been craving all these months. Friedrich grins against your lips, positioning your hips as he begins to press inside you. 

You gasp, pulling your mouth away. "Shh, little dove," Friedrich's voice in your ear causes you to freeze and you realize his movement has paused as well. "It will not hurt you much. Your body is made for this. It will open up for me."

You're breathing heavily and anticipating some horrible pain. When you feel him fill you up, your body moving against the loveseat with the thrust, a tear escapes your eyes from the sting and the intrusion. Your skin bursts with goosebumps and Friedrich's hand caresses your cheek, his lips kissing your neck. 

You feel him slide out and you can breathe again, until he thrusts back in a little harder and you squeeze your eyes shut as you let out a small whimper. Tears threaten to spill from the pain but when Friedrich's hand comes to the back of your head against the cushions, holding you as he leans in and lets you cry into his shoulder. "Only a little while longer," he coos, his hips not faltering his movements as he groans into your hair, pulling on the strands. 

The pain slowly subsides, turning into pleasure, as his movements continue. You lose track of time and place as Friedrich makes love to you, kissing and biting your skin as he whispers mocking praises in your ear. As his thrusts become less rhythmic, you clench around him as his words become more pointed. 

"You're nothing like her. You don't act like her, nor do you feel like her," he mutters in your ear and your stomach twists as he compares you to Anna. "But, I cannot resist you either. Look at you, taking me so well. You are so beautiful. I am going to make sure you carry my child. Isn't that what you wanted, mm? To be mine?" Friedrich groans and you feel something inside you snap as warmth explodes in your stomach and a strange liquid fills you up, the substance smeared across your thighs.

Your body feels heavy as you let your head rest on the plush cushions. You blink, your eyes are unfocused and tired, and you barely register Friedrich shifting around and pulling out of you until he's leaning over you, his hand gently tapping your cheek. Your eyes flitter open and he's smiling.

A real smile. 

"Come. Up. You need rest," he says and drapes a woolen quilt over your naked, sweat-shimmering form and then lifts you into his arms once more. He's half-dressed again, just in case he runs into any servants, but you only fully come to when you feel a warm cloth pressed in between your legs, wiping away the white liquid and streaks of blood. Exhausted, you whimper and then some time must have passed because you feel the bed dip and strong arms pull you in against him. 

You blink, eyes tired, but you no longer feel sticky on the inside of your thighs. "Friedrich?" you mutter into the darkness as the figure next to you turns out the oil lamp. 

"I am here," he whispers, his hand playing with your hair. You can't see him in the darkness but his voice doesn't have the anger or firmness it always does. Instead, he sounds almost guilty. 

You let out a shaky breath. "Please do not be upset with me," you whisper, lips dry as you lean your head against his shoulder. You're savoring his presence, almost afraid he'll disappear. "I am sorry. I shall try harder to be like Anna. Please, I promise I shall try. I do not like it when we argue. I do not like it when you are away. I am lonely—" Your confessions are interrupted by shifting and then you feel Friedrich's nose press against yours and his warm breath fans over your lips. 

"You do not need to change anything. It is all my fault. I have been selfish and weak. I have been so consumed in my grief I have ignored what was right in front of me. Sleep now, all will be well. I am here with you, and I shall be here when you wake," Friedrich says it like a promise and he seals his words with a gentle kiss on your lips. And when the morning light shines into the room, you're both still tangled under the sheets; skin to skin. 

~ * ~

"Papa!" Clara shrieks, jumping into his arms as he steps down from his Coach, removing his tall hat. He grins at his daughter and scoops her up in his arms, resting her a little more uncomfortably on his hip. She’s grown up quite a bit since the last time he did this.

You walk down the steps, your movements slow, as you cradle your son in your arms. When Friedrich looks up and sees you, his smile only widens and he drops Clara onto her feet again as he walks over and hesitates by his son, instead cupping your cheek. 

"Good evening, my dove," he whispers. 

It had taken weeks for you to trust Friedrich's change in behavior. After all he had gone from distant and cold, to loving and warm in the span of mere hours.

Friedrich had explained everything that morning: how he'd rushed into a marriage, forced by his business and family, when he wasn't ready to move on, and how your presence—so similar and yet so different from Anna—had only made things worse.

He had apologized profusely for neglecting you for months, but what truly earned his place in your bed was his patience. He did not force you to forgive him, instead, he waited until you eventually did. 

Not long after your forgiveness everything had changed for the better when the doctors told you were expecting a child. Friedrich was over the moon. He was turned upside down, becoming nothing like the husband you had known for the last few months, instead, he was present and doting and it was as if he'd finally decided to court you. 

To love you. 

"I am sorry I was away when it happened," Friedrich whispers, gently moving the blanket that covers little Friedrich's face as the sleeping baby simply rests against your breast. Friedrich's hand moves up to push away some curls from your forehead. After all, it has only been two weeks since little Friedrich's birth and you were still exhausted. "Why you insist on nursing him when we have help for that, I do not understand."

You send your husband a pointed look. "He is mine. I will care for him." 

Friedrich smile simply grows and he cups his hand around your nape, pulling you in gently and kissing your hairline. He feels Clara's hand pulling on his tailcoat and he lifts her up into his arms again. "Do you like your brother, Schatzi (Treasure)?"

Clara hums and hides her face in his neck again, causing a low chuckle from his chest. You smile at her and then look back down at your son. He's so beautiful. You lift your gaze and see a look in Friedrich's eyes. One that isn't happy nor sad. Your stomach twists and you catch his gaze. "Are you okay?" you whisper, your voice low. 

Friedrich looks at you and for the first time since you'd fist met him all those months ago at the graveyard, he looks right through you. You inhale. You know where his mind is. Anna and Louise. You hold your breath, afraid you'll lose him again, but that cloudy look in his eyes soon disappears after a moment and a soft smile curls his lips. He leans in and kisses you, keeping your son hidden and safe between both your chests as Clara's feet sway against your dress and she rests her head against his shoulder. 

"I am. I will be, Mein Liebling (my darling)," your husband promises and leans his forehead onto yours and after a breath he says,

"I love you."

~ 🤍 ~

^ this is how I imagined the dresses reader wears (left: during the graveyard but in all black. middle: wedding dress. right: her favorite dress)

[thesuperiorrobin]

She knew~

pairing: Damian Wayne x Crush!Reader

Warning: Agnsty? Not that much I promise, good ending, maybe, slight swearing? Reader is a bit flirty??? I think there’s a part 2.

There's something about laying in a hospital bed that's so humbling for Damian.

His arm was in a cast and his head was wrapped in bandages. A mission went wrong, that was covered up by a so-called "terrible car accident". Everybody believed it, because why would they believe the truth of Damian taking a bad fall dress up in his Robin uniform? Some of his brothers tease him for what had happened that night, and if he wasn't held back by his position in the hospital he was sure he would have all their heads on a stick by now. His father didn't seem any bit worried about him, that's what Damian thought, after the countless scoldings he's gotten he's sure his father doesn't care.

Damian has spent the last two days in the hospital, on the third day he'll be released. And he can't wait, the smell, the atmosphere the so-called food they serve him-- he can't wait to leave it all behind. But for now, Damian lies on the slightly uncomfortable bed with a book in his good hand. His family hasn't bothered him in a while and he's thankful for that, he's gotten used to soft voices through his room door and soft beeping occasionally that seemed to echo through his hospital room.

There’s a soft knock on the door that catches his attention and he groans—thinking it’s one of his family members coming to visit home again.

Damian prays it’s just a nurse coming to check up on him. He chooses not to answer and after a few seconds the door opens up—the person who steps into his dull white room was not the person he was expecting.

In you go, with a bouquet in your hand dressed in your school uniform.

"Hey" your voice is soft and careful "how are you feeling?"

Damian doesn't answer right away, he pretends to think about his answer before he clears his throat "I feel like I could be doing better at the moment" he places his book down.

"Here, these are for you" you hand him the flowers "I just came to see how you were doing, everybody's worried”

"Only because I'm the son of Bruce Wayne" he murmurs, glaring at you softly—scoffing as he does so.

"That's not true" you frown, He gives you a look "Well Maybe, yeah I guess you're right, but I'm worried Damian. I saw the news and the cars. Damian you could have been killed"

"But I wasn't L/N so there is no need to worry about that anymore"

You let out a sigh as you pull a chair beside him on his bed, It's been a while since you last saw him, two weeks to be precise almost three. Your eyes linger on him for a bit longer. He looks more tired than usual and angry. His hair is messy, with strands of hair spiked up in random directions. Though purple and blue covered his skin from head to toe he still seemed visually breathtaking.

"Did you just come here to just stare at me?" He snaps, and you jump back in your seat, a part of him regrets snapping at you so suddenly, that you clear your throat with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm just used to you being….” You trail off for a moment trying to find the right words to not offend the younger Wayne in his condition. “…so well organized. If I had a penny for every time I've seen you a mess I would have one”

His only response was a hum, and the room was silent between you two. The only sound echoing through the room was the soft voices from outside the room and the beeping of the monitor. “It’s quiet in most of the classes now. Did you know that?”

“How so?”

“Teachers pointed out how quiet the classes are since you’ve gotten stuck in the hospital. We’re known for yapping away in the back of class” You let out a breathy laugh, glancing up at Damian who holds a frown.

“You mean yourself?” Damian raises his brow at you “I normally don’t hold conversations. The teachers were probably talking about you—you do tend to talk a lot”

“Rude” You huff out and a chuckle leaves the injured Wayne's lips, which brings a smile to yours “But I guess you’re right, I don’t have anyone to talk to. You’re usually the only have I have a good laugh within class”

Somehow, your hand finds his. All bandaged and bruised but you don’t mind and Damian says nothing. His green eyes glance down at your face, hoping to meet yours but you keep them focused down at his hand. Despite the thick layer of bandages, he can still feel the warmth of your fingers as they softly glide against his palm.

“I miss complementing your artwork, it’s not the same when I’m looking beside me and see someone else’s artwork”

“You only compliment them when you copy my notes” he hums, “you say it as a thank you when I let you do so”

“Mhm..” you hum “but now, every time I look beside me there’s always a student sleeping with their paper blank”

“Maybe you should start writing your notes….”

“I could…” you trail off, head lifting slightly to meet his eyes. “But what’s the point if I can’t use it as an excuse to talk to you?”

It takes a while for Damian to answer fully. He can feel his skin feel out, and he’s sure you can fill it, too, with a smug smile on your face. He looks away, away from your eyes, as he answers, “True….”

There’s another long silence between you two, a comfortable one and Damian can feel your hand slip away from his—it takes so much in him not to grab ahold of your hand once more. He hears the sudden screech of the chair against the floor, he turns his head—eyes locking in on your form. He wishes you could stay a little longer, your presence is the only thing that doesn’t annoy him as much as others do, and a part of him wants to tell you to stay a bit more but he bites his tongue.

He sees your hand hover over the doorknob, and you seem to hesitate for a moment, he does wish you decided to stay a bit longer. A heavy sigh leaves your lips, turning around to glance back at Damian, who only stares at you confusedly.

"Just because you wear a mask in the middle of the night while playing hero Damian, doesn't mean you're invincible"

huh?

"But anyway ill visit you tomorrow so I can hand you the homework you missed"

you give him one last smile before your figure disapears from his sight. Even after you left, his eyes burn holes at the door for a few more minutes before groaning and pulling at his hair in stress

"She knew?!"

Literally in the middle of my Art history class writing this Because I had nothing better to do.

[igbylicious]

consumed: first taste (san x reader)

pairing: vampire San x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, angst, vampire au

summary: You were supposed to be nothing but a pleasing meal to sate San’s unruly appetites. He was never supposed to lose himself in you. (prequel to ‘consumed’ but no context necessary)

wc: 6.8k

general warnings: dubcon w/ vampiric persuasion, blood drinking, supernatural strength, alcohol consumption, pov switches, your blood is like catnip to vampires, San is obsessed with you 👍 (and almost kills you by accident 😬 )

smut warnings: rough sex, piv, marking, biting, pussy job, cum shot (stomach), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, somnophilia if you squint, nicknames for reader (darling, good girl, love)

a/n: reader uses she/her pronouns and wears a dress

a/n²: welp i told myself i’d ease back into tumblr real slow but the brain weasels demanded to post this fic as soon as it was finished oop. hope you enjoy ♡

The thing is, San has a soft spot for humans.

Wooyoung always teases him it’s because he grew up in the countryside; his parents kept chickens and goats, the farm two miles over had a herd of Hanwoo. He’s used to being surrounded by livestock; already had a soft spot for them when he still was human himself.

Maybe Wooyoung has a point. It never mattered to San that any of those animals might end up on his plate; that didn’t stop him from laughing in delight when the chickens tried to jump on his shoulders, or break out in a dimpled smile when the cows meandered over for headpats if he stopped by their field.

Now, San will admit; humans, for all their inferiority, are still more… entertaining than the livestock he grew up around. More complex. He’s still young enough to remember the fleeting depths of a mortal life, turbulent emotions packed tightly into a mere century, often less.

They have their enjoyable charms — and San can’t deny he enjoys humans the most when they enjoy him.

The other members of his coven never really understood; Hongjoong scolding San for playing too much with his food, increasing risk of exposure. Yunho winking knowingly at him, thinking they are the same because he does play with his food. Or Jongho’s bafflement, who sees feeding as little more than a practical necessity.

And Seonghwa? Seonghwa always smiles with love at his fledgling, the approving mother whose sons can do no wrong in his eyes. Humans are a curiosity to him, not quite worthy of San’s fondness but enough to permit him his eccentricities — as long as San does so responsibly.

San does. He picks his hunting grounds with care.

Nightclubs are among his favourite, the alcohol and drugs doing much of the work for him to take his fill without consequence; but if he wants something quieter, more personal, then a nice hotel bar fits his needs perfectly.

It has the same element of alcohol, while access to a private space is just an elevator ride away. And even if something does go awry, the disappearances of people on their travels is easier to cover up. (See, Hongjoong? There is no need to scold San like an eighty year old child. San knows what he’s doing.)

Besides, if someone comes to a hotel bar alone… they are always looking not to be. Who is San to deny a lonely soul the pleasure of his company, in exchange for a little sustenance?

Smooth jazz breezes through the luxurious interior of the grand hotel that San chose for tonight’s hunt.

He crosses over the elegant floor tiles to the bar with its marble countertop, the soft tinkling of glass and snatches of murmured conversation reaching his ears. If he focused, he could hear every word perfectly, from the man ordering his drinks at the bar, to the couple privately whispering on the other side of the room, to the gabble of ladies chatting in the corner.

San takes place at one of the art deco stools nearby a lonesome man, at a nice corner seat that allows him clear view of the venue.

Behind the bartender, who is fixing a gin and tonic, large gleaming windows expose the skyline of Seoul. The windows cover the full length of the room and reach all the way up to the high ceiling, allowing for a panoramic view of the city at night, alive with glittering, artificial lights that drowns out the stars — for human eyes, that is.

San can still see the faint constellation dotting the night sky, though even his supernatural vision can’t appreciate their full beauty in the bustling cities of humankind. Thankfully, these cities bring something of their own to appreciate.

He breathes in a deep whiff of air, catching notes of drinks and food, perfume and cologne, but all of those are swept away by the overpowering scent of human. His gaze wanders over the venue, eyeing the scattered people chatting or staring at their phones, then back to the other man seated at the bar.

The lonesome man looks appetising enough to meet San’s standards, even if he smells a little bland. Not unpleasant though, and just as San considers whether the sweet eye-candy weighs up against a so-so meal, his attention is noticed.

The man gives San a slow smile and, well… he has had far worse fare in the past.

Like his scent, the lonely man is a little bland in conversation, but San tries to find it in himself to look past the boredom. He’s hungry enough for it, anyway. His body craves sustenance, impatient for fresh blood. He’s not used to the way he’s been rationing, not wanting to get scolded by Hongjoong again. (That’s how their coven operates; Hongjoong keeps his brothers in line, so Seonghwa can be their forever indulgent mother in peace.)

While San bargains with himself to accept this easy meal, pretty but uninteresting, it happens.

A new presence enters the bar.

Tendrils of a luscious scent wraps around him, singing to his deepest, most primal instincts. San draws a shuddering breath, his chest glowing as his lungs fill up with the sudden rich fragrance that invades his senses. It overwhelms all else, his companion’s voice fading into a far distance.

A blurred figure moves in the reflection of the windows, and the world slows down to a crawl as San turns his head to see this alluring creature in the flesh. To see you.

You’re a vision as lovely as the sunrise, glowing with a brightness that blinds San to all but the sway of your hips as you walk past. His heart pounds at this feast for the eyes as well as his soul, wrapped up in an elegant cocktail dress, and his hunger rages at him to pounce when you glance back at him with a cheeky, inviting smile. Already his canines threaten to elongate, and San bites down a frustrated growl at his poor show of control, like he’s some teenage boy popping a boner at the mere sight of a little cleavage.

You make a point of arching your back as you sit down just a few seats away. San hears you order a whiskey, licking his lips at the thought of that smokey flavour dispersed through your fragrant blood.

San barely hears the man next to him anymore.

The boring handsome man tilts his head, perhaps sensing that he is about to lose his one-night stand. (What is his name again? Did San ever really remember it?) “So… I’ll be going up to my room …” he suggests, the implication obvious.

“Sure,” San hums, trying not to be unkind but he can barely think, starved and agitated; his world is turned upside down, like you and your blood are the ones consuming him from the inside. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Oh. I, ah, I thought… perhaps…” the man tries, dejectedly.

San tears himself away from you, giving his former target a mournful smile. “I can’t, not tonight,” he soothes, giving a light outward push of his pheromones. “But… if I happen to make it here tomorrow… and if I happen to see you…”

His ambiguous promise and coercive pheromones are enough to render the man pliant, his disappointment morphing into a hazy smile. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll see you,” he says, his speech a little slurred as though drunk, and he slinks off. Leaving San free to aim all his attention at you, the delectable meal that just fell straight into his lap.

…but your attention is not aimed solely at him, San is a little miffed to discover.

You’re slowly nursing your whiskey with your phone at your ear, staring off at the city skyline while you chat away at some inconsequential nobody, undeserving of the pleasure of your voice.

Sharp jealousy stabs through San’s heart like a wooden stake. Angry hunger coils deep in his stomach, to tear apart the worthless lowlife on the other end of the line for daring to keep you from him. To throw you onto the bar and claim you right here and now, to sink his fangs in your neck and his fingers in your tight cunt as he proves that whoever you’re talking to, they could never give you what he can, drowning you in sublime ecstasy as he takes his fill.

—Fuck, wait what’s wrong with him? San tightly squeezes his eyes shut, trying to reign in his hunger. He hasn’t been this volatile since he was a Newborn, with Mother Seonghwa’s blood pumping fresh through his veins. He feels dizzy, weird, this is—

“Okay, so when you texted ‘hot guy’, how hot are we talking? Spill.”

A distant voice pierces through San’s dark discorded thoughts. His eyes snap open, meeting yours.

“Hm… the weather has been pretty balmy. Can’t remember the last time we had a summer like this,” you muse to the person on the phone. You take another slow sip of your drink, licking your lips as you put the now-empty glass back down, never breaking your studious gaze away from San.

San’s strange dizziness evaporates in the blink of an eye, all his agitation relaxing into slow amusement now he knows the true motive of your phonecall. Sweetened indulgence fills him at your little game. Cute. Thinking you can toy with him like this, oblivious to his true nature; that his augmented hearing allows him to listen in on the full conversation, not your side alone.

“Girl, then what the hell are you doing, talking to me? He can’t rizz you up while you’re on the phone!”

You giggle, “Oh, I think this nice weather will stick around for a while, I’ll have all the time in the world to check out the local sights. Besides, what good ever came out of rushing anything?”

San scoffs lightly, shaking his head in amusement. He orders another drink from the bar — and sends one your way too. You blink in surprise when the bartender brings you a new whiskey, but then pause your conversation to tip your glass in thanks.

You make a good show of pretending to be unaffected by him, but San is fully tuned into you now. All other noises have faded away, allowing him to sense even the slightest speeding of your heartbeat. He did not think it possible, but your scent sweetens even further at his attention, enriched with whole new depths of tangy aroma as your arousal stirs.

“What was that?” the voice on the phone demands. “Mr Balmy Summer is looking at you, isn’t he? Babe, hang up the damn phone or I’ll do it for you. I swear, if your bratty ass ruins a sure thing just because you wanna—”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, a silver tinkling sound that dizzies San all over again. “Too bad you have have to go… Talk to you later, alright?”

You smile at San as you put down your phone. “Thanks for the drink,” you say, a lively gleam in your eyes. “I suppose I owe you now.”

San’s hunger flares anew at the suggestive purr in your voice, urging him to take all he is owed. No one is watching. No one would notice a chaste kiss on the neck, lips lingering, a subtle hand on your mouth to stifle your moans as fangs pierce flesh. You’d like it. He knows you would.

Temptation plucks at the weakened strings of San’s self-control — but he manages to overcome it, Hongjoong’s warning for discretion yanking him back.

Besides… you had a point. What good ever came out of rushing anything? A treat like you deserves to be enjoyed at his leisure.

“Nothing owed,” he says with a grin, the one he knows makes his dimples pop. Predictably, your eyes light up at the sight of them. “I like taking care of people in need.”

“Oh? I didn’t realise I was in need,” you smile slowly, tilting your head to rest in the palm of your hand, elbow on the marble countertop. Your neck is on full display, leaving San with no choice but to contemplate the delight of your exposed jugular.

San licks his lips, trying to remember why he didn’t want to rush. “Yeah, I think you are,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “Of a little attention, maybe.”

“‘Maybe’? So you’re not sure then?” you tease, but your heartbeat jolts, heat searing through your veins. “I didn’t take you as someone with a lack of confidence.”

San takes his drink and stands up, unhurried as he walks over and sits down right next to you. His knee now brushes against yours. He wonders if you realise you’ve leaned in closer.

“Confidence is not an issue,” San hums, darkened eyes tracing the motion of you raising your glass to your lips. “I just like to get to know people a little more before making too many assumptions.” “I’d like to know you more,” he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to.

“You don’t make too many assumptions?” you ask, coyly brushing your foot against San’s leg. Your heart pounds. “Then what do you assume?”

San’s intense gaze is heated as he looks you over, his nod slow but decisive as he comes to his conclusion. “That you deserve someone who’ll take good care of you tonight.”

“Hm,” you hum, lazily circling your fingertip over the rim of your emptied glass. “That’s a fair assumption.”

San’s smile widens with a flash of teeth. He recognises an invitation when he hears one. “I could take care of you. Could treat you real good. Give you everything you deserve.”

There’s the tiniest hitch in your breath when his hand rests on your knee.

Your head spins from just a light touch. Fuck, this guy wasn’t kidding about his confidence. His dark eyes have you pinned, his overwhelming aura threatening to swallow you up whole. “Everything…” You savour the way the word tastes on your tongue. “Bold. You think you have what it takes?”

Your handsome stranger doesn’t answer, gently rubbing his hand over your leg instead while the other clasps your chin. Your breath hitches a little sharper as he leans in for a kiss, slow but assured you will accept him.

Anticipation buzzes under your skin, all else fading from existence as his lips slot over yours perfectly; warm and soft, pressing into you with a firm, languid intensity that has you melting into him. You taste the liquor on his breath, inhale the dizzying scent of his cologne, smokey vanilla along with something you can’t quite identify, alluring and irresistible, a strange fuzziness coating your mind. More drunk on him than you could ever be on the alcohol. The kiss is far too brief but he lingers close, gently nudging his nose against yours.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, a light rasp in his voice that sparks through you, igniting a pulse of heat between your thighs. “Want to give me a try?”

You shudder, struggling to keep up your facade of nonchalance. You had your fun leading this stranger on a playful chase, but he is right behind you now, breathing down your neck, his claws catching on your heels. You’re struck by the distinct feeling that he’s been the one playing with you all along; merely entertaining your need for a chase, a sleek panther who knows he’s leading his prey into an inescapable trap. He could have gone for the kill at any time.

To think, you hadn’t even meant to pick up a one night stand. You were just looking for a fun flirtation to chase off the boredom, maybe pick up a few drinks free of charge. Get a little confidence boost before your work conference kicks off tomorrow.

A stolen kiss at most, you’d told yourself — but your handsome, perfect stranger has stolen his kiss, and you’re aching for more of his thievery.

“…I’m willing to give you a chance to prove it,” you say, a poor final attempt at pretending to be in control.

He knows it too, a cocky curve to his smile that has no right to be so attractive. Dammit, you don’t even know this guy’s name. And so you ask, shivering as he murmurs “San. Call me San,” in your ear. His eyes burn hotly when you give your own name in turn.

“So, San… do you want to get out of here?”

His grin widens, and you can’t help but feel like a mouse who has pried open the cat’s maw, crawling between rows of sharpened teeth of their own free will. Offering yourself up to be devoured whole.

San does not hesitate for even a second.

Your mouth is claimed in another kiss, rougher than before, and that fuzzy feeling returns as his odd cologne washes over you again, flooding your brain. Like a fog rolling over your consciousness, the world disappears in a blur. All you know is your mysterious stranger, San. San. You cling tightly onto his wide shoulders, deepening the kiss with a needy moan.

The wet heat of his lips is scorching, and you whimper when he breaks away, his giggle dizzying. “Fuck, maybe I overdid it a little,” he laughs huskily, his words as confusing as his insistence to pry your lips off the freckled expanse of his neck. “Sorry about that, darling. Come, let’s find some privacy first.”

“San…” you whine, and he groans at the sound.

His name sounds perfect from your pretty lips, the crotch of his pants uncomfortably tight already. You’re so beautifully responsive, grasping at him with needy fingers after barely a nudge of his pheromones; like this chance meeting was meant to be, you were meant to be found by him. Fuck, you smell so good. You didn’t need the extra push to be compelled, he knows that — but San just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t afford any risk to have you slip through his grasp. He has to taste you.

Still, he eases back on his preternatural influence. Already he notes the bartender’s raised eyebrow; there is no need to draw more attention as he guides you to the hotel’s wide hall and into the elevator.

You stumble only once on the way there, and again when San crowds you into the cabin before the door even fully opens. You fall into him with a broken moan and shakily press the button for your floor. He shudders at how your skin burns up under his touch, radiating heady arousal in deep waves, just for him, all for him.

He roughly turns you around, your hands pressed against the mirrored elevator wall as his arms lock around your waist. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck with a growl, taking a deep inhale of your pure scent, no longer blemished by food and drinks and other, inferior humans.

You’re something special, that much is undeniable by now. More than just a quick meal — though that won’t stop San from taking his fill. No, it’d be a crime against his morals not to feed from you, like leaving an exquisite culinary dinner untouched to be wasted and thrown out in the garbage.

He laps at your pulse point, whining impatiently as he grinds against your backside. Soon. Soon he will familiarise himself with every fragrant note of your blood, a sure feast for his discerning palate.

"W-wait,” you suddenly whimper, pushing at his hands. “Stop, I—”

Your eyes lock with his in the mirror, but San already knows what’s wrong. Bitter tints of confusion and doubt taint your sweet aroma; his feathery touch of pheromones has worn off, leaving your emotional state vulnerable to crash down. A budding anxiety is etched into your face as the ecstasy starts to fall away, trying to comprehend what is happening to you — but you do understand one crucial thing;

A predator has his lips pressed right against your jugular.

“I— I think I left my phone downstairs,” you stammer, uselessly squirming against your hunter’s grip. “I have to go back.”

San growls into your neck, yanking you closer. He’s transfixed on your face in the mirror, how you whine at the sudden firm pressure of his fingers on your clothed slit, bunching up your dress. How you shudder and relax in his hold as he flares his scent again, generously this time. Enveloping you with him until all doubt is washed away, leaving only the certainty you are right where you belong.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, rubbing circles into the growing dampness of your panties. “I’ll take real good care of you tonight. You want to be taken care of, don’t you?”

You whimper, instinctively arching into his hand. “Y-yeah.”

“Are you sure you need to go back?” San purrs, his tongue darting out to tease against your frantic pulse.

Your eyes roll back with a decadent moan when San’s fingers push past your underwear, finding slick arousal. “…I… mgh, ah ahh… N-no, need to stay, stay… San…”

He groans at the stuttered plea of his name, desperate with want. “Good, such a good girl,” he rasps, pulling his hand away from your leaking cunt. You whine in complaint and it’s not easy to deny you pleasure, but San needs something of you on his tongue before his self-control shatters apart.

He sucks off his glistening fingers with an indulgent moan; your slick is not what he truly seeks, but it’s enough to tide him over.

The elevator opens with a soft ‘ping’, and the way to your hotel room is a messy scramble, your lips unwilling to part from San’s heated skin. So deeply entangled that you almost trip over one another, until San puts his preternatural strength to its best use and hoists you up with ease. Instinctively you curl around him, burrowing your face into his shoulder as your legs lock around his narrow waist. He doesn’t even know if he and you were seen, too distracted by more important things;

Things like your gasp when San shoves you against the door the instant he’s made it inside your room. Or the way his fingers push into your soft thighs, your body pliant to his touch. You cling onto him with an eager moan as he rolls his hips into you, dragging his achingly hard cock against your soiled panties.

Your head rolls back against the door, and everything inside San sharpens at the sight of your vulnerable neck. A wild snarl lacerates across his face, his vision narrowing with jagged intent.

“S-San, please—”

Bright and searing, your desperate voice cuts through San’s blind hunger. He presses his forehead into your shoulder with a whine, sinking his teeth into his own bottom lip to drive off his frenzy for just a little longer. Not yet. He promised he’d take care of you and fuck, he will do just so. He will give you everything you want, all of him, anything to repay your unvolunteered generosity of sustaining his life.

With a few urgent, long strides, San carries you over to the hotel bed, falling into the soft sheets of Egyptian cotton together.

The breath is knocked out of your chest with a sharp moan as San descends on you, swallowing all your noises with his hungry mouth, famished for you. He forces your thighs apart with his knee, groaning in satisfaction when you spread yourself open for him willingly. San vaguely hears fabric rip as he pulls at your dress and his own clothes, but he pays it no mind, too caught up in the slide of skin against skin, the arch of your spine pressing your chests together, the wet heat that slicks up his fingers as he rubs between your lower lips. You cry out when he finds your clit with every stroke.

Fuck, the room is hot. San feels dizzy, his body like a furnace, endlessly burning with your cries to fuel him. “What do you want, darling?” he rasps between kisses. Two of his thick fingers press inside you, curling in search of the spot that twists your face into wretched pleasure. “How do you want me? Tell me, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all.”

San doesn’t expect you to answer, the way you’re gasping and trembling underneath him, already overwhelmed by this small taste of his boundless gratitude. No, he expects to take matters in his own hands, to seek out your pleasure points by chasing the rich arousal in your scent — but then your hand suddenly presses against his chest, and San freezes as you try to push him off.

Frustration itches at him like an ache. Why? Why would you push him away? San’s brow knits with agitated hurt, trying to understand why you’d refuse him now. Isn’t he giving you exactly what you desire, feeding into your cravings so he can sate his?

You whine when San doesn’t budge. “Please, wanna—” you strain, uselessly trying to move him, “—on top, please—”

Oh.

You grasp at San’s chest, your plea jolting through him; all irritation and distress is pushed aside at the realisation he misunderstood you for the second time tonight. San melts into a pleased, languid smile, now knowing better than to think you would ever deny him — so why would he deny you? He pulls you along as he lays on his back, leaving you to straddle him just as you want.

“Of course, of course you can, my darling,” he coos, his eager fingers creating indents in your sides as he firmly rocks you into him. “That’s it, take me,” he rasps as his flushed cock pushes at your entrance, “take whatever you fucking want. It’s all for you, anything for a sweet, perfect thing like you, f-fuck—”

His voice breaks into a low groan as you sink down on him, your plush cunt swallowing him up. You’re still so tight — but even your body seems to understand that you’re meant for him, leaking around his aching cock as your snug walls part for him, inch by delicious inch.

You bow over with a whimper when you bottom out, arms shaky as your hands lean on his chest to steady yourself. The roll of your hips starts slow, testingly, your eyes fluttering shut like you’re trying to memorise the feeling of him, every vein rubbing inside your twitching cunt.

San lets out a pained groan from the effort to allow you this moment. His fingers dig harder into the soft meat of your waist, leaving deep crescents. Hunger roils through him, growling at him to try and break the skin under his nails, lick your blood off his fingers. It’d be so easy to tear into a vulnerable human like you…

The animalistic urge claws at San’s ribcage, rattling to break free. He burns with the effort to hold it off, gritting his teeth, a hint of fangs prodding at his bottom lip.

You gasp at the force of his grip on your waist, eyes snapping open. But there is no fear as you clasp your hand over San’s, all wiped away by the hazy veil he’s drawn over your mind. No, San’s desperation only brings a dazed smile to your face, fingers squeezing around his hand encouragingly — blissfully unaware of the violent struggle behind his heated gaze.

San can’t tear his eyes away from your smile; your innocent delight at his relieved whine when the roll of your hips finally picks up.

“Oh you’re needy, aren’t you?” you tease, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, and you giggle when he instinctively snaps at your fingers, trying to catch skin between his teeth.

You’re right, of course. San is needy. For you, more of you, more than the warmth of your sweet cunt leaking around his cock, more than your pitched breaths as pleasure builds. Your head falls back when you find an angle, shameless moans spilling past your pretty lips.

Unlike San, no inhibitions hold you back; riding him with mindless intent, sweat beading on your skin as you bounce in his lap, lost in the pleasure of him.

San aches from it, down to his core, shaken by the perfect equilibrium of your desperation matching his, needing him as much as he needs you. Your eyes squeeze shut, face contorting with pleasure like the way he fills you up goes beyond the physical, nourishing an empty aching cavity inside your soul.

And for one quiet moment… San’s violent hunger is appeased.

It’s the eye of the storm as he looks up at you in your blissful state. Time dilates and stretches to a slow crawl, all sound dampened into a dreamlike hush until he can hear only two things; your ragged breaths, echoing in his head like soft whispers, and the thumping of your heart, rapid and slow all at once.

He sits up to wrap his arms around you, unable to bear the distance between his mouth and your body.

You whine at the strength of his grip, forced into a shallow rut. “Please,” you gasp when he noses at your neck to seek out your pulse again. “Please.”

“Sweet, smells so sweet…” San groans, clutching tightly onto your wriggling body. Soft lips and sharp teeth tend to your delicate skin. Should he here…? Now…? Your heartbeat pounds faster, faster, the drum of it sending a sharp rush through him. His grip tightens, like you might slip from his grasp like a dream. Eagerly he suckles at the tang of your sweat, his canines scraping over heated flesh — until your rich scent is invaded by a sour note, and a whimper of pain cuts through his ravenous haze.

Slowly, he comes back to himself, just enough to realise you’re barely able to breathe, smothered bruisingly against his chest.

He feels his nails digging into your skin, your weak attempts to create enough space for your lungs to pull in air. It takes a long, strenuous moment before San can convince himself to relax his hold, but your eyes tear up, your breaths wheezy, and sharp lashes of guilt break you free.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling, it’s okay,” San murmurs soothingly, apologetically gathering you in his arms again; gentle this time. He encourages you to tuck your head under his chin, his hand stroking your sweaty hair. “It’ll be better now, I know just the right spot for a tasty thing like you.”

You make a faint, confused noise at his phrasing — but it turns into a startled yelp when San tosses you onto your back.

Firm hands knead your thighs, pushing your knees up against your chest as he spreads them. San groans as his cock slides through your glistening folds, sucking him in every time he rubs over your entrance. He lets out a pleased hiss when you grab at his ass, trying to pull him even closer, to split you apart on his cock.

You whine in frustration when he resists. “Please, inside, inside me, please,” you sob, begging deliriously for him; but this is your one desire he’s too selfish to fulfil.

Still, San does not leave you wanting. Your mouth falls open as he ruts against your needy cunt, whimpering as the underside of his slick cock catches your clit. San bucks harder into you; he does not intend to last. Sweat drops off his face onto your trembling body, arching up as you desperately claw at him — until all your whimpered moans are strangled in your airways, your cunt clenching around nothing as you convulse underneath him. San’s eyes roll back with a snarl at the overwhelming spike of arousal in your scent, his hips stuttering as he finds his release together with you, spilling hotly over your stomach.

He gives you no time to catch your breath; San yanks your hips up and dives down to plunge his tongue in your weeping hole. Revelling in the taste of you, purely you, unsullied by his seed. He laps at your fresh slick as your cunt flutters around his ceaseless tongue, drinking in your hitched cries.

Half-lifted off the bed, there’s nothing you can do but succumb to San’s feast — but you don’t resist even when he lowers you back down, instead freely allowing him to devour you. Your fingers tangle through his hair, desperate to keep him right where he is, but again San is forced to disregard your wishes.

He groans as he sucks a messy wet patch into the soft meat of your thigh, inhaling deeply. Here, the blood just underneath vulnerable skin sings out to him, right here.

San catches your arousal on his fingers, then smears it generously over his chosen spot. It’s time.

His thumb rubs at your clit, almost absent-mindedly while he uses his other hand to easily pin down your waist. “P-please, please,” you mewl, uselessly bucking against his hold.

“Do you want it, darling?” San rasps, his pupils completely dilated as he looks up at you, at the beautiful wreck he’s turned you into.

Your teary eyes cause a twitch in his cock, your hair a mess, lips puffy from his earlier kisses. You sob at his question, furiously nodding your head. “I do, I do.”

San hums blissfully at your consent, even if given in ignorance of what that truly means. Finally, his fangs sink into your thigh—

—and releases with a startled growl when your blood hits his tongue.

With shaking eyes, he stares at the crimson rivulet trickling down your marred thigh. He knew you’d taste sweet, he knew, but… but…

The last ragged thread of San’s self-control snaps. You cry out as his fangs plunge back into you with a feral groan, far greedier than he ever intended to be. Your scent had called San like a beacon, but nothing prepared him for the divinity pouring forth from your broken skin.

He disappears into his hunger, in the way you convulse against him with pleasure and pain. Too deep under San’s control to fully grasp what’s happening to you.

With visceral clarity, San remembers the first time he ever fed on a human being. Arteries torn apart by his fangs, fresh blood bursting in his mouth. He’d never tasted anything like it, pure vitality in liquid form — but he never thought of blood as more than food before now. Never thought of it as beautiful.

Your moans grow weaker as San takes and takes from you, though he is always sure to give too, his thumb still on your swollen clit, coaxing you towards your peak.

San has always prided himself on his self-control, feeding with discipline; knowing when he’s had enough and when to release his prey back into the world. He tries to treat you with that same discipline, he really is, but there is no taking his lips off of your skin, not when you whimper and shake underneath him, feeding him your cresting pleasure as if it is his own.

Your steady climb pulses through your blood, thrumming vibrantly, until you fall apart with one last burst of energy. He whines at your gasped cries of his name, jolting against his steel hold on your waist, your essence flooding with a rich heat that warms him from the inside, saturating his own inferior blood with your perfection.

Finally San manages to tear himself away from the fresh wound on your thigh, contenting himself with sucking your slick off his fingers instead. He groans at the mingling of tastes. His stomach is full, his body sated, and yet San still finds himself hungry.

He should stop. His tongue darts out to lap at the bite mark. He has to stop. His red-smeared lips suck at the dried blood that dribbled down earlier. Why can’t he stop—?

A stubborn grogginess clings to your consciousness, struggling against your body’s attempt to wake. There’s a nagging headache that filters through the fog, a faint pain in your chest, and a more immediate throbbing on your thigh. Your hands feel cold, but there’s a welcoming warmth pressed against your back, a solid presence spooning you. Th-the guy from last night? Memories only come back to you in pieces, strange and blurry. Dammit, why is it so hard to think?

Ragged breaths fall on your ear, joined by a soft whimper when you feel a hard pressure against your ass. Clumsy fingers grasp at your thigh, and you wince as they dig into that painful mark to lift your leg, opening you up.

A thought of alarm tries to form in your head, that something isn’t right, but the thought is snuffed out by a whiff of your handsome stranger’s cologne. You’re dizzy, too weak to question the soothing warmth that seeps through your mind and body.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the man whimpers between nips at your neck. San, your shattered memory faintly remembers. “I don’t usually feed twice, but— but fuck, you— you’re—”

“F-feed?” you gasp, trying to understand what he’s saying. His canines are strangely sharp as they scrape over your skin. Like they’re…

The thought flees away from you as he rocks his hips, his thick cock nestled between your sensitive, fluttering walls. You moan lowly, struggling to catch your breath even at the light stimulation. Everything feels so heavy, so sluggish, you can’t move—

“I’m sorry.” San tenderly strokes your arm. “Sorry sorry sorry—” babbling pleas until he silences himself by plunging those sharp canines in your neck.

There should be pain, some distant part of you realises. It should hurt, to have him break through skin and flesh, sucking at the wound. There’s a numb ache, but it comes from far away, just like the sparks of pleasure of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot with every upstroke. You feel fuzzy and safe, like you are exactly where you belong. Something about that doesn’t make sense, but you can’t question it.

San’s moans raise goosebumps on your skin, muffled whines as he shudders and spills inside you. He stays there, but his teeth finally detach from your neck, replaced by gentle kisses.

“S-Sannie…” you sigh out as blackness drifts into your vision.

His voice is the last thing you register before consciousness fades again, softly murmuring, “So sweet… Fed me so well, my love…”

You pass out with a smile.

San snaps out of his euphoria when you go limp in his arms, his own heart racing as yours grows fainter, slowing down until he can barely sense your weak pulse. Panic grabs at his throat as your pulse continues to fade, along with your shallow breaths.

“N-no, wait,” he stutters, sitting upright and taking your feeble body with him, clutched tightly against his chest. “Don’t— no—”

Cold dread trickles down his spine, freezing his newly imbued blood. Mindless, San presses frantic kisses against the wound on your neck, like he can return all he drank from you. Too much, he took too much. He can’t hear your heart anymore over the hammering of his own, guilt rippling through him with nauseating waves. He hasn’t killed any prey in decades, and you are so so much more than mere prey. Fuck.

“Don’t go, don’t go, I’ll do better,” he chokes, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I’ll take care of you, I promise, promise. J-just don’t go. I’ll keep you safe, please don’t go.”

San nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder with a soft whine, his eyes prickling. He fucked up. He fucked up. Tonight, the most perfect creature fell straight in his lap and he instantly lost you again to his own brutal impulses.

His arms tighten around you, willing you back to him — and some part of you must have listened, a weak moan escaping past your lips.

San’s heart soars as you blink at him with bleary eyes, unfocused and confused. You try to move, but San shakes his head, keeping you in place. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures, squeezing his arms. “You’re back, you’re okay.”

He breaths heavily, but slowly calms as he hears your heartbeat again. Weak, but hanging on.

San has always prided himself on his self-control. On his ability to feed with discipline. To know when he needs to release his prey back into the world. That’s the way of things, how it has always been.

He can’t. He can’t let go of you, ever again.

You stare up at San with shaky eyes, but there is no fear in them, no anguish over your close brush with death; still safely enveloped in the comforting influence of San’s pheromones. How could he ever take that safety away from you? No, no it’s better you stay by his side. You need to stay.

“I’ll do better,” San promises, gently kissing your temple. “You’re safe, you’re safe now. I’ll take real good care of you, okay? You’re right where you belong. Always.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

LKAHSFL'H I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT REBLOGGED THIS YET LAKSFHLKASHFL'HASFHASF ASF YOU MUST FORGIVE ME I DONT WANT TO CLOG THE DASH WITH A REBLOG OF THE SAME CHAPTER YA FEEL ILY ILY

first of all, almost crying during a nail appointment is honestly such iconic behavior HAHAHHAHAHHAH LOLOLOL. im kinda sad you stopped reading ): you should have cried during the nail appointment AHHAHAHAHAHAH LOLOLOL JK

CARGYLL TWIN SCREENTIME GO BRRRRRRRRRR RAHHHH. i would never take erryk or arryk for that matter from you <3 I WISH THEY HAD MORE SCREEN TIME IN THE SHOW FR THEY FUCKING KILLED THEM AND TRAUMATIZED ME AND FOR WHAT???????????

and viserys yeah 😬😬😬 T_T i love making people have sympathy for him even when hes disgusting 😁 because thats the whole point of this story (: i love my barbies. i wish him a very much rot

STARK OBESSION GO BRRR. tumblr notified me you posted something and I RAN COS I THOUGHT IT WAS AN UPDATE but it was just a reblog of your fic 🙄 WHICH IS FINE AND IM NOT PRESSURING YOU AT ALL TO UPDATE. job and robb are hot fr but i wanted benjen THEN THEY FUCKING OFFED HIM 🤬 also HE PROBABLY HAS ONE HAS ME GAGGED.

[...] Older me can now see Ned's appeal too. He probably has one, with how much Catelyn loved having his babies)

I WAS ABOUT TO ASK 'HAS WHAT' then i realized you mean APPEAL T_T he probably has APPEAL T_T CRYINNNGGGGGGGG. i cant help but think about all the boromir memes (cuz you know sean bean) and how his dad would react to this MY SON HAS APPEAL 🤬 HAHAHAHAH LMAO. honestly, i feel catelyn. if i was married to a stark id have 10000 babies too AHHAHA LOL

The scene where she lost the babies hurt me physically. I now get what you said and why you laughed when I hoped the baby was valyrian to spare her the pain, you cruel, cruel woman.

its ok i love you

DAEMON GROVEL ERA IS A NEED. dont worry about spam liking i love it when that happens

[...] making Viserys and Alicent's marriage be all about him [...]

YOU KNOW WHAT YOURE SO RIGHT. HE THINKS HES THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE FR OMLLL UGHHH EWW

HERES TO HIM BEING JEALOUS AND SUFFERING FOREVER FOR LIFE

ALSO MY GEORGE FIC WEEE I THINK IT WAS REALLY CUTE! i was honestly gagged that i struggled to write fluff 💀 all because of this series 😀 BUT THENI GOT MY GROOVE AND IM MAKING A GEORGE ANGST NOW BECAUSE IM INSANE HAHAHHA I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Tormented Spirit | 12

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i would just like to bring everyone's attention to the fact this fic is called tormented spirit. BTW some of yall might wanna read my weasely twins fluff cuz 😀 yeah you should read some fluff! leave comments/reblogs ok!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Since your sister's wedding, there were two things you no longer did: speak to your sister and go to your father. Everyday, instead of having the Lord Hand accompany you to your maester, you were accompanied by one of your wards.

At first, you were apprehensive with the change. After all, they were your knights, but neither of them were the father to your babe, and even fathers were rarely involved with prenatal care. Though, the patience they extended is not unusual, you were surprised that Erryk and Arryk took time asking the maester additional information concerning things that might need their attention in the future.

Today, you walk to the maester's ward, one hand on your belly the other on Erryk's bicep. As he opens the door, you freeze when you hear the voices in the room.

"Daughter." "Sister."

These words are spoken at the same time. You clench your teeth and turn to Erryk, whose jaw is set. You take a breath and decide to simply come back later.

Alicent stands the cot she sat upon and raises a hand, "please! I'm finished. You can come now."

Finished? Why is she being examined by the maester?

Otto is angered by your persistence to ignore them. He scowls and glares at Erryk, "you remind your princess to practice some humility," he points a finger, "her actions are affecting the queen, who is now carrying an heir."

Your face drops as you turn to her.

She is already staring at you. You watch her pick her nails. You catch the redness of her cuticles.

Erryk is equally shocked. He stutters before nodding in regard, "congratulations, my queen."

Alicent shakes her head, forcing a smile, "t-thank you, ser."

Your father's eyes remain on you. He waits for you to offer the same sentiment, but his anger only intensifies at your continued silence. He scoffs, "will you not even congratulate your sister?"

You clutch your pronounced belly and turn to your maester, "may we please do the examination? I cannot bear to stand for long."

Otto and Alicent watch you move past them. The latter is resigned to your commitment of not speaking to her, the former seethes and laughs dryly. He offers his arm to the queen, "come, daughter. Let us pray that your sister's impertinence is merely as side effect of childbearing."

Your sister spares you a glassy glance before taking Otto's arm and leaving with him. You watch as they leave, feeling yourself grow hard of breathing.

The maester asks you to sit, but before you do, you snatch his arm, "is she truly with child?"

He looks at your teary face. He feels the tremble of your hand as he places his own atop of it. He carefully speaks "it is joyous news, is it not?"

You release a shaky breath as he helps you sit.

"Princess," the maester warily says, "breathe for me. We cannot proceed if you overcome by your affliction."

You place both your hands on your belly and take a couple deep breaths. You close your eyes and resist the sob that threatens to come. A couple of tears wet your cheeks, but you manage to remain intact. You wipe your face and mutter to yourself, "it's barely been a moon since they've wed."

Your maester hears it though and offers, "your sister is blessed with a fertile womb."

You wish he had not tried to comfort you with such an idea.

You try not to think of Alicent as you do your daily examination, but she is all you think of. You think of how frightened she must be. You think of how your father surely told her about your daily visits to the maester. You wonder if he would force her to do the same, just to get you to talk to her. She wouldn't need daily examinations like you; she is perfectly healthy, stronger than you, as she said herself.

You are so deep in thought, you don't even realize the maester was finished with you, up until he says something that demands your full attention.

"What?" you knit your brows at him.

"We will be more certain of it as the moons wax and wane, but considering you are a twin yourself, and, again, because of the rather rapid growth of your belly, chances are my deduction is correct."

He helps you up and Erryk is quick to take your arm. You mutter through a shaky breath, "I'm carrying twins?"

Your maester nods, "highly likely."

You turn to Erryk, who offers you a reassuring smile, "I... congratulate you, my princess."

You stare at him for a moment and blink rapidly.

"You might give birth to a boy and girl who will have the same devotion you and your brother have," Erryk says in an attempt to take away some of the fear written across your face.

It does actually. You recall your visit to Oldtown and find yourself nodding, "I... I must write a letter at once."

Many moons come and go, but across the sea, the sun shines. Daemon's day has just started. His mood is nothing but sour, as it always is. He is loathe to start his day, but he does, and with a grunt, and leaves his tent to break his fast.

We eats with the Velaryons, Corlys, Vaemond, and Laenor, and though he did not hold any particular fondness for them, there was something in the way they all spoke in nothing but High Valyrian that made mornings not completely unbearable.

"My prince," Corlys greets him in their mother tongue. He hands Daemon a plate, "duck."

Daemon raises his brow at it, "with salt?"

"And pepper," Leanor says with a half-amused expression.

"My," Daemon sits down with them, "I am spoiled."

Corlys waits for Daemon to have a few bites before continuing conversation. He clears his throat, "before the day passes, allow me, my brother, and my son-" he looks between the said people, earning furrowed brows from Laenor, "-to greet you, both on behalf of House Velaryon, and as your comrade in battle for you—"

"Oh, yes!" Leanor interjects once he remembers, "congratulations, my prince!"

This earns him a look from his father, and his uncle. Laenor, who had been grinning, slowly raises his brows, "a-... apologies for interrupting, father."

Corlys sighs, "as I was-"

"And have we won the war overnight?" the prince says, rather uninterested, both in small talk and in his duck.

Corlys is confused by this, "I... no." He slowly tilts his head, "does your lady wife not write to you?"

Daemon is immediately on edge at the mention of you, "and what of her?"

Corlys narrows his eyes. He puts him to the test, "... you are aware your brother, the king, has remarried?"

Daemon whips his head his direction.

"And that also he expects an heir to be delivered come spring?"

"Remarried?!" Daemon repeats in offence, "and which scheming cunt managed to tricked him into marriage?"

Corlys turns to Vaemond, who turns to Leanor, who turns back to Corlys. The latter clears his throat, "your bride's sister, my prince."

His eyes widen. He looks between the Velaryons, then scoffs dryly. He begins to laugh, "that roach of a Hand has Viserys's bollocks shoved down his fucking throat."

Their faces contort at the foul language. Vaemond, in particular, is so offended that he cannot help but ask, "doesn't the princess write to you every day?"

Daemon clenches his plate

"And she never mentioned thi—"

"WHAT USE HAVE I TO READ THE WEEPY WRITING OF MY WIFE?!" the prince snaps, coming to a stand as he chucks his plate to the ground.

Corlys understands then Daemon's initial shock. However, he is still confused, "have you not read any letters from your wife?"

"Would you rather I be distracted, Corlys?" he snaps again, hands now clenched into fists.

Corlys is not intimidated by Daemon's anger, but he is also unincited by the idea a fight. He raises his hands in surrender, "most men gladly welcome distractions in the heat of war."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "I am not most men," then storms all the way back to his tent.

"Jiōragon hen ñuha ñuhoso!" he snaps in High Valyrian still, shoving the unwitting soldier aside. Get out of my way!

He returns to his tent. Another unwitting victim is there. "My prince," he bows, "a letter from Lady H-" Daemon snags the letter from him and shoves him away with exceeding anger and force.

He enters his tent and immediately chucks the letter to the floor, as if it was a vase he intended to shatter into a million pieces. It doesn't, of course; the paper remains intact, along with its seal. He crushes it beneath his heel then grabs the sack containing all your unread letters. He empties it on the floor and violently begins to stomp all over them.

You were his. You were meant to be his! Yet here you were, a pawn in someone else's game. His lust and infatuation has blinded him from this truth. You and your sister were mere tools of your cunt father to manipulate the throne.

He continues to trample your letters until they are brown with the dirt. He catches a lone letter that managed to evade his violence. He picks the unscathed object and only now does he realize its red waxen seal had an imprint of a dragon with a long neck that resembled Caraxes. Daemon scoffs, even his dragon you covet.

He breaks the seal. The letter was sent nearly a moon ago.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔰𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔴. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢; ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔫. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢, 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔬𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢

A good place to raise children?! He scoffs and crumples the paper away. You fantasize of bearing his seed now? He laughs at the idea, chucking the paper across his tent. His amusement goes dry when he realizes it must be your father's ploy.

He's read enough.

Back in the Keep, you too receive a letter. It is from Gwayne, whose weekly response has finally arrived. You do not mind that he does not write to you daily as you did; you are grateful to receive a response at all.

You were set on reading his response, but as is was, you were experiencing terrible nausea and found yourself unable to sit or lie still. For some reason, the only thing that could combat this was walking around. You instead had your ward read your brother's words aloud for you.

Arryk's eyes trail back and forth you and your letter. He comes to your side when you gag, "princess."

You place a hand on your mouth, walking away from him. He watches as you circle your bed, "perhaps, I-"

"Please," you sigh, "do not make me beg you to read it."

Arryk stiffens and shakes his head, "my apologies, your grace." He turns to the parchment, "my twin."

" Louder," you grunt as you momentarily lean on your bed.

"My twin," Arryk repeats slightly louder, "I pray that your health is good, that you have been eating and sleeping as goodly as you did in the days of your visit here."

You take a deep breath and walk towards nothing in particular.

"While I confess a certain light has been lost in the halls of our Oldtown home since your leave, I..." your ward knits his brows, "disagree with your sentiments to return."

"What?" you gasp softly, turning to Arryk.

He looks at you and hesitates, "I... will not honey my words: you disappoint me with your coldness towards our youngest."

You clench your teeth as you feel another gag coming up, "fucking, Gwayne."

"She has written to me more than once to lament your severed relations since she's wed."

Your scoff makes Arryk pause. You look at him as you walk over, "do not stop."

He looks at you as you walk past him. He clears his throat, "I did not speak of it until now, for I believed you to be wiser than your betrayal."

"Ha!" you scoff, eyes immediately watering, "incorrigible pest," you grunt and rub your belly. You pace faster, "unyielding. Unfeeling."

Arryk watches you pace and takes a few steps back and forth so to remain arms reach of you.

"Continue!"

He stiffens, "I—," he turns back to your brother's words, "you've written you believe it will be better for you both that you away, lest your childbearing interlope with hers. I disagree. Consider me a fool-"

"He is," you scratch your eyes.

"-a man who knows nothing of childbirth, which I am, but I know my sisters— I know you at the very least." Arryk watches you as he says the next words, "leaving Alicent will haunt you, your satisfaction short-lived."

You stop in your tracks. You feel your dress tighten around you.

"Lay down your pride and allow yourself to reach for your sister who understands your struggle unlike anyone in the Seven Realms now more than ever."

You feel sick, sicker.

"Upon doing so, see then if you still wish to come to home."

You heave as you continue walking around.

"I offer many prayers to the Mother for both you and our sister. We are truly grown from the same womb, for I too share in your hope that you give birth to a twin boy and girl."

You rub your belly, as the thought softens you a fraction.

"Mostly, I speak thanks and praise for I am to be doubly an uncle. I pray your births come timely and smoothly, and I pray the Lord Hand has extended nothing but gentleness to you both," he folds the paper, "Your Twin."

"See now," you turn to Arryk, "even my twin betrays me, abandons me," you feel tears run down your cheek.

He slowly walks towards you, "that is not what he's done, my princess."

"Then what?!" you shake your hands, "am I not allowed even my anger now?!"

He is taken off guard when you shove him back.

"Even you are against me!"

Arryk steps back, though you barely mustered enough force for him to need to. You quickly pace around again. He feels the flesh beneath his steel you touched begin to push. His lips part "do not accuse me so harshly."

You whip your head back, glaring at him with red eyes, "SHE COULD HAVE BEEN MARRIED TO A LORD IN THE RIVERLANDS! OR HIGHGARDEN!" You throw your hand out, "ANYWHERE BUT HERE, BUT HERE SHE IS!"

His face falls when your rage makes you crumble. He gasp your name out as he catches you just before you fall.

"And for what?!" you wheeze as you are dragged to your bed. You rip at your collar as your chest tightens and tightens and tightens, "for me?"

"Princess," the knight's voice breaks with worry as he sits you down, "I beg you, ple-"

"Undress me," you mutter as you strugggle for air, "unlace my dress, I-"

He does not wait. He is quick to undo your bodice. He is so frantic, he nearly cuts your ties.

You moan as you feel a pressure leave you. You rip your dress off you, thinking of nothing else but catching your breath. Arryk helps you undress and you find it slightly easier to breath once you are left in nothing but your chemise.

Your ward struggles with himself; he does not wish to take advantage of this moment to ogle you, but he also cannot avert his gaze completely, lest you need his assistance. He clenches his jaw and lowers his gaze to his lap, muttering your name softly.

"Never mind my inadequacies, Arryk," you sigh in between deep breaths, "never mind that I will forever be second best to my father, who even wed me to his greatest enemy... who I am to make grandsire to not one but two Targaryen babes."

"Princess," he shakes his head, "I do not wish to-"

"I am used to his insistence of my dimness," you rub your chest, "of my capacity only for tears and succumbing to my own pain," your lips wobble, "but my sister—"

He stiffens and turns to you as lean into him. Your breath is too short and your head too heavy for you to keep yourself upright. Arryk calls our your name as he shifts, bringing his arm around to pull you upright.

"No," you wince, feeling a sharp pain in your belly, "hold me please."

He is immediately alarmed by how you clutch your side, "princess, are you-"

"Please," you rest your head on his armor, "hold me, even if you do not want to."

His hand twitches before, placing it your bare arm. He leans close, close enough to press his lips on your head, but he does not dare. He rubs your skin and whispers, "I want for nothing else."

You are too distracted by yourself that you do not hear him. Uncomfortable as the feel of his armor was, he lulls you into calmness.

When you feel well enough to realize how compromising it would be if someone were to witness you both, you pull away.

He says nothing, does nothing. He simply sit besides you, taking in your sad face.

You a tear drip from the tip of your nose. You rub it away before mumbling, "I had well-made plans for her... plans to shield her, to prosper her."

His eyes fall. He looks at the hand you had on your lap and dares to take it. It is cold and clammy, which is why he rubs it, eager to spread warmth.

The gesture makes goosebumps form on your arms. It makes your breath hitch, but not in a painful way. His gentleness encourages you to continue, "I once thought she looked up to me," you sniffle, "but when she said she was stronger than I," you lower your head.

He frowns.

"I knew then," you look back at him, "she sees only my weakness, along with the rest of the world."

He cannot help himself. He reaches for your cheek and wipes your tears.

You lean into his touch, "I can be strong, Arryk," you both his hands and squeeze them to prove a point, "can you not feel it?"

The gesture makes his heart break. He squeezes your hands in return, "you need not prove such a thing to me," he rubs your skin with his thumbs, "perhaps she does not want you to be strong... not for her."

You huff, "I am her older si-"

"But for your babe."

You are frozen by his words. You open your mouth but find nothing to say.

"Your brother," he gives you a solemn expression, "he says he prays the Lord Hand extends his gentleness to you, but I wonder if all that remained of his gentleness manifested into his daughters' beings."

The thought brings a tear from your eye, "Arryk."

"My princess."

"Should I speak to my sister come the morrow?"

He squeezes your hand again before slowly nodding.

The next day, you do everything in your power to do just that. You found Alicent breaking her fast, but you did not want to inadvertently ruin her appetite with your sudden appearance, for you knew how fickle it was in these times. Later, you found her in her chambers napping, but you didn't wish to interrupt her then either.

The rest of the day, you started feeling unwell, and you could not find it in you to leave your own chambers. When you finally did, the sun had set and Alicent was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, you ventured to the king's chambers.

Erryk announces you once you reach Viserys's door. You look at your knight with apprehension but he only returns a reassuring nod. There is a rather... sickly smell that assaults your senses when the door opens. The king himself answers, brows quirked in surprise.

"My king," you barely manage a curtsy. Erryk nods, "your grace."

Viserys regards you both then asks, "what brings you to my chambers at this hour?"

"I wanted to know if my sister was here," you absentmindedly rub your belly, "I wish to speak to her."

The king catches your belly, "oh, yes." He places a hand on your shoulder, "you are also with child," he chuckles, "I keep forgetting to congratulate you face to face."

You are taken aback by the half-hug he pulls you into.

Viserys chuckles as he pulls away, "well done, my dear. You have made the realm, and more importantly my brother, all the more richer for this."

You are rigid as he beckons you inside. Viserys motions to Erryk dismissively, and he nods. You wards gives you a silent look, and you know he'll wait for you outside.

Once you enter, you are assaulted by a scent that has clearly been attempted to be masked by fragrances. It makes you gag slightly, but it is not so bad that you cannot comport yourself.

You had expected to be lead to your sister, but instead, the king leads you to a massive diorama of what you could tell to be King's Landing.

"I am unsure where my wife is presently-"

His regard to your sister makes you clench your jaw.

"-but she visits me oft at this time of hour. Might as well show you my miniature figurines whilst waiting," he grins as he motions to the said object.

You feel an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach as you walk over to him.

Viserys immediately beams over his creation, recounting the trouble he had carving out the tower, exclaiming how much he enjoyed shaping the bridge. You have never seen him in such a light and it makes you wonder if this was his true self. Did he regard your husband this way? What were they like as children?

As he handed you two separate failed attempts of carving his fallen dragon, Balerion, you listen to him muse how the beast's skull was preserved in the basement bellow, and how he would gladly bring you there if you wanted to see. You groan and slightly lurch when another painful sensation ripples within you.

Viserys notices this. He quickly takes the figurines from you, "oh, where are my manners," he pulls a chair to your side, "sit, sit."

You gratefully take a seat and take a couple deep breathes as the king continues to drone about his diorama.

"You know, I used to make toy soldiers for Daemon growing up. I was aghast when he came back to me with severed heads."

You chuckle at his words, but instantly regret it when it adds to your pain.

"I still made him new ones, but this time, I put less effort and detail," Viserys speaks before noticing your reaction, "are you alright?"

"Mmm," you shake your head, "I think my babes are moving."

His brows quirk, "ah. That's right. You are expecting twins, are you not?"

You release a sigh when the uncomfortable sensations finally wane. You take a breath and offering a smile, "so says my maester. I hope it to be a boy and girl, like me and Gwayne."

He smiles, "it is quite fortunate that you and your sister are to have children at the same time," he looks over his miniature castle, "don't you think?"

"I think..." you turn to your belly, another groan leaving your lips, "Alicent is not ready to have children."

Viserys turns to you.

You look up at him and purse your lips, "nor am I."

He chuckles softly, "none of us are," he places a hand on your shoulder, "but I assure you, you learn as you go."

You find no comfort in his words.

"You know who has been ready though," he raises a finger, "Daemon."

The thought nearly makes you flinch.

He chuckles, "do not look so averted. There is gentleness in him," he turns back to his diorama, "do you not perceive it?"

You begin to feel sick.

"I tell you, when Rhaenyra was born, his face shone."

Your brows tighten at the smile the king offers you.

"I could tell as he held my child, he thought her the most precious thing in the worlds," Viserys face softens, "I could tell he wanted to have something precious to hold as his own," he absentmindedly examines a chisel, "the gods bless me with a wife who is going to birth me something precious," he turns to you, "and a good-sister who is going to birth my brother something doubly precious."

His words make your heart tinge. You are blindsided by how genuine, how vulnerable your conversation is. You wonder if Alicent saw this amidst the cruelty of the world and decided to settle for it rather than the uncertainty from another man. As he falls deeper into another fond tale of his brother, you feel a dull pain spread across your hips.

"That reminds me," he claps his hands, "do you have any names picked out yet?"

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, "well... I've-" you huff, "gone through some books that held Valyrian names," you inhale, "and found a few names for boys, namely Vaerus,—"

"Ah, Vaerus," Viserys repeats, "meaning genuine."

"Eadan—"

He grins and points, "little fire."

"—and Alaeric," you huff.

"Hmm," he turns to the ceiling in thought, "no, I don't know that one."

You are restless because of your pain. You groan as you stand, "I- mmm- prefer the last one the most because it is similar to my mother's name, and I should like to name my boy and girl after her."

He chuckles, "you seem quite set on a boy and a girl."

"Mmm," you hum uncomfortably, "I- I hope for it." You rub your belly, "I hope they have fondness for each other like me and mine own twin."

He knits his brows at your demeanor, "a son and a daughter would suit you well," he smiles fondly, "what was the name of your late mother again?"

"A-" you groan, "Alyrie."

Viserys finally reaches for you, "are you quite certain you're alright?"

You hum as you take the king's bicep, squeezing him tightly, "mmm, I should like to lie down now."

"Yes, of course," he shakes his head, leading you to the door.

Just before you can reach the entrance, a great pain forces you to lurch forward and yelp. You grip onto Viserys's arm for dear life and he grips you with hands. He thinks to grab the chair he pulled for you again, but as he looks back , his eyes widen at the trail of blood that leads to it. "GUARD! GUARD!"

You are in too much pain to react to the king's screams. You can only screw your eyes shut.

Erryk bursts through the doors, face white, heart racing.

"CALL THE MAESTER AT ONCE! SHE'S BLEEDING!"

Your eyes widen at the word, "bleeding?" You momentarily manage to gather enough wits to see what Viserys was speaking of.

Erryk does not linger in his horror. He bolts out and sprints down the halls, screaming for a maester as if his life depended on it because yours did.

The sight of your blood is mortifying. You lift your skirt as pain continues to seizes and a horrified noise leaves you when you find the red that pools by your foot.

It all happens at once after. An ache so great forces you to the floor. You are burning hot yet shivers run down your spine. You do not know if Viserys is speaking as you slowly crumple your knees but you do know that you are screaming loud.

Then it passes. Serenity ebbs and flows. You manage to sit on your but, but then it's back with a vengeance. You resist the squeal that morphs into to a shriek and then— you gasp, "no."

Viserys watches, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms watches as you rip your skirt up and tear your ruined undergarments down, powerless.

Your scream makes his stomach curdle.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the two small bodies between your thighs. You bring them into your chest, uncaring of all else, how wet they are, how red stains you, how Viserys speaks your name. Your babes are are small; they are both far, far too small.

Anguish draws more noises from your throat. It doesn't take long until your voice is hoarse. You cannot keep your peace as you take in their tiny faces. You wipe them with your skirt, finding the silver of their brows and lashes. You also find the gods gave you a girl and a boy. You choke on a sob as you wipe the red away from their thin, white locks, "please wake for your mummy."

The words arrest Viserys. He recalls holding Baelon as life left him. He cherishes now more than ever that at least his boy gazed upon him once. He shares in your misery, yet does not know if how he should approach you; he does not know if he should. He does anyway, no matter how haunting the sound of your wails are.

You quiet momentarily as the man crouches beside you. Your lips wobble, "p-perhaps they'll wake up if you speak High Valyrian."

The thought is gutting.

You gently pull at one babe's eyelid, finding a violet eye looking back at you. Except it isn't looking at you at all and the thought makes you squall. You clutch your children tightly into your chest, rocking them back and forth, "forgive me, my loves. Forgive me for birthing you too soon."

Erryk finally arrives with the maesters. He is stunned in his spot whereas the maesters run to your side. He falls to his knees as lift your children up. They do not touch them, but instead look at each other before muttering something that makes you pull your twins back into your chest.

Your ward is ashamed to face you. He has failed you. Erryk comes to a stand and dares to come near you. You do not notice him. You do not care for anything or anyone else in this moment.

Crimson grief trails behind you as you make your way to the maester's ward. Erryk meant to carry you, but you refused, knowing the walk there would be the last time you'd ever get to hold your children. He silently walks beside you, eyeing your every move.

You freeze when you see your sister by the door. Erryk looks between the two of you, ready to give you space.

Alicent is distraught. Her eyes are nearly as red as yours and you can how her hands tremble even as she picks at them, "sister, I-"

"I wanted to talk to you earlier today."

Her face falls and she immediately runs up to you. She reaches for you but stops herself.

You frown at it, thinking it was because you had been cruel to her, "forgive me, sister."

She rapidly shakes her head, "do not even mention it."

A tear fog your vision, "very well," you sniffle as you lower your gaze, "would... would you like to see them?

She wordlessly agrees.

You step closer to her, "this is Alaeric... and Alyrie."

A hand comes to her mouth, "sister."

"They're perfect, are they not?"

She nods rapidly, "yes—" she shudders, "they are."

You sob with her as she brings her arms around you. Erryk cannot bare the sight. Hot tears run into his armor. Both him and Alicent stay with you as the maester's see to your health. They let you hold Alaeric and Alyrie until your examination commences, and then you confess that if they do not take them now, you will never let them be taken from you ever again.

You were exhausted as you lie in bed. Your body yearned for repose, but you could do nothing of the sort. You groggily stand and walk to your door.

Erryk starts. You caught him in the middle of scratching tears away from his eyes. You frown, "forgive me."

"No, princess," he shakes his head and turns to you, "how might I serve."

You bite your lip, hating yourself for what you were about to request, "I know it is terrible..." you sigh deeply, "I know it is inappropriate, and wrong, and an abuse of my power over you," you tremble, "but please you sleep with me."

"My princess, I-"

"Please," you raise a hand, "if it is too horrible, per- perhaps-" you hiccup, "you can drag the set— the settee beside my bed-"

He silences you by taking your raised hand. You continue to sob as he shakes his head, "I would do anything you ask of me."

You sob and throw your arms around him. Erryk embraces you back, though he was afraid his hard uniform might hurt you.

Otto sees this exchange from across the hall. He had not been moved to tears until this moment. He scratches his eyes before they fall and steels himself away as he walks off. He mentally takes note to observe the Cargyll brothers and to sternly remind them of their vows.

Erryk follows you to your bed. You crawl into your bed as he drags the settee from across the room beside you. You offer him a pillow and he gratefully take it. You knit your brows when he lies down. You sniffle, "will you not take your armor off?"

"I..." he start, about to explain it is inappropriate.

"Is it hard to remove by yourself?" you sit up, "I can help."

"I-" but his words go dry when you begin to undo his steel uniform with much ease.

All your years assisting Gwayne in and out of his armor has made the act come easy for you. You think nothing of it, but Erryk's heart races as you undo his chest plate. He sucks in a sharp breath as you put the metal down, then refuses your help, resigning to undo the rest himself.

You sink into your sheets as you watch your knight lay his armor down. It occurs to you in this moment that this was the first time you'd ever seen him without it. Even through his loose dress shirt, you can see his defined arms and torso. You even see a sliver of a scar from where his shirt opened on his chest and it makes you avert your gaze, knowing you've looked where you should not have.

Your lips begin to wobble as you think of Daemon and the scars he had on his skin. You feel pathetic as you begin to sob again.

Erryk hates the sound. He sits down on the settee and sniffles, "would you like me to sing for you?"

You wipe the snot on your philtrum as you look at him.

"I do not think I inherited her voice, but my mother used to sing to my brother and I when we were younger."

The word mother makes you feel sick, but you do not tell him that, and simply nod.

He clears his throat and takes a breath, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red. All the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."

A chuckle is drawn amidst your tears as Erryk continues to sing.

"The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you, so come rest ye all safe and sound."

You ask him to repeat this song over and over and he humors you each time.

The day breaks and Arryk comes to your door for his shift. He holds a basket of flowers and a frown. He knocks on your door and announces himself. He is surprised when he hears footsteps approaching. His eyes widen when Erryk opens the door for him. His mouth falls at the messiness of his hair, then it clicks. Arryk nearly drops his basket as he grabs his twin by the collar, "what in seven hells have you done, you fool?"

Erryk is stoic as he responds, "my duty."

"Your-" he looks over his shoulder and pushes his brother into the room, closing the door behind him. Arryk makes sure to keep the silence and spares you a quick glance. The sight of your sleeping form makes him slightly soften, but he still manages to glare at his brother, "did you sleep here?"

Erryk turns to you, "she asked-"

"Did you sleep with her?" Arryk snaps.

The twins glare at each other. Erryk's face contorts in disgust, "I slept on the settee, brother. What do you take me fo-"

"I take you for a fool!" Arryk quips under his breath as he points an accusing finger.

Erryk scoffs, clenching his fist, "and you would have left?"

"I would have waited for her to sleep and resumed my post outsi-"

"Please."

The twins turn, finding you sitting on your bed, rubbing your puffy face. They both instinctively step forward and speak in unison, "princess."

"Please," you repeat, "I asked him to stay."

Arryk turns to Erryk.

"I do not want you to argue because-" you cannot continue because you begin to cry.

Both their faces fall, but Erryk wastes no time in coming to you. He kneels beside your bed and takes your hand, repeating the song he sang to you last night.

Arryk immediately recognizes the tune. His heart tightens as he watches the display. He mutters under his breath, "what have you done?" He walks over to him and watches the way you squeeze his brother's hand. He thinks of how you did the same for him just yesterday and clenches the basket's handle tightly. He begins to sing with his twin.

"The fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red. All the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head.

The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you, so come rest ye all safe and sound."

These are the very words you sing to your sister's son.

Alicent was with child again, and you were giving her a much needed reprieve from her energetic boy who was now nearing his second name day. Aegon happily reached for flowers as you carried him through the gardens. He laughs with not a care in the world. It is strange how deeply happy and deeply sad the boy makes you feel.

Through it all, you smile as you sing. You bounce him in your hip once you finish, "right, shall we go back now?"

Aegon blissfully ignores you when his hand brushes against a flower. You pull him away before he can grab it, and push his hand down, "no, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

Aegon cares little for your words and raises his hand again, "flower!"

You push his hand down and look at him, "you want the rose?" You adjust him in your arm, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

"Mummy?" Aegon repeats, turning to you to reach for your brown curls.

You chuckle when he tries to eat it and pull your hair away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you.

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna

Uncle!Sukuna who always hated the idea of settling down and having kids. he definitely did not want to be a parent.

Uncle!Sukuna who refused to even consider a pet because he didn't want that kind of responsibility.

Uncle!Sukuna who almost went off the grid when he got a call about stepping up as a guardian after his brother Jin and sister-in-law passed away, leaving their 6 year old son Yuji, who Sukuna hadn't seen since he was...1? maybe 2?

He hadn't been very close with Jin, and Jin's wife had always had "a bad feeling" about Sukuna, so it wasn't like he was going over every Sunday for family dinner.

Uncle!Sukuna who agrees to talk to Yuji's social worker, after multiple phone calls, to at least get an understanding of what's being asked of him, and what's at stake.

Uncle!Sukuna who the second he sees Yuji, knows he won't be able to say no to the kid. Despite being Jin's son, the boy looked exactly like Sukuna. The biggest difference in their appearance was the gummy grin that Yuji gave as soon as he saw his tall, broading, indimidating uncle. Sukuna was surprised at the...brightness the kid held, despite all he had lost.

Uncle!Sukuna who spends the next few weeks before he officially becomes Yuji's guardian getting his life together. He has money, owning his own bar and sometimes bartending there has kept his bank account more than happy. But he's never cared for big spending, except for his fancy car. So he moves out of his apartment, moving into a nice family house, in a quaint, safe neighborhood, neither of which he ever saw himself doing.

But the second he saw Yuji's face light up when he pulled up to the house for the first time, he knows he made the right choice. Even if he did grumble and act indifferent and uncaring.

Uncle!Sukuna who is suprised how easily Yuji takes to him, how comfortable he is so quickly. Considering the kid barely knew him, he acted like he had been around forever. He already calls him Uncle Kuna, and is not the least bit deterred by his hard, cold exterior.

Uncle!Sukuna who acts like Yuji is an inconvenience, an annoyance. He tells him he better not ask for anything unless he's willing to work for it. But he always finds himself buying the kid stuff whenever he goes to the store, whether it's a toy, a snack he doesn't need, a movie, or whatever. even if Yuji doesn't ask one.

Uncle!Sukuna who internally panics when there's an emergency when there is an emergency at his bar that requires his immediate attention. It's late, and there's no one to watch Yuji, and he definitely couldn't take him.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically drags a half-asleep Yuji out of the house, ignoring the kids mumbled confusion as he pulls him to the house across the street. He recalled seeing a kid in the yard the week prior, so he was taking a chance in hoping that meant there was a willing parent there too. Irresponsible and risky but he only had so many options.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically bangs on the strangers' door, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. He completely ignores the fact that it is 2 am and a weeknight.

When you open the door, rubbing your tired eyes to see a tense, tall man holding the back of a little boy's shirt, who is grinning brightly as if it wasn't 2 am, it takes you a moment to process. You glance between them a few times. They look familiar, but you can't place where you've seen them.

"Can i help you?" You eventually ask, confused and tired, and slightly annoyed at his previous banging.

Sukuna is a little thrown by the softness of your voice, by how sweet it sounds. Even with the clear tiredness and weary. He does nothing to hide his glance of..appreciation of your figure, but only lets himself get distracted for a moment before he gruffly explains why he was there, not even introducing himself.

You stare at him in suspicion for another silent moment, before glancing back to the boy next to him and giving him a kind, soft smile. Sukuna ignores the unfamiliar feelings in his chest when he sees that smile aimed at his nephew.

"I can watch him till the morning." You finally said, looking back to Sukuna. He took no time to push Yuji into your house, a breath of relief and a mumbled thanks leaving his lips before he turns, briskly walking to his car.

Once the door is shut, you stare at the child in your entry way, while he stares back up at you. You were still processing the situation, to be fair.

"Hi honey, I'm y/n. What's your name?" You ask with a tired sigh. he grins once more.

"I'm Yuji! you're pretty."

you chuckle, ruffling the kids pink hair fondly. Something about this situation told you this little boy and his unnamed guardian were gonna bring something totally new to your life.

----

not proofread

[maretinelli]

FAVORITE AUNT

Oscar Piastri X fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n needs to buy a birthday present for her niece, she doesn't know how to do it because she's never been that good with children. But Oscar sees at dinner how much the children love her.

Words: 2.8K+

Warnings: Cute, funny, Oscar being very affectionate (oh how cute😭) And I think that's it

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

The Australian sun seemed warmer that afternoon, painting the sky with golden hues as the sea breeze tried to alleviate the heat. The air carried a faint smell of salt mixed with the sweet aroma coming from the coffee shops scattered along Melbourne's busy streets.

Y/n and Oscar walked hand in hand through the shopping center, passing illuminated storefronts and listening to the lively buzz of people enjoying the end of the holiday season.

Oscar, who was on vacation after the end of the championship, liked the light energy that the city transmitted. He was used to the fast pace of the races, but there, next to Y/n, everything seemed to slow down in a good way.

They had already passed by several stores—bookstores, children's clothing stores, and even an educational toy section—but Y/n still didn't seem satisfied with any of the options. Oscar, on the other hand, was already starting to find her indecision amusing.

"I think we've already walked halfway across the city," he commented, squeezing her hand lightly. "What exactly do you want to give as a gift?"

Y/n sighed, stopping in front of a large, colorful toy store. "I have no idea" She admitted, biting her lower lip.

Oscar arched an eyebrow, gently pulling her into the store. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with children running between aisles filled with stuffed animals, dolls, cars, and board games.

"What do you mean?" He asked, watching Y/n look at the toys with a confused expression.

"I've never been very good with children," Y/n confessed, crossing her arms. "I don't know, I don't have that natural instinct to know what they like."

Oscar laughed, picking up a dinosaur doll that roared as he squeezed his belly. "Are you serious? You seem to be great with everyone." He asked a little in disbelief.

Y/n smiled, picking up a teddy bear and examining it uncertainly. "The kids don't really seem to like me," she confessed, pouting a little.

Oscar frowned, still a little skeptical. "You sound like you have a curse that keeps children away."

"Looks like I do," Y/n rolled her eyes. "One day, I was at the salon getting my nails done with Mackenzie, and the manicurist's daughter came in all excited, smiling at her and saying, "Cinderella Moana!"

Oscar frowned. "Cinderella Moana?"

"Yes! She was wearing a Cinderella costume over a Moana one, it looked like a Disney crossover." Y/n laughed lightly. "And I tried to be nice, didn't I? I asked smiling what that meant..."

"And what did she say?"

Y/n huffed and threw her hands up. She turned to me with the most sullen face in the world and said, "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to my mother."

Oscar held back his laughter, not wanting to disappoint his girlfriend with a laugh, and then handed her another toy to examine.

"Okay, that was a good one."

"And there's more!" Y/n continued, picking up a stuffed toy without much enthusiasm. "Once, my neighbor asked me to take care of her son for half an hour because she needed to take care of something quickly. I accepted, I thought it would be easy." Oscar was already looking at her expectantly. "But the boy cried non-stop because he said I looked at him the wrong way."

Oscar almost choked, allowing himself to laugh now. "What do you mean?!"

"I wanted to know too! I asked him what he meant by that, and he just cried harder and screamed 'I don't like this!'" She puts on a high-pitched voice.

Oscar was still laughing when Y/n sighed and began walking slowly towards a hallway full of teddy bears. He could tell her frustration was genuine and, without thinking much, he placed a light hand on her back, offering comfort.

"But Mary really likes you," he said softly. "And not just her, but the others too. Whenever I go to family gatherings with you, you can see how much they love having you around."

Y/n sighed, putting one hand in the back pocket of her jeans. Her eyes wandered over the shelf full of colorful teddy bears. "They probably just like me because I'm family," she muttered. "Because I'm their mother's sister."

Oscar smiled slightly and turned his body a little to face her better. "That's not true," he said, picking up a small stuffed rabbit and placing it in her hand. "Mary would love anything you gave her. If you gave her a rock, she would scream with joy and say it was the coolest gift in the world."

Y/n couldn't help but smile shyly, looking up and running her hand through Oscar's hair briefly, in an affectionate gesture.

In fact, her nephews really enjoyed spending time with her. They liked to play games, ask random questions, ask for help with schoolwork, and even tell secrets that not even his parents knew. But still, an insecurity insisted on staying there, hammering in his mind.

"But sometimes I think..." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "What if one day I become a mother and my children hate having me as a mother?"

Oscar paused. The lightness in his eyes faded a little, and he pressed his lips together, feeling his chest heave. "Y/n..."

"I mean it," she sighed. "What if I'm not good with kids? What if they think I'm boring, or weird, or... I don't know, what if I'm just not good enough?"

Oscar turned to her completely and gently cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "You have no idea how lucky our children will be to have you as a mother," he said, his voice firm but sweet. "And honestly, I bet they'll love you more than they love me."

Y/n smiled weakly, feeling a cozy warmth spread through her chest. She wrapped Oscar in a brief hug, resting her face on his shoulder.

"Thank you for always being here."

Oscar smiled, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. "Always," he replied, before pulling away slightly and clapping his hands once. "Now, let's find a really cool gift for Mary."

Y/n laughed, finally feeling that maybe this whole kid thing wasn't that hard after all. After all, with Oscar by her side, everything seemed a little easier.

••••••••••••••••••••

The warm Australian night air brought a comfortable breeze, making it the perfect weather for an outdoor party. The sky was clear, dotted with stars, and the streets were quiet, lit by yellow streetlights.

Oscar parked the car in front of Meredith's house—Y/n's older sister and mother of her nephews. He turned off the engine before turning to Y/n, who was holding tightly the wrapped gifts in her arm, almost as if her life depended on it.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile playing on his lips. "You're more nervous about delivering this gift than you were when we first went out together years ago."

Y/n let out a sigh, adjusting the package in her arm. "Because I am! What if she doesn't like it? What if..."

Oscar chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. "She's going to love it, love." He said sweetly, getting out of the car and opening the door for his girlfriend to get out as well.

With a suspicious look, Y/n took a deep breath and walked to the door, knocking a few times. A few seconds later, Meredith appeared, opening the door with a warm smile.

"Y/n! I'm glad you came!" She hugged her sister briefly before looking at Oscar. "And Oscar! It's been a while. It's good to see you again."

Oscar smiled, greeting her with a wave. "Time flies, doesn't it? But I'm glad to be here."

Meredith made room for the two to enter, and Oscar took the opportunity to place a comforting hand on his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Breathe, everything will be okay."

Meredith, not noticing the brief moment between them, turned back into the house and called out excitedly, "Mary! Aunt Y/n and Uncle Oscar are here!"

Oscar couldn't help but smile a little when he heard that, Uncle Oscar. He has sisters, but he didn't have any nephews yet. It was sweet that Y/n's family made a point of including him like that.

They followed Meredith into the backyard, which was beautifully decorated with balloons, confetti, and red and silver ornaments.

It was then that Mary spotted Y/n. Her eyes lit up and, without hesitation, she dropped what she was doing and ran towards her.

"AUNT Y/N!!!"

Y/n bent down just in time to receive the little girl in her arms, laughing as she spun her around slightly in the air before hugging her tightly.

Oscar, taking advantage of the scene, began to greet Y/n's parents, Meredith's husband and her other sisters, but his eyes always returned to his girlfriend and niece, a slight smile on his face.

Mary pulled away from the hug a little, her eyes shining with excitement. "I missed you!"

"Me too, sweetie!" Y/n smiled, holding out the gift to her niece. "Here's your present, little one. I hope you like it... Uncle Oscar helped me choose."

Mary grabbed the package with excitement and quickly tore the paper open. When she saw what was inside—a huge unicorn plush toy, a painting kit, and a Barbie doll—her eyes widened with pure happiness.

At the store, Y/n had been at a loss as to which gift to choose. Afraid of making a mistake, she ended up picking all three, which made Oscar laugh at the time and say that she was exaggerating. But now, seeing Mary's reaction, he knew that she had made the right choice.

"I LOVED IT!!!" Mary squealed, jumping into her aunt's arms again, hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Aunt Y/n!"

Y/n laughed, caressing the little girl's back. "I'm glad you liked it, princess."

Mary pulled back a little, looking at Yin with a pure smile. "Anything you give me will be nice. Because I love you."

Y/n felt some tears wanting to come out, but then she smiled and hugged her five-year-old niece once more. "Oh love, I love you too!"

Oscar, who was very close, leaned over and whispered in his girlfriend's ear: "Did I tell you? If you gave her a rock, she would be happy too."

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes before finally approaching her parents and other family members to greet them with hugs and smiles.

Oscar stood beside her, placing a hand on his girlfriend's waist while her father and brothers-in-law brought up the subject of racing, asking about the season. Meanwhile, Y/n's mother and sisters talked about random subjects, laughing among themselves.

Suddenly, an excited scream echoed through the yard, coming from inside. "AUNT Y/N!!!"

Before Y/n could turn around, three little 7-year-old hurricanes—the triplets, her nephews too—ran up to her and wrapped her in a tight hug, almost knocking her backwards.

She laughed out loud, trying to balance herself, but it was Oscar who, in a quick gesture, held her back so she wouldn't fall. Making everyone laugh.

"Okay, okay, boys, I missed you too!" Yin said between laughs, kissing each of their heads.

The triplets had moved away a little, but now their focus was on Oscar, who was watching them with amusement. With the seriousness of growing boys, they each reached out to shake his hand firmly.

Oscar bit back a smile and returned the handshakes as if they were closing a big deal. "Hey, boys? How's it going?"

"Well, Uncle Oscar!" they replied together.

Y/n looked at her boyfriend and smiled. He was already part of that family, and every day that became clearer.

After the lively greetings with the triplets, Y/n's father, who was chatting happily with his family, suddenly remembered a funny moment from his daughter's childhood and, with a nostalgic smile, asked:

"Y/n, do you remember that time you tried to run away from home because I wouldn't let you eat cake before dinner?"

Y/n widened her eyes, already feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She laughed nervously, hiding her face in her hands.

Her father turned to Oscar, eager to tell the story. "She was about six years old and decided she was going to run away. She took a little backpack, put two stuffed animals, a Barbie and... a piece of bread in it. She said she could take care of herself and that she would never come back."

Oscar laughed out loud, shaking his head in pure amusement. "Four years of dating and you still haven't told me that, Y/n?"

She laughed, embarrassed, and hid in his chest, making the family burst into laughter.

Before he could respond, Meredith and her husband appeared, calling everyone to dinner. The large table in the house was filled with excited voices, silverware clinking against plates and constant laughter.

The triplets and Mary were curious about Y/n's travels with Oscar. "Don't you get sick from flying so much, Aunt Y/n?" one of the boys asked, drawing laughter from the table before she could answer.

Oscar exchanged glances with Y/n during dinner, a discreet smile always present on his lips, as if to say that she did very well with the children.

After the congratulations and the cake being cut with Mary insisting that the first piece should go to Y/n, the night continued pleasantly. Y/n was chatting animatedly with the adults on the balcony when she felt a light tug on her dress.

She looked down and saw Mary, who was staring at her with bright eyes. "What's wrong, love?" Y/n asked, smiling.

The little girl fidgeted her fingers nervously before asking softly, "Can you and Uncle Oscar play with us? We have a cool game, but we're missing two people..."

Before Y/n could even respond, Oscar leaned over and said, laughing, "Sure, me and Aunt Y/n are going!"

He placed the glass of wine on the table and, in a natural gesture, took Y/n's hand, guiding her to the backyard, where the children were waiting anxiously.

The conversations on the porch died down when the adults noticed the couple approaching the group of children.

Y/n looked at her nephews curiously. "Okay, what's the joke?"

One of the triplets held up a plastic crown and placed it on her head. “It’s a wedding!” Mary announced excitedly.

Y/n and Oscar laughed out loud as they saw the kids putting on makeshift costumes. Mary clapped her hands to get their attention.

"Now everyone pay attention, because Aunt Y/n and Uncle Oscar are getting married!"

The game unfolded amidst laughter. The children improvised a speech, pretended to be priests and threw plastic flower petals.

Until Mary crossed her arms and looked at them seriously. "Now you need to kiss."

Y/n's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to respond, but Oscar just smiled at the corner of his mouth and, before she could think about running away from the situation, he gently held Y/n's back and waist and leaned her back, sealing their lips in a sweet and long kiss, respectful, but passionate enough to draw excited screams from the children.

The adults on the balcony whistled and clapped excitedly. When Oscar lifted her back up, Y/n buried her face against his shoulder, giggling shyly.

The night passed at a light and happy pace. Soon, Oscar and Y/n were at the front door saying goodbye to the family.

The children were the ones who took the longest to hug, holding Y/n tightly, and she ran her hand through each of their hair, promising that she would come back for them to play more often.

Oscar then held her hand as they walked to the car. He opened the door for Y/n and walked around to get into the driver's seat.

When he started the car, he gave her a long look before getting out.

Y/n frowned, laughing. "What is it?"

Oscar smiled. "Nothing... I was just thinking about how much the kids love you." He paused and joked, "I guess kids who don't like you are born with defects." Y/n laughed and pulled Oscar into a quick kiss, feeling his smile against her lips.

As they pulled away, he sighed, still smiling. "You're going to be a great mother, you know that?"

Y/n blinked, feeling her heart race. Before she could answer, Oscar continued, his voice full of affection: "I can imagine you going for walks with them, teaching them how to ride a bike, encouraging them in sports, cooking and reading stories before bed..." He chuckled softly. "And I'm there, by your side, watching it all happen."

Y/n bit her lip, feeling a warm warmth in her chest. "That sounds like a perfect plan." She smiled.

Oscar squeezed her hand gently before finally leaving with the car, guiding them back home, his heart light and full of love. Y/n knowing that now she knew that the children loved her.

[figthoughts]

manhandle — dean winchester ༢ུ࿓

— SMUT, LOVERBOY!DEAN, GENTLE MANHANDLING, EST. RELATIONSHIP (softdom!dean x gf!reader) 18+

inspired by this anon here .ᐟ

⟢ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

dean was always touching you. he simply just couldn’t help himself. you were his comfort. his person. his home. the one thing in this world that was entirely and unequivocally his.

and so the flirty little touches—like a hand that lingers just a few seconds too long on your back or on your thigh—had become your comfort. your constant. your grounding force. they were just so quintessentially dean.

the two of you had been following up on some leads about the case you were working on. dean had been all over you all day as usual, but considerably more so when you had been interviewing a group of young college guys about a victim. dean didn't like how the three guys had been staring at you, eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat. you noticed the sharp look dean gave them and felt a possessive hand pressed against your lower back, making its way down to your hip, resting there comfortably.

you couldn't help but smile a little as their faces dropped, averting their eyes from both you and dean. it was funny, and a thing you were used to—seeing dean show you off and claim you so proudly in front of others. you enjoyed it, how touchy and jealous your boyfriend was.

it continued with playful little pinches to your ass throughout the day and his arm lazily slung over your shoulders during lunch in the little run-down diner you'd found, still eagerly showing you off as his to anyone that looked your way. dean had obviously just been excited to work the case alone with you for the day after dropping off sam at the local library to research the town’s history.

after the three of you had gone back ‘n forth and figured out what had been killing the townsfolk—a very pissed-off vengeful spirit—you and dean jumped into the impala, ready to pick up sam and dust the evil son of a bitch. the actual hunt itself had been quite simple, burning the bones of the spirit in an old-timey cemetery. quick and easy.

dean eventually pulled the impala up just outside of the motel room. you, sam and dean all tiredly stumbled out into the crisp night air with satisfied smiles on your faces, glad to have put that case behind you and protected the town from letting anyone else get hurt.

as you began to make your way back to the room, dean’s hands wrapped around your waist. you let out a soft squeal as he picked you up, carrying you bridal style in his arms.

“gotcha,” he teased with a smirk. you could feel his strength and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. you felt safe in his arms. he felt like home.

sam looked at you both and instantly recognised the look on dean’s face. he sighed and made some excuse to leave, mentioning something about getting his own room for the night so he “could actually get some sleep.”

sam walked off, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the adrenaline continued to simmer through your veins. dean’s grip on you was firm and secure, but also gentle—like you were some fragile little thing he was holding—as he carried you through the parking lot.

as you got inside the motel room, dean pinned you up against the back of the door. he pressed his body against yours and looked at you with a keen grin, “you’re so beautiful, baby. so strong and smart.”

a warm smile spread across your face as dean gently cupped your cheek. you could see the love in his expression; you could feel it in his gaze.

you almost instinctively leaned into his touch and looked into his sparkling green eyes. “so are you, dean,” you replied, your voice low and soft with a hint of amusement in your tone. you could feel the tension between you both, the high from the hunt still coursing through your bodies.

you swore you could almost see dean blush at your words. he let his hand trace down your cheek to your jaw, grasping it gently. he tilted your head to meet his intense gaze. dean took a few silent moments to just look at you, letting his eyes drift over your features as the grin softened on his lips. it was times like this when dean could hardly believe you were his.

he kept ahold of your jaw; his grip was possessive, but there was an undeniable tenderness behind it. he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, so many unspoken words moving between the two of you. the world around you faded away as his lips moved with yours, igniting those sparks that helped light that familiar warmth in your lower stomach.

your lips moved in time together, your tongues tangling and dancing in your mouth. you let out a soft moan, and you felt dean’s lips curve into a smile against your own. his hand dropped down to your throat, his fingers gently wrapping around it—not tight enough to hurt you, but firm enough to feel your pulse beating below his fingertips.

dean broke the kiss and looked at you once again. his gaze was loving, but you could see the need in his blown-out pupils. you leaned your head back as you panted, almost subconsciously submitting to him and his touch.

“can i make you feel good?” he asked, his voice a low murmur, “need to make you feel good.”

you swallowed softly, your throat bobbing under his hand. “please,” you breathed out with a slow nod, “need you to make me feel good.”

dean’s smile grew, reflecting the soft grin on your own face. wordlessly, dean grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up around him. he pressed gentle kisses along your jawline as he walked you over to the bed, his arms wrapped around you, caging you against his torso.

he laid you down underneath him on the mattress. you looked up at him with big soft eyes, taking in how handsome he looked, despite the obvious exhaustion tugging at his features. he pulled off his flannel and shirt in two quick movements before settling in between your legs.

“been thinking about having you like this since we killed that fucking ghost,” dean muttered as his lips found their way back to your neck.

you let out a huff of amusement and lifted your hand to play with the hair at his nape, “mmm, me too.”

dean’s mouth moved down your jaw, sucking on the soft skin at your pulse points along your neck. you moaned quietly, letting your eyes fall shut. dean hummed against your neck, leaving light pink marks wherever he could.

dean finally pulled away and admired his work on your delicate skin. you looked so beautiful; your hair all messy, your lips still swollen, and now your neck all marked up with little bruises. dean groaned to himself, feeling so incredibly lucky that the beautiful creature below him was his.

his hands found the hem of your shirt. “off. now.” he said firmly, but with a hint of desperation to his voice.

you sat up as dean moved back to give you some room. he helped you peel off your shirt, slowly exposing more of your skin to him. his smile grew once again as he looked at you. “you’re so fucking beautiful,” he commented again as his hands unhooked your bra and pulled it off you.

you couldn’t help the blush that warmed your cheeks as your bra hit the floor beside the bed. dean immediately attached his mouth to your tits, kissing and biting at them, leaving more little marks in his wake.

soft moans and sighs left your lips, your hands once again playing in his short sandy hair. you tugged on it gently, and dean groaned. he looked up at you with a smirk on his lips, “what are you doin’, huh? pulling my hair?”

he grabbed your wrists and held them down against the mattress as his tongue flicked over your nipples. “relax, baby,” he muttered against your skin.

you let out little gasps as he nibbled at you. you didn’t struggle against his grip; instead, you relaxed underneath him and let him carry on kissing and marking up your chest.

his hands held your wrists down firmly against the sheets as he kissed further down your body, groans leaving his lips in response to your soft little noises.

dean kissed and bit his way to the button of your jeans. he glanced up at you, silently asking for permission. you nodded slowly, your eyes on his, and he let go of your wrists, his hands moving to undo your jeans. you kept your wrists by your sides, just watching him with a small smile.

dean pulled your jeans down your legs, leaving you in just your panties. he groaned dramatically and looked back up at you, “fuuuck, i’m so lucky.”

you chuckled softly and shifted your head on the pillow as you looked at him. “i’m so lucky,” you retorted.

he smiled sheepishly and shook his head in response as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off your body. instinctively, you clamped your legs together. dean smirked and shook his head again, “no, baby. don’t do that. don’t be shy. i know you’re not shy.”

your cheeks blushed at his words, and you smiled as he gently coaxed your thighs apart with his hands.

“keep them open for me,” he said firmly, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. his eyes were dark, and you could feel the desire radiating off of him in waves. you nodded without a word and let your legs fall open for him.

he groaned when he looked down at the sight of your glistening cunt, “oh, god…”

dean shuffled back into a more comfortable position between your legs, his lips kissing at the skin of your thighs. he nipped at you gently, once again peppering more little marks across your skin.

he moved closer to your core and finally dove in, flicking his tongue against your slick heat, earning a whimpery gasp from you. his eyes shot up to meet yours as his tongue lapped at your clit, kissing, biting and sucking at it. dean couldn’t help the little groans that escaped him as he watched your face begin to flush and scrunch in pleasure.

your hips rolled into his face as he sped up his ministrations between your thighs, his tongue flicking over your swollen bud faster. the moans and gentle little sighs that left your mouth sounded like heaven to dean. he wrapped his arms around your thighs and held you down as you got closer and closer to the edge.

“keep still, sweetheart,” he muttered against your heat, holding down your hips while they flailed around erratically from the building pleasure.

a pathetic whine left your mouth at his muttered words. you tried to move your hips and thighs, desperately searching for your release. dean moaned in response to your neediness and kept lapping at your pussy, wanting to push you over the edge.

you could feel the coil tightening in your stomach. you were so close to just cumming on his tongue. your back arched up off the bed and filthy moans were ripped from your lungs as dean slid two fingers into your cunt, curling them up and pressing them against that spongey little spot that made you see stars.

“d-dean!” you whined and threw your head back against the pillow, “fuck, so close…”

dean hummed against your clit, the vibrations tightening that tense feeling in your stomach. your hips kept trying to move, searching for more, needing more.

“be still,” dean murmured against your cunt, his fingers curling faster into you. he moved his free hand from around your thigh to your stomach, draping it over your hips to hold you down firmer.

you whined again and clenched around his fingers, “dean… fuck!”

your walls fluttered around his fingers as your release grew closer and closer, the coil in your stomach tightening as his mouth continued its assault on your pussy.

dean moaned against your delicate folds at the way you let your body flail around so desperately for him. he kept his arm draped over you, holding you down as your hips battled against his strength. he lapped at your pussy more intentionally, his tongue circling your clit roughly and expertly.

loud moans flew past your lips as your release washed over you. your pussy clamped down around dean's fingers, gushing over them as he kept up his curling motion, pushing you through your orgasm. his tongue stayed latched to your pussy, practically sucking out the moans and whimpers from your lungs.

as your thighs shook and your hips twitched, dean slowly removed his fingers and sat up onto his knees with a wide grin. “you're so needy tonight, sweetheart. s’making me go crazy seeing you like this,” he hummed, bringing his hand covered in your slick to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean. you clamped your legs together at the sight, feeling the desire rapidly burn through your body as your heart thumped against your ribcage.

dean smirked, chuckling as he leaned over you, trapping you against the mattress. “gonna take you and give you what you need, my pretty girl. gonna make you feel so good,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, but with that hint of cockiness, like he knew he was going to blow your mind.

you panted, still coming down from your climax, as you nodded at his words and watched him begin to pull off his belt. his hands made quick work with his pants, discarding them on the floor with your clothes. you smiled a little lazily, admiring him in the low lighting of the motel room.

“what’s that look for, huh?” he questioned with that everlasting smirk on his face. he kept his eyes on you as he pulled down his boxers, letting his pretty pink erection spring free and bounce against his stomach.

you had to physically hold back a moan at the sight. you hummed instead and found his darkened green eyes. “nothing... just need you,” you muttered softly.

dean chuckled lowly to himself and returned to his position above you. “yeah, you need me?” he asked, tilting his head, his lips just inches above yours. he watched your flustered state with an amused expression on his face, feeling his cock throb at the way he could make you crumble so easily beneath him. he needed you so badly. he needed you desperately in this flushed needy little state.

you nodded in response to his question, and his lips found your neck again, this time kissing a little softer as he muttered against your skin between kisses, “my baby needs me, huh? gotta make her feel good then.”

he rubbed his cock against the inside of your thigh, just teasing you. you shifted your hips, your body moving on its own, searching for relief for your aching core.

you groaned softly, “dean, please… c’mon.”

dean grinned at your plea, his cock rubbing against your throbbing slit. he grabbed himself, teasingly brushing his pink tip against your clit. pathetic mewls spilled out of your mouth and you glared weakly at him, “dean!”

his sparkling green eyes found yours as he teased you with his cock, tapping your clit one last time. “alright,” dean muttered and prodded your entrance with his tip. he kept his eyes on your face as he slowly pushed himself inside you, inch by inch, your soaking pussy lubricating his stiff cock and welcoming him in.

your wet heat greedily sucked him in, your tight walls fluttering around his length. you gasped and arched your back, feeling him stretch you out slowly.

“that’s it,” he cooed, “take it. just like that.”

as dean bottomed out inside your needy cunt, his hands grabbed at your wrists, pinning them above your head, a wicked grin dancing on his face as he hovered above you.

you looked up at him with a pout, your hips moving a little, dying for him to do something. you tested his grip on your wrists. “uh uh uh,” dean tutted, his grip tightening, “we’re gonna do this my way, alright? be good, baby.”

despite your pout, you nodded and watched as he pulled his hips back. he slid back into your pussy, filling the room with filthy squelching sounds as he slowly built a pace, his bulbous pink tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. little slurred moans escaped you as you felt every little vein of his brush against your walls.

“yeah, that's it. so fucking warm and wet. just for me, huh?” dean groaned out with a grin, enjoying how you were already falling apart for him. he watched your jaw drop in pleasure from his quick pace, his hand subconsciously tightening around your wrists.

you nodded pathetically in response as he stretched you out with his thick length. “mmm, only for you,” you replied.

dean let out a rough moan at your words, a warm fuzzy feeling clenching at his chest. god, how he loved you.

he moved faster and deeper into you, and his breath began to become slightly more laboured. “so good. you’re being so good for me...” he grunted out between thrusts.

you felt your walls flutter once again at his praise as your second orgasm built, the familiar heat pooling in your core. you rocked your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to pound deeper into your desperate cunt.

“ahh, shit,” he moaned out, feeling you rut against him.

dean let go of your wrists, instead grabbing your hips and pulling them up, arching your back up off the bed. you mewled loudly at the new angle, at the delectable way you could feel him even deeper inside you.

his cock began to brush roughly against your gspot, forcing your walls to flutter around him. dean kept up with his quick thrusts, feeling himself begin to lose composure as his balls tightened at the feeling of your slick heat around him.

“oh, fuck,” he grunted, rocking your hips up to meet his, keeping your back arched up off the bed, “gonna paint your pussy white with my children, baby. swear to god.”

you could barely register what was going on. you looked up at dean’s flushed face with blurred vision from the tears brimming in your eyes. you mewled at the way he bit his lip, trying to stifle his moans that were threatening to spill out.

dean’s ruts into your cunt became quicker and sloppier as both of you veered on the edge of your orgasms. his tight grip on your hips was sure to leave bruises, though you didn’t care; the pleasure in itself was enough to let him bruise you all over. dean tugged your lower half even further up into his lap, his cock burying even deeper in your walls.

“ahhh, shi— shit! i’m cumming,” he sputtered out. a strangled moan bubbled up dean’s throat as he finally spilled into your soaked heat, his warm ropes of cum stuffing your weeping pussy.

dean’s release set off your own. you jerked your hips back and forth as he kept thrusting into you, pushing his seed further into your tight hole. you whimpered and whined your way through your high, gushing around his length.

dean’s green eyes watched in sheer reverence as your face scrunched up and your body flailed about in his grip.

“fuck… fuuuck, baby,” he panted, his thrusts finally coming to a still, his mouth agape as his chest rose and fell.

the salty little tears in your eyes finally escaped as you came down from your climax, dampening your flushed cheeks. you panted as you returned his gaze.

“oh, shit, sweetheart. you alright?” dean asked quietly, gently lowering you back down onto the mattress. he slipped out of your core with a quiet hiss, and you felt his seed begin to drip out of you.

“m’alright,” you managed to reply in return. you brought a hand to wipe the tears from your pink cheeks.

dean shook his head and pulled your hands away, instead wiping your tears with his own hands. “you sure? that wasn’t too much?”

“no,” you breathed out, letting his tender touch drift over your face, “that was perfect, dean.”

he nodded at your words and sat back on his knees, letting his eyes fall over your worn out body. “it was, baby. you’re perfect,” he murmured and rubbed at your thighs. he let his gaze fall down to your heat, watching the pearly white liquid escape your wet folds.

“jesus, you really are perfect,” dean repeated. he squeezed the fat of your thighs, and his eyes flickered back up to yours, searching them. his face softened as he silently took in how beautiful you looked.

dean slowly leaned over you, pressing gentle kisses to your jaw and neck, tasting the salty flavour of your sweat on his tongue—not minding the taste at all.

“let me look after you,” he murmured almost pleadingly against your neck, “let me run you a bath, sweetheart.”

you hummed and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin. “mm’kay,” you nodded, “a bath with you and then we get takeout and eat in here?”

dean huffed a laugh against your neck, “baby, you read my mind. bath and then pizza in bed, how does that sound?”

“perfect.”

“mm, perfect,” he echoed back, “alright, let me get you up.”

dean pressed one final kiss below your ear and pulled back, smiling down at you. he looked so incredibly in love, and it made your heart stutter in your chest.

you returned the smile, and dean hopped off the bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead, before scooping your boneless body up into his arms. your warm sticky skin stuck together as he walked into the bathroom, pressing soft tender kisses to the side of your head.

“i love you so much, y’know?” he mumbled into your hair as he kicked the bathroom door shut with his foot.

“yeah, ‘course i know. i love you too, dean.”

fig yaps: okay so this took ages to write,, it lived in my drafts for like three months cause i never write longer things (blame the adhd!!!) and i feel like it’s not even that manhandle-y LMAODKSJK anyways i love dean that’s all !!

reblogs and feedback are welcome and encouraged! thank uuu <3

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[kashverse]

Nanami and yuuji? Or maybe jst Nanami..You can choose the prompt! I jst wanna see more of them

i live to write for papamin and yuuji <3 thanks for requesting

there were many things people didn’t know about nanami. for instance, his impressive ability to make five different kinds of soufflés, his uncanny knack for always finding the best parking spots, and, of course, his surprisingly adept skill with a guitar. whenever he strummed those strings, the rich, mellow notes would fill the room like warm honey, each chord carefully played, each song a testament to years of practice. and, of course, yuuji noticed.

"papa," yuuji announced one day, struggling to drag nanami’s acoustic guitar across the floor, the instrument’s body screeching horribly against the tiles. “i wanna be a moosician like you!” nanami, cringing at the sacrilegious sound of his beloved guitar being manhandled, managed a tight smile. "that’s great, yuuji. but maybe we should start with something… smaller."

and so, enter the ukulele. a tiny, four-stringed instrument that seemed perfectly sized for yuuji’s chubby little hands. yuuji took to it immediately, strumming with all the enthusiasm of a rockstar playing a sold-out concert at madison square garden. "TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAaaaRRRRR!" he belted out in a voice that could only be described as beautifully tone-deaf. "HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU AaaaREEEE!"

you tried to hide your smile behind your hand as yuuji’s fingers fumbled clumsily over the strings, creating a unique version of the song that could only be described as experimental jazz. nanami, sipping his coffee with the resignation of a man who knew he’d never experience silence again, watched as his son poured his entire soul into the performance.

"up above the world so high! like a diamond… in the… pie?" yuuji paused, face scrunching in confusion. "no… in the sky!"

nanami chuckled softly. "almost, yuuji."

but the grand finale was yet to come. as yuuji reached the dramatic end, he went for a flourish, fingers flying wildly over the strings—and the ukulele pick slipped from his fingers, disappearing into the sound hole with a soft thunk.

there was a moment of silence. yuuji blinked down at the instrument, poking a chubby finger inside. 

"papa… it ate my pick."

you snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, while nanami set down his coffee, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"papa, is it hungry? do i need to feed it more picks?"

nanami shook his head. "no, yuuji. we just have to get it out."

"okay!" yuuji turned the ukulele upside down, shaking it violently, tiny brows furrowed in concentration. "give it back, you bad ukey-lely!"

you finally let out a giggle, watching as nanami tried to calm yuuji down, showing him how to gently retrieve the pick instead of waterboarding the poor instrument. and later, when the ukulele was pick-free and yuuji was tucked in for the night, you glanced over at nanami, who was softly strumming his guitar in the dim light of the living room.

"i think he gets his musical talent from you," you murmured. nanami chuckled, plucking a gentle melody. “he certainly gets the enthusiasm.” 

you leaned into his side, a soft smile playing on your lips. "and the dramatics."

he hummed, fingers dancing over the strings. "we’ll work on the lyrics next."

from his room, yuuji’s voice called out, "papa, can i sing twinkle twinkle again tomorrow?"

nanami sighed, setting his guitar down. "of course, yuuji. every night if you want."

"yay!"

and though it meant endless nights of off-key lullabies and missing ukulele picks, nanami couldn’t help but think that, these were the moments he’d remember forever.

plus, he figured he could write a pretty great song about it one day.

[gyubakeries]

𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 | x.mh

a/n: A BREAK FROM ANGST!!! this is very much needed, and the idea had been brewing for a while hehe. skye ( @etherealyoungk ) thank u for being my enabler. ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) , kae ( @ylangelegy ) and a ( @chugging-antiseptic-dye ) thank you for beta-reading <333 also tagging tara ( @diamonddaze01 ) and serena ( @gotta-winwin ) because we all are deprived of happiness..... also i apologize for the lack of artist minghao, i just needed to feed my angsty brain SOME FLUFF

word count: 2k contents: minghao x f!reader , art teacher!minghao , best friend!minghao , single mom!mc , friends to lovers , she has a son named junseo , the biological dad dipped lol , junseo is 6 , swearing , light angst , fluff , crack

“sweetie, two times two is four, not six,” you sigh, repeating the words all over again when your son makes the same mistake for the seventh time. it’s been an hour since you sat down with his math homework, and you’ve only managed to finish five questions. out of twenty.

“oh fuck,” your son mutters, erasing out the crude 6 he had written and replacing it with a 4.

you blink.

“junseo, what did you just say?”

“fuck,” junseo repeats with a smile on his face, and somehow, it feels even more shocking than the first time he said it.

“okay, listen carefully to mom,” you sigh. “that’s a bad word. you’re not supposed to use it. ever.”

“why can’t i say it?” junseo questions, like every other kid his age.

“because it’s a bad word,” you state firmly. “where did you hear this?” you ask him. ever since junseo was born, you’ve taken a lot of care to make sure he doesn’t learn and use any explicit language. whenever your parents or friends are babysitting him, you make sure to tell them to avoid any movies or songs with heavy cursing in them for this exact reason.

“hao taught me!” junseo reveals. “in yesterday’s art class, hao spilled his dirty paint water all over himself, and then he said… the bad word!” 

your eye twitches.

“xu minghao, i will kill you,” you whisper under your breath.

“mom! you can’t kill hao! he’s my best friend,” junseo gasps, completely believing your words.

“start looking for a new one then, sweetie,” you tell him, and it takes another hour for you to calm a crying junseo down by promising him that you won’t actually kill minghao.

the math homework remains unfinished.

—

minghao, your best friend, has been in your life since forever. he was there when you were the shy, introverted girl in high school with no friends. he was there when you had a ‘hoe phase’ in college. he was there when you got your first job. he was also around to see junseo’s biological father vanish from your life the day he learned about your pregnancy.

before junseo, you’d jokingly complain that minghao had been in your life for too long. but now, seeing how your son has labelled minghao as his own best friend as well, you can’t help but be grateful for his presence.

having been friends for almost all your lives has also granted the both of you the ability to read each other’s expressions flawlessly, which is why when minghao welcomes you and junseo into his apartment for lunch on a saturday, he knows that your death glare means he’s in trouble.

“hao!” junseo exclaims, hugging minghao tightly as soon as he enters the apartment. “i got my new drawing to show you! i colored it the way you taught me.”

“i’m sure it’s lovely, jun,” minghao smiles, giving the boy a high-five. “how about you watch some peppa pig now, hm? your mom and i will go to the kitchen to finish making lunch, okay? then we can look at your drawing.”

“okay, hao!” junseo agrees easily, and you couldn’t be more thankful for how obedient your boy is. 

once junseo was distracted by the television, you drag minghao into his kitchen and face him with a stern look.

“do you know what junseo said to me last week?” you glare at him, and minghao gulps nervously.

“uh, no?”

“he got his math homework wrong, and unlike any other kid his age, he says, fuck,” you recount the events of the previous week. “when i asked him where he heard it, he told me that you said it in front of him during art class.”

“oh, so that’s what this is about,” minghao sighs with relief. “god, y/n, with the way you’re looking at me, it feels like i robbed your house or something.”

“this is worse, minghao!” you counter. “you know how particular i am when it comes to junseo and cursing.”

“i do know, and i’m sorry,” minghao winces. “but it was an accident! i would never do it intentionally. why are you getting so worked up over it?”

your anger dissipates immediately as you freeze in place. minghao deduces your body language as a sign of you hiding something from him.

“there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?” minghao asks, his voice much gentler now. “did someone do something at work?”

you sigh, knowing that keeping anything from minghao was a futile exercise. “yeah, this jerk kept trying to hit on me, even after i told him i was uncomfortable. he won’t leave me alone, and it’s pissing me off.”

“why don’t you tell your boss about it?” minghao frowns.

“there’s been budget cuts at the company, and they’re looking for any reason to fire people,” you explain. “with junseo’s school fees getting more expensive, i can’t afford to lose my job now. the stress of it all has had me in a bad mood. i’m not even that mad about the cursing, i’m sorry i took it out on you.” you admit to minghao, feeling a lot more lighter after sharing your burden with him.

“we’ve had too many arguments to apologize over something stupid like this,” minghao chuckles, but then his expression turns serious. “but also, if you’re struggling with his fees, why don’t you let me help? i keep telling you that i’m more than capable of paying junseo’s fees—”

“i don’t need your help, hao!” you cut him off.

“why not?”

“because it feels like you’re doing it out of some obligation,” you tell him. “look, i’m really thankful that you were there to support me when junseo’s dad left and i had no one, but i can manage junseo on my own just fine. i don’t want you to help me out of pity and—”

“y/n, do you think that i’ve stuck around all this time just because i pity you?” minghao interrupts you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

your heart stutters when your eyes meet his, and you’re reminded of yet another problem in your life.

the crush on minghao you had back in college which has somehow developed into something more over the years.

you’re afraid to label it, because it means that it makes everything real. labelling the flutter in your chest and the tingling in your palms whenever minghao smiles at you or offers to take care of junseo on nights where you have to work over time would mean acknowledging that you did have feelings for minghao, which was unfortunately another luxury you couldn’t afford.

not when minghao definitely saw you only as a friend.

“i— i just don’t want you to feel compelled to help me just because i’m your friend,” you stutter, looking away from minghao.

“i only help because i care for both you and junseo,” minghao shakes his head, trying to convince you with the sincerity in his tone. “you two are the most precious people in my life, and i’d do anything to make sure you were happy. so just let me help, okay? there’s nothing wrong in asking for help when you need it.”

your eyes well up with tears embarrassingly quickly, and you duck your head so that minghao doesn’t have to see you like that. minghao is quicker than you, however, and he gently holds your chin to lift your face up.

“are you shy about crying in front of me now?” he teases, but his eyes reflect a look of concern. “we’ve seen each other through every phase of our lives, y/n. you don’t have to hide from me.”

his words are enough to make your tears spill over. you’re quick to wrap minghao in a hug, placing your head on his chest while his arms hold you by the waist. he doesn’t say anything; he just lets you cry into his shoulder as he gently sways you and pats your back.

“i’m sorry i’m such a wreck,” you sniffle, pulling away from the hug. before you can get too close, however, minghao is pulling you in closer, and the lack of an appropriate, friendly distance between your lips has your breath hitching.

“don’t you get it, y/n?” his voice carries a hint of annoyance. “i don’t want you to apologize for being a wreck. i don’t want you to hesitate to ask me for help. i don’t want you to think that i’m obliging you by being in your life. i’m here because i want you. i want to be here for junseo, but i also want to be here to take care of you. have i not made it obvious?”

his confession has your jaw dropping open. your brain has turned to mush, and you can’t find it in you to string together a coherent response.

just then, junseo is padding into the kitchen, and it has you and minghao scrambling away from each other immediately.

“mom, i’m hungry,” junseo complains. “can we have lunch now?”

—

lunch is an awkward affair— for you and minghao at least. junseo seems blissfully unaware of the uncomfortable tension between you and minghao as he slurps away on his noodles and shares stories from school. you feel a little bad for zoning out in the middle of his stories, but you can’t help but replay minghao’s words over and over in your head.

however, the moment you tune into the conversation again, you hear something else that makes your head spin.

“— and she was asking me if i had a dad, and i said yes. but the girl said i was lying because my dad never accompanies my mom for any of the events at school,” junseo blabbers. “so, i asked mrs. lee who a dad really is, and she said that my dad is my best friend and a person i trust the most. he’s also a person who loves my mom, but she has to love him back too, and i knew i wasn’t lying! hao, you’re my dad, right?”

you choke on your noodles and minghao’s chopsticks clatter against his plate.

“oh, fuck.”

“minghao!”

—

“i can’t believe it took junseo’s constant yapping for you to reveal your feelings for me,” minghao teases, and you shove his shoulder playfully.

“and i can’t believe you swore in front of junseo. again,” you roll your eyes at him, and minghao presses a kiss to your temple as he mutters an apology.

the kiss has the butterflies in your stomach flitting around restlessly; it is a new development after all. soon after junseo’s declaration of minghao being his dad, you dragged minghao back into the kitchen to have a proper conversation, this one involving the truth about your feelings for him, and him asking you to be his girlfriend.

you had expected some sort of dramatic shift. dating your best friend of fifteen years sounds like it requires some sort of drastic change, but it feels surprisingly easy. in fact, it doesn’t feel like much of a change at all, not when having minghao by your side feels as natural as breathing.

“i’ll be more mindful of my words,” minghao promises, and you lean into his embrace, curling up closer to him on the couch, when junseo plops down right between the two of you, tv remote clutched in his hands.

“we’re watching how to train your dragon today!” he announces happily, and you watch with a fond smile as minghao and junseo engage in an animated conversation related to the movie.

there’s a flutter in your chest. there’s a tingling sensation in your palms. they’re all tell-tale signs of an emotion you’ve been hesitating to label all this while.

love, your heart tells you later on, when junseo and minghao have fallen asleep on the couch, junseo’s hands gently gripping onto minghao’s shirt and minghao’s arms protectively wrapped around him.

you find yourself agreeing with your heart. this feeling, it can’t be anything else but love.

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[heathersdesk]

You raise a really interesting question about what we do as a people with the language of punishment and its attending suffering in scripture. To us, this is almost entirely metaphorical and is meant to describe a mental state, rather than a physical place where divine retribution is inflicted. The best example of this is in The Book of Mormon in Alma 36. He is invoking a lot of this language as a description of guilt that exists entirely in his own mind. It's typical of how Latter-day Saints see hell as a torment in conscience, rather than physical punishment.

12 But I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.

13 Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell; yea, I saw that I had rebelled against my God, and that I had not kept his holy commandments.

14 Yea, and I had murdered many of his children, or rather led them away unto destruction; yea, and in fine so great had been my iniquities, that the very thought of coming into the presence of my God did rack my soul with inexpressible horror.

15 Oh, thought I, that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body, that I might not be brought to stand in the presence of my God, to be judged of my deeds.

16 And now, for three days and for three nights was I racked, even with the pains of a damned soul.

17 And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.

18 Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.

19 And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.

To provide some context, the person who is speaking here didn't actually kill anyone. He was a rebellious teenager who didn't want to go to Church and did shenanigans with his friends. He was a misguided knucklehead, not the worst human being to ever walk the earth. But I think that only reinforces hell as a prison of the mind where we put ourselves, not a physical place where God forces us to go as a punishment. No one does this to us, not even God, and the way out is to change the way we see God, ourselves, and the world. To us, that's what repentance is. It's not just a change in behavior to align with divine law. It's a change in outlook, which leads to changed behavior.

I hope that clarifies things a bit. In terms of traditional Christian hell being a place, the closest thing we have to that is the suffering we experience in life here on earth. What we think hell is, rather than a place, exists entirely in the human mind and is made up of things like guilt, shame, anger, and fear.

What need is there for a lake of fire and brimstone when the night time intrusive thoughts of every embarrassing thing I've ever done exist? Maybe this speaks to how much of a Dad we think God is, but he's not going to buy fancy punishment when we have the leftover mortification of being human at home.

seeing people discussing the concept of hell and how cruel the idea of eternal punishment is like, wow! i know this belief system you would love if not for your knee-jerk reaction against its name

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dreams of Love - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Made it a Hughie and Annie baby. Named it Joel because I’m hilarious and Annie would sooner eat glass than name her son Billy.

Chapter Title from She’s Got A Way by Billy Joel

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary/Warnings: Request from my love @deansbbyx ! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, Dad Ben, pre-established relationship, so much horniness (would we expect anything less?)

“Where the hell did Annie get a baby from.”

You sigh, giving Ben a flat look. “Her vagina, Benjamin. That’s where most of them pop out, you know.” 

Ben scowls, shooting you a glare that really only makes your whole body warm and soft. “Shut the fuck up, brat, you know what I meant-“

“I don’t think I did, Pretty Boy. I think you need to start explaining where you think babies come from-“

You’re cut off as Ben pulls you right to his chest, dropping his brow to yours with a smirk.

“You know damn well that I know where babies come from, Sunshine.” He drawls, and he’s really warm, and he smells so good, and his muscles are flexing around you, and his keeping his mouth just far enough away that you can’t kiss him but God you want to-

Ben-

You need something, darling? Need me to fuck you dumb right here, fill you up with my cock and remind you how fucking good we are at baby making? 

You swallow, unable to tear your gaze away from his darkened, lust-blown eyes. He’s starving for you, and you can feel it everywhere—you can’t even tell where your own thirst for him begins and his hunger for you ends—but you cannot have sex right now. There just isn’t the time, and it’s not like Ben’s going anywhere, but fuck, he’s so handsome and he’ll taste like strawberries and maple syrup from breakfast, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against your thigh-

“MM’s going to be here soon,” you whisper, fidgeting with the collar of Ben’s shirt to give your fingers something to do that isn’t wrapping around Ben’s dick. “And Ryan needs to go to school. I can drive him if you-“

Ben rolls his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to your brow before rising back up to his full height. “You’re not fucking driving. I’ll take Ryan, you get the Campbell baby.”

“But-“

He drawls your name, raising his brows. “You really fucking think MM is going to leave a fucking baby with me.”

“Yeah, I do.” You raise your chin slightly, holding Ben’s vaguely amused gaze. “He doesn’t hate you anymore-“

“Doesn’t matter if he still wanted to cut my fucking dick off or not, you’re the only one he’s leaving it with.”

 “It had a name, Ben.” You say, wrapping your arms around his torso and leaning your chin on his chest. “And I’m sure MM would leave Joel with you if I ask him to.”

“But you’re not going to ask,” Ben says your name with a shrug, half picking you off the floor and cradling your head with one hand. “I’m bringing Ryan to school, you’re taking the baby. That’s it.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What if I promise you a blowjob to trade?”

He snorts, the radiance in his body bursting along your ribs. I’d get that blowjob anyway. 

What if I promise breeding kink sex?

His eyes narrow. You think you’re real fucking smart.

I do. You smile at him, playing with the hair on his beard as you sway slightly in his arms. You say I am all the time. You call me clever, and beautiful, and perfect. And if you like me now, imagine how amazing I’d be when you fucked me good enough for to put a baby-

You win. Ben’s hand tightens on your waist, his eyes flash, his hunger almost explodes through his body, and it’s all the warning you get before his mouth is crashing down to yours. Your silent words are cut off with a deep growl from Ben’s chest as he walks you backwards to the kitchen counter, his hand tugging at your hair to deepen the kiss. Your lips part with a moan that Ben swallows, and you’re scratching at his back as he shoves a knee between your legs, and fuck, he’s so good-

Such a needy fucking brat. He mutters in your head, and you can only grind against him. You are fucking perfect, you’re a goddamn miracle, but that smart fucking mouth, Ben hums against your lips, starting to kiss a wet, sloppy line down your neck. It’s a fucking marvel, Sunshine. Going to fucking kill me, how goddamn beautiful you are, all fucking dumb and pretty when I touch you-

Fuck- You whine when he starts to suck on that one spot near your throat, and he chuckles against your skin. God, Ben-

Words, darling, use that smart mouth to beg-

Please, Benjamin, you ass-

You squeak as his hand pins you against his knee, and he draws back, scanning over your open, desperate expression with a wide smirk. 

“Hi, Sunshine.” He drawls, tipping your chin back with a careful hand, and you might be drooling. 

He’s so fucking handsome. It’s really not fair. This life looks painfully good on him, where all his love is still hot and bloody and focused in your body, but the resolve to hold you is just to hold you. There are no threats that you’d need protection from, but Ben’s still shielding you just a little all the time because that’s what he does. He loves and cares about you so violently you’d be worried he offers you too much, but all he’s ever asked for in return is this. Is you, already a little dazed from his hand dragging circles on the skin of your hips, your mouth hanging open as you take in his messy hair and relaxed expression. Everything in him glows when he presses his thumb on your lower lip and you moan, and when he leaves a small, almost chaste kiss on the space between your eyes the fire under your skin starts to push up, and you’re smoking, and he’s just grinning at you like a dick-

“You’re so fucking perfect, beautiful.” He mutters, and you don’t know why he’s not just fucking you. “When I get you alone again, you’re going to cum on my hands, then my face, then my cock when I fill you up. You’re going to feel me for fucking days, darling, and everyone will know that I always fuck you properly when you sit down at a meeting and fucking whine like a goddamn brat.”

You have a small, breathless speech in your head that’s mostly a plea of you are alone, right now, and it’s not possible for Ben to make you feel it for days, but God, you’d like to see him try, but you don’t get the chance to say it. You stare at Ben’s smug grin for a long second, taking steady breaths to try and regain just a little bit of control over your brain—which right now seems to only remember how to say Benjamin, please—and Ryan walks into the kitchen with his backpack and nervous, quick words.

“Ben, I lost my notebook-“ Ryan’s eyes widen at the scene before him—Ben still holding you on his knee, your whole body slack under his touch and very obvious, slightly glowing smoke rising from your skin—and he freezes in the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll just go wait in the car-“

“Stay here, kid.” Ben helps you down, pressing one last, gentle kiss to your brow before turning his attention to Ryan. “Car’s not started yet, and your notebook’s under the couch.”

Ryan frowns. “How did it-“

“Shoved it there last night.” Ben grunts. His voice is really deep. His arm is still around you. He smells like pine and coffee and that earthy, salty thing that’s just Ben-

“Oh.” Ryan nods slowly. “Was it- I’m-“

“Don’t fucking apologize. It wasn’t in the way, I just had to do all the damn baby proofing-“

That snaps you out of it.

“You were baby proofing?”

Ben frowns down at you, something slightly sore wrapping over his skin. “Of course I was fucking baby proofing, I’m not going to let the damn thing just fuck around the house and die-“

You let just a little bit of your own, raw and infinite love leak into Ben’s body, rising up to press a kiss right over his beard and humming against his skin. Thank you, Benjamin. That was sweet.

I am not fucking sweet-

Of course not, Pretty Boy. What was I thinking. Your smile is wide and unrestrained as you lean back, holding Ben’s face between your hands. I love you.

I love you too, Sunshine. He rolls his eyes, dragging one of your hands to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I’ll get your notebook, Ryan. Go put on your shoes.”

“Okay.” Ryan bounces on his feet, looking between you and Ben with an open, anxious expression. “Is- Are Hughie and Annie bringing Joey here?”

“They’re on their honeymoon,” you explain, Ben scowls, and you shoot him a flat look. “Which someone is being a grumpy asshole about.”

“It’s fucking bullshit.” Ben grumbles, guiding you out of the kitchen. “We’ve been married for ten goddamn month and haven’t gone on our honeymoon. Why the hell do those pussies get to go first.”

“They’re not going first, Ben, they just actually planned their wedding instead of doing it spontaneously in a field-“

Ben rolls his eyes. “If we do that proper wedding shit, will you finally take some time off so I can fuck you on a beach?”

You flush, whacking Ben’s chest as Ryan looks around absent-mindedly, pretending not to hear. Benjamin-

The kid is used to it, Sunshine-

He shouldn’t be- 

He’s fine. I think he’s got bigger fucking problems than me loving you like you deserve-

But-

“Ryan.” Ben grunts, tucking you a little further into his side and ignoring your death glare. He’s lucky you can’t burn his face off anymore. “You got an issue with me telling her I’m going to fuck her?”

“I, um- no?” Ryan shrugs, frowning at the air. “I guess I tune it out now, just because you do it kind of a lot and I- I dunno, I just expect it. Sorry-“

“Don’t say sorry, kid. You did good.” Ben shoots you a smug look, bright, hot pride inflating in his chest. You’re going to strangle him, then make out with his stupid, handsome, cocky face. “Shoes.”

Ryan nods and wanders to the door, and Ben looks so fucking proud of himself.

Benjamin William- 

You barely get out your shared last name before Ben’s squeezing your hips, pulling you up into a long, open-mouth kiss that makes you moan loud and soft, your body molding right into his. Never should’ve told you my middle name, brat. 

Could be worse. You mumble, smiling against his lips. I could tell Butcher. 

He pulls back with narrowed eyes. You won’t.

Test me, Benjamin-

You tell Butcher, I’ll… Ben trails off between your heads, and you can feel a wired spike in his heart when he realizes he doesn’t have any believable threats anymore. 

You’ll what? You raise your brows, giving him an overly sweet pout. Fuck me dumb? Make me beg? Throw me around until I’m a whiny, horny mess for your cock-

He slams back into you, hauling your body into his arms without even a stuttered breath and carrying you to the couch. 

Christ on a fucking cross, Ben mutters your name between your heads, lowering himself to his knees before you as he kisses you back into the cushions. You’re so fucking perfect.

His tone is entirely reverent, so sincere it might kill you, and the pure devotion and fervor of his love in your body is enough to drive you mad.

Ben- His hand trails up your thigh, and you’d be embarrassed by your loud moan if it didn’t make Ben groan into your mouth, everything in him sparking and flaring. Fuck-

Later, Sunshine. He tips your chin back slightly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth right before he pulls away. “Stay here until I get home.”

You hum, taking his hand from your cheek and twisting his wedding ring around his finger with a small smile. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

He chuckles, leaning into one last, soft kiss before rising to his feet. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, darling. Tell me when MM drops off the kid.”

Tell you on the what, Benjamin?

I’m not fucking saying it.

Please?

You give him your sweetest smile, squeezing your hand on his knee and leaning into his touch, and he groans.

Smart fucking brat. He mutters, moving his hand back to tangle in your hair and tugging slightly, just enough to make your head tip back. Tell me on the Ben’o’phone, and I’ll fuck your mouth and cunt real good when I get home.

Deal. Thank you.

Don’t. He grumbles between your heads, but even as his hand leaves yours you can feel the power of his love, the rough affection that’s settled deeply and comfortably into his chest. “You think we’ve got all the shit-“

“MM’s going to bring most of it. And,” you nod to the floor, and Ben turns with a frown. “I bought a play pen. We can keep it after. For later. When I get that promised fucking.”

You see Ben’s hands curl into fists, he stands a little taller, and fuck, you’re right at eye level with his bulge but Ryan really does need to go to school-

“I can’t believe Annie and Hughie got a fucking baby before we did.” He mutters, glaring at the play pen. “It’s a goddamn travesty-“

“Travesty.” You hum, looking up at him with a wide, teasing smile. “Big word, Pretty Boy-“

“Shut up.” 

Ben turns back to you, taking your face between big, warm hands and scanning over your features with a narrowed gaze. You can feel something wound tightly in his chest—slightly molding and almost painful—so you grab his wrists to keep him against you, and give him your widest, realest smile. The smile that’s for Ben, and Ben only.

It’s always really just Ben.

You know I fucking adore you. He says between your heads, his voice low and rough. Love you more than the goddamn universe, Sunshine, you’re my whole goddamn life. You know that.

I think you’ve mentioned it. You hum, leaning into his touch. And I love you too, you massive cunt, so say what the fuck you mean.

Ben lets out a dry snort as you drop your voice into a mocking impression of him on those last words, shaking his head slightly. Christ, darling. You’re fucking-

Perfect, I’m aware. Please, Ben-

You don’t need to ever do anything you fucking hate with me. He grunts, his body suddenly made only of fervorish, protective stone. I got you and Ryan, and that can be my world for the rest of my goddamn life, and I’d be good. If that caped fucking pussy knocked the idea of a baby out of your head forever, I’m not going to-

Ben. You cut him off with soft but firm words, holding his gaze. We don’t lie to each other.

Of course we fucking don’t-

So when I say that one day soon, I want to do this, you nod to the play pen. With you, believe me. Please.

His jaw twitches, and the wrathful care in his body doesn’t vanish, but it never does. It only moves back peacefully into your bones as Ben slowly nods. You’re sure.

Positive. Go bring Ryan to school before I do.

Ben rolls his eyes, leans down to kiss the top of your head, and half-stomps out the door.

He’ll be back soon. And—though he’ll never get you to say it aloud—you’ll wait right here until he does. Where everything still smells like pine, and you’re molded into the couch right where Ben put you, and you can smile at the play pen like a dumbass until the doorbell rings. 

You know it MM before you open it, because Ben just walks in wherever he wants—including into offices he definitely should not be walking into and meetings you’re supposed to be focusing on—and everyone in the neighborhood seems to know that’s Soldier Boy and the Anomaly’s house, so after the Homeowners Association incident, nobody really bothers you that much. 

It would be lonely if you didn’t already have a Ben, a Ryan, a Butcher—friend was too generous for the asshole, but he was unfortunately an indisputable part of your life—and friends.

Because when you open the door, it is MM on the other side, and he looks tire and pissed but still happy to see you. You can feel it—during your brief, tight hug—that there’s a heavy exhaustion under his skin and over his muscles, but there’s nothing but relieved affection for you to be here. 

“This kid,” MM mutters as you pull apart. “Has fucking lungs.”

You smile, following him out to the still-running car. “I know, I’ve heard them. Annie told me to buy Ryan earplugs.”

“Smart.” MM leans into the car door, pulling out the car seat and probably saying more things, but you don’t really hear them because that’s a baby. A baby baby. A barely popped, wispy haired baby that looks so much like a shrunken down version of Hughie it’s a little disturbing.

And you’ve met him before. You were there when Annie had her pre-mature birth, doing what Ben had called more work than the damn nurses and stopping Annie’s bleeding with a press of your hand to her legs a brief rush of pain between your thighs. 

MM had told you Ben had doubled over with a roar in the lobby, and you’d seen the evidence of it when you’d rejoined him and there was a large hole in the wall. But Annie had been okay, Hughie had given you a tight hug that could’ve left a bruise if that was something your body could do, and the baby had been healthy. 

You hadn’t wanted to hold him, nerves building in your throat about what feeling the emotions of a baby could even do. Annie had told you that it would be fine, and half-shoved Joey into your arms.

And now—just like then—you can feel nothing but soft, humming peace from tiny Joel Campbell in your arms. There’s no bloodied pain or freezing fear, nothing rotten in his chest or throat or head. He’s just a little fuzzy because you’re not Annie, but it’s a brief distress that fades when you start to hum and the whole world grows perfectly warm.

They’re here. Your words are soft down your connection to Ben, and he flares slightly in your chest.

Good. Ryan’s off, I’ll be back soon. Don’t fucking move.

You smile to yourself, and MM must realize that you’ve moved yourself into a trance, because he doesn’t try to talk to you until you’re settled back inside with Joey carefully in your arms, and all of Annie’s baby supplies are piled near the door.

“You think your old motherfucker is ready for this?”

You snort. Ben’s so ready you’re probably going to spend the next month after this trying to pry him off of you. “He is. He baby-proofed the house.”

MM grunts, scanning around the living room. “I’m guessing the asshole wants one?”

You might be smiling like an idiot. “You have no idea.”

“I think I can live with that.” MM mutters, giving you an odd look. “And- If I’m out of line tell me to shut it and I will, but can you even do that?”

You sigh, trailing one finger softly over Joey’s cheek. There’s something in that silent, happy hum you feel from him that really seems like Annie.

You wonder if your baby would look like Ben and feel like you, or look like you and feel like Ben. 

“I can if I want.” You say, shaking your head at MM’s look of confusion. “Don’t ask.”

He raises his hands in agreement, nodding to Joey in your arms. “Do you? Want one?”

“I do.” You whisper. “I always did, before, and then Home-“ You swallow. You still don’t like saying his name. He doesn’t deserve for his name to be said, not where Joey can hear it. “Then he, he did everything, and it didn’t seem like a thing I could ever do. But now...”

You trail off, and MM nods.

“What changed?”

You look up with a soft smile. “Do you really want me to say it?”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “That old asshole must have a fucking genie who owes him one or something.”

You only hum, because it’s not really useful to explain that Ben doesn’t need a genie. He’s just Ben, and he’s everything, and you love him. “Maybe. I think he’s going to be amazing at this.”

“Of course you do.” MM mutters. “Where the hell is he?”

“Dropping Ryan at school.” You say, lowering your voice to whisper to Joey. “He’s bringing us back chocolate.”

“How the hell do you know-“

“He always brings me back something. And he’s that way,” you wave a vague hand over your shoulder, where you can sense Ben moving around miles away. “So he’s getting chocolate.”

When you look up, MM’s gaping slightly. “He always brings you something?”

“Of course he does. He thinks it’s an apology for leaving me.”

“Leaving- Motherfucker.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you two idiots can’t die without each other. You’re already so goddamn annoying.”

You can’t disagree with that. Not when—a few hours after MM leaves—Ben pushes through the door with a box of those fancy fucking chocolates you love, Sunshine, and lowers to his knees before you, staring at Joey in your arms.

“Hughie makes a tiny fucking baby.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Don’t bully the infant, Ben-“

“I’m not bullying him, I’m bullying his father. Hughie’s a fucking adult, he’ll live.” Ben rises up to kiss your brow. “You look real damn good with a baby in your arms, darling.”

You smile at him, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. Keep it in your pants, old man.

For the damn baby I will, but I promised you a proper fucking, Ben drawls your name between your heads, shooting you a wink. Going to have you begging for my cum in your mouth, on your tits, in that pretty fucking pussy-

Benjamin. You give him a stern look, even as the deep sound of his voice in your mind, the sight of him grinning at you, and the hunger in his body settle deep in your stomach. Not when I’m actively holding the child.

He rolls his eyes, but drops at your side on the couch and kisses your temple. Fine.

Thank you. You lean your head on Ben’s shoulder, letting him tuck you against his side, his hand tracing slow patterns on your arm as you start to hum, soothing Joey fully to sleep.

And you could’ve stayed like this for a lifetime. Ben’s content—you can feel it, feel how deeply and easily settled he is at your side—this is so simply peaceful, and you have no desire to disturb the static, colorful feeling you get from Joey, so you could’ve died here.

But Joey shits his pants, because that’s what babies do.

And You really don’t want to move. 

MM left some things by the door, can you please-

You don’t need to finish the sentence before Ben’s moving, marching to the hall to grab the diapers and pushing the coffee table to your knees when he returns. You change Joey there—it’s a flat surface, you cleaned it that morning, and Ben had laid out a towel—before settling back onto the couch, and that’s most of the day. Joey’s hungry, Ben grabs the bottle and you feed him. Joey’s never cold—you and Ben are walking furnaces—but he seems a little uncomfortable, so Ben grabs a blanket Annie left and you swaddle. Joey shits himself again, and Ben marches upstairs to run a sink bath.

He hangs over your shoulder every second. And there are no grumbled suggestions or thoughts about Joey, only normal conversations about work and TV and Ryan and dinner. Nothing feels different, and the solid, pious care and love you feel from Ben is no stronger than normal. It’s aimed right at your heart and golden and warm in your body, but that’s just Ben. That’s how he loves you. 

The only change is something softer—lining over his head and lungs—that glows when you catch him glancing at Joey in your arms. When you settle back on the couch with a sleepy, clean baby, and Ben pulls you half into his lap, resting his chin on the top of your head. You waste the afternoon like this. Watching TV with Ben everywhere around you, Joey asleep in your arms and nothing really that worrying in the world.

When your phone rings, you almost don’t want to answer it. But it’s Butcher, and if you ignore him he’ll come to your house, so you sigh and pick up the call.

“Butcher,” you whisper, and Ben’s arms tighten around your body. “Please tell me this is important.”

“You wound me.” Butcher’s voice is filled with mock offense through the speaker as he says your name. “I ain’t ever bothered you for no reason-“

“One time you called me to say Ben lost his pen.”

“And he was tearin’ up the bloody office, so I needed you to work your fuckin’ sex magic on the Gov before he hurt ‘imself. Always got a reason, love, you should well fuckin’ know that.”

I can’t hurt myself. Ben grumbles in your ear, obviously eavesdropping. Only person who can hurt me is you-

Romantic, my love. Shut up. “Butcher, if this is a work thing you have to call MM, Ben and I both have the day off-“

“‘Fraid MM ain’t able to help with this one, love. I got Secretary Campbell ‘ere, and he ain’t leavin’ until he speaks to Mr. and Mrs. American Dream.”

“Stop calling us that, it doesn’t even make sense.” You sigh, glancing at Joey in your arms. “What does he want?”

Apparently, Singer’s Defense Secretary is trying to get you and Ben to donate some DNA again. And you’d send Ben to deal with him, but you’re pretty sure that would end with a dead Campbell and another year half on the lam for you. So you sigh, tell Butcher you’ll be there soon, and hang up.

Ben mutters your name, keeping you steady in his lap. “I can fucking handle this-“

“No, Ben, it’s okay.” You lean back on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “You watch Joey, and I’ll pick up Ryan on my way back.”

“You shouldn’t fucking drive-“

“I’ll go slow. And be careful-“

Ben scoffs. “You’re never fucking careful-“

“Yes, I am. I will be. Just take Joey-“

“No, I’ll fucking deal with Singer’s lapdog, and you’ll keep the baby-“

“Benjamin.” You snap, and he shuts his mouth with a glower. There’s something sore over his whole body, but it’s rooted in his hands. Itching and heavy and tense, tight around his throat-

You frown, tilting your head at him, and softening your voice between your heads.

Are you okay?

I-

And remember I can feel you, Ben. You raise your brows, shifting in his lap to fully face him. Are you worried about the baby?

I’m not fucking worried, he grunts your name, hands tightening on your body. I don’t want to you leave, Sunshine, is that a goddamn crime-

No. You kiss him, quick and sweet, and rise from his hold. But I do have to go. I’ll put Joey in the travel crib, and you can Ben’o’phone me if you need help.

Or you could fucking stay-

You’ll be fine, my love. I’ll be back soon.

——————

Ben wasn’t watching TV. It was on, in the background, but he couldn’t goddamn focus on it. 

There was a fucking baby in the room. It wasn’t bigger than his forearm, it kept making small baby sounds, and if Ben looked away from the crib for one goddamn second he was pretty fucking certain something would go wrong. The ceiling would fall and Ben wouldn’t be quick enough to throw his body over it. He would be quick enough, but he wouldn’t be careful and he’d crush the baby. The baby would shit, and he’d have to change the diaper. It would start throwing lightning bolts like its mother, and Ben would have to figure out what the fuck to do. It would be hungry, and Ben didn’t have tits. 

The ceiling would not fall. This whole house had been supe-proofed, because all of them still had nightmares that set off their powers, when Ryan and Ben it could—according to Her—cause permanent structural damage, and Ben needed to be able to fuck Her however he pleased without worrying about everything breaking around them.

Ben would not crush the baby. He wasn’t some weak fucking pussy who couldn’t control his strength after damn near 80 years.

If the baby took another shit, Ben could change a diaper. He wouldn’t fucking like it, but it was just shit and piss. He’d been covered in guts and blood and brains, shit and piss was nothing. Even if that thing took some of the biggest shits Ben had seen in his very long life.

According to Her and Frenchie, mainstreamed V wasn’t hereditary. It didn’t fundamentally change the users DNA or some shit, so Annie and Hughie’s baby would always just be a normal person. Ben wasn’t really sure, because somewhere in the conversation someone had said what if they had a baby and pointed to Her and Ben, and he’d gotten distracted. 

If it got hungry, She’d shown Ben how formula worked, and he’d figure it out. He’d do whatever the hell he needed to in order to prove to Her that they could have a baby. If they had a baby, Ben would fucking kill it.

Not the baby. He’d kill taking care of a baby. He’d feed and change and tend to it—just like he did with Her and Ryan—and it would be fucking disgusting and boring as shit, but he’d goddamn do it if he could have a baby. 

And he didn’t know exactly what the hell had changed in forty years that men were expected to change diapers, but he’d change a million diapers for Her. He’d throw himself into the Sun and bury himself alive for Her. He’d watch something called How to Train You Dragon for Her. He’d fucking cook for Her—she sure as hell couldn’t do it herself, and Ben would be damned if he let his wife starve—and he’d read a fucking book just to make Her smile. 

Changing a diaper—if that made Her happy as well—was fucking nothing.

So when Joey started wailing—about twenty minutes after She’d left—Ben was fucking ready. He’d been studying all the shit She’d been doing, and this kid wasn’t going to know what the fuck hit him. Annie and Hughie would get him back in better condition, and Ben would be a goddamn hero.

But the baby didn’t want food. And its diaper was clean. 

The only thing that seemed to make it stop was when Ben held it. Cradled it in his arms and rocked it back and forth, sitting back on the couch because every time he tried to put the little fucker down, it would start screaming again. 

Ben didn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to a real baby. He’d seen this one in the hospital after Annie popped it, and a few times after, but he’d never really held it. Annie had offered once, and he’d taken it, but it hadn’t been like this. Where Joey was curled into Ben’s chest and Annie wasn’t bouncing on her feet to take it back. 

This was peaceful. Quiet. The TV humming in the background and Ben just fucking holding a baby. A baby that was happy to be in his arms, and didn’t fit perfectly because it wasn’t Ben’s baby, but was still a damn baby.

Happy. With him holding it.

Something became clear in his head. It had never been fogged or covered, but it was sharp now. Right in reach and touchable, more than just a fantasy or daydream. 

Ben fucking wanted this. And he could really fucking have it. He’d seen Her look at Joey, and She’d sworn she’d want this as well. She’d said She’d want it with Ben.

And he could see it. Ben could almost physically fucking see a baby that had Her eyes and hair and whole perfect face, and would grab Ben’s nose and fucking break it. Any kid She and Ben had would be a supe—as far as Ben understood it—and they would be the strongest one yet. Ryan would help them learn to control the strength, and he’d never fucking worry about being loved less, because as far as the baby would know, Ryan would be their damn brother.

It would be smart like Her and Ryan. The kid would be talking in three months—or something, Ben didn’t know when babies usually started talking—and do all the fucking school shit, then chose to do good things because they would be Her kid, and everything She did and touched became fucking good.

And She’d be the best goddamn mother. She already was, with Ryan, and this would just be more. More annoying parents for Her to threaten, another person for Her to teach shit to, and another piece of evidence for Her to have that Ben couldn’t love Her more if he tried. Another way for Ben to show Her that She, Ryan, and now the baby were the only things in the whole damn universe that mattered.

He could see it. Her padding around the house in Ben’s shirt, holding their baby in one arm and a phone in the other. Hissing incredibly graphic threats at a congressman while smiling at the baby, sometimes dropping Her voice to coo to the kid when She was between calls.

“You know.” She said, swaying slightly in place as she mumbled to the child. Their child. That was Ben’s fucking child. “If that asshole doesn’t listen to Mommy, she’s going to let Daddy yell at them. And Daddy can be scary.”

Ben frowned, but he couldn’t quite move or speak, She didn’t see him there, and when She kept talking any protests of him being ‘scary’ vanished into the air.

“I know that crazy to you, because Daddy isn’t scary.” She set Her phone down on the counter, devoting Her entire attention to the infant in her arms. “He’s just big and grumpy. Like an ancient teddy bear.”

The kid made a soft, babbling sound, and Ben really wanted to hear it again. Especially as a tiny fist shot up, wrapped around Her finger, and she smiled as it babbled again.

“You’re right, he can be a bit of an asshole. Isn’t that right, my love?” 

Ben could suddenly move, and he was walking forwards. Moving to Her side and pressing a kiss to Her brow. “Smart fucking mouth, brat.”

“You love it.” She hummed, leaning into him as She kept speaking to the baby. “He loves it.”

Ben did love it. He loved how fucking happy She was, how easy this felt, and how—when Ryan called from upstairs for homework help—She passed the baby into Ben’s arms without a thought and walked away. 

And that was their fucking kid. And it had sharp eyes that were scanning over Ben’s face a little hazily, realizing that Ben wasn’t Her, and then almost squealing as it realized that he was Ben.

It reached up for him, and fucking Christ, the thing was happy to see him. It was making cute fucking sounds and squeezing his finger, and not a single fucking pussy would ever be allowed to hurt it. Ben would do whatever the hell it took to keep the kid this peaceful, to make it always this happy to see him, to make it so that She and Ryan would have the family they deserved, and Ben could just fucking love them for the rest of goddamn time-

“Ben. Wake up.” A gentle, perfect hand trailed over his face, and he’d fallen asleep. 

He blinked his eyes open to find Her standing between his knees above him, and soft smile playing on Her lips.

“Good dream?”

Ben caught Her hand in his own, pressing a kiss to Her knuckles as he blinked away a little more sleep. “You don’t have a fucking clue.”

She hummed, glancing at Joey, still in his arms. “I think he likes you.”

“He likes that I’m warm-“

“The blanket was warm.” She shrugs. “He likes you.”

Ben grunted. He wouldn’t win this argument, and he knew better than to try. “Where’s Ryan?”

“In his room.” She said, dropping at Ben’s side and smiling at Joey. “We’ve been home for a few hours.”

“A few- You’ve been home hours-“

“Voice down, Benjamin.” She mumbled, leaning Her head against his arm. “And you both looked peaceful. I liked it.”

Ben smirked. Were you watching me sleep, Sunshine-

Yes, I was. And you watch me sleep all the fucking time, Pretty Boy, so shut it.

He chuckled, kissing the side of Her head, and they stayed there until Ryan shuffled down the stairs, stopping behind the couch and staring at Joey in Ben’s arms.

“He’s really small.” Ryan whispered, and Ben coughed to cover his laugh.

“He’s a baby, Ry.” She said, kicking Ben’s shin as She smiled up at Ryan. “We were all that small once.”

“I was never this small.” Ben muttered. “I was a big fucking baby, and you probably were as well, kid.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, and She scoffed.

“How big were you, Benjamin.” She narrowed Her eyes. And don’t say you’re still big now.

Don’t need to say it, Sunshine, you know better than damn anyone that I’m big. Ben winked at Her, smirking at her pretty flush as he continued.  “I don’t fucking remember exactly, brat, it was a hundred goddamn years ago-“

She snorted. “So you might have been this tiny-“

“I fucking wasn’t-“

“You could’ve been.” She stuck Her tongue out at him, light dancing in Her eyes. “We’ll never know.”

Ben rolled his eyes, brat, and pulled Her into a long, slow kiss with his free hand, going until She was sighing into his mouth and slumping over his body-

She pushed off Ben’s chest, and something was radiant and zealous in his chest when She leaned back to look at Ryan, and there was an almost drunken smile on Her face.

“Do you need help with more homework-“

“No,” Ryan shook his head, glancing back to Joey. “I- I’m just hungry, but if you’re busy-“

Ben’s brow furrowed. “We look fucking busy, kid?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then it’s dinner.” Ben grunted Her name. “You want ravioli.”

She gave him a wide, toothy smile, Her voice oddly soft. “Yes, please.”

“Ryan-“

“That sounds good.” Ryan nodded slowly, taking a nervous step back. “I- I’ll go wait in my room- And-“

Ben frowned. “You finished your homework?”

Ryan nodded again, and Ben moved to his feet with Joey still carefully in his arms. 

“Stay in here, kid. It’ll be easier to get you.”

“No- I- It’s okay-“

“Ryan?” She twisted fully in Her seat, a gentle frown on Her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I just- I don’t-“ Ryan swallowed, bowing his head slightly. “Joey looks really fragile. I don’t- What if I break him?”

She tensed at Ben’s side, and Ben could fucking feel Her aching distress. Feel the presence of Her around his head tightening and spinning, see the sadness all over Her pretty face—almost perfectly matching Ryan’s—and Ben needed to fucking fix this.

“Hold the baby.” 

Ben walked around the couch to put Joey into Ryan’s arms, and the kid just fucking gaped at him.

“But- But I could-“

“You won’t.” Ben snapped, and Ryan shook his head.

“He’s so small, Ben.” He whispered. “And I- I could hurt him.”

“When was the last time you broke something.”

Ryan blinked at him. “What?”

“The last thing you broke on accident, kid.” Ben raised his brows. “When did you break it.”

“I-“ Ryan glanced at Her, but she was just leaning over the back of the couch, tapping Her fingers on the pillows as she watched. “I don’t remember-“

“November.” Ben grunted. “You freaked out during a team dinner and snapped Butcher’s table in half. You’ve had a fuck ton of freak-outs since then, holding shit a lot more delicate than a table, and not a single damn thing has broken. Hold the baby.”

Ryan still didn’t move, only staring between Ben and Joey, and Ben let out a long breath.

“Ryan, do you really fucking think I’d hand you a damn baby if I thought you’d hurt it.”

“N- No-“

“You trust me, kid?”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Of course I do-“

“Take the fucking baby.”

Ryan finally got it, and took Joey from Ben’s arms with slow, careful hands.

Nothing exploded. The sky didn’t fall. 

And Ryan smiled, his voice filled with awe. “He looks like Hughie.”

Ben smirked. “He really fucking does. Poor kid.”

She frowned from the couch. “Benjamin-“

“Sunshine.” Ben mocked Her tone as he bent down, picking Her up with a grin and laughing when she squeaked. “You’re hungry, beautiful.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, whacking his chest. “Don’t fucking do that, you asshole-“

I didn’t do a fucking thing. Ben drawled Her name between their heads, his eyes never leaving Her’s as he moved them out of the room. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us, kid.”

“Okay!” Ryan called after them. “I’ll stay with Joey!”

All the mock anger in Her eyes dissolved in a second, Ben leaned down to kiss Her—long and sloppy and heavy—as he set Her on the counter, and when he pulled away, Her smile was fucking perfect.

She was hanging off of Ben’s arm the entire time he made dinner, smiling at Ben like he’d handed Her the fucking moon when it was only damn pasta.

What-

I love you, Benjamin. She whispered between their minds. So much.

Ben kissed Her brow, tracing his thumb over Her cheekbone. Love you too, Sunshine.

You’re really good at this. With Ryan and Joey.

He shrugged. I’ll be even fucking better with Ryan and our kid.

And that was the damn truth. Because Ben could finish dinner and help Her serve, and he could eat around the table with Her and Ryan, but when the baby cried it wasn’t his baby. And there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Joey—he was adorable, seemed alright for a baby, and Ben would never fucking tell Her, but while She’d been gone Joey had been chewing toothlessly on Ben’s finger and it had been the cutest thing he’d seen in his fucking life—but Ben wanted the kid to be theirs. 

He wanted to set up the TV while She and Ryan cleared the plates, let Ryan chose what they were watching for family movie, and have Her sitting on Ben’s lap with their kid in Her arms. Ben wanted to lean over Her shoulder and see sharp eyes blinking up at him, to hear the baby make a bubbly little noise and for it to sound like Her voice.

He wanted Ryan to help put his sibling to bed before shuffling off to his own room, and he wanted to be standing here with Her over the crib��wrapping his arms around Her stomach and swaying back and forth in the dark—as they looked at their baby.

Joey looked so fucking peaceful in there, and Ben could see it again. A future where She’d be just like this, and the baby was really fucking theirs. It’s in a sturdier, bomb-proof crib built by Frenchie, and reaching for Her—because who fucking wouldn’t—and when it made a noise, Ben’s whole fucking world would get a little bigger.

I want one. Ben muttered between their heads, pressing a kiss to the side of Her head, and She hummed.

I know, my love. She smiled up at him, and Ben was going to fucking explode. In the dim light—with sleepy eyes and raw fucking love written all over Her perfect features—She’s was always the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. I’m sure I can find one for you.

End Note: Finally gave Ben a middle name. I don’t care what kripke and any future spinoffs say. That’s his middle name now, because it’s the funniest possible option.

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