Could you do one with Joel and the ovulating but stubborn reader? They're at a party, maybe Tommy's, but she wants him now. I love your writing, good luck!!
Sorting you out
Warnings: 18+, smut, unspecified age gap ig, pinv, unprotected sex, ovulation sex, creampie, clit rubbing, masturbation (just once), dom!joel, stubborn reader, praise kink, slightly mean!joel, outbreak, Tommy and Maria mentioned,
A/N: Okey…i’m finally doing some requests??? Omg??? I still have soo many sitting in my inbox🫣but one at a time! Actually i love this idea cuz who wouldn’t want Joel to be there when ovulation hits?? I hope you enjoy this anon and thank you for requesting!!!
The bass from the speakers thumped through the crowded living room of Tommy's house.
It was one of those rare, but distracting Jackson nights. No patrols, no infected, no canteen fights. Only good music, a few cold beers, snacks and the easy, lively mix of laughter and chatter filling the air as friends and neighbors mingled under the warm glow of string lights.
You leaned against the arm of the worn leather couch, nursing a drink in your hand, trying to play it cool, enjoy the music, listen to some conversations but…
…your body had other ideas.
Ovulation hit you like a train this time, that deep, insistent ache blooming low in your belly, spreading heat through your core. Your nipples, hard and pebbled, were straining against the thin fabric of your tank top, every brush of the cloth sending sparks straight to your clit.
You shifted your thighs together, feeling the slick wetness gathering in your panties, your pussy throbbing with a need that made your skin flush hot.
Stubborn as ever, of course, you weren't about to let it show. Not here, not with Joels dark eyes flicking to your way every few minutes from across the room.
He stood by the kitchen doorway, broad shoulders flexing in his flannel shirt, a beer bottle dangling from his hand. Joel had that quiet authority in him, the kind that didn't really need words—his gaze said everything, sharp and knowing, like he could read the tension coiling in your muscles from just twenty feet away.
You caught him watching you earlier, when you'd laughed a little too forced at one of Tommy's jokes, your hips subtly grinding against the couch cushion for friction you oh so desperately craved.
Now, as the song shifted to something slower and quiter, he pushed off of the wall and made his way over to you.
"You alright?" His voice was low, eyes locking onto yours. His eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the flush on your cheeks, swollen lips, the way your chest rose and fell a bit too quick.
You nodded, forcing a smile, even as another wave of heat pulsed through you, your clit swelling with need. "Yeah, just...the party's great."
Lie. Your body screamed for relief, for him to pin you down and fill the emptiness aching inside you.
Joel's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to your fidgeting hands, then back up. He leaned in, voice dropping to a rumble only you could hear. "Can take you to the bathroom right now. Get you all sorted."
Heat flooded your face—you already knew what he meant, that stern look in his eyes promising he'd handle it, take control like he always did. But stubborn pride still flared over you; you weren't some kind of damsel crumbling at a party.
You shook your head, meeting his stare. "I'm fine, Joel. I can handle it."
He straightened, exhaling a rough breath through his nose, those dark eyes pinning you in place.
"Then keep yourself together," he gruffed, voice like worn leather. "You're practically humpin' the couch, doll. Don't make me come drag you off it."
Your breath hitched at the words, the way he said them so matter-of-fact, no filth, just that authoritative edge that made your knees weak.
He lingered a second longer, eyes tracing the curve of your neck where your pulse hammered, before turning back to the kitchen with a nod, like the conversation was over. But you felt his gaze on you the rest of the night, heavy and watchful, stoking the fire he was trying to tamp down.
And you tried. God, you really tried. Mingled with Maria, laughed at stories from the guys, even swayed a little to the music when Tommy cranked up an old country tune. But every step rubbed your soaked panties against your swollen folds, every laugh sent a quick jolt through your sensitive breasts.
The ache built, so relentless, cunt clenching around nothing, begging to be stretched, filled.
Joel's words echoed—keep yourself together—and it only made you wetter, imagining him enforcing it.
It got too much at one point, the room spun with too many bodies and too much noise.
You excused yourself with a mumbled "be right back," weaving through the crowd to the hallway bathroom.
The door then clicked shut behind you, lock snapping into place, and you sagged against the sink, breath coming in shallow pants. Your hands trembled as you hiked up your skirt, fingers diving under your panties to find your dripping slit. You were completely soaked, arousal coating your thighs, clit throbbing under your touch as you rubbed frantic circles.
"Fuck," you whispered, eyes squeezing shut, picturing Joel's thick cock replacing your fingers, pounding into you until the need shattered.
A sharp knock rattled the door—three firm raps. "Open up," Joel's voice cut through, low and demanding, no room for argument.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, fingers freezing mid-stroke. "Joel? I'm busy—go away."
Silence, then the knob rattled, his boot thudding against the wood like a warning.
"Now, darlin'. Don't make me break it down."
Stubbornness warred with desperation, but your body won. With a shaky sigh, you pulled your hand free, slick fingers glistening, and twisted the lock. The door swung open, and there he was, filling the frame, jaw set, eyes dark with that knowing intensity. He stepped in without a word, kicking the door shut and locking it himself.
"Couldn't handle it, could you?" He murmured as he crowded you back against the sink. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, grounding you while your pussy clenched in anticipation.
You shook your head, breath hitching. "I—"
He cut you off with a look, those eyes speaking volumes: no excuses. One hand slid up your thigh, rough palm dragging your skirt higher, fingers brushing the damp fabric of your panties.
"Shh. Let me take care of it." He hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked them down, letting them pool at your ankles. Cool air hit your exposed pussy, making you gasp, folds slick and puffy from the earlier touches.
Joel's gaze dropped, taking you in with that stern approval, a low hum in his throat.
He unzipped his jeans, freeing his cock—thick and heavy, the head already leaking pre cum, veins pulsing along the length.
Your mouth watered at the sight, but he didn't let you drop; instead, he spun you around, bending you over the sink with firm hands on your waist. The mirror reflected your flushed face, his broad chest behind you, eyes locked on yours through the glass.
"Look at you," he growled softly, rubbing the blunt head of his cock through your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. "So ready for me. That's my girl."
His praise made your walls flutter.
He pushed in slow at first, the stretch burning deliciously as inch after inch sank into your tight heat.
You moaned, gripping the sink's edge, feeling every ridge and vein dragging along your sensitive inner walls. He was huge, filling you completely, the tip nudging deep against your cervix, right where the ovulation ache pulsed hottest.
"Goood," he cooed, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror, that stare holding you captive. "Take it all. You're doin' so well, openin' up like this."
His hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you back as he thrusted forward, bottoming out with a grunt. The fullness was overwhelming, your pussy clenching greedily around him, juices dripping down your thighs.
He set a steady rhythm, hips snapping with controlled power, each plunge hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The sink creaked under your weight, your breasts bouncing with every drive, nipples scraping the cool porcelain.
Joel's breath fanned your ear, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your head so you couldn't look away.
"Eyes on me," he ordered, voice stern but laced with heat. "See how good you look, takin' my cock. Perfect, darlin'. So fuckin' perfect."
The praise sent you spiraling, your clit throbbing untouched as he pounded deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the small room.
The party noise filtered through the door—laughter, music—but it faded under your pulse, the building pressure in your core. His free hand dipped between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling with rough precision.
It hit you like a wave, your orgasm crashing through you, pussy spasming wildly around his cock, milking him as you cried out—muffled against his palm that clamped over your mouth just in time.
Waves of pleasure ripped through your body, thighs shuttering, arousal gushing out to soak his balls. Joel groaned, thrusts turning erratic, his grip bruising as he chased his own release.
"That's it—fuck, yes," he rasped, burying himself to the hilt one last time. Hot spurts of cum flooded you, painting your walls deep, the warmth seeping into your fertile core. He held you there, cock pulsing as he emptied every drop, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, breath ragged.
Slowly, he pulled out, a trickle of his seed leaking from your stretched pussy, dripping down your inner thigh.
"Look at you," he said, thumb brushing your cheek, voice a low praise. "Handled that like a champ, huh? So beautiful, comin' apart for me."
You leaned into him, boneless, as he helped straighten your skirt, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Now, let's get back out there. And keep it together this time—unless you want round two."
neteyam and reader like are mated in future, ands she’s pregnant and she doing everything neteyam told her not to do. like fight and ride ikran, climb trees and go hunting.
readers like 🤣🙄
neteyam like 🥹😞😠
sully family like 😂😂
Warrior Versus Worrier
Tags: Protective!Neteyam x Metkayina!Reader, Heacanons, Silly Vibes, Fem!Reader, Domestic Chaos
Warnings: None
Neteyam Sully expected a quiet, domestic few months waiting for his heir to arrive. What he got was a Metkayina mate who views pregnancy as a personal challenge. Neteyam is one heart-attack away from an early grave.
Reader pulls a Ronal 💀 no cause during my rewatch in the cinema when Tonowari wanted her to stay behind, and she was like "I RIDE!" everyone in the cinema burst out laughing 😭 that woman does not gaf fr
* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut
╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [25/12/25] ❞
phew... you're in for a ride.
Neteyam is overjoyed at your pregnancy! However...
This joy is quickly overshadowed by him going into responsible mode. He immediately goes from elated to a hovering nanny (*cough* malewife).
He’s researched EVERYTHING that could be potentially bad for the baby.
Unfortunately for him... you are a Metkayina warrior. Taking it easy isn’t in your vocabulary.
"Ma Y/N, the healer said rest. Maybe just… sit by the rock pools today?"
To you, this translated to "go free-diving for the sharpest spear-shells in the reef? Got it."
Neteyam’s face: 😟
Tuk is your partner in crime. She’s the lookout for when Neteyam is coming so you can pretend you’ve been resting.
The shit you put him through is so fucking funny.
For instance, he catches you teaching the younger kids to do a sweep-kick.
Neteyam's nervous system immediately kicks off like a motor, but before he can run to your aid (you're fine), Jake gives Neteyam a heavy pat on the back, beyond amused. "She’s got good form, son! Don't let her hit you."
Or, there was the time Neteyam told you he’s going out with the hunters, and that you must stay back and weave baskets.
Halfway through the hunt, he sees a familiar figure dive-bombing a target...
It’s you.
OH MY GOD, IT'S YOU.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
You, on the other hand, chewed on a piece of fruit looking completely unbothered. "Boredom is dangerous for the baby, Neteyam. I’m stimulating the child."
This time, Neteyam's face goes from 😠 to 😩. He can’t stay mad because you look so cool doing it lololol
Lo’ak lives for the chaos of it all. He'll actively encourage you just to watch Neteyam in distress.
Often, you'll have dinner with the rest of the Sully family. Neytiri secretly loves your spirit.
Once, she whispered to you, "I did the same thing with him. Don't tell him, he’ll faint."
Eventually, Neteyam tries to ground you.
Key word, TRIES.
You simply look him in the eye and say, "I am carrying a future olo’eyktan. They need to know how to hunt before they're born."
After sometime, he finally admits defeat.
He spends the rest of the pregnancy just following you around with pillows and extra water, looking like a stressed out bodyguard.
He really has his work cut out for him...
Now imagine this:
One day, Neteyam was sprinting across the woven walkways of the village, looking frantically into the heights of tangled vines.
"Y/N? Ma Y/N! Please tell me you are at the healer’s lodge and not-"
He stops dead in his tracks and looks up.
YOU ARE 30FT ABOVE THE MAIN WALKWAY.
Neteyam's voice cracks as he pleads with you.
"The wood is wet, Y/N!"
You, on the other hand, merely grinned down at him. "I’m fine, 'teyam! The baby likes the sea breeze up here!"
"The baby doesn't have eyes yet! And the wind is too strong! Please! My heart cannot take this!"
Lo'ak chimed in, shouting from the lower docks while cleaning a spear. "Do a flip into the water! The splash would be huge!"
Ooohhohoho, that made a vein pop out of Neteyam's forehead.
Summary: from the moment Steve Harrington laid his eyes on you, he knew you were destined to be together. After years of trying to prevent the inevitable, you both got your happy ending.
Warnings: mentions of death, slow burn, angst.
WC: 3.6k
—౨ৎ—
The first time he saw you
Steve Harrington will never forget the day he first met you, and neither would you. the knock at the door is firm but awkward, like whoever's on the other side isn't totally sure how hard they're supposed to knock.
You pause your step mid-hallway, glance toward Dustin's room, then sigh. "Dustin," you call. "Someone's here."
No answer.
Of course.
You open the door instead.
And immediately wish you'd brushed your hair.
A boy stands on the porch, tall, confident in that effortless way, brown hair swept back like it knows it looks good. You know Steve Harrington, hell, every girl in Hawkins knows Steve Harrington. His eyes flick up the second the door opens, and for just a moment, he freezes.
You're in pajamas. Nothing fancy just a pair of shorts and a little oversized band tee. Your hair's pulled into a messy ponytail that slipped halfway loose. you're barefoot, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe.
Steve Harrington swallows.
Then, like a switch flips, he smiles. easy, charming, like he hasn't just short-circuited.
"Hey," he says. "Uh... is Dustin home?"
You smile back, polite and warm. "He is. I can get him."
Before you can turn, hurried footsteps thunder down the hallway.
"No—no, no—you don't have to—"
Dustin appears beside you, eyes widening the second he sees who's standing there.
"Oh my god," he groans. "Why didn't you yell louder?"
You glance at him. "I did. You ignored me."
Steve chuckles quietly, watching the exchange. "You must be the sister."
You nod. "Guilty."
Dustin immediately scowls. "Don't talk to her."
Steve raises an eyebrow. "I said 'hi.'"
"That's how it starts."
You hide a smile, nudging Dustin lightly with your elbow.
Steve laughs. "I'm Steve."
"I know who you are" you reply.
Dustin sighs like this is the worst day of his life. "Can we just go? Please?"
Steve nods, stepping back from the door. "Yeah. Sorry to interrupt."
You smile again, genuinely this time. "Nice meeting you, Steve."
"Nice meeting you too," he says, holding your gaze just a second longer before turning away.
Dustin ushers him down the porch steps like he's escorting a threat.
The door closes behind them.
They're halfway down the driveway when Dustin finally exhales.
"Do not," he warns, pointing a finger at Steve, "say it."
Steve hums, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes forward.
"I just didn't realize you had—"
"STEVE," Dustin snaps.
"—such a hot sister."
Dustin stops dead.
"You are dead," he says flatly. Steve only grins, walking on ahead.
Worth it.
Now, Steve was very aware he had much bigger fish to fry, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about you. The train tracks stretch out in front of them, rusty rails cutting through the trees like they always have. Steve's boots crunch against loose gravel as he walks, yellow gloves pulled tight over his hands, one bucket swinging lazily at his side. Dustin's doing most of the talking, rambling about traps and theories and how this time they're definitely prepared.
Steve's only half-listening.
He glances sideways at Dustin, smirks to himself, and then, the intrusive thought wins.
"Sooo...," Steve starts casually, eyes forward. "Your sister."
Dustin stops walking so abruptly the bucket slams into his knee.
"Nope" he screeches. "Absolutely not"
Steve keeps walking for a second before realizing Dustin isn't beside him anymore. He turns, grinning. "What? I'm just saying."
"That's my sister, dude!"
Steve shrugs, completely unbothered. "Yeah. And?"
Dustin hurries to catch up, face twisted in pure disgust. "You can't just say that! About her!"
Steve hums thoughtfully, like he's considering Dustin's argument. "Pretty sure I just did."
Steve laughs, a sharp, bright sound that echoes down the tracks. "Relax, Henderson. It's a compliment."
"To who?" Dustin demands. "Her? Or me? Because I don't feel complimented."
Steve bumps Dustin lightly with his shoulder. "Hey, man, you should be proud. Good genes."
"That is not how genetics work!"
Steve grins wider, clearly enjoying this way too much. "I mean, come on. She's smart, nice to everyone, helps at the school events, doesn't treat people like garbage—"
"Stop listing things!" Dustin snaps. "Why do you know so much about her?!"
Steve pauses. "Hawkins is... small?"
Dustin squints at him. "You're being weird."
"Uh, i'm being honest," Steve says. "There's a difference."
Dustin groans loudly, dragging a hand down his face. "I trusted you."
Steve chuckles. "Yeah, well. That was your first mistake."
They keep walking, the tracks humming softly under their feet. After a beat, Steve adds, way too casually:
"Im just saying man if she ever asked me out, I'd say yes."
Dustin screams.
"ABSOLUTELY NOT."
Steve laughs so hard he nearly drops his bucket. "Chill man, I'm messing with you." He's not.
"You're dead," Dustin says flatly. "If you even look at her, you're dead."
Steve lifts his gloved hands in mock surrender, still smiling. "Okay, okay. Relax. I'll just admire from a respectful distance."
Dustin mutters, "I hate you."
Steve smirks. "Yeah yeah. Everybody does."
He was getting you. That was a fact.
The snowball
The first time something shift between you and Steve was the night the car smells faintly like hairspray and winter air.
Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror where Dustin sits, stiff and overdressed, tux jacket swallowing his shoulders.
And then there's you.
You're in the back seat behind Dustin, knees tucked slightly to the side, curls spilling over your shoulders in big, effortless waves. You didn't overdo it, you never do, but somehow it's perfect anyway. Steve tries not to stare...and fails.
"Okay," you say gently, breaking the silence. "First of all—"
Dustin groans. "another pep talk??"
"you look handsome" you finish, smiling at him. "Like, genuinely. Very distinguished."
Steve nods along immediately. "Yeah, man. Total heartbreaker."
Dustin scoffs. "You're both lying."
"I am not," you insist. "You clean up nice. Whoever the lucky lady is, she's real lucky."
Dustin shifts in his seat, fingers fidgeting with his cuffs. "She's not gonna dance with me."
Steve finally looks back at him properly. "Hey," he says, voice steady. "You showed up. That already takes guts."
You lean forward slightly. "And if she doesn't? Then it's her loss. But I think she will."
Dustin looks between the two of you, clearly trying not to smile. "You really think so?"
Steve nods. "Yeah. I do."
The school comes into view, lights glowing warm against the dark. Music hums faintly through the walls, laughter spilling out every time the doors open.
Steve pulls to the curb and puts the car in park.
Dustin hesitates, hand hovering over the door handle.
You reach out, squeezing his arm. "Hey. Go get em tiger."
Steve adds, softer now, "You got this, Henderson."
Dustin exhales, then nods. "Okay. Okay. Yeah."
He hops out, shuts the door, and jogs toward the entrance without looking back.
The car goes quiet.
Steve watches him disappear inside before glancing at the empty back seat in the mirror & then at you.
"You don't have to sit back there," he says, casual but hopeful.
You don't tease him. You don't make a joke.
You just smile and reach for the door.
The front seat feels warmer when you slide into it, closer than you've ever been. Your knee brushes his, just barely. Steve swallows.
For a moment, neither of you speak.
"You look..." he starts, then stops, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look really nice."
You meet his eyes. "So do you."
He laughs quietly. "That's new."
"No," you say gently. "You always looked nice. Just figure you hear it enough"
He doesn't say anything. Nobody else matters. Only you. The car went silent. Steve's eyes drift back to the school.
The gym windows glow warm against the dark. His gaze lingers longer than it should.
You follow it.
You see her.
Nancy Wheeler, laughing with the others near the edge of the floor and something in your chest tightens.
You look back down at your hands in your lap, fingers twisting together once before you still them.
"You should tell her," you say quietly.
Steve blinks, turning toward you. "Tell who?"
You nod toward the gym. "Nancy."
He exhales, understanding dawning. "It's not like that anymore."
You don't look at him. "It used to be."
"Yeah," he admits. "It did."
He leans back against the seat, eyes forward now. "She's my friend. I care about her." He hesitates, then adds, softer, "But I think I know what love feels like now."
That makes you glance up.
Steve doesn't meet your eyes.
"And it was never like that with her."
The words settle between you, heavy and fragile.
You nod once, swallowing, unsure what to say. So you don't say anything at all.
Neither does he.
The car stays quiet, the music from the gym muffled through glass and distance, snow falling slow around you.
But Steve's hand shifts—just slightly—until it rests near yours.
And this time, he doesn't look back at the window.
Steve looks down at his hands, then back up at you. "I'm glad you came tonight."
"Me too," you reply. "I wouldn't miss this."
There's something unspoken between you, everything that didn't happen sooner, everything that almost did, the world narrowed down to this car, this moment.
Steve finally exhales. "Look. I don't know what this is," he admits. "But I know I don't wanna mess it up so-."
You smile, warm and sincere. "-Then don't."
He nods, like that's enough.
Like you're enough.
Inside, the music swells louder. Somewhere in that gym, Dustin is finding his courage. Out here, Steve finds his.
And for the first time, neither of you rushes away from it.
Scoops ahoy
The summer Steve and Robin got a job together, you started seeing a lot more of Steve. Robin is the first person to notice you as you walk into the shop.
Her face lights up instantly. "You made it, and during rush too."
You grin. "Barely. Your uniforms still ridiculous?"
"The hat is a crime," she says, deadpan, sliding closer to the counter. "But at least it comes with free ice cream."
Steve straightens beside her, already watching you like the rest of the world decided to quiet down. Sailor uniform, sleeves rolled up, stupidly charming smile he doesn't even try to hide.
"Hey," he says, softer than he uses with anyone else.
Your friend clocks it immediately.
Like, immediately.
Dustin pops up from behind the counter, scowl already locked in place. "No. Nope. Absolutely not."
You laugh. "Hi to you too, Dustin."
Steve leans forward. "What can I get you?"
Robin raises an eyebrow. "You know, for a guy who once ruled Hawkins High, you're awfully polite when she's around." She says it quiet. But not quiet enough that you can't hear her
Steve doesn't even look at her. "Mint chocolate chip."
You blink. "You remembered."
He shrugs, a little bashful. "Yeah."
Your friends shifts beside you, arms crossing. They're smiling, but tight, the kind that comes from watching King Steve focus on someone who aren't them.
Robin notices.
"Oh," she says slowly, glancing between you and Steve. "Ohhh."
Dustin slams a scoop down. "No. Off limits. She's my sister."
Robin smirks. "Relax, Henderson. She's the one with the power here."
Steve hands you your cone, fingers brushing yours for half a second. It's light, accidental but his hand lingers just long enough to say something neither of you ever did out loud the night of the Snow Ball.
Your friend watches, eyes narrowing.
"So," one of them says sweetly, "you two close?"
You shake your head, quick. "We're friends."
Robin snorts. "That's generous."
Steve clears his throat. "We are."
Dustin points at him. "Hey! Don't encourage this."
You turn to Robin, smiling. "You surviving the summer?"
She brightens instantly. "Barely. But seeing you makes it a tad more bearable"
Steve glances at Robin. "You like her."
Robin grins. "Everyone likes her. You just... like-like her."
Steve groans. "Robin."
Your friend lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh. "Wow."
"What?" you ask.
She shakes her head. "Nothing. Just—any girl in Hawkins would kill for that kind of attention."
Steve looks embarrassed now, ears pink. "I'm not—"
"Steve," Robin interrupts, gently. "You are."
Dustin folds his arms. "Off. Limits."
You smile softly at all of them, pretending your heart isn't doing something ridiculous.
When you leave, Robin calls after you, "Come back soon, okay?"
You wave. "Always."
Steve watches you go, eyes lingering like he's memorizing the way you move.
Your friend nudges you once you're out of sight. "You're telling me there's nothing there?"
You hesitate. Just a second too long.
"I don't know," you admit quietly.
Behind the counter, Robin smirks.
Steve doesn't deny it.
Everyone knows. Because when King Steve looks at you like that, it's impossible not to.
The end of the Hawkins
That’s what it felt like anyway. The eery end. The field is quiet in the wrong way. Not peaceful, tense. Like the world itself knows what's coming and is bracing for impact.
The campervan's parked on the grass, doors flung open, everyone moving with purpose. Nancy and max check the shotgun again. Lucas tightens the straps on his gear while him and Erica argue about something sharp and dangerous. Eddie and dustin are running about, having a better time than the rest of you. Steve looks oddly jealous about that.
You're sitting on the ground beside Steve.
Between your knees is a glass bottle. Between his hands is a funnel. Gasoline sloshes softly as you pour, the smell sharp and grounding. You focus on keeping your hands steady.
Steve's shoulder brushes yours. Neither of you moves away.
You've been like this all night close but careful, circling something neither of you dared name while the stakes kept climbing higher. Every glance lasts too long. Every touch lingers like it might be the last.
Robin, Nancy, and Eddie are now drifting ahead, their voices overlapping as they talk strategy. Laughter breaks out, nervousness.
You and Steve fall a few paces behind.
The bottle fills. You stop pouring.
Steve caps it, sets it carefully aside but doesn't reach for another. Instead, he stares at the ground for a second too long.
"Hey," you say quietly. "Are you good?"
He exhales through his nose, like he's been holding his breath for a hot minute.
"Can you promise me something?" The words come out of nowhere. No joke. No grin. Just Steve being bare and honest. Your scared.
You turn to him fully now. "What?"
He swallows. You see it this time. "If we make it out of this," he says slowly, "you gotta let me take you out."
Your heart stutters. Steve finally looks at you. Not the confident babysitter. Not King Steve. Just a guy who's been through too much and might not get another chance.
"And not as a maybe," he adds. "Not as a 'we'll see.' A real date. Dinner. Something normal. I just-" he stops. He sounds choked up. "I just need to know I didn't imagine all of this."
You search his face. The way his eyes flick over yours like he's memorizing you. Like he's afraid this moment might be the last quiet one you get.
"Steve," you whisper.
He rushes on, words tumbling now. "I know it's a terrible time to say this. Believe me, I know. But I've almost died, like, a lot, and every time I think—" His voice cracks. He clears his throat. "Every time I think about what I'd regret not saying, it's you."
The noise of the others fades. The field narrows to just this space between you. You reach for his hand before you even realize you're doing it. His fingers tighten instantly around yours.
"You didn't imagine it," you say softly. "None of it."
He lets out a shaky laugh. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You squeeze his hand. "And if we make it out of here... I'd like that. I'd like it a lot."
Steve's shoulders sag with relief, like something heavy finally loosened its grip.
"Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. Good...cool...cool" he try's to play it off. You're not buying it.
He hesitates, then adds, just as honest, "I'm scared."
"I know," you reply. "Me too."
He turns his hand so your fingers lace properly this time. Solid. Real.
"But we're still here," he says.
"And we're not done yet," you answer.
Ahead of you, Dustin calls Steve's name. Robin glances back, eyes sharp, catching the way your hands are joined. She smiles, small but knowing. She turns away without saying a word.
Steve gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go.
"Promise," he says.
You nod. "Promise."
The promise
You both kept your promises. They're still here. But not all of them.
That truth sits heavy in the spaces between conversations, in the empty chair no one touches, in the way Eddie's name is spoken softer than the others.
But you and Steve survived.
And Steve keeps his word. He knocks at exactly seven. Not 7:03, Not seven-ish. Seven sharp.
You hear it from your room and your heart stutters anyway.
When you open the door, Steve is standing there like he stepped out of a dream he barely let himself believe in. He's dressed neatly, nothing flashy, just clean lines, careful choices. His hair is perfect in that unfair way of his, and in his hands?Flowers.
A full bouquet. Thoughtful. Beautiful. Chosen with care, and for a second, he forgets how to breathe.
Because you always look beautiful to him. Always have, but tonight? Tonight you're something else entirely. Soft and radiant and real, like the world finally gave him something good and didn't snatch it away. His chest tightens.
"Hi," he says, voice quiet but steady.
"Hi," you reply, smiling like you've been waiting for this moment your whole life.
Behind you, Dustin clears his throat loudly.
Steve straightens instantly.
Dustin steps forward, hands on his hips. "Okay. Rules."
Steve nods seriously. "Absolutely."
"You treat her like a lady."
"Always."
"You hurt her, that means emotionally or otherwise, I will end you."
Steve doesn't even blink. "Fair."
"And she's home by eleven."
You groan. "Dustin—"
"I said eleven," Dustin insists.
Steve glances at you, then back at Dustin. "Eleven. I promise."
Dustin studies him for a long second, then sighs. "Okay." He steps aside. "Have fun."
Steve offers you his arm. You take it without hesitation.
The restaurant is small and warm, candles flickering softly on every table. Live music hums gently in the background, something slow and tender, like the night itself is rooting for you.
Steve pulls out your chair. Your fingers brush when he hands you the menu. Neither of you rush to pull away.
"I can't believe we're actually here," he admits quietly.
You smile. "Me neither."
Dinner is easy. Laughter comes naturally. You talk about nothing and everything, memories, plans, the quiet future neither of you dared imagine until now. The grief is still there, sitting with you, but it doesn't own the night.
At one point, Steve reaches across the table, thumb brushing your knuckles.
"I thought I lost my chance," he says softly. "So many times."
You squeeze his hand. "You didn't."
He looks at you like he's memorizing the moment. "I love you," he says. No fear. No hesitation.
Your eyes shine. "I love you too."
And it feels... normal. Just two teenagers, in love.
After monsters and fear and loss, it feels extraordinary just to be two people in love, sharing a meal, holding hands under candlelight.
And at 10:58pm, Steve walks you back to your door.
He laughs softly. "I promised."
You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, slow, sure, real. "Thank you for keeping your word."
He rests his forehead against yours. "I always will." As he walks away, Steve knows something deep in his bones.
Home sweet home
And that brings you to today. The house is small. The paint's still a little uneven where Steve insisted he could "totally do it himself," and the porch light flickers sometimes but it's yours.
You're still in Hawkins but this time on your own terms.
Steve drops his keys in the bowl by the door, toeing off his shoes with a satisfied sigh. The sun's setting slow outside the kitchen window, turning everything gold.
"Practice went good today," he says, shrugging off his jacket. "No broken bones. So I guess that's a win."
You smile from where you're rinsing dishes. "You're a natural, Coach Harrington."
He laughs, a little bashful. He places a soft kiss on your forehead.
Life is... sweet.
Too sweet sometimes, in that way that makes you pause just to feel it.
Steve leans against the counter, watching you. The quiet hum of the fridge fills the space between you. You catch him staring.
"What?" you ask softly.
"Nothing," he says. Then, more honest, "Everything."
Your heart does that thing it's been doing ever since the world stopped ending.
Steve shifts his weight. In his back pocket, there's a small brown box. He's checked it three times today. Still there. Still real.
He's too scared to leave it in the house in case you find it. So the ring has come everywhere with him, to work, to the grocery store, to every single function he's attended the past month.
He's been waiting, and not waiting for perfection, not for fireworks. Just a moment that feels like yours. A moment that feels safe.
You dry your hands and turn to him. "You're awfully quiet."
He smiles, that familiar gentle curve of his mouth that only you ever seem to get anymore. "Just thinking."
You step closer, resting your forehead against his chest. His arms come around you automatically, like muscle memory.
You don't see the way his hand tightens slightly behind your back.
You don't see the way his heart pounds.
Dustin's voice echoes in his head from weeks ago, half serious, half grinning:
If you don't marry her, I will never forgive you. Oh and yeah. You've got my blessing. Steve had laughed. Then swallowed hard.
Now, holding you in the quiet of your shared kitchen, he knows.
Summary: Going to a party with Steve is supposed to be fun, not sad. But when Tommy H.'s new friends make fun of you, you hide in the bathroom, crying so hard you can't breathe. Steve makes it better.
The music from the party is a dull, throbbing ache in the back of your head, but it’s nothing compared to the sharp, cold humiliation lodged in your chest.
You’d heard the laughter, seen the mimicking gestures from across the room—a cruel mimicking of your shy stammer, your little habit of twisting your hands when you’re nervous.
It wasn’t even people you knew well. Just some of Tommy H.’s new crowd, finding an easy target. Which happened to be you, tonight.
You make it to the hallway bathroom before the first tear falls, fumbling with the lock. You don't manage to get it fully closed before a familiar, warm presence is there, gently but firmly easing the door open and slipping inside with you.
“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble that seems to absorb the noise from the party. God, your head hurts. And your chest, and everything. Everything hurts.
You can’t breathe. You’re trying, but your chest is a tight cage, and every gasp ends in a wet, ragged hiccup that just makes you cry harder.
Steve turns you gently, pulling you away from the sink. The moment you’re facing him, he wraps you up. Completely.
His big arms come around you, one hand splayed wide on your back, the other cradling the back of your head, tucking your face into the hollow of his neck.
He’s so warm, so solid. He smells like laundry soap and his cologne and home.
“Shhh, just breathe with me, okay?” he whispers, his lips moving against your hair. “Just follow me.”
He takes an exaggerated, slow breath in for your benefit. You try to mimic it, but it catches, fracturing into another hiccup that feels like a stab through his heart.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, not a hint of frustration in his voice, only endless patience. He rubs slow, firm circles on your back. "It's okay, baby. We can try again, yeah?"
You finally manage to get a real breath in on the fourth try. The frantic, trapped feeling in your lungs begins to ease, just a fraction.
“That’s it, angel,” he praises softly, his voice vibrating through you. “You’re doing so good. Just stay right here with me.”
Steve doesn’t say anything else for a long time. He just holds you. He lets you cry your messy, hiccuping tears into his shirt. He rocks you gently, back and forth, back and forth, like you're the most precious thing he's ever held.
His worry is palpable thing—you can feel the tension in his jaw where it rests against your temple, the way his arms are almost too tight, like he’s trying to physically absorb your hurt.
When your breathing finally steadies, he pulls back a little, much to your disdain. You let out a sad little noise of protest, your fingers clutching tighter at the fabric of his shirt. He shushes you gently, but he doesn’t pull away far.
Just enough to see your face. His eyes are soft pools of brown, clouded with a protective anguish that makes your heart ache in a new way.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “You listen to me, okay? Those people out there?” He gives a slight, dismissive jerk of his head towards the door. “They’re nothing. They’re less than nothing. They're spewing bullshit, okay? None of it's true. They... they just have nothing else to talk about, so they have to pick on you."
The hiccup that leaves you now is smaller, laced with the ghost of a sob.
“I… I just wanted to have a nice night with you,” you whisper, your voice wrecked and small.
Something flashes in Steve's eyes, something like pain and sadness. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. This was supposed to be fun.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.
“We’re leaving. Right now. We’ll get your coat and we’ll go home. And I’ll make you that terrible hot chocolate you like, with the little marshmallows, and we can put on that boring nature documentary you love, and I won’t even complain about the whale sounds. Okay?”
Another tear slips out of your waterline. This one is pure guilt. "But... but you were having fun. I don't wanna ruin your night."
The sound Steve makes is half sigh, half sob, pained and fond all at once. He pulls back just enough to cradle your face in both of his big, warm hands, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Ruin my night?” he repeats incredulously, eyes wide and searching yours. “Baby, look at me. You are my night. You’re the only reason I wanted to be here. I don't give two shits about Tommy H.'s stupid friends or his bad music, even if he does have a keg."
You let out a watery laugh. Steve swipes his thumb over your cheekbone, his touch impossibly gentle. “The only fun I wanna have is with you. And if that means leaving a crappy party to go home and watch whales with you, then that’s the best night I could ever ask for.”
He presses a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead, lips brushing the baby hairs there. “So, please, let me take care of you. Let me take you home. For me. Because it’s what I want.”
The last of your resistance melts. You nod, a tiny, weary movement. He smiles, a small, wobbly one. It's a little sad, but it's full of so much love that it makes your breath catch all over again.
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay,” he echoes softly. Steve carefully bundles you back against his chest, tucking you against his side, where it's safe. "I love you, baby."
You sniff, burying your face in his shoulder. "Love you, Steve."
| pairing | divorced dad! sukuna x ex-wife! reader
| summary | Your ex-husband doesn't mind leaving the porch light on for you at night. After all, he was with you for years; he has you memorized, so he knows how lonely you can get with a husband as inattentive as yours
| overall content & warnings | MDNI, angst, cheating, toxic/taboo relationships, explicit sexual content, unplanned pregnancy, terrible communication, terrible decisions, but it's fun imo, so much domestic fluff, everyone needs therapy, probable inaccuracies regarding incarceration/law, Sukuna is a mechanic with a criminal record (mama, i'm in love with a criminal), Reader and Sukuna have a kid together, but the story is more focused on them fixing their relationship, so there's lots of drama ;)
| this chapter | wc. 17k, the epilogue is here, and she's super long :) Reader and Hiro's divorce spans the entire chapter, but it comes to an end, yay! Sukuna has his moment with Jin and Hiro, and he sort of has a moment with Wasuke. I'm going to be so fr with you, there is a bit of angst, but it's good angst--I promise you. Everything is tied up in this chapter, and I'm pleased with how this has ended. There is one flashback, but it's cute, and there's a lot of domestic fluff. Also explicit sexual content, lactation kink, undertones of a breeding kink, p in v, creampies, shower sex, they're both touch-starved fr
Author's Note: I have no idea how the process of divorce works, but I did Google it. Whether or not I'm correct is up for debate, but I think it flows. Okay, please enjoy <3
master list || last chapter || bonus chapter
You stepped out of the courthouse with your phone pressed to your ear and a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth, feeling significantly better about the rest of the day you had ahead of you now that the threat of jail time wasn’t looming over you anymore. The added satisfaction of knowing Hiro was being served dissolution papers that afternoon was just a little bonus.
Once the call finally connected, it was Sukuna’s voice to greet you. “Since you’re calling me from your cell instead of the jail phones, I’m assuming that means they let you off easy?”
You snorted. “If the hefty fine they just gave me is getting let off easy, then I suppose.”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “What’s the damage?”
“Just a couple of months rent, so remind me not to resist arrest next time,” you replied scornfully. Digging around in your purse, you grabbed the keys to your car and pressed the button to unlock your doors. “But after everything was explained to the judge, he graciously offered a payment plan, so it’s not all bad, I guess. Still, payment plan or not, that money would be nice to have for the divorce fees.”
“If only there was someone who offered to pay-”
“Mh, I didn’t call to hear you scold me for not taking your charity. It’s weird for you to even suggest it.”
“And why is that?”
“You’re my ex-husband.”
He groaned into the receiver. “When’re you gonna drop that label?”
“As soon as you change it. I believe boyfriend is the next step in our little cycle.”
“The cycle is redundant at this point, and having to go through the dating phase again is stupid. Childish, too. We’re in our thirties.”
You rolled your eyes as you slid into your car. “Maybe it’s stupid and childish to you, but it’s not to me. Besides, it’s your turn to ask since I did it the first time. So, how quickly you stop being my ex-husband is entirely up to you.”
“The last thing I want to be is your boyfriend, sweetheart. You know that.”
“Then we’ll just play house until you grow a pair.”
“We’ve been playing house,” he deadpanned, “For two weeks.” Sukuna didn’t wait for you to offer a rebuttal before he sighed. “What time are you coming home?”
“I have a meeting after work, but it shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back before-” Your phone started vibrating in your hand, signaling a call from the last person you would have expected, but who you hoped would have. You snickered, “Hold on. I’ll call you back.”
You promptly ended the call with Sukuna before taking Hiro’s, and as soon as you opened your mouth to greet him, he started laying into you with curse after curse, which only had you grinning to hear it.
When it finally seemed like he had most of it out of his system, or at least enough that he could take a quick breather, you mirthfully surmised, “The papers have been served, I take it.”
“Yes, they have! Are you fucking serious?!”
“As a heart attack.” Your dry humor was not appreciated by the other.
“No. No fucking way. I’m not signing this shit.”
His answer wasn’t the least bit surprising to you. “That’s fine. We can have it all figured out in court-”
“No!” he interrupted you, “You can’t fuck around with your ex and then divorce me after getting caught! That’s not how this works!”
“But that is how this is working, Hiro.” You hooked your phone up to the hands-free car feature and began your route to work. “Not sure why you’d want to stay married anyway. I cheated on you. Don’t you feel scorned–well, clearly you did, since you backhanded me across the face.”
“You hit me, too.”
“I did.” You let out a sigh. “And that’s part of the reason I think we need to be separated. If we’re putting our hands on each other like that, we shouldn’t be together-”
“Oh, don’t pretend like the fight was anything new to you.”
“Excuse me?” Your car jerked to a stop at a red light. “What are you implying?”
“You know exactly what I’m implying-”
“That Sukuna hit me? Are you fucking stupid?”
“Not stupid enough to think he didn’t–the man is a felon. I looked up his record, and I saw his charges. He’s violent! And you’re willingly going to go back to him? You could barely handle me!”
The weird competitive undertones of his statement aside, you felt yourself grow angry that he would assume that Sukuna would ever put his hands on you like that.
“The only people who think Sukuna is nothing but a violent man are scared little pussies like you, Hiro.” Your thumbs drummed against the steering wheel. “Though, if there’s one person who will get to see his violent side, it’s definitely you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Hardly. As if I’d waste my breath threatening you. I was only stating a fact. And regardless, I have to go.” And before you hung up, you added, “Sign those papers, Hiro. Let’s end this smoothly, okay-?”
The call ended abruptly, leaving you to huff before dialing Sukuna again, who answered almost immediately. “Don’t do that to me again.”
You breathed out a laugh. “Sorry. Hiro called-”
“What did he want?”
With another eye roll, you went on to explain, “If you had let me finish, I would have told you he called to say he’s not on board with ending things mutually, so it looks like we’ll have to file for divorce.”
“You know, I could have things ended for good before you even get home from work if you’d let me.”
“You’re not killing him. I already told you we’re going to do things the right way, not the Sukuna way. Besides, they always look at the spouses first in a murder case.”
“I can make it look like an accident-”
“No,” you snapped, tone lacking any real heat.
If anything, you were flattered to know he was willing to risk a murder charge for you.
* * *
Higuruma: He wants to reschedule tonight's meeting.
That message from your attorney wasn’t a nice one to wake up to, and you glared bitterly down at your phone while you sipped on your bitter black coffee, feeling really fucking bitter about the whole ordeal–the ordeal being the divorce of you and Hiro.
It had been two weeks since you served him the dissolution papers and a week since you filed for divorce after he refused to sign said dissolution papers. The man was now dodging the meetings to discuss splitting the assets–not that you wanted to discuss that anyway; you were only asking to keep two things: your car and your photo albums, which could have easily been settled with something as simple as dissolution.
You knew Hiro was going to make this process as difficult as possible, but you were hoping that with the amount of time that had passed, he’d lose interest in keeping you around. After all, you really wanted nothing to do with him anymore, as you were fully content and satisfied with how your life was going in that moment.
Of course, it had everything to do with Sukuna, but despite that, your relationship hadn’t really moved forward–and it wasn’t from a lack of trying. Since moving back in with him, he’d come to realize that you just wanted to do things the right way this time, and he was willing to do that for you, even if that meant taking things a little slower than he liked.
The only setback was time.
With both of you working, taking care of two kids, there weren’t many opportunities to properly discuss taking the relationship to the next step. And with the added Hiro Bullshit on top, eating up all your free time, you were sort of in a standstill with the progress, hence your utmost inner bitter feelings.
You: Of course he does.
As you replied to your attorney, a thick arm coiled around your midsection, followed by a warm, muscled body pressing up behind you. The physical feeling didn’t do much to quell your inner feelings.
With a light kiss to your throat, Sukuna mumbled, “Since when do you drink your coffee black?”
“Since we ran out of cream, and I forgot to pick some up on my way home from work yesterday.” Your nose curled when you forced yourself to take another much-needed sip from the mug, desperate for some sort of caffeine to soothe your incoming headache that Hiro was no doubt going to give you today.
A real gift that just keeps on giving, wasn’t he?
Caught in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the way Sukuna reached around your shoulders to take the cup from your hands, and since you were so bogged down with bitterness, you didn’t stop him either. As he drank from it, still pressed to your back, he leaned over and grabbed your phone from the counter to read over the messages between you and Higuruma.
A knowing hum met your ears as he realized the cause for your bitter mood. “Hiro’s being a pain in the ass,” he surmised, placing your phone back down beside you, along with the mug of coffee.
“He is. Like always.”
Two big hands settled on your hips, sliding over the silky red fabric of the nightgown Sukuna had given to you on a whim a couple of weeks ago.
“If only you’d let me fix it,” he rasped against the side of your neck.
“I think your idea of fixing it will only make it worse.”
He scoffed, but leaned into you even more, cheek resting against the top of your head. “You have no faith in me as a criminal.”
From the counter, your phone chimed with a new message.
Higuruma: When are you available to meet next week?
Next week?
An irritated groan rumbled from deep within your chest, not only from the rescheduled meeting, but because you knew Sukuna was seconds away from running his mouth-
“The offer is still open-”
You reached behind you, threading your fingers through his hair to give a harsh pull, wordlessly telling him to shut up about the topic. A low warning sound vibrated against your skin, one that didn’t tell you to stop, but said keep going and see what happens instead. It had heat coiling tightly in your lower stomach and reminded you that you had been without that sort of intimacy for way too long.
Not because you didn’t want it–you did. The second the doctor cleared you for sex, you had been ready for it. But like with everything else, there wasn’t much time for it, and when there was, you both were too tired to even want it anymore, which was just another reason to feel so fucking bitter.
Too tired, too horny, too stressed, too wound up with everything that life was throwing at you. Trust that if you were able to, your frustrations would have been fucked out of you the minute you voiced them to Sukuna–he wanted it just as badly as you did, and the way he was feeling you up in that moment only solidified your theory.
He tapped on your phone screen to light it up, displaying the time of 7:42 am. “We have a little bit of time before they start to wake up.”
Hopeful that you could manage something, you didn’t stop him when he slid his hand down your nightgown, sliding underneath the fabric to knead at your chest, which was heavy, and reminded you that you were going to start leaking if you didn’t take care of that issue.
A gentle pressure from his hands had you scolding, “Don’t. I don’t want them to start-”
The pitter-patter of feet coming down the hallway was a sobering sound, and had you and Sukuna hastily pulling away from one another by the time your daughter stormed into the kitchen. You turned toward her with a forced smile while Sukuna stayed facing away to subtly deal with his issue and pretend to mess with the coffee machine.
Her face was scrunched up in her usual morning glare, still bleary-eyed and coming out of sleep. The tousled pink hair of hers was sticking in all different directions, and the indents of her pillow were marked on her cheeks–she was not a morning person.
Her eyes flicked between you and Sukuna, blinking the sleep away before they settled on you and your forced smile. Upon seeing it, she only glared harder, though you knew she was anything but upset with you as she stalked over and wrapped her arms around your waist, face pressing right into your stomach. It was a familiar action to you; she greeted you like this most mornings.
“Good morning,” you mumbled quietly, brushing down some of her messy hair.
“Morning,” she groused, voice raspy and muffled against your body.
“How’d you sleep?” She shrugged in response, nestling herself closer into you. “That doesn’t sound good. Have a nightmare or something?”
She groaned in annoyance at your prodding, whining, “No. It was fine. Stop asking questions.”
“Watch your tone,” Sukuna lightly scolded, still not used to Ryo’s usual remarks and attitude that she used with you. He saw it as disrespectful; you knew it wasn’t like that; the girl was just trying to wake herself up, she really wasn’t being rude.
And while he wasn’t used to her antics that she reserved for you, she wasn’t used to Sukuna scolding her in your defense for something that was familiar to you both.
She pulled her face away from your stomach, turning her glare to her father’s back. “Why are you guys acting weird?” she asked, bringing you and Sukuna to both go still.
And that was just another added stressor in your life–hiding your relationship with Sukuna from Ryo. Well, you weren’t hiding it, per se; you just hadn’t divulged the truth yet.
And why haven’t you? There wasn’t time, of course–at least there wasn’t any time that felt like the right time.
How are you supposed to tell your daughter, who is highly perceptive, that you and her father are together again, while also telling her that her half-brother is actually her full brother, without her putting the pieces together that you had been cheating on Hiro?
At the moment, she was under the impression that Hiro was away for a long trip, and you were living with Sukuna to help each other take care of the baby–an assumption that she’d come to on her own, and you and Sukuna just didn’t correct her. She was still curious about a few things–the biggest being why you and Sukuna slept in the same bed, and now, why Sukuna was rushing to your defense.
“No one is acting weird,” Sukuna began, turning to face her now that he was calm again. “You just need to mind your manners. You wouldn’t talk to me that way.”
“Yes, because-”
“Don’t argue with me.”
The girl’s mouth fell shut before she could, in fact, argue with her father. With a huff, she turned her face back to your stomach, hiding it away while you carded your fingers through her hair. She melted into the feeling, per usual.
“What do you want for breakfast?” you asked, giving her back a gentle pat.
“Mm, I don’t know. Daddy can make something.”
You let out a little hum, pretending to contemplate your options before saying, “Well, Daddy has to run to the store.”
Said Daddy’s eyes flicked to you. “He does?”
“He does,” you confirmed with a nod. “We need cream for the coffee. Can you go get some while I feed Chibi? And maybe get us breakfast, too? That little place near the garage has omurice that Ryo likes.”
“Ooo! Yes!” the girl exclaimed, turning toward her father with pleading hands. “Please, please! And let me come, too! Please-!”
“Okay, alright,” Sukuna conceded, biting back his amusement to calm her down. “Go get dressed.”
She didn’t hesitate to bolt toward her room, sleepiness evading her entirely at the mention of her favorite omurice. When she was gone, Sukuna’s hands were on you again, dragging you in closer in an abrupt movement. To steady yourself, your arms circled his neck while his circled around your waist, and in an instant, his mouth was on you.
You swallowed back your yelp of surprise at how quickly his mood had changed. Parting from your lips just enough to speak, he mumbled, “Should really have Yuji babysit sometime soon.”
“What for?”
With a nip to your bottom lip, he pressed his lower half into you. He wasn’t hard, but the implication was there. “Guess.”
Your quiet laughter was muffled by his lips. “Didn’t think you needed it that badly.”
“I didn’t either, until these started leaking.”
He reached up, palming one of your breasts in one hand and teasing the nipple of the other, which you’d noticed felt wet. Looking down, sure enough, you were leaking and it had soaked into the red silk nightgown, creating a dark maroon patch. With a disgruntled sigh, you tried to break away from him to grab a paper towel and clean yourself up, but his grip on your waist wrangled you back in.
“Sukuna–no, wait-”
From down the hallway, you heard a bedroom door open again, bringing you both to go still, but rather than rushing down the hall, Ryo called out, “Daddy! I’m taking a shower! Don’t leave without me!”
The bathroom door slammed shut seconds later, leaving you and Sukuna alone once again. And when he heard the shower start up, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Sukuna,” you warned quietly, which left him looking a bit delighted. “There’s not enough time.”
“I’ll be quick-”
“No, really, there’s-” He slid his hands down your body, smoothing them down the silk fabric to the hem. “-not enough time-”
He cut you off with a kiss, moving his fingers to pop the buttons at your chest and reveal your tits, little droplets of milk sliding down the swell of them. When he leaned back to look, his hungry eyes followed the tiny beads of liquid as they soaked into your clothes.
“Such a mess.”
“Because they’re full-” A deep groan rumbled from his chest to hear that, which had you shoving at his shoulders in light-hearted annoyance. “Don’t be weird.”
“I’m not.”
You didn’t stop him when he brought his hand up to cup the bottom of your heavy breast, grazing the pad of his thumb over your nipple. Your breathing hitched in your throat–they were sensitive.
A pleasured sound vibrated against your skin after he took your nipple into his mouth. When his teeth grazed it, you gave a harsh tug to his hair as a warning, which only spurred him on.
“Gentle, asshole.”
He listened to you, trading in the bite of his teeth with a smooth tongue to softly coax the milk out, and swallow down the small mouthfuls of it with a quiet moan. Pulling back just enough to speak, he mumbled, “Fuck, you were right.”
“H-Hm?” you choked on nothing, subtly arching into his mouth.
“Not enough time,” he said, “To do what I want to you.” He seemed rather disappointed, but didn’t pull away entirely. Instead, he hiked up your nightgown and slid his hand into the front of your underwear. “Looks like it’s just for you this time–aren’t you so lucky?”
When you went to push at him for goading you, he slipped his two fingers down your slit, delving in just enough to circle your clit. Your hesitation softened then, as did your limbs when you leaned into the feeling.
“Messy and needy.” He clicked his tongue. “Bet you’ll be greedy, too. Think this’ll be enough.”
“Fuck off,” you whispered through a pant, drawing him closer to you with your arms around his neck. He pressed you up against the counter, just barely leaning you back until his free hand lay flat to hold himself up, his other hand toying with you under your clothes. He was gentle with his touch, but it was cruel to be so delicate, not when you were so horny. “Sukuna, if you don’t get me off in the next five minutes, you’ll spend the next five weeks with your right hand on your dick, understand?”
“Sounds like an empty threat since you feel this wet in my hand already, but I’ll humor you.” He chose that moment to plunge his fingers into you, which is the first thing that had been that deep in months. You clenched around them, releasing a shuddering breath and unknowingly rocking into his palm. You only knew you’d been doing it when you heard his amusement rumble out of his throat. “Empty, empty threats, indeed.”
Not keen on wasting any more time entertaining his taunting, you pulled his mouth to your to speed up the process. And it worked excellently because before you knew it, the upward angle of his fingers turned really precise and really persuasive in coaxing that orgasm out of you. Stifling your noises by biting down on his clothed shoulder, you came hard, arching into him, and he pulled it out of you until there was nothing left but the smoldering promise of more sexual frustration.
Your unsteady breathing was pretty pathetic, you had to admit. Thankfully, it wasn’t mentioned as he pulled back to kiss you, dragging his fingers out of your sensitive pussy to roughly tap them against your clit. You jolted at first, but then leaned into it, thrusting up for more until he realized it for himself.
“As I said,” he muttered against your mouth, “You’re greedy.” The rough tapping turned into heavy petting until you were writhing with need. “And easy, too–fuck, you’re about to cum again?” His taunting only made you wetter, but you still had your pride–though it wasn’t doing you much justice with your next retort.
“Fuck you.” It was weak, pitiful, and apparently amusing to him. “Hate you.”
You heard him chuckle. “Don’t lie, you fucking love me,” he whispered teasingly against your ear, and the chills of his breath hitting your skin did you in. You tensed up against him as you came again, scrambling to bring him in even closer, though it was impossible. His teasing remarks hit your ear, but rolled right off your back as you rode out the feeling, too drunk on it to really care.
It wasn’t until the feeling of something warm and wet wrapping around your nipple brought you to reality that you realized your surroundings again. Looking down, you watched as Sukuna’s tongue collected the small streams of breast milk that had leaked down your sternum, and even the droplets that beaded at the tip of your nipples. All the while, never taking his hand out from between your legs as he tapped at your oversensitive clit.
“Enough,” you huffed, pushing at his wrist to give your pussy so time to recoup.
The hand he brought out from between your legs was soaked, glossy in a thin layer of your arousal. Mortification colored your cheeks, though he looked pleased nonetheless, unobservant of your embarrassment– well, he was unaware until your choked-up whimper hit his ears, just as he sucked your liquid off his middle finger.
A sly, knowing grin replaced his look of obliviousness, and as lewdly as possible, he pulled his fingers from his mouth to completely ruin the moment by asking, “Want some?”
You pushed at him hard and snarled, “Don’t be fucking disgusting.” Your scold went unheeded, per usual.
“Must not be too disgusting if it’s got you clenching your thighs together like that.”
He motioned toward your lower half, which was exposed, thanks to your nightgown somehow caught on the counter behind you. Lo and behold, your thighs were indeed clenching together because, yes, you did find his crude sense of humor to be really fucking hot, and you were desperately trying to hold yourself back from jumping him like an animal.
“Yuji’s on spring break, you know? I doubt he’d mind babysitting the kids on such short notice-”
“Shut up,” you groaned.
With a complacent smile, he listened and reached forward to button your nightgown back up for you. When he reached the top button, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It ended too quickly when he slowly eased away from you, staring intently at your face. Briefly, insecurity stippled over your skin, but familiar red eyes were drawing you back in from that ledge.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
You set him up for such a sweet comment, too, but of course, he didn’t rise to take the opportunity. Instead, he opted for a more ‘Sukuna’ approach.
“Just appreciating how fucked out you look-”
“Oh, my god,” you grumbled, pinching at his stomach.
“Seriously, it’s impressive. My dick is still in my pants-”
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
When you went in to pinch him again, he easily grabbed your wrist and guided you back in for one last chaste kiss that left you a little stunned. Maybe it was the abruptness, maybe it was the sweetened taste that contrasted heavily with the bitterness of your morning coffee.
Or maybe it was the next question out of his mouth, since it was oddly domestic and just… natural.
Simple.
“What else do you need from the store?”
* * *
Eight Years Ago
“Thank you for coming with me. You didn’t have to–I know today was your day off both jobs, and you probably-”
A warm, tattooed hand clamped down over your mouth, pulling you and your cart to a halt in the entrance of the grocery store. In the child seat, your daughter peered up at you, wide red eyes flitting to her father’s, who stood right behind you, peering over your shoulder. Seconds later, his raspy voice hit your ears as he leaned forward.
“If I have to hear you thank me for coming grocery shopping with you again, we’re gonna have problems.” His cheap wedding band–which had long since tarnished after a few hand washes– caught the fluorescent light of the store. “We’re married. Stop treating me like a shitty high school boyfriend. And let me push the cart.”
His hand slipped away from your mouth to wrap around your waist and pry you away from the cart. Finally standing beside your husband, you peered up at him and his deep, dark circles that were stamped below his eyes. Guilt twisted sharply in your gut, and when he realized the look painted on your face, he snapped, “Don’t look at me like that.”
You rolled your eyes and hooked your arm with his much-thicker one. “I’ll look at you however I want, my dear husband. Even if that means my pitiful glances.”
“Alright, the last thing I ever want is your pity.”
With a sigh, you argued, “It’s your day off.”
“It’s your day off, too.”
“Yes, but today is your only day off. I don’t work every day.”
“Right. You don’t. On the days when you’re at home, you’re taking care of our baby.” His rebuttal was irrefutable. “You get to spend more time with her than I do, so stop worrying about how my time is spent. I wanna be here.”
“You’re exhausted. I can tell.”
“You don’t look caught up on your beauty rest either, sweetheart-”
“Wow, thanks. But what I meant was, you should be sleeping.”
“Mm, I should do a lot of things,” he stubbornly replied while ending the conversation by venturing further into the store. You lengthened your strides to catch up with him and Ryo.
“I just worry about you getting sick, is all.”
“How could I with all the vitamins you force me to take?”
You scoffed, “Bitch all you want about the vitamins, asshole–I just want you to be healthy, and if that means smothering you, so be it.”
“Smothering–yes, that’s the perfect word for it. I’ve just been calling it overbearing, bossy-”
“Screw you-”
“A real big nag, always running that mouth for something, and you’re so good at riding my ass-”
“You don’t have to be-”
“And it makes me love you even more.” His admission had you looking up at him, finding that the usual scowl laced on his mouth was curled into a faint grin–he was fucking with you. Clearly.
You sharply poked his arm. “I was so fucking close to making you sleep on the couch tonight, you know that?”
He tutted at you, giving his attention to the grinning baby in the cart–she’d just learned to crawl, which was a milestone that only you had been present for, but you managed to capture a few photos of it on your camera.
“See how I’m treated, Ryo?” In response to his question, the baby merely cooed around her slobbery fingers she was chewing on. He hummed over her babble, pretending to understand. “You’re right–Mommy is a pain in the ass-”
You gasped, “She would not say that!”
“And you think she doesn’t know how to take a joke?” he continued his one-sided conversation with Ryo, acting like you weren’t even there. “Right again, Ryo. She’s a real stick in the mud-”
“I’m about to stick my fist up your ass if you don’t stop pulling my baby into your antics.”
“And people say I’m the violent one.”
You’re sure the other shoppers in the store were regarding your little trio with disgusted grimaces, not impressed with the chaotic aura that surrounded you in the slightest, but if they were glaring at all, you couldn’t feel it, nor could you see them.
* * *
“The car,” Hiro stated flatly, earning the incredulous looks of you and your divorce lawyer. “I want the car.”
You glanced at Higuruma, waiting for him to step in because you weren’t sure that the next words out of your mouth were going to be appropriate. Understanding your expression, he cleared his throat, turning back to Hiro to say, “I think you’ve been mistaken-”
“My client has not mistaken anything, Mr. Higuruma. He’s put money into the car-”
“The most he’s ever put into it is a quarter tank of gas!” you exclaimed, “And the car isn’t even his–it’s not even mine! It’s Sukuna’s, and the only one who’s made any sort of payment on it is him-”
“Bullshit!”
Your eyes narrowed in your husband–ex-husband–soon to be ex-husband’s direction. “No, what’s bullshit, Hiro, is you cancelling these meetings over and over for the past two months after you’ve insisted on them in the first place. And then you're telling me you want one of the two things I’ve asked to keep out of this marriage?”
“That’s what these meetings are for, aren’t they? To discuss splitting assets-”
“The car isn’t even my asset!”
“It was given to you as a gift, yes?” his lawyer asked.
“Barely. I borrowed it and just didn’t give it back.”
Now that you're thinking about it, what happened to your previous car?
“If that’s true, why is the title in your name, as well as the registration?”
“What?” You sat forward, looking toward your own lawyer for confirmation, but you were met with tired eyes that told you Hiro’s guy was telling the truth. “Since when?”
“Since it was purchased last year. And the loan was in Sukuna’s name, but it’s been paid off already. Technically speaking, the car is an asset of yours that was acquired during the marriage,” Higuruma explained, rubbing at his eyes and turning to Hiro. “But, that being said, I suggest you reconsider. My client is being very sparing in what she’s asking for. Quite frankly, she could get a lot more out of this, but she wants this process to be over as quickly as possible. So, before she wants to start asking for alimony, maybe let her keep the car and the photo albums without making such a fuss.”
Hiro scoffed, “She can’t ask me for alimony when her ex is supporting her.”
“Actually, she can. Since they’re not legally married, securing alimony is more than possible, and given the difference in your salary, it only makes it more likely that the judge would agree.” Hiromi gathered up the spread of papers in front of him, tucking them into a neat stack. “If only she weren’t still married to you, then she could marry Sukuna, which cuts off any chance of alimony…”
Hiro and his lawyer shared a look, a silent conversation passing between them before Hiro had the audacity to look back at you with too much confidence. “I still want the car.”
* * *
Two texts were waiting in your messages as you began to slowly climb the stairs to Sukuna’s house, your mind still reeling from the meeting. Despite your best efforts, staying optimistic in regard to the divorce was getting difficult, and this was just your first time meeting to discuss it.
You weren’t asking for much, and of course, Hiro was trying to make the end as brutal as possible, doing everything within his power to drain you dry, which wasn’t entirely surprising. Your relationship with Hiro was and always had been an exchange of sorts.
You knew of Hiro when you were still married to Sukuna, and while he was in prison, you got to know Hiro a little better, too. It was never something that strayed toward romantic–not even platonic, really. He was a regular patron in the cafe where you worked part-time, and when the rug was pulled out from under your feet, he was there to catch you.
Sort of.
Trust that you were never interested in the man–you had always been in love with Sukuna–but you were interested in giving your baby what she needed at the time, so when Hiro offered a friendly helping hand, you took it in a weak, shaky, and hesitant grasp. You maintained that boundary, no matter how many times Hiro wanted to cross it.
He wanted to move you in the second you mentioned your lack of housing, which you declined. He wanted to give you a job as his assistant, and you turned it down. He wanted to give you money, but you didn’t always take it–counter-productive to your cause, you’re aware, but Hiro wasn’t Ryo’s father, Hiro wasn’t your husband–Hiro wasn’t even really your friend.
Hiro wasn’t Sukuna.
Hiro was Hiro.
Overbearing and assertive. Controlling at times, too. But he was consistent and stable, so sometimes leaning on him when he offered didn’t bother you too badly.
Then Sukuna came home.
You were angry and unforgiving–a natural response to being abandoned by the man you loved. Then to be picked up by someone who looked like him, sounded like him, but did not act like him was heartbreaking–he didn’t even apologize to you. Mentally, he was barely there. Physically, he was sitting in the corner of the room, quiet and dull.
You were aware of what they had done to him during his time in there–they isolated him. For two years.
You tried to be understanding of that, you gave him time, too, to figure himself out again, but it wasn’t working. You started to think that maybe it was you. Maybe he just didn’t think you were worth it anymore–which you could have lived with. But when you realized that you weren’t the only one suffering from his self-isolation, that Ryo was suffering, too…
Your fights were terrible. Half the time, they were one-sided–you being the only one who was engaging. The other half, the times when he would fight back, he was brutal. No longer were you two just at each other's throats, bickering to get under the other’s skin. You were holding knives out, attempting to flay the other alive.
Like you were out for blood.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
When you voiced these issues to Hiro, after being pried into over and over, he suggested that you and Sukuna get a divorce. You brushed off the idea at first, because how could you live without Sukuna?
But after Hiro shoved the idea down your throat a few more times, and the realization that you’d been living without Sukuna for a while at that point, you thought that maybe that was the best course of action.
The decision didn’t come easily, and like always, there had been a breaking point.
You were arguing at the time, nothing out of the ordinary for you two. It was mean and cruel, both of you desperately trying to hurt the other, using whatever you could to make it happen.
And he got you so fucking good.
“If I were given the chance to leave you again, I would.”
As soon as those words came from his mouth, the heated tension of the argument went cold, cooling until it was practically frozen.
He hadn’t just nicked an insecurity. He stabbed right into a fear, and twisted the knife for good measure.
Naturally, to parry his statement, you needed to be just as cruel.
And to protect yourself, you needed to promise that you’d get away first.
“I want a divorce.”
The room stilled, and in the silence that ensued, you were begging for him to say no.
But he didn’t.
Emotionlessly and quietly, he nodded.
“Okay.”
Hiro was there to pick up the pieces and tape them together–it was a shitty job, but you were put together again, nonetheless. He put you and Ryo in an apartment, he gave you a job, and he supplied you with what you needed. You took it without complaint, too drained to fight against him anymore.
You just wanted to rest.
A few years after you divorced Sukuna, you agreed to marry Hiro.
It wasn’t a happy union, but it wasn’t forced.
You walked down that aisle while telling yourself who you were really doing it for, which wasn’t for you, not even for Hiro.
You did it for Ryo.
You went into that marriage with the bare minimum, and you were coming out of it asking for the same, but being denied even that.
A couple of photo albums and your car, and he wasn’t going to let you have them easily. Not after he’d convinced himself that he was your true savior and held that above your head any chance he could.
And you fucking hated having things held above your head.
Higuruma: We’ll meet again in a week. Let’s see if his attorney can talk him out of being a total POS.
You didn’t respond to him and went to the next text instead.
Sukuna: Took the kids out to dinner. Text me what you want to eat. I’ll bring it home.
Checking the time, you realized he sent that to you over an hour ago, which means they’re most likely on their way back. With a deep, steadying breath, you willed back your tears of stress to type out a response.
You: That’s okay. I’ll have leftovers from last night.
You pulled out the keys to his house, ready to unlock the door, which appeared to already be unlocked. With an eye roll, you pushed it open, fully intending on scolding him once again for not remembering to lock up the house before leaving.
If someone wants in, they’ll get in, or so Sukuna says. Though he swears he makes a point to remember when he watches the kids.
Upon stepping inside, you tossed your keys down on the entryway table, dropping your purse at your feet before toeing off your shoes. Your fingers worked on pulling off your outer layers of clothes as you padded through the living room, bunching up the fabric to take to the laundry room. Dropping the pile into the hamper, you reached under your camisole and unhooked your bra, tossing that down, too.
Now, sufficiently less clothed, you felt a bit better. You’d make a point to dress before Sukuna returned with the kids, but for the time being, your under shirt and underwear were good enough for you.
Watching your food spin on the microwave plate, listening to the hum of the machine filled your brain, letting you blank out-
Until the sound of creaking floorboards behind you had you focusing in on reality–the one where you weren’t alone in your darkened kitchen. You paused, waiting to hear it again so you could pass it off as the house settling, but the creaks could only hide the sound of footsteps so much. And after the day you’ve had, you didn’t find yourself caring much to do things the proper way, especially for an intruder.
Your fingers wrapped around the handle of the biggest knife in the display block on the counter before you followed the sound. Thankfully, months of living in Sukuna’s house granted you the knowledge of the layout, so even in the dim area, you navigated just fine, something the intruder couldn’t do. The sound of them tripping over the archway into the hallway clued you in on that fact.
Their body stumbled around a bit, a whispered curse passing their lips, but they ventured toward the light coming from the living room lamp. You followed them, taking quiet, padded steps that they couldn’t hear. The closer you both got to the living room, the easier it was to see who they were.
And the easier it was to see them, the more you wished it could have been anyone other than him.
* * * * *
Sukuna pulled into his driveway and cut the engine to his truck before turning to look over his shoulder at his daughter. “Carry in your mom’s food, will you?” The girl nodded, accepting the packaged to-go box when he handed it back to her. “And wait for me. I’ll help you out so you don’t spill it.”
He rounded the truck, pulled open her door, and lowered her to the ground, all while wondering what the hell you were watching inside and why it was so loud.
“What’s that sound?” Ryo asked with a frown.
“Your mom. Probably watching those damn reality TV shows again.” He shut the door and went to grab his son from the other side before leading Ryo up to the front porch. The closer they got to the door, the more Sukuna thought that the argument sounded a little familiar.
More specifically, the arguer sounded familiar–they sounded like you.
Either it was a coincidence, or you really were yelling at someone in there. And if you were the one making the noise, who were you talking to? Probably Hiro, over the phone. Sukuna knew he had called you a few times. Perhaps even your lawyer. Or maybe you were talking to Emi, because sometimes you get pretty excited over things together.
However, any scenario that Sukuna could have come up with while he worked on unlocking the front door did not even come close to what was actually happening inside.
He was correct in thinking you were the one speaking at such a high volume, but he wasn’t prepared to see his twin underneath a barely clothed you and holding a knife to his neck while you sobbed, “...you don’t get to come into my life for a third time! And fucking ruin it again!”
“Please, I’m not–I swear-”
You kept talking over him. “I won’t let you–I’ll kill you before you even ask him-!”
At his side, Ryo reached over and grabbed onto Sukuna’s shirt, taking it into a tight fist.
“Daddy?”
She was scared–you were scaring her, and you didn’t even know it.
“It’s okay. Take your brother outside,” Sukuna said, rushing the baby into Ryo’s arms so quickly that she dropped the food. With the door firmly shut behind her, he managed to remember to turn on the porch light before moving toward your pile on the floor.
“That’s not why I’m here!” his brother shouted back in defense, trying to gently reason with you, but clearly you couldn’t be reasoned with because you kept talking over him, choking and crying, promising that you’d really kill him.
He stood behind you, curious to see where you’d take it, but decided against letting you actually kill him. Having to deal with a dead brother and your guilt would be a terrible experience.
His brother looked relieved to see him standing there, still you weren’t aware of the company. Not until Sukuna’s hands wrapped around your wrist. The first bit of contact made you flinch as he pried your hands away from Jin, removing the blade from his brother’s neck. You were fighting against his pull, but he dragged your hands away anyway.
“Drop the knife,” he ordered as softly as he could.
Shaky and panting, you replied, “No.”
Your stubbornness made him huff, “Yes.”
“No. I won’t.”
“You will or I’ll make you.”
“You will let go of me, or I’ll chop off your dick.”
With a groan, he reaffirmed his grip on you to haul you off his brother. “Your negotiation skills suck. Give me the knife.”
Your hold remained tight around the blade, fearful of letting go. You were terrified, that much was obvious, and you weren’t going to let go until it was safe to do so–though Sukuna’s not sure what the knife is really going to do besides send you to jail for murder.
To save you the felony, he managed to pry it away from your fist, and as he did so, you… broke. You turned to wrap your arms around him, going limp against his tense body to cry. His hand fell to the back of your head, holding you to his chest, offering support as much as he could.
Over you, Sukuna peered down at his brother, seeing him shrivel up under his stare. He wondered if Jin was competent enough to sense the level of anger that was quickly rising in him, or if the dope really fried all of his brain cells–why else would he be inside Sukuna’s house after he explicitly told his brother to fuck off.
Jin must have sensed something because in a soothing tone, he began, “S-Sukuna-”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Your trembling body against his was the only thing grounding him in place, keeping him from moving you aside so he could beat the shit out of his brother. However, his lividity wasn’t going to make you feel better, but he couldn’t comfort you with his number one stressor lying on the floor behind you, either.
“Why don’t you go wait in the bedroom-”
His suggestion had you panicking. “No-”
“I’ll be there in a second. Let me put the kids to bed-”
A strangled whimper from you twisted guilt in his chest. “Sukuna-”
“I’m not leaving. I promise.”
Still, you hesitated in pulling away from him. It wasn’t until he pressed a kiss to the top of your head that you actually moved. A slow turn toward the hallway, a few sniffles, and a wipe of your eyes seemed to be all you needed to somewhat snap out of your scared daze.
As you passed by Jin, you spared him a glance, which he flinched away from. If he weren’t so angry, Sukuna might have felt a bit of pride at the sight.
When you were gone, Jin tried to reason with his brother, attempting to scurry away, too, because Sukuna was stalking toward him with a knife in his hands. His twin wasn’t stupid enough to think that he wouldn’t stab him in an instant if he made one wrong move.
“I’ll leave! I’ll–Sukuna, wait!”
When Sukuna raised the knife up, Jin closed his eyes, turning away from it, and prepared himself for his end. However, stabbing the knife into the man’s chest isn’t what Sukuna did. Jin looked over after hearing and feeling the blade embed itself into the floorboard, and he realized that the most Sukuna had injured was Jin’s shirt. He swallowed thickly, peering up at his brother’s glare.
“You’re not going anywhere until I figure out what the fuck is wrong with you-”
“I can explain-”
“Shut up, Jin,” Sukuna muttered, venturing toward the front door. He pulled it open, motioning for Ryo to come in. Slowly, she did so, peering around, presumably for a dead body, as Sukuna took Chibi from her arms. As they passed the man pinned to the floor, Ryo slowed to look at him.
“Who is that?” she asked her father quietly.
With a tick in his jaw, Sukuna answered, “Yuji’s dad,” and guided her back to her bedroom. He could tell she had more questions, but there wasn’t time for that at that moment. “Ask me all about it tomorrow, okay?”
In your bedroom, you were waiting on the bed, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. When he entered, you only looked at him for a second before tearily eyeing the baby, motioning for him to hand your son over.
He slid onto the bed beside you, handing off the boy to ask, “What happened?”
You sniffled, bringing Chibi closer to you. “He was just… in the house. I didn’t know it was him at first when I was following him, and-”
Sukuna raised a concerned hand to cut you off. “You were following who you thought to be an intruder around the house?” When you shrugged, the look Sukuna gave you was nothing short of exasperated.
“Don’t look at me like that. I had a shitty day.”
“So you were going to take it out on a stranger, who could have been dangerous? What if it wasn’t Jin? What if it was someone who had a weapon-”
“I. Had. A. Shitty. Day.” Each word was enunciated, like that was supposed to drive the point home. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, and so what if I was going to take my stress out on an intruder? Don’t fucking scold me right now. I don’t need it.”
Sukuna closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, moving closer to you on the bed. “Okay. What happened today that had you feeling homicidal?”
Your answer was easy.
“Hiro. He’s–I…” You trailed off into a mess of sniffles again, which angered Sukuna like nothing else could.
You crying over Hiro. He was sick of seeing it.
“What did he do?” Whatever it is, I’ll kill him, Sukuna thought, but didn’t say. He knew it would only piss you off.
“He wants my car.”
For fucks sake…
That man was really fucking asking for it.
“Isn’t that the only thing you’re asking to keep?”
“Yeah–well, the pictures, too.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not even about the car, really. It’s that he’s making this as difficult as possible, and I just want it to be over.”
In the undertones of your words was a simple request that Sukuna had no problems with fulfilling, if it meant making you stop crying over a piece of shit like Hiro.
“Then let him keep the car, sweetheart.”
Your tear-filled eyes snapped to his. “What? No. What will I do then? I need one-”
“We’ll get you a new one.”
“Sukuna, don’t be ridiculous. My car is perfectly fine and I don’t need an extra monthly payment.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“I–no. That’s too much, too expensive-”
Dear god, can you stop being so stubborn?
“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly strapped for cash anymore.” He motioned around his house–the one he bought on his own because he could afford it now. “I can handle a car payment.”
A certain emotion twisted up onto your face–curiosity, incredulity.
“You know, I was wondering, what happened to my old car?”
Shamelessly, he answered, “Sold it to Uraume’s dad.”
“Uraume’s dad–you sent it to the chop shop!”
“I did. He needed parts for a few of his vehicles.”
“That’s illegal, Sukuna.”
He brushed you off. “Technically not, since you didn’t report the car as stolen. And you can’t be too mad at me because I put the cash he gave me into a savings account for Ryo. Not that the beater was worth much to begin with, but at least it’s a start.”
When a quiet moment fell over the room, Sukuna reached over to brush a stray tear from underneath your eye.
“Let him have the car, sweetheart," he repeated.
You bit at your inner cheek. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
No, it wasn’t okay. Sukuna didn’t like the way Hiro was dragging out this process to keep you from him, but clearly, it was taking a toll on you, too, if you were getting so upset that you contemplated murder.
“It’s okay.”
“I… okay. I’ll tell him.” You nodded, more to yourself than Sukuna, but turned to him with a newfound lightness to ask, “Is your brother…”
With that reminder, Sukuna’s mood only dampened. “He’s still here. Needs to talk to me about something, and it must be important if he’s risking his life to come into my house.”
He could see the gears turning in your head, fitting together pieces in presumptuous moves, but ended up in the correct places anyway.
“How many times have you talked to him since you found out he was wanted again?”
Perceptive as always, you were.
“Twice,” he answered honestly and soaked up the disappointed glint in your eyes–it was an inevitable emotion, as was the guilt that was now pinching in his stomach. “I never had any intention of-”
“I know,” you interrupted, drawing into yourself while bringing the sleeping baby closer. “Did Ryo see?”
“See what? You acting like a psycho, or Jin on the floor?” Your lips pressed into a flat line, not interested in Sukuna's sense of humor. “She saw both, but she didn’t seem too shook up when I put her to bed.”
You let out a disappointed sigh, closing your eyes. “Bet she’s gonna have lots of questions. Bet she thinks I’m actually fucking crazy, too.”
“Well…” Sukuna trailed off, a teasing lilt that finally had you cracking a smile, though it was a tired one. “Trauma builds character.”
You exhaled a dry laugh. “Sure, and it’ll turn her into us.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
Sukuna felt a small smile forming on his own mouth. “If she ends up acting anything like you, I think I’ll be relieved.”
You rolled your eyes. “Mm, good fucking luck. She acts just like you right now, and I don’t see that going away any time soon.”
Sukuna shrugged. “Even better. It’ll keep the boys away.”
A simple silence fell over the room, both of you feeling a bit better.
“Well, you should probably go see what your brother wants before I drag him outside myself.” Sukuna doesn’t doubt for a second that you really would. “And you better have your ass back in this bed within the hour, or so help me god…”
With a small smile, he kissed your cheek before rolling off the bed to his feet.
The rundown from you didn’t leave Sukuna feeling any better about the Jin situation. In fact, it only pissed him off even more, which was a difficult emotion to deal with while trying to comfort you, but he managed.
He stepped back into the hallway, softly shutting the door behind him to venture toward the living room. His brother’s eyes widened when he saw him again, and immediately, he tried to voice his reasoning for being there.
Truthfully, Sukuna wasn’t listening.
The bottom of his boot met Jin’s cheek, forcing him to shut his mouth as he bent down to pull the knife from the floorboards.
“You’re a fucking dumbass, you know that?” He chuckled dryly, standing straight to apply just a bit more pressure to his brother’s skull before pulling it back. “Traumatizing your family wasn’t enough; you had to fuck with mine, too?”
“Sukuna, I swear on my life-”
“Swear on something else–your life means jack-shit to me.”
“I didn’t mean to scare anyone-!” A kick to his side had him wheezing and jerking away from his brother's foot.
“And keep your voice down. You wake my kids, you can give your half-assed explanation to the police-”
“Fuck,” he coughed, folding into the pain. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I thought you lived alone. I didn’t know she was here. I tried to leave before she saw me, but then she attacked me.”
“You’re lucky that’s all she did.”
He gulped back the dryness and pushed himself up onto his elbows, still keeping as much distance between him and Sukuna’s boots as possible.
“Look, I definitely deserved it. I know I fucked up your lives, and I really want to make it right. As right as it can be. I want to fix it– I want-”
Sukuna scoffed, “No one needs your help to fix anything-”
“I’m turning myself in tomorrow.”
His admission left Sukuna a little shocked, but a little skeptical, too. Jin just willingly handing himself over? Taking accountability for his fuck ups? Since when?
But there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes, clear from any drug-induced haze.
He was sober.
“Why not do it now while you’ve still got the balls?”
He shrugged, meekly replying, “I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Well, if you’re looking for me to talk you out of it, you’re dead fucking wrong-”
With a sigh, Jin interjected, “I wanted to say goodbye.”
Sukuna blinked, processing his brother’s words before chuckling to himself. “That’s it?” he questioned, a scornful cadence. “You break into my house to say goodbye?”
Looking sheepish, Jin stammered for a response, but Sukuna was quicker than him.
“Where was your goodbye when I turned myself in for you the first time? Or the second time? What about all the other times you ran away? The times when you left me?” Sukuna cocked a brow, eyeing the way his brother’s face drained of any color. “I didn’t need your goodbyes then, and I sure as fuck don’t need them now. So, you can take them with you to prison to wipe your ass with. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”
He grabbed onto the front of Jin’s shirt and hauled him up onto his feet. He didn’t fight against his brother as Sukuna pushed him to the door, but at the very last second, before he could be thrown outside, Jin turned around and wrapped his arms around him.
He hugged his brother for the first time in many, many years.
It was startling. To Sukuna, at least.
The last time he could recall, Jin hugged him after their mother’s funeral, which just so happened to be the year Jin ran away for the first time. Everything sort of went downhill after that.
Not that Sukuna wanted or even needed his brother’s hugs at all–he wasn’t one for physical affection, except from you, of course. But he really, really didn’t fucking need it from his brother.
“Get off me-”
“I shouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t your fault–it’s never been your fault.” At Jin’s rushed words, Sukuna stopped trying to pry his brother away from him, but he didn’t reciprocate the hug either. “I… I didn’t want to just say goodbye. I also wanted to say I’m sorry. And I wanted to thank you. For everything.”
Sukuna couldn’t help his tone–he was cynical.
“Is that right?”
He felt Jin nod against him before quickly adding, “You don’t have to forgive me, I’m not even asking for it. I don’t deserve it. I just wanted you to know.”
Despite knowing better, he felt himself caving into the apology.
Maybe it was because he’d been wanting to hear it for so long, or maybe he needed the one who blamed him to revoke said blame.
Fuck, it could also be the fact that Jin’s quick, rushed words sounded an awful lot like the youngest Itadori, who would apologize to Sukuna in the same way when he was younger. While the brotherly bond between Sukuna and Jin had faded significantly, Sukuna developed a soft spot for his nephew, but he’d never admit it.
When his brother’s shoulder began shaking, Sukuna let out a groan. “Don’t fucking cry on me. You’re making yourself look more pathetic than you-”
“I’m sorry.”
He grunted. “So you’ve said.” Sukuna took the back of Jin’s shirt in his fist and pried him off his chest. “You’re being serious? You’re really going?”
The man nodded, ducking out of Sukuna’s grasp. “I am. I’ll even swear on your life instead of mine-”
Sukuna raised his hand, “Don’t do that shit either.”
A small smile quirked onto Jin’s mouth. “I really mean it. I wanna get this part over with so I can just… be there for everyone. I missed so much already, don’t wanna miss anything else.”
A weight that Sukuna didn’t realize had been resting heavily on his shoulders was released.
“Besides, I need to get to know your family. And apologize to your… uhm… what is she to you now?”
That was a good question. What was the relationship between you and Sukuna now? He was smart enough to know that you weren’t exes anymore, despite what you’d say. But that’s the most progress you’ve both made during the recent chaos.
“Girlfriend, I guess.”
“Girlfriend?” Jin cocked a brow. “After everything-”
“And who are you to question anything about my relationship?”
Upon Sukuna’s jab, Jin’s mouth closed, and he nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry.”
“Mm, well, I won’t make her accept your apology, and the chances of her forgiving you are slim to none. Not to mention, if she doesn’t want you around the kids, I’m not going to force her hand.”
Jin blew out a breath. “That’s fair.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Sensing that the moment was coming to an end, Jin heaved in some air, forcing a smile as he backed up toward the door.
“Tell Yuji for me?”
“Why should I? You get one free call when you get there.”
With a sheepish warmth taking over Jin’s cheeks, Sukuna rolled his eyes.
“You don’t know his number, do you?”
“No.”
Sukuna groaned, “Fucking helpless. Hold on.”
He went to the kitchen, pulling open the drawer of miscellaneous items to find a permanent marker. When he returned to his brother, he roughly grabbed his arm and pushed up his sleeves. Briefly, his eyes raked over the scars and track marks that were almost finished healing before he scribbled down his nephew’s phone number.
“Take your glasses off until you get settled in.”
“Huh?”
His jaw tensed in annoyance. “Take your glasses off until you get settled in,” Sukuna repeated and dropped his brother’s arm to cap the marker.
“Why?”
“They make you look like a fucking nerd, and they’ll eat you alive in there. And mind your own business. Do not join a gang, either, no matter what. Don’t try to be friends with the guards–they’re all assholes, but be nice to the lunch ladies; they’ll give you extra food.”
“Are… are you giving me prison advice?”
A scowl tugged at the corners of Sukuna’s mouth. “Do you wanna fucking survive, or not?”
“Yes?”
“Then do what I’m telling you. Don’t borrow anything from anyone, not even if they offer it. Don’t gamble, don’t do bets, don’t play games–none of that. You look like a pushover, so you’ll be treated like one if you let them. Just keep your head down, and you should be fine.”
His brother gulped, but took the tips to heart. “S’that all?”
“Mm…” He mulled over it before adding, “Oh. Don’t drop the soap. And I mean that seriously–the bathroom floors are fucking disgusting. And make sure to wear shoes, too.”
“That’s… lovely.” As Jin came to terms with the helpful advice, Sukuna started to feel immensely better. “Anything else?”
“Don’t think so,” his brother gruffed.
“Okay.” Jin swallowed, seeming hesitant, but took a step back. “I suppose I should-”
And before he could stop himself, Sukuna actually pulled his brother into a hug, leaving them both rather startled, but Jin adapted to it quickly to reciprocate the gesture.
Awkwardly, of course. Very fucking awkwardly.
“...this is… weird.” Jin cleared his throat. “Nice, but weird.”
“Yeah, well, soak it up because it’ll never happen again.” Sukuna offered his brother’s back a few rough pats before adding, “Just be good, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
* * *
A week after Jin turned himself in, Wasuke finally kicked the bucket. Sukuna wasn’t too surprised to have received the call from Yuji, nor was he that beat up over it, but he did feel his heart clench over a missed opportunity to reconcile with his father. Not much, not enough to forgive him completely, but enough to rid themselves of the odd tension that always fell over them.
Over the crematorium table, Yuji and Sukuna picked out Wasuke’s bones from the pile of ashes. For a while, all that could be heard was the clinking sound of their chopsticks and the ring of each bone being dropped inside the urn.
Then, out of the blue, Yuji spoke, almost startling Sukuna.
“Sorry you have to do this part with me.”
Sukuna faltered as he pinched a bone between the two sticks, and when he dropped it into the urn, he asked, “Who else would have done it?”
“It should be Dad. He was his son.”
Despite his best efforts to hold it back, Sukuna chuckled. “Yuji, you were treated more like Wasuke’s son than either of us. And you were good at it, too. I know he’d rather have you here than me or your dad.”
Sukuna could see his nephew chew at his inner cheek before the boy asked, “Why don’t you sound angry about that?”
Yeah, Sukuna wondered the same thing sometimes.
“What’s there to be angry about? It’s nice to see he was a good father when someone really needed it.”
“Oo, you almost sounded scorned there for a second,” Yuji teased.
“Brat,” Sukuna huffed, sifting through the ashes.
After a few more moments of silence, Yuji broke it again. “You know, he always talked about apologizing to you for something.”
“Yeah? How interesting. I didn’t know the man was capable of feeling remorseful.”
Brushing off the jab, his nephew asked, “What did he do?”
Yuji knew Sukuna went to jail for his father, but he didn’t know what made him crazy enough to agree to something like that. It wasn’t something Sukuna, Wasuke, or Jin liked to talk about.
But Jin was locked up, and Wasuke was nothing but a pile of ashes between Sukuna and Yuji, so he didn’t feel so guilty about spilling the truth.
“He asked me to go to jail for your father the first time. Sorta implied that it was my fault for letting him shoot up and leaving him out on the streets. It wasn’t so much a punishment as it was a suggestion, but it felt like he was forcing me at the time. Kind of. Looking back, I think he was just trying to get shit sorted out.”
The sound of Yuji’s chopsticks went quiet as he stopped. “That makes no sense.”
Without context, Sukuna’s sure it’s confusing.
“He was diagnosed with cancer when your father and I were teenagers. Went through all the chemo bullshit. It worked, but left him sick and miserable most days; that’s not really surprising. He was a mean, miserable man, always has been. The chemo made it worse. Then your father brought you home, left you there for us to take care of. Wasuke stopped treatment after that.”
“Why?”
Sukuna shrugged. “For a while, I always thought it was that he couldn’t afford it anymore, or maybe there just wasn’t time for him to be sick afterward, since he was dealing with you. Then I noticed how he acted with you. He was happier, smiled more, less miserable–you get it. I think I realized then that he stopped treatment for you, so he could raise you properly, and not fuck up again. Third time's a charm, and all that.”
Still, Yuji looked confused. “So, how was that him getting stuff sorted?”
“Your dad came home after getting caught up in shit he couldn’t handle, strung out and scared–he’s a pussy, you know?”
Yuji chuckled, “You’ve mentioned it.”
“Wasuke was only getting sicker, and Jin was there promising to step up for you, but said that he couldn’t go to jail. Said he’d run away again if Dad called the cops. I think Wasuke saw it as an opportunity to hand you back over to your father, or maybe that you would be good for Jin–at least enough for him to get sober.” He picked up a bone, depositing it into the urn with a little extra force than was necessary. “Or maybe he was hoping to have someone to take care of you before he died, because he knew you’d be stuck with me if Jin wasn’t there.”
“You’d have taken me in?”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course, I would have.” Sukuna rolled his eyes. “I think the old man was just making plans for everyone else and not telling anyone about them.”
Yuji hummed in agreement. “Sounds like him. Still, they seem like really shitty plans if they all meant you had to go to jail for Dad. Even I would’ve been mad at Gramps for it.”
“I was. For a while. But focusing on him while I was in a cell only made time go by slower, and when I got out, I didn’t want to think about him at all, and eventually convinced myself that he just wanted everything to be… fixed. Took the ass-backwards way to get there, but…” Sukuna plucked the last bone from the pile of ashes and dropped it into the urn. “Besides, it doesn’t really matter now. The bastard is dead, and I have everything I wanted anyway.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
As Yuji sealed up the urn, he asked, “Does that mean you don’t wanna see what was left to you in the will?”
* * *
The will, as Yuji called it, was a letter that Wasuke had left for him–the real will being filed away in a courthouse, waiting to be analyzed by a lawyer. They sat in the living room of Wasuke’s house as Yuji read over the letter, per the old man’s request that Yuji be the one to hand out the earnings, since no one else could be trusted. Apparently.
“By the time you’re reading this, I’m dead. Hopefully. Or maybe on life support, but if that’s the case, pull the damn plug already–Jesus…” Yuji trailed off, snickering. “I know you greedy bastards are only interested in one thing, so I’ll make this quick. Here it is. The house goes to Yuji–oh, woah. A whole house, and it’s mine?”
Sukuna looked around the place in a quick glance–he was glad not to be receiving the house, but he wouldn’t say anything to ruin Yuji’s excitement. “How lucky.”
“The car goes to Yuji, and the Hokkaido rental goes to Yuji–wait, he has a rental in Hokkaido?”
Sukuna shrugged. “Apparently so.”
“Man, he really left me a lot,” the boy hummed.
“Not surprising. You were his favorite.”
Yuji couldn’t keep the smile off his face even if he tried, but he got back to reading the letter.
“For Jin, my stamp collection.”
The two of them shared a laugh before Yuji read off the last line.
“And for Sukuna, my bank accounts. He’ll take my money, whether he thinks he’s too good for it or not. And make sure he takes that letter out of my nightstand.”
Yuji hummed and placed down the makeshift will, pushing up from the floor. “I’ll go get it. We had to rearrange everything to get him out of the house. Hang on.”
Sukuna grabbed the letter when his nephew was gone, skimming over to see if it really said Wasuke was handing over his bank accounts–as if Sukuna would fucking want those, knowing they had been drained dry after Wasuke figured out what QVC was.
The boy returned, handing off the envelope to his uncle before taking his place in front of him again, wide brown eyes watching him with excitement.
Sukuna brushed it off and ripped open the paper, taking out the thin stack of folded-up documents. As he pulled them open to read, two things fell from between the pages.
A smaller note.
And a Polaroid picture he hadn’t seen for years–the one he’d taken of you when you were both still teenagers. He took it between his two fingers, holding it at the edges as he looked over the cute little glare on your face–it hadn’t changed a single bit.
“What is it?” Yuji asked, prompting Sukuna to turn it around and show his nephew. “Oh…”
“He must’ve taken my old nightstand when I moved out.” At the time, you both had decided to use your bedroom furniture since it was in better shape than Sukuna’s.
Sukuna’s theory was proved correct when he grabbed the smaller note to read over it.
‘Found the photo in the back of my nightstand while I was looking for the remote. Always just forgot to give it back to you, since you never came around.’
Sukuna exhaled a quiet laugh and went on to read the rest.
‘Don’t blame you for it, though. What I did to you was really shitty. I would have stayed away, too. I knew it was a mistake the second you left. Always wanted to make up for it, but you were too stubborn to let me try, not even with free money.’
That was true. Sukuna never wanted to accept his father’s cash, but that was even before he went to prison the first time. He’d grown up poor, and he knew Wasuke had Yuji to watch after. Taking his money never really felt right. Though after he came home, and when you were pregnant with Ryo, Sukuna wouldn’t mind accepting the help when Wasuke would offer to take you both out to dinner, but that was it.
‘I know what you lost because of me, so you’ll take my money now. You give your family whatever they want, give them more than what I gave you and your brother. I know this is hardly an apology, but it’s the best you’ll get from me now. Forgive me or don’t, that’s up to you. I won’t blame you either way.’
There was an odd emotion that settled thickly on Sukuna’s shoulders–not sadness, not even happiness, but something akin to content. He never expected to fully make amends with his father; he didn’t want to, either, but… this was nice.
‘You were a good son. You’re a good brother. You’re a good father. And you’re a damn good man, someone to be proud of.’
Sukuna was second away from crumpling up the paper and tossing it away to save him from the twist of something in his chest. He didn’t like it. It was too much.
‘You just need to work on being a good husband, and that will start with you marrying that woman again, and taking her on a nice vacation.’
Thankfully, that saved him from feeling too much, making him snort as he passed it to Yuji’s eager fingers to let him read over it. While his nephew was busy with the letter, Sukuna moved on to the other papers in the envelope–the documents.
He unfolded them, eyes skimming over the many lines of numbers and words that he didn’t really understand. It wasn’t until he read the top that he realized they were bank statements. And when he read through the columns of accounts and how much was in each one, his breathing hitched, and his heart started to beat faster and faster.
“Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?” Yuji asked, pulling Sukuna’s attention to him. “What are you looking at?”
“Bank statements,” he answered, swallowing thickly.
“Is it all in the red? Wouldn’t be surprised after all the TV shopping he-”
Sukuna shoved the papers into Yuji’s hands, letting him look over them to see if they were really looking at the same accounts, or if Sukuna’s brain was making stuff up. Yuji’s equally wide eyes told him that he’d been seeing the truth.
“Holy shit,” Yuji choked.
“…holy shit,” he repeated, taking the statements back to look at them again. As his eyes traced over the amount, he felt his bewilderment edge toward anger, then to confusion, then to bewilderment again. “Who the fuck was this guy?! He just has millions saved up and never told anyone?!”
“At least we know why he never went bankrupt. Cho and I were always curious. Seriously, QVC was his life.”
Sukuna wasn’t really listening, mind still reeling. “A-And he’s just leaving it all to me?! The fuck am I supposed to do with it?!”
Yuji smiled, picking up the letter to hand over to his uncle. “Well, first, you have to take Auntie on a really nice vacation.”
* * * * *
Higuruma: We can always take this to a judge and let them sort it out.
You tossed your phone back down onto the counter and wiped the aggravated tears from under your eyes as you worked on finishing up dinner, hoping to have it done before Ryo woke up from her nap and Sukuna came home from the crematorium–you were really trying to keep your emotions in check because you knew he was going to need you after his shitty week. Jin getting locked up and Wasuke passing had to be taking a toll on him.
But how could you when you kept thinking over your day’s events?
“If you want the car so bad, Hiro, then take it,” you had told him a few hours ago in your third meeting with him. “Just give me back the photo albums and we can be done.”
“I’m keeping the photo albums, too.”
For what reason did Hiro need those photo albums? You weren’t sure there was any other reason except for Hiro wanting to drag the divorce process out for as long as possible, and making sure to leave you with absolutely nothing as a means to make you miserable.
It was fucking working, by the way. Maybe even too well–you were miserable, and sad. Maybe depressed.
Your lawyer was right. You could take this issue to a judge and let them handle it, but not only would that take more time to set up a hearing, but it would cost money–and as much as Sukuna wanted to pay for everything, it felt… weird.
This was your mistake; you wanted to fix it on your own.
You could also just say fuck it, and let Hiro keep the photos. But there were albums you’d put together during your marriage with him that had pictures from high school, Ryo’s first everything, and old moments from your childhood that you’d taken from your parents.
You’d tried arguing that Hiro really had no reason to keep any of them because they had nothing to do with him at all, that the photos were taken from a time when you didn’t even know who Hiro was, but without a judge there to say they belonged to you, you two would continue to be in a standstill.
Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you heard the front door opening and closing, but you didn’t realize someone had entered the home until he was tugging you away from the stove top. That contact pulled you from your mind, placing you in the present, where Sukuna was telling you you were burning something, and your dinner was… well, burning.
“Damn,” you cursed, reaching forward to turn off the stove and save the poor chicken from charring any further. “Sorry, I just… wasn’t paying attention.”
“Clearly-”
The smoke detector started beeping loudly, bringing you both to sigh. Seconds after that, Chibi started crying, and so did you.
“Sorry. I’ll get him-”
When you turned to go get your son from his crib, you bumped right into Sukuna’s chest and tried to slide past him, only to be stopped with a firm hand latching onto your bicep.
“Are you okay?”
Sniffling, you tugged against his grip, but found it unwavering. “I’m fine, just let me go–he’s crying-”
“You’re crying, too,” Sukuna said with a tone of caution. After eyeing you for a moment, he let go of your arm to turn on his heel. “I’ll get him.”
On his way out, he reached up to pull the cover off the smoke detector and take out the batteries, plunging the kitchen into a silence that was only interrupted by the baby’s cries. They quieted down after a few minutes, and in that time, you worked on cleaning up your mess of burnt dinner. There wasn’t anything to salvage; it was ruined.
You heard Sukuna enter the kitchen then, but you didn’t turn to face him, too caught up in taking your frustrations out on the blackened film stuck to the bottom of the pan with a soapy sponge. The blackened film was winning–no match for the poor purple sponge.
“Crybaby one is taken care of, now for crybaby two-” Sukuna pulled you away from the sink just enough to turn you around and lean you against it. As he took the sponge from your hands, dropping it into the basin behind you, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Swallowing a sob, you answered, “Nothing different. Just Hiro being Hiro.”
“Of course.” He made a disgruntled sound. “He’s not happy you’re letting him keep the car?”
You shook your head, more tears welling in your eyes. “He wants the photo albums, too.”
“Is that so?” To his question, you nodded, lowering your face into his chest. “You know, I’m getting really fucking sick and tired of seeing you cry over him all the time. I had good news, and now he’s ruined it-”
“I’m sorry. I-” Sukuna pulled away from you then, even going as far as to pull your arms from around him. A tinge of panic seeped into your bloodstream. “Look, I know it’s aggravating, I know my mood has been terrible–what are you doing?”
You followed after him as he retraced his steps to the front door, and when he stepped back into his boots, you asked, “Where are you going?”
“Out,” was his simple response as he knelt to lace them back up.
“Sukuna–I–you just got here.”
“And I’ll be back.” He folded his jeans down over the boots and stood up, grabbing his jacket from the hook.
“But where are you going? What are you doing?”
Without hesitating, he gave you his answer. “I'm going out to fix it.”
To fix it–to fix it the Sukuna way.
You fisted his shirt to stop him before he could get too far, already knowing that whatever he was about to do wasn’t going to be good.
“Let’s just–let me take this to a judge.”
“And waste more time? Let him step all over you some more? Three meetings, sweetheart–this bullshit should have been settled in one.”
“But it’s the right way to do this.”
“If it were the right way, you wouldn’t be crying. If it were the right way, things would be over, and we could move on with our lives.”
Stubbornly, you wiped your tears away, as if that would hide that fact from him at all. “This isn’t a good idea. You’re upset because of your father, and you’re not thinking clearly-”
“Trust me, Wasuke has nothing to do with my feelings toward Hiro. I was ready to kill him before the old man passed away.” Sukuna grabbed your hand, prying it away from his clothes. “He’s so fucking lucky he’s had three chances to make this right, and he’s still choosing to be this way-”
“I’ll let him have the albums, it’s not a big deal. Not if it means you doing something stupid enough to get arrested again-”
“Sweetheart,” he began, tone quiet and low, “If you don’t let me do this for you, I’ll have to really kill him, and it will be entirely for me. Then you’ll have to call me selfish through the plastic divider, and we’ll be back at square one.”
Your hand grabbed for him again, which he caught in his own. “Sukuna-”
“Let me make this right.” At your hesitation, he brought your hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it quickly before dropping it and pulling open the door. “I’ll be back.”
“Promise me you won’t kill him.”
The asshole didn’t even turn back toward you as he strode to his truck, only calling back, “I promise,” on his way.
* * * * *
Locating your husband wasn’t difficult. Tailing him after he stepped out of his work building wasn’t difficult. And cornering him in the liquor store parking lot wasn’t difficult, either. Actually, there was nothing difficult about the entire ordeal, and before long, Sukuna had the writhing man pinned on his stomach, underneath his boot in the dark alleyway.
“You are so going back to jail!” Hiro exclaimed, attempting to push up from the cracked asphalt. The camera shuttering sound caught his attention, bringing him to look over his shoulder and see Sukuna pointing his phone down at the man to take a picture.
With another shutter sound, Sukuna said, “Only if you call the police-”
“And I will!”
“Mm…” Pocketing his phone and giving the man a harsh, bone-cracking kick to his side, he flipped Hiro onto his back before pressing the bottom of his boot onto his mouth. “I’d like to see how you’ll manage it without a tongue.”
Unable to speak, besides muffled moans, Hiro clawed at Sukuna’s pant leg, though he didn’t mind it. Not even when the man dug deep enough to draw blood. He pressed harder and rolled Hiro’s head back and forth over the concrete, enjoying the way he winced.
“She wants the photo albums and the car.”
Not that you need the car–Sukuna planned on getting you whatever car you wanted, now that he’s promised the money from Wasuke’s bank accounts, which should be rolling into his own shortly, thanks to being named the beneficiary of said accounts. Still, he was curious where the money came from, but he wasn’t going to question it at all, and just accept Wasuke’s apology as it was.
“You’ll let her keep both of them.”
He let Hiro’s face roll to the side, freeing his mouth enough to speak, though the boot firmly pressed to his cheek made his words sound slurred. “Or what?”
“Or, I’ll break you,” Sukuna started, applying enough pressure to make the man below him groan in pain. “Here’s the thing, Hiro. She wants this to be over; it’s obvious you don’t. You’re drawing this shit out to fuck with her, to punish her. Naturally, that’s not sitting right with me.”
“...deserved,” he mumbled.
Sukuna stilled, processing the word off Hiro’s tongue, and found himself growing a little confused. Bending just a bit to get closer, let up the pressure on Hiro’s face. “Pardon?”
“I said, it’s deserved.”
So, Sukuna did hear him correctly.
He whistled lowly, pressing down on him again. “The set of balls on you–you’ve got to be compensating for something, right? Such an aggressive little man–or maybe you’re just confident. Who gave you the impression that you could be so cocky with me?”
Too amused, Hiro replied, “She called you a gentle giant once. She even said you weren’t violent. Imagine how disappointed she’ll be when she sees you’re in prison again for assault.”
“If I’m going to prison for anything tonight, it’s murder.”
“Oh, that’s good. Leave her on her own again, I’m sure she’ll love that,” Hiro chuckled. “Maybe I can get her in my bed again–she was always a willing whore-”
“How are you going to get her in your bed when you’re a dead man?” Sukuna’s boot moved down to Hiro’s neck, pressing on it enough to make him choke. “I think you’re assuming that this is a joke. You think I won’t kill you because I don’t wanna go back to prison, or maybe that your death would weigh heavily on my mind. What’s that called again?–oh, you think I’m bluffing.”
Hiro only gasped, struggling for air.
“You can call my bluff all you want.” A little more pressure was pressed on his neck. “Assume that I won’t follow through with my threats. You being a fucking dumbass until your last breath doesn’t bother me at all. The end is the same–her being without you.”
Sukuna let up enough for the man to breathe and heave in giant gulps of air.
“You’ll let her keep the car and those photo albums. You’ll wrap up this bullshit divorce in the next meeting. And then you’ll stay the fuck away from her. There is no ultimatum; there is no other option for you. You will do this, or I’ll kill you.”
With a coughing laugh, he mumbled, “Aren’t you so considerate, making the decision for me.”
A wad of spit hit Hiro’s cheek. “There’s your consideration.”
With a few good, hard kicks to Hiro’s gut, Sukuna pulled back from the groaning man, enjoying the way Hiro was clutching his sides.
A calloused hand through his hair, which had fallen into his face during the attack, and a cigarette now lit between his lips, made Sukuna feel a bit calmer. He watched him struggle as he took in heavy drags of the smoke, blowing it out into the air, making sure to tap the ashes off onto Hiro’s face.
“Why are you still here?” he groaned, shuffling away from Sukuna to nurse his bruised torso. “I’ll agree, she can have the stuff.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, but I’m not finished yet.”
“You’re not?”
“Not even close.”
With his free hand in his pocket, Sukuna’s fingers grazed over the metal casing of the switch blade. You didn’t know it, but he started carrying it around with him, always hoping he’d get the opportunity to use it.
* * * * *
At the next meeting, you warily eyed Hiro, who was avoiding eye contact with you entirely–not that he could really see you through his swollen, black eyes, but he wasn’t even pointing his face in your direction. You noted a few more nicks and bruises on him than there were on the photo that Sukuna had shown you the night he came back, and you weren’t stupid enough to think they just needed time to develop.
“See?” Sukuna had said, turning his phone toward you. “Just kicked him around a bit until he decided to stop acting like a little bitch. Said he’d let you have the car and the pictures.”
You should have known it was more than that when he came inside with a grin he couldn’t suppress, even if he tried.
“You’re sure this is what you’d like to settle on?” Hiro’s lawyer asked, a hesitant tone, treating his client like he was made of glass.
Truthfully, Hiro looked so fragile in that moment, and it wasn’t just the bruises that made him seem that way.
It was also the bandages on his face, the cast on his broken arm, and the… gauze wrapping around his missing… fingers. Three of them, to be exact. Sukuna left him only his thumb and pointer finger.
You swallowed thickly and averted your eyes from his injuries.
“This is fine,” Hiro muttered quietly.
His lawyer and your own looked to you, waiting for your answer. You cleared your throat and nodded. “I’m good with this, too.”
You hightailed it out of that office as soon as possible, so quickly that, as you began rushing to the parking lot, you didn’t realize someone was leaning against the building, waiting for you.
His hand latched onto your arm, turning you in the opposite direction to face him. Sukuna pulled the cigarette from his mouth while you tried your damndest to process all the new information, but, naturally, you were struggling. The look on your face must’ve been amusing because Sukuna was working on biting back his laughter.
“I take it everything worked out?”
The best and first thing you could manage was a whispered, “You’re a fucking psycho.”
And at that, he tried to play coy. “What do you mean?”
“You said you just kicked him a little.”
“I did.”
With your fist to his shirt, you dragged him in close to be as quiet as possible. “You can’t fucking cut off fingers to get people to agree to things. You’re not a mobster, you’re not a thug. That’s not right, that’s not okay. That’s… fucked up.”
He grinned around the cigarette he was holding between his lips, which angered you. Significantly. Reaching up, you snatched it from his mouth just in time for him to say, “I didn’t cut off his fingers to get him to agree to anything, sweetheart.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Sukuna,” you whispered, maybe a little too harsh and a little too loud. “That man was missing three of them. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No.” At his quip, you brought the cigarette to your own mouth, needing some sort of stress relief. You had maybe half an inhale before Sukuna was taking it back from you. He took one last drag on it, still too playful for your liking, and dropped it on the ground to crush it under his boot. “You’re slow. Or maybe you’ve just forgotten the bastard hit you. And if you thought I was ever going to let him live that down, you must not know me very well.”
“Sukuna, that’s… you can’t–what if-”
He clicked his tongue, rubbing his thumb over your cheek to coo, “You worry too much.”
“No! What if he calls the police? What if you go back to prison for mutilating him?”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“‘Cause he’d be an idiot to call my bluff again after the first time cost him some fingers. I told him next, I was taking his skin. He’s got no reason to think I’d fall through on my promises. I am a man of my word… most of the time.”
“You’re… holy shit, you’re actually crazy.”
“Is this a revelation for you?” he dryly questioned. “Don’t act like it’s that surprising. We’ve known each other for too long for you to be put off by me now, sweetheart.”
Not put off, in the slightest. You were turned on, actually.
Disgustingly so.
“Where are the kids?”
“Emi’s watching Chibi, and Yuji took Ryo to the movies.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.” You grabbed his wrist and led him toward the parking lot.
“Let’s go? Go where? I had plans-”
“Can they wait until after you fuck me?”
He only contemplated it for a moment before acquiescing.
You only made it as far as just inside the house before hands were gripping and pulling at each other’s clothes, mouths hot and heavy against the other. Sukuna’s pants were unbuttoned just enough to free himself, and your slacks were still bunched around one of your legs when he grabbed you and pushed you up against the front door.
He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted your feet off the ground, but rather than letting you wrap your legs around his waist, he pushed them back, pinning them to the door to leave you splayed open in front of him.
With both of you moving in sync, it was sort of uncanny how easily you both guessed each other’s next movements. Without being told and without realizing it, while he grabbed his dick, you pulled your underwear to the side, and angled your hips just right for him to slide in. And with one deep thrust, he filled you entirely.
“Fuck,” you sighed against his mouth, getting used to the stretch while also remembering why you’d had a long break of sex in the first place–you had been healing. From having a baby. “You forgot a condom.”
“Didn’t have one anyway.”
And that was that; all thoughts of potential pregnancy went out the window as soon as he started pushing his cock into you.
That afternoon concluded in the shower, after a couple of rounds in bed. You thought it was over until he had you bent over, cheek to the tiled shower wall as he fucked inside of you.
On a particularly hard thrust, you reached back to sink your fingertips into his thigh, a warning to slow down that went unheeded, per usual. All the contact did was make him grab that hand and pin it behind your back.
You stammered, words missing and broken, timed with his harsh thrusts. “F-Fuck. Are you–trying to–beat your record?”
“Did that back in the bedroom,” he answered, an amused chuckle following as he grappled with your ass. “Think this is round eight now.”
“Going for ten?”
It had been a sarcastic retort, but you should have known better than to joke about that when he was balls deep inside of you.
“Did you want to?” he purred, hauling you back toward his body and forcing your back into a deep arch so he could see your face. His hand came up to wrap around your neck, not to choke you, just to hold you against him. “I could definitely make it, but you seem like you need a break-”
“You think?” you snapped.
He was delighted when the next orgasm he pulled out of you was bordering on something painful, but pleasurable, nonetheless. However, he knew you needed that break now.
He worked toward his own orgasm, ignoring your aching whines, or enjoying them–you weren’t sure. Then he bottomed out and came inside you, finally, bringing the heat of the moment to settle while giving you the chance to remember yourself.
“You owe me a Plan B,” you panted, trying to gather your bearings. Behind you, cheek pressed between your shoulder blades, Sukuna wasn’t far off.
“Yeah. Remind me later.”
You nodded, though he couldn’t see it.
“Still have time for your plans?” you asked after a few moments. “Or are you too late?”
“Our plans, and yes, we are too late,” he chuckled, easing back from you to slip out of your pussy. The spray of the water carried away his cum, dripping down your inner thighs. “The restaurant definitely gave our table to someone else.”
“Wait.” A guilty feeling soaked into your stomach as you turned to face him. “You were gonna surprise me with lunch reservations? Like a date?”
“I suppose if you want to class it as a date, then sure.” He poked at your pout when it formed, then rolled his eyes when it didn’t go away. “It was just lunch-”
“You made reservations.”
“Because it’s a weekday and the lunch rush is brutal. Really, it wasn’t anything special-”
“You’re never one to make reservations, not even back then.”
“I didn’t back then because we couldn’t afford to eat at a place that you needed to make a reservation for. And I only did it today because you’re finally ridding yourself of Hiro, and that’s a special occasion. Thought I’d take you out to celebrate.”
“Still, I feel bad for missing it.”
“Don’t. This was better.” When he noticed your glare, he clicked his tongue playfully and grabbed at your waist. “Don’t be that way. I’ll take you on one soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about anyway.”
You cocked a brow and settled your hands on his chest. “Something that needs to be talked about over a date? What? You gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?”
He met your playful attitude as he said, “Mm, my fiancé actually.”
You went still in his arms, grin dropping. “What?”
He nodded. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend, and you want to take things slower this time, so we can compromise. Have an engagement for as long as you want–we didn’t do that the first time, you know?”
You swallowed back the rising lump in your throat, but felt a bout of happiness prickle over your skin. “You really wanna do the whole engagement thing?”
“If you want me to be honest, I’d rather just be married again, but I’ll take an engagement. We have to wait for the court to finish up your divorce first anyway. And maybe some extra time for the ink to dry on it, so it meets your newfound morals and need to do things the right way.”
Brushing off his jab, you said, “You’ll have to get me two rings, you know? That’s a lot of money. If only you hadn’t pawned the last rings-”
“You hated those rings, and you know it. Besides, I already have the engagement ring.”
Your eyes widened. “What?”
“Mhm. Bought it the day I took Ryo out to get breakfast. She helped me pick it out.”
“Woah, what–Ryo knows?”
“She’s known for a while, sweetheart.”
“What? Why? How?”
With a roll of his eyes, he answered, “She’s not stupid. She Chibi's eyes, figured it out for herself. I suppose I should have known when she asked me about it before the holidays. It would have saved me the very awkward conversation of trying to explain everything.”
“And she just… told you that she knew?”
Sukuna chuckled, “Not exactly. She presented me with the evidence she had and told me to explain myself. Made me confess like a criminal–she should be a detective when she’s older. She’d be good at it.”
Still, a certain part in your mind reared it’s ugly head. “Was it expensive?”
A frown creased between his brows. “What? The ring?”
“Obviously, I’m talking about the ring.”
His eyes softened as he reached forward, sliding his hands to the sides of your neck and angling your face up toward him. He kissed you then, once to your lips and another to your cheek, before his arms were around you to bring you in even closer than you already were, and a final kiss pressed to the top of your head.
“Money isn’t an issue anymore. Whatever you want is yours, you just need to ask.”
You relaxed into his touch to joke, “And if I said I wanted a huge mansion?”
“I’d ask where you wanted it built.”
You pulled back slowly, looking up at him in question. “Really?”
“Really. The amount of money Wasuke left me is absolutely disgusting, but at least he was good for something.”
“Do I even wanna know where the money came from?”
“Mm, probably not.”
Fair enough, you suppose. You eased your head back down onto his chest, fighting back a yawn as you said, “I don’t want a huge mansion.”
“No? What do you want?”
“Right now? A nap.” Sukuna snickered at your answer and leaned back to turn off the water. “We can figure out how to spend your Dad’s money later.”
master list || bonus chapter
song references: Blurry- Puddle of Mudd
Author's Note: omg, it's weird to think it's over now. I mean, there's still the bonus chapter, but Blurry is basically finished. I really hope you all liked the ending. I hope you think I did it justice. I was kinda nervous about it, but I think it came out how I wanted it to. I know a couple of you wanted to see them married again, but I wanted to keep Blurry focused on them rekindling their relationship. There will definitely be some marriage fluff in the bonus chapter, which will be out next week :)
Also, in case anyone was curious about the bone-picking scene between Yuji and Sukuna, it's a Japanese funeral practice called kotsuage. In the first episode of Jujutsu Kaisen (maybe the second episode), Yuji is picking the bones out of the ashes after Wasuke dies. I was kinda trying to tie that in here.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n )
summary: a girl flirts with spencer, leading him to tell her that he has a girlfriend, not realizing that garcia is right behind him.
content warnings: secret relationship , they're at a bar , girl hitting on spencer
a/n: hiii !! can u tell i love the secret relationship trope by now ? bc i do also theres a small tiny pride and prejudice reference if anyone catches it :')
“Do you want anything to drink?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle as his hand rested on your thigh beneath the table. His fingers squeezed slightly.
The two of you were sitting in a dimly lit booth at the bar, a casual night out with the team. You turned your head slightly, considering. “I’ll take a soda,” you said with a soft smile.
Spencer nodded, his thumb brushing over your thigh absentmindedly before he reluctantly pulled away, pushing himself up from the booth. You could see it, the slight hesitation.The urge to press a kiss to your temple before he left was almost unbearable. It would be so easy, too easy, to forget where you were, who was around. But he caught himself just in time, swallowing down the impulse with a tight smile instead.
Your eyes met his knowingly, before turning back to JJ and Garcia.
Spencer made his way to the bar, his hands flexing open and closed at his sides as if chasing the phantom sensation of your warmth. He exhaled slowly.
The bar was busy, and it took a moment to catch a bartender’s attention. As he waited, his gaze flickered to the side, and that’s when he noticed her, a woman nursing an almost-empty glass, her eyes fixed on him. Spencer tensed, his fingers tapping against the counter.He quickly averted his gaze, directing it back toward the bar, subtly shifting his weight in discomfort.
Finally, a bartender stepped in front of him. “What can I get you?”
Spencer blinked, clearing his throat. “Uh—two sodas, please.”
The bartender nodded. As Spencer waited, his eyes drifted back to you. You were giggling at something JJ had said, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and the sight sent a warmth through his chest. He smiled softly to himself before turning his attention back to the bartender, who was now deeply engaged in a conversation with another customer.
Spencer exhaled slowly, realizing he might be stuck here for a while. His fingers tapped lightly against the counter.
That’s when someone suddenly slid into the empty barstool beside him. He turned his head slightly, only to see the woman from earlier, the one he had accidentally made eye contact with.
“Hi,” she greeted, flashing him a wide smile.
“Hi?” Spencer responded, his tone more questioning than anything else.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” she remarked, taking a slow sip from her drink, her gaze lingering on him through long lashes.
Spencer hesitated, his brain momentarily scrambling for a polite but distant response. “Uh… yeah, I don’t come here often,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced at the bartender again, who was now fully engrossed in his conversation and seemingly in no rush to get him the sodas.
“You should,” the woman said, her smile widening.
Spencer swallowed, his shoulders tensing. Social cues weren’t exactly his strong suit, but even he could pick up on this one. The way she leaned in slightly, the way her eyes remained locked on him, it was clear she wasn’t just making small talk.
His fingers flexed at his side, an unconscious reaction to the absence of your touch. He didn’t like this. Because the only person he wanted to be sitting next to right now was still at the booth, completely unaware of this interaction.
Her hand drifted closer to his on the counter, fingers brushing just barely against his own. Spencer immediately pulled his hand back, hoping she’d take the hint. But she was too drunk to register it as rejection, if anything, she barely seemed to notice.
He exhaled through his nose, his patience thinning. His eyes flicked back toward you, hoping, praying, you’d look over so he could silently plead for an out. But you were still deep in conversation, completely unaware of his growing discomfort.
“What's your name?” the woman asked, her voice slightly slurred, her smile lazy as she leaned in a little closer.
Spencer hesitated, tapping his fingers on the counter impatiently. “I, uh—I’m Spencer,” he mumbled, keeping his voice polite but distant. He didn’t return the question.
He wasn’t entirely sure how to extract himself from the conversation without causing a scene. Direct confrontation wasn’t really his style, he much preferred logical exits. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much logic in dealing with an overly persistent drunk woman at a bar.
Thankfully, just then, the bartender finally stopped talking and turned toward him. Spencer wasted no time making himself known.
“Hi, excuse me,” he said. His urgency must have been apparent because the bartender immediately nodded.
“Right, sorry about that,” he said, quickly grabbing two sodas and setting them on the counter.
“Thanks,” Spencer muttered, relieved. He grabbed the drinks, ready to make a quick escape, but just as he turned, he felt it, her hand wrapping lightly around his own. His entire body tensed. His eyes shot down to where her fingers clung to his, and then slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
“You’re cute,” she giggled, her grip lingering.
Spencer’s breath hitched in his throat, an overwhelming discomfort settling in his chest, as he removed his hand from her grip. He had officially had enough. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think twice.
“Look, I’m just here to grab two sodas for me and my girlfriend,” he blurted, shifting the drinks slightly to emphasize his point.
Spencer always felt a warmth in his chest when he said that word girlfriend. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe it. But right now, that feeling didn’t even have a chance to settle, because the moment the words left his mouth, a loud, dramatic gasp sounded from behind him.
His stomach dropped.
No… No, no, no…
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if that would somehow reverse time or make what just happened disappear. But deep down, he already knew. He turned around hesitantly, almost like he was afraid of what he’d see. And there she was.
Penelope Garcia.
Mouth open, eyes impossibly wide, practically vibrating with the weight of this newfound information.
“Garcia, wait—no—” Spencer started, panic rising in his voice.
But it was too late. She gasped again, spun on her heel, and bolted toward the table. Spencer stood frozen, still clutching the two sodas, staring after her in absolute horror. He didn’t even care that the woman at the bar had pouted and walked away, his attention was solely on the impending disaster.
At the booth, you were mid-conversation when you suddenly heard someone shout your name. Startled, you turned, only to find Garcia standing in front of you, hands on her hips, eyes ablaze with betrayal.
“How dare you?” she demanded.
You blinked, glancing at JJ, who looked just as confused as you. “What—?” But you didn’t even get to finish the sentence.
“How could you not tell me you are dating our boy genius?” she exclaimed, her voice full of dramatics, as if you had just personally wounded her.
“What?” JJ blurted, her straw slipping from her lips and falling into her drink.
“Sweetheart, repeat what you just said,” Derek said, grinning so wide, clearly enjoying every second of this. Rossi, sitting beside him, raised an intrigued eyebrow.
And then, from behind Garcia, Spencer slowly came into view. He stopped a few feet away, standing awkwardly with the sodas still in his hands, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
You stared at him.
He stared back.
He was red. His ears, his cheeks, blushing terribly, looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
“Oh. My. God,” Garcia whisper-yelled, her hands flying up to her mouth as realization fully settled in. “It’s true! Oh, my God! How long?”
Derek was cackling. JJ still looked like she was buffering. Rossi sipped his drink, clearly entertained.
Spencer let out a long, slow sigh.
“Well,” he muttered, avoiding everyone’s eyes, “so much for keeping it a secret.”
Spencer carefully maneuvered around Garcia, who was still watching him like a hawk, her arms crossed as if she were about to interrogate him. He set the sodas down on the table before cautiously sliding into the booth next to you, his movements stiff with embarrassment.
“What on earth did you say?” you hissed under your breath, leaning in slightly as the entire team erupted into overlapping chatter around you.
“Nothing!” Spencer insisted, though his voice cracked slightly. He swallowed, shifting awkwardly. “I just… a girl was flirting with me, and I told her I already had a girlfriend. And, uh… Garcia overheard.” His voice got quieter toward the end.
You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh, though the situation was anything but funny to Spencer.
“I cannot believe this,” JJ muttered, shaking her head in amused disbelief. She swirled her drink in her hand, blinking between the two of you as if processing new information she should have known long ago.
You shifted in your seat, feeling increasingly self-conscious under all their stares. Garcia was practically vibrating with energy as she whispered to Derek, who was grinning ear to ear, clearly loving every second of this. Rossi, meanwhile, simply stared blankly, his expression unreadable, and JJ, well, she was definitely staring, her slightly tipsy gaze moving between you and Spencer as if still coming to terms with reality.
You turned to Spencer, who was fixated on the glass in front of him, his fingers toying with the condensation as he tried to pretend he wasn’t still very red. Sighing, you nudged him gently with your knee under the table. “You know… it’s fine,” you murmured. Spencer looked up at you, eyes cautious.
“Not having to hide anymore,” you clarified, your lips twitching slightly. “It sounds nice.”
Spencer blinked at you for a second before something in his shoulders loosened. His lips parted slightly, then curved into a small, shy smile.
“It does,” he admitted, nodding slightly, his curls bouncing with the motion.
Without really thinking, you reached out and lightly brushed your fingers through his hair, the soft curls slipping between them. “Now I can touch you,” you teased.
Spencer’s smile widened, his blush deepening, but this time, there was something more relaxed about it. He wasn’t panicked anymore. The moment was sweet.
Summary- after a very difficult childbirth, arthurs family finally meet the newest leclerc and there not just in awe of the baby boy but also Arthurs new role...
Notes-This goes through a very difficult topic of childbirth, so please read with caution x
The afternoon sun filters through the curtains of your Monaco apartment, casting soft golden light across the living room. You shift slightly against Arthur's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His arm is wrapped protectively around you, his hand gently stroking your hair in that soothing way he's done constantly for the past three days—ever since everything happened.
"Try to sleep, mon amour," he whispers against your temple, his voice barely audible. "You need to rest."
You want to protest. His family is coming over any minute now to finally meet baby Léo, and you should be awake, should be presentable, should be the perfect new mother welcoming everyone with a smile. But your body has other ideas. The exhaustion runs bone-deep, a heaviness that no amount of willpower can fight. The past seventy-two hours have been the most challenging of your life, and your body is still recovering from the trauma it endured.
"But they're coming..." you mumble, your words slurring slightly as sleep pulls at you.
"I know, chérie. I'll wake you when they arrive, I promise," Arthur says softly, though you can hear the protective edge in his voice that's been there since the delivery room. "Just close your eyes for a few minutes."
You want to argue, but his fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, and his other hand rubs slow circles on your back. The warmth of his body, the security of his embrace, the sheer exhaustion weighing down every limb—it's too much to resist.
Your eyes flutter closed, and within moments, you're drifting. Arthur feels the exact moment you fall asleep—your body relaxes completely against him, your breathing evens out, and the tension that's been holding you together finally releases. He looks down at you, his heart clenching with a mixture of love and lingering fear.
Three days. It's only been three days since he almost lost you.
He can still see it all so clearly—the way the midwife's expression changed, the sudden urgency in the room, the monitors beeping frantically, the doctor's calm but firm voice saying words he never wanted to hear. "We need to act now." The blood. God, there was so much blood. And you, growing paler by the second, your hand going limp in his.
Arthur swallows hard, pushing the memories away. You're here. You're safe. You're sleeping peacefully in his arms, and in the bassinet just a few feet away, your son—your beautiful baby boy Léo—is sleeping too.
He hasn't let you out of his sight since. Not for a moment. He's been watching you constantly, noting every wince of pain, every moment of discomfort, ready to help before you even have to ask. The doctors said you needed rest, needed to recover, and Arthur has made it his personal mission to ensure you get exactly that.
Which is why he's kept his family away for three days, despite their desperate pleas to meet their newest family member. It wasn't easy—his mother called every few hours, Charles sent countless messages, and Enzo showed up at the hospital twice. But Arthur stood firm. You needed time. You needed peace. You needed to heal.
Now, finally, you're home. And while you're still exhausted, still recovering, you'd insisted this morning that you were ready for visitors. Arthur had been hesitant, but the look in your eyes—that desperate need to share your joy with the people you love—had convinced him.
Still, he'd made them wait until afternoon, ensuring you'd had most of the day to rest.
He checks his phone with his free hand, careful not to disturb you. A message from Charles: "We're downstairs. Coming up now."
Arthur's jaw tightens slightly. He looks down at you again, sleeping so peacefully, and then over at Léo's bassinet. His son is swaddled in a soft blue blanket, his tiny face peaceful in sleep, completely unaware of how close he came to growing up without his mother.
The doorbell rings—a soft chime that Arthur had specifically turned down to its lowest volume. Still, he feels you stir slightly against him.
"Shh, shh," he soothes immediately, his hand cupping the back of your head, holding you gently against his chest. "Stay asleep, mon amour. It's okay."
You settle again, and Arthur waits a moment to ensure you're truly still asleep before carefully reaching for his phone. He types out a quick message to Charles: "Door's unlocked. Come in QUIETLY. She's sleeping."
He hears the soft click of the door opening, then hushed whispers. Footsteps, deliberately quiet, approach the living room.
Pascale appears first, her eyes immediately finding Arthur and you curled up together on the couch. Her hand flies to her mouth, and Arthur can see tears already forming in her eyes. Behind her, Charles and Alex enter, followed by Enzo and Charlotte. They all freeze when they see the scene before them.
Arthur brings his finger to his lips in a firm shushing gesture, his expression serious. "She just fell asleep," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Please, be very quiet. She hasn't slept more than an hour at a time since the birth."
Pascale nods, wiping at her eyes as she takes in the sight of her youngest son holding you so protectively, your body curled into his like he's your only anchor to the world.
"How is she?" Pascale mouths, moving closer but keeping her voice to the barest whisper.
Arthur's expression tightens, and he instinctively holds you a little closer. "Recovering," he whispers back. "But it's been hard. Really hard."
Charles steps forward, his eyes moving from you to the bassinet across the room. Even from here, he can see the tiny bundle inside, and his expression softens with wonder. "And Léo?"
"Perfect," Arthur says, and despite everything, a small smile touches his lips. "He's absolutely perfect. Sleeping well, eating well. He's been an angel."
"Can we..." Alex starts, gesturing toward the bassinet, but Arthur shakes his head.
"You can look," he whispers, "but please don't wake him. And..." he pauses, glancing down at your sleeping face, "she wanted to be awake when you properly met him. She wanted to see everyone's reactions. So just... just look for now. When she wakes up, you can hold him."
Charlotte presses her hand to her chest, clearly emotional. "Of course," she whispers. "We can wait."
The family moves quietly toward the bassinet, gathering around it like pilgrims approaching something sacred. Pascale reaches it first, and the moment she sees her grandson's face, tears spill down her cheeks. She covers her mouth to stifle a sob, her whole body shaking with emotion.
Charles wraps an arm around his mother, his own eyes glistening as he looks down at his nephew. "He's beautiful," he breathes. "Arthur, he's absolutely beautiful."
"He looks like you did as a baby," Pascale whispers, looking back at Arthur with a watery smile. "The same nose, the same chin."
Enzo and Charlotte peer into the bassinet together, and Charlotte's hand finds Enzo's, squeezing tight. "Oh my God," she whispers. "He's so tiny. So perfect."
Alex stands beside Charles, her hand on his back, and even she's wiping away tears. "Look at his little hands," she says softly.
Arthur watches his family meet his son for the first time, and despite his exhaustion, despite the trauma of the past few days, he feels a swell of pride and love so intense it almost hurts. This is his family. His son. His wife sleeping trustingly in his arms.
"Come sit," he whispers, gesturing to the chairs and other couch. "But please, quietly."
They settle around the room, all of them unable to take their eyes off either the baby or you and Arthur. Pascale takes the chair closest to Arthur, her eyes constantly moving between her son, her daughter-in-law, and her new grandson.
"Tell us everything," she whispers. "We've been so worried. Your messages were so brief, and we knew something was wrong..."
Arthur's expression darkens, and he unconsciously holds you tighter. You shift slightly in your sleep, making a small sound, and Arthur immediately starts rubbing your back again, murmuring soft reassurances until you settle.
"Sorry," Pascale mouths.
Arthur shakes his head. "It's okay. She's just... she's exhausted. She's been through so much."
"What happened?" Charles asks, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "You said there were complications, but..."
Arthur takes a deep breath, and when he speaks, his voice is tight with barely controlled emotion. "The labor was long. Twenty-three hours. She was so strong, so brave, but it was hard. Really hard. And then, when Léo was finally born..." He pauses, his throat working as he swallows hard. "There were complications. Severe hemorrhaging. The doctors—they had to act fast. There was so much blood, and she was fading, and I—"
His voice breaks, and he has to stop. He looks down at you, sleeping peacefully against him, and his eyes fill with tears. "I almost lost her," he whispers, and now his voice is shaking. "I was holding Léo, our son, and I was watching her slip away, and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't help her. I just had to stand there and watch and pray and—"
Pascale reaches out, placing her hand on Arthur's knee. Tears are streaming down her face. "But she's okay," she whispers. "She's here. She's okay."
"She is now," Arthur says, wiping roughly at his eyes with his free hand. "The doctors were incredible. They stopped the bleeding, they stabilized her, but for those minutes—God, Maman, those minutes were the longest of my life. I thought—I thought Léo was going to grow up without his mother. I thought I was going to have to raise him alone. I thought—"
He can't continue. His shoulders shake as he tries to hold back sobs, tries to stay quiet so he doesn't wake you. Charles moves quickly, kneeling beside the couch and gripping Arthur's shoulder.
"But she made it," Charles says firmly. "She's strong. She's here. You're both here."
Arthur nods, struggling to compose himself. "I know. I know. But I can't stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes, I see her on that table, so pale, so still. And I know I need to be strong for her, I know she needs me to be okay, but I'm—" He looks at his brother, and his voice drops to barely a whisper. "I'm terrified, Charles. I'm so scared something will happen. That's why I haven't left her side. That's why I've been watching her constantly. I can't lose her. I can't."
"You won't," Enzo says from across the room, his own voice thick with emotion. "She's going to be fine. She's recovering. You heard the doctors."
"I know," Arthur says again. "I know. But knowing it and feeling it are different things."
Alex wipes at her eyes. "How has she been? Emotionally?"
Arthur glances down at you, his expression softening. "She's been incredible with Léo. So natural, so loving. But she's also been... fragile. She cries easily. She keeps apologizing for everything—for the difficult birth, for making everyone worry, for not being 'good enough' even though she's literally perfect. I keep telling her she has nothing to apologize for, but she's so emotional right now."
"That's normal," Charlotte says gently. "After everything she went through, plus the hormones... it's completely normal."
"I know," Arthur says. "I just wish I could take it all away. The pain, the fear, the guilt she's feeling. She shouldn't feel guilty. She gave me the most beautiful gift in the world. She almost died giving me our son. And she's apologizing."
Pascale is crying openly now. "Can I..." she starts, then gestures to Arthur. "Can I sit with you both?"
Arthur nods, and Pascale carefully moves to sit on the edge of the couch beside him. She reaches out, gently stroking your hair, then Arthur's cheek.
"You're doing so well," she whispers to her son. "Taking care of her, taking care of Léo. I'm so proud of you."
"I'm just trying to keep it together," Arthur admits. "For her. She needs me to be strong."
"You are strong," Pascale says. "But you're also allowed to feel what you're feeling. You went through trauma too."
They sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the quiet breathing of you and Léo sleeping. The family watches, all of them processing the weight of what Arthur has told them, all of them grateful that you're here, that you're okay.
About thirty minutes pass. Arthur continues to hold you, occasionally pressing kisses to your hair, constantly checking that you're comfortable. His family talks in hushed whispers, sharing stories about their own children's births, offering support and love.
Then you stir. Arthur feels it immediately—the change in your breathing, the slight tension returning to your body as consciousness returns.
"Hey," he murmurs softly, his hand cupping your cheek. "Hey, mon amour. Wake up slowly."
Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you're disoriented. Then you register Arthur's face above you, his gentle smile, and you relax. Until you remember.
"Your family," you gasp, trying to sit up. "They're coming, I need to—"
"Shh, they're here," Arthur says, helping you sit up slowly, keeping his arm around you for support. "They've been here for about half an hour. I let you sleep."
You look around the room, and your eyes widen when you see everyone watching you with such love and concern. Pascale, Charles, Alex, Enzo, Charlotte—all of them here, all of them looking at you like you're something precious.
And immediately, your eyes fill with tears.
"I'm so sorry," you say, your voice breaking. "I'm so sorry I made you wait. I'm sorry I wasn't awake when you arrived. I'm sorry the birth was so complicated and I scared everyone. I'm sorry—"
"Stop," Arthur says firmly but gently, turning you to face him. His hands cup your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But I do," you sob. "You were all so worried, and I couldn't even stay awake to greet you properly, and the birth was such a disaster—"
"The birth was not a disaster," Arthur says, his voice intense. "The birth gave us Léo. Yes, there were complications, but you survived. You're here. That's all that matters."
Pascale moves closer, sitting on your other side. She takes your hand in both of hers. "Ma chérie," she says softly, her own eyes wet with tears. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. You gave us a beautiful grandson. You fought to stay with us. You're a warrior, and we love you so much."
"But I scared everyone," you cry, looking around at all of them. "Arthur said he almost lost me, and I put him through that, and I put all of you through that worry—"
"You didn't put anyone through anything," Charles says, moving to kneel in front of you. "These things happen. It wasn't your fault. And what matters is that you're okay now."
"Listen to me," Arthur says, turning your face back to him. His expression is serious, his eyes locked on yours. "I need you to hear this. What happened was not your fault. You did everything right. You were so strong, so brave. And yes, I was scared—I was terrified—but I would go through it all again in a heartbeat because it gave us Léo. Because you're here. Because we're a family now."
"I just feel like I failed," you whisper. "Like my body failed."
"Your body created life," Pascale says firmly. "Your body grew our grandson for nine months and brought him safely into this world. Your body fought to stay alive when things got difficult. Your body is incredible, and you should be proud of it, not ashamed."
Alex nods, wiping at her own tears. "You're amazing. Truly."
You're still crying, but Arthur pulls you back against his chest, holding you securely. "Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe. You're okay. We're all okay."
Pascale rubs your back soothingly, and gradually, your sobs quiet. You take shaky breaths, trying to calm down, embarrassed by your emotional outburst but unable to control it.
"I'm sorry," you say again, but quieter this time. "The hormones are just—everything makes me cry."
"Then cry," Charlotte says gently. "You're allowed to cry. You've been through something traumatic."
You nod, wiping at your face. Arthur hands you a tissue from the box he's kept nearby for exactly this reason, and you clean yourself up as best you can.
"I'm okay," you finally say, taking a deep breath. "I'm okay now."
Arthur kisses your temple. "You sure?"
You nod, managing a small smile. "Yeah. I'm just... I'm really glad you're all here."
"We wouldn't be anywhere else," Enzo says warmly.
You look over at the bassinet, where Léo is starting to stir. "He's waking up," you say softly. "Do you... do you want to meet him properly now?"
The room seems to hold its breath. Pascale's hand flies to her chest, and she nods, unable to speak.
Arthur helps you stand slowly, supporting you as you walk the few steps to the bassinet. You're still sore, still moving carefully, and Arthur's hand never leaves your waist.
You reach into the bassinet and carefully lift Léo out, cradling him against your chest. He makes a small sound, his tiny face scrunching up, but he doesn't cry. You turn to face the family, and the love on your face is radiant despite your exhaustion.
"Everyone," you say softly, "this is Léo. Léo, this is your family."
Pascale stands, her hands shaking as she approaches. "May I?" she whispers.
You nod, carefully transferring the tiny bundle into her arms. The moment Pascale holds her grandson, she breaks down completely. Tears stream down her face as she looks down at him, taking in every tiny detail.
"Oh," she breathes. "Oh, he's perfect. He's absolutely perfect."
Léo opens his eyes, blinking up at his grandmother, and Pascale laughs through her tears. "Hello, mon petit. I'm your Mamie. I love you so much already."
Arthur wraps his arm around you, holding you against his side as you both watch his mother meet your son. You're crying again, but these are happy tears.
Charles is next, and when Pascale carefully passes Léo to him, Charles's hands are shaking. "Hey, little man," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm your Uncle Charles. We're going to have so much fun together."
Alex leans over Charles's shoulder, her finger gently touching Léo's tiny hand. When his fingers curl around hers, she gasps. "Oh my God," she whispers. "Charles, he's holding my finger."
"He likes you," you say with a smile.
Enzo and Charlotte are next, and Charlotte is openly weeping as she holds Léo. "He's so beautiful," she says. "You two made something so beautiful."
As Léo is passed around the family, each person taking their turn to hold him and marvel at him, Arthur keeps you close. You're leaning heavily against him now, your energy fading again, but you're smiling. Really smiling.
"You did so good, mon amour," Arthur whispers in your ear. "Look at them. Look how much they love him. How much they love you."
"I'm so happy," you whisper back. "I'm so tired, but I'm so happy."
"I know. Me too."
Léo eventually makes his way back to Pascale, who seems reluctant to let him go. But she sees how you're swaying slightly on your feet, and she carefully brings him back to you.
"I think Maman needs to sit down," she says gently. "And maybe Léo needs to eat?"
As if on cue, Léo starts to fuss. You nod, taking him gratefully. "Yeah, he's probably hungry."
Arthur immediately guides you back to the couch, helping you settle comfortably. The family gives you privacy as you begin to feed Léo, though they don't leave—they just turn their attention to talking among themselves, giving you space while still being present.
Arthur sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders, watching as Léo nurses contentedly. "You're incredible," he murmurs. "Do you know that?"
You lean your head against his shoulder. "I'm just doing what I need to do."
"No," Arthur says firmly. "You're being amazing. And I love you so much."
"I love you too," you whisper. "Thank you for taking care of me. For protecting me."
"Always," Arthur says. "I'll always protect you. Both of you."
The afternoon stretches on, filled with quiet conversation and laughter. The family takes turns holding Léo again after he's fed, each of them completely besotted with the tiny baby. Photos are taken—lots of them—and stories are shared.
You find yourself relaxing more and more, the initial anxiety fading as you watch your family fall in love with your son. Arthur never moves far from your side, always touching you somehow—a hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulders, his fingers linked with yours.
When you start to fade again, exhausted from the activity, Arthur notices immediately. "Okay," he says, standing up. "I think we need to call it for today. She needs to rest."
Pascale holds up a hand before anyone can move toward the door. "Actually," she says carefully, glancing at Arthur and then at you, "what if we stayed and watched Léo for a few hours? You two could go to the bedroom and actually sleep. Real sleep, together."
Arthur immediately shakes his head. "No, Maman, we can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering," Pascale says firmly. She looks at you, her expression gentle but determined. "When was the last time you both slept at the same time? Really slept?"
You open your mouth to respond, but you can't actually remember. Arthur has been taking night shifts, letting you rest between feedings, but he barely sleeps. And when he does sleep, you're awake with Léo. You haven't shared a bed properly since before the hospital.
"Exactly," Pascale says, reading your silence. "We have five adults here who are perfectly capable of watching one tiny baby for a few hours. He's fed, he's changed, and if he needs anything, we'll come get you immediately. But you both need proper rest. Together."
"Maman, I appreciate it, but I can't just leave him—" Arthur starts.
"Arthur." Pascale's voice is gentle but firm, the voice of a mother who knows her son better than he knows himself. "You've been watching her constantly for three days. You haven't slept more than an hour at a time. You need to rest with your wife. You need to hold her and sleep and let someone else carry the weight for just a little while."
Arthur looks torn. He glances at Léo, sleeping peacefully in Charlotte's arms, then at you. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the desperate need for rest warring with his protective instincts, his fear of letting go even for a moment.
You reach up and cup his cheek. "Maybe it would be good," you whisper. "Just for a few hours. Your family is here. Léo is safe."
"But what if he needs something? What if—"
"Then they'll wake us," you say softly. "Arthur, you've been taking care of me nonstop. Let them help. Please."
He's wavering. You can see it.
"If anything happens, anything at all, you come get us immediately," Arthur says, looking at his mother. "The second he fusses, the second anything seems wrong, you wake us up. Promise me."
"I promise," Pascale says solemnly. "But he'll be fine. Go. Sleep. Let me take care of my grandson while you take care of each other."
Arthur helps you stand, and Enzo hands him the baby monitor from the side table. "We'll keep this on. You'll hear everything."
You both move slowly toward the bedroom, Arthur supporting you, and you can feel him constantly looking back over his shoulder at Léo. When you reach the bedroom door, he pauses one more time.
"We're right here if you need us," he calls back to the living room.
"We know," Pascale says warmly. "Now go. Rest."
Arthur closes the door behind you, and suddenly the apartment feels quieter, more intimate. Just the two of you. For the first time in days, you're alone together, away from the constant vigilance and care.
"Come here," Arthur says softly, guiding you to the bed. He helps you lie down, arranging the pillows so you're comfortable, then climbs in beside you. For a moment, he just looks at you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.
"I'm scared to sleep," he admits quietly. "I'm scared if I close my eyes, something will happen."
"Nothing's going to happen," you whisper, taking his hand and pressing it to your chest, over your heart. "Feel that? I'm here. I'm okay. And Léo is okay. Your family has him."
Arthur's eyes fill with tears. "I almost lost you," he says again, his voice breaking. "I keep trying to be strong for you, but I almost lost you, and I don't know how to stop being terrified."
You pull him closer, and he comes willingly, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. His shoulders shake as he finally lets himself break down, finally lets himself feel everything he's been holding back for your sake.
"I'm here," you murmur, running your fingers through his hair. "I'm right here, Arthur. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
"I love you so much," he sobs against your skin. "I love you so much it hurts."
"I love you too," you whisper. "Now breathe. Just breathe with me."
Gradually, his breathing syncs with yours. His grip loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go. You hold each other in the quiet bedroom, the baby monitor beside you transmitting the soft sounds of your family cooing over your son.
"Sleep," you whisper. "I've got you now. It's my turn to keep watch."
"Promise you'll wake me if you need anything," Arthur mumbles, already drifting.
"I promise."
Within minutes, he's asleep, his face peaceful for the first time in days. You hold him, your own eyes growing heavy, and for the first time since Léo was born, you both sleep—truly sleep—safe in each other's arms.
Arthur's eyes open slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. For a moment, he's disoriented—the room is dim, the afternoon light having faded to early evening shadows. Then he feels the weight against his chest, the warmth of your body pressed to his, and everything comes into focus.
You're still sleeping, your face peaceful and soft, one hand curled between your bodies. Your breathing is deep and even, the kind of sleep that only comes when you finally feel safe enough to truly let go. Arthur's arm is wrapped around you, holding you close even in sleep, and he realizes with a start that he's slept for—he checks his phone carefully, not wanting to disturb you—nearly four hours.
Four hours.
He can't remember the last time he slept for four consecutive hours. His body feels heavy with rest, his mind clearer than it's been since the hospital. But more than that, he feels something else blooming in his chest as he looks down at you.
Love.
Pure, overwhelming, devastating love.
You almost weren't here. You almost weren't in his arms right now, breathing against him, warm and alive. The thought still terrifies him, still makes his heart clench with remembered fear. But you are here. You fought to stay here. And now you're healing, getting stronger every day, sleeping peacefully because you trust him to keep you safe.
He carefully brushes a kiss against your forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of you—your shampoo, your skin, everything that means home to him. You stir slightly at the touch, making a small sound, and Arthur immediately stills, not wanting to wake you. But your eyes flutter open anyway, squinting up at him in the dim light.
"Hey," you murmur, your voice rough with sleep. "How long did we sleep?"
"About four hours," Arthur whispers, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "How do you feel?"
You take a moment to assess, shifting slightly against him. "Better," you admit. "Rested. Still sore, but... better."
"Good." He kisses your forehead again, then your nose, then your lips—gentle, reverent kisses that speak of gratitude and love. "I love you," he murmurs against your mouth. "I love you so much."
You smile, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. "I love you too. We should probably check on Léo, though. Your family has had him for—"
"I've been listening to the monitor," Arthur says, gesturing to the device on the nightstand. "He's been perfect. I heard him fuss once about an hour ago, and Maman sang to him. He settled right away."
Your eyes fill with tears—those ever-present hormonal tears—at the image of Pascale singing to your son. "That's so sweet," you whisper.
"Come on," Arthur says, sitting up carefully and helping you do the same. "Let's go see them. But we're taking it slow, okay? No rushing."
"Okay," you agree, letting him help you off the bed.
You both take a moment to freshen up in the bathroom—Arthur watches you carefully, making sure you're steady on your feet, ready to catch you if needed. When you're ready, his arm goes around your waist, supporting you as you walk slowly down the hallway toward the living room.
The sound of laughter reaches you before you see them. Soft, warm, happy laughter mixed with cooing and gentle voices. Arthur squeezes your waist, and you lean into him, both of you drawn toward that sound like moths to flame.
When you reach the living room doorway, you both stop, taking in the scene before you.
The space has been transformed in your absence. The curtains are drawn against the darkening sky, and soft lamps cast a warm glow throughout the room. Charles is sitting on the floor, Léo carefully cradled in his arms while Alex sits beside him, one finger tracing gentle patterns on the baby's tiny hand. Pascale is perched on the arm of the couch, watching her son hold her grandson with such tender love on her face. Enzo and Charlotte are on the other couch, leaning into each other, both of them smiling as they watch Charles interact with Léo.
"I'm just saying," Charles is murmuring to the baby, "when you're old enough, Uncle Charles is going to teach you everything. How to drive, how to race, how to be fast. Your papa is going to hate it, but that's what uncles are for."
"I'm standing right here," Arthur says, his voice warm with amusement.
Everyone's heads snap toward the doorway. Pascale is on her feet immediately, her eyes scanning both of you, the mother in her assessing whether you both look better rested.
"You're awake," she says, her voice soft. "How do you feel?"
"So much better," you admit, and it's true. The sleep has done wonders—you feel more like yourself, more grounded, less like you're floating through a fog of exhaustion and fear.
"You both look better," Alex observes with a smile. "More color in your cheeks."
Arthur guides you into the room, settling you carefully on the couch before sitting beside you, his arm immediately going around your shoulders. You lean into him automatically, and he presses a kiss to your temple.
"Thank you," Arthur says, looking around at his family. His voice is thick with emotion. "All of you. Thank you for watching him. For letting us rest. For..." He pauses, struggling to find the words. "For being here."
"Always," Enzo says simply. "That's what family does."
Charles carefully stands, moving toward you with Léo still in his arms. "Someone's been an angel," he says, looking down at the baby with such love. "Not a single problem. He woke up once, but Maman sang to him and he went right back to sleep."
"I heard," Arthur says, smiling at his mother. "What did you sing to him?"
Pascale's cheeks flush slightly. "Just an old lullaby. The one I used to sing to you boys when you were babies."
You reach out, and Charles carefully transfers Léo into your arms. The moment you have your son against your chest again, you feel something settle inside you—like a piece of yourself that was missing has clicked back into place. Léo's eyes open, finding your face, and you could swear he recognizes you. He makes a small sound, and you bring him closer, breathing in his sweet baby scent.
"Hi, my love," you whisper. "Did you have fun with your family?"
"He was perfect," Charlotte says warmly. "Absolutely perfect. You two made the most beautiful baby."
"How are you feeling, really?" Pascale asks, moving to sit on your other side. "No pain? No dizziness?"
"I'm okay," you assure her. "Sore, but okay. The sleep really helped."
"Good." Pascale squeezes your hand. "You needed it. You both did."
Arthur watches you with Léo, his heart so full it feels like it might burst. This is his family. His wife, his son, his mother, his brothers, their partners. Everyone he loves most in the world, gathered in this room, safe and happy and together.
"We should probably get going soon," Enzo says reluctantly, checking his watch. "Let you guys have your evening."
"Are you sure you don't need us to stay?" Charlotte asks. "We can help with dinner, or—"
"We're okay," Arthur says gently. "But thank you. Really. This meant everything."
Pascale stands, but she's clearly hesitant to leave. "If you need anything," she says, looking between you and Arthur. "Anything at all, any time of day or night, you call me. Promise?"
"We promise, Maman," Arthur says, standing to embrace her.
She holds him tight, then pulls back to cup his face in her hands. "You're doing so well," she whispers. "I'm so proud of you. Of both of you."
Arthur's eyes glisten with tears, but he manages to hold them back. "Thank you for everything."
One by one, the family says their goodbyes. Each person stops to kiss you on the cheek, to gently touch Léo's head, to squeeze Arthur's shoulder. Charles lingers the longest, looking at his younger brother with such pride and love.
"You're going to be an amazing father," he says quietly. "You already are."
"Thanks, Charles," Arthur says, pulling him into a hug.
When the door finally closes behind them and the apartment falls quiet again, Arthur returns to the couch and sits beside you. You're still holding Léo, humming softly to him, and Arthur just watches for a moment, memorizing this scene.
"That was nice," you say softly, looking up at him. "Having them here. Sharing Léo with them."
"Yeah," Arthur agrees, wrapping his arm around you both. "It was perfect."
Léo yawns, his tiny mouth opening wide, and you both laugh softly at how adorable it is. His eyes are starting to droop, and you shift him carefully in your arms.
"I think someone's ready for another nap," you murmur.
"Like father, like son," Arthur teases. "I could sleep for another four hours easily."
You lean your head against his shoulder, and for a long moment, you just sit there together—the three of you, your little family, safe and warm and together in the quiet evening light.
