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chososdiscordkitten · 3 months

Text

Ex-Husband Gojo

artist: yunonoai on twt

Synopsis: Gojo as ur ex-husband trying to win you back („• ᴗ •„)

Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: no use of y/n nor mentions of readers appearance, THERES PLOT IN THIS ONE!! Mentions of pregnancy and getting back together again, seducing(?), fingering, spanking ONCE, reader gets folded like a chair, multiple orgasms, cream pie, aftercare(?)

(a.n) underlined text is a link incase u need a picture of the position :>

MDNI

You could never hate Gojo, even if you had been divorced for a year- pretending to barely tolerate him when you saw him.

But you knew in your marrow- you could never hate him. The only man in your life for the past 7 years, father of your child, and provider of anything you could ask for.

The divorce didn’t even affect Gojo- even as he was signing the papers, he still looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Give my wife whatever she wants.” he directed his divorce lawyer, earning an exasperated sigh from your lips.

Everything your own lawyer asked for, he shrugged.

The house? “Take it.” he scoffed, looking at you with all the love in the world.

Child support? He didn’t even blink. Satoru offered to give you money every month. As long as you didn’t work and stayed at home to care for his son.

Forget the cars or the cabin in the mountains you would go to in the winter to ski. None of that bothered Satoru. He would give you whatever you requested as long as it made you happy.

It only made your head pulse- the way the divorce lawyers were looking at you like you were some kind of horrible villain. Divorcing a seemingly loving husband who would give you anything and everything you asked for.

That was until you asked for sole custody of your child, knowing he barely had time when you were married; how would he find the time as a single father?

“No,” he said sternly, in a deeper tone—now taking this seriously. “50-50, or nothing.” he threatened, a dark aura looming over his figure as you caved.

You asked for a divorce, not because he never gave you enough— that was never the problem. Gojo loved giving and had more than enough to offer, especially to his wife and child.

The issue was, two years into marriage, he knocked you up. It wasn’t a problem though. Married, old enough, and stable enough to welcome a child into the world.

Satoru was present a lot more for those 9 months you were growing his child. Ignoring the responsibilities of his demanding job.

Nine months of pure bliss. Moving into a house, painting your child’s nursery together. Shopping for clothes, going through Satoru’s unbelievably long list of baby names- 90% of which you said ‘no’ to.

The two years before you were pregnant, you were aware of how demanding Gojo’s job really was. You knew he would be gone more often than he was present.

And it didn't bother you. If it made Satoru happy and he still returned to you at the end of the day- you didn't mind.

But during those nine months of growing his child, you thought the rest of your lives together would be the same. You thought he would be present more often than not.

And when you were pushing his big-headed child into the world, it was almost like a switch flipped in Satoru’s mind. As though he looked down to the child that was undeniably his, lily white hair—the same shade as his, and bright blue eyes, just like his father's. Gojo saw the future in the boy he held in his hands.

Gojo never told you, but that day, he realized he had to work harder, to give you and his son the best lives you could have.

He distanced himself, making sure to leave as much space between you and his work as he could. This led to you wondering if he just didn’t find you attractive anymore, or if the domestic cookie-cutter life wasn’t enough for him.

Had he told you the truth- maybe the divorce would have been avoidable. But Satoru saw this divorce settlement as you throwing a fit.

Deep down, it hurt him. It pained his heart even thinking that you would consider leaving him, but he allowed you to sign those papers.

It only meant he would have to make you fall in love with him all over again.

You scoffed at his demand of 50-50 custody, knowing you saw him two nights a week when you were married. Not even being able to fathom how he could handle having your son 50% of the time.

But Satoru surprised you in that area. Always being on time to pick up his kid from your doorstep, giving you a big hug every time he would see you. Even kissing your forehead when he would leave.

You didn’t think anything of it- he invested so much of himself in your marriage; it was instinct by now.

But when you’d be at the park with them, watching him hold the little hand of the mini Gojo that looked identical to him. Smiling with a soft warmth, Satoru may have always run out of time- constantly. But it was undeniable that he was a fantastic father.

When he ran into an acquaintance from work, he still introduced you as his lovely wife. So often that you stopped correcting him, knowing he would only start complaining if you did.

Even if the law saw you as a single mom. Technically, divorced and with a 5-year-old toddler on your hip.

Satoru still looked at you and saw his wife. Mother of his child, homemaker, and the only person that helped him heal- the person who gave him the privilege of being a father.

In his eyes, you were still his. Didn’t matter if you were divorced or not; the marriage dynamic was still present between you two.

Of the two of you, Satoru was the one who was least embarrassed about the little slip-ups. Late nights after you put your toddler down to sleep, wine glasses in hand as you recalled memories from married life.

9 out of 10 times, it always ended with Satoru’s lips crashing into yours, greedily slotting his tongue past your lips as his hands pulled you to straddle his thighs.

Nights ending with being cuddled up together, undressed and on the bed you didn’t replace when he moved out. And mornings being awakened by the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen.

Walking down the stairs with puffy eyes, “Your mama always sleep in this late?” you heard Satoru speak from the kitchen, followed by a little laugh your son chimed.

Nodding your head disapprovingly with a smile, watching your child pull Satoru’s ear to his lips, letting out a small ‘tsk’ at what his child whispered into his ear.

The sight was always heartwarming, knowing things could’ve been like this all the time if things were different.

And every afternoon, when Satoru would practically be forced out of the house- came the talk of “This can’t happen again. It’s confusing for him-” Only for Satoru to kiss your cheek.

“Won’t happen again.” he would smile, knowing that declaration was a mere tool to end conversations like these. Knowing as long as you allowed it- mornings like these would keep happening.

There was still a lot- almost too much love, between you and Satoru. You knew this couldn’t continue, branching out and thinking of ways to not be so involved. Being all too aware of the fact that, for the past 7 years, your life has only been your husband and your son.

Ex-Husband.

That only proved your point- Satoru slowly started embedding the idea of calling him your husband again, that even in your own mind you still referred to him as such.

You knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. To continue entertaining the potential of getting together again. You considered it at first, if he was such a changed man and all he needed was to be reminded of what he lost to change his ways, would it be so bad to get back together?

But the slip-ups and nights shared together in each other's arms were too good to be true.

You feared that the same thing would happen if you allowed him fully into your life again. He would show you the best parts of him at first, then go back to neglecting his responsibilities to you and his child.

So when you asked Gojo to babysit for one evening. Instead of asking you why, he asked his 5-year-old son. Who came running up to him, pulling Satoru's hair to whisper another secret into his ear- barely legible and full of amused giggles: “Mommy has a date.”

Satoru must’ve heard wrong- it almost sounded like his son said you- his wife, had a date with someone other than him.

He tried getting more information out of his son, playfully asking who, where, and why. But the little man only scoffed, saying that you only said you had a date, and that’s why Dad had to watch him that evening.

And on the day of, Satoru showed up at your doorstep looking offensively good. Fresh haircut and his hair half dry, a white t-shirt that was entirely too tight, and gray sweats- with nothing under them (slut). And to top it all off, your favorite cologne spritzed onto his chest.

You opened your front door- you furrowed your eyebrows in disbelief, eyeing the man before you. You hated when he would purposefully show up on your doorstep looking fucking scrumptious. It was too tempting.

And as he always does- he pulls you into a rib-crushing hug, ensuring you get a face full of his scent. Kissing the top of your head as you loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. “You look gorgeous,” he murmured against your scalp, pulling away from him and scoffing.

Walking back into the entryway of your house, hearing him step behind you and close the door- “I thought I told you to come at 7.” you muttered, trying to shake off the invading thoughts of the apparent print in his sweats.

“I wanted to see you before you left.” Satoru mumbled behind you, following you up the stairs of his house and listening to the TV playing your child’s favorite cartoon.

You only hummed in response to the excuse as to why he was here a whole 2 hours before you were to leave.

While you were showering, Gojo sat on the couch supervising his son, who was asking any question that popped into the little man’s mind. Questions the child would ask you, but refuse to think you were telling the truth. So he would ask his Dad, and believe him instead.

You found it frustrating that your child believed Satoru more than he believed you- but endearing that he would always run things by his father.

All the while, answering the little questions his toddler asked- Satoru wondered if you still had that bad habit of leaving the bathroom door unlocked while you showered.

But Satoru knew he had to take a more subtle approach to the delicate situation at hand.

As he heard the sound of the shower halting- thanking the noisy plumbing the house had. It always let him know you were stepping out of the shower from wherever he was in the house.

He rose from the couch and grabbed his child from the floor. “Let’s go see what mommy’s doing.” Gojo smiled as he hooked his hands beneath his child's arms, hearing happy laughter from the little human in his hands as he ran up the stairs.

Satoru always liked watching you get dressed, even if it was to go see another man. He enjoyed watching the care you put into your appearance.

He walked into the humid restroom, his eyes catching the half-way-done zipper of your dress. “Zip me,” you murmured, looking into the mirror as you applied your makeup.

Satoru placed his child on the ground and walked up behind you, his eyes catching the clasp of your lace undergarment. He furrowed his eyebrows, realizing it was one he hadn't seen before.

He lightly placed his hand on your hip, his face too close to your shoulder, as his fingers slowly worked up the zipper. Gojo’s thumb caressed your clothed hip, giving you a light squeeze before letting go of the zipper.

Pressing your thighs together slightly and trying to ignore the warmth of his hand.

So as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, his child bouncing on his lap, watching you with an adoring gaze, enjoying the angle he had of you slightly bent over the sink. “Where’d you say you were going again?” squinting his eyes as you swiped away any misplaced makeup on your cheek.

“Out.” you scoffed, knowing if you told him the truth he would only start whining at you.

So he flashed his eyes to his son, “Do you know?” he whispered, watching his son hold back a laugh as you rolled your eyes.

As much as you disliked being the bad cop in most parenting scenarios, your child always took his side- always told him the truth when he’d ask.

“Mommy has a date.” he giggled, only for you to look to your side and squint your eyes, “Traitor.” you murmured, watching Satoru’s jaw fall in feigned shock.

“A date?” he pursed his lips, looking at you sadly. “You asked me to watch my child to go on a date?” his tone was full of sarcasm, watching you nod your head ‘no’ as you looked back into the mirror.

“It’s just dinner-” you muttered, trying to avoid his harsh gaze on your profile. “Besides, I’m sure you have your fair share of them.”

Satoru gasped your name, placing his hands on either side of his child’s head and covering his ears.

“You accuse me of cheating in front of our child? I only have room for one woman in my heart.” he scoffed, placing a hand onto his chest- almost as though he found offense in knowing you could- but he never would.

“It’s not cheating, we aren’t married anymore.”

He pulled his hands from his child’s ears, eye twitching at your declaration. “Who is he?” he asked, tone more severe as his child played with his hands. You sighed, “I have a right to know-” he started- earning for you to look at him with an irritated expression.

“Just a parent from his school.”

Satoru squinted his eyes. He knew he couldn’t ask you to homeschool his child- ‘socialization’ and all that. But now, Satoru had to worry about you being pawed at while dropping off his son at kindergarten.

In some attempts to not show he was starting to get pissed off, “If you were into single dads- you have one right here~” Gojo grinned, watching the grimace on your face churn from his attempt at flirting.

“That’s not it, but thank you for that.” you scoffed, curling your eyelashes and feeling his eyes pierce your skin.

“So what is it?” he hummed, wanting to know what this man had that he didn’t.

With a sigh you rolled your eyes, hearing your child slide off his lap and patter out of the bathroom. “I don't wanna talk about this anymore.” you muttered, sensing Satoru rise from the tub's edge and shift behind you, placing his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I wanna know who you’re replacin’ me with,” he whined in your ear, causing you to scoff and look down to the sink.

You were used to Satoru clinging to you- showing his affection to you even if you weren’t together anymore.

Satoru pressed his hips onto your slightly bent bottom, his lips barely grazing your ear, “If this is about your needs- I’m here for that too, y’know.” he whispered into your ear. Making sure you could feel his print against your bottom as he pressed himself closer to you.

Your breathing increased slightly, parting your lips as his hands around your waist squeezed you tighter. “You don’t have to look for anyone else-” he whispered, lips pressing onto the shell of your ear as you closed your eyes.

“I’m here whenever you need me,”

Mentally battling the temptation with every whisper into your ear, his breathing grazing your skin, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface.

Satoru was about to murmur another temptation into your ear. Until your child's crying voice echoed through the bathroom walls. Rushing out of the bathroom and finding your son on the ground of your bedroom- Tiny droplets of blood oozed from his little knee, with fat tears leaving his blue eyes.

Satoru wasted no time scooping up the crying child from the ground, hushing him with small assurances that it was okay.

Though it was only a scrape- it was enough for Satoru to convince you to call up this, ‘Fellow parent from school’ and tell him you had to cancel. Setting no reschedule day as Gojo purposefully called out to you- “Honey, where are the band-aid’s?~”

And with that, Satoru got what he wanted. Your date was canceled, and the man backed off.

After too many treats and much-needed coddling from his father, your son dozed off in Gojo’s arms as he walked up the stairs, exhausted from the sobbing. Placing him onto the little race car bed he built- recalling the day Satoru helped you paint the bedroom.

You settled onto the living room couches and thanked him for being here. “M’sorry if you had any plans.” You sighed, looking at the well-favored man before you.

Gojo scoffed, “No plans are more important than you.” with a slight smile on his lips.

“And your son.” you clarified with a warm grin.

Satoru looked down at your hands. “And my son.” He repeated your words, reaching for your hands and holding them in his. Scooching the tiniest bit closer to you, “Thank you,” he muttered, caressing the backs of your hands with his thumbs.

“For what?” looking at him adoringly.

Gojo blinked his eyes as he engulfed the sight of your expression. Looking back at him with the same look you had when you were still married. “For bein’ a good mom,” he whispered, slowly inching closer to you.

“-nd a good wife,” he whispered, watching your eyebrows furrow at the proclamation, cheeks tingling from hearing him call you that. Parting his lips as you leaned in closer to him.

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, “Why did we ever get divorced, hmm?” he whispered, darting his gaze from your eyes down to your lips. Trying to recall the last time he tasted you- finding it offensive that he couldn’t even remember.

You gulped slightly, watching his eyes go half-lidded as he leaned closer to you. You blinked your eyes closed- feeling the last of your reservations dissolve in your mind as you pressed your lips against his.

Satoru’s eyes half-lidded as he watched your eyebrows pinch up- letting go of your hands as he traced his fingertips up your arms. Lightly swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, parting your mouth to grant him entry.

Your hands making their way to his torso- feeling the thin fabric of his shirt beneath your fingers. Sighing as his tongue pressed against yours, his hands trailing to your back.

Pulling you closer to him as his fingers reached the zipper of your dress. Soft hums of appeasement rumbling onto his tongue. Tugging down the zipper slowly as your hands found the bottom of his shirt, tracing your hands beneath the fabric.

Your fingers grasping against his carved torso desperately, your thumb lightly caressing his happy trail. His hands slipped past the opening of your dress- sprawling against your back.

You pulled away- looking into his eyes. His cheeks flushed and lips puffy. “We can’t-” you breathed, hoping he would have the strength to put a halt to this. You swallowed- mouthing another ‘we can't.’ before pressing your lips onto his again.

Letting a soft moan slip your lips as he pulled the top of your dress down- feeling the light grazes of his fingers against your skin. Placing his hand on your side, sliding up your torso and cupping the underside of your laced breast.

Feeling a twinge of anger once he felt it was a bralette- only a thin layer of lace separating his hand from your soft skin. Even more when he remembered why you would be wearing this.

Tracing his thumb over the little peak beneath the lace, giving it a soft swipe. Earning a light hum to leave your lips onto his.

And to check- just to be sure he wasn’t getting mad over nothing; Satoru pulled his lips from yours. Placing damp kisses onto your cheek. Peppering them down your neck, soft sighs and moans leaving your lips were heard as hymns to Satoru’s ears.

Making sure to pay extra attention to your collarbone, taking a few seconds to suck harshly on the skin. Even if you didn’t wear your wedding ring anymore- this was his way of showing any other men that you were claimed- that you were his.

His hands shifted your hips to sit correctly on the couch, slumped with your dress bunched on your thighs. Satoru trailed wet kisses to the swell of your breast, lightly pressing his tongue onto your laced nipple and swirling against the fabric, coaxing a light moan to fall from your lips.

Though your eyes were closed, Satoru's grip on your waist told you that he was furious. Had you opened them, you would have seen his jealous eyes looking back at you.

Satoru hoped he was wrong- hoped you wouldn’t do this to him. All but praying he wouldn’t have to do what he had to if he was right.

His hands hooked onto the bunched-up fabric of your dress, shifting it down your thighs and pulling it from your body entirely before he pulled his lips from your tummy.

Looking down at the matching lace panties- soaked as they were, he had never seen them. Gojo’s eye twitched as he looked back up to you, unwilling to come to the fact that you bought- and wore this for another man.

Satoru liked thinking he was a patient person, calm and collected when he had to be. But the way he rose himself from the ground, manhandling you to flip over and bend your knees on the couch, made him realize he held no more patience for you nor your attempts to make him jealous.

Your hands held onto the back of the couch firmly, keeping yourself up as Satoru’s hands landed on your hips. Groping the malleable skin as you whimpered, pressing your bottom back to the growing erection in his sweats.

“You wore this for him?” he mumbled behind you, slipping his thumb beneath the thin band of lace. Exhaling, feeling yourself soak your panties even further.

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands in shame- knowing whatever you said now would only make him more bitter.

Murmuring something- quiet enough for Satoru not to comprehend. He huffed a smile, “What was that?” he teased, pressing his bulge against your bent bottom, pushing you further against the wall.

“Tell the truth.”

You looked back slightly, peering at the crazed man behind you. Biting your lip and facing the wall, “I did.”

As a reward for your honesty, Satoru gave you a firm spank against your bottom. Causing you to jolt forward with a soft whimper.

“You’re that needy?” Gojo teased, caressing the warm skin of your bottom, soothing the sting. “That you have to cheat on me?” you exhaled- not wanting to admit how attractive it was that he was scolding you for something he shouldn’t be.

Taking his hands from your hips and hooking them onto the sides of your panties, slipping them down your hips to be greeted with your soaked cunt. Glistening with the taste he craved from the minute he moved out.

But even if his mouth watered looking down to your core, he couldn’t bring himself to kneel before you- knowing if he let things go your way, this little farce of divorce would stay in your mind.

No, he had to teach you a lesson, even if he had to pound it into your foolish brain that you were his.

So as the tips of his fingers grazed your soaked lips- avoiding the bundle of nerves that he was sure was throbbing from how wet you were.

Circling the tips of his ring and middle finger on your entrance as you let out breathless whines. “I just missed you,” whimpering as you reached a hand back to the one that held your hip in place.

The words enticed Gojo to dip the very tips of his fingers into your cunt- “Didn’t wanna tell you.” you moaned, admitting the truth he had been wanting to hear for far too long.

Closing your eyes as he slowly inched his fingers into you. Satoru smiled, feeling your walls welcome him in, too tight to have been recently fucked. So he knew you must be telling the truth.

Grasping onto his hand, the tips of his fingers prodding into the spot he quickly found every time.

Your hand that held you up trembling as he lightly curled his fingers. Letting out breathy moans, earning Satoru to smile to himself, “Who knows how to please you like me, hm?” he let out the thoughts from his lips without permission.

You whined as he pumped his fingers into you with a slow ease. Whimpering softly as he watched with dim eyes. “Who else but me?” he pressed, feeling your grip against his hand tighten.

“Need you inside ‘toru-” you whined, the hand holding you up gripping the edge of the couch violently.

Gojo remembered the last time you called him that- biting his lip from the nickname you used to call him when you were still married. And you must’ve known how his mind reels whenever you called him that- or else why would you say it in that tone?

All but begging for his cock with every light spasm your cunt did around his fingers.

Satoru was pleased with how pliant you were in his hands, satisfied enough to pull his fingers from your cunt. Quickly removing his shirt before placing his messied hand over his sweats, softly palming himself as he looked at your core-

Gojo was so sure at that moment- that there was no god- the closest thing to it was what lied between your legs. Pulsing- begging for him to bully his pained cock into it.

He pulled his hand from his bulge, shoving down the loose band of his sweats and freeing his cock. And as you suspected- no briefs.

Placing a hand onto his base and lightly tapping his leaky tip onto your ass, causing you to whine.

Gojo started thinking about how he wanted you- now that you were compliant and needy before him.

He backed away in the slightest. Kicking off his sweats before moving you to lie back onto the couch. Settling his hips between your thighs. Soaking up the desperate expression you wore as small whimpers left your lips.

The tip of his cock sliding up and down your cunt- refusing to give you what you ached for.

His forearms held his torso up as your hands latched behind his neck- legs spread and waiting for him to plunge himself into you. Only Satoru looked into your bleary eyes with a smile, “You wan’me inside?” he huffed- watching your bottom lip quiver, lowering himself close enough for your lips to brush against his.

“Tell me 'nd I will.” he grinned against you- watching your eyes close, trying not to cave to his demands. Biting your lip as he pressed his tip against your entrance- teasing you in the slightest.

You breathed a light whimper, blinking your eyes open and staring into his power-crazed ones. “Please-” you whined, “Put it inside ‘toru.” the tone you took only made Gojo’s ego boost- smiling with parted lips as he slowly pressed past your entrance.

A light whimper rumbled from his flushed lips as your hands pulled his neck closer, pressing your lips onto his. Breathing in every whimper, he exhaled onto your tongue as he eased himself into you.

Being able to feel that you hadn’t fucked anyone recently- That you were faithful to him. And this was all just an attempt to rile him up, which only made him even more eager to burrow himself into you further, ‘You’ve been good. That’s what you deserve,’ he thought as his tongue danced with yours.

The light sting from the stretch makes you huff out a pained whimper- inching himself deeper till his hips were flush to your thighs. His tip easily found the sweet spot he seemingly had exact coordinates to.

Satoru placed his hands on your hips, slowly raising himself with your legs locked on his waist. Holding onto your back as you lightly ground your hips flush against his.

A lazy, sloppy version of a lotus position, pulling away from his lips as you trailed a hand to his hair. Looking into his hazy eyes as his hand assisted your hips.

Small moans leaving your throat as your lips brushed against his. Not even attempting to kiss him, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep a pattern from how deep he was hitting inside of you.

A light sheen of sweat coating your forehead as Gojo relished the look in your eyes- just fucked out enough to let the mask slip. Looking at him with love-filled eyes, your bottom lip quivering as your head threatened to tip back.

Your nose scrunched lightly, neck curving back with a low groan. Not wanting to leave space between you- Satoru placed his lips onto your exposed neck, humming muffled whimpers against your skin as your bottom lip trembled.

Words forming on the tip of your tongue as you ground your cunt against him. The position so full of intimacy, it made you forget you were doing this with your ex-husband.

Puffing out a light breath, smile forming at the corner of your lips- sinking into the mouthwatering pleasure you incited with every small thrust.

“Fuck, I love you.” you moaned mindlessly. But the words rang through Satoru’s ears like church bells, words he hadn’t heard in far too long- even in the past slip-ups. You always held your tongue, making sure to not plant that seed in his mind.

Gojo almost came when he heard your proclamation, inching you back with his lips attached to your neck. Easing your back onto the arm of the couch, planting a foot onto the ground as your hands kept a tight grip on his neck. Satoru dragged his hips from yours with a loud schlop coming from between your legs.

Pulling his lips from your neck, he looked at your expression—pinched eyebrows and eyes shut tight- showing him you were close. So close, he could hear it in your sighs of content.

Satoru leaned down to your ear, huffing a warm breath against your cartilage. Shoving his cock back into you- bottoming out too quickly, earning a whine from your lips. Wasting no time before repeating the movement. Setting a speedy pace with a low whimper.

Sliding your hands up his forearms, landing on his biceps as he quickened the pace- riding himself up an orgasm.

“Lemme make you a mama again-” he huffed into your ear, his tip nudging your sensitive spot with every thrust- you moaned his name in response, so close your brain would have short-circuited had you tried answering.

Satoru grunted with a smile, thinking of the words he was about to say. “Marry-” he groaned, feeling your cunt suck him in with every pull he did, “me again.” he whimpered, his thrusts pushing you up further.

Taking a long lick at your ear- urging you to answer him. Pulling away from your neck, placing his hand on your jaw lightly. “Huh?” Satoru grinned. “Marry me again baby.” Watching your eyes crack open- bearing your teeth softly as you felt the warmth in your tummy over fill.

Pressing his parted lips to yours sloppily- pulling away, and watching your eyes threaten to roll back. You started nodding your head ‘yes’ in his hand frantically- your walls flexing around his speedy cock as he felt you come undone.

Your nodding agreement was all Satoru needed to lose the rhythm of his thrusts. Sloppily pushing into your clenching cunt, his whining muffled by his bottom lip being tucked between his teeth.

Your lips started babbling soundless pleads- ‘please, please,’ and to Satoru’s ears- you were begging for him to fill you. Fill you till he didn’t have anymore to give.

And as a loving and obedient husband- that’s what he did.

With one loud grunt- he spilled himself into you- his thrusts slowing, not as long strides, but he made sure to push his seed deeper into you. Keeping that declaration of making you a mom again.

A low whine left your lips, feeling his warm spend coat your walls with every twitch his cock made inside of you.

So full, you were sure his proclamation would come true. And he came a lot- as though he was saving it up just for you.

Heavily breathing as he slowed his thrusts, pressing his forehead to your temple. Trying to catch his breath as he came down, feeling your heartbeat against his own chest- racing and pounding against his sternum.

Soft kisses planted on your face, your hands easing their grip on his sides. Satoru's hands slid down to your hips, raising himself to his knees and looking down to where you were still connected.

A low gulp bobbing in his throat, knowing he would have to pull out eventually; And dreading it. Thinking of a million ways to keep you filled and plugged with his future offspring.

And as you finally could steady your breathing, Gojo yanked you down from the arm of the couch. Back landing flush against the cushions with a soft grunt. Looking at him, all but asking what he was doing.

Till Satoru pulled himself out of you, hoisting your hips up from the couch with two strong hands. “Sator-” you tried saying, only for his arms to hug the crease of your thighs, bending you in half with your legs flailing in the air.

All the pressure was placed onto your shoulders as Satoru latched his mouth onto your messied clit. Keeping his eyes parted and watching your expression churn. Placing a hand onto his forearm- bracing as he greedily lapped at your neglected clit.

Mentally- this was to give his seed a better chance of taking. Hips in the air- all of the cum he had just pumped into you had nowhere else to go but deeper inside of you. And to also get a taste of you- even if remnants of his cum mixed with it. Satoru didn’t care, as long as he got to taste you.

Huffing out all the air you could, puffs laced with moans. Your hands gripping harshly onto Gojo's forearm, leaving minor crescent-shaped marks on his skin from your nails.

Basically folded in half, your hips started writhing in his grasp- overstimulation creeping up your spine from his vigorous tongue.

Spasming in his hands- trying to warm you were close, but it only came out as more ragged whimpers. Clenching your teeth with your eyes shut tight- unable to see the starved expression looking at you as Gojo unraveled you.

And once Gojo felt your clit tremble between his lips- he knew it was too soon to let you back down; he needed to keep your hips aimed up as long as he could.

Satoru watched your bottom lip tremble as he continued the movement with his tongue. Your hips trying to shimmy from his grasp- but he held you up with two strong arms that had a mission.

Abusing your overwhelmed clit as your eyes screwed together tighter- white spots infiltrating your closed vision with desperate moans. The top of your head bumped into the arm of the couch as he pushed you into a firmer bend.

Your entrance squelched against his chin as he pulled another orgasm from you- more ragged whimpers littered with his name falling from your lips.

You huffed- feeling his mouth go unbothered from the third orgasm he had given you. “Please ‘toru-” you whimpered, cracking your eyes open and looking at the crazed man holding your hips. Satoru pulled his lips from your cunt- looking at you with a smile.

Half his face soiled with your arousal and a glimmer of his seed on his chin. “Just one more-” he egged on, looking at you with dazed eyes. “Jus’onemor-” he cut himself off by placing his lips back onto your clit.

You only sighed a whimper, allowing him to get his fill.

Satoru lapped at your puffy clit, his eyebrows pinching together as his cock sent signals to his mind- the same signals that he was close to an orgasm. Untouched and so close just from pleasing you- from hearing your pretty sounds.

Gojo started to whimper lightly- whimpers that vibrated against your cunt and caused your moans to slur into higher-pitched puffs of air- trying to pull through another orgasm. Taking your lip between your teeth with harshly pinched eyebrows, puffing through your nose with muffled whines.

He closed his eyes- feeling the knot formed in his tummy snap as your knuckles turned a lighter shade, just from how hard you clawed at his forearm. Feeling a warm spurt onto your bent spine as you tried to focus on cumming.

It took very little time for Satoru to gift you a fourth orgasm, a small tear falling from your closed eye as you aimlessly shifted in his grasp.

Satoru sloppily licked at your cunt- cleaning up the mess on your clit with a softer tongue, parting his eyes and looking at your expression. Slowly easing his grasp on your hips as he unfolded you, placing one last kiss onto your cunt, earning a spasm from your hips.

He eased your hips back down onto the couch, watching your fucked out expression breathe in as much air as you could- trying to catch your breath.

Uncaring if the mess he spurt onto your back messied the couch- you always complained about how ugly it was anyway.

He lazily laid himself atop you- placing the side of his face on your collarbone as your hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing small circles on his skin. Grunting softly from how easily he laid his entire body weight on yours.

You parted your eyes, trying to blink away the post-orgasm haze. Even if you had showered a few hours ago- Satoru’s bath offer sounded like heaven.

It seemed to take no longer than a few slow blinks. Easing into the clawfoot bathtub Satoru chose specifically for times like these when he bought the house.

Sighing softly as his arms held you close, his palm gently sprawled against your lower belly and your back pressed to his chest. Avoiding the conversation that needed to be spoken about.

Knowing it would never be spoken if you shoved it off, jettisoned aside to be talked about later.

“Satoru?” you hummed, placing the back of your head onto his chest.

He sighed, closing his eyes and nodding his head 'no'. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now.” he huffed, feeling your hand clasp his beneath the water. Interlocking your fingers with his and closing your eyes.

“If we don’t talk about it now, we never will.”

Satoru smiled. “Then let’s never talk about it~” he scoffed.

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to make sense of the meaningless words he babbled into your ear earlier. “You really wanna marry me again?” you asked- unsure if they were just words he mindlessly spouted at the moment- or if they had any meaning.

He scoffed, “What kind of question is that?”

Inhaling as though you were about to speak- “Course I wanna marry you again,” he hummed. Rubbing your belly softly, “nd make you a mom again.”

Pulling his hand from your tummy with a scoff, causing small ripples in the water. “Be serious.”

“You have no idea how serious I’m being right now.”

Your lips pulled to the side, mulling over his proclamation.

“You still love me?” he asked, looking down at the side of your face.

Turning your neck slightly, you peered your eyes up at him with sincerity filling them. Furrowing your eyebrows, you tried not to admit it, but- “Of course I still love you, ‘toru.” You mumbled. Heartfelt words that rang true in your heart.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

“Then marry me.” he whirred, watching your hand pull his left one up from the water. Your eyes admiring the wedding band he hadn’t taken off.

You stayed silent, holding his ringed hand in yours. Satoru would be lying if he said seeing your ring finger empty didn't hurt.

Your silence gave Gojo his answer, “Why not?” he whispered, hearing a ragged sigh from your lips. “I still love you- you. You still love me-”

“M’scared.” you mumbled. Feeling your shoulders tense against his chest with a small ripple in the water.

Satoru let out a half-laugh from his chest. “Of what? I’ve been good, haven’t I?” he grinned, his playful tone invading your ears.

“You were good when I was pregnant too.” you quipped, dropping his hand into the water and recalling the days he started slipping through your grasp.

You sniffled lightly, “nd look what happened.”

Satoru bit his tongue. Knowing if he started defending his baseless actions, this would end up being a fight.

“I spent so long wondering if it was me- if I was the problem.” you scoffed. “I don’t want to let you back in just for the same thing to happen.”

Satoru pulled you closer with a sigh, “It won’t happen again.” he whispered into your ear, “I promise.”

You huffed air from your nose, making Satoru think you didn’t believe him. “I’ll even write it into my vows this time.”

A small laugh left your lips, “You won’t miss single life too much?” you played, feeling his head rest against yours.

“Not once have I felt single since you signed those papers.” he grinned.

You pondered his offer, pretending to actually consider the option before you.

Satoru softly kissed your ear, “C’mon- I’ll be such a good husband~” he whispered.

It wasn’t as though you ever really felt single either- That one year spent apart was still full of love and a marital dynamic.

The rest of the night was spent in the same bed Satoru built after you moved into the house, cuddled up just the way you had longed for since he moved out.

The following day, Satoru couldn’t wait for his son to fully wake up- he walked into the hazy child's bedroom and asked if he wanted a little brother or sister.

All smiles and beaming eyes in the kitchen- telling his son that his plan worked. He made you fall in love with him, and he was finally your husband again.

And as you watched your husband and your son giggle with each other in the kitchen, you smiled. Warm cheeks from the thought that Satoru actually thought you stopped loving him at some point.

But then again, you never really fell out of love, did you?

I loved writing this sm.

2K notes · View notes

peterthepark · 2 years

Text

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

tags: 18+ very graphic smut, rough van sex, dirty talk, analplay, sub!eddie but also very much switch!eddie, lust at first sight, major mutual pining, a sprinkle of perv!eddie but hes sexy so its okay, (1) guest appearance by dustin, post vol. 2 fix-it fic, 7k filth

summary: she’s the girl next door. eddie is the metalhead freak who’s just barely clearing his name after a whole town fiasco. opposites attract but certainly not like this, and certainly not in the back of eddie’s van.

a/n: pov vol 2 ended on a positive note and eleven miraculously fixed everything so a freshly-graduated eddie can now live his life to the fullest!!!!!!!! aka what should’ve happened… minors dni. not for u.

It’s rare for Eddie Munson to be roaming the white-picket fence suburbs of Hawkins. It feels like a fantasyland — golden retrievers and tabby cats, designated trash days and bright, green grass full of yellow daffodils, oak trees with makeshift swings and wooden playgrounds built by loving fathers. It’s too perfect, too uncanny, and Eddie knows deep down that he doesn’t belong in such a world as nice as this one.

But the suburbs of Hawkins are also welcoming.

When he gives Dustin a ride from school to home, when the noon is at its peak, golden rays and soft sprinklers making rainbows rise from the soil, he thinks — for a moment or two — that he belongs. He could if he wanted to. When Henderson invites him over for dinner, or when Harrington needs help fixing his car, when Mike needs relationship advice (as if Eddie could know anything about that) and when Robin wants to know more about Iron Maiden to impress the metalhead ladies, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad on this side of town.

That is until he saw you. And he realized then why everyone called this part of Hawkins a slice of paradise.

Pretty college student. Cut-off shorts from the Gap paired with baggy baseball tees, and a cute nose always stuffed in a romance novel or — some days — a textbook. Glossy lips, adorable socks and checkered picnic blankets where you’d lay out on the too-pristine yard, kicking your legs back and forth as if acting like eye candy was your specialty.

The perfect poster girl of Hawkins with just enough rough edges to be labelled the girl next door.

Only, Eddie doesn’t live next door to you. Dustin does.

“The least you could tell me is her name, Henderson. I don’t want gas money, I want her name. Spelled out for me, syllable by syllable. Government name.” Eddie rambles, shifting impatiently in the driver’s seat as Dustin leans over the passenger window from the outside. “We’re sitting ducks here, man. What if she sees us spying on her damn fence like some creeps?”

The curly-haired sophomore sighs, fingers strung together as he frowns at his older friend, “You are a grown ass man, Eddie. All you have to do is ask her, just say hi, make an impression or something! You can’t just be looking at her from afar everytime you come over, blasting this Metallica shit…”

“You are on very thin ice, boy.” Eddie wags a finger at him, wide eyes bouncing between Dustin and the front of your house. “I don’t know her like you know her. I don’t wanna be weird, especially after just putting all this town satanic cult bull behind my ass. She might think — dammit, I don’t know… I just wouldn’t wanna scare the girl, okay?” He sucks in a deep breath, shrugging the thought off with a hopeful smile, “Not this time.”

“Disgusting.”

He snaps his head towards Dustin, reaching over and rustling the cap on his head with a playful smirk. “You’re disgusting, you fuckin’ booger.”

And as if on cue, like every other day he’s been through this neighborhood, Eddie watches your figure emerge from the porch, picnic blanket and weathered paperback in hand. His jaw goes slack at the image of your denim overall-clad frame, nothing but a bikini-like bra underneath the number while a fresh cigarette dangles from your lips. So much skin — the exposed flesh of your neck, the salty beads of sweat rolling down your collarbone, the cherubic glow of your complexion and the alluring blush of your lips as you sit out on the yard.

Fuck.

A loud boom pulls the metalhead from his trance. Dustin’s palm comes down against the flimsy van door. “Earth to Eddie? Get a grip, you’re drooling.”

And all he can really say is: “She’s so damn pretty.”

Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s just really that in-deep with a girl who he has never, ever spoken to. Maybe he’s a pervert rather than a misunderstood freak and this is all just completely wrong of him. But, god, it feels so right to stare. Eddie can’t help it, especially once you catch sight of Dustin and send him an adorable little wave — then your eyes flicker over to Eddie’s dumbfounded expression inside the van, where you wave at him too.

And the twenty one year-old swears he dies. Right at that moment. His heart skips several beats all at once, possibly even flatlining as a small smile falls upon your graceful features, bursting right out of his chest even as you look away and immediately redirect your attention to the walkman in your pocket like you hadn’t just casually murdered him alive.

Fuck me, he thinks.

The next time Eddie sees you, he gets a little more than a wave. He’s reveling in this newfound attention as he bounces down the steps of Dustin’s porch and catches sight of you on the other side of the fence, already staring his way before he sends you a nerdy two-finger salute with a close-lipped smile. And just before he reaches the sidewalk, your sweet voice stops him in his determined tracks.

“Metallica at three p.m. in this neighborhood is a death wish, you know.”

Eddie turns slowly on his heels, shoes facing you before his whole body follows hesitantly. He’s trying to wipe off that stupid expression on his face, lips parted into a skinny ‘O’ that makes him look like a fish out of water as you finally make eye contact. He heats up immediately from the inside, belly churning and throat tightening when you give him a once over. And it seems like you don’t exactly care for subtlety either — blown pupils raking over his tattooed arms, taking in the torn rips of his shirt-turned-tank-top and the tanlines just above his elbows.

He hopes you think that the scars on his body are just as badass (if not, more) than his tats.

Say something. “Didn’t know music was on a schedule.” Eddie manages to follow along with a shrug, lips tugging to the side nervously.

In response, you smile. You fucking smile as if he hadn’t just said the most stupid response ever. It’s gentle, airy, almost effortless as crescent-like lines shape your warm cheeks and you cup a hand over your eyes, adorably squinting through the bright sunlight. “Oh, believe me, I had Iron Maiden on blast one time and ever since then, the whole block has been thinking I’m some sort of cult apologist.”

His heart grows like a balloon filling with helium, voice even going so far to climb several octaves of excitement as his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You… you listen to that kind of stuff?”

You play with the lacy strap of your top. You’re beaming widely at him from the other side of the fence. “Do you judge books by their covers, mister?”

“No, ma’am.” Eddie swipes the glistening pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, stifling the grin that threatens to spread across his mouth. Sheepish, he shakes his head. “I think I underestimated you then. I’m… I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m kidding. Seriously though, I have a bunch of mixtapes back in my room. Ozzy, Dio, some Sabbath. No one really gets it, but you… you seem like you do.”

And Eddie wonders: could you get any more damn perfect? The suburban denim dream, the girl next door, the quintessential concoction of every teenage boy’s fantasy and every teenage girl’s desire… listens to metal music? And not just AC/DC or KISS (because everyone loves those guys), but the same music he’s grown up with and loved?

He can’t help but picture you in your bed, records spread out across your comforter as you switch between Dream Evil and Peace of Mind. Your limbs stretched out on the mattress, shirt riding up with nothing but black panties underneath as you rock out to his favorites.

Yeah. He’ll think about that one a lot.

“I definitely get it. I do, I really do. I love metal.” Eddie rambles, hoping to keep your attention by stalling this conversation as much as possible. You nod at him with those big, innocent eyes and roll your fleshy lip between your teeth, keen to every stupid word that falls from his tongue. “But hey, it can be our little secret, then.” He leisurely gravitates towards the van while you match his strides, taking note of his quavering pitch and the use of Eddie’s own hands waving through the air wildly as he attempts to withhold his nervousness. “And again, just for peace of mind, I didn’t mean to judge. I figured…”

“Madonna?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. Feels the anxiety in his stomach build even more. “Nothin’ wrong with Madonna, though. Sexy tunes. Can’t deny that.”

Sexy tunes. Come on, Munson.

But that draws a giggle right out of you, “Sexy tunes, indeed.” Then, you’re both leaning against the side of his van. No fence or Dustin coming between the two of you, just your sweaty bodies and Hawkins’ summer heat seeping through your thin clothes. You hold your palm out, fingers welcomingly outstretched. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Eddie’s gaze bounces from your smaller hand to the doting expression on your face before gingerly enveloping it in his own. “Eddie. Edward. E-Eddie. You can…” You give him a gentle squeeze, a sure smile dusting over your lips. “You can just call me Eddie, or whatever. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

“Well,” You laugh again, and Eddie blushes profusely at the lighthearted noise. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Whatever.” You share another one of those looks, and he swears that this time — this time, your eyes do all the talking that needs to be done. “I think we’ll get along really well… Eddie.”

His name has never sounded so perfect out loud.

Eddie sees you again.

And again. Every time he drops Dustin off. Again. Leant against the side of his van. Talking and talking, until there’s nothing to talk about — but it’s rare. He always has something to talk about, even when his voice fails him and he stutters or stumbles over syllables because you’re so fucking pretty and he’s… he’s just Eddie. But you see him differently than the others, so he supposes that maybe being “just Eddie” isn’t such an awful thing after all.

Again, you talk. The sidewalk. Along the road. On your lawn. Sometimes, Eddie will even join you on your blanket, skim through your books and take note of what you read, then he’ll recommend “true” literature like Lord of the Rings or something else with elves and witches.

Summer has never felt so long.

Again.

Until again becomes every afternoon. Even on the days Dustin doesn’t need a ride home anymore. Even on the days he has to practice with his band at four, but he can always just come see you at three and drive back because it’s no big deal. Even on the days your parents say you need to stop talking to that Munson boy because he’s no good, but who fucking cares?

Again, anyways.

You’re not scared of him. He’s not scary. He never was.

And so afternoons turn into nights. And nights consist of sneaking out to Eddie’s van that he’s parked a few houses down the street, because God forbid he talks to the innocent girl next door. Innocent is one fat hoax. You’re smoking pot with him in the back of his fucking van for Ozzy’s sake, giggly and unrelenting as you sit next to each other and drench yourselves in the scent of weed and Eddie’s drugstore cologne while Metallica plays faintly in the background.

He’s all man, but soft with his eyes. Soft in the way he looks at you. Crude in the way he secretly desires you. Now that he knows you, really knows you, you aren’t just beautiful.

You’re completely devastating.

You take a long drag of his joint, wincing as the paper sizzles and burns orange. “Fuck, I wish I tried getting high sooner. You’re a horrible influence, you know that?”

Eddie hums with a toothy grin, fiddling with the pair of flimsy headphones in his lap. “And yet you still meet me back here every night.”

“Why do I even do that?”

“Um, ‘cause I got, like, really fucking good ‘A’ quality weed and impeccable taste in music.” He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes following the mold of your lips around the bud. “Easy there, tigress. Don’t hog it.”

“You said…”

“I said, you could have one hit. And now, I’m confiscating it.”

You groan in protest as Eddie leans over to your side of the van and snatches the blunt from you, tossing it into a mushroom shaped ashtray as he gazes at you curiously. “Since when did you become so mean to me?”

“Weed is meant to be treasured, Y/N. And plus, I’m always mean.”

He has to admit — there has been tension between the two of you ever since your afternoon catch-ups turned into late night talking. Maybe he’s imagining it, but surely you feel it too. The bubbling in his stomach when your elbows brush in such a confined space. The heat rushing to his cheeks when you laugh and place a hand on his thigh, or the dizzy rush flooding your forehead when he picks a flyaway strand of hair off of your shoulder. The increase in your heartbeats as you stare at each other for a minute too long, even sneaking in a second glance because you just have to.

“You know what you should treasure?” You quirk a brow at him. A smirk tugs upon your lips as you dig through your pocket and pull out a cassette tape, shaking it in front of Eddie’s face. “This week’s mix I made you.”

“My mix is better.” He flicks his walkman open, switching out the tape inside for the one you hand him. “Here’s yours, ma’am.”

And he supposes that no one really expected that his friendship with the girl next door would be founded on trading music with each other. Ever since you and Eddie found out your tastes were in alignment, you made it a goal to introduce new songs to him — Madonna included. Sexy tunes.

You think he could get used to the oddity of The Cure. He thinks he can convince you that Guns N’ Roses will eventually be a rock sensation. You’re skeptical. Maybe.

So you marinate in each other’s stagnant presence, leaning on opposite walls of his metal tin can of a van, holding your own walkmans with ears caressed by Koss headphones and lids shut as your heads bob to the acoustics. Eddie can’t help but crack an eye open, sneaking a peek at your chewed lip and your look of concentration.

“I like this one.” You pipe up, feeling his stare on you. He glances away before you can actually catch him, training his gaze on the mess of blankets behind the driver’s seat. “You know, your choices this week are very interesting, Munson.”

Suggestive. His choices are suggestive, is what you’re thinking. From the first to the last track, the list of songs messily etched onto the cassette with the most boyish handwriting you’d ever seen, you can only hope that the metalhead holds some sort of attraction for you in the same manner you do for him.

Eddie chuckles, and winces apologetically at you. “I still hate The Cure, by the way.”

You nod unconvinced, and pull one of the cups of your headphones away from your ear. There’s a smile of amusement, an interested dimple in your cheek. “And yet you included The Perfect Girl on here?”

“Only because it made me think of you.”

For once, he realizes that he has flustered you. Your jaw goes slack, your pupils widen, brows softening before your nose crinkles at him. “Shut up, Eddie.”

His palms raise in a peaceful surrender, ringed fingers wiggling adorably. “You asked, Y/N.” A beat. Then you’re playfully throwing a jacket at his face and squealing before he instinctively lunges forward at you, gentle hands pulling you back by the elbows. Despite the struggle, eventually he’s pinned to the floor of the van and you’re on top of him straddling his soft belly. “Get off, you monster!” He near-giggles, sputtering as his hair gets into his mouth and he feels your body racking with laughter.

“You’re so rude to me. Like the rudest. When has The Cure ever hurt you?” You pant out, chest rising and falling steadily as you both catch your breath. Eddie’s headphones haphazardly hug his head, walkman in the palm that rests above him. “Do you treat your girlfriend this way, hm?”

“No girlfriend.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm, I thought it was obvious.” He replies quietly, the sound comes out more like a soft moan rather than an agreement. His plushy lips are wet with saliva, tongue poking between the pink flesh as his eyes flicker from your parting mouth to your curious, swirling irises. “S’why I’m here with you.”

“So I’m the second choice is what you’re…”

“Please, you are farthest from the second choice, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, ribs rumbling against his torso. Only then does he become hyper aware of the way your breasts push up against his shirt, the warmth of your skin intermixing with his, your nipples hardening against the thin white fabric of your camisole. Sweetheart, you repeat. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. “Do you have one?”

“A girlfriend?” You ask, tone playful and curious.

Careless Whisper echoes through his headphones; your mixtape is still looping through his walkman as you trail your fingers down his wrists and brace yourself on his chest.

Fucking hell. It’s ironic. It’s pathetic. George Michael needs to shut up. Why is this damned song on here? He’s struggling to think, struggling to focus on the words coming from your mouth, struggling to keep it in his pants because you keep shifting farther and farther away from his stomach, and more and more towards his crotch. Focus. Tune out that stupid saxophone.

“Sure.” He shrugs breathlessly, tingling with anticipation.

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not yet, no. Why is this a conversation, Eddie?” You bite your lip cheekily, knees planted firmly on either side of his lean body when you gaze down at him then survey the still-lit joint resting on his ashtray. Silence, then: “Can I have a hit? Please?”

Eddie glances at your lips, fixating on how your tongue darts out to lick at the sticky gloss. The moonlight casts a glow over your frame, highlighting the path of your curves through your tank top. And without really taking his eyes off of your beautiful face, his fingers reach for the blunt, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks when your hand brushes against his to grab it.

Please.

A sizzle rustles through the heavy air as you take a slow drag.

And Eddie can’t help himself. Not this time.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

You’re slowly tossing the perfectly-good blunt aside, leaning down and lazily grabbing Eddie gingerly by his chin.

He thinks you’re gonna kiss him.

And before he can lift his head to meet you, instead, you’re blowing a puff of smoke between his parted lips with an exhale. “Fuck… ing… heck…” He instantly groans, eyelids drooping as your ass pushes against him teasingly like you hadn’t just shotgunned into his goddamn mouth. Party trick. You flutter your lashes bashfully, dimples poking at your cheeks as Eddie gapes at you just inches away from your face. “Y/N, where the fuck did you… learn that?”

You sigh. “Eddie Munson, you just keep on underestimating me.”

“I really do, I really fucking do…” He huffs, knuckles turning white around his walkman as you sensually tug his headphones off. “I just — just thought you were…”

“Innocent? Oblivious? I may be your girl next door fantasy… or whatever the fuck you Hawkins boys think about me…” You smirk, taking Eddie’s much-larger hands into yours and placing them firmly on your hips. “… but I am not fucking blind… you’ve been acting so off this entire night, must need something to take the edge off, don’t you?”

Fucking Ozzy. He can’t take it. His lips tug into a wince. “That easy, huh?”

Red-handed, you coo. “The easiest.”

“So technically you’re calling me easy, then?” Eddie jokes, heart pounding against his chest as he tenderly digs his fingertips into your love handles.

This is what he’s wanted. This is it.

And it’s not a fucking dream at all. It’s absolutely heaven.

Just like heaven.

“Eh, I think it’s endearing. The way you…” He curses under his breath as you lean over and trail your mouth up his jawline, biting his earlobe. “… savor me… savor looking at me. The way you think I don’t notice your stare, when your eyes wander a couple inches down whenever I talk? Oh, you think you’re so slick. I’m not naïve. Why do you think we hang out in your van at night?”

He shudders when your teeth find the cool surface of the guitar pick around his neck. “You’re evil, sweetheart.”

“And you’re horny, but maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.”

“No, definitely…” Eddie laughs nervously, swallowing as he looks down at you. “Definitely not. I’m… fuck, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Or, maybe I should.” Back and forth banter. It’s natural with you. Too natural, almost like it has always meant to be like this between the eager pair of you. You don’t kiss him, not yet. He can wait. “Acting like a gentleman, like my friend, when in reality you can’t help but think of banging me everytime we see each other?”

“M’sorry, okay? We are friends — fuck, Y/N. Can’t focus… can’t exactly t-talk when you’re on my lap like that.”

Heat pools to his lower stomach, breaths quickening as his hands mindlessly drift down to your upper thighs, squeezing your skin through your little shorts when you grind against him. “Like this? How does it feel? Touching me, feeling me on you like this?”

Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black in the dim shadows of his van. He looks up at you with the most dilated, entranced look, and you swear it almost makes you break. “Feels… feels so nice. Warm. I just… fuck, I don’t… don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do… Y/N, goddamnit…”

“I think it’s both clear what we want, no?” You press a kiss to his cheek, running your thumb along the skin beneath his lower lashes. His self-control is slowly diminishing, inch by inch, he feels himself melting in your presence. “I stare, too, just so you know. I stare a lot.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lifts a shaky hand, nervously cupping your jaw and nudging his nose against yours. His voice ghosts your skin, raspy and more of a whimper than a command. “Tell me about it.”

Your mouth hovers over his, lips barely brushing against each other. Touching, touching, touching, only to pull away at the very last second. He can almost just taste the marijuana from your tongue, almost taste the honey dripping from your voice as you peck the corner of his lips. Almost. “I look at your arms, and your really cool tattoos, then I picture… where else you have them on your body…” You gasp into his ear as his hips rut into you, his fingers drawing shapes against the side of your face. “Picture your lips on my chest… kissing me, leaving marks… bruises, hickies, whatever you want, Munson. Your mouth between my — my thighs… tugging on your hair because you’d be so good to me, wouldn’t you?”

“M’want you so bad. You don’t know the half of it.” He whispers, stroking a knuckle across the shadow of your cupid’s bow. “Please… let me… fuck, let me kiss you. Please, Y/N. Want it so bad. Been wanting you ever since summer started. Makin’ me crazy, got me feeling like I’m insane with the way I just… just obsess over us.”

He’s earned it.

“Like I said, whatever you want.” You grin devilishly.

Eddie’s lips finally collide with yours, erotically wet and far from smooth. It’s incongruous, sweaty skin rubbing against each other and clothes rustling as Eddie sits up, your arms swaddling his lanky frame while you crane your neck to kiss him deeply. His hair is in your mouth, his nose smushed against the side of your face, strained groans slipping from his throat as he traverses down your neck, selfishly licking the divot of your collarbone before his palms are venturing under your camisole.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He whines, lashes fluttering against your thin bra as he pulls your top over your head. He’s mouthing at the cups, biting at the stringy lace of your push-up before he’s tugging the material down to reveal your nipples. “I just… fuck, I’m just in awe of you. You’re the perfect girl, and I get to have you.” He wraps his lips around the hardened bud, moaning as he alternates between the two and litters your flesh in dark hickies. You fist his hair, caving into his frame. “You’re so sexy. Just… fucking… took the words out of me, leavin’ me speechless… I’ll make you feel so f-fucking good if you let me.”

Your head rolls back as he kisses up the underside of your chin, meeting your lips in a more tender kiss. Your nails trail underneath his Iron Maiden ringer tee, lightly tracing over the raised scars on his abdomen, his belly, skimming over his sparse happy trail and the subtlety of his v-line. “You’re all talk, Eddie… wanna make me feel good?” He nods meekly, the veins in his neck flexing as you stroke his brow bone. “Think you should start by undressing me…”

“Christ, please.”

And without a beat, Eddie’s reaching around you to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside so that it lands over the back of the driver’s seat. He kisses his way down your belly, the little pudge when you sit, only for him to lay you down on your back, clumping up a bunch of jackets to make a pillow for your head. His fingers unbutton your shorts, tugging them down the length of your legs with your panties until they get caught on your Chucks.

He takes those off too. Quite frankly, chucks the Chucks across the van with a squeaky mutter of ‘goddamn shoes…’ before he’s pocketing a lineup of chunky rings into his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth makes up for the dorky mishap, his lips make haste against your tender calves, biting the squish of your thighs and nudging his nose against the glossy patches of arousal on the inside of your skin. He inhales the scent of your cunt, and you jerk with a moan of surprise as he kisses you there, open and fluttering for him while he lays on his stomach.

He’s never seen such a pretty pussy. It emboldens him, leaves him brazen and aching for more even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen you this naked. Even though he’s barely even had you, he still needs more.

“Need you so bad it hurts.” Eddie growls, looking up at you with a smirk as you gnaw on your bottom lip. “You’re just… fuck, how did you get this wet? God, you’re unreal, baby… let me? Please? Let me… let me eat it… I’ll do anything…”

Let me. Let me. Let me. It’s his mantra. You’d be lying if you deny that it stirs something animalistic within you.

You nod violently, biting down on your forefinger as he props you up against the wall of the van and parts your knees even further before he’s shoving his face into you. Your hands dart straight into his curls again, pulling and tugging until you’re holding him by a wiry ponytail, watching the eager way he suckles at the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your sex.

Eddie feels like a fucking virgin. Desperate. Impatient. Aggressive. He’s too excited — it displays itself when he slips two digits into your needy slit, taking in how you instantly buck against him. You need him. Need him in the same manner he needs this. His ego fires up as he drives his fingers further, running his tongue over and back and down your clit until your grip on his hair becomes suffocating.

“Having fun down there, h-hm?” You croak. Even with his head buried between your thighs, you’re mischievous, challenging, witty. He’d fuck the brains out of you if he could, but honestly, he isn’t even sure if he could survive one second with his cock in your little fist. “Fuckkk. You’re makin’ me feel so good, Eds…” Your head hits the metal wall, a soft bang that goes unnoticed with all the squelching and creaming as Eddie scissors his fingers.

“You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect, I love the way you look right now, s’fucking hot… could cum just by watching you.”

“Yeah? Just wait — just fucking wait till I suck you off.”

Eddie can’t wrap his thoughts around it. His tongue, his hands, where he’s buried inside you. He’s wanted this, ever since the start of summer, and he’s here with the girl he thought was untouchable — the perfect girl with a perfect, filthy secret that is him.

You’re grinding your mound against his mouth, quivering jaw unhinged in the darkness of his large van. His eyes flicker up to your tits, slick with his spit and your own as a dribble of saliva falls from your lips, tainting your skin.

For once, you aren’t put-together. He’s ripping your façade apart at the seams and leaving nothing to sew back.

“You’re a fucking mess, Y/N… oh, I do this to you?” He’s touching you till you’re vibrating and mewling. He’s lapping every drop of you up, tasting you permanently on his lips as he prods at your clit. “Fuck, honey…” Eddie bites you, hard enough to nurse a bruise on the inside of your thigh. “Please cum for me, yeah? Jus’ look how wet I’ve gotten you, sweetheart… you’re practically — oh, my god… you’re practically gaping… you wanna cum that bad?”

You really can’t help it. Not when he’s cooing at you with that whiny voice, teasing and suggestive as your cunt spasms over his pink knuckles. Your hips rise from the carpet flooring, and Eddie leaves another bite-mark on your stomach as slick trickles out of you. You don’t moan. You don’t scream, nor cry. Just a broken whimper and a restrained, quiet utterance of Eddie’s name beneath your breath.

Somehow, it makes his cock pulse even harder.

He gently kisses your cunt, running a soothing tongue over the bruises he’s left and the dip in where your hip meets your thigh. “Fuck, that was hot.” He smells the aftermath of your orgasm, really smelling you this time, and it ends up driving him nuts. “Oh, Y/N… your pussy…” You follow his gaze, letting out a lewd sound as Eddie admires the puffiness of your folds, swollen and open from his work. You jolt as soon as he tries to spread you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, d-didn’t mean to get so damn rough with you. You tasted so fucking nice, s’all.”

“No, I…” You brush his hair away from his face, pushing his bangs aside as he sits up and wedges himself between your knees. “I love rough. I can take it. I can take this.” Your other hand palms him through his jeans, before you’re dipping yourself beneath his waistband, hairs prickling at your skin as you grasp him. “Do you want me to be rough with you, Eds? Because I just… I really, really want your cock, and I… I dunno if I can hold myself back…”

“Oh, you little slut.” He gasps brazenly as you pull his shirt off, eyes wide at your sudden conviction for him, “Take it. Take me, Y/N. I’m all yours, whatever you fucking want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You smirk, helping him kick off his jeans and boxers. Your cunt pathetically gapes for him once he’s bare, contracting around nothingness as Eddie takes your place against the wall. He leans back, and you just stare — drinking him in the same way he drinks you in. Your puffy nipples, still damp from his spit, your darkened neck a testament to his artistry, your mouth parting in awe as you fit his erect cock into your hand. Barely.

He’s big — lengthwise, and it curves heavily in your grasp as you lean down to pop him between your lips. Eddie nearly knees you, palms flying to cover his face as he desperately cries your name. “Y/N… oh, f-fucking… oh, Jesus…” You rake your nails up and down his thighs, licking a stripe up his manhood as you play with his sopping tip.

You chuckle in amusement around him, “Such a leaky cock. You like that, Eds? Mmm, you messy boy. All this pre-cum and I’ve… aw, I’ve barely touched you. Tell me what feels good, ‘kay?”

“S’all of it… all of it is — it’s good… fuck, words are so… words…” He melts even more as you sheathe him into your mouth, stuttering as he feels you hold back a gag. Your whole body convulses, back arching upwards as Eddie watches you take and take and take. “Oh, Y-Y/N… you just keep — keep getting better and better. Holy shit.” His belly aches with desire, tightening with each bob of your head and every seductive blink of your eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Thought about you.. whenever you’d — mmm, whenever you’d lay out on that darn lawn, what if I took you right there? What if I just… fucked you on that grass…”

“You and your dirty mouth, Munson.” You glare up at him in feigned annoyance, jerking his shaft with fast, purposeful movements. “I think it’s funny… how you pretend like you’re such a nice guy when really, you’re only a perv for me.”

“So what? Are you gonna punish me?” He challenges beadily, tongue poking out between gritted teeth like he could win this fight. “Or are you gonna fuck me, pretty girl?”

And just like that, the air changes. He feels the shift, the veil that falls over your eyes, nothing but sex and his scent running in your mind.

“No, Eds.” You move to straddle his thigh; your bare cunt dragging against his scarred skin. “I’m gonna make you beg.”

You take him into your fist again, stroking him between the generous suction of your lips and the sweep of your tongue. He tastes good to your surprise, and then you’re creating a pool of spit that trickles from his abdomen to his balls.

Messy girl. “Christ, Y/N.”

You release him with an erotic pop! — there’s stringy saliva connecting you to the crown of his cock, your throat is raw, his dick impatient, twitchy and excited. “You wanna fuck me so bad, you can’t even think straight. Look at my hand right now, look how tiny it looks when I hold you…” You grind yourself against his knee, groaning with him as you quicken your pace. Your brows furrow, a wicked grin ghosting itself over your features. “Baby, are you going to cum already?”

“Y/N, don’t s-stop. I’m beggin’ you, please…”

“Oh, you’re begging? This is what you call begging?”

“Please, s’too hard.”

“Too hard? What’s too hard? Me not letting you cum, or…” You give him one good jerk, twisting your fist so that your thumb brushes over his white-coated tip. “… your cock? Because you’re awfully, awfully rock hard right now. I bet it hurts doesn’t it, my love?” My love. His eyes gloss over. Your mouth hugs the shell of his ear. “You wanna cum?”

“Y-Yes…” He near-whimpers. Desperate. “Wanna cum so badly.”

“No.”

You release him for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. His climax dwindles back to square one, and his leg thrashes out in dismay. There’s sweat beading down your forehead, drops forming on Eddie’s brow bone as he scowls at you.

You kiss him, almost like an apology, but Eddie can tell you’re not sorry. Far from it. You enjoy this, enjoy getting him off just to start over and make him beg. Is it so sick that he likes it? The more you stretch this interaction out, the more he gets to touch you. Like now, as you swing your knees on either side of him, his palm gingerly clasping the nape of your neck as he presses your face to his.

“Let me fuck you? Let me be inside?” He pleads, nudging his nose against yours in anguished yearning. He drags his hand over your cheek, enveloping your jaw with outstretched fingers. “Just wanna bury myself inside you and stay there. Don’t even wanna cum anymore, I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good, m’not pathetic like the other guys… wanna feel you jus’ dripping on me, Y/N.”

You don’t answer, just gasp into his parted mouth as you line each other up. The angry head of his cock catches on your swell, snagging your clit before his tip lodges itself inside you and he — quite literally — goes rigid. You curse, slowly sinking down his length until your pussy refuses to take more.

“You’re s-so big.”

Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking burst. “Sweetheart,” He pants, panicked and frenzied as you squeeze around him. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, arms thrown around his body as he tangles his slender fingers into your scalp and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest. “Sweetheart, I can feel every p-part of you… you’re so — fuck, just like that, you wet messy thing.” He whines, the curve of your ass coming down against his lap as you keenly bounce on his cock. He meets you with gentle thrusts, your cunt already milking him thin. “Look at you, fuck, you’re loving this.”

“E-Eddie…” Your tits are squished against his pecs, his necklace sandwiching itself between your damp skin. “More. More. Give it…”

“You can’t take it, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it. I can. It’s not enough, I’m telling you.” You rut your hips stubbornly, guiding his palms to your waist before he’s carefully rolling you onto your side and hiking your calf over the tender slope of his shoulder. “S’not nearly enough, Eds.”

“Okay.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply as he slips himself deeper inside you. The stretch stings harshly, flashes of white prickling at the cones of your vision as he splits you raw and wide open. “Is this enough? You fuckin’… god, you perfect whore…” Your spine tingles as Eddie tugs you closer by the hip, ramming himself into you relentlessly. “… such perfect tits, a perfect leaky cunt…” He presses a kiss to your ankle, before flipping you onto your knees so that he can fuck you from behind. He wants to see you, see you flutter for him, feed his sick thoughts and relive the nights where he jerked himself off in this very van in empty parking lots to the idea of you. “… and this perfect ass… another hole waiting to be used, right, Y/N? You’d let me use it, wouldn’t you? If I’m nice enough, I bet you’d let me fuck it…”

Fucking hell.

You cum as soon as he dips the pad of his thumb against the responsive ring of muscle. You both grow feral at the sensation. Soaked. Pussy chafed raw from his cock. You can’t tell whose fluids are whose, if it’s Eddie’s spit or yours, if it’s your juices or his — the embarrassing manner in which your cunt just sucks him in, the tight walls of your ass fluttering around his gentle finger as he drives into you.

How is the van still upright? Eddie doesn’t know.

He’s an Ozzy clusterfuck of strangled, broken sounds and you’re a broken record player of Eddie-Eddie-Eds-Please, I’m cumming!

He doesn’t stop. Even when you’re shaking and bent-half in now missionary, he sheathes himself inside you till his pelvic bone is crushed to your body. “You feel so good, I’m sorry… I can’t — can’t stop, baby…”

“Don’t. Don’t stop, it’s a-alright.” You heave out, interlocking fingers as his glistening cock disappears into your used cunt. “It’s a l-lot, but it’s okay.” Eddie’s body engulfs you, your heels digging into the dimples in his lower back as he pounds into you. “You’re such a good — good boy, fuck…”

“Yeah?” He bites your throat. “Say.” The under-swell of your boob. “It.” Your arm. “Again.”

“Good boy. Such a good boy, fucking me the way I deserve.”

“Fucking you like you’re a slut.”

“Fucking me like I’m not the girl next door…” You chuckle, breathy and airy before he knocks the wind right out of you. “The whole town is gonna call me a w-whore for once.”

“Suits you better.”

You swear your soul leaves your body. You’re dying. You are dead, nearly limp in his fumbling boyish hands as he cradles your head against his chest and wipes the sweat from your eyes like he loves you. His balls slap against your loosened rim, his thumb putting pressure on your clit until you’re frantically pushing him away.

“I can’t cum again. I can’t.” You sob in pleasure, clawing at his tattoos as if they could save you from his insatiable hunger. “Eddie!”

“Need it, need your cum again, Y/N.” Eddie growls, thrusts stuttering and cock pulsating wildly before he’s spitting onto your sex as if you needed to be any more wet. “I-I think you’re so… so fucking cool, you’re just… you’re too good for me, but I fucking adore you.”

I adore you.

You can’t even talk anymore, vocal chords ripped right out of your throat as your stomach cramps, cramps, cramps and then drops to a low point. Crashing. Flatlining. Clenching hopelessly.

You nearly choke Eddie as a hand flies out to touch him, pulling him close as your walls trap him for a second time. Only now, he’s locked in tight, unable to move, unable to go anywhere and he fucking cums immediately because it’s just too inviting. You feel him seeping out of you, painting your holes with his sticky cum as he stills there like a good boy. He grunts against your lips, kissing you poorly as his orgasm eats him alive.

He’s milked. Spent.

Eddie collapses on top of you, one leg jutted straight and the other bent as he embraces you close with his whole weight resting on your frame. How can he already miss something he just had? Gaining your strength, you kiss down his shoulder, fingertips swirling over muscle and scar tissue and ink as the smell of him floors you.

It’s so Eddie. Woody, earthy, with a spicy fresh top note reminiscent of oak moss and a hint of gasoline, dry cedar and herbs. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He’s drenched in the girlish smell of sex, sweat and salty but you’re eager to taste him anyways.

My good boy, you think.

“Are you okay?” Your voice comes out raspy and winded, almost sickly but Eddie knows it's a good-sick.

“Yes, yeah. I just… need a sec.”

“Hm, don’t take too long, Munson.” Shit. Is this over already? Just like that? “Might get wet again.”

Oh. It’s a joke.

And he laughs, wheezy and exhausted as he irritatedly tugs his own hair out of his mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, ma’am.” He leans back on his hinges to properly look at you, your cheeks rubbed red-raw from his teeth and your abused, achy cunt still stuffed full of his prick. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.”

“Barely.”

“Barely.” You repeat heartily, shaking your head at him with a look of bewilderment. “S’gonna hurt when you pull out, you know.”

“Are you telling me to stay here forever?”

“If you admit that you like The Cure, then yes…” You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against his wrist. “… I’ll let you stay there forever.”

Forever. You both push down the giddy, cheesy smiles that threaten to spread across your faces.

“Never. Never ever.” Eddie chuckles. When he tenderly and patiently pulls out, a wet rush slowly floods out of you, his fingers frantically plug you shut — his thick, translucent cum dripping from his knuckles as he selfishly fucks his hot spill back into you like the perv he is. “But that can stay there forever.”

A freak, but not in the way Hawkins thinks.

You melt at the feeling, limbs spasming awkwardly as he spreads himself over your pussy distractedly. His eyes are so goddamn soft, kind, attentive — even when he’s pushing some of it into your poor asshole, he’s still the sweetest guy you’ve ever hooked up with.

He kisses your clit before he lovingly hikes your panties up your legs.

Fucker.

“Did I ruin you, sweetheart? Awfully quiet.”

You scoff, shimmying into your shorts and camisole as Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers. “Just wondering how you expect me to climb back into my window after all that.”

“Who said anything about climbing…” He laughs boisterously, leaning over and fixing the strap of your bra. “What do you say I walk you to the porch, ring that bell and introduce myself to mom and pop?”

You stare at him like he’s crazy.

“Absolutely not, Eddie Munson.”

He finds himself liking the suburbs a lot more.

Only this time, he doesn’t imagine himself surrounded by picket fences and golden retrievers, mailboxes with his last name painted in unreadable cursive or having to mow his front lawn at seven in the fucking morning.

Eddie doesn’t need to when Hawkins’ slice of paradise is just next door.

And he gets to taste it every fucking day and night.

So, fuck it. He’ll climb your window so you don’t have to wobble back to your house with his cum dripping down your leg. He’s a gentleman, railing you in the abandoned parking lot of Starcourt because you can’t handle the embarrassment of getting caught by someone at home. He’ll cover your mouth in the shed in your backyard so the neighbors don’t complain about the howling coyotes that have gone loose in the neighborhood.

God forbid they have coyotes, right?

But really, they should be worrying about the devastatingly gorgeous girl next door and her favorite, good boy with a dwindling hatred for The Cure.

Even though, the album is growing on him.

He’ll never admit that, though.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things season 4

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rockettothestars222 · 3 months

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Mama’s Boy

Summary : During a bonding activity at the hotel, parents get brought up. Everyone seemed okay with talking a little about their parentage, but Alastor was off put by the topic. He didn’t think anyone would notice the way his smile strained, or that anyone would care when he slipped away, but you did. You cared. And you wanted to help him, even if he didn’t want to accept it.

Tags : GenderNeutral!reader, reader is shorter than Al, soft!Alastor, sorta, fluff, hurt/comfort, Alastor misses his mom, Alastor needs a hug, Alastor is losing it

Notes : Lots of people seemed to enjoy my interpretation of soft Alastor in my last oneshot, so here’s another one! I heart Alastor sm. Enjoy!

Word Count : 2.3k

——————

“Well you know! When your dad is the king of Hell, it complicates things sometimes, and with as long as my mom has been gone—” Charlie’s voice grows distant as you lose focus. It’s not that you don’t care, you’ve all just been talking about your parents for a good hour and a half. It started with a bonding exercise Charlie had decided would be fun. It started with talking about who people who meant a lot to you, and when Husk mentioned his father, everyone began to add on.

You looked around at everyone’s faces, and everyone seemed content with the conversation. Charlie was droning on about her familial issues, Angel had talked about his mother beforehand, and even Pentious mentioned some fond memories of his parents. But Alastor had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole experience.

Your gaze finally falls on The Radio Demon himself, an uncomfortable and awkward posture taking its hold on him. He was standing straighter than usual, his grin that was as consistent as he was creepy was now fairly strained, as his eyes darted, trying to look at anything but the company he surrounded himself with. Your brows furrowed as you stared, though you tried to make it not so obvious. His shoulders sunk for a moment as you watched him suck in a breath, readjusting to his normal position and finally breaking his silence.

“You’ll all have to excuse me for a moment, I have some business to attend to!” His preppy voice cut through Charlie’s dialogue as the focus in the room catches on him. His eyes finally find someone to land on. You! Oh, he’s looking at you. You blink as his gaze narrows, turning on his heels as the rest of the room murmurs goodbyes. Your eyes followed his path, watching him disappear further into the hotel.

“I didn’t think we had anything else on the agenda today,” Vaggie glances to her girlfriend, looking for some sort of explanation for the overlord’s odd behavior. You cast a glance Charlie’s way as well, curious, but you were met with a shrug and an absentminded smile.

“Must be personal errands or something! We can keep going with the activity,” she motions to you with her hand, encouraging you to speak about your own experiences. Your lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes drifted back to the spot where Alastor had once stood. You had an itching sensation in your brain that you had a hunch wouldn’t fade unless you figured out what was going on.

You and Alastor were close, to some extent. He spoke to you more openly than any of the others at the hotel. And you were the same with him. But one thing he would never talk about was his life before Hell. It was a mystery. Like a locked vault that’s code was long gone. But you longed to grow closer to him. You’d be lying if you said your feelings toward the demon hadn’t begun to bubble into something more, but now wasn’t the time to process that. You had more interesting things to think about.

After a long beat of silence, you stood up.

“Sorry Charlie, but I gotta use the bathroom, I’ll be back in a bit!” You assure with a toothy grin and a thumbs up. The princess could only giggle, nodding at you and ushering to go take care of your ‘business.’

You hurried off in the direction Alastor had gone, going through a list of places he’d likely be in your head. Kitchen? No, he’d gone the opposite direction. Radio tower? He only went up there to broadcast. Library? Hotel doesn’t have one of those. You frowned. He’d like one though, you were sure of it.

His room.

It was the only other logical place to check in the hotel. You picked up your pace, his room was on one of the higher floors of the hotel. Finally reaching the elevator, you hesitate. Alastor wasn’t a vulnerable person. If something was wrong, would he tell you? You pressed the button for the elevator, despite doubt eating at the inside of your stomach. Stepping onto the dinky machine, you pressed the button for the floor you needed, taking a breath in and out. You needed to know what was going on with him.

The elevator hummed to life as it hoisted you upwards, an awkward silence falling over you, despite there being no one else in the machine. It dinged as you hit your desired floor, and you sighed, happy to be off of the unreliable thing. You continued your journey to The Radio Demon’s room, you face beginning to sour as you realized how unrealistic you were being. Al would never admit to you what was wrong. You knew that. Why were you trying?

As you reached his door, you stared up at it. A deer skull was etched into the red wood, a golden knob flourishing in the flickering lights of the hotel. You couldn’t give up on him. You’d gone through a lot to try and get close with Alastor. You couldn’t throw that effort away because of doubt. How idiotic would that be?

Without much thought, you placed your hand on that beautiful golden knob, slowly turning it, trying to be as quiet as possible. The door slowly swung open, not so much as a creak coming from its hinges. You made a mental note to ask him how he got his door to be so quiet when all this was over, gently closing the door behind you. Sat on his bed, hunched over and face in his hands was The Radio Demon himself. Your eyes scanned the room as you tried your absolute best to not loudly question how he had a SWAMP in his room. Now wasn’t the time.

You walked into his room, approaching the deer-like demon in silence. You could hear muffled sniffles from under his hands, and he seemed far too lost in his own thoughts to pay your presence any mind. You, with slight hesitation, placed your hand on his shoulder. His body stiffened as his fingers parted slightly, his red eyes peering up at you through his lashes.

“Alastor, are you—”

A black tendril wrapping around your arm and pushing you back put a hold on your sentence. You stumbled backwards, barely catching yourself as you looked Alastor. He stood up, fast, tear stains brandishing his cheeks as his smile, that was somehow still there, strained into what was the closest thing to frowning he may be capable of. His neck bent wildly, his body growing larger in size as his eyes turned a shadowy black.

“GET OUT.” His voice was crackled with radio static, his teeth glued shut as his spoke through them like he was, well, a radio.

You’d never wanted to run away more than in that moment. This had gotten intense VERY quickly, and it was a bit frightening. But as your neck craned up and your eyes met his, and you’d never been met with such sadness.

“I can’t. Not until you talk to me, Alastor,” your words were firm, but your eyes were soft. Full of compassion. He shook his head, eyes squinting shut.

“You want me to talk to YOU? Why are you even trying to pretend to care?!” Alastor’s voice cracked as he slammed his fists onto the ground, the floor shuddering beneath him. You stepped closer, your eyes pleading silently that he’d hear you. Not just listen to your words, but comprehend them.

“I’m not trying to pretend anything. But I could tell you were upset earlier, and it’s obvious that you are now! I just want to be here for you! I want to understand!” Your voice rose in volume as you stood your ground, not faltering even this slightest bit. An almost animalistic growl left The Radio Demon’s throat as he moved closer to you.

“You truly want me to believe you’d ‘understand?!’ My mother was the ONLY person I had when I was alive, she was the only one that was there for me! The only one I’d ever DARE let myself be vulnerable around because she would NEVER hurt me,” Alastor’s hands clutched his head, his fingers tangling in his hair as his eye twitched. You listened with a solace look upon your face, narrowing your eyes at him with pity creasing your brow. “And NOW look at me. A demon. A MONSTER. I’ve ended countless lives, she was a saint among the living, and I am a HELLSPAWN. What would,” he collapsed to his knees, arms falling limp to his sides as he returned to his natural form, his voice falling quiet. “What would she think of me now? Her precious pride and joy. A murderer. She would be disgusted by me. Does it even matter? I’ll never see her again. She died long before I did. And now I’m here. Alone.”

Silence fell over the room as Alastor’s chest heaved, tears streaking his face once again. You waiting a moment before approaching him, kneeling down in front of the taller man. You gently, somewhat hesitantly, took his cheek in your hand, tilting his head to make him look at you. Your eyes scanned his face, eyeing that never ending smile. Your lips tugged upward as your thumb caressed his cheek, making a moment of contact with the corner of his lips.

“I bet your mom misses that smile,” his ears pinned down to the sides of his head, Alastor’s trembling hand covered your own, his smile tugging tighter as he leaned into your touch. “You’re not alone, Alastor.”

He fell into you, and your eyes widened in surprise. His head buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his tears coating your skin and shirt. His arms wrapped around your torso, his claws were surprisingly gentle. Almost like he was being cautious. You moved from your knees to your butt with a quiet thump, pulling his body closer to yours. One of your arms wrapped tightly around the lower half of his torso, the other around his shoulders, your hand combing through his soft hair.

Alastor’s face was warm against your skin, you could hear every sniffle, feel every shudder as soft sobs wracked his body. Sometimes, being in Hell made you forget, every person you met down here was once innocent. They were once alive, vulnerable, and just someone trying to find their place in the world. Big bad overlords like the on you were cradling in your arms were once human. They all were someone’s pride and joy, someone’s baby, someone’s entire reason to keep living. Despite what they’d become, they once were soft and pure, nothing is born evil. And times like this made you remember that.

After a good few minutes of The Radio Demon crying into your shoulder, he’d finally calmed, now just sitting in that same position, holding you close, a small sniffle every once in a while. You’d been lulling soft words into his ear, your best attempt to relax him. Slowly, Alastor picked his head up, straightening himself to sit sort-of-in-front-of-you, your legs were a little tangled due to the way you’d both been sitting for the past while. He looked into your eyes, his hands were gently fiddling with the fabric of your shirt as he averted his gaze.

“This was. A relieving experience,” he admits, his smile small but seemingly genuine. His face was tear stained, there were light bags under his eyes, but all and all, he seemed a lot lighter.

“Good. That’s,, that’s good. I’m glad,” you gave a lopsided grin, moving your hands to caress his arms. “Seemed like you might’ve needed that.”

“I suppose I did,” he returned the motion, his hands falling to your hips, though loosely.

This was the most physically affectionate you’d ever seen Alastor. He, generally speaking, didn’t like much contact. The most people would get from him is a simple handshake or pinch of the cheek, maybe an arm around the shoulder, but it was almost always in a condescending way. But this was very different. It was softer, more intimate. You felt almost privileged to see this side of him.

“I meant what I said,” you break the string of comfortable silence. Alastor tilted his head, expecting some elaboration. “About wanting to be here for you. Whenever you need it, I’m always there.”

“I know you did, my dear. I would like to. Hm,” a pause. “I’m sorry. For snapping at you. It’s hard to be open when we are quite literally in Hell. I should’ve known better than to think you’d ever try to use this against me. You’d never do that, would you?” His grip on your hips tightened slightly. A warning. But also, a plead.

“Of course not, I’d never even think of it,” you gave his arms a reassuring squeeze, and his grip on you loosened. You could only smile, pulling yourself closer to him and placing your forehead against his. Alastor rolled his eyes though when they fell back to you, his whole expression softened. This was a tender moment, and wasn’t one that you’d likely ever get again.

You admired him for a short moment, allowing silly thoughts of romance and companionship dance in your head. Alastor, The Radio Demon, with a lowlife sinner like you? It would be unprecedented. And yet, you couldn’t help but let the softness of this moment cloud your judgement. You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth Alastor tensed. As you pulled away, you could see a very obvious blush across his face.

“Sorry,” you murmur with a smile, pulling away completely, withdrawing all contact. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Before he could reply, you gave a gentle pat on his head, and then walked out of his room. The overlord could only blink, watching you disappear. His heart fluttered with excited jitters as he stood, dusting himself off. He may just have to come to you with his issues more often.

#fanfic #writing #hazbin hotel #rockettothestars222 #reqs open #requests #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #comfort #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin husk

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xveenusx · 6 months

Text

Guilty

Paring(s): JJ maybank x fem!reader

Summary: it didn't matter that she did everything for him. it didn't matter that she loved him. insecurities ruin a great thing, love can't fix these problems

Authors note: angsty angsty angsty, bad JJ

Song rec: grave by tate mccrae

Part 2: Wanted

Perfect.

Everything had to be perfect.

The perfect dress. The perfect makeup. The perfect boy.

The past several days were borderline catastrophic with JJ getting arrested for sinking Topper’s boat. I begged and pleaded with my parents to help me get him out, promising them anything they wanted. They asked for the one thing I couldn’t give them. JJ.

And yet, I said yes. I said yes because the thought of him sitting in a cell all alone, stuck with nothing but his thoughts made my stomach turn. He’s always thought that nobody needed him. Maybe that was something his drunken father drilled into him but it was far from the truth. I needed him.

Everything had spun out of control and it all started the minute I met JJ Maybank. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Being with him was like walking for the first time. Nerve wracking yet exhilarating--freeing.

My life before him was just that, a life. Everything revolved around being the perfect little daughter to my parents. Debutantes, charity dinners, polo matches, and country clubs filled my schedule to the brim but they were rarely there. My mother was running a successful fashion line, working on her latest release while my father was a shark in the courtroom. While I loved every second of splurging on clothes, lavish trips to Europe, brunch at my favorite restaurant, I was missing something. I always felt like something was missing in a world where I had everything.

That’s not to say I’m ungrateful for every opportunity my position and family has afforded me. But when you spend enough time with people you realize are only conversing with you for money or to step on you to increase their social capital, nothing seems genuine.

Everything interaction was superficial and it became isolating. But with JJ, each and every moment we shared was intimate and unfeigned.

He taught me how to surf the swells he spent hours in daily. I learned the slight touch of hand in the art of being a mild kleptomaniac. After several failed attempts and many loud complaints, I could finally balance on his dirt bike.

None of these moments could be bought with money and maybe that’s why I cherished them so much. I cherished them so greatly that I refused to let them go.

And in turn, I couldn’t let him go. Despite the ever growing distance that's wedged itself between us the moment he was released from jail. Maybe it was a pride thing, or maybe it could have been the condescending jabs my dad threw his way, but JJ had pulled away.

My father's threats to revoke the bail money hung heavy above our heads. So tonight, I was going to try and change that. I needed to bridge the gap that had us so far apart. Midsummers was how I was going to achieve that.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it for several seconds to calm my racing heart. I open them slowly, dragging my gaze along my reflection on the floor length mirror at the entrance to the club. A silky number drapes my dainty figure in the softest brush of yellow with threaded pearls as straps. Ivory satin Jimmy Choo heels from their latest collection decorated my feet.

The familiar rumble of a truck had a grin pulling at the corners of my lips. My parents were somewhere in the building, having been on the board and needed to sign off on some last minute details.

I didn’t mind the constant abandonment. The loneliness that once clung to me had slowly evaporated the moment JJ entered my world.

Grabbing my Chrsitian Dior clutch, I headed for the entrance of the Island Club. A familiar mass of shaggy blonde hair had my feet moving quicker. The minute his face came into view I knew something was wrong.

His lips were tight in a grim line as he continuously shook his head. I quickened my steps, apologizing swiftly to several people who were trying to get my attention.

“I’m sorry, sir. Are you a member here?”

“Well, no, but my girlfriend-.”

“Then I’m afraid you're going to have to turn back around. This is a private club.”

“Listen dude, my girlfriend invited me and-”

“Sir, you need to get back into your vehicle before I call security.” The coordinator, who went by Ryan, dismissed JJ without a second glance.

JJ’s eyes narrowed. “If you’d let me speak-”

“This is private property.”

“Bro, calm down. You’re not protecting the president.” JJ huffed, shoving his hands into his pocket. His cheeks tinted a slight red which had my blood boiling.

He was person. Period. One that didn't deserve to be treated like that especially in such a public setting. I was livid at the thought of Ryan managing to make JJ feel embarrassed.

“You’re not a member-”

“No, but I am.” I snapped coming to a stop beside him, causing the event coordinator to rear his head back in surprise.

“Hey, baby. ” The familiar pull of his voice coated me like the warmest honey. A smirk tugged at his lips at the obvious irritation on my face.

Pausing to give JJ my attention, I placed a soft kiss on his lips and pushed back a wild strand of blonde hair. “Hi.”

The smile he gave me was like a sudden beam of light that hit me square in the chest.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t realize he was with you-”

“Add JJ Maybank to my member account,” My words were sharp and left little room for argument, though they were dripping with the sickeningly sweet tone I mastered at the young age of twelve. “Consider yourself up to date.”

“I’ll get it done.” With that, Ryan tipped his head and left quickly.

I bristled once more, muttering under my breath, ”Dick.” My chest was heavy with guilt at his treatment, wondering if this was actually a good idea. I gnawed at my bottom lip nervously.

This was not how I wanted our night to start.

“I’ve never been a member before.”

Not bothering to conceal my giggle, I turned around and allowed my eyes to drift over every inch of JJ. The black suit I bought him was fitted and hugged every muscle in a way that had my stomach clenching.

Sun kissed hands reached for me the moment I was within his reach. My arms wrap around the mass of lean muscles, my nose buried in his neck. Taking a deep breath, salt and sex wax filled my senses and I let myself relax.

Home. He felt like home.

“You look very handsome.”

A rumble left his chest. “My sugar mama bought it for me.”

Hiding my face in his chest, a loud laugh slipped past my lips. JJ shushed me almost immediately, “People are looking. We can’t have them thinking we’re together.”

I pulled away, trying to keep a straight face at his antics. “We are together.”

“Shit, we are?” He held out his hand, amusement and mischief dancing in his eyes. “My sugar mama can’t find out or she’ll cut me off.”

How could I not love him when he made me laugh so hard my stomach hurt?

I hit his arm with my purse in mock outrage before taking his hand while his other touched my bare back. The feel of his rough calloused hands from all his hard work has me suck in a breath. Those rough hard hands knew my body intimately, inside and out.

“Do that again and I’m finding the nearest bathroom.” JJ leaned down, his lips brushing against the top of my ear.

A clearing of the throat had us both turning our heads. My father stood there with a stoic face, his eyes promising retribution later.

Looking at my father directly in the eye, I place my arm in the crook of his, lacing us together.

“I see you brought a friend.” The last word is spoken with clear disdain.

My grip on JJ’s arm tightened. “I brought my boyfriend.”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

As if they’d actually be home, I thought but decided to keep that to myself.

Deciding that this entire conversation was pointless, I was dragging JJ away from the pair when my father grabbed JJ, whispering something in his ear.

My stomach shrunk and apprehension filled me as the light look of JJ’s face fell, replaced with a flat look and hardened eyes.

“Duly noted, sir.” His mouth curled in a sarcastic snark.

I shot my father a disappointed look. Curling myself into JJ’s side, my arm wrapped around his waist and I tugged us into the party. “Ignore him, please.”

“Already forgotten, princess.”

My eyes watch his face for any sign of distress, but find nothing. Guilt ebbed aways at my walls.

“Let’s go find Mr. Adams. He owns a chain of surf shops. I’m sure if we schmooze him, we can get you a solid job or maybe even a board.” I tossed him a wink that had him grinning.

“I like the way you think. Lead the way, gorgeous.”

Despite his hand on my back, all the warmth we had a mere moments ago was gone. I couldn’t help but notice the small distance he kept between us. One that didn’t exist until my father opened his mouth.

Several hours later, the sun had begun to set and a cool breeze now caressed my bare back. I embraced the cool breeze due to the several glasses of champagne I had.

Despite my love for the warm buzz it gave me, it did little for my bladder. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes widened in alarm. “You can’t leave me here with these people.”

I smothered my laugh with my hand. “Did you want to come with me?”

“To the bathroom? Kinky, I’m in.” JJ responded, clutching my hand in his before expertly pulling us through the crowd.

Nothing could peel off the cheesy smile that bore my face. Despite the slight hiccup at the beginning of the night, JJ charmed most of the members with his charm and humor. I was hoping with some networking, I could help JJ get some security. I believed he was capable of doing just about anything. He had such determination and never let failure keep him down.

JJ knew how to hussle and I wanted everyone to see his potential, even if at times he didn’t see it himself.

My heels clicked along the granite floor, our hands swinging in the air. A shriek escaped my lips as JJ twirls me around, my dress swishing around my ankles. “Gorgeous.” He puffed out his cheeks, his gaze boring into mine.

Our matching grins were nothing short of radiant. Being with him was easy in a world filled with difficult people.

“Well this is disgusting.”

JJ went rigid. That wouldn’t have concerned me if he hadn’t muttered panicked curses under his breath. “If someone says one more thing to me..”

JJ never let Rafe intimidate him before but for some reason JJ seemed a little more hesitant with this exchange. Realization dawned on me. The boat. Fuck.

I let my hands fall while rolling my eyes and turning to face Rafe. There he stood in all his stuck up glory, not a hair out of place and his suit neatly pressed. He looked every bit of a country member as one could possibly be with the light blue suit paired with a white undershirt and blue bow tie, brown dress shoes on his feet.

“Don’t you have another line to snort?” I asked.

Sure, Rafe was conventionally attractive, if you didn’t pay attention to the blown pupils and the constant brush of his nose or the foggy look in his eyes.

JJ snickered beside me, his hand softly tapping my ass twice in support.

“JJ, go get me a drink.” Rafe cocked his head.

“I’m actually a member here now.” JJ responded, his hand caressed my cheek softly.

Shocked painted Rafe��s face. “That’s not poss-”

Kelce and Topper stood beside him, both in colored pressed suits as well. They kind of looked like the-”You powerpuff girls have fun.” JJ said with a crooked smile and a tip of the hat.

He seized me by the wrist and strode over to the exit. Relief at his plan to avoid a fight was fleeting at Rafe’s next words.

“If I knew a trailer home and food stamps was all it took for you to open your legs, I would have tried a long time ago.”

JJ jerked around in seconds, ripping out of my grip. He stalked towards Rafe, drawing his arm back before connecting with his jaw.

A shout passed my lips, my hands covering my mouth in horror as JJ struck Rafe twice more, one blow hitting him directly on the nose. Blood began to gush out of Rafe’s nose, staining his dress shirt a deep crimson. “Say that shit again. Say it.”

Rafe let out a mirthless laugh, his lips pulled at the sides revealing his red stained teeth. “Once a pogue, always a pogue. Isn’t that right, JJ?”

Kelce jumped into action, his arm wrapping around JJ’s neck, pulling him off a Rafe into an effective headlock. That’s when I noticed two more hulking figures and suddenly we were surrounded.

“Five on one, Rafe? Really?” JJ choked out, tugging at Kelce’s arm.

Without thinking, I walked behind Kelce and slammed the metal clasp of the bag against the side of his head. Once. Twice. Three times. “Let go of him!”

Kelce let out a yelp and jerked back, causing his grip on JJ to loosen just enough for him to get free. I went towards him in an instant, but he pushed me behind him as he surveyed the remaining men in front of us.

Whispers dragged my attention from the scene in front of me as I locked eyes with several members who had poked their heads into the locker area. Shit, this really wasn’t good. I needed to get JJ out of here as soon as possible. I didn’t want to give my father any more ammunition against him.

Clutching his arm, I tugged him once more towards the exit. I could hear more activity outside the locker room which had me pulling at him harder. I wasn’t going to let Rafe make him look bad in front of all these influential people. Over my dead body.

“People are coming. We have to go.”

His chest rose and fell with quick breaths, his steele blue gaze not leaving Rafe’s.

“I’m serious. For me, JJ, please?” My final plea seemed to have pulled him out of his angry haze. Without wasting a second, he let me pull him further and further away from the group. Lacing his hand in mine, I made quick work of fixing his suit and his hair, pressing soft kisses as I went.

“Whenever you’re done slumming it, you know where I am.” Rafe called out from behind us, earning us enough leers from fellow members.

He tore his hand from mine. “Fuck this.”

Apprehension coursed through me.

I could feel the storm brewing with each step he took. I trailed behind, my small steps nothing to his long strides. Rafe hit a nerve. One that JJ refused to acknowledge and let fester for months now. It was the elephant in the room any time I offered to pay anything at all. It bothered him, all the money my family had.

“Ignore him, Jayj.” I called out from behind him but his steps never faltered. “Rafe was just trying to get a reaction out of you.”

I could hear the soft melody of the music drifting over the wind from the party that was supposed to fix all our problems. Perhaps I was sticking a bandaid on a gaping wound.

His shoulders were tense as he stopped a couple feet in front of me, shaking his head. Nerves had my stomach in knots. I only had one shot at trying to fix this. Feelings were never JJ’s thing. He spent months fighting our attraction before he finally gave in. Dating a Kook was never something JJ considered.

Unfortunately, it was something others thought as well because they never failed to remind him. My father included.

So here we are. JJ was backed into a corner and like any wounded animal, he had two choices. He could concede or attack and I knew JJ like the back of my hand. He would never give up, so instead he’d go for the throat.

Too bad it was my throat he went for.

“I understand-” I stopped speaking the moment JJ whipped around, his eyes cutting me deeply.

“You don’t.” I didn’t respond. My eyes lingered on his busted lip and bruised chiseled face. “You don’t understand so please don’t try to make me feel better by pretending that you do.”

I pursed my lips. JJ was right, I didn’t understand what it was like to be in his position, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. That I didn’t want to take away every ounce of pain if it meant he would be happy.

“You’re right. But Jayj, it’s Rafe.” I argued softly, not wanting to draw attention to us. “He always says shit like that to rile you up but you’ve never let it bother you before. Why now?”

JJ’s face flushed. “Because he’s fucking right. That’s why it bothers me.”

My lips wobbled and I pressed them together. I had gone out of my way to ensure he’d never feel this way. I guess I failed.

I moved closer, my steps unsure and clumsy. “You never said anything.”

My hand rested against his chest, and I could feel the familiar pounding of his heart.

“That’s nothing new.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug.

That did little to ease the emotional storm brewing within me. Every interaction since he was little was nothing short of violent and negligent.

He wasn’t used to softness and kindness. We were trying to navigate in uncharted waters but we’re thrown off the boat every time the water got choppy.

“We can go. Let’s just go, baby. Let me just say bye to my parents-“

“Stop.” He demanded, his tone serve. So unlike JJ.

I dropped my hand and instead chose to focus on the sound of our breathing. I had to keep my head on straight, because I could tell he was already building up his wall so high, making his fortress impenetrable.

JJ had never had a consistent thing in his life and I’ll be damned if I let that happen to us.

Squaring my shoulders back, I faced his heated gaze head on. If he wanted an argument, he’d get one, but we’d both be leaving together.

I had no intention of going anywhere.

“Stop?” I echoed, raising my brow.

His eyes were as cold and hard as obsidian. “Yes, stop. How is leaving going to solve any of this?”

“You’re picking a fight with me for no reason. I’m not the one you’re mad at.”

JJ raked his fingers through the sun bleached golden strands causing them to fall along his forehead. “Maybe I am.”

My eyes widened at his words. What had I done? He’d shared every bit of his world with me and I only wanted to do the same.

Was that not what people do when they’re in love? Aren’t you supposed to share your interests with your partner and aren’t they supposed to want to know them?

“For what?”

He tugged at his shirt collar. “Why am I here?”

My brows furrowed in confusion. Why would he even ask that?

“Why am I here, at this Midsummer's bullshit?”

“Because I wanted you to be.” I smoothed out my hair to give my trembling hands something to do. “It’s something that matters to me, it’s not bullshit.”

I had spent months planning this party since my parents were on the board. I wanted everything to be perfect for them and for him. It all seemed silly now. A part of that stung deep in my soul. Bullshit was never a word I used to describe any of the interests he showed me, yet he so easily spouted it at me.

JJ stayed quiet but continued to fidget with the silver ring on his finger. I wanted to close the distance between us but didn’t know how.

“Don’t let Rafe of all people ruin this. His opinion means nothing.”

He lifted his chin. “It matters to your dad.”

I barely held back my wince. “He doesn’t get a say in who I date, JJ.”

“Oh, are we lying to each other now?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Are we going to pretend that you don’t care about what your parents think?”

I took a step back as though he hit me. “Stop talking before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Everything you do is to get their attention. You’d die without their approval.”

In a manner of speaking, he was right. My parents barely paid me an ounce of attention and it was hard not to think it had to do with me. There must have been something wrong with me for my parents to not want to spend time with me. I spent the majority of my life trying to live up to their expectations hoping to be the daughter they always wanted, but nothing worked. I couldn’t get them to love me.

And he threw it all in my face.

I stared at him with tears in my eyes, hurt and stricken.

At the sight of my tears, he looked away with his jaw clenched.

“Why are you with me?” He hissed, holding out his arms. “It’s not like I can take you to dinner in Paris or buy you the clothes you like so much.”

Insecurity was a cruel thing. It had the power to turn someone as confident and sure as JJ into a puddle of irate nerves. And as his insecurity continued to dig its hooks further into his skin, he continued to rip into me, piece by piece.

“Because I love you. Because you make me laugh.” My voice raised, my hands clenched into fists by my sides. “Where is this coming from?”

Anxiety wound its way up my throat clocking off my air.

“You’re fucking shoes are four grand. Do you know what I could do with four grand? I could get the power turned on in my house, or better yet, pay for the house.” The look he shot me had me wanting to be six feet under. He’d never looked at me like that before. He made me sound vapid and superficial. Like I didn’t spend most of my time on his side of the island.

The guilt I felt early came back tenfold. Guilt for my position. Guilt for the money my family had. Guilt for the things I enjoyed buying, both for him and myself.

Maybe I was just as bad as Rafe.

Pain sliced my chest as his gaze continued to penetrate me like bullets.

“The other side of the island is starving and everyone here is drinking champagne and gambling a mortgage for fun. It’s disgusting.” JJ began to pace, shaking his head in disbelief. “You had me kissing ass to all these people, and for what? A job? Stop trying to turn me into something that I’m not.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist. “That wasn’t what I was doing. I was trying to open doors for you so you had options. All I wanted was to help give you a fighting chance.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” The words continued to pelt at me, hitting my heart every time. The pressure in my chest only tightened further.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for the person you love?” My voice shook, matching the trembling of my body. “It never mattered before.”

I'd never been in love before him. I didn't have anything to compare it too since the most affection I get from my parents is a card on my birthday. I thought by doing everything they didn't do for me, supporting and comforting and physical touch, would somehow translate into love.

“Of course it mattered. You’re a fucking Kook.” The raw and angry words seeped into my veins, the audible crack of my heart echoing for all to hear.

My throat constricted. Enough, I couldn’t hear anymore. No, no, no. But JJ seemed to have other plans.

“I mean, I’m standing here in a custom Tom Ford whatever that could have fed me for months. I’m out of my element and it makes my skin fucking crawl. John B is getting sent to CPS and Pope is getting jumped and I’m here at some stupid dinner with the people that did it to him. What does that make me?”

My chest cracked open and my heart caved in. I finally saw the broken boy in front of me. Bruised and broken, completely uncomfortable and unsure of himself.

“Kiara’s a kook.”

“Kiara’s different and you know that.” It remained unsaid but I knew what he was referring to. Kie was a hippie rich chick who didn’t enjoy all the things I did: designer clothes, luxury dinners, expensive food. In other words, I was a self absorbed kook princess that didn’t care for those around me.

It didn’t matter that I spent most of the summer with JJ helping him fix homes in the cut. It didn’t matter that I donated to charities or helped send care kits to those on the cut after the hurricane. It didn’t matter that I spent almost all my free time with him and the pogues just as Kiara did.

To him, I represented everything he hated. It didn’t matter that I loved him so deeply I defied my parents. It didn’t matter that I upended my life and chose to be with him. He could never see past the money, something I had no control over.

I may have been standing in custom Christian Dior and Jimmy Choo, but I’ve never felt more cheap as JJ continued to cut me down with each word.

“Do you want me to apologize?” My pulse spiked as a burst of adrenaline had me spouting the truth. “I had just as much a choice of being born on figure eight than you did on the cut.”

He looked at me like he hated me. “I don’t know how we deluded ourselves into thinking this could ever work.”

“You don’t get to stand there and make me feel guilty for who I am. Just because I have money and like nice things, doesn’t make me an asshole. I’ve treated everyone in my life with kindness. Don't group me with them.”

JJ scoffs, pointing at the crowd on the dance floor. “Them? Them--means your parents, baby”.

“I’ve never treated you less than me.” It was a last ditch effort.

“At least I know what Kook pussy tastes like.” He went for the kill. “Money and daddy issues.”

I stilled. The world stilled. Vicious hurt curled its way into my soul, etching every bit of it until I no longer existed.

Like I said before, I had no intention of going anywhere. But, I guess to JJ, he always had one foot out the door.

I think I stopped breathing. I blinked at him, hoping cameras would pop out and the whole thing came out as a prank. But, no cameras appeared.

Just him and I stood, in a field, an arms length apart but a universe away.

“You don’t mean that.” The words came out strangled. “Take it back.”

He said nothing. I had to bring a fist to my mouth to try and block out the harsh sob that threatened to escape.

“JJ, please.” I begged, my hands catching his arm. “Let’s just go.”

His normal vibrant eyes regard me coldly, a muscle jumping his jaw. I was drowning in my emotions. Everything had escalated to a level I couldn’t fix, because he wouldn’t let me. The bathroom seemed forever ago in the scheme of things. I can see the battle in his eyes of whether to give into his self destructive behavior or to come back to me.

Any hope I had of him coming back to me dissolved in a matter of seconds. A security guard came up behind him, gripping JJ by the forearm and tugging us towards the front of the party. My eyes widened in horror as I realized they were going to parade him around in front of everyone which would just humiliate him more.

“Jeez Daryl, could you loosen up your grip,” JJ complained, attempting to jerk out of the large man’s grip. He didn’t so much as flinch at each of JJ’s gripes either.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snapped, "Let him go, Darryl."

Darryl shook his head and gave me an apologetic look. "No can do. Mr. Cameron complained."

JJ Scoffed. “I can let myself out. I have two legs.”

“JJ, please stop.”

“I appreciate the discretion, Daryl.”

He self-destructed right in front of me. JJ grabbed a drink off an unsuspecting member and chugged it down before tossing the glass on the floor.

In the end, JJ was always going to be JJ. I saw the moment he decided to destroy everything we had. It was a slight shift in his body and that penetrating gaze of his hardened into a cruel amusement. JJ shrugged my hand off his, before his eyes flitter across the crowd as though he's looking for someone. Then I watched as they landed on a familiar brunette.

“Hey, let him go. I’m a member of this club and I invited him.” Kie shouted at Darryl who paused for a brief moment. I could see her parents trying to discreetly get her to stop but Kiara refused. At the sound of her words, an appreciative grin tugged at JJ’s lips.

It didn’t matter that I had said the same thing hours ago. It didn’t matter that I not only defended him but made him a member. I liked shiny flashy things and she didn’t. Apparently, that made her better than me.

“Mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie.” He shouted, pointing at where she stood in front of her parent’s. “Pope, you as well, alright?”

I had a disposition for loving people too much, no matter how they treated me. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t care that I wasn’t presentable. I didn’t care that tears were falling down my face or that my hair was a mess. I didn’t want to be left behind. He promised.

“Let me come-”

Exasperation filled his features. "Take a fucking hint. You can go be with someone like Rafe now. You two deserve each other."

“Alright, Kie c’mon.” He didn’t spare me a second glance. I had to watch as Kie took off running towards him with Pope in tow. JJ held out his arms to catch her, arms she happily jumped into. John B lets out a humored shout while JJ spins Kiara around and they take off.

Leaving me all by myself. My parents nowhere in sight.

And suddenly everything hit me at once. My dress was too tight, my heels were pinching at the skin on my feet, the music was too loud, my hair was a mess. Nothing I did was right. Once again, I was left alone. Abandoned by the one person I thought would never leave. All because I loved him too much and he hated everything I couldn’t control.

I stood there, feeling like a silly little girl in a silly little dress I spent hours looking for, urging him to look back. He never did.

Authors note: I hope I hurt your feelings because I hurt my own writing this :) pls let me know what u think!!! I love hearing from you guys

Tagging my favs: @maybankslover @sipsthecoffee @alyisdead

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

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aphroditesmoon · 4 months

Text

lacrymosa [part 1]

clarisse la rue x fem!hecatecabin!reader [boarding school au]

PART 2

summary: you were sent to a prestigious boarding school to be rid from your father as a burden, but when strange things begins to happen upon your arrival, you wonder what truly lies behind the school walls. And as you attract attention from an infamous student, your plans to lie low is disrupted for the semester.

warnings: basically pjo plot in a different font, wlw relationships and what that entails, artist!reader. warnings will be according to the chapter.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: part 2 will hv more clarisse, also I've never been good at finishing series, but here's to an attempt! Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

The violent wind coming from outside of the car window sent a sharp shiver down your spine. You readjust your sitting position, pushing your school bag further away from you.

"Would you like to close the window, miss?" The driver asked, sparing a glance to your way. "No, it's fine." You assured him.

You have always liked the cold, it calms your nerves in a way. And for a day like this, you need all the help you can get.

Your father hadn't even been home to see you off for the last time. But you were kind of grateful for that. Usually you'd find it upsetting. But it was a clear decision that he purposely wanted you out of his line of vision when he had registered you into this boarding school.

Prestigious and highly acclaimed, he called it. Those were just polite words for strict and overbearing.

You have stopped wasting time trying to figure out why he hates you. Your mother dying from your birth was only the tip of the iceberg. Your whole existence is a burden to him, no matter how hard you've tried to change it.

I wonder if I'll even miss the hostility he's always given me, or the empty white walls of his mansions that have seen me at my worst and at my best. Those thoughts shouldn't matter anymore, you told yourself.

You've never been happy in that house, but familiarity, sometimes, was better than nothing. You fiddled with your crimson red tie that came with the uniform. What you could tell from the way you're dressed along with the down payment your father had to pay for you is that this place is an exaggerated babysitting place for rich kids with attitude problems.

You've been sent to many places away from your father. Summer camp, Spring camp, summer school and all that. But nothing this far away.

As per your research, the school seemed to be located far from the city and near the mountains up north. There are two buildings divided by gender that stands a few meters away from each other. Not that it'd be a problem for you. You've never been interested in boys much.

It was sunny earlier on the road, but the nearer you are to your destination, the cloudier the sky gets. "Looks like it's about to rain." You mumbled to yourself.

"That's normal here, miss. The weather here's always cold." The driver spoke from the front. You hadn't realized that he heard what you said.

It was a few minutes later when you finally see a large building from a distance. The view lived up to it's reputation even from a far. You feel your heart sinking into a stomach, the anxiety worsening.

This was it. This will be your home for the next 2 or 3 years.

Your driver speeds up once drizzling rain begins to fall down from the sky. You allow him to close the window from his seat and lower down the ac.

Feeling your fingers pruning up, you rub your palms together for warmth after reaching for your bag, pulling it closer to you.

The weather wasn't going to be a problem, and hopefully the people here won't be too.

---

When the car slowed down in front of the entrance, you let yourself take in the view of it all, girls ranging from your ages to younger, walking past of sitting by the stairs. All of them wearing the same thing that you are.

You didn't mean to make the driver open the door for you, but he did anyways as you're too distracted to stop him.

He moves straight to the back to retrieve your other bags as you step out of the vehicle. Some of the girls stopped and stared at you, knowing how rare it is to have new students here.

You couldn't tell what lies behind their long glares and gazes, but you had a feeling that they were eyeing you up like a predator does to their prey. Focusing on the large cream and white colored building staring you down, your heart whispered out a hopeful wish that you could just get back in the car and drive off.

You fix up your plaited skirt and turn towards your driver. "Do you need help to bring these in?" He asks.

You shook your head, immediately taking them into your hands. "No, I got it. But thank you." He smiled warmly as he shut the car hood close. "Have a great year, miss." He tells you politely before walking back to the driver's seat.

And that was the last familiar face you'll ever see for the rest of the semester. You lift up your hand in a tiny wave as you watch him reverse and drive off from the school ground.

You see him wave back before he finally disappears for good.

The staircase made it harder for you and your bags, and if you were expecting any kind eyes to offer some help, none came to it. Instead they all looked at you like you were stupid.

You counted the steps under your breath, stopping when you reached number 5, and then starting back again from 1. It was also an effort to keep your anxiety together, but at certain times like these, you wondered if breathing exercises are all lies made up by a psychiatrist to worsen someone symptom and continue to drive them crazy.

After a couple series of 1 to 5s, you finally made it to the top of the stairwell and into the open doors of the school.

If the rain outside hadn't been freezing your toes, inside was much more brutal. The school is air conditioned, of course it is.

When you said you liked cold, you didn't mean the frozen kind. The strawberry pink socks you're wearing aren't doing you any favors either as you breath out a tired sigh, full hands dragging your bags with you until you reach a tiny counter with the label "office" above the glass.

A teacher, or a guardian, sits inside, working on some paperwork. She looked up when she heard the rolling sound of the wheels on your bag and offered a small smile.

"You're new here, I take it?" You nodded your head and pursed your lips tightly. "Can I have your name?"

You gave her the information needed, from yoir name to your birth certificate. And once she's done compiling the necessary paperworks into a file, she stacks it in the shelves behind her.

"Here's your class schedule, and here's your dorm key." You slid the key onto your pocket and slipped the paper under your arms as you listened to her explaining how the dorm building is in a complete other side of this place, and that you'd have to drag your bags back down the lengthy staircase and walk another 6 minutes towards the other building on the left of the school. Not to be mistaken with the boy's dorms on the right.

You ignored the continuous staring from the other student as you forced yourself down again, and into the left.

The road to the dorm was nicely designed, a straightly drawn black and white concrete pavement in squares with grass on its side. It made the place look more homely. But of course, it wasn’t really gonna fool anyone.

The dragging became easier on the ground. You thanked the gods once you got to the other building once you spotted an elevator. Your first thought was, oh thank fuck for these rich assholes. And your second thought was, oh these are some real rich assholes.

There are less staring here since mostly everyone is already in school. You took your time walking once you're out of the elevator, reading the large signs of the dorm level names.

There are 20 levels to be accurate. And yours, unfortunately, is level 20.

You stood up straight in that elevator for what felt like a whole 10 minutes until it dinged open. Finding your room was much easier, you didn't have to walk very far to find your door. You used the key given to you to unlock the doors and pushed your bags into the room first before you.

You halted for a minute when you met with two strange girls from the inside.

Your roommates apparently have not gone to their classes yet and are still here. They looked at you expectantly as you stared right back.

"Uh-" your daydreams broke. "I'm new here." You announced.

One of the two laughed slightly and shook their head. "We know, we were waiting for you. I'm Harper, and this is Olivia." They extended their hands and you shook them without question.

"So, where'd you come from?" Olivia asks. She had beautiful green eyes and wavy blonde hair. Harper on the other hand, had dark hair and bold blue eyes. Next to each other, the two looks quite the pair. You began rearranging your bags on your side and taking out important things needed for your classes as you answer their inquiries. "New York."

"A city girl, that's nice. The difference here must be jarring." You snorted whilst you hang your clothes on to your small closet. "Very."

They walked out with you once you were done unpacking, leading you back to the school.

"The teachers won't mind you being late, with you being new and all that. But make a habit out of it and you'll get a penalty for it." Harper explained. "Penalty?"

They both nodded and kept on walking up towards the entrance. "Attendance is very important, this isn't public school, lying about health problems to get out of class or skip and disappear for more than 3 times, you could get expelled."

That is insane, you thought. "I didn't know they're that strict." Harper smirked and shrugged at that. "Yeah, I mean unless you're a legacy student, or your parents donate a lot for the school, you won't get many benefits."

Of course, even among the rich, the most privileged still get to escape justice and fairness. "Are you both legacy students?"

"No." Olivia snorted. "What's your locker number?" She takes a peek at your papers and moved right to your locker, opening it with ease.

"Thanks." You tell her while shoving your books inside of it.

"There aren't many legacy students here." Harper spoke from your side, referring back to your question from earlier.

"There are only certain families with histories deeply rooted within the school walls, like Luke Castellan or Silena.”

Your brows raises at those names as the three of you leaned back on the lockers. "Let me guess, they're brats who can get you expelled?"

"Worse." Olivia corrected with a sarcastic smile. "They can do whatever shit they want to you, and will not get expelled for it."

"But don't worry, half of them are decent, just don't piss them off and they'll leave you alone." You nod in understanding, knowing that it was your plan anyways, even if they hadn't warned you.

"Luke's not even entitled or mean, he's actually pretty nice. He helped me take out a book from the library once." Olivia added, wiggling her brows.

"You're just saying that because you like him." Harper scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Even if I didn't, he's still not an ass." The bell rang the minute her sentence was finished. The two girls groaned and started saying their goodbyes before they parted ways to attend their classes.

"Meet up back for lunch?" Harper initiates. "Sure." You told her before following her directions to pre Calculus.

Your brain still hadn't fully registered what just happened. You just made two new friends, and that is a relief. Though you enjoy your alone time along with some quiet and peace, that doesn't mean you don't get lonely or feel isolated. Having bad social skills doesn't exactly equate to joy wanting a social life at all.

You walk into the half filled classroom and scan the space for an empty seat.

Some kids up front started whispering to themselves as they watched you from the corner of their eyes, but none of them tried speaking to you directly.

You flinch when you heard the teacher's voice, booming through the classroom as she enters right behind you. "You're the new girl?" She drops her bag onto her chair and looked you directly in your eyes.

"Yes." The teacher hummed to herself and turned towards her other students. "Do we have any empty seats at the back?" She asks loudly.

"There's one, but it's Chase's." A boy responded. "He's not in today, is he?" He shook his head at her.

"Alright, you can sit there temporarily, I'll ask the boys to bring in an extra table and chair for you tomorrow." You thanked her and walked right to your seat.

Grateful to be seated at the last row by the window, you slumped against the chair, relaxing your back.

The kids at the front stop wasting their time twisting their heads to stare at you, and as the class begins, you tell yourself that maybe this isn't as bad as you thought it'd be.

Your first class ever had been less exciting than expected. You had spent the last 20 minutes of the class trying not to doze off.

Barely any sleep came to you last night, considering how nervous you were for this day. All the worries you've had were for nothing, so far it's all been a bore, and all you wanted to do was to crawl back on to your bed at home and escape all of this strangeness.

Get your shit together, you scolded yourself. You've been all alone your whole life, how different is it now?

The girl on the seat next to yours had craned her neck in your direction, trying to peek through your notebook. Instinctively, you closed over it with your arm.

She did not need to see how there are zero equations in your notebook, all replaced with doodles of flowers and frogs.

When all is hopeless, your passion is where you turn to. Life is suffering in parts, but you find that being able to make it into art, makes the suffering less painful, or at least, more manageable.

Your father had never liked how you prefer to spend your time in art class over piano. In fact, when you were much younger, he even took the initiative to throw out all of your sketchbook. You had to find time to practice your drawing when you aren't at home, knowing his ignorance for your privacy.

But here, hopefully, you'll have ample time to draw and paint.

Once the class is dismissed, you make your way straight into the bathroom, trying to get into a booth before it gets crowded. You caught a glimpse of your reflection from the mirror and cringed at yourself. For some reason, even when you're not doing anything, the school air still finds a way to turn your hair frizzy.

You ran into the small space with open doors and knocked it shut as soon as you're in.

You could hear footsteps entering in right after you're done peeing. A cacophony of running sink water and empty chatter fills your ears as you stood up to fix your skirt and your socks.

The zip of your skirt seemed to have an issue getting stuck on a piece of string, holding it back from fully zipping up. You lifted it up higher and pulled the string out before using your teeth to rip it off of the zip and waving it onto the floor.

There was a moment of silence outside the door just before you were going to exit it. But a loud sound of slamming doors and laughter stops you at your place.

"Lock the doors." You hear another female voice command. She was not shouting, but she had a bold voice that seemed fit for a leader, straight to the point and confident.

Any noise of giggling or chatting immediately died down the moment the girl and her friends stepped in, and now you wonder if getting out would be a good idea at all. So you stayed quiet inside the bathroom.

Your palms are held against the door while you lean into it, trying to hear her clearer.

"What did I tell you last week?" The girl spoke again. She sounded upset or the second worst thing, disappointed.

Another voice rose up in response, meeker in comparison. "You said to have it by Monday."

"It's Wednesday today."

"But I have it now!" The other girl pleaded. "I don't care. I asked for it on Monday, you're two days late." The silence that came after her words was worrying. It was only when she spoke again that you felt your racing heart slowing down.

"You know what you're gonna do right now?" She asks. Silence. "You're going to hand me the money, and then you're going to give me 20 on the ground, right here."

20 what? You frowned in confusion. Money?

You expected resistance, begging, or even defiance from the other girl, but you only heard a resigned sigh from the other side of the door.

The door creaked slightly. You tried to balance yourself away from it when you accidentally slipped. Your fingers reach for the door handle to pull yourself up, and just when you thought it couldn't get worse, the door slams back on its hinges. You cursed yourself internally.

"What the fuck." The first girl snapped. "Booth number 2." She called out. "Get out of there right now or I'll break the door now."

Your breath hitches at the direct interaction and your hands hesitate to unlock the booth. But you'd rather get it over with than risk being taunted in a toilet.

You unlatch the lock with your fingers and slowly pull open the door. The first face you're met with is the one you assume who had addressed you seconds ago.

She had a naturally terrifying expression, with her brows knitted together and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. The bronze skinned girl connecting her gaze to yours.

The staring did not last as she soon started eyeing you up and down like she's analyzing every bad decision you've ever made.

But when she lifts her head back up to your face, you noticed that her frowning had lessened slightly. "You're new." She states aloud.

"How'd you know?" You ask her. "Anyone who's been here for more than a week would have the mind to run out of the bathroom as soon as they heard me." She answered coolly, taking a few steps nearer to you.

"What's your name?" She asks you. You tell her your first name.

She hums in acknowledgement before repeating your name, letting the syllables roll against her tongue. "I assume you haven't been making any friends yet, have you?"

You tried not to look to her side at the girl that was currently half squatting on the floor. "You're making her do push ups." You think aloud, ignoring her question.

"What? Oh, her? She's not important, and she's lucky i’m only making her do 25." The girl waved off like it's a silly joke. "I thought you said 20?" The other girl muttered under her breath.

She snapped her head at the younger girl and glared at her. "One more word and I'll make it 30."

Turning her head back to you, the anger she bore dissolved. "It's a good thing you've met me," she started. "In this place, it's all about making the right type of friends, just in case and not enemies."

"I don't plan on making enemies." You tell her. She was trying to intimidate you. Or at least, ruffle your feathers.

"No one does, but they just do it anyways without realizing." She answers with a shrug.

"And I suppose, if I'm with you, I won't fall down that road?" You didn't mean for it to sound insulting or sarcastic, but when she raised a brow in response, a ghost of smirk over her face, you realized that it was too late to take back your words.

"No, you won't. Because I am that enemy that you should be avoiding." You wondered if she is one of those people that's all talk and no bite, but the way she's folding her arms together as she stands inches away from you, radiated something much more sinister than you'd expect from a typical bully.

"I have to go." You say suddenly, a sense of urgency filled you when you remembered that Harper and Olivia would be waiting for you in the cafeteria. "I won't tell anyone about this." You added, trying to make sure there'd be no bad blood between the two of you.

"You can tell anyone you'd like, it wouldn't matter." She replies, stepping away from you to lean her back on the sink counter.

You clicked your heels away from her and made your way out, taking off the locks before you could swing the door open. You could feel her gaze on you as you left, but didn't twist your head back to confirm.

It didn't matter who she was. A few hours from now you'd forget you even met her, and just like always, you'll blend in with the crowd and be out of her sight.

---

"Where have you been?" Harper inquired once you sat next to her.

She had half a donut in her mouth as she asked this. "Don't talk with your mouth full." You chided her. She groans and mumbles something else you can't understand but chews the food until she's finished before she speaks again.

"We waited for like 10 minutes, you know recess isn't that long." You took a bite of your own sandwich and shrugged at her like nothing. "I was in the bathroom, there was a line." Harper nodded in understanding, but Olivia made a face of disgust as she toyed with her food.

"I hate the bathroom here, the dorm bathrooms are better." She said.

"What if you really need to pee?" You ask in disbelief. "I hold it in."

"What if you had explosive diarrhea?"

"Well, that would suck." Harper chokes out laugh, trying not to spit out her donut. You joined her with a chuckle, shaking your head at your friend.

"Your fear of public bathrooms will be the death of you." Harper quipped after taking a long sip of water. "I think it makes me stronger." Olivia argues.

"Well, I think it's gonna mess with your bladder." The brunette argues back. You listen to their back and forth until the bell rings again, indicating the end of recess.

You were a bit bummed that your classes aren't aligned with theirs, your nerves are much less triggered when they're around, a sense of familiarity of a sort.

Though, there was nothing you can do about it. You say your goodbyes at your lockers and parted ways again for your last 2 classes. The rest of school time was made bearable with the reminder that you at least shared rooms with your two new friends, and so there was nothing to worry about at all actually.

A part of you feels safer when you're around them. Though your mind is constantly bringing up the girl you've met in the bathroom. Her brown eyes and the way she looked at you.

She didn't strike you as someone admirable, but you had to admit, her features were remarkable. You had pulled out a pencil and a paper for a quick sketch of her eyes during Literature class.

It only hit you then, that you haven't even asked for her name. She knew yours, but you didn't know hers.

What would it matter? You asked yourself. If all goes well, you'll never see her for the whole semester at all. And she'd be nothing more than another face in your sketchbook.

You paid attention to the lesson, but your hands just needed something to work on while you were listening. Tapping your fingers repeatedly on the table was getting old, so you got productive and drew up a little something.

You had managed only half of her face on the paper by the time the class ended. Slipping the book into your tote bag, you follow the rush of students leaving class and heading back to your locker to switch your books for the last class.

It was 8pm when you were finally in the dorm elevator, back against the cold silver metal, relieving the warmth that radiated off of your body. The gym here is open all day and night, and even if the only equipment they had was a treadmill, you intended to utilise them fully.

Working out helps to take your mind off things, and it tires you out enough to help you sleep easier at night.

And so while everyone went back to their dorms, you stashed your bag by the gym entrance and tied your hair back up and went ahead for a good 40 minutes run.

You kept your eyes on the elevator level, watching the number get higher and higher until it eventually reached 20. It dinged open and allows you out with your poor tired feet and worn out expression.

It was quiet on the top floor, nothing like you’d predict what with the hour still being early. The small light bulbs above your head led you straight down the long corridor until you reached your room.

You took out your key and slashed it into the keyhole and heard your friends’ voices evolving from muffled noises into a clearer state as you pushed the door open.

You expected the girls to scold you over your absence again, as you do make it a habit of going places without letting them know, but what you didn't expect once you enter your dorm room, is for them to genuinely fret over your late arrival.

"You can't just disappear without telling anyone!" Olivia exclaimed, her large green eyes staring into your soul as you took your uniform off. "I was at the gym." You explained.

“In your school clothes?” Harper scrunches her nose in disagreement. “Hey, it's convenient.” You retorted.

"Were there other people there?" You shook your head no. "Well, maybe next time we'll go with you. I know you're not used to the unspoken rules here, but there are seriously more creeps than you can imagine in this place."

They were both sitting on their beds as they're talking to you, fully dressed in their matching pajamas like twins.

Harper had a face mask on as she rested her head on her pillows, her elbows used to help her sit up. They had music playing in the background, a song you recognized as Tourniquet by Evanescence. “I love this song.” You say randomly.

“Don’t change the subject.” You look over at them in confusion once you're finished changing.

"I didn't know it'd be such a big deal, I'm doing what everyone else does."

"I know, but I'm just saying, maybe we should all just play it safe for the semester. We don’t want another Samara accident." Harper reasoned.

You walked over to sit by the edge of her bed and asked her who's Samara.

"Samara Turner. She's a senior from last year. Some kid found her passed out by the back garden, her eyes were rolled back, and she was basically frothing from the mouth. When the ambulance came, it was too late. She was gone."

“Are you just making this up to scare me?” You ask them suspiciously. “No!” Olivia denies. “It's a real story, the teachers covered it up real good for future students, not even the news got a hold of Samara's fate.”

"Does anyone know what really happened?" You questioned them.

"The police ruled it as an overdose, but I can't imagine any type of drug running through her veins. And also, in the garden? That's just weird." Olivia says, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You guys think someone drugged her?" Harper shrugged and pursed her lips, inconclusive.

"Either way. It happened when she was alone. What was she even doing in the garden late at night? No one knows. But everyone will point their finger right back at her and say it's her own fault." You understood what they meant. This place isn't as picture perfect as it seemed, just like any other place, it has its holes and flaws.

"Okay, the next time I'm going anywhere other than my classes, I'll let one of you know." Harper and Olivia smiled and looked relieved. You could tell they were satisfied by your answer. "And if we're going anywhere, we'll tell you."

"Okay." You assured them.

You've never really known what it was like to have people worry over you this way. Most of the time, people were grateful when you minded your own business and hid away. And sure there is a little bit of annoyance that comes with being scolded like a child, but it also felt good to have someone care for you this way.

You folded your knees onto your chest, repositioning yourself on her bed. It is only after you move closer to her that you notice your sketchbook on her side table.

"Where'd you find that?" You jolted up, eyes widening..

"Oh, this is another thing we wanted to ask you about." Harper exclaimed, stretching her arm towards the book and passing it over to you. "Clarisse came over here like 15 minutes ago, said you dropped this."

"Who's Clarisse?" You frowned.

"Oh that's funny, you don't know who Clarisse is, and yet she's talking about you like you've been friends for ages." Harper says it like a mother hen catching her daughter red handed, but you're only further confused.

"No, seriously. Who's Clarisse?"

Olivia sighed from her bed and waved her hand exaggeratedly. "Curly hair, dark skin, looks like she can dropkick you in 6 different ways." Instantly, something in your brain clicked.

"Oh, her." Their expression changed into curiosity as they await for you to add more.

"I...met her in the bathroom. She was making a kid do pushups. But we barely talked, I just left."

"Yeah well, she asked where you were when she came by, and we told her we didn't know. And then she gave me this." You opened the book and found that the page with her face on has been ripped away.

Something eats away at your heart when you saw the torn pages, but you said nothing and instead just tossed the book onto your own bed. "What's her deal anyways." You huffed.

"Legacy students, they're all a little entitled like that, her more than others." Olivia answered.

"Oh, she's entitled alright." You muttered to yourself and rolled your eyes.

"I think I'm just gonna go catch up on homework now, unless there's anything else you two want to nag me on." Harper snorted and shoved you playfully but still smiled.

"No, no more nagging." Olivia concluded.

#clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #pjo series #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader

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ohworm-writes · 5 months

Text

「✰」 ━━ CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE CHARACTER FAMILY OUTLINES

RATING PG-13 - Parents strongly cautioned [ Content warnings : references to sex, references to breeding kinks, heavy fluff, children, both pregnancy and adoption scenarios, toxic family relationship dynamics, minimal cursing, brief mention of Ghost and Farah's traumas, brief mention of transphobia and homophobia ]

SYNOPSIS In my opinion, what having a family with an assortment of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare characters would look like, be it how many kids they would have, their reasonings for having kids, their relationships with their kids, et cetera.

WORD COUNT 6.8k

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

Three sons and one daughter - ages ten, seven, five, and one

I'm certain we're all more than aware of this man's painfully obvious and present breeding kink, so it's no surprise to anyone that he would want to have a lot of children to call his own. He won't just be satisfied with one or two children - he's always wanted to have a full, bustling home, and he'll be damned if he doesn't try to make that a reality.

Every child of his is planned, both in pregnancy and adoption scenarios. He meticulously calculates and works to space each child out a certain range and number of years apart from one another in an effort to give himself extended experience with each developmental stage - or so he claims.

He wanted kids of his own, he decided, the second he met you, and he just hopes and prays that you'll be open to the concept of having quite a number of them. And, in his favor, you do and indulge him in his little fantasies.

And, in the ingenious words of @ghostlywhiskey , "i said that man has SWIMMERS AND THOSE MFS ARE PRICE BOYS". So, there's a very obvious patten that begins to form as more and more members are added to his little family. But, of course, there's one token daughter added into the mix, who he loves all the same as he does his boys.

In my eyes, the ideal father figure. He's extremely open and honest with his children, listens and talks with them whenever they have an issue or question, is very understanding and accepting overall, and, more than anything, works tirelessly to be a present, positive figure in their lives.

Because of all of the experience that he has with his own children, this results in the members of Task Force 141 and associated parties going to him for help or to have him answer questions they may have around their own children.

He tries to be as present of a father as he can be, given the challenges and distance that comes with his line of work, but always makes an effort, at the very least, call his kids whenever he can to ask about how they're doing, what they're up to, et cetera.

Refuses to talk about his job or entertain his children in the very idea of joining the military - the horrors he's seen is not in the slightest something he wants his children to witness for themselves. He knows the job best, and he will not allow any of his children to join.

Raises his sons right - they're respectful, mind their manners, don't start fights (but finish them, should the need arise) and instills all the necessary core morals and values they'll need to be good people when they grow up. All the same, he teaches his daughter not to take shit from anyone.

LIEUTENANT SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

Three daughters and one child (non-binary) - ages ten, six, three, and nine

Originally, he had never even spent a moment in time thinking about or entertaining the possibility of him having children, much less actively putting effort into reaching that goal. Especially when considering his own history, he can't even begin to see himself as a father, fearing he'll end up like his own.

So, when you get pregnant for the first time on complete accident/enthusiastically bring up the idea to him of adopting a child seemingly out of nowhere to him, he's completely shell-shocked. This is something he's ever put considerable thought into, and now it's being dropped into his lap without a moment to process it or breathe.

So, when he lays eyes on his first little girl for the first time, he's terrified. He's a dad now, whether he wants to or is ready for it or not. And no, it's not like he didn't tell you to get an abortion/refuse to sign the papers, but he isn't fully ready for such a heavy responsibility yet. But when he has her in his arms for the first time, he's done for.

After the first, he's so open and willing - and, quite frankly, pushing for - trying for/adopting another child. Yes, he was scared for his life to become a dad at first, but now that he's one now, he can't help but want another - and best you believe that his children are his absolute world.

Curse of the military. That's it, that's the tweet. He had all girls, plus, of course, his one gender non-conforming, non-binary kid, and all of them have equal ownership over his heart.

He's the perfect girl-dad, letting them do whatever they want with him - their own personal dress-up doll, if you will. Painting his nails, putting make-up on him, styling his hair, making him attend tea-parties and playing make-pretend. Whatever they want him to do, he does it.

When his second-oldest comes out to him (they came to him first before they did you), his heart absolutely melts. To know that his kid trusts him so wholeheartedly and isn't scared to share such a private thing with him lets him know just how good of a dad he is.

He's quick to use the right pronouns, allocates a separate room for them, helps them go shopping for clothes and items they may want, tests out new names for them should they want to, et cetera.

He's not at all a strict parent, as much as one might believe. He's stoic, cold, and cruel, sure - but that's to everyone but his family. For them? He's the biggest pushover in the world. If his children want anything, best believe he's doing everything in his power to fulfill their wishes.

SERGEANT JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

One son and one daughter - ages four and five

He's always wanted children, that mindset and dream having been set long before he ever even joined the military in the first place. He used to take care of and watch his nieces, nephews, and younger cousins a lot when he was younger, so it eventually evolved into him wanting little rascals of his own as time went on - to be able to nurture, care for, and have fun with.

So, when the opportunity arises to actually start a family of his own, something that he's always dreamed of, he's so giddy. In complete honesty, he's practically beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet, so willing and ready to make this into a reality. He has his own fears and anxieties, yes, but his excitement far outweighs it.

Both of his children are planned, of course, wanting them to be close in age as he can get them, and he's ecstatic that he gets to have both a boy and a girl. He gets the best of both worlds that way! And, when he finally gets to hold each in his arms for the first time, his heart shatters, melts, and crumbles in the best ways possible.

He isn't just a solider, a boyfriend, or a husband anymore - he's a dad now.

He's such a fun dad in general, always joking around with his kids, letting them - safely - do things that they aren't supposed to do, messing with them, taking them out for desert and sweets, et cetera.

But, as much as he's the "fun dad", that doesn't mean that he's any less strict. If his kids mess up or do something bad, he's often the one responsible for determining punishment, telling them off, and teaching them not to make the same mistake again.

His work is demanding, yes, and that often takes him away from you, his partner, and his kids for long periods of time, but he always comes back, ready to be a dad again and put "Soap" on the backburner.

The perfect role model for his kids, in all honesty - the best combination between a best friend and a parental figure. His kids tell him everything and they aren't scared of him to keep secrets from him, always telling him the truth without shame or hesitation.

SERGEANT KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

One son and one daughter - ages seven

Both of children are twins

Having children wasn't something he had ever planned for, in his mind. Not to say that he never entertained the idea of having children of his own, nor is it to say something that he's against, either. He simply hadn't ever thought about making it a reality before.

But, when the opportunity to have/adopt children comes up into his life, it's welcomed, allowing himself to go with the flow of things and let them play out as is. He thinks about it a lot more now, daydreaming about what his child's personality will be like, what they'll look like, who they'll like more...

And then boom! Twins!

He's starstruck when he first gets the news that he'll be having/adopting twins. It's like a two-for-one deal, or so he says, genuinely shocked and excited at the same time. The way he sees it, his kids will always have a best friend (or, a partner-in-crime) and he's all for it.

Twins are a lot, he knows, but that doesn't mean he isn't up for the challenge. If anything, it only spurs him on to push to be the best dad he could ever possibly be.

For better or for worse, his kids adopt his sarcastic nature as their own and increase it by tenfold. It's his fault, given that whenever his kids are around, he's talking to them as if they'd understand his points and smart comments. They don't, most of the time, but they know their dad's tone, and they're quick to match it.

Takes the most time off out of anyone else in Task Force 141 to spend with his family if and when he can allocate it. He wants to be as present of a dad as possible, and if that means taking work home when he could easily finish it on base and then come home, maybe a day or two later, he's doing it.

Very adamant on having days out with his kids, be it for the purpose of a mental health day or just for fun. Takes them out to get breakfast and lunch, plus going to do another activity. Maybe the park, the playground, watch a movie at the cinema, go to the zoo/aquarium, et cetera.

He's not a super strict parent but that doesn't mean he isn't going to disciple his children if they misbehave or do something wrong. His punishments are lax, focused more towards talking out the issue that giving harsh lessons.

STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL

One son - aged sixteen

She and her wife decided that they really wanted to have a kid of their own a few years into their marriage and, especially given that neither of them aren't getting any younger and didn't necessarily have the energy, time, or willingness to take on the challenge of pregnancy for themselves, they choose the more sensible option available and adopt.

It's a long, deliberate process that they have to go through in order to be so much as be approved for being able to adopt, but, once that hurdle is overcome, the two of them waste no time and immediately begin their search for the newest member of their own little family, allocating time to meticulously decide who they'll, inevitably, choose.

Their hearts end up settling on a little boy whose four years old, somehow resembling the both of them in different ways - be it personality wise or by appearance.

The two of them decide that they want to be able to escape and skip the issues that come packaged with newborns and toddlers, but also have a hand in the development process of their son, thus explaining the age they chose to adopt him at. This accomplishes both of these "goals" they have in mind, and it works out beautifully in their favor.

No matter their son's ethnic background, the two of them make a conscious effort to try and introduce practices, traditions, holidays, ideals, et cetera from their son's culture into their own as a means to keep him connected with his own past and history.

Although her job is connected with the military and does, to an extent, seperate her from her families for periods of time, that doesn't diminish the relationship she has with her son. He's fascinated with his mom's career, allowing for lengthy, in-depth discussion about what her job actually entails with him.

She and her wife are such good moms in general - always supporting him in everything he wants to do and encouraging him a thousand times over. There isn't a second in his life where he isn't being supported or loved, but it by his moms or the numerous different adult figures in his life.

Laswell gets in a fair bit of trouble with her wife for not disciplining her son in any way, shape, or form. She may have no issue with doing so with the military individuals she works with - she can be scary and intimidating when she wants to be - but with her son? She's absolutely a pushover.

Quits smoking the second she and her wife make plans towards actually adopting. It's a harsh line she draws, and one she abides by without hesitation or question.

VALERIA GARZA

None

Now, this isn't because I want to exclude her from this concept for any reasoning whatsoever, but rather because I can't really see her having or wanting any children in the first place. She's "El Sin Nombre", after all. And, in her defense, the cartel isn't necessarily the best enviroment for a child to grow up or develop in - surprising nobody.

She knows this fact better than anyone, and, having sworn her life to her role in Las Almas and the cartel, she chooses to not have any children. Additionally, she isn't going to be irresponsible and make herself vulnerable like that where, to have someone to love and care fore, only for the possibility of them being used as leverage against her later on hanging over her head, putting them in danger.

And, in any case, she has a breeding kink to make up for it, eh?

But, in all seriousness, as wonderful as I think she could possibly be with children in general, I doubt she plans on having or adopting children of her own unless she actually makes the move to leave the business of the cartel altogether - which, lets face it, with who she is and the role that she plays, is highly unlikely.

To make up for this, let's talk about her relationship with kids in general - be it the children of Las Almas and nieces and nephews that she has and interacts with.

She fits the "cool aunt" persona to a tee, always bringing gifts and/or cash to her younger family members, getting them whichever they desire, playing games with them, talking shit about people and listening to them vent, et cetera.

If the children have a problem with someone and, if aren't family, she has no issue doing something about it, be it using a scare tactic on them or completely removing the other person from the equation in more serious scenarios.

All the kids love her, no matter if they're family or if they know her or not. If she isn't busy and one of her men have a child of their own that they need to tend to while they're on the clock, she'll let the kid stay around in her office, so long as they don't disturb the peace.

VLADIMIR MAKAROV

One son and one daughter - ages eleven and five

Now, as cold, cruel, stoic, and heartless of a character that Makarov is, I personally believe that there would be select factors that would influence him to actually want children. Technical, albeit, and not for the sake of having someone to nurture and care for - at least, in the beginning - but I do believe that, for his own reasons, he would still want children as he progresses on later in his career and plans.

The only reason I could ever see for him to so much as bring up the concept of having children, in a way that makes sense when considering his character, would be due to the result of a close encounter that has him just barely scraping out of whatever altercation with his life to spare and hold onto.

He decides then and there that he wants to have a child - a son, specifically - who will be able to take his place and lead the groups that he controls and reigns over when he, inevitably, passes because, like he stated: "even I'm replaceable". It's a morbid phrase, yes, but it makes sense for him to have this be his reasoning.

He wants his replacement to be his own, too, and not for one of men to simply be promoted after he passes. After all, their ideologies, morals, and values could change over time and alter from his own, and he can't have that. However, if he were to have a child, he could foster and tailor their beliefs to match his own.

And besides, there's a certain charm that comes with saying his son is going to be the next in line. So, to his favor, he gets a first-born son, just as he had wished. His daughter, however, is completely accidental and unplanned/an abrupt decision when she is born/adopted. (In the context of pregnancy, though, its entirely his fault that she's conceived out of nowhere - wear protection, folks.)

For the longest time, his relationship with his son is, for lack of better wording, toxic - but this does change! If only with your intervention. All he wants in the beginning is for his son to be able to take over for him in the future - that being his sole purpose. And, unfortunately, he makes that a known fact.

Brings his son in with him to work on base often, working to teach and show to him the empire that he'll be taking over once his dad is gone. He gets a front-row view to the horrors his father is behind and in control of, be it the planning process for strategized and organized attacks, his cruel methods for dealing with traitors, and otherwise.

As much as he might, at heart, want to be a boy-dad, his relationship with his son is so strained and, frankly, falling apart, even if he refuses to acknowledge it, and so toxic in nature that it's only natural he becomes a girl-dad when his daughter is finally born. It's unfair, yes, but it's the truth of the matter.

He keeps his daughter far away from his work, shielding her completely from the badness of the world - the badness that he himself helps to create. She's his his pride and joy, and she's such a daddy's girl, leaving his son to fall to you, his other parental figure, for comfort and support - that of which his dad fails to provide.

COLONEL KÖNIG

Four daughters - ages two, three, seven, and fourteen

Interestingly enough, he's actually always quietly desired and yearned for a family of his own, though, he's never had any open discussions about it until it came to you. It's almost funny, the way that he's so awkward and tends to shy away from others any chance he's allowed to, and yet, he wants nothing more than a sizeable family for himself.

To have someone to fight for, to come back home to... it's all a soldier ever wants - himself included. And, for him, that includes a family that doesn't just consist of him and you (as content and happy as he is with it for now). The mere prospect of coming home to children of his own who can greet him and adore him is all he could ever ask for.

Though, even given this, he's especially nervous to actually become a father. He overthinks it a lot, wondering if his kids will even like him, going over the multitude of different ways that he could mess up even when he has no reason to. Because after his first, that fear melts away into enthusiasm.

Four children, especially when they're all girls, is a lot, yes, but he handles it with ease. He doesn't let the stress of it get to him, simply taking everything in stride and dealing with it rationally. He wants to preserve the positive relationship he has with his daughters, and approaching things from a logical standpoint is just the way to do it.

The true curse of the military - all girls, and so many of them, too. His younger children are all girly to an extent, too, so he's no stranger at a tea party and getting his make-up and nails done messily by his daughters. His oldest, although she may not be as girly, still has her moments, be it certain musicians maybe that she's forced her dad to listen to the entire discography of.

His girls love use him as a prop and character in their bouts of playing "make pretend". He's played a tree, standing still for them to climb all over, a dragon, protecting them from all of the bugs and critters that threatens to offend the, and even a race car, holding onto one or two of them as tight as he can and breaking into a sprint. It's strange and exhausting, sure, but he loves it.

Teaches his daughters to stick up for themselves - it's one of the first lessons he ever teaches them. Whether it be in terms of don't let people see you as a pushover, don't let anyone tell you what you can or cannot do, or stick up for yourself by any means necessary, he instills those ideals into his kids. Teaches his eldest how to fight, too - per her request - as another measure and precaution.

Although being apart of KorTac and being a colonel in general keep him busy and occupied and away from his family, that doesn't stop him from trying his hardest to be with them. He sends each and every one of his daughters, with the inclusion of yourself, gifts he picks up while he's away that reminds him of you all, just as a means to remind you all that he's here and he loves you.

COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES

Two daughters and two children (transgender) - ages seventeen, six, and thirteen

Both of his trans children, female-to-male, are twins

In his daydreams, he's always imagined himself with a family of his own. A nuclear family, the American ideal - married with two and a half kids, a dog, a big house with a white-picket fence, a stable job. The whole lot. That's all he's ever had in mind for himself and he yearns to make it a reality.

So, when the topic of children come up after the married, dog, house, and job things are already figured out, he's eager to speak his mind and give his input on the matter. He's got the biggest, most lopsided grin spread out across his face when he lays eyes on his eldest daughter for the first time, and that only solidifies his dreams.

Though, ironically enough, he always had in his mind that he'd have more boys than girls. He loves his daughters wholeheartedly and without shame, mind you, but... still, the sentiment remains. He always imagined himself with one, maybe two or three boys - someone he could play catch or watch sports with.

He doesn't get that, until he does, and his twins come out to him (albeit, at separate ages) as trans ftm. Of course, the whole "trans" thing is new to him, and while he may be a little clueless, seeing how happy it makes the two of his kids is more than enough to convince him him to put in effort and be the most supportive dad he can be.

I don't want anyone coming to me saying "oh, he's transphobic" because no he's not. He may fit that all-American persona of his to a tee, but I refuse to say that he would go as far to be transphobic or homophobic, especially with his own children. (Also, I'm petty, so you get two of them).

He fights and works hard to be present in his children's lives. He may be the Commander and CEO of Shadow Company, but that doesn't mean his men can't function without him from time to time. His family means everything to him, all of his time off being spent towards treating them.

Not the parent who pushes for his children to each be involved in a million after-school activities, but encourages them to take up something. His oldest plays volleyball, his second-oldest plays baseball, his second-youngest plays the drums, and his youngest dances. Takes them all to practice and helps them however he can.

Genuinely just copy and paste Jeff Sadecki from Yellowjackets and that's him as a parent. Except... with less of the drama. He's dedicated to being involved in his children's lives, making memories and having fun with them, telling horrible dad jokes from time to time, and whatever else.

SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO "RUDY" PARRA

One child (agender) - aged sixteen

He never actually planned on or anticipated becoming a father in the first place, more focused on dedicating his efforts towards his career and not spending more than a passing thought on creating a family. Not to say that he doesn't want one, it's just a concept he hasn't spent too much time thinking about or worrying over.

So, this means that you have to be the one to bring it up to him. And, granted, it somewhat catches him off guard - you want to try for a baby/consider adoption with him? Since when? It throws him off, to be honest, and he genuinely has to take some time to reflect and decide if this is actually something that he wants.

And, in your favor, it is.

He's somewhat nonchalant about the whole thing, not really realizing how big of an event it is until you're close to the due date/you're approved for adoption. And then it hits him full force that, yeah - sooner than later, he's actually going to become a dad and deal with the responsibilities of one and have a child of his own.

It's humbling, funnily enough, and he revaluates his priorities when it comes to his career, you, and child-to-be.

Even though he never anticipated or saw himself as someone who could accurately fill the role of a father, he's a good one. More akin to a close friend at times whereas others he can more accurately be described as a mentor, but it's important for fathers to share both of those factors, in a way. Which he absolutely does.

His child comes out to him before they reach double-digits, and its another moment that he has to pause for. Of course he's going to love them unconditionally, no matter if they identify as something else or go by different pronouns or want to use a different name, it's simply something he hadn't expected.

Doesn't really at all punish his child if they do something wrong. He'll have a conversation with them, sure, but it never truly extends to anything beyond that. Simply a "hey, don't do that again, okay?" and moving on with life. All that matters is that they understand and acknowledge their faults, in his eyes.

Involves himself in whatever his child is interested in and tries to understand it as best he can. They have a sport they're really into? He's buying them merch and watching matches or games with them. They're really into a certain video game? Start up a new save file, he'd love to play. Genuinely super supportive.

Does not at all plan on having another child. He's content with the one and, quite frankly, even one can be a lot at times. He can't count how many times he's had to go to those parent support groups just to ensure he's being as good of a dad as he can be.

COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS

Four sons and one daughter - ages twelve, eleven, nine, and eight

His oldest sons are twins

The absolute definition of a family man. He, somewhat akin to Price, always imagined himself with a family of his own later down the line in his life - a large, lively one, too. He grew up in a larger household himself with a number of brothers and sisters, both younger and older, and he always imagined the same for his future family.

He's so enthusiastic about it, too. He isn't scared or worried at all, confident in his own abilities to take care of children, given his own extended experience, so he has little to no fear in what he'll be like as a parent or his own capabilities. He knows what he'll need to do, how to do it, what to buy, what to say, et cetera, so he's confident.

He doesn't really have a plan for what their ages will be, more so allowing everything to flow naturally, but he can't deny the fact that he has his own picture in mind for what he wants his family to look like. Ironically, he always imagined himself with more girls than boys, but it seems like life had... a different plan for him.

He loves it, though. He's extremely good with newborns and toddlers especially, and when he laid eyes on his twins for the first time, holding both of them to him, it was over. Plain and simple. With the first step taken, he can now fully immerse himself in being a father and cultivating the lives of his children, and that's all he could ask for.

His boys are rowdy. Especially his oldest twins and his youngest son, his eleven-year-old acting much tamer and calmer in comparison, but still has his moments. They roughhouse with one another, mess with each other, talk shit - the whole lot. Typical sibling behavior, yes, but they had so much energy.

Takes a lot of time off to be with his family when he can spare it. If he isn't physically out for an operation and instead is at the Los Vaqueros base, he sometimes will bring one or two of his children to stay in his office while he works. That is, if he doesn't up and leave to go home the second the opportunity arises.

Defiantly the one responsible for disciplining his children and dishing out punishment. It's not to say that he's cruel or mean in any sense, but he can be strict. If they do something wrong, he's quick to decide on a punishment that appropriate and relevant, dedicated to correcting that behavior as swiftly as possible.

He's an absolute pushover with his daughter, though. Not to say that he doesn't love his boys, because he does, but he'd do anything for her. Tea parties? Dress up? Make believe? You name it, no matter how embarrassing or emasculating it may be, and he's doing it if his little girl asks.

Messes around with his boys a lot. He has a positive relationship with all of them, one that's open and honest, which leaves room for him to be able to roughhouse and taunt and poke fun at them from time to time. They might have to be smart with their own words and responses, but he's making smartass, cheeky remarks whenever he can with a grin.

OPERATION OFFICER ALEX KEELER

One daughter - aged eleven

He's thought about having children before, yes, but never in a realistic context. For him, in the past, it's always been more of a "let me imagine a scenario of how myself and a future family would look" but never actively taking strides or realistically think about how he would achieve that.

So, when you bring the topic up to him, he kind of stills and... actually thinks about it. There's a difference between putting yourself in a scenario and imagining it, and actually taking steps to make it into a reality. He sort of panics, too, because... would he actually make a good dad?

He's the most apprehensive and anxious person out of anyone when it comes to considering the path of parenthood. Of course, he agrees, more than willing to try for a baby/go through the adoption process with you, but he's endlessly terrified of messing things up.

Even when he actually gets to meet and hold his daughter for the first time - he's a man who has no shame in crying, because he absolutely does when he sees her - that paranoia remains. But even so, it solidifies his goal to become the best father he can be for his little girl.

So clueless at first at how to even approach fatherhood, purchasing so many parents books and listening to an abundance of podcasts and going to classes and everything of the like. He's confident in most aspects, sure, but parenthood is something he's never dealt with in the past - it's no surprise he wants to do everything in his power to be the best dad he can be.

As anxious as he is, though, he, in my opinion, is probably the best father he could possibly ever dream to be. He's attentive to his daughter's wants and needs, can gauge her emotions correctly and acts accordingly, is responsible in terms of taking precautions to keep her safe, and he's present as much as he can be.

Number one cheerleader in everything she does. Whether it be getting a passing grade or an outstanding one on a test, he's hyping her up. If she joins and becomes a part of a particular activity of interest, he's taking her out to a celebratory dinner. All words of encouragement and praise from him.

Is a very active an present parent, too. Takes her out on little father-daughter days whenever he can to wherever she wants to go. The mall to look at the one obscure candle store? Sure, he's down. The zoo to go make up conversations between the animals. Absolutely. He loves hanging out with her, and seeing the way she lights up whenever he offers to take her out is all he could ever dream of.

COMMANDER FARAH AHMED KARIM

Two sons and one daughter - ages seven, four, and eight months

In the beginning, actually, she was very opposed to the concept of having/adopting children. Given her involvement with the ULF and that the current climate in Urzikstan was far from safe to raise any child in, she had no reason to even entertain the thought. Especially considering her own past, she was against it.

For a while, most conversations of having or starting a family were shut down by her - she yearned for it in the back of her mind, sure, but it wasn't a realistic goal. That was until she and Samara had a conversation about the topic, Samara telling her that while, yes, there were dangers to it, there's nothing more fulfilling than family.

So, after long deliberations, she began to consider it more heavily, leading to discussions where she finally agreed. She has her own reservations, fears, and anxieties about it, yes, but considering all the work she's done, she's allowed to have this. To have a child or children, to make her own family that loves her unconditionally.

She keeps her family completely separate and distanced from her work. As much as she's passionate about what she does, there's that lingering fear in the back of her mind that, one day, her family could get hurt or even possibly used against her as leverage if they're discovered. So, there's a clean separation between the two.

But it's all worth it when she meets her first born son for the first time. She's playing such important roles in her life - the Commander of the ULF, a resistance fighter, someone associated with Task Force 141, and one of the few key figures tasked with liberating her country in its entirety. But, now, she's more than that. She's a mom.

Even though she's never had children of her own before, she handles motherhood like a seasoned professional. Even before her other two children, she never got too overwhelmed with the work and responsibilities that come with being a parent, handling everything with a level head and a calm voice, turning out in her favor.

Though, she's somewhat a bit stricter with her children - not in the sense of being overbearing and not trusting them, or even that she has high expectations and standards for them. Rather, she wants to ensure the safety of her children and that their childhoods never turn out like her own, so she takes extra precautions.

She doesn't actually send her children to school, rather taking time to teach them herself - with your aid, of course. It's partially for those same reasons of fear and wanting to protect her children, but she's actually really good at it. She's taught her children how to write, how to read, how to speak two different languages... it's a way that shows how invested she is in her family.

As serious as she can be with her work, she's much more laid back and relaxed when it comes to her family - just another perk and upside, she supposes. With all the stresses she deals with, being able to come home to her sons and daughter, being overwhelmed with love - it's rewarding in a way she's never experienced before.

NIKOLAI

Two daughters - ages eight and three

He's always imagined himself with children, in complete honesty, even when he was younger - to have maybe one to three of his own. To your luck, he's open about it too, so he's actually the one to bring up the idea to you in the beginning, having no shame whatsoever in his willingness to try for/adopt a child... or two or three.

He isn't scared to become a parent, per se, nor does he have many anxieties or worries about becoming one, but there is still that subtle worry in the back of his mind that he won't be the most fit parent.

Everyone jokes about how he can be reckless and unethical, and he enjoys the banter, but it does make him self-conscious and second guess his own ability to be an adequate father.

He doesn't really consider or worry about what ages his children are, simply allowing things to fall into place naturally, as they should. He may have imagined himself with children in his own daydreams, sure, but there was never any clear specifics for age or gender he had in mind.

But once he actually gets to meet his daughters for the first time, those worries fade away partially - they still linger, yes, but for the most part he lets them simmer on the backburner, not allowing them to interfere with him as he directs his focus away from worrying and more towards becoming the father his girls deserve.

His daughters are just as much of a menace as he is. Maybe not in the "I deal with sketchy people on a daily basis and have done some questionable things" kind of way, but they have their own mischievous streaks like their father. Be it orchestrating pranks or smaller acts of the like, sometimes they even outshine the father.

He's playful by nature, yes, and he is with his girls, but you'll also never meet a more protective parent than him. He may be sly and smug and appear all cool and collected outwardly, but when it comes to his daughters, he's doing everything in his power to protect them from anything, be it people... or ants.

Likes to be his daughters' own personal jungle gym, letting the two of them hold onto him and climb all over him without a care in the world. Additionally, that means he makes for the perfect mode of transport for them, too - having them cling onto him as he walks around, moving them from one place to the other.

He can act like a child in his own right, but he's still a good father nonetheless. In line with that protective nature, he does everything he can to both foster a positive relationship and set rules and boundaries. Bed times, chores, punishments, et cetera - he's in charge of those things, and, while he isn't strict, he's responsible.

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unoislazy · 7 months

Text

Masterlist

Oldest to newest

(The only things out of order are the Headcanons which can all be found at the same spot, specifically for BES)

If I did it correctly you should be able to click the underlined places and they’ll send you right to the story!

Special Information

Request Information

Y'all will never believe what I forgot to add

RDR 2

How To Aim

Arthur Morgan x Reader

One Part

Th actual fic that started it all

————————————————————

HTTYD

Question? What Question?

Hiccup x Reader

Part 1

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Hiccup accidentally lets it slip that his father is expecting him to ask someone a question. Who could that someone be… and what’s the question?

Part 2

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: You and Hiccup go out to figure out where that smokes coming from. You decide to return back to Berk to tell Stoick what you saw. However, Stoick had other plans in mind.

Somethings Off About That Boy

Hiccup x Reader

Part 1

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Hiccup has always been weird but lately he’s been acting… weirder than usual. What could he be hiding? Maybe you should try to find out on your own. Who knows, maybe he’s just going to the woods to make weird outfits.

Hiccup Haddock Headcanons

Word Count:459

Hiccup x reader headcanons : just general ones, no specific focus.

What Can Never Be

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

One Part

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You and Hiccup fight together during the battle against Drago Bludvist, what could go wrong?

Warning: a bit of angst

Trapped With You

Hiccup x Reader

One Part

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: if you’re prone to second hand embarrassment this one’s gonna be a doozy

A Dragon Trappers Fate

Eret son of Eret x Reader

Part 1

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You’re forced to tag along on the quest to find Hiccup after he went off, determined to find Drago. While you there you happen to stumble across a certain dragon trapper. You feel… weird when you look at him. Why?

Part 2

Word Count: 1.7k Words

Summary: you thought you’d only have to see Eret once and never again, that way that weird feeling you got when you looked at him would disappear. Well, turns out you need him again so you an find out where Drago Bludvist is located. No one better to interrogate than a dragon trapper.

Just Talk To Me!

Hiccup x Reader

One Part

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You and Eret have gotten pretty close due to your constant fighting practice. Of course, a certain chief isn’t too happy about it but he has a bit of trouble trying to tell you this.

The Outsider

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

(Shocker I Know)

Part 1

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You wound up on the shores of Berk after something… had happened to you. Thankfully someone had found you and reported your presence to the Chief.

————————————————————

Blue Eye Samurai

Spar With Me

Mizu x Reader

Part one

Word Count: 2.7k

Part Two

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Not much sparring actually happens this time. But you still somehow wind up in an embarrassing position.

Disclaimers: light language, has not been proofread, shorter and way more embarrassing than the last chapter

Part Three

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: after dealing with a situation in town, Mizu helps you calm down a bit.

Disclaimer; a small bit of violence

Healing Takes Time

Injured! Mizu x Reader

One Part

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: you’re just a simple healer minding your business, avoiding a fight that had broken out along your street when suddenly an extremely wounded strange man ends up at your door.

Disclaimers; very soft angst, nothing too bad.

Part Two

Jealousy Looks Good On You

Mizu x Jealous!Reader

One Part

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You and Mizu have been close friends for quite some time. You truly enjoyed each others company, that was until Taigen showed up.

Disclaimers; light language, has not been proofread, I am currently delirious from packing and moving all day but I had to write this out to feed the starved mizu lovers. A fair amount may not make sense at this point in time. My apologies ❤️

'Til The Caged Bird Sings

Mizu x Mixed! Fem! Reader

Part One

Part Two

Word Count: 3.9k

Content Warning: Contains violence and mentions of SA

Part Three

Cw: A bit bloody, mentions of SA

Headcannons

Mizu Dating Headcanons

Mizu Fluff Headcanons

Jealous Mizu Headcanons

BES Characters and pets

BES College Au

NSFW Mizu Headcanons

Fucking Brat

Mizu X reader

Part One

Disclaimer: light cursing obvious

Heated but no NSFW

Your Touch

Mizu x Reader

One Part

I lied, here's

Part Two

Fem! Reader

a bit heated, but doesn't go all the way

I Am No Coward

Mizu x Fem! Reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Art

Mizu Drawings 1

Mizu Drawings 2

Mizu Drawings 3

Mizu Drawings 4

Mizu Drawings 5

Mizu Doodle (w/ Progress picture)

Mizu Drawings 6

Mizu Drawings 7

Mizu Drawings 8

Mizu Drawings 9

412 notes · View notes

buckysgrace · 14 days

Note

Hi. You’re amazing!

Do you ever write fluff? Like if you found out you were pregnant with Billy’s baby and at first he’s upset and doesn’t want anything to do with you but after you have the baby ( a little boy with blonde curls like Billy) he gets all emotional and wants to desperately be a better father than his dad was to him 😭

Hello! Thank you so much <3 I absolutely will write fluff!

CW: Mentions of abortion, mentions of child abuse, lots of Billy being scared and a lil mean.

Billy's son is also referenced as having blonde curls and his nose, but the rest is ambiguous!

He was scared.

Billy honestly didn't know what he was going to do. There had been many arguments with you about it, but you seemed fairly determined. You were going to have this baby, whether he wanted to be a part of the baby's life or not.

It wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to be involved, but he could feel a crushing fear spreading through him every time he thought about being a dad.

His relationship with his own dad was strained. Things weren’t the best between them. He never really had a positive father figure, someone that showed him how to stay calm even when he was frustrated. The last thing he wanted was to end up snapping at his own child.

He couldn’t be a dad.

“Not mine,” He said once you showed up with the ultrasound, the bloodwork and everything. Denial was all he could think about, all he could process. He couldn’t fuck up your life and this child’s life if he wasn’t involved. It was that simple, “I didn’t knock you up.”

“Uh huh,” Was your dry answer, your eyes looking less than amused, “Do you want a paternity test then, William?” Came your snarky response, because you both knew the truth. This baby was his, there was no doubt in Billy’s mind about that. And it terrified him.

“Don’t call me that.” He said as he pushed his hair off of his forehead, feeling sick as it continued to wash over him. He was going to be a dad. He was going to end up just like Neil.

“Then don’t act like you weren’t a part of this.” You said, looking just as fearful as what he felt. He sat down on the edge of his bed, tapping his foot rapidly as he thought about how good a smoke sounded right now. He’d need a lot more to make him relax.

“It’s still early, right?” He questioned at last, turning his attention back to you. He watched the way your eyebrows furrowed tightly together and then relaxed again. Your eyes softened, telling him what he already knew.

“I’m not getting an abortion,” You said at last, “I’ve made up my mind. You can make your decision, but I’m not letting you walk in and out of our lives whenever you see fit. You can be a part of this baby's life or we can end this. Whatever you prefer.” You were gentle with him, setting out the options softly like you always did. You understood him better than anyone else, made him feel safe. It made him sick to think about how he was hurting the one person he really cared about.

“Can I think about it?” He asked at last, feeling like there wasn’t anything else to do. He didn’t have an answer yet and he didn’t want to end up saying the wrong thing. He was growing angry at himself. He could only imagine what Neil would say once he found out.

“Yeah,” You replied gently, eyes softening as you nodded your head, “But I can’t wait forever. I need to know your answer soon.” Your voice slightly wavered but he looked away, not wanting to see you so upset.

“Yeah,” He responded as he nodded his head and placed his fingers tightly together, “I’ll let you know.” He said at last, staying put until you left. Everything was falling apart, breaking down around him. He couldn’t deal with it right now.

Ignoring you was harder than he’d thought it would be. He looked for you everywhere he went, even though he knew he couldn’t have you. That was his own fault regardless. He’d made up his mind. It would be easier this way.

Yet, when the invitation for your baby shower arrived in his mail he felt his walls caving in. They crashed into him, making him break down as he stared at your handwritten notes on the card. He could tell just by reading it that you were excited, not afraid. He wished he could be more like you.

In the end, he decided to go. He needed closure, as he was sure you needed to. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to stand living in the same town as you, knowing that his child would never know him. Somehow, that made him feel even worse.

He felt lonely as the months drew on. He had no one to confide in for his problems; especially Neil and Susan. He didn’t know what to say when they questioned about your disappearance and he felt even more at a loss when they asked him if you were pregnant. A shrug of his shoulders was his answer. He really didn’t know.

The walk up towards the little gymnasium felt odd, like he didn’t quite belong as he stared at the little balloons and elephant decorations that were spotted throughout the room. There were familiar faces; your friends and family. Some other people that weren’t quite as well known. He still felt awkward, like everyone knew that he was the one who had knocked you up and ran.

“Hey,” You drew out as you approached him, your palm flat against the bump in front of you, “I didn’t think you’d be here.” You said slowly, literally glowing as you stood in front of him. You had a sundress on, your cheeks were warm and forehead a little sweaty. He wondered if it was from the baby.

“I didn’t think I’d come either.” He admitted at last, hating how horrible that sounded. He just felt like he was in a rut, buried deep inside of a hole with no real way of coming out. You were like sunshine through the dirt, warming his skin as he watched you.

“What does this mean?” You asked him at last, tilting your head as your eyes softened over his features. He wished that he had a real answer for you, to tell you how he felt. He was in love with you; deeply. He just didn’t want to hurt you either. It was complicated.

“I really don’t know yet,” He mumbled, “It just felt right.” He decided on, unable to tell you just how much he missed you. He was nearly desperate enough to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness. He would if you pushed him hard enough.

“Billy,” You drew out in exasperation, “I can’t have you doing this, being so wishy-washy. What do you want?” You asked him seriously, looking like you were close to cracking too. He wanted to reach out and touch you, to hold you. He needed to apologize.

“I just want to be better,” He replied slowly, “I want to be here. For you and for-,” He stalled for a moment as he looked down at your baby bump, feeling like he was at a loss once again. He wasn’t sure if you wanted him in his life or not.

“Him,” You said quickly, “We’re having a little boy.” Your eyes were glazed over in tears, your lips pulling into the tightest smile. You were clearly emotional, making him feel awful as he reached his hand forward. Your fingers met slowly, molding against one another. He felt sparks traveling up his arms, leaving him resentful of the past few months he’d wasted.

“That’s-, that’s good,” He answered after he cleared his throat. He was already scared to be a dad, but to have a son? He feared that even more. He was sure he was following directly into Neil’s shows, “Have you decided on a name?”

“I kind of like Cash,” You stated as you rubbed at your belly, “Just feels right. C’mon, you can open the presents with me.” You explained as you tugged him along, leaving him a little jittery. He thought about pulling out a cigarette, but figured it wasn’t the right place to do it.

He felt a little lost but slowly grew more and more keen on what was happening. It was still a lot to process, but it felt right being there by your side. You were clearly excited despite everything that had happened. He was grateful that you were so open, that you didn’t hold a grudge against him.

“Where are you living at?” He asked instead, curious as to whether your living situation had changed or not. You were still living at home the last time he checked. He was slightly nervous, wondering if someone else had slipped into his spot.

“Still with my parents,” You admitted as you shrugged your shoulders, “They were upset, but they’ve come around.” Your lips were pulled into a smile, looking less than worried. Apparently things had been fairly well for you.

“They probably hate me.” He said a moment later, sure that it was true. He couldn’t see how they wouldn’t. He had practically left you. You snapped your eyes up towards him.

“Hate is a strong word,” You told him quickly, “But yeah, they’re not the happiest. Especially dad.” You explained slowly as you continued to rub at your baby bump.

“Great,” He mumbled as he placed his hands in his pockets, “I’m really sorry.” He breathed out slowly, knowing his apology was more important than everything else. He meant it too. He shouldn’t have pushed you away.

“You just disappeared,” You started slowly, “I thought you were gone.” Your voice was soft, full of hurt and distress. He felt his throat tightening, burning as he thought about how much he missed you. He was a fool to ever stray away from you, to leave you on your own.

“I thought about it,” He told you honestly, knowing there was no point in lying, “I don’t want to be like my dad.” He replied at last, getting down to the root of the issue. He didn’t want to accidentally lash out at you or at your future child. He never wanted that for him. It would be better to be alone.

“You won’t,” You told him quickly, sternly as he exhaled deeply, “You’re not like your dad. I promise you.” You cupped his face softly, your hands smooth and gentle against his skin. He leaned against you, craving the feeling.

“What if I lose control?” He asked at last as he drew his eyes over your features, taking in the way you were watching him. You sighed deeply as you rubbed your fingers across his skin. You looked deep in thought as you pressed your nails gently against his stubble.

“You never did that at your swimming classes,” You reminded him, “You should come stay with me. Move in. It would be good for our baby.” You moved your hands to his neck, then to his shoulder and down to his hands. You gripped them slowly, pressing them against your growing tummy.

He stalled for the longest time, blinking slowly as he felt like the world was freezing around him. Underneath your skin he could feel your baby moving. He gulped, eyes wide as he felt the smallest smile curling against his lips. He exhaled deeply as he looked towards you again.

“I don’t know.” He replied nervously as he felt his heart hammering roughly inside of his chest. He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking that it would be easier. He’d be closer for you, for the baby. If he was really going to do this, he needed to be near you.

“You don’t have to marry me or anything,” You started, “Or be with me if that’s what you want.” You said sheepishly, looking embarrassed as you quickly looked away. He felt his heart shatter a bit again, worried that he had truly hurt you.

“You have someone else?” He asked at last, worried that you had moved on. He had done wrong, but he really did love you. You were the only one he was passionate about. He wasn’t sure how to move on if you had found someone else.

“No,” You responded with a smile, “But I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with us.” You nodded your head, but looked like that was hard to admit. He didn’t want you to be alone. Not anymore.

“You make me happy,” He said at last, “We’ll work this out. I promise.” He said as he brought your hand up to his lips, savoring the feeling of your skin against his mouth. He closed his eyes, feeling very regretful. He wouldn’t lose you again.

When he returned home he felt odd, but not like he had in the past few months. He didn’t drink away his feelings, or drown his anger out with music. Instead, he worked on packing. He wasn’t going to be like Neil; not at all. He was going to be there for you. He was going to be there for his son. No matter how scared he was. He couldn’t let either of you down.

“Where are you going?” Neil’s voice made him jump, surprising him as he paused with the article of clothing in his hands. He turned slowly, looking at the way Neil was leaning against the door frame. He had his hands crossed tightly over his chest, his eyebrows furrowed together tightly. His features were stoic, like he was deciding whether he should be angry or not.

“I’m moving out,” He said as he turned away, shoving the clothes back into his bag, “I uh, found a place.” Billy replied slowly as he finished zipping up his bag. He wondered how much he’d really be able to take with him. Probably not much if his dad got angry.

“You moving in with that bitch?” Neil tilted his head up as he spoke, like he was trying to make himself taller. His eyes were sharp, cold as his gaze cut into Billy. He felt sick as he gulped harshly, trying to keep his tone at bay.

“Don’t call her that.” Billy responded hotly, feeling defensive of you. You weren’t anything like that and you were letting him back into your life; just like that. You were everything and more to him and he wasn’t going to let Neil speak ill of you.

“Is the kid yours or some little bastard?” His lip curled up in disgust as he spoke, his features filling with disappointment. Billy didn’t care. He was going to be happy with you. He wouldn’t be like Neil. Not ever.

“Mine,” He said roughly, “And don’t you ever call him that.” He snatched up his bag, taking his few items with him as he moved forward. Neil scoffed as he shook his head, irritated as Billy pushed forward.

“She’s going to ruin your life,” He grumbled as he gripped Billy’s shoulder, holding him in place for a moment, “And don’t even think about crawling back. I won’t have you.” He said threateningly, like he might change Billy’s mind.

“I won’t come back.” Billy promised, stern with his answer as he walked past him. He wouldn’t let his son suffer the same way he had. They both deserved better than this.

The rest of the months passed breezily, making him come to terms a little easier as your due date approached. He had done a lot of ass kissing, pleading and groveling until he got back on your good side. He brought you flowers every day, rubbed your feet after work and gave you plenty of kisses.

You complained about how you looked as the final weeks approached, but he thought that you looked beautiful. Stunning. In his opinion, you were glowing. He loved rubbing your tummy too, feeling like he got a deeper connection that way.

Your labor was messy, a little chaotic. Billy was terrified something would go wrong, but stayed close to you regardless. By the end of it, his hand was numb and his wrist aching from how tightly he’d been gripping you.

“Look at him,” You breathed out as you held the little boy in your arms, “He’s so cute.” You sniffled, looking like you were seconds away from breaking down again.

He stared and stared, memorizing his son's features as he came to terms that he was a father. He had a little boy, someone to take care of. He looked so fragile, so tiny. It made him nervous. He was fearful that he’d accidentally hurt him by holding him wrong, or by dropping him. He wasn’t sure how his rough hands were supposed to hold something so soft.

"Billy," You breathed out quietly, making his throat grow raw as he stared down at the little boy. Soft blonde curls and the same sloped nose he had. Everything else about the little boy reminded him of you, "Are you crying?" You asked gently, making him feel even more emotional as he shook his head.

“No,” He said hoarsely, doing everything in his power to keep from breaking down, “S’just a lot.” He mumbled as he wiped at his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose as he tried to calm himself down. His hands were shaking, his heart thumping roughly inside of his chest.

“I know,” You replied softly as you sat up a bit, gesturing the bundle in your arms towards him, “C’mon. You’ll feel better.” You reassured him, but he still felt hesitant. He pressed his fingertips together before he nodded, accepting the little baby from you.

Names hadn’t quite been figured out yet, but that didn’t matter at the moment. He looked healthy, his cheeks full and fists clenched together as he stretched his arms out. Billy felt a small chuckle leave his neck, fighting over the sob that was threatening to burst free.

He suddenly couldn’t remember why he had been so nervous, or scared. As his son curled against his arms it felt natural, like he already knew what he was doing. He savored the warmth, the way the little baby cooed as he adjusted him in his arms. Everything felt right suddenly.

“I won’t let anything bad ever happen to you,” He promised as he kissed his little head, sighing deeply as he snuggled his little son towards him, “Not ever. I promise.”

#Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove fic #Billy Hargrove x reader #Billy Hargrove x yn #Billy Hargrove x you #Billy Hargrove is a good dad #Dad!Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove request #Billy Hargrove angst #Billy Hargrove fluff

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hiaon · 2 months

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hello mister!

would you ever be up to writing a story Mulan-like style, in which a country is at war and young adults who are alphas go to fight, and for some reason omega!male!reader decides to pass as an alpha (or even a beta who volunteered instead of getting drafted) and goes to war. Perhaps even before a battle, maybe when the troops are still training, his commander (an alpha dilf who is like 35 while reader is like 20) finds out that the reader is an omega while he’s in heat and he just goes on to breed the reader, maybe even get his poor subordinate knocked up?

Dubcon if you want, but if you’re not comfortable with it, do whatever you want!!

Sorry for this :p and thanks for reading!

'Helping'

Commander x Male! Bottom! Reader

Also this was a very great idea. I had to write it as fast as possible.. But I took forever so 🤡🤡

Disclaimer: Dubcon, fingering, Corruption kink.

Should I write more in 1st person POV? It's been a while... I should have made this 1st person POV.. Nvm.. Next suggestion or my own story. I'll make it 1st person POV.

It was hard enough to be accepted to go out to war. But somehow your secondary gender made it worst, you we're in heat and don't know what to do.

Secondary genders are the once that makes sure either your going to be in a comfortable position or you suffer. Beta makes up 60% of the world. Alphas are the most respected secondary gender, either a man or a woman, you are still guaranteed to have a happy life.

While.. Omegas are that everybody finds charming when the omega is a women. But not a man, imagine when a man giving birth.. It's just ruin the reputation and image of a man. So when they figure out when a boy is an omega.. They usually just forcefully take them. But your a lucky one.

Your father had this magical pill that you still don't know where the origins of, make you take them everyday so you'll seem more like an beta.

So some people seemed confused that you look so feminine. But they eventually brushed it off.

Thanks to the pills that your father gave to you every day your scent just seems like any other beta. Until, your father was being forced to serve the kingdom and fight for war. You wasn't an option because betas are only 21 and above only, you we're only 20 at that time, and most importantly the standard recruitment is that you have to be an alpha. Your father was an alpha.

Your father had 2 days until he goes to the troops camp. But you we're stubborn, you wanted your father to have happy days, and have peace. So you took your father's place. Also took all the pills that you had which was 3 months worth of the pills, but also you knew it wasn't going to last long.

But you kept your Identity safe. But they we're confused on why you had such an feminine body. It eventually toned down with that.

But you eventually befriend 3 humble looking fellows and, you manage to get close with the commander not because of great communication.. Its because on how much you get hurt when practicing.. Which was a lot of times.

You noticed that you he was in the infirmary tent a lot. You sometimes start small-talks, he speaks so little so you eventually just stopped.

You and your teammates we're preparing to attack tomorrow, so you guys we're prepping the swords, armor, shield and ect... Meanwhile you we're done with preparing with the things needed, you decided to take a bath since you always talk the bath last. It's just more comfortable that way.

While you we're bathing you felt something weird. In your stomach area. It started to burn you never experienced this your whole life, is it because you stopped taking the pills? More likely ran out of it.

You never forgot to take the pills, because your father say so, so this what happens when you skip..?

You started to feel cold on how hot you we're getting, the new sensations makes you less aware that somebody was entering the water with you.

"[Y/N]" that voice startled you.

"O-oh!." You really needed something. You just didn't know why.

"[Y/N] I have been wanting to ask you something for quite some time." Your Comander said after briefly saying— "Are you truly a beta?"

The commander looked like he wants answers.

You couldn't contain it anymore and to had no shame in asking it was too cold for and hot at the same time—

"Command.. Commander.. Can you please hu.. hug me.!" The commander was stunned for a moment, and hugged him all of the sudden.

"I know now, I know what you are." The commander picked you up in a bride style and put on a towel on to your body and coving you face along with it.. Yes, he was walking naked towards his tent. No one was allowed in there. But it seems like you was going to be in that tent for a while.

You just feel that some people saw but the commander did not give two shits about them.

He just kept on walking to the tent, as if he wasn't at all naked at all..

He placed you into— you assumed his bed.

"Do you even know how to take care of your heat?" The Commander asked you. But to be honest, you don't know even what a heat is.

"Uhm." As you we're trying to answer, the commander was still standing up while getting in between your legs.

"You don't have to answer that, besides, I like it that way." The commander said while spreading his way to you hole, and your slick made it less painful. So that's why it's there.

"W-what are you doing Ack!" The commander's fingers keeps on going deeper than it should. When he hit the spot you made a lot of noise, so he kept hitting it.

"Ahh.! Commande-er.! Please stop!" You said that but you really didn't want him to stop. This was the thing you didn't know you needed the most.

"Mhm.." The commander took out his two fingers and licked it. It was kind of embarrassing for him to do that, and you don't even know the reason.

"Try telling me if it hurt or not okay?" The commander told you as he aligned his member to your hole.

"Wha-" You stopped mid sentence when you see that his member trying to enter your small hole.

"Commander.. That thing isn't going to fit me.." You got a little scared.

"Don't worry, it will." The commander said with confidence.

It took some time to get used to his size. But when you did you two we're like bunnies in heat, but you literally are.

After he came two times, and you came 4 times you guys cleaned each other in the river. He insisted for you to sleep in his tent but he already did do much for you, you we're embarrassed to take too much.

So you declined and you tried to sleep in your bed, but you couldn't on how much happened today...

But now you know where to go after when you're in heat.

Little skit:

A little while after you lay down in your bed you, you hear people come in.

A trio walked to their beds and sat down. A guy broke the silence.

"Hey man, did you see that the Commander had brought a woman in his tent!" [F/N](1) said wanting to talk about the situation.

"Yeahh it's no doubt that it was woman! I mean.. Did you see those smooth long legs!?" [F/N](2) said.

You just pretended you weren't there...

"People! You don't know if that woman is Commander's wife!? You'll get killed immediately if Commander finds out you know!!" [F/N](3) said in an annoyed voice, he just didn't want rumors to spread about that poor woman..

"Oh. my. shit, your right I better go to sleep and pretend I saw nothin'..." [F/N](2) said and immediately fell asleep.

"Seriously, how does he do that.." [F/N] (1) staring blandly at the sleeping man who was talking a lot about 5 seconds ago..

"Some kind of super power of something.." [F/N](3) said while he was sitting and preparing to sleep.

You pretend that you didn't hear any of that.

#oc x male reader #x male reader #x you #oneshot #gay #male reader smut #smut #omegaverse #bxb smut #bxb

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janus-cadet · 2 months

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This card is brighter than the one I usually do- might even be the most colorful of the whole deck, so far! Which- fitting. Today, let's welcome Charlie Morningstar and Vaggie, double figures for the Ten of Cups!

(Now usually, the card also have one or two more people on it; I thought about adding Pentious, but our snake should have his card soon enough. Therefore, it's just the girls.)

Explanations under the cut, as well as a poll for the next card to draw, and the rest of the Hazbin tarot cards!

Upright, the Ten of Cups embodies happiness, joy, and emotional contentment. You have created an abundance of love and happiness in your life, and you now share this love with others, expanding your heart even more. This fits Charlie and what she created with her hotel, supported by Vaggie- together, they are the start of it all. You are now surronded by your loved ones (it's a fucking happy day in hell!), with whom you share a powerful and deep connection. You support one another, and you help other to reach their highest potential- on the path to redemption! Most of all, you do it because seeing others happy is the greatest joy you could have. It's the "happy family" card by excellence, as well as a positive card for romantic relationships- you're in a blissful one, if that's what you're looking for, to the point you may believe that you ar soulmates destined to be with one another (I do love them, mh, mh). When the card appears in your reading, it's time for you to take a step back, and appreciate everything you accomplished. You went through hard time, but look at that! You can do this, now we know it, and you actually did. Follow your heart, says the card, and follow your inner sens of Good.

Reversed, the card brings more subtility. You can see the Upright reading as mostly Charlie's idealistic view on the hotel and on redemption; but with the reversed Ten of Cups come the struggles. You may feel disconnected and disengaged from your loved ones, like your estranged father and your missing mother. You try to connect, but each times, something goes wrong, and the distance between you grows. Why does he forgets everything you say? Can't he pay attention? Why is he not calling more often? Or maybe you're afraid to trust, and you're keeping some secrets close to your chest. You don't open up enough, and you create, without meaning to, a distance with others, with her. You're too rash and too impulsive, but you mean well- surely, they can see that? It may have an impact on your relationship; you need to realise that nothing is perfect, and every relationship has its ups and downs. The Ten of Cups invite you to seek out a common ground with your loved ones, and rebuild the relationship from there. Talk to your father about why, exactly, he's so reluctant to help; talk to your partner about who you are, and where you came from. Open the lines of communication and be ready to hold space for one another. Be compassionate, understanding, and respectful. The card can also mean that you're starting to doubt yourself, and what you are doing. Is it really worth it? Are you up to the task? Are you letting other people down? You have to rethink those questions. Think about what makes you happy, what you believe in, and bring back your focus to that.

And that's it for today! I'm planning to do at least three more Hazbin cards- if the fixation does not die by then. Not that it shows any sign of slowing down, oh boy- they are all so fun to draw, too!

Anyway.

And with that, Hazbin Hotel verse is the most represented fandom in my whole deck of cards, right before Doctor Who. Ah!

If you have read this far- well done. So proud of you. You win a peach cider, if you're even able to drink this abomination. And paf, the rest of the cards!

#digital art #my art #tarot project #ten of cups #chaggie #charlie morningstar #charlie magne #vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #vaggie x charlie #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #chaggie fanart

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suzukiblu · 8 months

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WIP guessing game: help

"I know about Billy, Marvel," Batman says, and Billy . . . blinks.

"You know?!" he sputters. Okay, so apparently his secret identity was just . . . literally never a secret at all, then. Which, well–Batman, so that just figures, really. So actually this is kind of a relief and might even mean that he's fine with–

"Yes," Batman confirms with a nod. "So I understand your current reservations about parenthood."

. . . wait what.

"Huh?" Billy says, blinking stupidly at him.

"I don't know how much of you is still C.C. Batson or what you do or don't remember about being him," Batman says. "But the resemblance is undeniable, if nothing else. Certainly your and your wife's deaths were . . . well, suspicious. And you're hardly the first archeologists to dig up a god or six."

Oh, okay. Well.

This is apparently what Billy gets for his personal mental image of a "hero" being his dad, then, isn't it.

Crap.

"To be honest I've been looking for Billy for a while now, I just didn't want to bring it up before I found him," Batman admits, looking dissatisfied with himself. "My most recent reliable intel puts him in Fawcett City, but I assume you're aware of that, given your evident attachment to the place."

"You're looking for Billy?" Billy asks incredulously. "Why?"

"Because he's your son," Batman says. "And because he's a homeless child who's been abused and neglected and needs help. I honestly don't know where you go when you're not being Captain Marvel–frankly I'm not sure if you even exist when you're not being Captain Marvel, given what little I actually know about your powers and your death and your role as the Champion of Magic and just how damn impossible you are to find when you're off-duty–but I'm assuming that wherever it happens to be is not necessarily conducive to providing a stable home environment and being legally dead certainly can't be helping with that, so my original intention was to find the boy and help you arrange some manner of care for and visitation with him. And given the revelation of your relation to Robin, well . . . I'd like to take Billy in myself, if you'd both be comfortable with that. It seems . . . appropriate, under the circumstances."

"You want to foster Billy because I'm Robin's soulmate?" Billy says, absolutely positive that he's misunderstood literally every single word that just came out of Batman's mouth. There is no possible way that he did not.

"It's not exactly out of my wheelhouse," Batman replies wryly. "Although I'll be keeping this one out of the tights, ideally. Though I make no long-term promises about that because quite frankly at this point I'm spoiled for soulmates who insist on wearing capes and I wouldn't really be surprised to turn up another one, especially given that Robin is yours and your own involvement in the superhero community."

Billy stares at him.

"Wait, are all the Gotham vigilantes your soulkids?" he blurts unthinkingly.

"Not all," Batman says. "But, well . . . probably more of them than you'd expect."

"Oh my god," Billy says in disbelief. "And you're just telling me that?! You don't tell people things, you're Batman!"

"I haven't always been the father I should have been," Batman says, and then he pulls down his cowl. Billy chokes, and then chokes again because apparently Batman is Bruce freaking Wayne and his brain just . . . just needs a moment to process that fact, like there is literally any way whatsoever that he could ever actually process that fact. He would've been less surprised to see a Kardashian under that mask, he's pretty sure. At least they've got athletes in the family, technically! "So I'm not going to make things difficult for you with Robin. Clearly he needs more than I'm capable of providing, and I'm perfectly willing to be transparent and to co-parent with you as much as possible. I want Robin to be safe and content and grow up well, and frankly put, Batson, you've proven yourself to be a good man time and again and I trust you to do what's best by our son."

Okay, well, now Billy just feels like dirt.

"You do know what happened to Billy, don't you?" he asks just a little bit desperately, because there is literally no way that this conversation is a real and actual thing that's really and actually happening. "Like, just–everything that happened there? There's a reason he's not in school or the system or with a relative or anything like that."

"What happened to Billy wasn't your fault," Batman tells him, meeting his eyes all quiet and intent and sincere. "And I will do everything in my power to help you make it right."

"Oh no, you're actually like . . . just genuinely a really good person, aren't you," Billy says despairingly, staring at him all over again and really, really wishing he could swear right now.

Maybe he'll just go throw himself into the sun. Maybe that's what he'll just go and do.

The corner of Batman's mouth quirks up wryly. His eyes even crinkle a little, which Billy can see on account of his total lack of cowl right now, oh god.

Billy despairs.

"I mean it," Batman says gently. "It wasn't your fault, and it doesn't mean you can't be a good father now."

"I need to talk to Robin," Billy says, because he definitely, definitely needs to talk to Robin. Batman inclines his head in an accepting nod, because Batman is probably under the impression that Billy wants to go give Robin a good ol' traditional "I know I'm not your biodad but I'm here for you, champ!" kind of speech, and Billy just . . . really cannot explain the real situation to him right now. Or ever.

Can he just lie to Batman for the rest of their lives, maybe? He can just pretend to be his own dad for the Justice League and keep dodging whatever Bat-surveillance happens to be in Fawcett and parent his older-than-he-is soulmate, right? That's a thing that he can do?

That's probably not a thing that he can do.

Although he might be willing to try, at this point.

#billy batson #bruce wayne #shazam #batman #chromatographic #rinfic #wip: billy and damian and the whole soulmate thing

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bakugoushotwife · 10 months

Text

Daddy's Home For Good

a/n: this was requested by one of my lovely followers privately, and I absolutely love the idea of whipped daddy gojo just insanely in love with his wife and the idea of being a dad soon! so enjoyyyy. this is a part two but can be read as a stand alone.

part one : daddy’s home

pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader

cw: lactation kink, pregnancy, descriptions of pregnant body, reader was curvier to begin with, fingering, nipple play, brief childbirth i guess? unedited as always.

wc: 3.3k

It blew him away, really. How quickly the urge to be a father came on, how good it felt to act on these needs with you, and how successful his attempts turned out to be. When you came to him with all those positive pregnancy tests, he didn’t think life could get any better. This truly was the highlight of his life, and anyone that knew the man that existed pre-you would absolutely cackle at the sight. Satoru Gojo, buying baby clothes and bibs and strollers to take his son around town in, to show off the latest member of the Gojo family tree.

It was almost ridiculous. Every time, on his way home from grueling missions or a packed day of training those kids he loved so much, your husband came home with some sort of accessory or necessity for the baby boy you were growing for him. He always had that signature satisfied grin on his face, his eyes wide with pride and love. He just can’t wait to see your reaction to these onesies, he knows the colors go perfectly with the nursery scheme. He picked out the paint for the room as meticulously as he picked out these onesies—with all of his love and care in mind. He looked around to see the empty living room, figuring you were either in your shared room resting, or doing some more nesting in the baby’s room. He sighs happily, slipping out of his shoes and putting his keys down, that shit-eating grin still adorning his features as he waits for you.

You—his most precious wife, glowing and beautiful with that bump of yours. He just can’t help himself, Satoru has always lacked impulse control and the way you waddle out from the bedroom to greet him makes his chest warm with emotion and his dick pulse with another one. You were eight–almost nine– months along, his son inside you causing your breasts to grow two cup sizes, though they were already massive. Your hips had widened even more, your hair and skin seemed to shine brighter. You were mesmerizing, the perfect image of a mother. You grin happily, resting your hand on your growing stomach while you make your way over to him. You were the reason he got to be this happy, and he would pamper you in every way because of it. The next Gojo boy could arrive any day now, and he could barely wait.

“My beautiful woman!” He cheers upon your approach, holding up the shopping bags filled to the brim with clothes and pacifier clips and little shoes and anything else you can think of when it comes to a baby’s needs. His smile spreads wider when he sees your forced surprise. You were impossibly sexy like this, stroking your belly and leaning against the couch as he pulled out the dinosaur onesie he was most proud of. He loves the soft look in your eye as you look at him, the adoration you have can only mirror the kind he holds for you.

“Look at all this, Daddy spoils us.” You giggle, shaking your head as you examine all the clothes and toys your over excited husband brought home. You couldn’t wait to give birth at this point either. You thought you looked horrendous, sweaty and swollen at all hours of the day. You can’t get any sleep because of your size, and no clothes were comfortable. You loved being pregnant but…you also loathed it once you got this big. “Haru is so lucky to be your son, yeah?”

Satoru beams at this, nodding his agreement. “Oh but of course, nothing but the best for my loves.”

You can’t help but admire him this way. He’s so in love with you and the prospect of a family, he can’t stop himself from bringing home an obnoxious amount of gifts for you and baby both. This far into the pregnancy, as the days draw closer to Haru being on this side of the world with you, your anxiety increases as well. It was such a relief to have a husband like Satoru by your side. He took care of everything, leaving you to rest and take it easy, reading your books and preening about as you wish. It seems he had the inevitable nesting instincts, keeping the house clean and making all the meals for the two of you.

He would always say he had to keep you healthy since Haru was sucking out all your nutrients. He had surprised you honestly, doing all this research to keep you comfortable. Half the gifts he brought home early on were suited for you, the highest end maternity clothes and body pillows—though he preferred you use him when he was home. He made sure the cleaning products he used were all non-toxic and safe for you to breathe, once again completely surprising you during the earlier months of your pregnancy. He even brought his students in to meal prep freezer food for the recovery, that way Satoru never had to leave your side and could give all of his attention to you and your newborn son. He was so beautifully excited to be a father, and you were so content to be the one giving him children. As long as he kept this treatment up, you’d continue to pump out Gojo’s until he wanted to stop.

Which didn’t seem to be on his mind at all. Seeing you like this right now, swollen and fatigued from all your hard work, he wanted this all the time. It was such a dominant and possessive and honestly out-dated thing to desire so deeply, to keep you pregnant and at home caring for all the other babies all day long, but fuck this would never get old. Your giggles as you pull out yet another adorable little outfit for your son, the sweet way you bat your lashes up at him to say thank you, the darkening patches spreading across the cloth of your t-shirt…it all made his body break out in a sweat, a need to please you growing in his gut.

You hear his shaky breath, looking up at him to see his chlorine colored eyes darkening steadily, and his hand covering his crotch.

“Sato? What’s wrong?” You ask, your sweet voice sending shivers down his spine and making him blush in embarrassment at the same time. You were much too big to try to accommodate his sexual desires, much less, it’s wrong that he’s so turned on by you leaking breast milk in front of him.

He shakes his head, giving you a nervous chuckle and waving off your concern. “Oh, nothing, wifey. Don’t worry.” His eyes flicker over your form, stuttering around your chest before they meet your worried ones.

You notice, of course you would notice. He knows you’ll think he’s a pervert for sure now, even though he most definitely was and you most definitely already knew that about your husband after the years of marriage and dating. You gasp once you see the dark wet stains in your top.

“Shit–I’m sorry, that’s been happening here recently—I think it’s a good thing but uh, I’ll go get changed, I’m sorry—”

He grabs your wrist before you can spin around and head back to the bedroom. His brow is furrowed, and his other hand comes to hold your chin. He seems even more upset than before.

“Don’t ever apologize to me…that’s what’s gonna feed our son, I never wanna hear that again.” He mumbles, eyes darkening again as they fixate on the damp markings. His hand lets your wrist go, coming up to brush his thumb across the fabric. It gives you a chill, your nipples have always been far too sensitive to his touch, now more than ever. You breathe in sharply at the feeling, and he bites down on his lower lip.

He, as always, is far too sensitive to you as a whole, now more than ever. Your little gasp encourages him to keep going, maybe the idea wasn’t so horrible after all. He brushes his thumb against your hardened nipple now, watching your face closely. The moment is so quiet and delicate, he doesn’t know if he should speak, to excuse or explain himself for this. You look down at his touch and then back up at him, and his pupils expand. He likes it, he wants to see more of your leaking tits, you realize.

“Ohhhh…” You grin as you understand his earlier strange behavior. “So Daddy likes Mama’s leaky boobs, huh?” You tease, a cute little smirk displayed on your face. God, sometimes you were too much for him. He was trying to stifle these urges, to respect the mother of his unborn child more than this—but you’re making it impossible. His breathing gets a little shakier with your taunts, and he ashamedly nods his head yes.

“Don’t be shy, Satoru.” You purr his name like always, pushing his big hand harder against your chest. “It’s cute…you love everything about makin’ me a mother.” You coo, your other hand reaching for his cheek now. He leans his face into your hold, tremendously vulnerable now that you’ve caught him. Though, you don’t seem disgusted by him, so maybe there’s hope. Especially at your last sentence, it seems you understand him in a way he didn’t even quite get. Why would he be craving the taste of your milk right now, the sight of your pretty chest dripping with the nutrients his son would soon need? Because he caused all of it? Yeah, he understands now. His cloudy blue eyes finally meet yours again, and he nods.

“Mhm, can’t help it, angel. You just look so hot like this, and I just wanna make you feel good..” He says, tunnel visioning back to your chest. He slips his hand out of your grip, opting to slide them under your shirt instead. You nod slowly, your breath catching in your throat when his warm palms cup your heavy tits. It’s so sensitive, they feel so weighty and full, you can’t help but moan a little bit as he massages them. He gently pushes you back into the couch, helping you get comfortable on the broad cushions. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fuck you the right way, but that was the least of his worries right now. He wouldn’t be able to carry on unless he saw you, unless he tasted the food that would help his son grow big and strong like him.

You’re blissed out immediately, just from the relief of his touch. He supports your heavy tits in his hands, softly stroking over your wet nipples with his thumbs. His cock jumps with your every moan. He thinks its hot, the way you move your hips still, wishing he could fuck into you and do this at the same time. It makes him smile, how needy you became within seconds, and he wonders if you had thought about this too. He regretfully lets go of your chest, supporting them carefully until they rested against you. He didn’t want to cause any pain, no no. His only job was to bring relief and pleasure.

He didn’t even understand how good it felt to be fondled and worshiped like this. He kneels between your legs on the floor, looking over your gorgeous pregnant body leaning perfectly against the couch. He pushes your shirt up–one that actually belonged to him–but god it worked perfectly on you now. The shirt rests above your engorged breasts, revealing your fully naked form to him. He shivers. He knows with your size as of late, it’s hard enough to put on the t-shirt. Pregnancy was such a gift. Here you are, your belly huge and perfect, the veins on your chest more pronounced, your nipples more pink than usual and dripping with liquid. He moans aloud, just from the sight of you.

You giggle at the sound, heat licking up your body. As ugly as you thought you looked these days, your husband never thought you looked better. You reach around blindly for him, unable to see him from the way you were leaning combined with the massive bump in between you two. He hums, leaning up a bit so you could grab a gentle fistful of his hair. When he leans up enough to make eye contact, you nearly laugh again. He’s under a spell, his eyes frenzied with desire. He looks at your chest again, slick and sheeny and your nipples just aching for some relief.

“You want me to suck on you, Mama?” He asks with a smirk, his hands rubbing circles into your stomach as he eagerly awaits your response.

“Please Daddy, miss your mouth so much, everywhere.” You huff, tugging on his hair to pull him closer to your needy breasts. He won’t make you beg. That’s the least he could do for his gorgeous baby mama. He hums, his tongue parting his lips and his eyes focused on yours. He leans in and licks the wetness around your nipples, groaning at the sweet taste of your milk. His large hand gently massages the fullness of your neglected breast, his tongue flicking over your pebbled bud for more of your essence. You moan and whimper, wiggling around helplessly. He was amazed by your sensitivity, your back arching off the couch when he wraps his lips around your nipple.

He moans, your milk falling in drops in his mouth. His eyes flutter shut, your moans were impossibly sexy and his cock was starting to hurt. He knew he couldn’t use you like that, so he just ruts against the bottom of the couch, suckling on your tits like he was the one who needed the nutrients.

It felt amazing, the wet and warm relief of his mouth sucking out some of the pressure was too much, you could feel your pussy leaking your normal fluids all over the couch cover. “Oh Daddy, you’re makin’ me feel s’much better~”

He nods, swallowing everything he’d collected thus far to swap to your neglected one. He sees you reach for your pussy, though with the size of your stomach, you can’t reach. He chuckles softly, taking it as a sign of your permission before he swats your hand away and replaces it with his own fingers. He circles your clit, making you gasp and part your legs even more for him. His mouth closes around your unused bud, and your whines are like a symphony. He knows you’re going to cum soon, and from the way he ruts against the couch…he will too.

You’ve done your research, you know that orgasms and nipple stimulation can lead to your water breaking but with everything else you had tried to induce your labor lately, you didn’t think this one would work. You tried the exercise ball, you ate dates, you even tried eating spicy foods but all for naught—your son seemed to be as stubborn as his father.

So when you’re screaming and cumming hard just from Satoru suckling your chest and his minimal pressure to your clit, the extra rush of water is hardly noticed. Innocently, Satoru thinks maybe you squirted from such a naughty act. He’s brainless for the moment anyway, his vision blackened as he busts in his pants, all from the pleasure he brought to you and getting to indulge in one of his fantasies. He’s panting, laughing at himself for cumming untouched. He stands and kisses your forehead, letting you get your breath back as he steps off into your bedroom to change and bring you a towel.

“I hope that made you feel good, angel, you’re out here embarrassing me.” He chuckles, crouching to wipe you up.

You go to respond, giggling, when the sharp pain cuts you off. It felt like a period cramp, but much more intense. You had had these all day, convincing yourself it was another Braxton-Hicks instance, but you knew. In your heart of hearts, it was time.

“Satoru–”

“What’s that look for babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost–”

“Haru–he’s coming.” You blurt out, eyes wide and face paling several shades. He does the same, hands flying to his hair in shock.

“Right now? Oh my god—” He’s running around immediately, calling Megumi to come watch the cats and calling Shoko to meet you at the hospital and sprinting to the nursery for the hospital bag before he’s back with clothes for you, dressing you with shaky hands. “It’s really time!”

You nod, checking the bag while he puts your pants on, sliding your feet into sandals. “It’s really time. Oh my god, Sato..our baby is coming!” You squeal in between bouts of contractions.

He gives you a broad smile, gently helping you to your feet. He slings the hospital bag on his shoulder, the plan for Haru’s arrival having been in place for weeks. He’s a mess of nerves as he tucks you into the car, making sure for the fifteen-hundredth time that the car seat was installed correctly before he finally gets in the driver's side. He keeps a protective hand over your stomach the whole time, frowning in sympathy every time you endure a contraction.

Part of these nerves are his excitement, his relief that his strange inclination ended up inducing your labor, and his overwhelming desire to meet his son. “Our baby is coming.” He echoes, a whisper as the hospital comes into view.

8 hours later, little Haru Gojo makes his first appearance into the world. He’s beautiful, and strong, and certainly makes his presence known with his loud cries and haughty grip on his father’s thumb once he’s been cleaned up and given back.

Satoru is in awe. His son, this tiny little bundle of blankets laying in his arms, the creation of him and the woman he loves so dearly. Eyes of the same shade of blue look up at him, smiling. The boy coos loudly too, babbling and reaching for his father’s face. Satoru sits next to you on your bed, utterly in love. “He’s perfect. Thank you, my angel.” He says, carefully leaning over to kiss your temple.

You smile softly, exhausted but thrilled at the same time. You love the tamed look in your husband’s eyes, a new kind of softness invented specifically for his child. He cuddles the boy close, holding you in his other arm. His family, just the start. His heart is so full, and once again he’s surprised that he could feel so intensely. He watches you rest against him, your eyes tired and full of love for your son—the Gojo family.

“Thank you. You gave him to me.” You remind, reaching your hand out to smooth the white peach fuzz sprouting on Haru’s head. He scoffs at you, and the baby starts to writhe towards his mother.

“Oh gag, that’s the easiest job in the world. You’ve gone through so much just to give me this little boy, hush and let me worship the ground you walk on, please.” He insists, letting his fingers trace the tiny nose and lips of his little son. He smiles at Haru's puckers and squirms, knowing he was probably hungry. He gently places him in your arms, his strong chest helping you sit upright. He smiles, watching the magic that is you feeding his child. “Looks like I’ve got some competition..”

You slap his shoulder and roll your eyes, giggling at the first of many dad jokes that Satoru had no doubt researched as well. He just sighs lovingly, wrapping his arms around you and supporting all your weight, keen to wait on you hand and foot until you are fully recovered—and even then. He’s beyond grateful for this life. Maybe all the pain and heartache was worth it. He gets to call himself a husband and now a father, a future he had never imagined for himself. He owes it all to you, the woman who quite literally birthed his dreams.

“I’ve got more where that comes from so…stay on your toes, Mama.”

#gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #kyleewritesjjk #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo #gojo saturo

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ljh-writing-blog · 1 year

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Batmom #2 - Dick Grayson

Dick Grayson was and is a force of nature. Brought to Bruce, and by extension yourself, as a child of only eight years old through suffering and death you felt yourself a kindred spirit. You were at Haley’s Circus that night, Bruce thought it would be a wonderful date. The night ended in tragedy, a stunt “gone wrong”. You only hoped the energies of the oldest Flying Graysons were at rest.

The worst part of the night was feeling everyone’s fear in the tent. Dick’s fear stood out to you, it was the strongest and you felt the immediate need to rid it from his small self. You didn’t hesitate to jump out of the stands and find him in the chaos. You made Bruce pull some strings so you could take him home, you didn’t care how but the boy was coming with you. You couldn’t, you wouldn’t, leave him alone to some foster facility for however long it would take to find him placement. You would convince Bruce to take him in, if he didn’t you’d find your own apartment and care for him yourself. Diana always wanted more girl time and you knew she loved kids. All these contingencies ran through your head as you held him close, picking him up and taking him out of the tent. Taking him away from the horror and blood that stained the tent that night.

Bruce wasn’t the best father, truthfully he wasn’t much of a father in the early years. Alfred had been a big help and you stepped up to fill the mother figure role in his life. You stopped fighting crime on the daily, only joining the battle field when absolutely necessary. You had a few shifts at the Watchtower weekly but made sure they were while Dick was at school. You refused to let him sit in his grief alone, it wasn’t healthy. At times you overwhelmed him, he was so full of desolation and rage your love made him sick. He reminded you constantly you weren’t his mother, “My mother is dead! You’re just an expensive wanna-be replacement!” His words damaged your heart at times but you never let it show, not to him at least. Alfred spent many nights baking and drinking tea with you while you both discussed the day’s events. Sometimes it was just a few tears you both pretended not to notice, others it was much more difficult. The first year had been the hardest for all of you.

You weren’t sure if Dick finding the Batcave’s Grandfather Clock entrance was the worst thing that ever happened to your family or the best: it brought your boys closer, you and Bruce started talking again, it allowed Dick to move past his anger and grief, it also allowed him to embrace his trapeze skills and think of them positively instead of the negative left behind. Your son becoming Robin was probably the best thing for his mental health at the time. But it also brought bruises, cuts, concussions, forged doctors notes, and small bouts of what Bruce called a “Napoleon Complex”. It brought pain and death right back to your doorstep in ways you never thought possible.

When Dick found out you were a superhero, with what he liked to refer to as magic, he went crazy. He demanded a talent show and to see you in your suit. You indulged if only to see his smiles, he could light up a room with his grin. Using your mutation to lift him in the air sure wasn’t what he was expecting but it was definitely cool. Once you donned your suit Dick recognized you, his next request filled you with dread. “Y/N your powers are so cool! Can you show me my deepest fear? It’d be really cool to know…” He began rambling as you felt a pit form in your stomach. You never want to use those parts of your powers on anyone you love, especially the boy you live for. Bruce, who had been watching your little fashion show, recognized you tensing up and took over the conversation. “That’s enough for today, Chum. Your mother has had a long day and she’s very tired.” It was the first time Dick hadn’t objected to you being referred to as his mother. That day started a new chapter for your family.

Dick Grayson is a force of nature but you couldn’t imagine your eldest son any other way.

#batboys #batman #batmom imagine #batmom reader #batmom x bruce wayne #batmom!reader #bruce wayne #dick grayson #child!dick grayson #batfam x batmom #bruce wayne x batmom #the batman #batfam x reader #batmom x justice league #batmom #bruce wayne x reader #scarlet witch batmom #batmom2

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Dirty Work 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: This week is killing me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday sees your second day in your new position. As you send off your letter of resignation to the agency, you can't help the coil that winds tight in your stomach. There's no going back now.

You close out of the several templates you Googled in your efforts. It's the one thing you know how to do. Willa, the friendly librarian who checked out the PC for you, always said, if you can Google, you can figure it out. Still, you feel like there's so much you don't know that you're not sure a search engine can answer.

You close the laptop and take both your phones with you into the hallway. You have to go check out that gazebo and figure out if you need to make a call about it. Oh, and the fridge was beeping when you filled your bottle, you have to call the maintenance number that flashed up too.

That makes you even more anxious. You've never really been the sort for phone calls. You never had anyone to talk to and everything else was easier done in person. Well, you'll have to muddle through. Work isn't supposed to be fun or easy.

As you near the staircase, your flip chimes. You juggle to answer the right phone. The slim touchscreen is set only to buzz, an option not available on the clumsy burner. You answer the call as you stop on the top stair.

The woman on the other end asks for you by name. You confirm your identity as you hear familiar noises in the background. She's a nurse from the downtown hospital.

“I'm calling to confirm your father's discharge tomorrow at noon,” she says over the rustle of paper and clack of keys, “we'll need the bed so if there is any delay, another day would be added to the invoice.”

“I understand, I'll be there, erm… noon. Tomorrow,” you don't have your notebook so you key a reminder into the other phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, miss, we would recommend you arrive earlier. We have some resources and counseling available on what you can expect getting the patient settled at home,” she continues, “nine would be ideal. I'll be able to add a note for the doctor to check in as well.”

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” you squeak, “thank you.”

“Alright then, I have all that logged. You have a good day.”

“You too,” you utter before the line dies.

Phone calls weren't too bad. You think you did okay with that one. Then again, you didn't think! You're supposed to work tomorrow. Mr. Laufeyson said you could take Wednesday off, and tomorrow is only Monday.

You close the flip phone and stare at it. Oh boy. You really don't want to spoil this. Just the mention of the coming invoice underlines your desperation. You need the money. Your dad needs it.

“Are you finished?” Mr. Laufeyson's timbre drawls from down the hall. You glance over as he stands just in the doorway of his study. You gulp.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I didn't mean to disturb–”

“Yet you did,” he insists.

“I was only going to check–”

“Not my concern so long as it's done,” he waves you off, “an important call, I assume, to make such a racket.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, um,” you shove the phones away, one in each of your pockets. “I… could I have the day tomorrow? Instead of Wednesday. My father is getting out of the hospital and–”

“The day? What time?” He snips as he approaches with decisive steps.

“Well, I'm supposed to go at nine,” you explain, “I'll come in Wednesday still.”

“You will come in tomorrow, after all that,” he says. “You can work later then.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, but my father will need help getting settled–”

“Figure it out. You agreed to this schedule–”

“I did but–” you stop yourself as his eyes flare, “I will be here in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“You will be. In the appropriate attire, I expect,” he snarls and spins to strut back to his office, swinging the door shut sharply.

You waver at the hard slam. You didn't mean to anger him. You can't help that your father needs you. You thought Mr. Laufeyson would be more understanding, after all, he's the one who pointed out how much you needed the money.

🧹

Your father shoos you away as you try to help him sit. He lets go of the walker and flops back with a grunt, his oxygen tank clinking against the aid’s metal leg. He coughs and snatches around blindly on the cushion for the remote. You retrieve it from the folding table beside him and put it in his hand.

That agitates him further as he growls and jams down the button to turn on the television. You yawn and back away. You still have a full day left ahead of you, and what feels like one behind you. You spent the night doing some last minute tidying to make sure everything is read for your father.

“Smokes,” he snaps his fingers and hacks.

“Er,” you hesitate. You go to find the half-crushed pack you found with him on the floor. You knew better than to throw it out. You return to him, clutching the package nervously, “Dr. Shearer said–”

“Give it to me,” he demands.

You relent and obey. He’s been doubly miserable than before. You feel like an annoying gnat buzzing around his head as he tries to swat you away.

“I made you meals for the weak. They’re all labeled in the fridge–”

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” he scowls and takes the lighter from the folding table.

“I know, but–”

“But I’m home. You probably hate that,” he sneers, “you’d be happy if I died in that hospital.”

You’re taken aback by the accusation. You gasp and shake your head, “of course not, I’m happy you’re here. That you’re alive–”

“Painfully,” he snorts darkly, “the fuck you keep me here for?”

You take a breath and frown. Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch, “because you're my dad… and I love you,” you croak.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls out a cigarette and moves the tube from below his nose. You watch him, waiting. He lights the smoke and sucks on it eagerly. You drop your head and give a shrug.

“I gotta go to work,” you say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be slamming around when you come in,” he dusts ash over the freshly vacuumed carpet, “doctor said I needa sleep.”

“I won’t,” you promise and back away.

As you leave the room, your chest plummets in dread. You think of coming home, of finding him like you did before, laying on the floor, lifeless. You sniff and swipe away the speckling of tears. More than you want him to love you, you want him to love himself. You don’t just want him to want you around, you want him to be around.

🧹

You hurry up to Mr. Laufeyson’s gate with your kit and water bottle jostling. You fumble around until you find the smartphone and bring up the digits to punch into the code box. You buzz through and shuffle inside. You set off on your usual path around the back.

You stop at the rear door and try to untangle the strap of the water bottle from your kit. Your hand lingers on the front of the ballooning shirt. You still haven’t gone to look for clothes so you did your best with what you had. One of your father’s forgotten button-ups and a pair of pants that could pass in an office. It’s ill-fitting and scratch but better than jeans.

You get inside and leave your kit in the closet. Today’s a cleaning day but you have a few things to check off the schedule first. With your water bottle bouncing on your hip, you go upstairs and scurry down to the library.

As you enter, you’re surprised to discover the space less than empty. You apologise aloud and choke on the word, ‘mister’. It isn’t the house’s single resident as you expect, no, this figure could not be more different than Mr. Laufeyson. You recognise them, from the dinner.

The blond man faces you as he stands by the window, the drapes open to add the peculiarity of the situation. Like the man, the space is golden with sunlight. You lean back on your heel as you clutch the door handle.

“Hello,” he grins as he greets you in a playful demeanour. You can’t answer. You don’t know if you should.

Is it rule one; don’t speak unless permitted; or the other rule, do not disturb my guests. You can’t figure out the riddle so you languish in perplexity.

“Aren’t you a sweet little lamb,” he muses as he steps away from the window, placing his hands on the back of the dimpled leather chair. His large hands. If you thought Mr. Laufeyson was tall, this man is even taller and twice as wide. “I remember you. The sweet maid.”

You blink. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? You can’t speak. You’re too terrified; not just of the strange man but of the one you know by name. Your employer would be unhappy to know you spoke out of turn.

“Have you seen my brother at all?” He prompts disregarding your stagnant silence. “Has he spoken of me? His brother? I'm Thor.”

You look down at your hand on the door handle.

“And what is your name?” He asks.

You don’t answer. You know it’s not right but you have no other choice. You pull the door shut and close the man in. You retreat in a half-sprint and barrel back down the stairs. You trip at the bottom and barely save yourself from stumbling to your knees.

You latch onto the banister post to keep your balance and catch your breath. You hear the door above. Oh no, would he follow you? Another door clicks and you look up to find a shadow on the other side of the frosted glass framed in the front entrance.

Mr. Laufeyson steps inside coolly, unbothered as swings the door shut and tugs on the lapel of his suit jacket. His eyes fall on you and he scuffs on his sole, tilting his head in curiosity. You didn’t realise he hadn’t even been there. You look at the ceiling with wide eyes; so how was the other man inside?

“Well, there you are,” he says matter-of-factly, “this place is sore in need of a dusting–”

Laufeyson is interrupted by a clamour of footsteps above. You let go of the banister and sidle away as his green eyes flick to the top to the staircase. You shy away and listen as the man descends in a series of thunder thumps. You turn to peek down the hall, wanting to hide in your chores.

“Stay,” Laufeyson commands. You turn back to him as he points at your feet. You stop in place and sway. He faces his visitor as he comes to the bottom stair, “brother, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Can I not come see my baby brother?” The other man; the stranger; his brother, called Thor, booms.

“You may, when you warn me of it,” Laufeyson rebuffs.

“Ah, don’t be so grim,” Thor claps his shoulders and is swiftly shrugged off, “this place is always so dark. I hope you don’t mind, I opened a few windows.”

“I do mind,” Laufeyson says, “you do always presume.”

“And you are always offer such a warm welcome,” he tries to tap Laufeyson’s cheek but is batted away. The dark of the brothers backs up with a scoff. “Ah, and there she is. I was only just coming to find the little maid. She rushed off so suddenly–”

“You don’t need to bother with her,” Laufeyson dismissed with a slice of his hand through the air, “maid,” he points at you again, “back to work.”

You lean back on your heel, ready to disappear.

“Ah, don’t be so rude, brother. She is sweet. You get more bees with honey–”

“Do not tell me how to run my house,” Laufeyson growls, an edge in his voice you’ve never heard before. Dangerous and dark.

“Is she not doing you a service? A please would be appropriate–”

“You are not mother. I don’t need you to mind my manners,” Laufeyson girds and nears his brother, unflinching even as he comes up a few inches short of chest to chest, “nor do you need to worry for my staff. She does not take orders from you.”

“And I suppose that’s all she gets from you,” Thor chuckles.

You furrow your brow, stunned by their spat. You’re not quite sure what that last bit meant. You work for Mr. Laufeyson so of course he would tell you what to do. And why are they so volatile? They’re brothers. You don’t have any siblings but you always wanted one. So that you had a friend. So you weren’t alone.

“Maid, go,” Laufeyson repeats, “now.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. You quickly turn and rush down the hall to the closet. You’re shaking as you try to sort out one phone from the other and find the old list of tasks. You can hardly steady your hands to get a pair of gloves on.

You take your time in the back of the house as you hear the men’s footfalls climb the staircase. You let your nerves settle just a little. You’re alone, for now, and your mission is simple. Clean and stay unseen.

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