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๊ฐ synopsis ๊ฑ โถ natsuo watches you day by day, month by month, carrying that fragile baby in your belly, realizing he will never escape the fact that he is his father's son
โโ โถ WORD COUNT. 7.6k words ; are we even shocked lol
โโ โถ BEFORE YOU READ. female reader ; established relationship + marriage ; pregnant reader + unplanned pregnancies ; natsuo is a sweet husband ; mentions of enji's canon behavior which includes domestic violence and child abuse + neglect ; small argument + making up ; natsuo is a nervous wreck about being a father ; i promise even though it has heavy parts, it does have a happy ending ; masterlist.
๊ฐ commentary ๊ฑ โถ girl idk how to write natsuo and its 2026 so idek if anyone still reads natsuo fanfic but here
Natsuo is twenty-three when you break the news of your pregnancy.
Dinner is goodโit always is. You cook his favorite and serve him at the table carefully. Heโs long given up on insisting you donโt have to do that for him.
(Iโve got it, heโs tried to argue before. You donโt have to serve me. Seriously.
You have no reason to serve himโNatsuo is a person, a grown one at that, just the same as you. You have no reason to put yourself beneath him, no reason to treat him like there is some invisible line between the two of you that puts him above. Youโre his partnerโhis equal.ย
Just let me do it, Natsu, youโve always argued back, smiling like itโs the simplest thing in the world. Thereโs nothing wrong with taking care of each other.
It takes time, but Natsuo reluctantly lets you take care of him the way you want to. Lets himself learn that itโs okay if you love him and put him above yourself as long as he does it, too. That as long as he doesnโt demand it from you, doesnโt mistake your kind-hearted doting for weakness, then heโs not becoming the kind of man he spent his whole life despising.)
There is a bag by your seatโheโs been eyeing it since he sat down for dinner. You serve yourself your own bowl slowly, like youโre working yourself up to be brave about something he canโt quite decipher yet. One small inhale, and the bowl is set down. One shaky exhale, and then it happens. It happens with a quick, shuddered breath before you give him a wobbly smile and pull something out of that bag.
A bib, he realizesโyou pull it out and set down a small, tiny bib on the chair beside you and murmur, โNext year, weโll probably need a bigger table. We barely make do with just the two of us on this tiny one, donโt you think?โ
He blinks. Once, then twice, and then one more time. He eyes the bib, then your trembling fingers as they fiddle with each other while you stare at him, and he blinks. He blinks, and he blinks again and again, and thereโs a small, familiar stinging in the back of his eyes as he just keeps blinking.
Heโs blinking back tearsโhe doesnโt even realize it at first. And then, youโre wiping tears from his cheeks before he can even realize that, too.
โWeโฆ?โ he asks, voice thin, words suddenly impossible to form. โWeโฆ?โ
โYeah,โ you nod, laughing a watery laugh as he stares at you dumbly. โI found out this week.โ
He looks back at the bib. His mouth opens, then it closes. His hand comes up to cover it, like heโs trying to physically hold in whatever is rising in his chest.
โWeโre gonna need a bigger table?โ he asks quietly when he finally finds the willpower to form words. (Weโre having a baby? is what he means.)
You laugh through your tears, nodding again. โYeah, we are.โ (Weโre having a baby, you confirm.)
Youโre pregnant. Youโre having a baby. And itโs his baby. Itโs unexpected, and heโs never planned for this, andโฆand heโs scaredโheโs not sure if heโs old enough, or mature enough, or experienced enough to raise a child. Heโs not sure if his schedule can make more time with the limited hours in a day he already has, and all the other things he needs to do, and heaven forbid he ever give his child an ounce less of the attention they deserve, andโฆand heโs having a baby.
With you.
Youโll be a mother of a child that has parts of you and parts of him, and theyโll be precious and small, and theyโll be his. Heโs happy. He canโt imagine not being happy, and yet, somewhere beneath the joy, thereโs a quiet and ugly fear that curls in his chest. A fear so instinctive he hates himself for thinking it now, of all times. A fear so instinctive, he thinks he may have been born with itโmay have been doomed with it the second he was born into the household that he was.
What if he turns into his father?
Now is not the time to be afraid. Not when youโre looking at him so overflowing with joy, so delighted and hopeful andโฆand yet, itโs there. Fear has always been there. Fear has always made him wonder if heโs tugged you into his world of pain and misery and some inescapable cycle of doom. But then he looks at youโhe looks at the tiny bib sitting beside your plate, and all he can think is that he wants this. He wants this with you, and he wants to do it right.ย
He stands so suddenly it should give him whiplash, and you jump a little when he materializes at your side before you can blink. He pulls you into a long, wet kissโitโs the only thing he can do. He doesnโt have the right words to say, so he settles for skipping them altogether. He kisses you hard and deep, and itโs nothing but sheer adrenaline and willpower that keeps him from collapsing as he continues to kiss you. You kiss him back, of course, giggling as he chokes on a small sob.
His hand lands on your waist and stays there for a second before he hesitates, looking at you like he needs permission. When you take his wrist and guide his hand to your stomach, his face crumples.
โYouโre serious?โ he asks, and it comes out almost like a breathless laugh.
You nod, smiling widely despite the way your lips shake. โIโm serious.โ
He laughs for real this time, pressing his forehead to yours. He keeps his hand there, over your stomach, like he already has something to protect, even if he canโt see it. Even if thereโs not really anything there just yet. Because Natsuo is going to be a fatherโa father to a child who is yours and his. And he is going to be a father who does it right.ย
โYou crybaby,โ you sniffle.
โYeah,โ he snorts, pinching your nose lightly, โIโm the crybaby, huh?โ
Natsuo is twenty-three, and he is going to be a father.
โโโโโ TWO MONTHS.
You want to have a baby shower.
Itโll be small, you promise himโjust some friends, your parents, andโฆand Natsuoโs family too, you add hopefully.
Natsuo knows Fuyumi would be hurt if he didnโt invite her. He knows Shoto would make time for something like this, too, even as number two on the hero charts. He canโt imagine leaving his mother out, either, but that almost certainly means his old man will hear the news.
He hasnโt spoken to Enji in years. Hasnโt seen him, either. He doesnโt intend to change that any time soonโor ever, for that matter. His father wonโt be invited, and he knows no one will give him a hard time over that, but he still canโt help the bitterness that rises at the thought of it all. The way, even nowโeven after years of cutting him offโEnji still finds ways to exist in every important moment of Natsuoโs life simply by being impossible to erase.
But Natsuo intends to give you your baby shower. Itโs the least you deserve, after all.
He gave you no wedding ceremony. Just a day in court where the two of you signed papers and made everything legal, and then a dinner at a restaurant he had to save up for weeks to afford. And you were happy, of course. So happy just to be his officially on the documents, so excited to share a meal with him for the first time as husband and wife. So content with everything he could give you, as long as he was okay.
You shouldnโt have been content with just that, he thinks sometimes.
You should have wanted a wedding. A guest list. A beautiful dress and flowers and a cake. A day where everything was about you, where your family cried happy tears, took too many photos, and told you how beautiful you looked.
But Natsuo couldnโt afford that then. And heโs not sure that even if he could now, he would ever want one. Because by the time he can afford a wedding, it would only make him miserable to have one. To stand there and watch your side of the room be filled with normalcyโwith parents who love each other, and relatives who laugh too loudly, and old family friends with fond stories of little you. And then, when he looks at his side, heโll watch it carry all the ruin he has spent the last few years trying to outrun.
No matter how much you love him, how much you accept him, there is nothing normal about Natsuoโs family. Your parents would see it. Your friends would too. They would see the man you married as the son of a hero who was a fraud. As the brother of a man who killed thousands and nearly tore a nation apart. It wouldnโt matter that Natsuo wants nothing to do with any of it. It wouldnโt matter that he spent his whole life trying to separate himself from it all. The name Todoroki would still follow him. His blood would still tie him to everything he hates.
A wedding ceremony would only force him to stand in front of everyone and confront everything he is not and everything he can never be for you. So he chose not to have one at all, and you accepted that without hesitation because it was what he wanted.
Youโve always accepted his petty, ridiculous needs. You settled for a single day in court and a meal he barely afforded as your wedding, and somehow you smiled through all of it like you had been given something precious. Youโve always done what heโs wanted, and if you want a baby shower, then he is going to give you a good one.
Fuck Enji if he hears about it and knows heโs having a baby. Enji will have nothing to do with this baby if Natsuo has a say in it, and he does, soโ
โNatsuo,โ you huff, poking his bicep.
He startles out of his thoughts. โHuh?โ
โYou need to wash your hair,โ you frown, eyeing the bleach thatโs been sitting on his scalp. โYouโre going to fry your hair off. The alarm went off.โ
โOh, right,โ he shakes his head and turns off the phone blaring in the distance, walking to the bathroom sink and turning the faucet on.
Natsuo remembers the first time he dyed his hairโhe must have been twelve. Big brother Touyaโs birthday had just passed, and he missed his older brother more than ever. The red streaks in his hair were getting harder and harder to look atโthey reminded him of his father, who may as well have killed his brother. Who let Touya die, and just continued as if nothing had changed. Who just kept training and training his golden child until the boy would fall over in tears and throw up. His father, whose red hair and flames haunted him, whose face, out of all of his siblings, Natsuo resembled the most.
He realized for the first time, then, that he hated him. Hated his fatherโs red hair and his long nose and his wide frame. Hated how everyone told Natsuo that he was taking after his father more and more as the days passedโhow he was big for his age just like Enji was, and he might have his motherโs eye color, but those eyes were undeniably Enjiโs.
He hated every second of being Enjiโs son, and he hated everything that reminded him of that sickening fact. So he bought the hair dyeโEnji never cared to look at what his money was spent on, anyway. He dyed his hairโEnji never paid attention to what Natsuo did, and if he had, he clearly never cared to say anything. He made sure another red strand was never seen againโEnji never existed on his scalp if he believed it hard enough.ย
And if he believed even harder, maybe Enji never existed at all.
โYou ever think about whose hair our baby will get?โ you ask, setting yourself to sit on the bathroom counter beside him as he rinses the bleach out of his hair. Your legs swing, and he eyes the mismatched socks on your feet for a moment and smiles.
โYours, I hope,โ he mumbles, grabbing a towel to dry off the dripping wet strands before inspecting the mirror. White, silvery locks, just like his mother. Enji never existed. At least, not in this way.
โYeah, but I like yours,โ you murmur. โYouโll never have to worry about looking too oldโyour hair wonโt ever change.โ
He snorts, giving you an amused look. โYou want our baby to have my hair so it never grays?โ
โI want our baby to have the best of our combined features,โ you beam. โThis would be a fabulous feature to have.โ
He thinks about the possibility of a child with his hair. Maybe your eyes. And then it hits himโthose stupid red strands might sit on his precious babyโs head, proof that Enji existed after all. He feels bile rise at the thought. Could he hate his babyโs hair? The same hair heโs hated on himself? He doesnโt think so; he doesnโt think he could hate anything about his child.
And that makes him more nauseous. Would he learn to love something that proves of his fatherโs existence? Proof of his father tainting his baby and their innocence andโ
โNatsu,โ you hum, pulling him out of his thoughts again. You tug him to stand between your legs, still seated on the bathroom counter. He complies, hands resting on your thighs as he gives them a little squeeze. โIt doesnโt matter what the baby hasโbut I hope they have some of you.โ
He smiles. He forgets Enji ever existed. You are all that exists to him now.
โYeah, yeah,โ he chuckles, leaning down and kissing your jaw. โYouโre a big old sap.โ
โThatโs so not trueโโ
โAnd itโs cute.โ
โYou think so?โ You wriggle your brows. โAm I the cutest in the world?โ
โIn the universe,โ he laughs, nodding in confirmation. โOur baby is gonna be one hell of a looker if they take after you.โ
โOh, stop,โ you swat his chest playfully.
He laughs againโand all that exists is you.
โโโโโ FIVE MONTHS.
Your little apartment is quiet for the most part when itโs nightโof course, the heater knocks every so often through the walls, and thereโs the distant hum of traffic below, but itโs peaceful white noise, and it has all but lulled you to sleep as your breathing slows beside him.
Natsuo is not going to fall asleep anytime soon tonight.
He lies on his back staring at the ceiling, one hand tucked beneath his head while the other rests over you, palm spread atop your stomach. Itโs become a habit lately. He doesnโt even think about it anymore, just reaches for you in the dark until his hand finds the once-smaller curve that has begun to show more and more.
His son is there. His son. Heโs found out youโre having a boyโhis first child is going to be a boy, just like his fatherโs was.
The thought of having a child still scares him enough that it constricts his chest so tightly, he thinks thereโs no more room left for his lungs. Itโs not because he doesnโt want this child. God, he already loves that baby more than anything heโs ever known. But wanting a child and being responsible for one are two very different things, and Natsuo has spent months realizing how little he knows about what fathers are supposed to be like. The cruelty of bringing a life into this world and not being what it needs from him is a cruelty he has always promised heโd be above.
He turns his head and looks at you. Your face is half-buried in the pillow, just barely awake as sleep starts to pull you under. Youโre warm against his side, one leg thrown over his, one arm sprawled across his chest. You trust him so completely that it hurts. It hurts to think that who he is might one day be the very thing that betrays that trust. That sooner or later, heโll find out he cannot outrun the kinds of curses that cling to people like his family.
He brings his hand to hold yours, thumb brushing back and forth over your knuckles. You hum at the gesture, eyes still shut. Before he can overthink things, or before the shame can rise and talk him out of saying anything, he hears himself speak to you in the dark.
โI donโt want him to have my last name.โ
You stir immediately, rousing from your half-sleep state. โHm?โ You lift your head a little, blinking at him blearily.
Natsuo swallows. It suddenly feels stupid. Youโre tiredโpregnant, and exhausted, and itโs probably too late at night for a conversation like this. Too vulnerable a discussion to have at this hour. But heโs already said it, and you love him too much to let him sit with it for a whole night and leave him to wallow in his thoughts.
โThe baby,โ he says quietly. โI donโt want him to have my name.โ
Youโre silent for a moment, trying to understand where this is coming from. Then, softly:
โYouโre sayingโฆyou want him to have my last name?โ
He nods, swallowing thickly.
โAre you sure?โ you press.
That question nearly makes him laughโof course, thatโs what youโd ask. Not why? Not what brought this on? Not what will people think? He smiles, ever so slightly, at how easily you deal with him and his nonsense, and he looks back at the ceiling.
โYeah,โ he breathes as his throat tightens. โI think I want that.โ
โHeโs your son, Natsu,โ you murmur. Itโs your name, too, is what you mean. As if he could ever be anything more than that disgusting name.ย
โI keep thinking about school,โ he says quietly. โPeople heard that name and had this idea of who I was before they knew me. And my teachers acted weird, and the parents of other kids stared too long when they picked them up. It just suckedโand then theyโd ask about him. What itโs like to be Endeavorโs kid. How cool it must be. Fucking pissed me off.โ
You stay quiet. He grits his jaw.
โI hated it. Itโs like no matter where I went, he was there first. Even when he wasnโt around. And then, even when I stopped talking to him, everyone still knew who the hell I was because of that name, and now itโs not even always a good thing to people. Not with everything thatโs happened. I canโt let our kid deal with that same thing.โ
Natsuo has always hated being Endeavorโs sonโhe doesnโt quite remember when it started. Maybe when he was a kid, maybe when he realized his father was only a father by title and nothing more.
Natsuo is five. Heโs at his friend Harutoโs birthday party, and itโs the first birthday party heโs ever been invited to. His mother kneels by the front door before she leaves, straightening the little collar of his shirt, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Be on your best behavior, Natsu.
He grins so wide his face hurts. Iโm always good, Mommy.
Her face softens. Of course you are. Youโre my good boy, Natsu.
Then sheโs gone, and Haruto grabs his wrist and drags him inside before he can even wave goodbye.
The house is much smaller than his, butโฆitโs somehow nicer. He likes it better here already. Of course, thereโs no big brother Touya or Mommy or Fuyumi here, but still, he likes this house better. Thereโs laughter everywhere. The walls are filled with pictures of Haruto and his little sister. There are drawings hung on the fridge, and this house is nice and happy, and he quickly knows that he likes it better than his own house.
Natsuo doesnโt know what to do with that.
He stands in the doorway of the living room, clutching the gift his mother picked out, when Harutoโs father appears. Harutoโs father is tall. Not as tall as Natsuoโs father, but tall enough that Natsuo has to tilt his head back to look at him.
The man smiles at Natsuo, and then it grows even wider as his eyes land on Haruto.
โThere you are!โ he laughs, scooping Haruto up under the arms when the boy runs at him. โBirthday boys are supposed to help me carry the drinks, remember?โ
Haruto squeals when heโs lifted. Kicks his legs. Laughs louder when his father blows a raspberry into his cheek. And something in Natsuo stillsโhe stares, good and hard and long. He tries to remember the last time his father kissed his cheek or lifted him like that. Isnโt that mommyโs job? Isnโt that what Harutoโs mother is supposed to do? Arenโt mothers supposed to be the ones who offer things like this? Thatโs what Natsuo has always believed for his five years of life.
Natsuo is five, and his father has never picked him up just because he wanted to. His father has never smiled like that just by seeing him. His father has never looked at him as if seeing him walk through the door made the whole room brighter.
Is there something wrong with his father? Is Haruto an extra good boy in a way that Natsuo isnโt? Isโ
โNatsu?โ Your hand cups his cheek, and the bedroom you both share materializes back all at once. The dark. The soft hum of the heater. The blanket tangled around his legs. Your face inches from his, brows drawn with concern. His breathing is shallow. He didnโt even notice it changing. Your thumb strokes over the tense line of his jaw. โYou blanked out on me.โ
โand Natsuo blinks hard before he realizes.
Natsuo is twenty-three, not five.
His father has not been in his life for four years. He has a wife now. A baby on the way. A home of his own that, despite being small, is warm and cozy and nice. And still, all it takes is one thought, and he is five years old all over again, standing in Harutoโs living room that is somehow nicer than his, and realizing that other boys his age are loved differently by their fathers than he is.
He swallows, throat painfully dry. And because the memory has left him feeling more restless than he wants to admit, he turns his face into your palm and closes his eyes. You shift closer, your hand moving to his cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone delicately.
โSorry,โ he mumbles. โWhat were we saying?โ
โYou want our baby to have my name,โ you say carefully.
โWell,โ his voice comes out rough, โthe name could be ours. You know?โ
Your brow furrows. He turns to look at you again, and thereโs something vulnerable in his expression that he knows makes your chest ache. Natsuo is always causing so much trouble for you. So much burden to carry and deal with, even though heโs tried cutting it all off. He doesnโt know why he canโt just carry the weight by himself and stop crushing you under it.
โOur name?โ you ask, confused.
โI want to take your name too.โ
Heโs been thinking about it for a long time now. He never let you take on his last name and marry into the Todoroki family. He would never insult you like that. Never force the curse that seems to cling to that name onto your shoulders when you lived such a harmless, peaceful existence before he came along and selfishly took that all away. He couldnโt add more hardship to the peace he has already destroyed.
Youโre so very quiet for a moment, he thinks you might have just finally hit your limit. Might have just finally decided that you are over this bullshit that he keeps bringing onto you and all the ridiculous heaviness he seems to always drag along into everything. For a second, he looks ashamed of having said itโhe almost expects you to laugh or tell him heโs being dramatic. That of all his unreasonable, broken little requests that you quietly agree to because you love him too much to say no, this one is just too absurd to entertain.
Instead, you just smile.
โIf you want, yeah,โ you hum. โIโve always wanted us to have the same last name. If this is what you want to do, Iโm happy.โ
โI know itโs stupid,โ he says quickly, but you cut him off.
โItโs not stupid,โ you frown. โI think you should do what you want, Natsu. If it makes you feel good, then itโs not stupid.โ
He exhales shakily. โYou think so?โ
You smile at him, sleepy and warm and impossibly kind. So patient and adoring, he wonders how love like this could exist for someone who came from no love at all.
โYeah,โ you yawn, curling into his chest. He wraps his arms around you instinctively, the weight of you against him familiar and safe. Youโre safe, and itโs because of him. Thatโs good. โPlus, if you have my name, I can say Iโm like the man of the house, or something, huh?โ
He laughs, chest lighter than air. โYeah,โ he chuckles, kissing your head. โI suppose you could.โ
โโโโโ EIGHT MONTHS.
You and Natsuo argue tonight. Itโs his fault, of courseโand now heโs faced with the reality that he cannot even be a husband to a pregnant woman, and yet, he dares to imagine himself as a father to a child. Dares to imagine himself guiding a little human and instilling lessons, and principles, and discipline to raise a functioning member of society.
How ridiculous of him to believe he could do something like that. How ridiculous when he snapped at you over something so stupid. Youโre pregnantโpregnant with his child, carrying his baby, suffering all of the things you endure just to bring his son into this world, and you ask for cake from the convenience store a few blocks away. Sure, itโs almost midnight, and itโs raining a little, but you deserve your fucking cake.
But Natsuo can hardly be a husband, let alone a soon-to-be father, so he snaps at your request.
Heโs tired from a long day at work, and heโs stressed from trying to apply to a position with a higher salary now that heโs a bit more experienced, and itโs raining and cold, and itโs winterโdespite having a quirk of literal ice, Natsuoโs body feels more like itโs suited for heat. Imagine that. Yet another curse heโs been inflicted by his bastard of a father.
So he snaps.
Itโs almost midnight. Can it not wait until tomorrow?
It comes out louder than he intended, sharper, and the second the words leave his mouth, his stomach twists. Because Natsuo is not kind. Not like Fuyumi or Shoto or his mother, who endure and endure and endure despite being thrown to the ground and then some. He is not kind, nor is he patient, and he has the temper of his father. So he says words with the same cadence as the man who raised him on harsh yells and snarled words that heโd cower behind his sister and listen to. He yells because it is only inevitable that Natsuo cannot be a husband, let alone a father.
He canโt believe he spoke to you that way. He knows it was only a matter of time. He would never speak to you that way. Itโs only in his nature to do so. He canโt fathom hurting you like this. He is only the byproduct of his upbringing, and the truth is that he is the son of a violent, abrasive man.
Natsuo remembers being little and understanding, before he could barely even form words, that the whole house bent around his fatherโs mood. If Enji was angry, everyone knew. His poor mother and the way she couldnโt decide whether to sit quietly and take it, if only to avoid the repercussions, or to say something for once and end his fatherโs boiling hatred and rage. He remembers his fatherโs towering figure and that terrible, booming vibration of his voice on the walls. Not even Fuyumiโs hands over his ears were enough to keep the sound from invading his eardrums.
He wonders if you felt that same vibration through your body today, when his voice bounced off the walls and came straight at you. He wonders if you saw that same hatred that exists within him, as if it were just another limb. He wonders if you see him for all he truly isโall he was ever raised on, and eventually, inevitably, undeniably meant to be.
Natsuo stands abruptly, too hot in his own skin, and storms off before you can say anything. Before the man he is doomed to be takes surface, and he hurts you the way he is cursed to hurt the people around him.
The bathroom feels small. Itโs suffocating. Itโs what he deserves.
He grips the sink and stares at himself in the mirror, breathing hard. He hates that he can see itโthe way he has his fatherโs blood pumping through his veins and the way his father is half of who he is. Hates that no matter how old he gets, his face still betrays him in the worst moments and reminds him where he comes from. No matter what, his father is still there, waiting beneath his skin, so cruelly and sinisterly patient enough to come out just when Natsuo is weak and on his knees and ready to crumble.
His hands shake against the sink.
Youโre pregnant. Pregnant with his baby, and he got angry over some fucking cake. Some cake that would take him all of twenty minutes to drive down and get. He could have thrown a hoodie over his head, could have endured that fractional moment of walking in the rain from his car to the storeโs entrance. He could have gotten you your cake and taken care of you because you are carrying his child, and because he loves you for it. Not because he expects you to just silently do it as if it were your duty.
But Enji is his father, and Natsuo is Enjiโs son. They are angry, livid menโthey hold onto their grudges and stubbornly keep them in their pockets, clutching them in their fists wherever they go. Their hatred never goes away.
The door opens with a low creak. Natsuo stiffens as soon as it does, and when he turns, youโre already standing there in the doorway, dressed in one of his old shirts for bed. Your face is softer now. The hurt has faded into concern.
You are always so concerned for himโalways shoving down your needs to do what he needs instead. You are so much like his mother, it makes him nauseous. Makes him taste the acrid burn of bile on his tongue. You are so much like his mother, and he is so much like his father, and this is who he was always inevitably meant to beโhis fatherโs son, who will hurt another manโs precious daughter like it is nothing. Like she is nothing.
You frown as you look at him. โNatsu, baby,โ you say quietly, reaching to touch him.
He flinches, and your hand pauses in the air. He looks away immediately, ashamed. โIโm sorry about earlier.โ
โI know, I know you are, so pleaseโโ
โIโฆI donโt know why I got soโฆโ His voice catches. โWhy was I so angry?โ
You step inside, gently draping yourself against his back, cheek resting on his shoulder. โYou had a long day, okay? It happensโall couples have their moments.โ
โBut no one gets that mad over cake, do they? You canโt sit there and tell me thereโs not something seriously wrong for me to get allโโ
โNatsu, come onโyouโre being hard on yourself. Iโm sorry too. Itโs the middle of winter, and itโs cold and rainy outside. I shouldnโt have brought it up that lateโโ
His head snaps up. โDonโt apologize. Donโt do that. Donโt ever say sorry to me, ever.โ
โHey,โ you smile gently, poking his cheek. โI know you think Iโm perfectโand you should, of course. But even I make mistakes. Just the kind of mistakes that perfect people like me make.โ
He loves you so much. Only you could cheer him up so easily, and he fucking loves you. So painfully bad. He loves you and loves you and loves you, and he doesnโt quite know what heโs doing, but heโll figure it out because he wants to love you. Wants to be capable of love. Wants to have a household where laughter bounces off the walls and not cold, harsh yelling.
โIโm sorry,โ he whispers. โIโll go get you your cake right nowโโ
โI would really like it if we went to bed,โ you kiss his cheek. โWill you come to bed with me?โ
His eyes are wet now, tears gathering despite how hard heโs trying to hold them back. โWe should talk about this.โ
โWe just did,โ you point out gently. โBut if you have more to say, then Iโll listen, baby. Soโโ
โIโm just like him,โ he blurts abruptly.
You look at him with disbelief instantly. Before he can even comprehend it, you put both hands on his face and pull him toward you.
โNatsu,โ you say, firm and strict. โYou were grumpy, and you snapped at me over some cake. That hurt my feelings, yeahโthat was mean of you, and Iโm just a girl. Donโt do that again. But Iโve snapped at you way worse for far less, okay? Mistakes happen, baby, so donโt do this to yourself.โ
He tries not to do this. But he does. Every time, he does this again and again and again. And you deal with him. Deal with his baggage and his odd requests and his emotional breakdowns and the ridiculous little ways his mind spirals over nothing. Itโs nothingโhe should have apologized and bought you your cake. He should have fixed it and promised to be better. He should have been a good husband and not left it all up to you to come and mend and piece together.
Because it never really changes, does it? It never goes away.
Natsuo has triedโheโs tried to make it all go away. For his mother, his older sister, and his little brother. For you. For himself, even. For the sake of being happy, so he can enjoy his life, and maybe, if he does, itโll make things easier for the people around him that he loves. Heโs tried to make it go away despite all the fucked up shit he carries around with himโor maybe drags along, if anything, since it clings to him no matter how hard he works to rip it off. Heโs tried to make it go away for so long, so many days and weeks and years, and it never fucking leaves him. Not really. It clings to him like a second skin, a skin that resembles his father far too closely.
He sees his old bastard of a father everywhere he sees himself. Hates his own reflection for it. Hates looking into mirrors, and back at pictures, and realizing he has the same jaw, the same nose, and that same look in Enjiโs eyes when heโs deep in thought. That same awful, curled snarl they both wear when theyโre angry.
Natsuo hates being angry.
He hates how easy it is for him to be angered, and how long he can hold onto it once itโs there. He hates that out of all his siblings, he is the only one who has his fatherโs rage. He is nothing like his loving, beautiful older sister, who gives and gives and hopes it will somehow undo the damage. He is nothing like his kind, growing little brother, who chooses every day to be better than the cards they have been dealt. They are both so much like his motherโso clearly her children in the way they share her resilience, in that quiet willingness to forgive no matter what they endure that Natsuo has never understood.
Because he is his fatherโs son. He always has been, no matter what he does to change it or tear it away from himself. Heโs five, heโs twelve, heโs twenty-three. And Natsuo is his fatherโs son. Heโll die as his fatherโs son the same way he was born.
It never really changes. It never goes away.
But you are thereโyou are always there. You are the one thing that he has that hasnโt been tainted by his father or the shame that clings to his family. You are the one thing that he has that his father has not yet taken from him. That he has not fucked up by being his fatherโs son.
And you are wiping his tears as you cradle his face, as you kiss his forehead and his nose and his wobbly lips, as you whisper, itโs okay, Natsu. Itโs okayโyou arenโt like him at all.
โMโsorry,โ he croaks. โIโฆIโm sorry I ruin everything and c-canโt be what you need a-andโโ
โYouโre exactly what I need,โ you tell him as you shake your head, smiling and grabbing his hand.
Itโs so much like his fatherโs. They have the same wide hands with the same long, bony fingers and the same square nail beds. It scares him so much. Scares him that his hands are capable of doing the same things as his fatherโs, and that your face is capable of looking as broken as his motherโs.
โIโm not,โ he shakes his head. โIโmโฆI canโt do this. Iโll fuck it upโโ
โYou wonโt, Natsu,โ you say, still smiling. Like he is worth smiling for. โYouโre good. Okay? Youโre gentle and sweet, and you make sacrifices. You pay attention, and you do things without asking, and you listen. You give, and you hardly know how to take. Youโre everything Iโve always wanted, and youโve always been what Iโve needed. Youโre the best thing Iโve ever had. I wouldnโt do this with anyone else.โ
Heโs crying.
He cries for himself and for who he always has to be for the rest of his life. He cries for who he could have been if it werenโt for the unfair cards life dealt him.
He should be calling his father. He should be asking him what it takes to be a man for his family. How to care for his pregnant wife and their growing baby. How to be a doting father to an infant, and what to do if they wonโt stop crying. How to be patient with a toddler and survive the bratty, terrible twos. How to be kind to a young child and teach them right from wrong with compassion. How to be fair with a teenager and how to weather their rebellious, stubborn years. How to watch them become an adult and learn how to let go when they donโt need him anymore. How to do it all right, so his childโhis babyโgrows up to be his pride and joy.
But he canโt.
Heโs never had those things, and he doesnโt know how to do them either. And he canโt call and ask because the person who was supposed to teach him chose instead to beat his mother, may as well have killed his brother, tore away his sisterโs joy, and ingrained nothing but isolation into the only brother he has left.
So he cries. And you wipe his tears, because you are the one good thing he has, and the only thing in his life that hasnโt been touched by Enji and burned bitter.
โI donโt know how to do this,โ he admits, sniffling as he buries his head into your neck. โIโm barely figuring out how to do things with you.โ
โYouโre doing things perfectly with me,โ you rub his back slowly. โI love you.โ
โI love you, too,โ he sniffles. โI donโt want to lose you.โ
โYou wonโt.โ
โI donโt want to hurt you and ruin our family.โ
โYouโd never.โ
โI donโt want to make our son scared.โ
โI think heโll feel quite safe around you.โ
โI donโt want to be bad,โ he finally admits, voice cracking.
And you are the one good thing heโs ever had. The one good thing that keeps him together and quells his anger and teaches him to be something else outside of being his fatherโs son. You are the one thing that makes him good at being something else, and he is reminded when you whisper, โYouโre never bad, Natsu. Youโre only ever good to me.โ
โIโm scared,โ he says, looking at you desperately. โI donโt know how to be a father, and Iโm scared. I donโt want to be selfish andโฆand not even realize it, or be an asshole and get angry all the time and ruin everything, andโโ
โItโs okay,โ you cut in gently, cradling his face before he can spiral any further. โIโm scared too.โ Natsuoโs breath catches. You brush your thumb beneath his eye, wiping away the wetness there before it can fall. โI donโt know how to be a mother either. Iโve never done this before. But I didnโt know how to be a girlfriend either, remember? Or a wife. I figured those out.โ
A small, shaky laugh escapes him. โYou were always a good girlfriend. Maybe too goodโyou shouldnโt have dealt with all the things you did.โ
You roll your eyes fondly. โI was young and immature sometimesโyou just love me too much to say it out loud. Good thing, too. Iโd send you to the couch.โ
โI have no doubts,โ he laughs, wet and soft.
โBut Iโm here because I had you, and Iโll be okay when the baby is here because Iโll still have you. And youโll be okay because youโll have me. Weโll have each other, and then weโll have our son too. Weโll figure it out as we go.โ
He stares at you, eyes red, breathing uneven. He canโt say anythingโcanโt bring himself to admit that heโs afraid heโll never figure it out. But youโre confident in himโso scared, yet so confident, he wonders if heโd be doubting you if he doubted your conviction.
โWeโll be good parents,โ you say, so easily, like itโs a fact and not a hope. โProbably embarrassing ones. I think Iโll be a little more strict than you.โย
That earns the tiniest huff of air from him, a ghost of a smile. You smile at that.ย
โAnd youโll be the one sneaking him snacks when I say no. Youโll pretend youโre not, but youโre terrible at lying, so heโll absolutely know which parent to ask when he wants something.โ
His mouth twitches wider despite himself. You lean your forehead against his, returning his smile. And he loves you so much, so, so much, he can hardly believe love like this could exist for someone who came from no love at all.
โYouโll probably let him stay up too late if he says heโs not tired. Youโll teach him how to break my rules without me noticing, and then Iโll catch you both in the act. And youโll be the one in more trouble because youโre the adult, and you should know better than to break my rules.โ
Itโs so easy to envision it when you put it like that. So simple to picture this future of yours that you believe is possible with him. So painfully ordinary. So mundane. So normal and like everyone else. Itโs everything heโs always wantedโa normal fucking family. Just a life. A small, regular one that he shares with the people in his house. A house that they make into a home. A home that he has always wanted and never believed heโd get to have.
His hand slides down protectively over your stomach. โYeah, but Iโm gonna mess up.โ
โOf course you will, silly,โ you whisper. โI will too. But weโre the adults, so weโll apologize to set a good example, and stuff. Nothing worse than someone who never apologizesโwe canโt let our son grow up to be one of those men.โ
He laughs, tears spilling over before he can stop them. โYeah, I guess we canโt,โ he mumbles.
โI donโt let my husband be one of those men,โ you hum, kissing his nose, โso no way Iโd let my son be, either.โ
He presses his forehead to yours as he closes his eyes. โYeah, you do keep your husband on a tight leash, donโt you?โ he murmurs.
Natsuo is twenty-three. Heโs a husbandโin fact, heโs your husband, and heโs done it right so far. You have loved him for years and years, and youโve stayed happy all this time. Itโs been because of him. He has kept you happy as his wife.
โWhat can I say?โ you grin. โIโm the man of the house.โ
His chest feels lighter as he pulls you into the deepest kiss he might have ever pulled you into.
Natsuo is twenty-three. He is his fatherโs son, but he is also his sonโs father. Heโs going to do it right, and youโre going to watch him be all the things heโs promised you heโll be.
tbh my niche is fluffy and cheesy feel-good romance i dont rly write heavier topics so this is honestly not very good but once an idea possesses me i have no choice. the fic writes me i do not write the fic ueueueue
ห เฃช ๐ฃฒ โค๏ธ ๐.๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐!๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ โน fucks his rider in his stable with his huge horsecock
โก. your record-breaking horse is upset with you after you both lose the championships. so he takes it out on your pussy :: hybrid!au :: smut :: rough sex :: p in v :: size difference :: choking :: dirty talk :: marathon sex :: creampie :: overstimulation :: rider!reader :: horsecock. . .
"F-Fuckโ hnghhah, toru slow dowwwnnn."
"You promised. Promisedโ promised me we'd. Fuck, you promised me we'd win!"
Large hands doubled a nasty choke on your throat. Crushing you down into a bundle of hay while his hips clamour into yours. Skin slapping skin. His flesh bruising yours. A filthy, messy web of cum and cream stringing between your shaky thighs. Drenching his long, silky white tail that limped over your leg.
Everyone said your horse was special. Strong. Fast. You gave him a name that meant enlightenment. Gojo Satoru.
But no one knew exactly what he was.
The equestrian world sung praises to your name. The most beloved jockey of the century. Leaving competitors choking up dust under Satoru's fast hooves.
Not this time, though.
A mishap. A miscalculation. Maybe you both got too cocky. Maybe you shouldn't have promised him something you couldn't guarantee.
Now, you were dealing with the monster you created. Your loyal steed. Your overly competitive horse hybrid.
Pinning you down in his lavish stable you built just for him. Hay poking at your soft flesh as his big hands hold you down. Wrapped tight around your neck. As he shows you just how strong and fast of a stallion he truly is.
Everyone talked about a horse's speed.
A horse's reliance.
Elegance.
But no one. Absolutely no one. Talked about just how good horse cock could stretch out your poor pussy.
White riding gloves still on as one hand digs into his hulking shoulder and the other fists the hay. Your riding gear strewn across the stable floor. He'd ripped off whatever he could. Left you vulnerable for him. The one he trusted mostโ now split open and crying on his cock that smothers you in bursts of creamy cum.
"Youโ you promisedโ" Satoru huffs above you. Jaw set tight and horse ears pinned down in his snowy hair. Agitated. As his hooves dig into the floors and he hunches over you. Smacking! his brutal hips into you meaner.
"You promised. You saidโ said we'd win. Said we'd alwaysโ win!"
"Sorry, 'm sorry. Oh fuck toru." You croak, throat bobbing against his palms as your teary eyes meet his wild ones. The bit piece is strung around his neck now. Messy in his saliva. Messy like the rest of him.
His cock grinds deep. Suffocated into every sweetspot. Every nook and cranny. Pressed tight on your spasming cervix. He can't even fit it all in. Some inches left to soak up your spilling juices and pulse thick, heavy veins at his base.
He's stretching you out. Splitting you open. Spilling his frothy cum again and again. Penance for your lies. For riling him up.
"Iโ I hate you," his ragged voice cracks above you. Pounds pummelling your squelching pussy as his movements blur. A frenzy of heat and feralness as he takes his anger out on your warm, clenching walls.
"Hate you, hate you s'much. Hate. . ." Tears prick at his eyes. He hiccups and slumps his head onto your forehead. Drowning in your crossing eyes as his thrusts turn shallow. Mean, nasty smacks that jolt your body.
His hands flex round your throat. Then one slips down. Splays over your tummy and presses down on the bulge he leaves behind.
"Mngh, fuck. It feels s'good. Why does it feel so good when I'm mad at you?" His voice husks.
Both of your hands slipped up. Burying into his fluffy hair. Tugging hard like you would the reins. Your hiss cut into his hair.
"Mad at me? You could have been faster," you quivered.
Slam!
Your cry chokes out into a pitiful gurgle. His blunt teeth dig into your shoulder. Hard.
Hips ramming at lightning speed. Heavy balls harassing your folds with soaked, filthy slaps. Strong pelvis meshing with your clit and spasming you into several-stimulated orgasms all at once.
"This fast enough for you?" Satoru sneered.
Eyes wide and bright blue as he yanks back from the bite he marked on your flesh. Glaring above you with something near-animalistic as his hips batter against yours. Cock driving into you ferally. Recklessly. Pounding your cervix and plunging into every spot that had you sobbing.
"This fast enough? Yeah? Am I fucking this pussy fast enough?"
He's panting now. Chest heaving. Face blotched. A snarl fixed on his mouth as his hooves stomp on the ground. Agitated. Like his nasty thrusts that jerk your entire body. Squish your ass and pummel your thighs into a shaking, apologetic mess.
"Pleaseโ!" You sob, mouth hung as your head limps back.
Your hands drag from his hair. Down his shoulders. One to the hand holding your throat and the other to his elbow. Holding him. Your trusted steed. Your loyal stallion.
"Please. Please toruโ fuck. 'm gonna cum again."
"Again?" His grunt pierces above you. Hand shoving on the bulge to squeeze the pressure. Stir you into a whimpering mess.
"Gonna cum all over my cock again? Even though you're a lying slut?"
"M-Mhhm! Iโ ah. toru please. So sorry. I love you. Y'know I always love youโ"
His breath hitches.
Pace faltering.
Once. Just once. Only to spur into a clamouring frenzy all over again. Splattering your cum and hammering your cervix. Because he hates failure. Cause he didn't wanna lose again. Didn't wanna falter. Slow.
"Sh-Shutโ shut up," he whines, thumb reaching down to circle your throbbing clit. "Just shut up and cum. Cum f'me. Please. Cum cause you still love me."
The crack in his voice has you holding him tighter. Trying to string him closer. As his thrusts turn sloppy. The webbed mess between your thighs and the goey froth evidence to how many times he's pumped you full. How long he's been going. Trying to prove himself to you.
You know your poor stallion's tells.
"Cum, please." He's begging now. Eyes teary. Ears droopy. His thrusts stuttering into a messy fumble as both his arms hook around you. Shoving you into his hard body. Clinging onto you as if you'll disappear, as his mouth presses atop your head.
"Please. Please, pleaseโ I'll be good. I'm so good. I'm still a good boy, right?" He whimpers, shattered.
"Always," you hiccup, arms hugged tight around his neck as your nails dig into his flexing shoulder blades. "A-Always my good boy. Always. Fuck. Toru cum with me. Please."
"Gonna cumโ" he nods, rasping as he buries his face into your hair. Pace picking up into a final, rough, maddening spurt. As he pounds your pussy into a filthy, squirting stream.
His sob drowns into a long, needy whine. His hips smacking harder. One more time. Two more times. Threeโ before he finally bursts.
Thick, creamy pools of cum splatter your clenching, climaxing walls. Frothing you up for the nth time that night. So violent that some spurts right out of you. Bubbling around your slit and spilling all over the hay together with your cum.
Heaving. Trembling. Satoru's hulking body collapses into you. Slumped over you like hes trying to tuck himself away in your warmth. Like he isn't twice your size. Like his half-hard cock isn't wedging you open and choking your quivering pussy.
Still, your hands hold him. Limp on his shoulder blades as he sniffles in your hair. Still rocking his hips in a pitiful, haphazard hump.
"Fuuckk, I hate this." His little sob on your hair has you holding him tighter. "Hate losing so much."
"I-I know toru. I know, sshhh. . ." you soothe him as best you can. Quivering under the weight of his power and heavy cock still plunged so deep within your overstimulated cunt.
"It's gonna be okay," you mumble.
He huffs through his nostrils. Face buried in your shoulder as his wet tail hangs low between his legs.
And as his breaths even out, you think he's fallen asleep. Finally settled. Finally calm.
Until a nasty, wet, shlap! slams on your pussy and you croak a whine.
"t-toruโ c'mon, said I was sorry." Your whimper's cut off by a choked whine as large hands bunch your thighs. Shove you further into the hay. Bending you in half for him as he drags away to glare down at you with those brilliant, wild blues.
"Well 'm not ready to fucking forgive you yet." He snarls. Cock already hard again. Still deep inside.
His nails dig under your knees as he folds you into a nasty position. Stretching your poor, abused cunt out and forcing her to take more of him.
Rough, and deep, and grinding so dirty on your cervix as he looms over you. Hips ramming in a hard, amping pace.
"Better hold on tight," he huffs a chuckled nicker above you. As a cruel grin spreads over his lips. His face leans closer. Dangerously so.
A heated, deep drawl drags from the depths of his throat. Rasped. Wild like the feral stallion he was.
"You're in for a rough ride."
ยฉ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/pixopix . art cred: @/baobei-bu
โก โหโง enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!
โก. this was inspired by @baobei-bu's horsejo au I'm sooo normal.
