#how to transition from breastfeeding

[hamilton-here]

Lewis helping wife reader postpartum. Like helping her shower, feeding her when she's breastfeeding, when she's asleep during the night he moves the baby monitor to his side table so he can wake up instead of her because he knows she's tired. He gives her back massages, rubs her feet, does laundry, their family and friends drop food everyday for them. He even helps her make the pads that she has to wear after birth. He also reassures her telling her how beautiful and strong she is because he did all the research knowing how tough postpartum can be especially to new mothers. He's a hands on dad and husband, a man who didnt just want a wife and kids but wants to be the best husband and daddy.

𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝐼𝓃, 𝒜𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈

Authors Note: Hey darlings! I’ve missed you all - sorry for the little radio silence, I’ve been caught up with a new term and some assignments. Hope you’re all thriving and super excited for Spa! Lots of love always xx

Summary: After the birth, Lewis supports his wife through every part of postpartum - caring, hands on and deeply devoted to being the best husband and dad.

Warnings: Postpartum recovery themes (emotional/physical), mentions of physical pain/injury (childbirth recovery, stitches) body image insecurities, sleep deprivation and exhaustion

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The earliest days of motherhood didn’t follow time so much as they dissolved into it as each sunrise and sunset melted like candle wax, blurring into a perpetual shade of soft gold and lavender. You no longer measured life in hours or days, but in tiny gasps and fleeting silences. It was as if the world narrowed to a sacred pulse with the quiet murmur of breath against your chest, the flutter of eyelashes in sleep, the sweet tremble of a newborn cry, raw and holy. You were held captive by the now eternally present in the dance between need and nurture, exhaustion and awe.

Your body was a living tapestry of transition. It carried echoes of storms passed and oceans crossed. The ache in your abdomen felt almost mythic like thunder rolling deep beneath mountain bones, reverberating from a place older than memory.

Your belly, soft with love’s aftermath, bore testament to contractions that had rippled through you with elemental force. The stretch marks now glowed faintly in the low nursery light with silvered threads woven into the epic poem of you. Your breasts, heavy and sacred, had become reservoirs of life, responding not to logic or clocks but to something instinctual and primal - the tiny mouth that sought you in the dark, the wordless hunger that tethered you to something ancient and divine.

Even showers which are simple and brief took on the symbolism of sanctuary and renewal. The warm cascade over your shoulders felt like absolution, steam rising like incense in a temple and for five precious minutes, your breath returned to you, unburdened. In those moments of solitude, you remembered the version of yourself before the blur the woman whose body had not yet been a cradle, whose limbs had not yet been claimed by weariness. But she was not missed. She had been reborn through you, through this.

Meals were scattered tokens of survival. A slice of toast abandoned mid-bite. A half-sipped cup of tea now cold beside the bassinet. You’d lift a fork, then drop it when your baby stirred with a tiny whimper, surrendering yet again to the rhythm of their need.

It was a silent symphony, composed of sounds that no longer shocked you - the faint wet rustle of a diaper, the hiccuped cry, the click of pacifiers hitting hardwood. And while the world outside barrelled on without pause headlines, deadlines, dinner reservations you remained cocooned within a softer world, where time folded into itself like warm laundry. A sacred, quiet place.

But always there was Lewis.

Not just present, profoundly with you. Your moon and gravity, your lullaby in human form. He didn’t arrive at fatherhood with trembling hands. He stepped into it as if stepping into a cathedral. Reverent. Listening. Learning you anew with every breath, every need, every shift in the wind of your mood.

He didn’t wait to be asked, he offered. He didn’t shy from vulnerability he wove it into his strength. And when the nights were at their longest, when your bones felt like they might crumble under the weight of fatigue, Lewis stood like a lighthouse steadfast, glowing and patiently keeping watch.

His nightstand was a shrine to devotion. Parenting books splayed open mid-read, their spines softened with repeated reference. Sticky notes bloomed like petals from the edges, marking chapters on tear patterns, sleep regressions and maternal self-worth.

He Googled things that men rarely think to Google – “how to help her feel seen after birth,” “what does postnatal loneliness feel like,” “gentle words when hormones make her cry.” And when he spoke those words aloud, they landed like feathers on your bruised spirit. Soft. Sure. True.

At doctor’s appointments, he became legend. “The tall one with all the questions,” the nurse chuckled once. But they didn’t roll their eyes they leaned in. Because Lewis didn’t ask about logistics, he asked about love. How do I hold her hand so she knows I believe in her? Is there a way I can help her feel safe when she’s breastfeeding in public? What’s the best way to say, ‘You’re magic,’ when she forgets?

When your baby came fresh and blinking, trembling and whole Lewis didn’t watch from the edge. He entered that moment like a poem. He caught breath like it was a star, cradled his child like something celestial had been placed in his arms.

And then he turned to you not with awe reserved only for the miracle of birth, but for you. Your face streaked with tears, your body stretched and sacred. And in a voice so quiet it nearly broke the air, he whispered, “You are everything.”

At 3 a.m., he didn’t flinch when your newborn cried inconsolably. He wrapped your baby in his long arms and swayed, becoming a rhythm of peace. He whispered lullabies improvised with sleepy devotion. “Daddy’s got you. Mummy’s sleeping. You’re safe.” And when you woke, guilty and wrecked, afraid you had failed somehow, Lewis’s voice met you like a balm “You’re allowed to sleep. Let me hold this moment for us.”

He made your stretch marks a galaxy. Traced each one with fingers that trembled, like someone reading sacred scripture. “These are stars,” he murmured once, eyes glistening. “And I get to love the whole constellation.”

Lewis didn’t mourn the version of you from before. He didn’t miss her because he’d witnessed something more extraordinary - your becoming. He didn’t fall in love again he deepened love into something holy. The tenderness between you bloomed like moonflowers delicate, rare, revealed only in the hush of night.

And when you broke cried in frustration, stumbled with exhaustion or doubted your worth, Lewis didn’t try to fix you. He held space. Made room for the storm. Held your hand through it, whispering, “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you. And you, my love, are everything this family needs.”

Together, you navigated the soft chaos of parenthood. Together, you composed a symphony of survival and sweetness. Together, you rewrote intimacy not in candles and silk, but in nursery nightlights and spilled formula and the deep, abiding miracle of shared breath.

And nestled between your hearts the proof of love. A baby formed from devotion, raised in tenderness, cradled in courage. You were not alone. You were never alone. You had Lewis. And in the quiet, starlit spaces of motherhood you found each other, over and over again.

There was no fanfare. No floral arrangements, no joyous clinking of glasses to celebrate your arrival home. Only quiet. A profound hush that settled across the house like twilight falling onto still waters. The air hung heavy with tenderness, trembling between awe and uncertainty. It wasn’t absence, it was reverence.

You stepped through the doorway, into the place you once called home with ease, only now it felt unfamiliar as if the walls had shifted in your absence, as if the universe had exhaled and reshaped the contours of your world.

The carpet beneath your feet greeted you like an old friend, softened by time and now reverent beneath your cautious steps. Light spilled from the sconces with unusual warmth, painting golden halos across the hallway. Yet even in this familiar setting, you felt like a traveler arriving somewhere sacred and new.

Your body moved slowly not just from fatigue, but transformation. Each footfall was heavy with the weight of creation. You were no longer the woman who had left through this door a few days ago. Your body had been the altar at which life had been created. And now it sang in aching hymns.

Your abdomen throbbed with gentle echoes, contractions now fading into memory yet inscribed in every tender pulse. Your skin bore whispers of rupture and resilience by tiny bruises, healing stitches, swelling softened by time and care. You were raw but radiant, glowing not with polish but with something truer - becoming.

And in the gentle solitude of the bathroom, you sought renewal. The mirror caught your reflection and for a moment you didn’t recognise yourself. There stood a woman who had given birth, whose eyes held galaxies of sleepless nights and ethereal love. You blinked slowly, searching for her and then found her, shimmering beneath every scar, glowing through each tear streaked line.

The shower hissed to life, steam rising in velvet tendrils. You stepped in, letting the heat envelope you like a mother’s arms. The water wasn’t merely cleansing but it was forgiveness. Each drop cascaded over skin still tender, each rivulet tracing paths of vulnerability down your spine.

You curled into it, folding yourself under the warmth like a prayer. But tears found you again. Not from despair but from the flood of everything through love, pain, pride and fragility. The sob rose quietly, then erupted, fractured and trembling.

And Lewis heard.

He had been standing nearby, heart attuned to every breath, every silence, every moment that might ask for presence. When he heard that first crack in your voice, he moved not with urgency, but certainty. He opened the bathroom door with gentle reverence, steam immediately kissing his cheeks. He stood for a moment, looking at you eyes wide and shimmering, clothes dampening but soul anchored. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He already knew. He didn’t speak. He let you feel.

Then slowly, he knelt with knees pressing into cool tile, face lifted toward yours like a supplicant in a temple of grace. He reached for you, hands warm and trembling slightly with tenderness and pressed his forehead gently to yours, the mist between you drawing droplets down your cheeks as if the air itself mourned and rejoiced with you.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered, voice cloaked in love and devotion. “I’ve got you.”

He stepped fully into the shower, still clothed, offering no pause between your need and his offering. His arms wrapped around you, chest solid and safe, holding you against the drum of water and the ache inside you. You didn’t have to ask. You didn’t have to explain. With Lewis, love needed no translation.

He rubbed slow circles between your shoulders, his fingertips memorising the language of your muscles tense, stretched, weary. He combed through your soaked hair with devotion, each pass whispering, you’re cherished. His chin brushed your temple. His breath matched yours until yours steadied.

Then carefully, he reached for the soap your favourite one, the one with the scent that reminded you of lavender fields and quiet mornings and worked it gently into his hands. He didn’t wash you like someone tending to wounds. He bathed you like someone tending to wonder.

Your collarbones, your arms, the curve of your neck he caressed each part slowly, murmuring truths like benediction “You gave life. You are breathtaking. You are enough.”

He knelt to your belly still round, still soft, still sacred and kissed the skin there, reverently. “This is holy,” he said softly, barely audible above the falling water.

When your body winced at the sting between your thighs, he stilled. His gaze met yours, solemn but tender. “May I help?” he asked gently, reaching for a cloth. With the utmost care, he dabbed where stitches met skin, his hands never flinching, his soul steady with respect. No part of you felt hidden. No part of you felt ashamed.

The water began to cool but Lewis remained unwavering. He stepped out first, wrapped a fresh towel around his shoulders, then opened one just for you. As you exited, he held it wide like wings, ready to cocoon you. He wrapped you tightly and guided you to the stool, kneeling once more as he dried you inch by inch, moment by moment. Fingers delicate behind your ears, tender beneath your breasts, patient around your trembling knees.

He then held balm in his palms and applied it to your skin as if painting with light. Each movement was an offering of love gentle, quiet and healing. When your fingers reached for the peri bottle, he handed it over before you could ask.

“I warmed the water,” he said, with that boyish smile. “Page seventy three. Pink highlighter. Starred and circled. Triple underline.”

You laughed a sound half tear, half miracle. And he kissed it.

He helped you into your favourite robe, one soft as clouds and carried you effortlessly into the nursery. Your baby stirred, a small rustle of limbs and a contented sigh milk sweet and dreamy. You reached out, fingers brushing the tiny cheek. The room was alive with breath and softness.

Lewis watched, mist still clinging to his arms, heart wide open. And in that hush, he whispered the words etched into the marrow of your new life, “You did this. You made this love. You are a masterpiece.”

Then he carried you both not just to bed, but to sanctuary. Wrapped in warmth. In devotion. In the quiet, resounding truth that love, in its purest form, isn’t loud. It’s steady. It’s close. It’s this.

Each morning began while the sky still held its breath, painted in that impossibly dark blue before dawn even dared to blush. The world outside your window was suspended in silence no birdsong, no engines, just the hush of a sleeping neighbourhood wrapped in mist and moonlight. But even then, long before your eyelids fluttered before your baby stirred with a whimper or a sigh, Lewis was already moving.

He didn't just wake he rose. Like something sacred, like a priest preparing for quiet ceremony. His movements were reverent a whisper of fabric as he dressed in the hallway, a gentle creak as he descended the stairs. He moved not to escape the responsibility of parenthood, but to greet it like an old friend.

Outside, the front step bore gifts acts of grace from the community that gathered around your new life like stars around a constellation. And Lewis received them with humility, not as favours, but as offerings. He brought them in carefully, balancing bags with one arm and leaving the other free just in case he needed to open the baby’s nursery door or pass you a glass of water.

Miles’ lentil stew came in ceramic bowls swaddled in tea towels, still warm, the spices rising like incense as Lewis lifted the lid. Carmen’s vegan enchiladas were tucked into foil trays with curled parchment corners, her signature blend of smoky paprika and love sealed into every bite. Linda’s smoothies sparkled like captured rainbows in their glass jars, messages taped to each one in her distinctive looping script “Good for strength. Drink with sunshine. Feel hugged.”

He placed everything into the fridge like he was assembling a mosaic with jars lined like lanterns, meals organised not for efficiency but for care.

On Saturdays, the doorbell rang a gentle chime and there was Anthony. Always cheerful, always thoughtful, always bearing more than food he brought reminders of normalcy, of love that persists even in tiredness.

He handed over chai with a wink, squeezed Lewis’ shoulder, and knelt down to greet the baby if she blinked awake. Folding onesies and swaddles with practiced hands, he’d hum old songs under his breath soft, silly things that made Lewis smile without even trying.

And through all this kindness with every warm casserole and neighbours embrace it was Lewis who stood unshaken at the centre. He wasn’t just the father. He was the gentle force of gravity keeping your whole universe tethered.

Each evening, long after dinner was cleared and quiet rolled back in, Lewis prepared for the night like someone preparing for pilgrimage. He'd gently take the monitor from your bedside, fingertips careful not to disturb your sleeping frame. His thumb would brush over your hand once as he turned away unspoken, but deeply felt - Sleep. I’ve got this.

He adjusted the settings with care born from instinct. Not too loud to wake you unnecessarily, but never too soft to miss a single cry. He had learned your baby's sounds like languages her hiccuped breath, her snuffling yawn, the particular half wail that meant a need just beginning to bloom.

His T-shirts soft and well-loved held small treasures in their pockets with a folded burp cloth patterned with baby whales, a pacifier that had been sterilised and lovingly tucked into its pouch, a calming roller blend with hints of lavender and chamomile, just in case her cries came with tight fists and red cheeks.

When she did cry sometimes suddenly, sometimes in soft whimpers that grew like ivy across the silence Lewis never paused. He never sighed. He didn’t blink at the clock or grumble into the dark. He rose. Barefoot and sure, his feet knew the hallway now the places it creaked, the spots that felt warm from a sunbeam’s memory. The nursery glowed with a soft nightlight, casting golden ripples on the walls.

And there, in the quiet, he gathered her. Like he was holding moonlight spun into flesh. She curled into him without resistance her cheek against his chest, her tiny hands clutching the fabric near his heart. She listened to the rhythm of him:m slow, deep, steady. The lullaby of his love.

“Shhh, little moon,” he whispered, swaying gently. “You’re okay. Daddy’s got you.” It wasn’t rote. It wasn’t repetition. It was ritual. It was devotion etched into the marrow of him.

She gripped the silver chain around his neck, the one his grandfather had passed down a piece of history now cradled by the present. Lewis pressed a soft kiss to her head, inhaling the scent of milk and skin and midnight comfort. He paced the nursery slowly, feet moving in half-moons across the rug, a rhythm of peace.

Sometimes he sang not loudly, but with feeling. Odd little phrases from songs he hadn’t remembered until now, fragments from childhood that curled softly between syllables - You are my sunshine…hush now…baby mine.

And when your body, aching and tender, stirred from sleep Lewis was there. Not seated. Arrived. He knelt beside the bed, one arm wrapping gently around your shoulders, the other reaching for the glass of water you hadn’t realised you needed. His palm pressed slow circles into your back, grounding you, anchoring you in the shared miracle of this quiet night.

He saw the glisten in your eyes. The rawness at the edge of your breath. The way your fingers trembled slightly on the blanket. “You’re doing more than enough,” he murmured, thumb tracing the crests of your knuckles. “You’re building galaxies in the silence. You’ve already done more than anyone should be asked.” In that moment, it wasn’t just the baby who was held. It was you.

Held not in duty, not in expectation but in honour. In love so wide, so patient, it made space for your breaking and your rebuilding.

You were never alone. Because even before the sun considered rising Lewis already knew how to shine.

Each moment in your home unfurled like a breath held between heartbeats quiet, ethereal, deeply human. There was no strict schedule, no rhythm marked by clocks or alarms. Time stitched itself together in sighs and lullabies, in feeding pauses and the creak of the nursery glider, in the hush of midnight and the softness of pre-dawn. And in this woven world of warmth and weariness, Lewis stood at the centre not like a beacon, but like a hearth. Gentle. Steady. Warm.

The feeding chair, once just furniture, had become your altar of resilience. The cushions bore your weight and your wonder, your tears and your triumphs. Beside you, the sound machine whispered its steady hum soft white noise like a mist curling around your ankles. And Lewis, always within reach, treated that chair like hallowed ground. When you sat, he instinctively knelt slipping off his socks, folding his legs beneath him, staying low as if honoring the sacredness of your presence.

He never hovered, yet he was always near. There wasn’t a moment he merely watched from the threshold. He lived inside the miracle with you. When friends dropped off soups and casseroles and folded laundry and marveled at the baby’s tiny fingernails, it was Lewis who remained behind after they left tidying, organising , adjusting the lights just so. He didn’t just do the tasks.

He did them with care. He folded your robe with the corners lined up. Refilled the hand sanitizer pump and wiped the lid. Lit a candle with a scent you liked eucalyptus and vanilla only when you sighed heavy and needed softness in the air.

At night, after the world curled inward and the house breathed in its silence, Lewis became stillness embodied. The nursery glowed with golden dimness and you, exhausted yet eternal, nursed your baby with aching grace. Her latch was determined, mouth small and hungry, her gums pressing into your sore skin with primal insistence. You flinched, not in fear, but in raw truth. And Lewis, ever beside you, would be there gentle cloth in hand, catching milk before it could settle into creases.

“She’s strong,” he whispered, voice low like velvet, brushing a thumb over the baby’s cheek with reverent tenderness. “Just like her mum.” His words weren’t thrown casually. They were offerings. Every syllable placed with intention, every compliment laced with awe.

Some nights, your tears were silent at first. A single drop sliding along the ridge of your nose, caught in the crook of your lip. Sometimes they came louder heaving sobs muffled into muslin blankets. But you didn’t have to explain. Lewis never asked. He simply gathered you. Slipped down beside you on the rug, arm wrapping fully around your back like wings unfurling. His thumb traced circles between your shoulder blades slow, grounding like a metronome for your breath.

“You don’t have to be okay,” he murmured, his forehead pressing to yours in soft communion. “You’re allowed to feel messy. You’re allowed to feel everything. You’re the most breathtaking person I’ve ever seen.” And he meant it. Fully. Without dilution.

His nightly massage became liturgy a practice of spiritual care written in skin and oil. He’d warm the lavender oil between his palms slowly, cupping them for a beat as if holding light. Eyes closed. Breath measured. Then, with reverence, he knelt before your feet and cradled each swollen arch as though decoding sacred symbols.

His thumbs moved with purpose. Guided by research, yes but more than that, by love. He had study notes tucked into the back pages of parenting books: acupressure for postpartum swelling, tension release in the hips, trauma stored in the lower back. Each scribble came with a timestamp from midnight research and a question asked in a forum or a podcast he found at 3 a.m.

He’d trace up your calves with gentle concentration, murmuring small phrases as if they could heal as much as his hands: “You’re carrying more than anyone sees.” “I’m helping your body remember rest.” “You deserve comfort that stays after the lights go out.”

He even massaged your hands those weary, work worn hands that had cradled your baby’s head, twisted bottle lids, scooped soggy cereal, reattached pump pieces at unholy hours. He kissed each finger before pressing into the palm, reading every tight knot like a love letter written in muscle.

Then came the padsicles.

Oh, Lewis didn’t just make them. He crafted them. Late at night, in the kitchen bathed in warm light and quiet jazz playing on his phone, he laid out thick postpartum pads on a bamboo cutting board.

He spread aloe like icing on a cake cool, tender and with curved precision. He measured witch hazel with a tiny glass beaker, the same one he used to measure coffee grounds in the morning. Every fold was crisp. Every wrap in foil neat. He’d tuck them in the freezer with care, labelling them with tiny dots of colour-coded stickers to indicate cooling level, scent blend, and healing properties.

Sometimes, he’d add a note inside the basket - Tonight’s blend is lavender and mint. Think cool meadow. You deserve a meadow.

And the bedside caddy - oh, how he loved that ritual. It was his altar of preparedness, always fully stocked by early evening. Nipple balm with a backup just in case. Water bottles one chilled, one room temp. Trail mix, but only the kind without raisins because he remembered you didn’t love them. Clean socks for your cold toes. A tiny lavender pouch you could heat in the microwave and tuck against your chest. Baby thermometer. Your favourite lip balm. Nail clippers for when the baby’s little crescents got sharp and you were too tired to fetch anything.

And always the notes. Folded carefully. Tucked between tea bags or slipped into the folds of a nursing bra. You are incredible. You are not alone. Let me hold tonight, for you. I love this version of you more than any you’ve ever been. He never signed them. But they were soaked in Lewis. In his steadiness, his devotion, his exquisite love made quiet and real.

Your home was now filled with the sounds of swaddles rustling and kettle water simmering, the scent of milk and eucalyptus, the glow of nightlights, the cadence of a man speaking softly to a baby who believed he hung the stars. And while the days sometimes blurred and your mind sometimes wavered, one truth remained crystalline - You were held. By the softness of Lewis. By the miracle of your love. By the weightless, sacred rhythm of a family blooming.

It was barely morning, the kind of hour when sunlight only hinted at its return. You had stirred early, fingers brushing the edge of your journal to scribble down thoughts before they slipped away those ephemeral wonders that live between sleep and wakefulness. As you opened the cover, something tumbled out a folded receipt, creased carefully into the shape of a heart. Not perfect its corners bent, its folds slightly uneven but unmistakably made with love.

Across the textured paper, his handwriting cut through the faded ink of itemized groceries with bold, heartfelt clarity - You are mothering like a queen. Every breath. Every tear. Every step. I see you. I honor you. I love you.

You froze, the world softening around you in an instant. It wasn’t just the words. It was the witness. The knowing. The choice to observe your quiet labor and wrap it in reverence.

Your chest opened not with pain, but with a rush of recognition so deep it felt seismic. Someone saw you, not as a caretaker lost in routine but as a creator of miracles. You sat there for a long time, tracing the letters with trembling fingers. You didn’t cry out of fragility, but out of fullness because to be loved like this, so exquisitely and attentively, was a love so rare it shimmered.

Later that afternoon, beneath the hush of the nursery glow, you fed your baby again. Her lashes brushed against her cheeks, breath warm and steady, little fingers curled into crescents as she suckled with stubborn devotion. She made tiny noises contented grunts and sleepy sighs. Milk pooled at the corners of her mouth and nestled into the crease of her neck and as you reached for the cloth, Lewis was already there.

Kneeling beside you like a soft prayer. He dabbed gently, wiping the dribbles with infinite care. His fingers barely touched her skin, reverence in every gesture. Then he looked up, his gaze locking with yours and you saw it.

That look. The one people write songs about but rarely witness in real time. The kind that could hold centuries. His eyes were misted with awe like he was watching a celestial event, and you were the axis it all turned upon.

“I didn’t know love could look like this,” you whispered, voice barely a breath. He didn’t rush his reply. He leaned forward slowly, kissed your temple with lips warm and steady and tucked the muslin blanket around you both, cocooning you in shared tenderness.

“It’s not just love,” he said quietly, his words brushing the shell of your ear like petals. “It’s you. You created this softness. This light. This life. I’m just lucky enough to be nearby when it glows.”

You wanted to speak. To explain that you felt unworthy sometimes, cracked open in places you didn’t know existed. That you weren’t sure what you were doing, that your bones ached with giving, that your mind flickered with forgotten versions of yourself.

But Lewis was already holding that truth.

He rubbed your back in slow, grounding circles. Held space for you without demands, without solutions just presence.

You glanced down at your daughter, nestled safely against your breast, Lewis’s hand resting gently atop hers. And for a moment, the air felt sweet and still. Time paused not for tragedy, but to marvel. And in that suspended beat, you knew this:

You were no longer alone in the miracle. You were woven into the fabric of a man who loved you with the kind of devotion that builds legends.

Lewis didn’t simply prepare for fatherhood he immersed himself in it like a man who’d been waiting his whole life to be entrusted with something this holy. He didn’t want to “help” with parenting. He wanted to master the language of care, so fluently and fully that it became second nature. Not just for the baby for you.

While others marveled at nursery décor and stroller models, Lewis dug deeper. He annotated parenting books with coloured tabs red for immediate concern, yellow for gentle reminders, green for things to remember when your spirit was frayed.

His browser history resembled a midwifery seminar - articles on postpartum mood disorders, pelvic floor recovery, maternal identity loss, emotional labor, breastfeeding grief. He scoured forums, bookmarked support groups, even joined newsletters aimed at doulas because he didn’t want to miss anything that might help you feel held.

And it wasn't performative. It was devotion.

He didn’t merely read he embodied the research. His empathy became muscle memory. He absorbed every detail and wove it into his care. If the doula mentioned hydration three times, he placed two water bottles at your bedside. If an article said that postpartum rage could feel confusing, he memorized phrases like “It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling” and “I trust you.” He practiced them aloud in the mirror so when your voice cracked at 2 a.m., his response would be soft, familiar, unwavering.

In the softness of night, Lewis was a gentle sentinel. He knelt beside you as if proximity was sacred, kissed your swollen ankles not out of duty but reverence. He memorised their curves, their temperature, their ache. His hands warm and steady moved like poetry against your tired skin. The massage was never rushed. It was ritual. He pressed gently with purpose relieving fluid retention, soothing stress, whispering love into your sore ligaments. And he spoke with intention:

“These are your battle ribbons,” he’d murmur, brushing a thumb over your stretch marks. “Proof of how powerful you are. You built a world in here.”

On nights when you felt distant from yourself when looking in the mirror made your chest cave inward and your heart doubt its beauty Lewis was your reflection.

“You’re beautiful,” he said once, kneeling by the tub as you soaked in silence. “You were stunning before and now you carry galaxies. Becoming a mother made you even more radiant. Not less. More.” There was no hesitation in his voice. Just awe. Steady. Certain.

And while others fawned over the baby, Lewis never bypassed you. He didn’t glance over your head to find the bassinet. He didn’t reduce you to caretaker. He saw your whole, hurting, glowing being and loved every piece like it was scripture.

Some nights unfolded like soft symphonies.

You lay curled on the couch, bones heavy with giving, tucked beneath Lewis’s chin where his breath warmed the crown of your head. Your daughter, sleeping soundly on his chest, rested her hand over his heart as if she knew exactly where safety lived. She weighed less than a feather, yet Lewis held her like she was an ancient relic. Precious. Timeless.

His hand drifted to your arm, tracing small loops each one a gentle note in a lullaby only you l could hear. And then, in the hush between your breaths, he’d whisper “If there’s ever a podium worth standing on it’s this. You, her, us. This life is the only ceremony I want to bow before.”

But not every night was soft. Some came heavy. There were nights when exhaustion wrapped around you like wet wool too heavy, too persistent. Your body felt like it had been stitched together with frayed thread. Sleep evaded you. Your mind spun with fears that felt too big to say aloud.

He kissed your forehead in passing, his voice a promise “Go breathe. Go stretch. Go cry. I’ll hold her until she forgets she was ever upset.” And she always did.

His lullabies weren’t downloaded or rehearsed. They were improvised songs, made only for her melodies spun from love, paced by footsteps on nursery rugs.

And when the crying wasn’t hers but yours Lewis held you just the same.

He didn’t try to solve. He didn’t speak in slogans. He sat beside you, quietly anchoring your storm. His arms opened wide. His gaze stayed soft. His thumb traced your knuckles. He studied you not like a test but like a map he treasured. Each leaked tear, every flinch, every moment you tried to pretend you were fine he logged it in his heart. So when you couldn’t name what was wrong, he already knew how to show up.

Printed articles were tucked in his nightstand. Journals full of observations what calmed you, what triggered your overwhelm, what music helped you breathe easier. He built a support system for your postpartum journey with intention: online forums, therapist recommendations, affirmations scrawled in Sharpie across the fridge - Your softness is strength. You’re allowed to rest. The world is better with you in it.

He didn’t want to be a good husband. He wanted to be the kind of man your daughter could point to and say - That’s love. That’s care. That’s safety.

He didn’t stand in awe of fatherhood because it was new. He stood in awe because you two existed. And in that home, in the hush of twilight and the shimmer of morning light love wasn’t loud.

It was Lewis. It was the baby curled against his chest. It was you, held so wholly that your healing had space to bloom.

And you weren’t surviving. You were being honoured.

It had been one of those nights that didn’t scream but sighed. A night stitched together by subtle ache, not tantrums. There were no screams, no spilled bottles or frantic pacing. Just a hush that sat too heavily on your chest, the kind that made every blink feel longer, every inhale feel slightly strained.

The house held stillness like a breath it refused to release.

Warm laundry sat folded but not put away. A pacifier lay quietly beside a half-used burp cloth on the armrest. The baby monitor hummed static low and steady the sound not annoying, not intrusive more like a heartbeat, keeping the silence company. Even the floorboards beneath your feet seemed to soften in deference to this kind of night.

You stirred not from a cry, not from obligation. Just a pull. A sensation. As if the air was gently beckoning you. A lull in the universe that asked you to bear witness.

Padding softly down the hallway, robe clinging to sleep-warmed skin, your shadow danced behind you in the amber halo of the nightlight. The nursery door was ajar and you paused before entering just long enough to sense it.

There. Lewis stood at the crib’s edge. Silent. Still. Reverent.

His hands rested gently on the rail not gripping, just touching, as though to anchor himself. His shoulders curved slightly forward, a faded gray T-shirt sagging softly against his frame, seams stretched by time and wear and love. His chest rose and fell with such restraint it almost hurt to watch the kind of breath you take when the world feels too delicate to disturb.

Moon shaped light curled around him, casting soft glimmers across his face. And that’s when you saw them. Tears. Not sudden. Not heaving. Just two glistening tracks trailing down the ridge of his cheekbones, pooling subtly against the curve of his jaw.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink it away. He simply existed inside it. It looked like worship.

You stepped forward, bare feet whispering against the floorboards and he turned to you eyes glassy, voice low and raw as wet linen. “Did I wake you?” You shook your head, silence wrapping around you both like a shawl. The weight in your chest not heavy now, but full nudged you forward until your hand reached his. Fingers threaded with his instinctively, like the thousand other times your souls had found each other in quiet places.

“I just keep thinking how lucky she is,” he whispered, breaking the silence like a prayer. “She gets you as her mum.” The words didn’t need embellishment. They landed precisely in the softest part of you under your ribs, just beside the place where doubt sometimes curled.

You swallowed gently, then stood on your toes and kissed his cheek, pressing into the shimmer of salt and love. “I’m the lucky one,” you whispered back. “She gets you as her dad.”

The words unfolded softly into the hush of the room tender syllables born not from flattery, but from truth. And Lewis heard them not with his ears alone, but with something deeper with the part of himself that had always been attuned to your soul’s quiet music.

He turned toward you then not just in movement, but in full presence. It was as if every fibre in him shifted to face you, his body and his heart realigning to centre you.

His arm reached for you gently, wrapping around your waist with a familiarity that felt as ancient as it was new. And when your bodies met chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat it felt less like an embrace and more like a reunion. Like two pages of a story finally stitched back together. You melted into him instinctively, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his worn T-shirt, the fabric carrying traces of baby lotion and lavender balm.

The nursery around you blurred edges softened by moonlight spilling in, the room aglow in the warm amber of the nightlight shaped like a crescent moon. There were no bottles to sterilise. No onesies to fold. No cries to soothe. Just this suspended breath between you. Just love, stripped of agenda. Love, distilled to its most sacred form.

Then, Lewis kissed you. But it wasn’t rushed or casual not a peck or a press or a habit.

It was slow. So slow it made the air hold its breath. He leaned in like he was leaning into grace, one hand rising to cup your jaw delicately, thumb tracing a line beneath your cheekbone as if mapping the origin of his awe. His lips met yours like a whisper becoming a vow gentle and deliberate, reverent and steady. The kiss itself felt like a ceremony. Not claiming, but honouring. Not demanding, but offering.

His mouth lingered on yours, velvet and warmth, salt still tucked into the corners where earlier tears had gathered. You felt the weight of him in that moment not physically, but emotionally. The sheer depth of what he’d held for you. The sleepless nights. The whispered affirmations. The way he had watched you become a mother and loved every fragment of the unfolding.

When you finally parted, his forehead pressed softly to yours, breath mingling in a quiet rhythm. His eyes shimmered not just with tears, but with something quieter, something infinite. Devotion.

He kissed you like a man who’d watched you walk through fire. Like a man who’d stood witness to the miracle of your becoming. Like a man who knew that loving you wasn’t simply a joy it was his calling.

The weeks that followed didn’t blaze past they unfolded, like petals in slow bloom. Time stopped feeling like something to chase. It became something to be held. Your body, once raw and howling, began its quiet reclamation. The soreness curled inward, no longer demanding, just whispering like tide foam tracing back to sea.

You moved more easily now. Hands steadied. Breath expanded. Your reflection, once foreign, now whispered familiarity. The woman looking back wasn’t unchanged. She was reborn. There was softness gilded with strength. Scars polished by story. You smiled not because everything was easy, but because you knew every inch of that journey.

And Lewis saw it all.

He noticed when your steps were lighter, when your laugh returned mid-morning because the baby giggled at the ceiling fan. He refilled your water before you asked. Massaged your feet even when you said you were fine.

One dusky evening, as the baby slept through a miraculous stretch peace tucked into every exhale you found yourselves wrapped together in bed, the hush of calm folding gently around you. No feeding alarms. No diaper checks. Just silence. Soft and earned.

His arm held you, not like a position, but like a promise. Your head rested in the crook of his shoulder, your fingers exploring the curve of his collarbone slowly, as if relearning him in the softness of this new chapter.

You turned to him, voice quieter than breath. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Lewis didn’t speak right away. He never rushed tenderness. He turned eyes dark and lit with quiet grace and kissed your forehead with the kind of patience reserved for holy things. “You didn’t have to earn me,” he said. “You just had to be exactly who you are.”

He paused, brushing his thumb against the curve of your wrist, then continued:

“I didn’t want a title - I wanted us. I wanted late nights with your head heavy on my shoulder. I wanted the quiet hum of you singing to her while you think no one’s listening. I wanted the sacred ache of watching you become. I wanted the ordinary days where love sits beside routine and makes everything glow.”

His voice didn’t tremble. It settled.

“And I’ll keep choosing you,” he whispered. “Over and over. In diapers and in devotion. In stretch marks and in sunrise. In each version of you - you’ve ever been and ever will be.”

And just like that, in the lull between moonlight and miracle, you felt it. You weren’t just resting. You were being carried. Lifted. Cherished. Chosen.

By a man whose love wasn’t a performance it was a home. A rhythm. A prayer said nightly in the way he looked at you, held you, healed you.

Lewis didn’t just step into fatherhood. He became your witness. Your sanctuary. The living proof that love, when built on presence, becomes legend. He was all in…always.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Feyd Fantasy 4

Madness & Mayhem

Label Mature 18+

Summary

The Baron has fallen severely ill. Feyds older brother Rabban is flown in for a reunion of the Harkonnen men. With the role of leadership looking like it will transition to Feyd Rautha if the Baron dies the entire galaxy awaits in suspense.

Feyds main obsession is for you and your well being. Though he never outwardly shows it Feyd has a deep attachment to his unborn and goes out of his way to ensure you are both healthy and safe. Even if that means sacrificing his uncle the Baron to do so.

Starts Harkonnen brothers reunite Ends Deep rooted sexual depravity

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨

coercion•manipulation •rough sex•Feyd in heat•passionate sex•forced lactation• multiple orgasms •simultaneous orgasms •cream pies•aftercare

🫦Smut consultant @burnthheparaphilia

⚔️ Feyd Fantasy Series ⚔️

Part 1•Part2•Part 3•Part 4•Part 5• Part 6•Part 7

⏳Extreme Dune Inaccuracies ⌛️

💝Softie approved (non-violent) there’s one swift kick

Part 5 Will be Series Finale 🙏🏻

⚔️ Multiple anonymous requests combined ⚔️

-Feyd obsessed with the pregnancy -Feyd protective/aggressive over pregnancy -Manipulating the Baroness into a sexual kink -Rough semi public sex -Love making passionate sex -Feyd is madly in love with the Baroness -Feyd Going insane over the Baroness’s milk. -Feyd Breastfeeding from the Baroness -Feyd calling the Baroness his bovine

*Feyd really needs milk ?? thank you for the requests ☺️🙏🏻

Madness & Mayhem 

Feyd waits with twenty armed guards at the front of the fortress. An ornithopter swoops in and lands on the arrival pad creating strong gusts of wind.

Out of the craft steps Feyds towering older barbaric brother Rabban. A pale bald gargantuan figure of a man, he has deep set hunter eyes his face rests in a permanent scowl.

He is the tasked enforcer to secure the Barons empire. So animalistic and savage his given name is “the beast” due to his outbursts of uncontrollable rage.

He sees his stoic younger brother at the entrance of the fortress with his guards. Still the most handsome Harkonnen now dressed with a more regal flair than the plain black uniform he is accustomed to. Feyds confidence has increased tenfold Rabban can see the newfound look of determination blazing in his eyes.

They have been raised in competition from child hood. Feyd out performing Rabban at every single opportunity. It hurt him terribly when they were younger to always be cast aside for the more calculated and handsome Feyd Rautha. That was until he came to the realization it was Feyds destiny, it was his right. How else could someone be so perfect.

Feyd watches his older brother bounding down the gangway to greet him. Feyd feels a nagging of annoyance as he clasps his hands behind his back. He stands taller as his brother grows near.

Rabban has failed to secure the spice fields on Arrakis his entire campaign. The spice supply and profits have been decreasing at an alarming rate. The Baron was already preparing to have Feyd arrive on Arrakis and be the savior of the people after Rabbans tyrannical rule.

“ BROTHER!” Rabban yells excitedly. “My eyes are so pleased to see you even under these circumstances. Look how well you are dressed how was your birthday celebration!” Rabban asks gleefully.

Feyd begins to walk with his hands clasped behind his back. Rabban matches his pace “All went well brother, uncle allowed me a real warrior for my 100th kill unsheilded ,and I received the ancient stones of ascension” Feyd revels in sharing his achievements over his brother.

“Our uncle?“ Rabban laughs out loud “let his precious Feyd Rautha engage in unsheilded combat!” Rabbans laughter continues even louder and more tormenting. Until it ends swiftly with a kick to his ribs from Feyd. The hit causes a direct injury Rabban falls to the ground in pain.

Feyd stands over his older brother enjoying watching him gasp and struggle to breathe from the harsh blow. “For the embarrassment you have caused the Harkonnen name on Arrakis you should be kissing my feet not insulting me brother.” Feyd hisses. ”Now that I am set to be Baron” Feyd pauses and steps his foot next to his brothers head. “Kiss or Die” Feyd commands as he kneels over him.

Rabban hesitates to kiss Feyds boot. He is overcome with humiliation that his younger brother is superior to him in every way possible. Rabban does however feel the shame weighing on him of weakening yet another family legacy.

He reluctantly turns his head and kisses Feyds boot in reverence. “We are even now brother ” Feyd asserts standing tall. “Come let’s go see uncle” Feyd leads the way back into the fortress as Rabban follows clutching his ribs

Clever Boy

Feyd and Rabban stand on either side of the Barons bed in the medical wing. The healers have determined he does not have a contagious disease, but his body is heavily contaminated with toxins. They do a skin test but find no reaction from contact. The poison they fail to find has already metabolized in his system.

The Baron is attached to a breathing apparatus. An intravenous mechanism pumps opium to control the pain. His fat body looks even weightier on the normal size medical bed hovering in place. His fingers are decorated with opulent silver rings, the remnants of Feyds birthday celebration. His hands rest across his chest.

“What happened to him why does he look so …purple?” Rabban asks out of curiosity. “Strange disease perhaps” Feyd says casually.

“What if he was POISONED?!!” Rabban yells as he continues to unravel the mystery “It looks like the effects of the dried root plant from Arrakis, there is no mistaking that purple color!” His eyes widen in fear as he clutches his chest.

Feyds impressed his thick brother even narrowed it down to the right plant. “Who would poison our dear sweet beloved uncle? Feyd asks with a mocked concern. “Whoever it is I WILL KILL THEM!” Rabban yells and lifts a medical table tossing it across the room. It crashes into a wall contents scattering across the floor.

The guards rush in and check for the immediate danger only to see Rabban falling to his knees wailing as he clutches his head. Feyd signals them to leave.

Rabban drags on his knees to the bedside of his uncle and grabs his purple hued hand “UNCLE OH WHY !YOU ARE OUR ONLY FATHER YOU HAVE RAISED US TO—” his wailing is cut short by Feyd pulling him up gently by his shoulders “You mustn't touch him too long remember? Diseases?” Feyd says hastily.

Rabban snarls in disgust looking at his hands and runs to the room basin scrubbing them furiously. “Good boy” Feyd says with a grin as he approaches him. His brother may be a raging maniac but he doesn’t want to risk him dead.

Feyd checks the vials of decontaminants. “This one should work much better” Feyd says handing Rabban a solvent that neutralizes toxins. “Thank you brother” Rabban says looking to him graciously.

Rabban was Feyds only childhood companion. Feyd out smarted him ruthlessly at every turn to gain favor from his uncle. Whatever bond they had was broken once the Baron pitted them against each other for his favor.

Feyd noticed how his uncle always underestimated Rabban. Without the pressure of failure Rabban’s nerves would decrease and his rage would cool. He could work effectively, but under pressure Rabban would crack every time. If he could keep Rabban calm during stressful events he would be an unstoppable force.

After Rabban scrubs his hands. He suddenly drops to his knees in front of Feyd. “Feyd I pledge my life to your service you are the future Baron of Giedi prime. I will do everything in my power to serve your reign, I will die for you brother” he says almost in tears.

Feyd slaps the back of his bald brothers head “Get up I know, come meet my Baroness pregnant with my heir” he says hiding away his contentment.

As Feyd and Rabban leave the Baron stirs with a wheeze he was only pretending to sleep. The opium dulls his pain but not enough. He listens intently whenever he hears an important visitor will be arriving . He knows his death is imminent and he spies to confirm his suspicions and loyalties.

‘The cold calculated Feyd Rautha will inherit the throne after all just as I foretold’ the Baron thinks to himself pleased. He lets out a weak startled cough coming to a realization. ‘Ah the cleverness of the boy.’ He sighs. The Baron realizes exactly who poisoned him and why. He presses a button to alert his mentant .

Tumultuous Family

You are sitting in a spacious open viewing room overlooking the large center fortress courtyard. Resting in a chair you enjoy a new book from Feyd ‘The Barons of Giedi Prime.’

Feyd wraps his knuckle at the large open door and you look up from your book and smile. Feyd is standing with a much larger imposing man dressed in Harkonnen military armor. You recognize him from the meeting hall portrait.

As they approach you put your book down and stand to greet them “My brother Rabban this is my wife and Baroness” Feyd says eyeing you with pride. Rabban looks slack jawed.

You are a healthy beautifully shaped woman with radiant skin and full head of hair. Your eyes and confidence immediately intimidate him. He was expecting a pale bald tamed Giedi Prime woman he can not contain his shock.

“Baroness you are stunning. I had no idea my brother could have a wife as beautiful as you are. I pray to the ancient ways the future heir will inherit your striking resemblance. You are like sunshine brightening a gray sky, your beautiful body will grow a healthy child. I am honored you will bear a Harkonnen, you… “ Feyd firmly grabs Rabbans shoulder to stop his unfiltered ramblings about your looks.

“What he is trying to say is congratulations” Feyd interjects. Rabban is already lost in thought transfixed by the thought that you are pregnant with an unborn.

He stares at your abdomen then back to your eyes “May I touch?” he asks reaching to your womb in fascination. Before you can even utter a word Feyd yanks him back full force “You do not touch what is mine brother” he snaps angrily.

Rabban bows his head respectfully and Feyd coldly gestures him to leave. Rabban exits the room quietly and shuts the door behind him. The silence is deafening after the interaction.

Feyd goes to your reading table and pours himself a water to drink. He sits and you join him. After a few moments of silence he formulates a way of giving you a piece of what you’ve been yearning for. His tumultuous family history.

“My older brother Rabban though vastly different from me is in fact related to me by blood.” He says with a contemplative smirk. “He was so unfit as a son my parents hastily sought to have another” you almost question his statement as vanity until you see he’s serious.

You decide to pry now that he has opened the conversation to his parents. Especially being tormented about his mothers death being matricide. “So you were your mother’s favorite?” you ask gently.

“My mother didn’t have a favorite, she didnt love any of us. She did as she was told. She was a Bene Gesserit” your stomach pulls in apprehension at his cruel inflection of the word.

“Rabban came out ….differently , obviously not the superior son they were expecting. After him there were several failed pregnancies. My father began having my mother pumped full of hormonal drugs. One cluster of drugged cells finally developed into a fertile embryo… and here I am” he sets his empty cup down tracing his finger around the rim to distract himself from his own painful admission.

Realizing his mother was a Bene Gesserit entails Feyd was rarely nurtured or loved. As a Bene Gesserit you do not attach to your child in love because it is considered to detract from the order. You are a vessel that serves a greater purpose and may need to lie or even harm your child to lead it to the path that aligns with the order.

Feyd slumps down in his chair and folds his hands. You see his deadened eyes lost in the complexities of a traumatic memory. You come and sit on his lap. He allows you space and you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his head. He reaches around your waist clinging to you as he still stares off into the space of the courtyard.

You press a kiss onto his forehead transferring feelings of love into his mind as you caress your fingers at his temple. He relaxes instantly closing his eyes and resting against your bosom. He feels safe as he presses his cheek along your breasts loving the comfort and warmth.

The way you nurture him so lovingly always causes maddening thoughts to form in his mind. He doesn’t understand why he must corrupt something so good but he has already set in motion a way to satisfy his newfound dark desire. “Come let’s prepare for dinner with my brother. I will need him as an ally in the coming days” he says trying to shift his mind back to rational thought. He helps you to stand from his lap and you both leave to his chamber.

Liquid Lactation

Unbeknownst to you Feyd has been invested in the health of you and his unborn to an obsessive degree from the start. He assigned a Doulah who confirmed you were implanted with his unborn.

At the verification he immediately coerced her to be a spy for him without any limit to your privacy. She is loyal to her leader and reports all details to him without reservation. He was informed the unborn is smaller than expected but healthy. However the pregnancy was draining vast amounts of iron and minerals from your blood.

He immediately had the meal consultant switch your sustenance to iron rich and enhanced with trace minerals for your consumption. You are completely unaware but he notices you are not tired as often and your energy has returned.

Feyds newest dark desire is at the forefront of his mind each time you hug him or press your warm breasts against his face. He wants to drink milk from you. He withholds his small sounds of pleasure when he clings to you and your breasts press against his face. He wants nothing more than to escape into ecstasy with your warm milk spilling down his throat.

When he divulges his sick obsession to the doulah she only wants to accommodate him. She believes the underlying cause is severe maternal neglect. Maybe the maternal affection will heal him in some way.

When she informs him your milk will not be ready until the final month Feyd conveys he does not want to interfere with his unborns supply he wants to create his own for a short time.

She readily comes up with a solution to appease her Na Baron. She is able to track down a water soluable substance that will force your lactation for up to six hours.

It is used for bovines when the milk harvest decreases on Giedi Prime due to toxic conditions.

It will be completely safe for a pregnant human female at the correct dosage. He readily accepts the translucent liquid studying its contents in the vial with a grin of satisfaction on his face. A new emotions over takes his body that he can’t describe. He thinks it is joy.

Just The One

As you get dressed for dinner in the basin room he unclocks a secret compartment in his kink cabinet. He retrieves the hidden vial and slips it into his pocket. He plans to secretly drug you into lactation tonight and have his fill of milk.

Once you emerge fully dressed his eyes fall to seduction. You’ve worn your hair up and have on a dark crimson red gown with sleeves that rest at your shoulders. The gown is low cut and snatched to your curves. “My Baroness” he says alluringly caressing you all over the shimmering fabric.

He trails his fingers along your covered breasts leaning in and placing a heated kiss on your collar bone. The ornate necklace you wore to cover your love marks is quickly snatched from your neck by Feyd.

He sucks onto your skin forming even more bruises where he finds space. He steps back to admire you trailing his thumb along the marks that make a collar. He smiles in satisfaction taking your hand and leading you to dinner.

As you enter the dining hall it is a quiet affair just you Feyd and Rabban at the expansive dining table. The Lord in waiting and advisors are in a frenzy completing the decrees and changes necessary to instate Feyd as the new Baron while his uncle lays dying.

Feyd sits at the head with you to his left and his brother to his right. The food arrives and is placed in front of each of you. You look at down at your plate to see your third serving of seared bovine meat with root vegetables of the day. You begin eating the vegetables first.

Feyd slips the lactation liquid into your drink with inherent skill. It goes unnoticed by all. He slides the vial in his sleeve and continues reaching for your knife cutting up your meat for you.

As you innocently take a sip from your glass Feyd wickedly smirks, his eyes glinting with delight. Realizing his ‘bovine Baroness‘ will be producing milk for him tonight hardens his cock. He palms himself under the table at the mere thought.

During the dinner Feyds attentions are focused entirely on you. His brother Rabban eats and rambles about the subservient ‘rats’ on Arrakis that he hunts and kills daily to protect the spice harvesters and the ever elusive rat leader Muad'Dib.

Feyd watches you finally empty your glass and hums to himself with a naughty smirk. He slips the empty vial from his sleeve placing it hidden under the ledge of his plate. You look over at him and smile your brows raise in curiosity due to his mischievous mood for the evening.

Rabban continues rambling and changes the topic one more time to himself before finally asking:

“How many children do you plan to have with my brother Baroness? How many nieces and nephews will I see running through the Harkonnen halls “ he smiles to you as he takes a bite and chews his dinner awaiting your numbered response.

Feyd finally pays attention.

You look up surprised and completely caught off guard by the question. You have not been initiated by the Bene Gesserit to have more than one. With the specialty of this child you realize all of your focus and energy will go into instructing the child in the ways on your own.

Once an adolescent the child will be warded by the Reverend Mother who will advance the inherited skills of the genetically supreme child to surpass all of the Bene Gesserits.

Feyd knows none of these limitations.

“I would like to focus all of my attention and energy on just the one” you answer honestly.

You glance over to confirm with Feyd and instead see defeat in his eyes.

It would give him no greater joy than to have several children with you. Growing up with only one tyrannical brother he wished he had other siblings.

Finding out you only want one is even more difficult for him to accept. It awakens the barbarian in his blood. He will get you pregnant as many times as possible. He smirks to himself how could you even deny him when he’s pinning you down thrusting you full of his seed.

Once the meal is completed and the table is cleared you bid farewell to Rabban. After walking only a few paces from the dining hall Feyds desires overtake him and he can not contain his sexual urges on the long walk to his chamber.

He pulls you into an empty darkened state room. It is reserved for hosting large banquets. Six stone pillars support the large atrium in the enormous space He pushes you against the nearest pillar kissing you hard as he unbuckles his pants and steps out of them.

He bunches your dress up to your hips as his fingers reach between your legs finding your panties and pulling them to the side. He presses his chest against you and pushes his fingers into your mouth. His panting grows heavier as he collects your saliva and pushes it into you folds.

Before you can even think he thrusts himself inside of you . He sheaths himself all the way to the hilt. You cling to him and moan into his ear as he lifts your legs around him and presses his hips between yours.

He holds your body up with his and begins fucking you against the pillar. You are moaning as he continues to rail you against the beam. He stares at your neck and sucks more bruises, the pain almost unbearable from his double markings on your tender neck.

You are overwhelmed by the intensity of his thrusts wracking through your body. You almost beg for mercy until your clit begins to throb as your nipples harden against your gown. You become so wet as he continues passionately thrusting it begins to feel pleasurable. He stares into your eyes conveying his wild unyielding love for you.

You love him too. You panic at the overwhelming intrusion of the thought and try to change your mind. You close your eyes to enjoy the carnal pleasure instead. His voice regains your attention “ look at me”’ he commands.

You open your eyes, as you do he presses his chest to yours and thrusts his cock its deepest inside of you throbbing your core. You cry out from the sensation of him fully sheathed inside of you. His eyes gaze unto yours full of his undying love for you.

It sends a chill all over your body. You become so aroused you wrap your arms around his neck and cling onto him, your face is pressed to his shoulder. He re-grips higher under your thighs and plows his cock into you against the pillar. Your moans in unison fill and echo throughout the giant space.

As you orgasm he cums with you. Your walls milk his cock as he spills his seed. His grunts against your neck soften as his thrusts grow weaker. He stays stilled inside of you panting and looking back into your eyes uncertain if he should describe to you what he’s feeling.

He removes his cock as he settle you to the ground. As you both redress he speaks up “I will want more than one child with you.” He asserts.

It makes you go mute you know the order may never approve of this and you turn away from him not knowing what to say.

“Why do you mock me with your silence woman?“ he says with concern. “Because we have not even had the first” you admit “Then I want seven” he says pulling you closer, holding the back of your neck.

He places his hand over your heart “You will be a good mother” he says tenderly looking into your eyes “How do you know if someone will be a good mother” you ask naively.

You look and see the anguish you’ve caused to form on his face remembering his childhood. You quickly shush him pulling him closer wrapping your arms around him. You caress his back as he works through his pain.

After a moment of silence you try and cheer him up “Maybe you can tell I will be a good mother because of the way your uncle hates me so” you say sweetly. Feyd grins menacingly “he will will learn to accept you …or he will die.”

Bovine Baroness

As you study your body in the mirror, you notice your breasts have doubled in size. You turn to the side cupping them to be sure. Your pregnancy hasn’t even begun to show.

With confusion on your face you cover in Feyds black robe tying the waist as you return to him in his chamber. He is sitting up in bed waiting for you. As you settle next to him he peeks over at your enlarged breasts and maddeningly craves for them.

He pats his lap and you come to him. He easily pulls you to straddle him. He sees the concerned look on your face “What worries you?” he asks. He can already guess as he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

You just bring his hands to cup your prominent chest. His entire body caves in as he smiles lustfully without giving away his intentions. The lactation liquid is taking effect and he’s going to milk you dry.

He slowly parts open your robe exposing your full breasts. His cock hardens beneath you from the sight. He tries to contain his heavy breathing.

He slowly cups your swollen breasts in his hands “There is milk inside” He says breathlessly feeling how they’ve grown heavier. “But it’s too soon“ you confess. “Well go see your Doulah in the morning” he says absentmindedly.

You see his breathing increasing even more, his eyes transfixed on your chest. He purposely kneads your soft full breasts in his hands. He pulls you closer and presses his face into each one softly caressing his cheek against them. The scorching heat of your skin warms his face. His length hardens solid

“Disrobe for me” he commands. He is near salivating wanting to drink from you.

You rise into a kneel and pull your robe from your shoulders. He grips the sheet on his lap bringing it down and releasing his firm standing cock. It slaps against his abs before settling straight.

He grabs your waist and pulls you close until your entrance is hovering directly above his cock. With your breasts in his face he squeezes them together in his hands “such a good mommy look at all this milk” he says softly peering up at you.

You feel so aroused by him and yet confused why your body is creating milk at this time. Your core aches for him. You watch as he opens his wanting mouth and sucks your nipple inside.

Your walls clench involuntarily as shocks of pleasure run down your spine. Your breasts are so full they tingle as your nipple hardens in his mouth. It sends chills all over your body as his warm mouth sucks you so gently. You feel his teeth graze onto the tender flesh making you softly moan.

He releases one and goes to the other sucking it in his mouth and tenderly biting down on the bud. “Feyd it feels so good“ is all you can say. “I haven’t even started yet” he says peeking up at you through his lashes with a smirk played on his lips.

He places your hands where his neck meets his broad shoulders. He begins squeezing and kneading your breasts a second time. He sucks them hard until your nipples are so taught they feel like they will burst.

All of his sucks and licks send shocks directly to your core. Your folds are soaked for him. He places his hands on your hips and pulls you down slowly penetrating you onto his large cock. He’s harder than ever as he pierces through your walls. Once you settle on the base you gasp and hold tighter to the back of his neck.

He leans in and presses his lips to your throat placing small kisses across the front. He grips your thighs and guides you with his hands making you move filled with his cock. He stretches you open rocking you back and forth on his lap as you sweetly moan.

He places his hands under your thighs lifting you slightly before settling you back down on his length in a rhythm. Your walls throb each time you settle on the base of his cock. Your core pulls tighter as you give into him lost in pleasure.

He parts his legs wider and slowly pushes his cock up inside of you as you settle down on him. You moan out his name as your mind goes fuzzy. You tilt your head back in satisfaction as you form a new rhythm working into each other until you both start panting.

As you grind slowly onto each other you let out sounds of pleasure in tandem. He watches your face in ecstasy as you make love to him. You moan in the air louder when he thrusts into you slightly harder. The smacks of his skin to yours growing louder with his increased stamina.

Your tits begin to leak due to your arousal and you look down stunned. He stops his thrusts as warm droplets pitter off your nipples onto his abs and into his lap. You are making a mess all over him you try to get up but Feyd holds your hips down firmly.

A shiver runs down your spine seeing the psychotic look in his eyes. This is what his depraved mind has been waiting for, his pupils slowly expand to black.

He goes insane and lunges his mouth onto your breast latching to your nipple. He cups your breast and whimpers as he sucks and his mouth begins filling with your warm milk.

He think he is dreaming as soft whines emit from his throat. He takes swallow after swallow wetly sucking milk out of you. Feyd releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop and tilts his head back gasping.

A deep guttural moan emits from his throat as his cock twitches inside of you. He tilts his head up hungry for more and grabs your other nipple pulling it into his mouth. He makes pathetic whimpering moans as he suckles from you. He begins to powerfully fuck you thrusting his cock up inside if you as he nurses. He wants to suck you dry as he refills you with his cum.

His sucking becomes sloppier as he thrusts into you with wild abandon. He isn’t focused on anything his cock and mouth are being too satisfied at the same time.

Your clit swells and throbs as you become so wet you are soaking his lap. You let out moans he sucks and fucks into you. He switches and latches on your other nipple again.

His teeth are tugging on you as he nurses. He’s becoming violent sucking your nipple harder and wanting more. You cradle the back of his head to calm him and he lets out a sickly little moan. You slowly rock back and forth on his cock with his thrusts “Feyd I’m going to cum” you cry out.

He swallows his last mouthful completely draining your breasts of milk. His body trembles and tenses as he lets out a range of deep moans. You cradle his head to your chest as his cock ejaculates inside of you. You orgasm sliding up and down on him milking his cock hard. He clings to you with his eyes shut tight as you ride through your orgasms together.

You slow to a still in his lap both of you panting heavily. His body twitch’s and you caress your hand on the parts of him that spasm involuntarily. He had a mental overload of emotions. You look into his dazed out eyes down to the milk that still covers his chin and his chest. You want to clean him.

You carefully slide him out of you and climb off of his lap. He lays down wearily he can hardly keep his eyes open he reaches his hand for you and trails his thumb down your jaw “my bovine baroness” he says with a milk drunk smile. You smile back at him and stroke his temple.

You leave his side to collect a cloth. When you return he is laying peacefully asleep. You clean him of all or your milk dabbing his mouth and his chin softly. His face is so soft and angelic lips curved in a smile eyes shifting in a dream.

You pat the cloth down his abs and cock. Once he is clean you climb into bed behind him and place your arm over his ribs pulling him against you cuddling your face to his back. You quickly fall into a deep sleep.

Long Live the Baron

Feyd awakens from a nightmare he sits up in bed in the dark breathing heavily in a light sheen of sweat. It wasn’t the usual sex dream of you. In this nightmare you were screaming being taken away from him by force.

He quickly reaches and checks you are by his side. Feeling your soft warm skin under his hand he lays and presses a kiss to your neck. He loves you with a newfound ferocity after drinking from you. He pulls you closer to him and rests with his head at the back of yours inhaling your scent trailing his fingers through your hair. His heart rate returns to normal with you in his arms and he rests his eyes.

There is a sudden sharp knock at the door making Feyd sit up. He doesn’t answer he waits for his Page to intercept. Once his Page collects the message he speaks through the door knowing Feyd is a light sleeper and will already be awake. “m’Lord It is your uncle you must come to his chamber at once” his page relays.

Feyd gets dressed in his traditional Harkonnen attire. A plain black uniform with chest pockets and a high collar. He knows the outcome of this urgent request. He kneels next to you sleeping, and plants a kiss on your temple. He places his hand on your womb to his unborn. This is the moment he has waited his entire life for he leaves his chambers heart racing with adrenaline.

He is brought to the Barons main chamber and enters a somber scene. All twelve of the Barons advisors and his Mentat with their heads low surrounding the bed of the clearly deceased Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. He is dressed in traditional black attire clutching the Harkonnen crest at his chest. Feyds brother Rabban is trying to remain stoic but every so often his sniffling can be heard.

Feyds newly appointed Lord in waiting makes the announcement “Siridar Vladimir Harkonnen is dead, long live the Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen“

“LONG LIVE BARON FEYD RAUTHA HARKONNEN!” They all chant bowing in reverence to Feyd.

His breathing increases as his eyes dance wildly. He glances around the room at all the advisors and his brother bowing to him. Seeing his uncles dead lifeless corpse in the back ground he feels the elation rising in his chest. This is real, his honor fulfilled he is now the reigning Baron of Geidi Prime. He has a maniacal look in his eyes as the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile.

Next Chapter->

Feyd Fantasy Part 5 Endless Empire (Series Finale💜) Plot =Baron Feyd | Feyd Supremacy | Harkonnen Heir

Special thanks warranted for following the series this far so happy to entertain you 😭🎉 anon requests for part 5 fic are closed TBA soon☺️

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[transformers-spike]

I've been observing the TFP baby saga for a while, and as someone who knows more about boobs than she should I bring up a thing.

Would the babies between Y/N and the Transformers need to be breastfed? Would they even know about breastfeeding as a concept? Soundwave would probably know about it, but I'm sure the others might not.

I will inflict tiddy knowledge upon ye again.

Ohhh boyyy - first we have these two posts regarding it: Megatron and general polycule

Short answer: for shits and giggle we're gonna say yes. The babies are being breastfed before transitioning to energon. Honestly, if we go for a general "who would know about it and who wouldn't" - we have this: Megatron has some vague knowledge of humans feeding their young (and this is only because he's hyperfixating on breeding his human). Otherwise, he likes watching because it calms him. Just the beauty of his human feeding his sparkling. Helps distract him from the war, if only for a bit Knock Out knows humans produce milk but that's because he's been looking up weird porn. His initial reaction is ew - because those were his tits and he refuses to touch them now that his child has put its mouth all over them. I actually think he'd be curious if he finds out about how antibodies and how the body adapts to the baby's state. Gross tho (he will still touch the tiddies bc he cannot resist)

Starscream claims he's disgusted by it, but he's actually fascinated by the process. Something something being a food source and a caretaker to your child. Except you catch him staring at you from across the room. Bro just come over and hangout, why are you being weird about it? Breakdown has no idea why his sparkling's gnawing on his chassis Soundwave and Shockwave have done more research. Soundwave because he's the only one capable of being a parent, and Shockwave because he's actively researching how human/cybertronian hybrids function. Dreadwing had no idea this was a thing - so he's just watching you breastfeed his child like ????? On the surface, he's very respectful and careful with you. Inside, he's hurting. That's his child. You're feeding his child. He's unable to cope with everything, now he has a new kin and he's desperate to protect it from the world

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 8

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings/Disclaimers: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, breastfeeding, swearing, angst, tears, references to drinking, sadness, references to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, adults doing sneaky things, references to babies

San Diego, California, almost 12 years ago

Buttercup slowly rocked in her chair, the slight breeze from the open window fluttering the pale-yellow curtains that she had hung so carefully while Jake had been deployed. Of course, he had lost his ever-loving shit when he had come home to find the nursery half decorated and the furniture half built, but the hour-long lecture about taking it easy during pregnancy and not doing any heavy lifting had been worth it.

The nursery was exactly as she had pictured it, once Jake had finished building the furniture and Javy and Bob had finished painting the walls the pale-yellow she had chosen. The mural of pink and purple butterflies she had painted on the wall looked so perfect behind the dark cherry wood cribs, and the colours perfectly matched the crib bedding she had ordered.

She had poured her heart and soul into decorating the nursery, their forever home…and now she was leaving it. Her bags were packed and stacked by the door. She was just waiting for Jake to return with Abby so they could go their separate ways.

Buttercup sniffled as she looked down at the tiny baby suckling on her breast. “I hope you know that I would take you both with me in a heartbeat if I could,” she whispered down to her sweet Charlie. “But we have to be fair. And…” she choked back a sob. “Your sister needs me more than you do right now.”

Abby’s weight had been dropping steadily in the weeks since the divorce had been finalized, and Buttercup’s doctor thought that the stress of it all had been affecting her milk supply, and so had recommended switching Charlie to formula so that Abby could absorb all the extra nutrients she needed. Therefore, when the judge had agreed to their abnormal custody arrangement, Buttercup had made the difficult decision to take Abby, leaving Jake with all the pumped breastmilk she had stored so that Charlie wouldn’t have to transition to formula right away.

Still, the decision had nearly broken her, as much as the decision to divorce her husband had.

“I’ll see you again soon,” she whispered as Charlie released her. Buttercup lifted her daughter onto her shoulder and patted her back. “As soon as your dad’s schedule calms down a little and I get settled in my new home, we’ll start figuring out how to share custody, okay? But I promise you, Charlie. I love you and I will miss you so much.” Buttercup’s shoulders heaved with the effort it took not to break down into sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. You don’t deserve any of this happening to you. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work. I’m sorry I can’t take both of you. I…I’m so sorry.”

Buttercup snuggled Charlie closer and gently rocked, willing time to either slow down or just stop. It was moments like this that made her second guess every decision she had made in her life. Feelings of failure and shame washed over her as easily as the ocean washed over the sand in the distance. She had failed the sweet little girl in her arms and her sister. They both had.

Buttercup didn’t know how much time had passed before a low cough broke her concentrated view on the ocean in the distance.

Jake stood with a sleeping Abby in his arms, shadows of grief and longing painting his face. “Hey…”

All the words she wanted to say pressed against lips, but she was able to squeeze out a small, “Hey,” in reply without breaking down.

“She…she’s all ready,” Jake murmured, his falling to the infant in his arms.

“So is she,” Buttercup whispered. “All the milk I pumped is in the fridge, and…and her favourite blanket is in her crib. She…” Buttercup bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t let herself cry in front of him, not again. Not ever again.

“I know,” Jake saved her, nodding at the list pinned to the corkboard. “You wrote it all down for me.”

As though moving through quicksand, Buttercup stood and waded towards him. With practiced, ease they switched babies, Abby now content in her mother’s arms and Charlie in her father’s.

“Hey…maybe we could—”

Buttercup shook her head, her eyes trained on Charlie’s sleeping face. If she met those green eyes of his, she’d fall apart for sure.

“No…we can’t.”

Somehow, she knew Jake was nodding. “Right…we can’t.”

Buttercup’s lips trembled but she refused to break. “I guess we’ll be in touch about custody…”

Jake sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be in touch.”

“O-okay…goodbye, Jake.”

Heaviness hung over both of them, the weight of everything they were leaving unsaid sitting like a leaden cloud. “Goodbye, Buttercup.”

London, England, Now

When Charlie awoke the next morning, it was to a growing sense of relief mixed with absolute dread. Relief because she wasn’t holding onto this huge dark secret that had been taking up the majority of her brain power. Uncle Bob knew. He knew and he wasn’t upset. He loved her despite her not being Abby. He loved her despite not seeing her for almost 12 years. He held her and let her cry, then ate ice cream with her and talked about her life in Texas, all the questions she’d been wanting to ask pouring from her lips like some sort of waterfall. Bob knew her secret and still loved her. In fact, he’d known the whole time, but Mom didn’t know. And he wasn’t going to tell her.

That’s where the dread came in. Telling mom. She wasn’t worried that Mom wouldn’t love her once she found out that she wasn’t Charlie, but she was worried about her reaction. Would she cry? How would she react if her Mom started crying right in front of her? What if she was angry at them for doing something so reckless? Charlie didn’t know if she could handle her mom being angry with her. What if she blamed her father? Dad hadn’t known anything about this plan and, according to Abby at least, he was completely clueless about the switch, but if their divorce had been so bad that they had to put an ocean between them, who could say if Mom would get irrationally angry at Dad for letting this happen? Even though Charlie had mixed feelings about her dad and uncles lately, she wouldn’t be able to sit there and listen to her Dad be dragged through the dirt by her Mom. However, she had promised Bob that she would tell her, and she always kept her promises.

Charlie yawned and stretched and rolled out of bed, stopping to get dressed and grab her phone, where a notification from Abby was waiting.

A: Rooster knows.

Charlie’s heart stuttered in her chest.

C: WHAT? HOW?

A: Your stupid horse gave me away. You didn’t tell me she was so skittish.

Crap. She’d known she’d forgotten something, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about Lovebug being bonded to her and only her. Dad and Javy had a hard time getting close to her sometimes.

C: Crap. Sorry!

A: It’s okay. He said my lack of football knowledge and my vocabulary gave me away too. But he’s not going to tell Dad.

C: He’s not?

A: Yeah, he said it would be more fun for him to mess with Dad.

Charlie took a deep breath. At least there was that. Javy might have been willing to tell Dad because the two had been best friends since they were kids, so Rooster was the better person to find out anyway.

C: Okay…well, Bob found out too.

A: Oh no!

C: Turns out I’m not very convincing. He figured me out at the airport…in Buffalo.

A: What’s he going to do?

C: He said he wasn’t going to tell Mom…but that I have to.

A: Okay. When are you going to?

C: Today

A: So soon? What if she wants us to switch back?

Charlie frowned, a plan slowly taking form in her mind.

C: That wouldn’t be so bad. We could meet at a hotel in Texas and have them fall back in love with each other there?

A: And Savannah?

Charlie rolled her eyes.

C: I don’t know. But Dad can’t possibly be happy with her. Once he sees Mom again, the engagement will be off, and we’ll get to be a family again.

A: And if that doesn’t work?

C: We’ll figure it out. Together.

That’s what Uncle Bob had said. That they’d figure everything out together. Whether or not their parents fell back in love with each other, they wouldn’t be on their own to figure out a solution to their problems.

A: Okay. Tell me if Mum wants to talk to me?

C: I will…love you

A: Love you too

Charlie tucked her phone away and went downstairs, finding Bob drinking his coffee, dressed in an old Top Gun t-shirt and sweatpants, and Natasha, lounging on the couch, still in her pajamas.

“Good morning, everyone,” the slight British lilt that she had been practicing quavered as Bob met her eyes over the rim of his mug.

“Hey kid,” Nat greeted, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

Bob gently placed his mug down and came over to greet her with a hug. “Sleep well?” he whispered into her hair.

“Better. A lot better after talking to you,” she admitted, relaxing into the hug. “Are you not working today?”

He shook his head, straightening to his full height. “It’s my day off anyway, but I cancelled my plans. Figured you might want some emotional support, so I’ll be here if you need me.”

Charlie squeezed her arms around him, the same way she did with her dad or uncles whenever she was overwhelmed by the way they always had her back.

“Thanks, Uncle Bob,” she whispered, the lilted accent in her voice dropping away for a moment.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Nat sat up and stared at them over the back of the couch.

Charlie’s eyes shot to Bob’s, but he nodded reassuringly. “Nat should probably know, right? And you can see it as a sort of…rehearsal for telling your mom.”

Gulping, Charlie nodded and turned, squaring her shoulders.

“You two are acting so weird. Is someone dying?” Nat placed her bowl down and stood, coming around to stand in front of her. “Abby, doll, you know you can tell me anything. What is with all the whispering?”

Charlie took a deep breath and looked into her aunt’s eyes, ignoring the clouding and the scar that had stolen her aunt’s career and part of her vision.

“…I’m not,” she replied in a shaky breath.

“You’re not what? Dying? That’s good to know, kid, but I kinda figured.”

“No…I’m not A-Abby,” Charlie swallowed hard.

Nat’s brows furrowed, the silvery scar jumping slightly. “Of course you are,” Nat shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. You’re Abby. You have to be Abby. If you’re not Abby, then you’re…”

Bob stepped closer and put his hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

“I’m what?” Charlie’s throat felt like it was closing up as Nat knelt down so they were eye to eye, her good eye furiously racing over her features as though trying to detect the truth.

“Charlie?” her aunt whispered, looking up to Bob for confirmation as Charlie nodded hesitantly. “Holy shit…Charlie?”

“Language, Nat,” Bob admonished with a chuckle as Charlie was swept off her feet into a bear hug that left her ribs aching and her heart singing.

“Oh, fuck off!” Nat placed Charlie on her feet and whirled around to meet her former partner. “You knew and you didn’t tell me? How long have you known? How long has he known?”

“I always knew,” Bob said with a shrug, retreating behind the kitchen counter as Nat advanced on him.

“Always…always knew? You mean you’ve known this entire freaking time? And you didn’t tell me? What the hell, Robert?”

Bob winced slightly. “I figured it wasn’t my secret to tell. And could you keep your voice down, please? My sister doesn’t know yet.”

“Your sist…Buttercup doesn’t know?” Nat gaped at them both. “Okay, we are sitting down right now, and you are telling me the whole story. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” uncle and niece sat on the couch, their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.

Nat sat in the armchair across from them and folded her arms. “Speak.”

“Before I do,” blurted Charlie. “Where’s mom?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Apparently, she dreamt up a solution to her plot problem and just had to write it down while it was fresh. She’s been at it since 4 a.m., and I don’t see her coming down any time soon.”

“Okay…” Charlie took a deep breath and launched into the story: being sent to Penny’s camp, meeting Abby and immediately disliking her, the shoving match that led to them being sent to the brig, finding the photos from Las Vegas, Amelia telling them about their parents’ marriage, and, finally, their brilliant idea to switch places so they could meet their missing parent. “We plan on telling them the truth at the end of the week and refusing to switch back unless they meet in person.”

Nat studied her, brow furrowed and eyes never leaving her face. “What are you two hoping to achieve with this?”

Charlie bit her thumb nail and shrugged. “Best case scenario? They figure out a better custody arrangement so I’ll still get to see mom and Abby can still see dad. Dream scenario?” Charlie blushed. “Mom and dad fall back in love and we won’t need a custody arrangement at all.”

Natasha shook her head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but I don’t think that dream is gonna come true. Even getting a better custody arrangement would be really difficult. Sure, there’s no global pandemic to contend with now, but trying to line up visitation while your dad runs the risk of getting deployed would make it—”

“Dad’s not getting deployed anymore,” Charlie interrupted. “He—”

“Okay, so he got promoted enough so that he’s not going to be called away from home to deal with a crisis. And trust me, there’s always some crisis or another that’ll keep your dad away from San Diego.”

“We don’t live in San Diego, Auntie Nat.”

Nat stopped rambling and looked at her. “Okay then, where do you live?”

“On the ranch in Texas with Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy.”

Bob leaned forward. “Javy and Rooster live with you too?”

“Yeah, they retired from the Navy the same day you did. How do you guys not know this? Didn’t you keep in touch with anyone from the Dagger Squad? Mickey or Reuben or Kally?” Charlie stared at them, aghast. She’d always assumed that the members of the Dagger Squad had kept in touch with each other, even if Uncle Bob and Natasha had become mom’s support system after the divorce, same as Javy and Rooster had become dad’s.

They both slowly shook their heads. “We, uh…we kind of lost contact with everyone after we left the Navy,” Bob replied. “It all happened so fast, Charlie. We were given the option of retiring or moving on to a different unit, and that was that.”

“But why? I thought you guys were a team? A family? That’s what Aunt Penny always says! How could you just lose touch with them?”

“Because it was too damn hard, that’s why,” Natasha bit out, an unreadable look in her eyes. “Because I didn’t want to hear about them flying missions and hitting me with the “Sorry, Phoenix, but it’s classified” line whenever I ask about their work, if I ever asked about their work. Because I didn’t want their damn pity. Because it was hard enough being a female pilot, but almost losing my eye and being grounded? That was damn near unbearable.”

Charlie shrank back in her seat and nodded. “Oh…sorry.”

Bob placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really. Sometimes it’s just easier to say goodbye and let everyone go their separate ways instead of trying to hang onto something that’s not there anymore. I tried to reach out to a few people on the team, including your dad, but they were either always deployed or their numbers weren’t reachable or their numbers had changed. That’s what happens sometimes, kiddo. That’s just life.”

Charlie bit her lip, the question she had been longing to ask pushing against her lips until she finally asked, “So…that’s what happened? It’s not that you didn’t want me? It’s that you couldn’t reach my dad?”

Bob wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Nat slid onto the couch cushion next to her, the two of them pulling her into a hug.

“Of course we wanted you, Charlie,” Nat whispered. “We missed you like crazy, kid.”

Bob pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Your mom wanted you too. And she’s going to be so happy when she finds out you’re here.”

Charlie pulled away and chanced a glance over the back of the couch towards the stairs. “I…I should go tell her.”

Bob nodded. “Yeah, kiddo. You should. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Charlie stood and Natasha jabbed an elbow into Bob’s gut. “You mean, we’ll be right here if you need us.”

Charlie grinned as Bob rubbed his stomach. “Thanks guys.”

She turned and faced the stairs, feeling like her stomach was somewhere near her feet. Then, she started to climb.

Charlie stood outside her mother’s bedroom, hand poised to knock, but her stomach was still living somewhere near her feet and her hand was shaking so badly that she was afraid that she would miss the door completely when she tried to knock.

Everything was happening so quickly. Just last month, she had been an only child on a ranch full of men. Now, she was a twin with three uncles and an aunt and, most importantly, two parents who loved and wanted her. Or so Bob and Natasha had said. She knew that they loved her, but the fear that her mother would end up rejecting her was so strong that it made her want to run out of the house and hide somewhere. But she couldn’t. She had promised Bob and Natasha and besides that, she didn’t want to live somewhere she wasn’t accepted for who she was. So, if mom rejected her, she would happily go back to Texas and live a happy ever after life with her family, who was clearly trying to protect her.

Nodding determinedly at the solution she had formulated in her head, she knocked quickly on the door and stuck her head in, spotting her mother folded into her writing chair.

“Hey babe,” Buttercup yawned, tilting her computer screen down. “Sorry I didn’t come down for breakfast. I thought I solved my issues; I had this whole dream about the solution. But the characters don’t want to listen to me. I swear, Abby, it makes me want to throw in the towel.”

Charlie fiddled with her fingers as she listened. The past few days, she had loved listening to her mother talk about her stories and how she teased out the plot points, but now she felt guilt and anxiety weigh on her heart. As much as she wanted to act tough, she desperately wanted her mother to love her for her, not because she thought she was Abby.

“Mom? Can we talk about something?”

In less than a second, she watched Buttercup go from author mode to mom mode. She stood, pulled her light cotton robe over her pajamas and stretched, putting a gentle hand between her shoulder blades and steering her towards the bed.

“Of course, Abby. Hop on up and we can talk about whatever you want.”

Buttercup propped herself up against the pillows and turned her body towards Charlie, who crawled into the left side of the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

“I…” To her horror, Charlie felt tears well up in her eyes. She slammed them shut before any could escape and felt her hands tremble.

The mattress shifted and warm arms encircled her before Buttercup spoke. “Abby, sweetheart, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I…I don’t want you to get mad,” Charlie whimpered into her mother’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s possible for me to get mad at you,” Buttercup hummed, pulling her close and rocking her gently side to side. “Remember when you accidentally kidnapped Mr. Tomkit’s cat? You were holding poor Shadow hostage in your closet and dressing him up for tea for three days before we found out. Did I get mad then?”

Charlie’s tears streamed down her face. “I…I don’t know,” she murmured truthfully. Abby had never shared that story with her.

“Of course I didn’t,” Buttercup replied in a soft voice. “You were only six. The point is, whatever happened, an accident or a mistake, we’ll figure it out like we always do, yeah? It’s you and me, sweetheart. It always has been, and we’ve managed well so far, haven’t we?”

“B-but what if this time makes you not love me anymore?” The question leapt forth before she could stop it, the question she had been both dying to ask and too afraid of hearing the answer.

Buttercup’s hands found Charlie’s shoulders and eased her away just enough to look in her eyes. “Abigail Juliet Floyd, nothing could ever make me not love you anymore. Nothing in this whole universe. You hear me?”

“But I’m not Abby! I’m Charlie!” she sobbed, her hands raising to cover her face. “Abby and I met at camp, and she really wanted to meet dad and I really wanted to meet you, so we swapped places!” To Charlie, it was as though everything had been frozen in time. She couldn’t hear the birds chirping outside her mother’s window or Auntie Nat’s trashy tv shows playing on the tv downstairs. Nothing moved and nothing sounded in the longest minute of Charlotte Delta Seresin’s life.

And then, those warm arms wrapped around her tightly and held her close. “My baby…my sweet Charlotte…”

Charlie flung her arms around her mother and buried her head in her neck, breathing in the hibiscus and jasmine perfume and feeling the soft silk of her mother’s pajamas under her cheek. “You’re not m-mad?” Charlie whispered.

She fought her hands not to cling to her mother as she pulled away, just far enough to look at her. “How could I be mad?” Charlie’s heart clenched at the sight of the pearly tears clinging to her mother’s cheeks. “It’s really you, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded meekly, tucking her feet up underneath her. “Abby taught me everything about her life while we were at camp. She wanted to meet dad so badly, and I always dreamed of meeting you. I was so scared to tell you because I was afraid you left me because you didn’t want me…”

Buttercup’s gentle fingers traced over her daughter’s features, sadness filling her eyes. “I’ve loved you and wanted you since before you were even born, Charlie,” she whispered. “I…I’m so sorry we failed you, love. It’s no excuse, but this was never supposed to be permanent. We just let time get away from us, I suppose. But please…you need to know that I missed you every single day, sweetpea. I love you so much.”

Charlie let herself relax into Buttercup’s arms, her tears slowing and her breathing steadying. “I love you too, mom.”

A few hours later, the three Floyds and their honorary fourth member sat clustered around Buttercup’s computer, a Zoom call open in front of them as they waited for the call to be answered.

“I still can’t believe you knew before I did. A mother is supposed to know her own children,” Buttercup worried her lower lip as she stared at Bob, on the other side of Charlie.

“In Charlie’s defence, she really pulled the act together once she got to the house,” Bob replied. “And in your defence, you do know your children. It might have just been too difficult for you to even try to rationalize that the girl in front of you might not be Abby.” Bob shot Buttercup a meaningful look as the dark screen in front of them suddenly filled with colour.

“Uncle Roo, you need to back up,” they heard Abby gripe. “They can only see your shirt right now.”

Rooster backed up and sat in a chair behind a desk, Abby perched next to him.

“Hey, old man,” Natasha teased.

Bradley huffed slightly, a light smile dancing across his face. “Hey yourself, Phoenix. Hey Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s face filled with fondness. “Hey Bradley, how are you?”

He shrugged as the pixels danced across the screen. “Can’t complain. How’s my girl? Ow! Sorry, Jesus. I mean, how’s my other girl?” he shot a glare at Abby, who grinned back at him.

“Hey Uncle Roo,” Charlie beamed at him through the camera. “Hey Abby!”

“Hey Charlie, hey Auntie Nat! Hey Uncle Bob, Charlie told me you figured it out right away!”

Bob nodded once and pushed his glasses up. “You’re one of a kind, Abby. No emulating it.”

“Damn, you figured it out right away?” Rooster whistled through his teeth. “It took me a couple of days to figure it out. You two never thought to teach your girl about American football? Javy thought she got a brain transplant at camp.”

Buttercup and Bob chuckled but Natasha remained suspiciously silent as Charlie filled them in on how life was in England and Abby filled them in on all the Texas goings on.

“…and dad’s engaged to this dreadful woman who wants to go wedding venue shopping on Saturday!” Abby groaned.

“Abby,” Buttercup admonished. “You just met this woman. Give her time to adjust. I’m sure it was quiet something when your father told her that his daughters had switched places.”

“Oh, well, actually…” Abby started.

“Yeah, she didn’t take it that great, Buttercup,” Bradley cut in, giving Abby a little nudge with his elbow. “Remember, kid?”

“Oh…uh…yeah. She didn’t take it that well at all.”

Charlie would blame the emotional day for the fact that her mother didn’t pick up on the strange behaviour behind the screen at all.

“So, give her some time, and she’ll…she’ll come around,” Buttercup gulped slightly and reached for her bottle of water.

“Yeah, I’m sure she will,” Rooster rolled his eyes. “Why don’t y’all come to Texas for the weekend? We’re stayin’ at some fancy hotel in Austin for the weekend while Savannah looks around at different venues. She wanted to make it a weekend getaway. But you guys should come so you and Hangman can figure out an arrangement that keeps these two from pulling a Trading Places again.”

Buttercup was chewing on her bottom lip again. “I…I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a wedding related trip. I wouldn’t feel comfortable crashing it.”

“You wouldn’t be crashing it,” Rooster replied. “Jake invited you. He wants to figure out a solution too, before the wedding.”

Buttercup sighed heavily, the breath tinged with sadness. “Yeah…yeah, that makes sense. Bob, can you—”

“I’ll clear my schedule so I can go with you, and I’ll book our flights there,” Bob replied, his phone already in his hand.

Buttercup smiled gratefully. “Natasha—”

“I’ll keep in contact with the old man and make sure we book the right hotel,” Natasha replied, fixing Rooster with a glare that would have paralyzed him if they were in the same time zone.

Buttercup sighed resignedly. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll all see you on Saturday.”

“See you then, Buttercup,” Rooster winked.

“Bye mum! I love you!”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Rooster whipped around as a voice rang out behind them. “Mum? Buttercup? Dude, what the hell is—”

“Gotta go, mum! Bye!” Abby shouted as she slammed the laptop screen down, cutting off the call.

“Well, that wasn’t ominous at all,” Natasha muttered.

Buttercup’s worried face reflected back at her on the darkened screen. “Oh god…what have I gotten myself into?”

Rooster glared at Javy. “Nice going, dipshit.”

“What? Me? Who the hell were you talking to on that call, man? Because I only know one Buttercup and—”

“And what, Uncle Javy?” Abby blinked up at him innocently. “Who is Buttercup?”

Javy gaped at her. “She…uh…she’s, um…”

Rooster rolled his eyes. “Cut the guy some slack, would ya, Abby?”

Abby’s grin widened as Javy’s mouth dropped even further. “Nah…man, there ain’t no way…”

“You didn’t think it was suspicious that Penny wouldn’t quit pesterin’ us both until we got Hangman to agree to send Charlie to camp on that specific day? You don’t think it’s weird that Lovebug treats her like she’s a stranger? You never noticed that your favourite assistant coach knows jack all about football now?”

Javy crouched down in front of her. “You’re not Charlie, are you?” Abby shook her head and Javy’s eyes welled with tears. “C-can I hug you, darlin’?” Abby nodded with a smile, and she was suddenly scooped up into a massive hug. “Oh my god, man…this is unbelievable!”

“What’s unbelievable?”

The three turned to see Jake standing behind them in the doorway of the office, his arms folded across his chest.

“Hey, man,” Rooster greeted. “What’s up?”

“Was just coming to try to find my daughter.”

Abby gulped. She hadn’t really spoken to her father since her blow up at the news of his engagement. The news still weighed heavily on her, but Rooster’s plan would work, she just knew it. Plus, she would get to see her mum soon, and that always made her feel better.

“H-hey, dad.”

Jake’s face softened. “Hey Charlie, I was hoping we could have a chat before dinner. Just you and me.”

Javy opened his mouth and Abby pinched him hard on the shoulder blade, out of view of her father.

“Sure, dad. I think that’s a good idea. Can you put me down, Uncle Javy?” Javy hesitated but Abby begged him with her eyes not to blow this for them, and he conceded.

“Sure…Charlie.”

Abby smiled at him as she went to her father’s side.

“We’ll see y’all at dinner, alright?” Jake nodded at them as he let the office door close behind him.

“Alright, dude, you’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on right now, or I swear to god, I’m telling Jake why that pair of men’s boxer shorts were hanging outside his window.”

“Relax, Coyote,” Rooster sat back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “You and me are gonna have a lot of fun with Hangman this weekend.”

Tags List: @mamachasesmayhem @mamamaystbr @jessicab1991 @waltermis @buckysteveloki-me @allepaula @yuckosworld @bradshawssugarbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @kim-stark @cierra715 @high-speed-r @helpmepleasethanks @starsrfun @tomanyfandomstrash @averyhotchner @the-blueatlas @princessliz86 @dashes-dizzydisaster @a-girl-who-loves-disney @boiolay @djs8891 @torimcc @tgmreader @kmc1989 @landpiranha-blog @sydthekid1518 @lynnevanss @hello7442 @mackenzieblair @minejungwoo @starset21 @ssa-sadboi @tgmavericklover @dempy @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @lovemarvelousfics @starkleila @magical-spit @whatislovevavy @simplyreading96 @vivalas-vega @itsdesiree86 @inky-sun @books-are-escapes @abaker74 @devil-angel-winchester @mrs-perfectly-fine @inthestars-underthesun

[erikftglitter]

Fallin’ Out [two] [e.k]

I hope this is to your expectations 🥹

——

Erik had been extremely observant about Claire’s whereabouts since last week. He kept an eye on where she went for Pilates, where she used her credit cards, and where she took Erin.

Despite this, Claire seemed unchanged. Yes, he’d heard her crying, but he figured they’d eventually have a conversation. He anticipated it every day, but it never came.

Erin was on a strict routine with Claire, transitioning smoothly into his second year. Other than quiet gestures and polite smiles, the couple hadn’t really spoken. Just “mhmms,” “yeahs,” and “thank yous.”

Was this the daily routine for the slowest divorce ever? When had they last had sex? Their last date? Before Erin, they’d gone out frequently, but as Erik and Sam got busier, Claire was simply left out.

Not on purpose—Erik’s ambitions were clear long before Erin’s arrival—but having a child made him work even harder. His own version of nesting was ensuring that his son would know nothing less than African luxury.

Claire understood, at first. She used to leave lamps on and dinner in the oven, but Erik rarely noticed. He’d grumble that he wasn’t hungry or had already eaten out. So she stopped. She left the house dark after putting the baby to sleep and got used to the cool, empty bed.

Infidelity crossed her mind a few times, but anyone having access to Erik was a liability. She knew he wasn’t cheating—not because he didn’t want to, but because the risk was too great. That pained her even more. She didn’t feel needed. She hadn’t felt loved in a long time.

The tears dropping onto the yoga mat snapped her back to the moment. She hadn’t realized she’d zoned out. She was exhausted—still learning to find confidence in her body after breastfeeding and managing to be both a healthy woman and a devoted mother. Sometimes she could push through, but today it was too much.

After folding her mat and putting it in the trunk, she texted her former assistant-turned-friend to pick up Erin. Erik was never home at this time, and she wanted to take things Erin loved rather than start from scratch somewhere new. She didn’t have a plan, but she needed to get out.

Claire walked up the stairs confidently. Erik wasn’t supposed to be home. She didn’t bother to look around, just walked straight to her closet and began throwing clothes for herself and Erin into a bag. She thought about taking off her wedding ring but couldn’t face that ache yet. She didn’t hate Erik; she just didn’t recognize him anymore. Or herself.

She didn’t notice Erik standing there until she turned to answer her buzzing phone. She froze at the large hand holding the door shut.

“Erik… Wh-what are you doing here?” she stammered. His face was hard to read. Was he angry? Did he know?

“I live here,” Erik said lowly, his eyes searching hers. He gently lifted the duffel bag from her shoulder. “Claire… what are you doing?”

Before she could answer, soft knocks came at the door.

“That’s Erin,” she said quietly. Erik moved his hand away, but his eyes never left hers.

He let out a rough sigh when he saw Jade standing there with Erin.

“I got the other car seat too. It’s better for traveling and tra—” Jade stopped at the sight of Erik.

“H-hey Erik.” She said awkwardly, holding Erin a little closer.

“Jade.” he replied, his tone dismissive. The air was thick, and no one said a word for a long moment.

“You’re leaving me.” Erik said finally.

“Yes.” Claire answered, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.

She reached for her wedding band, but her hands were too clammy to slide it off. Her throat was tight, her eyes burning from blinking back tears. She was on the verge of a panic attack.

Jade quickly stepped back, giving them space. She’s helped Claire with panic attacks before, but no one knew how to soothe Claire like Erik did. She took Erin upstairs and away from the scene of his parents.

Erik helped her many times before they were married but she didn’t have panic attacks as often, or at least not when he was around.

“Claire, breathe,” he urged, taking her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m right here. You’re safe. Please, mama, you have to breathe.” His voice cracked. Tears were welling in his eyes. He guided her shaking body to the ground as she began to cry.

Erik’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Claire, please… you’re scaring me,” he said, his voice softer than she remembered.

She tried to focus on his face. The room felt far away, her vision blurring. But Erik’s voice was an anchor.

“In and out, mama,” he whispered, guiding her through each breath. “That’s it. Just like that.”

The world slowly came back into focus. Her coughs subsided, and she could finally see him clearly—Erik’s face slightly damp with tears he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His face remained unguarded.

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” he choked out. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve been gone when you needed me most. I thought I was doing this for us, but I… I’ve been failing you. I love you more than words, and I can’t lose you.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her closer than he had in a long time.

“Please. Don’t go.”

Claire sat there, tears streaming down her face, too weak to speak. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to go. She just wanted him here. She needed him to be here.

She took a deep breath, her voice small but certain. “I won’t.”

Nothing was fixed. But it was a start.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Transition & Compromise

Summary: With enough money saved up for her transition, your wife Kitten comes home anxious. Worried you won’t love her anymore, while you’re wanting another child with her.

Warnings: established marriage, fluff, you share a child with Kitten currently but want another one, tremendous reassurance, marriage goals, mention of breastfeeding, talk of transition

Life with Kitten was the most happiest you’d ever been. She was charismatic, optimistic, caring, everything you’ve always looked for in a partner. There were hardly ever any arguments but when they did happen they never last long, each of you both hating being upset with one another. After getting to know one another and dating for quite some time, you’d finally asked her to marry you. Now here you were two stay at home moms who worked remotely with a beautiful baby girl, working on your second. There had been many moments where Kitten expressed she wanted to start taking hormone pills, and eventually fully transition into a woman. There was never any problem or concern there, you loved her for her heart and soul nothing less, nothing more.

“Honey, I’m home! Where’s my little dove?”

“In here sweetheart!” She had become cooped up in the house, needing to get out and have a little her time. After getting her nails done, she ran some errands and got lost in her little, imaginative mind. When she walked into the nursery, seeing you cradling your daughter against your chest, cooing her to sleep, Kitten’s heart wanted to melt from the loving scene, but also shatter worried with what she was about to say.

“How was your day love?” Walking over to her, you pecked her on the lips, she tasted of vanilla coffee with a hint of chocolate syrup. 

“It was refreshing, maybe we should take her for a walk soon, after all it should be a beautiful night, but can I talk to you about something first? It will only take but a minute.” Nodding for her to continue, she began to fiddle with inanimate objects, struggling to make eye contact as she spoke, her voice shaking from being nervous.

“I-we’ve been saving up quite a bit of money and- and I think we have enough for me to transition, only if you’re still okay with it of course.” Stopping mid stride, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. The goal was always one boy, and one girl, an agreement you’d both made, and after Lilac was born, you world changed forever, the bond you shared intensifying, the sex more intimate, emotions more easier to express until now.

“But I thought we wanted more kids?” You pouted, concern evident on your face as you placed your newborn down in the crib to sleep. This wouldn’t have come to a surprise had it come later on down the road and you respected Kitten’s decisions, always but the thought of not having anymore children saddened you deeply. Yes there were other options, adoption, surrogates, but you wanted to be the one to give birth, to carry Kitten’s offspring. There was an emotional and physical connection, an experience that was so profound and deep you and Kitten didn’t wish to share your love with anyone.

Kitten motioned to the bed, taking a seat next to you her shaking hands in yours.

“I know, and I do I just-It’s not that I don’t want more kids. I still wish to have a boy but- Oh it’s just no use!” Her eyes began to tear up, unable to avoid the thought of you leaving her because of what’s in between her legs. Even after a year of marriage she still struggled to express her emotions after so many people had left her behind in the past.

Pulling her into your arms as she wept, you worried you had said something wrong. She was always just a fragile little thing, but it was one of the reasons you fell in love with her.

You carressed her cheek, wiping away the stray tears. You had a feeling what this upset was about, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to keep trying for a boy, she was struggling with her body image.

“Kitten, darling, my love?” She hummed, fists clenching into the fabric of your pajama pants as she tried to calm down, breathing in your subtle, comforting aroma, clinging to the raspberry scent.

“I want you to transition. You know I’d never leave you right? I love you, and believe me when I say your pussy is going to be beautiful, your tits wonderous, and I’m going to devour every part of you like a three course meal. Who you are isn’t going to change, my love for you will not diminish. Our marriage will remain strong and powerful, okay?” Her sniffles came to a hault but she still hadn’t spoken. Instead, sitting up and nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck, needing to hear more, needing the reassurance. You held her tight and close to your heart, running your hands down the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles into her soft skin.

“Will our sex life change, of course, but there’s so many options my little kitten. We can still pleasure each other, we already have a bunch of toys but I’m moreso looking forward to being suffocated between your thighs as you sit that pretty pussy on my face.” Kitten’s cock twitched against your stomach, the thought of your sweet, dove like face buried in her sex, breathing in her faint aroma, and lapping her lips and clit like she does to you now. Coming up for air, her angelic, glossy blue eyes gleamed in the sunlight while her tears slowly dissipated. She looked down at with a gentle, adoring smile, playing with the buttons on your shirt only partially anxious now.

“You really mean that? You’d still love me?” You brushed her stray curls from her face, fingers twirling in her silk like hair while watching her with sincere, yet completely truthful eyes.

“Kitten I will love you for eternity and I will always be attracted to you. Please don’t ever think I’d leave, not after everything we’ve been through. Besides I can’t wait to suck on your blooming nipples more than I already do, jiggling your breasts, seeing them bounce for me. I want all of you, all of the time. Make the appointment, please.” Kitten fanned her face, feeling like she was on the verge of tears once more, meanwhile her erection not going away thinking back to how you glowed when you were pregnant. She needed to get a move on before scheduling an appointment. She had heard everything she needed to. There was a playful twinkle in her baby blues. She pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your bare, sensitive breasts, so full of milk from breast feeding.

“Let’s make a baby, then. No time to waste.” Smirking and giggling, Kitten clung to you, wrapping her legs around your back as she smashed her lips against yours with a passionate fire. 

Smiling into the heated kiss, you walked out of the nursery, carrying her into the bedroom while butterflies still remained fluttering around your tummy just like the first time. There was always an agreement made, an effort put in, that’s what kept your marriage strong, and different from anyone else’s.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Homelander as a Girl Dad

Trigger warning: DV, parental alienation, Homelander being Homelander.

Prompt: Anonymous asked: I don't know if someone already requested Homelander as a girl dad. But could I request him to have a supe daughter who is really close to him and loves him and yet also hates, fears him and can’t wait for the world to be rid of him.

This work is written as first a headcanon then transitions into a story. Enjoy!

You were Homelander's personal assistant and from the moment Ashley hired you, Homelander was infatuated. He would drop not-so-subtle hints of his affection and shower you with gifts and experiences you never thought you’d get. He’d take you to movie premiers and had you meet the members of the Seven. He would give you any and all dresses, shoes, and accessories you’d want. You were always attracted to Homelander; to his charm, his heroism, and his good looks. So, when you realized that the affections were mutual and he told you to call him John, you felt like the luckiest girl on earth.

When the relationship moved towards a physical one, John was as gentle as he could be with you. There were a few times when you had to remind him that you were just a normal person and not to be so rough. John would often say he’d want a family with you and that having a child would be the greatest gift anyone could ever give him. When you became pregnant and told John, both of your worlds were turned upside down. For better or worse, well it depends on your perspective.

You were okay with being in the public eye when working as Homelander’s personal assistant, and even more adjusted to it when the two of you started dating. Once the world heard that the two of you were expecting, the paparazzi increased tenfold. You were not able to go anywhere without paparazzi taking pictures and asking questions. One time the crowd of photographers was so dense, that a paparazzi accidentally bumped your baby belly too hard and made you stumble over in pain. Once that story went public, you were not allowed to leave John’s penthouse without him accompanying you. There were rumors that Homelander ‘took care’ of the photographer, but you chose to not believe them. Your sweet and charming John wasn’t capable of something so awful.

John is a busy man, attending meetings, social events, and the occasional hero work. You spent the majority of your days in the penthouse, there were people cooking for you and waiting on you hand and foot. You grew lonely, most of the people there either working in their positions to get a paycheck or out of fear, not speaking to you often. Whenever John came home, you’d run to him and embrace him, him being your only source of interaction. You’d ask him how his day went, sometimes he’d tell you, other times, he’d ask how the baby was.

When you gave birth, John was a little disappointed that it was a girl. You would reassure him that girls can do whatever boys can and that sometimes a father-daughter bond is stronger. John perked up after hearing that. In the beginning, John would be put off by the care of having an infant. They stink, they’re loud, messy and so goddamn needy. He did like the perk of you breastfeeding, it was always incorporated into sexy times with him. You thought of it as an undiscovered kink of his.

When your daughter was older, around toddler age, that’s when John started to take more interest in being a father figure. He’d teach Callie, your daughter, how to walk, how to use the potty, how to read. In the beginning, you were fine with it, it gave you a chance to take some time for yourself and watch the two of them bond. As time went on, you noticed that John would start to leave you out of the conversation and bonding experience as a family.

As time went on, John pushed you out more and more when interacting with Callie. He’d be the one taking care of her daily needs, ignoring you when you’d ask for updates on how she was doing in school, how her doctor’s visit went, and other important information. When you spoke to John about how you were feeling left out, he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before. Hatred, malice, disdain. John wanted to be the sole caregiver to Callie. There were times that he’d shut you away in a room all by yourself, making you a prisoner in your own home. There were times when John would make the move to smack or attempt to hit you, but he’d always stop himself. After a while, he revoked your privilege of calling him John, you now had to call him Homelander.

You’d ask Homelander what went wrong in the relationship for him to treat you this way, but your inquiry was met with hostility. You began to contemplate leaving the penthouse whenever the two of them left for an outing. You know Homelander would never hurt Callie, he adores her. So, one day, you left…

“I’m home dad!” Callie said as she threw her schoolbag on the floor and walked into the kitchen to grab a snack. It’s been a few years since her mother left and she was told by her father that it was because her mother didn’t love her anymore. Callie was hurt by what her father told her, but she had no reason not to believe him.

“Hey sport, how are you today?” Homelander said as he threw his muscled arms around Callie. Callie grimaced but accepted the hug. Homelander noticed the change in her mood, he pulled himself away from her and asked,

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh huh, don’t lie to me missy. Tell me, what’s up?” Callie looks around the room, wanting to look at anything besides her father.

“I… uh… don’t think that you can help me with this. It’s something moms usually talk about.”

“Of course, I can help you, Callie. You can trust me with anything.” A few moments of silence and then Callie said,

“I got my period today.” Homelander blinked at Callie. Damn… I don’t know how to help her with that he thought. Homelander grabbed Callies’ hand and the two of them went to the entrance of the penthouse.

“Where are we going?”

“I have someone we’re going to talk to.” The two of them appeared in front of Ashleys office. Homelander opens the door, and a voice rang thru the large room,

“What the fuck have I told you about knocking Ashley?” Homelander and Callie came through the threshold. Ashleys demeanor went from hardened to frightened the moment she laid eyes on the man. Callie noticed this was a common theme with anyone that came across her father.

“Homelander, Callie. H-how can I help you?” Ashley said as her hand flew up into her red hair. Homelander sat Callie down on the sofa in the lounge area and went to mute the TV that was displaying the news.

“Callie here is now a woman. She needs to know some helpful tips about periods.” Callie turned to her dad and gave him a look that can be conveyed as ‘what the fuck?’ Homelander just shrugged as Ashley cleared her throat. Ashley walked from behind her desk to sit herself onto the armchair to the left of Callie. Ashley let out a nervous chuckle, looking at Homelander before she spoke,

“We’ll, as you know, periods are a normal thing for women…” Ashley looks around the room, trying to find inspiration in what she’s telling Callie. “Periods are a beautiful and natural thing for a young woman to have! They mean that—Oh my god!” Ashleys attention went to the TV screen, as did the other two. Displayed was a picture of a tall, bearded man in a trench coat and next to him, was you. The caption on the picture stated, “SUSPECTS WANTED FOR THE DEATH OF TRANSLUCENT” Ashley began stuttering, mumbling, and furiously twisting her hair in her fingers. Callie stood up and walked towards the TV, closely inspecting the picture of you in your disguise. Homelander approached the TV and promptly turned it off.

“Okay that’s enough for today. I think this kiddo has some homework to do dontcha bud?” Homelander grabs Callies hand and drags her out of Ashleys office. A million thoughts ran through Callies mind. ‘Why would mom join the bad guys? Why did she kill Translucent? Why did she leave me?’ Homelander picked up on the hurt on Callies face and said,

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll get it all taken care of.” Homelander took Callie back to the penthouse and said that he needed to step out for business and that she could order a pizza for dinner. When gone, Callie gathered her key fob and left the penthouse in search of you.

*

It had been a few hours looking in the area you’d been photographed, but Callie had finally found you in the subway, tucked away in a corner waiting for the train to arrive. She took in your appearance; sunglasses, ballcap and a leather jacket with the lapels pulled up to hide your face. Callie approached you slowly,

“Hey mom.” You spun to face her, freezing at the young girl standing before you. It’s been years since you’d seen Callie, at least in person. You’d seen her on TV many times, making appearances with your ex. She was a perfect mix of both you and Homelander.

“Callie. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you on TV.”

“It’s not safe for you to be here honey.”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that after how you left us. After how you left me!” Callie began raising her voice, emotions starting to grow inside her. You approached her slowly after noting the fists Callie was making and said,

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” A tear ran down Callies cheek. You desperately wanted to reach out and wipe it away, you however treated her like she was a frightened animal, careful with your movements.

“Why did you leave?” You never wanted to answer that question, wanting Homelander to have that special bond between father and daughter untarnished. Before you could open your mouth, you heard the train approach, looking in its direction, you were torn. Now was your chance to escape, but you also wanted to set things straight with your daughter.

“Callie… I-”

“Trains ‘ere.” The man that was with you earlier on the TV broadcast appeared next to you, voice heavy with a cockney accent. Callie looked at both you and the tall man, named Billy Butcher. Callie had heard her father speak of him from time to time and how he was the bane of his existence. Once the train stopped, you made the difficult decision to part ways with Callie, you didn’t want her getting caught up in all your bullshit. Homelander will keep her safe, he would never let anything happen to her. As you found your seat on the train, Callie sat down next to you.

“Callie!”

“You never answered my question, why did you leave?” Looking between Callie and the subway train floor, you told her everything. How Homelander was the nicest man you’d ever met, and he slowly showed himself to be a monster. You told her of the domestic abuse and the times that he would alienate you from being a mother to Callie.

“I love you so much Callie. I never wanted to leave you, but I couldn’t stay with your father. I knew he would never lay a finger on you, you’re all he’s ever wanted.” Callie’s world was rocked. Her whole life she’d heard from her father that she wasn’t loved by you, that the only reason why you wanted to be with her Homelander was because of fame and fortune.

The train rolled to a stop a few stations from when the three of them went on. As you got off the train, Callie followed you and Butcher. Callie noticed the whispers between you and Butcher, you look back at her.

“Callie you can’t come with us.”

“I’ve finally found you after all these years and now you want to push me away?! It’s not fair!” Callie clenched her fist and punched a brick pillar, knocking the blocks loose. Callie’s face widens in shock, she’s never done that before. She didn’t even know she had the strength.

“Callie, what we do, is too dangerous for you. I’ll give you my number so we can text but know that I can’t always reply. Butcher, go ahead to the hideout, I’ll take Callie back home.” You and Callie catch a train ride to a subway stop just a block from Vought tower. On the train, you two talk about school and what her favorite subjects are, its art, what flavor ice cream she likes, it’s the same as yours, and Callie asked you what to do when it came to periods.

“It’s important to keep yourself clean, shower at least once a day. There may be times when you will have a stain, don’t worry. This happens to all of us at some point. If it happens at school and it’s on your pants, wear a sweatshirt around your waist if you can. Also, don’t wear white pants if you can help it.” Callie absorbed as much information you had to give about the subject, appreciative that you’re willing to talk about such a sensitive topic. Callie was beginning to question her father’s animosity towards you, you were so warm and welcoming and kind, the opposite of his descriptors was for you. Finally reaching your destination and standing outside of the tower, you give Callie a quick hug.

“Text me anytime but please, don’t tell your father about this. I don’t know when I can see you again, but if this plan pulls through then it may be sooner than later.” Callie nodded her head and went inside the building and into the elevator. Callie stepped into the penthouse and saw a worried Homelander standing next to the kitchen island.

“And where were you?” Homelanders voice low, eyes narrow, almost like he knew what she was up to, he just waiting for her to confess. Callie met his menacing glare with one of her own, and replied,

“Out.” She then left to go into her room, revulsion filling her thoughts about her father. Homelander the world's greatest and strongest superhero, was a calculating cruel man who filled her head with lies in an attempt to hate her own mother. Callie hoped whatever plan her mother had up her sleeve worked.

taglist: @marvelspn-bishes @lazygrungekid @wiiwiiwii666 @z3r0art@jameshetfieldscumdump@sleepyqueerenergy@citrys@chungledown-bimothee@otherworldlycraft@jensensnackles69 @star-ligh7 @memoune0987 @archiveofthalience @pibetaphi2000 @amberembers @itsyellow @need-a-life-or-grass @lover1307 @z3tabyte @katherine-ann1 @stankyleg05 @lustendreams @psychoticbirb

[peonierose]

How are Bryce and Luna coping during the first month of being parents, and to twins no less?

”Love Me Tender“

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce Lahela (M!MC) x Luna Auclair (F!OC)

Words: 2,428k

TW: None. Mentions of breastfeeding.

Summary: Bryce and Luna are newly minted parents and weren’t prepared of struggling to put their twins to bed. Will they succeed?

A/N: Thanks so much for your ask @liaromancewriter it inspired me for two fics actually. ”Love Me Tender“ is one of them 🥰 The Title was inspired by one of the greatest artists and hot guys who’s ever lived, Elvis Presley 🩷

Bryce

It was 4:35 in the morning, and both Lunes and I were still awake. Trying to put the twins to bed. 

I sighed. 

How‘d my life come to this? Don’t get me wrong. I love our girls more than anyone I could ever love, but getting them to sleep is a real struggle. 

We put them to bed hours ago and put them on the mobile, letting pretty stars and moons go by, but their sleep didn’t last long. 

They woke up two hours ago and won’t fall asleep.

What happened to peace and quiet? One week prior, everything was great. They didn’t mention this quick transition in the pregnancy books I read. Maybe I read the wrong books? 

Well, I guess they covered other stuff, but not what to do when your kids wake you up at 4 a.m.

Luna suddenly sits up with Kehlani and walks her around the room. With Alaia in my arms, I go and get the bunnies they got from Ethan, their godfather, hoping that’ll soothe them into sleep. 

They hang onto the bunnies for a few seconds, but they’re still fussy. It didn’t work. Alaia's little face was still red from crying. 

So maybe plans c or d could work? Damn, we could really use Keiki’s help, but she’s on a field trip with her study group. 

Luna’s voice brings me back into the moment. 

”They’re not hungry, right? We changed them, and now what?“ Luna asks while I’m holding Alaia close to my chest. As I place kisses on top of her head, her soft blonde hair smells of lavender shampoo. 

I read somewhere that babies like skin-to-skin contact. So that’s why Lunes and I are basically standing in the middle of the room in our underwear. 

”I don’t know. Honestly, I’m close to crying with them. Then it’ll be a duet.“ Luna says it with a sigh. 

I exhale a long breath I’ve been holding in because I’m frustrated too. God, I‘ve never appreciated sleep more than I do now.

”What if we show them a video with marine animals? They seemed to love that last time.“ I suggested it, and I could see Luna’s shoulder droop in relief.

”Let’s give it a try.“ Luna adds, and we walk downstairs and sit down with the twins as I turn on Disney+ and select a nature documentary about marine animals, one that’ll last for at least two and a half hours. 

Soon, both twins' eyes are glued to the screen. 

We didn’t want to start them too early on screen time, but sometimes you have to in order to function as a human being and get some rest. 

After 30 minutes or so into the documentary, I saw both their eyes drooping, and they fell asleep.

”You’re a genius.“ Luna whispers, scared to wake them up.

"Well, this genius is too scared to move.“ I say frozen in place.

Luna sighs.

”Is now a bad time to have to pee?“ She says it with a guilt tinge in her voice.

I close my eyes. 

"Oh, come on, Lunes. Couldn’t you have peed before they fell asleep? What if we wake them up? Look how long it took before they fell asleep.“ 

Luna softly moves around.

”I’ll be quick, I promise.“ She says this and gently places Kehlani on the couch. As soon as her feet hit the floor, Lani stirs and starts to cry. Rosie isn’t far behind. 

”I hope your pee is worth waking the twins over.“ I'm trying to massage their little backs, hoping it’ll soothe them. 

Twins are funny in that regard. They have a special bond, especially if they’re identical twins, like our girls. 

But the downside is that as soon as one is ill or cries, the other does as well. 

They’re creepily in sync. Hopefully, it won’t stay like this forever—the crying, I mean. I know Kehlani and Alaia will turn out wonderful.

I turn to my wonderful girls.

”Why don’t you stop crying? Daddy would really like to get some sleep. So I can wake up pretty.“ 

They look up at my words and then continue crying. 

That’s when it hits me amidst the crying. I remember when Keiki and I were little, my mom used to sing to us »Love Me Tender« by Elvis Presley; it always calmed us down. Maybe we can try it with the twins. 

As soon as Luna is back from her bathroom break, I gently take the twins into my arms.

”I think I have an idea.“ I say the idea for the song is taking root. 

We walk upstairs, and Luna eyes me skeptically. 

”You know how to brew a potion that will make them sleep for seven hours straight?“ She asks excitedly. 

I gave her a sideways look. 

"Yeah, that was a little bit unrealistic.“ She shrugs, and I laugh softly. 

”Let’s try singing »Love Me Tender« by Elvis Presley.“

”Why that song?“ She asks as we reach the twin's bedroom. 

I breathed out, and as I laid the twins in their beds, I turned towards Luna, who never looked more beautiful. 

With wild hair, just in her underwear, illuminated by the light from the hallway. 

I put a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she smiled tenderly at me. It’s these moments I treasure the most, even with the twins crying. 

I pulled her closer as I told her about the idea I had. I want to reveal a bit more about myself and my childhood, which I don’t talk about nearly enough, but I should, because whether it was good or bad, memories are important to talk about. 

”My mom used to sing that song to me and Keiki all the time. Whenever we were sick, or when we were sad and had a hard time, it just always made things a bit easier.“ I explained.

Luna‘s smile reached her tired eyes, and she cupped my cheek to give me a soft kiss. 

”Let’s give it a try. I think I’ve still got my ukulele somewhere. Let me go grab it, and we’ll try singing that song. To be honest, it’s one of my favorite songs by Elvis. He was such a hot guy and so sweet. And what a voice, my god! They just don’t make them like that anymore.“

"Hey, I’m trying to save the world, and you’re calling another man hot? Shame on you, Lunes.“

”You didn’t let me finish. They don’t make them like that anymore, but you are the exception.“ She grinned. 

”You were always my favorite.“ I smiled and slapped her butt, making her laugh out loud as she went to look for her ukulele. Her laughter was still echoing from the walls, making me grin too. 

After a minute or so, Luna came back with her pink ukulele, adorned with flowers, hearts, and moons. She sat down in front of the twin beds and played the first tunes.

”I had no idea you played the ukulele.“ I was surprised to see her play the ukulele like a pro.

”I learned it along with Hula dancing.“

“Can I get this as a late birthday present?“ I imagined her in a hula get-up. The best image ever. 

Luna sighed.

"Really, that’s where your mind went to?“ She chastised me.

”Don‘t blame me. I’m tired and horny. And I’m not sorry.“

She shook her head, grinning. Soon the first tunes of the ukulele joined with her soft voice, and the twins stopped their crying. Too fascinated by what’s going on to keep crying. 

Yes, I pump my fist in the air; it looks as if the plan worked. Luna and I fist-bumped each other because our plan turned out better than expected. 

As the last note echoed in their bedroom, they soon fell asleep, and it looked as if we could go and catch some sleep too. 

”Thank God for our parents, who had good ideas.“

Luna nodded. 

We put on the mobile with the moon and stars spinning around softly and didn’t close the door entirely as we went to our bedroom. 

When we were lying down in bed, Luna turned to me, and I put an arm around her to pull her closer to me. 

”Let me guess you have a million questions.“ I said, and she elbowed me in the side. I laughed and kissed her on top of her head. 

”You miss her, don’t you?“

I don’t even try to act as if I don‘t know who she’s referring to.

"Yeah, I do, more than I care to admit.“ I turn around, so we’re lying face-to-face. 

”Maybe you need some love me tender too.“ Luna says this as she’s leaning into me. 

”That would be nice.“ I smiled against her lips.

Two days later...

Luna

We’re both leaning on the kitchen counter, bleary-eyed, and with our eyes half closed. 

”This is the second time in a row we haven’t slept.“ I mumbled. 

Bryce doesn't even look up from his coffee. 

”I mean, we knew this going in, but it still stinks sometimes.“ 

I nodded and almost missed my mug in front of me.

”Damn. I never appreciated coffee as much as I do now. I love our kids, but I’d give my left kidney for two hours of sleep. Not even night shifts are this bad.“ 

”Come on, we'll get through this.“ I tried to sound more cheerful but just ended up sounding tired. But from the smile tugging at Bryce’s lips, I could still make him smile, which is a win in my book.

I’m about to take another sip from my juice since I‘m nursing when our doorbell rings, and I just grumble. 

”I’ll go get it.“ I said, and Bryce just mumbled incoherent words. 

I opened the front door, seeing my cousin Skyler, or Sky for short, stand in front of me.

”Good morning, sunshine.“ He looked well rested, with no dark circles under his smooth tan skin. His piercing dark blue eyes shone as if he sprang from the youth fountain. It’s so unfair how good he looked compared to my tired self. 

I groaned again and shielded my eyes from the glaring sun coming inside our house.

I stepped aside, and Sky walked in. 

”Is it a good morning? Huh. It’s already morning, and the sun is shining. Gosh, I’ve lost all feeling for what time it actually is or what day.“

Sky turned my way and only raised his eyebrows.

”You’re being weird.“

I sighed and joined Bryce in the kitchen. I grinned as Bryce held on to his steaming coffee mug, half asleep. 

”I came to the rescue. I thought I’d have to send a search party after your radio silence.“ 

”Please make him stop saying words.“ Bryce groaned.

”Come on, I’m good with kids, and I’m offering to help.“ Sky grinned. 

”So they sent you?“

”B!“ I exclaimed.

”Look, man. I’m really sorry. I’m just so fucking tired.“ Bryce sighed.

”Me too.“ I joined in while taking a sip of my mango and pineapple juice. 

"Yeah, Luna too.“ Bryce said while smiling tiredly. 

”No hard feelings. It’s all good. You‘ll get a free pass. This once. I know mom and dad struggled with us; you know, we're triplets, so I thought I’d help you out.“ Sky explained. 

Bryce’s eyes were tired from being up all night helping me change the twins and trying to make them fall asleep. 

We’re exhausted, and it’s only been four months since we brought the twins home. 

Sky looked from me to Bryce.

”You guys look as if you’ve partied all night. And it was a weird theme party.“ He teased. 

"Yeah, if you count changing, breastfeeding, and getting the twins to sleep, and it takes almost all night? Yeah, then we partied real hard.“ I sighed.

And then I added. 

"Damn, breastfeeding really hurts. Who knew? I really hope the pain lessens a bit.“

”I’m even too tired to make a dirty joke about breasts and make you feel better.“ Bryce sighed and smiled softly but tiredly.

”I don’t need to know about your…uhh…anatomy. Or your female body parts.“ Sky winced. 

”Who’s being weird now?“ I smirked.

”Fair.“

We were all startled when we heard the baby monitor on the kitchen counter squeak. 

Both Bryce and I groaned.

Sky smiled.

”You know what? Why don’t I check up on the little angels? While you guys do whatever it is you do, make out or something.“

”We’re way too tired to make out.“ Bryce and I said it at the same time. 

The fog in my brain lifted, and it hit me. 

”Wait, are you here to babysit?“ 

Sky shrugged. 

"Yeah, why not? I have the next two days off, so I thought I’d take over, and you can go and do whatever it is you’re doing.“

”You’re an angel, and I love you.“ I smiled and hugged him tight. Sky grinned and hugged me back. 

Yep, he’s my favorite cousin. At least right now. 

”She doesn’t mean it.“ Bryce commented with a mischievous glint in his eyes. I grinned, so that’s where Lani and Rosie got it from. 

”Stop being mean.“ I said this to Bryce without any real heat behind my words. 

”Sorry. If you’re true to your word, I’ll go take a nap.“

I stopped hugging Sky for a minute to give B a look.

”Not even showering?“

”I love my bed more than my shower right now.“

"Well, I don’t. So let’s hit the shower.“ 

Sky looked from me to Bryce.

”You are weirding me out. I’ll go look after the twins.“ 

”Thanks Sky.“

”You got it.“ He yelled. 

Bryce and I walked outside to our shower while Bryce mumbled and was grumpy until the water hit his face. 

When we came back from our shower and were settled in our bed, Bryce checked the baby monitor, but the monitor was quiet. It looks as if Sky is a wizard when it comes to calming down kids. 

”It’s so quiet.“ I turned to Bryce.

”What did we do before we had kids? Look at me, sounding pathetic.“

”You don’t sound and aren’t pathetic. It’s a new routine for us. And I guess we just have to find our balance.“

We both nodded.

Bryce drew circles on my skin, and I curled up into him, and seconds later we were already asleep while holding hands. 

Life is good when you’re with the people you love. Whether you’re blood-related or not, cherish those moments. 

[pandorasfruit]

Umbrella Academy season 4:

I finished the entire season a few nights ago, so lets talk about some things;

I haven't checked in with the fandom in any way, but from most of the tiktoks i've seen, not many like this season. Completely understandable, makes sense, especially after seeing that weird (a lot of people used the word:) predatory relationship which went down between Five and Lila. I definitely did not see it coming, and though I don't find it predatory myself, as they are both consenting adults, since Five is in the body of an (i think) 20-something year old, but has the mind of an (if i remember right) 60/70 year old(?). I think how it happened can also be an excuse; they were trapped together for (what felt like to them) 7 years. Not to mention that Five had probably been lonely for some time now, and though Lila claimed that her marriage satisfied her, I really don't think it did.

This all however, is totally not an excuse for their behavior. Lila was married with three kids, and Five was the brother of her husband. They were in-laws, which does add to the weird pile.

The only thing I really enjoyed about their "hang", was their travels through all the different timelines. And now we have another academy (The Phoenix Academy), that's just a fun thought. I would have loved to see an episode where they explored the different timelines with different academies.

In other news: I love Luther.

I'm sorry, but I just do. I think the way he desperately tries to keep everything together when it comes to their family is commendable. In previous season, I always hated how he excused Reggie's behavior, but now that he's left that behind and focuses solely on his siblings instead is adorable. Both and he and Allison have given up on the whole incestuous relationship they had, and now they don't even mention it nor acknowledge it. Though normally I would say that that's not a healthy way to deal, I think it's actually better to just leave it all be.

Yes, I know he's kind of pathetic. Yes, I know he is also somewhat selfish. No, I do not care. He's trying very hard to be cool older brother Luther and cool uncle Luther. I think his whole descent into sex work should have been talked about in a better way, but somehow he always brought it up as a thing he enjoys doing? I'm not going to go into prolematic things that the writers have been doing, but this is definitely one of them. There's nothing consensual about sex work, and it should never be shown as something that one might enjoy doing.

This is one of the first actual seasons, however, where we get to witness Diego doing his thing! (I know we've seen him do some other tricks, but they never been this detailed.) I was so shocked to see him do his little spin in the air to redirect the bullets during the second episode, but I was disappointed to see that Lila did NOT care.

Talking about Lila and Diego, did anybody else catch that one part in the first episode about how they basically had the twins accidentally? Diego explains to Luther that though he loves Lila and his kids, he feels exhausted and not at all satisfied. Then he explaines that they had the twins through Lila telling him that since she was breastfeeding, she couldn't get pregnant. It's unclear now if they were both mistaken, but just the way he was talking about it, it felt like to me that he felt betrayed by Lila. I'm pretty sure that Lila was aware that she could still get pregnant, she just knew that she wouldn't be able to convince Diego, so instead she did this.

Viktor is as cool as ever. He's always been very cool, but thinking back to all other old (pre-transition) Elliot Page roles, its so noticiable how uncomfortable he was in his body, and getting to see him now, playing a male character, whos not only accepted by his siblings but Reggie too?! Amazing. And him bonding with Reggie? Delicious, I ate that right up. Reggie calling him "boy" (and other masculine nicknames)? Love, love, love.

This is one point for the writers and Netflix, this is exactly how Hollywood should handle an actor coming out, and I hope that this will be an example for future media that will feature transgender actors in the middle of transitioning.

Klaus is our little weirdo who DESERVES a break. He needs it. Please.

We get to see him clean this season, but I did not expect him to behave like this while off drugs. Honestly, I'm not sure I expected anything. I guess I kind of just thought he'd do drugs anyway? Or that he'd get clean but still behave somewhat the same way.

Poor Klaus was also a character subjected to sex work this season, it just made a bit more sense this time. He definitely did not enjoy it, that was something they made very obvious, but they still couldn't do it just right. It was awful watching him have to make a choice between getting money to pay off his debt and leave or a sole condom for "dealing" with costumers. They didn't make it obvious how many clients he really had, but through dialog, you could kind of guess that he had way more than the one girl whose money he tried stealing.

I loved seeing his relationship with Allison this season. And I loved his relationship with Claire even more. I felt the scene where he went home to rob Allison's place so he could get money to buy drugs was realistic, but since I've never had any experiences with addiction of that kind, I won't speak on it.

The villains of the season were kind of nothing if I'm being honest. I loved their sense of style, but other than that they were basic, text-book style villains, who were mostly around to just help the story along. They weren't too memorable, but neither was Reggie's wife? Partner? I'm not sure who she was, or if she counts as a villain or not? I didn't really understand her role, but I did like how she treated the siblings the first time they met.

Then there is Ben and Jennifer.

I feel like we never really made Ben an official part of the siblings, even though he is supposed to be. His relationship with Jennifer was very cute, but once again, it was not too memorable, even though it was supposed to be the main story of the entire season. I find it weird how it all looks unplanned while also being completely planned? Like, you'd assume that ever since season 1, this has always been the story of Ben's death, and yet it still feels like it just wasn't? It feels like they were putting this whole thing together blindly, and then someone thought of the right thing and that was what made it all make sense.

And I don't like how things with Jennifer went unexplained! What does that fucking squid have to do with anything???

But anyway, other than all that, this season was a very basic example of a Netflix series. It was entertaining but not deep. It was a good watch, but I don't think I could ever do a re-watch. I think it was overall, just nice.

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 54

There will be a lot of what a lot say will be fillers. But I just write down random moments. Also when a chapter will be with an Episode, I do not feel comfortable sort of writing it differently. So I may just skip then, from a point to the next when it is important.

Masterlist

Chapter 54: The GAR of stuffed animals

Tech, ever the multitasker, expertly balanced his responsibilities as a father and a soldier. As he moved around, handling various tasks, he allowed Orion to explore his surroundings, even if it meant occasional attempts to grab Tech's face or adjust his goggles. The unpredictable nature of caring for an infant seemed to blend seamlessly with Tech's efficient approach to his duties.

As Orion's eyelids drooped with the fatigue of exploration, Tech's smile softened. Carefully cradling his son, he made his way to the bunk, the bent breastfeeding pillow ready to provide a snug and secure spot for Orion's rest. Despite the usual resistance to the railing, Tech executed the task with practiced quietness, ensuring that the transition from exploration to slumber remained undisturbed. With Orion settled, Tech took a moment to observe the peaceful scene, marvelling at the contrast between the energetic curiosity of a waking infant and the serene repose of a sleeping one. The blend of parental duties and soldierly precision had become a harmonious symphony in the unique rhythm of Tech's life.

Tech's fingers danced over the datapad's interface as he composed an encrypted message to Amanda, updating her on Orion's latest culinary adventures. He detailed how their son displayed a clear dislike for the Bekka beet puree, creating a playful narrative around Orion's discerning taste buds. The message was infused with a touch of humour, showcasing Tech's analytical mind even in the midst of parenting updates. As he sent the message, Tech couldn't help but anticipate Amanda's response, knowing she would likely find amusement in Orion's developing preferences. The exchange of such updates became a small yet cherished routine, reinforcing the connection between Tech and Amanda despite the physical distance that separated them. Amanda's response brought a warm smile to Tech's face as he read her words on the datapad. Despite the challenges and distance, the shared moments of Orion's growth and antics provided a sense of unity. Tech typed back a message expressing his own anticipation for their eventual reunion, acknowledging that the video updates were a small but precious way to bridge the gap between them. The exchange, while brief, carried the undercurrent of shared parenthood and the longing for the day when they could experience these moments together in person.

After another mission, the strange yet loving small family, decides to check out the local market. The marketplace bustled with activity as the squad strolled through, drawing curious glances from the locals who weren't accustomed to seeing that strange looking clones, let alone a baby adorned in miniature armour. Orion, snugly secured in his carrier on Tech's chest, seemed unfazed by the attention, his bright blue eyes wide and curious. Wrecker couldn't help but enjoy the reactions, grinning broadly as he noticed people pointing and whispering. "Hey, little buddy, you're a star!" he teased, making goofy faces to entertain Orion, who responded with a happy gurgle.

Crosshair, typically indifferent to such attention, observed the surroundings with his sharp eyes, ensuring there was no potential threat. Echo, having experience in blending in, tried to keep a low profile, but the unique sight of a baby in armour was hard to miss. He would much rather go about it quietly and unseen.

Tech, while acknowledging the attention, focused on his surroundings, scanning the market for potential supplies or information that could proof valuable later on. Amidst the glances and whispers, the squad continued their stroll, a unique family unit drawing eyes in the busy marketplace. Orion's happy babbling filled the air as he smacked his tiny hands against Tech's cheeks. Tech, undeterred by the playful assault, chuckled softly, enjoying the bonding moment with his son. The locals, witnessing the adorable interaction, couldn't help but smile at the sight of the miniature clone trooper engaging with his father.

Wrecker, noticing the attention, decided to join in the fun. "Looks like he's practicing his combat moves, Tech!" he exclaimed, earning more giggles from Orion. Crosshair smirked at the playful scene but continued to keep a vigilant eye on their surroundings. Tech, with his son's laughter echoing in his ears, couldn't help but feel a warmth in his chest. Despite the curious gazes of the marketgoers(?), the squad continued their stroll, creating a memorable scene that would be etched in the memories of those who witnessed the unique family dynamics of Clone Force 99.

But soon Wrecker spots a stall with a bunch of stuffed animals. “Tech, look at those. Orion needs them!” “Sure Orion needs them or you want them?” Crosshair asks as he follows Wrecker’s gaze. “Orion has quite enough of stuffed animals. All which are still stored away. Besides these look also rather large to have any use for Orion as of now.” Tech states matter-of-factly as he pushes his goggles up yet again.

Wrecker, undeterred by Tech's reasoning, grins widely at the bantha stuffie. "Come on, Tech, he needs a bantha buddy!" Wrecker insists, picking up the oversized plush toy and gesturing at its impressive size. "Imagine him hugging it. It's perfect!" Crosshair, with a smirk, adds, "Yeah, Tech, he's got a point. Plus, it's bigger than Orion, he'll love it." Only fueling Wrecker's resolve more.

Tech sighs, realizing he might be outnumbered in this particular decision. "Fine, get it, but only if he doesn't have trouble sleeping with it later on," he concedes, knowing that Orion's comfort is the top priority. Wrecker happily purchases the bantha stuffie, imagining the joy it will bring to Orion. As they continue their stroll through the market, Wrecker proudly carries the large plush, excited about the surprise gift for their youngest squad member.

As Orion becomes rather fussy, his tiny fists now smacking at his father’s chin, Tech moving his fingers into the carrier to check Orion’s diaper, recognizing the urgency of the situation, quickly scans the market for a suitable spot. Spotting a nearby restroom, he swiftly navigates toward it, all the while soothing Orion with a gentle sway. Once inside the restroom, Tech efficiently changes Orion's diaper, ensuring his son's comfort while managing to keep the process discreet. As he finishes up, Tech looks down at Orion with a smile, reassuring him softly. “All better little trooper.” With the diaper changed and the fussy episode resolved, they resume their stroll through the market, determined to enjoy the rest of their outing.

Wrecker's eyes light up with excitement as he spots a tauntaun stuffie at another stall. The thought of adding another plush companion to Orion's collection seems irresistible to him. Without hesitation, he picks up the tauntaun plush, comparing it to the bantha one he already acquired. Echo, amused by Wrecker's enthusiasm, raises an eyebrow and remarks, "Another one, Wrecker? Orion might end up with a whole menagerie of plush creatures."

Wrecker grins, undeterred, "Can't have too many buddies! Besides, this one's a tauntaun. It's different!" Crosshair, leaning against the stall, smirks and adds, "Well, if the kid's going to have a plush army, might as well make it diverse."

Tech shakes his head with a small smile, realizing that this impromptu plush collection is becoming a new tradition within their unique family dynamic. “Wrecker really he has no need for all those yet. He actually plays with everything his hands are able to grasp. They will collect dust, till it is safe enough for Orion to have them.” Wrecker ignoring Tech, satisfied with his choice, secures the tauntaun plush alongside the bantha one under his arm, ready to present it to Orion.

Tech looks for some kind of help to Hunter, before the whole plush thing escalates. “Nope, don’t look at me for help. I bought him a Porg one too. Smaller than those, but it is our choice how we spent our credits.” Hunter states with a grin. "And besides, this is your fault for bringing a baby to the squad." He adds, earning a laugh from the others. And Tech just sighs, they probably never going to live him that down, despite the love they have for their nephew.

As the squad continues their market exploration, Wrecker eagerly anticipates Orion's reaction to the new addition to his growing plush companions. The camaraderie and shared moments, whether in the heat of a mission or the light-heartedness of a market stroll, solidify the unbreakable bond among the clone brothers and their pint-sized addition.

Chapter 55

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @aalizazareth @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk

[sw33tsuccubus]

Faves Reacting to Top Surgery Scars

order: Douma, Rengoku Kyojuro, Hajime Iwaizumi, Yuu Nishinoya

Douma

First time he sees them, he’s honored you trusted him with this.

If you’re insecure about them, he’ll kiss them or trace them, depending on what you want at the moment. 

At some point he’ll make a joke of you not wanting him to touch your breasts. Might make a breastfeeding joke.

If one of the girls from his cult refers to you as girly in any form, she won’t be seen again. It might have confused the other girls, but he reassured them.

He might enjoy running his tongue across the scars. Eating people isn’t limited to drinking blood and eating flesh. Maybe he likes the taste of your skin.

Might occasionally trace them with his fangs. Might nibble too. He doesn’t wanna bite them in case the scars look weird together.

Overall tries not to talk about them often. He won’t draw attention to them if you don’t like them.

Rengoku Kyojuro

This makes you no less of a man in his eyes!

He probably doesn’t pay too much attention to them. If he sees them, it’ll make him remember, but he won’t do much about it.

If they make you feel bad, he’ll gently squeeze your hips and tell you he barely notices them.

I feel like he likes to hold you while cuddling, but he’ll lay his head in your chest to hear your heartbeat sometimes. The surgery helps him be able to be more comfy.

This might make him admire you more. You went through having boobs as a man? You must have strong power to not feel horrible all of the time. 

He’ll always protect you and tell people you’re a man. He won’t let anyone upset you if he’s around.

Hajime Iwaizumi

Genuinely surprised. As smart as he is, he probably thought you were cis, even if you told him.

Thinks they’re cool, that they tell a story. Reassures you they don’t look bad.

Holds your hand and tells you everything he loves about you whenever you feel bad. The scars make it to the list. He always goes from head to toe.

He’d be embarrassed if anyone found out, but he loves laying on you. His head on your chest or shoulder, an arm thrown around you. The fact you got top surgery makes it easier.

Never makes jokes about your transition. He thinks it’s a deeply emotional topic you might cry about. If he has questions he’s asking as sweetly as he can.

If you’re uncomfortable being shirtless or wearing something revealing, he’s immediately giving you his shirt. His boyfriend in his shirt and he can show off his muscles. 💪

Yuu Nishinoya

Probably described them as badass at one point. He has the spirit.

Doesn’t draw attention to them if you’re sad. He tries to cheer you up in a regular way, he doesn’t know if talking about them would make you feel worse.

If you ever want to wear his shirts, he’ll give them to you without asking any questions. It could be for any reason at all, and he hands them over.

Loves giving you candies and snacks, wrapping you in a blanket for cuddles. Pulls you next to him and nuzzles against you. 

If you’re shirtless and just lounging, you can find him staring. He’ll own up to it of course; ‘You look handsome, of course I was looking!’ He gets a little mesmerized.

Tell him you’re ugly. He perks up so fast to argue with you. He thinks you have the looks of a god, and you could be a model. 

Probably texts you every morning like ‘Good morning handsome’ or ‘How’s my wonderful boyfriend doing’.

[bropunzeling]

During the intermission interview aired during yesterday’s PWHL Toronto/Montreal game, Coyne Schofield and Spooner flat out said they hadnt realized how much their lives and training schedule would have to adjust for baby naps and breastfeeding, and now I’m imagining rat baby shaking up both parents’ training schedules, and how that would feed into how-can-I-mom-a-girl issues vs the immediate adoration from girl-dad Matthew.

oh gosh that sounds like a SUPER interesting interview!!! and also ohhhh my gosh yeah. yeah, like

i haven't been pregnant/a new parent but ive been around plenty of pregnant people/new parents and my god it seems exhausting. the sleep and lack thereof! the feedings! the way your whole life gets reconfigured around the whims of this tiny person who does not care about your needs! i can only imagine its even harder for people living such regimented lives as athletes because like, you have your body's schedule, but BABY'S schedule comes first. i think no matter how much you think you're ready you aren't, really, especially for first kids.

so in terms of the girl!leon of it all i think it would be a really tough transition! regardless of how wanted the baby is (very much so), even if the actual like, labor and such goes smoothly, OOF. just a real shock of cold water. and i think it would be a bit exacerbated by the fact that like, matthew would go back to playing pretty much right away (which i always feel is a bit messed up? but so it goes) and back to a somewhat normal routine, whereas leon would just be at home! with this baby! i mean i think parents/family would come stay with them, they'd have access to really good childcare, etc, but even with all of that what a tough transition. i think she'd find it super hard even despite the rewarding parts, especially because SO much of her life and self-identity is wrapped up in the athlete aspect and once again, how does she balance hockey and being able to want/have other personal things. a Theme for her.

and god the "how can i mom a girl" thing... obvi none of this is fleshed out fully bc im not writing it rn (gimme a business year and not wedding planning and shoving the current wip out the door), but i think that would absolutely be something she didn't realize she was freaking out about until something forced her to realize it. like, what if their daughter wants to be a different kind of kid than leon was? what if she does want to follow in leon's footsteps? does leon even want her to do that?? leon had so many tough moments getting to where she is, and she wants to keep her baby from being hurt in the same ways, and she has so much worry about screwing something up. she and matthew could have such a good sleep-deprived, highly emotional conversation where they talking about how you just gotta do it scared.

but yes matthew is just being such a girl dad. enamored from moment one. his girls are perfect and can do no wrong 😌 even when they are spitting up all over him (baby) / picking a fight with half the leafs (wife)

[luthien-under-bough]

how it started: a dead dove prompt about a young rhaenyra "breastfeeding" her baby brother, and daemon catching her.

how it's going: 8000 words and counting processing my own thoughts, fears, and anxieties about pregnancy and motherhood, the body horror of it all, its role in identity and sense of bodily autonomy, the relationship between fertility and femininity, the conflicting terror/excitement of transitioning from childhood -> womanhood, sexual desire poisoned by ever-present fear of pregnancy...

...i might need to just start a separate fic at this point, i've lost the plot 🫠

[lazaruspiss]

BREASTFEEDING GONE SEXUAL 👀👀👀👀

it sounds waaaaayyyy funnier than it actually is, and its a big multi chapter one. at first it was just "what if jaydick breastfeeding kink" but it ended up veering into dark fic pretty much immediately. content warning: domestic abuse, grooming, forced miscarriage, probably other stuff. idk man, this ones nasty

the outline is at 18 chapters but i havent gotten close to figuring out a conclusion so it would definitely end up longer. im trying to figure out how to describe it... omegaverse and mpreg, u could probably guess that from the title. bruce is so awful that even i feel like its branched into OOC territory? im bruces number one hater and even im looking at this plot like "hey now. thats a bit much."

starts out as brudick (very stockholm syndrome-y) but transitions it jaydick (codependent and weird. sibling, mother-puppy, generally unhealthy but in a mutually destructive way as opposed to just being abusive like brudick is in this) and i think (?) ends in a sort of. very traumatized household. idk i think killing everyone off might be easier than making them cope or whatever.

ueghhh why can i not understand my own notes. ok. no capes. alpha bruce, omega dick (15 at the beginning, 18 after a timeskip in the middle), and this pup bruce brings home in the hopes that itll distract dick from complaining about being pregnant. bruces pro gamer strat backfires but thats later. dick has baby dami bc whatever, i say it so thats how it is.

ohh wow. yeah i havent worked on this in a while. bruce kicking out a pregnant 18 y/o and a 14 y/o to fend for themselves is the /good/ timeline. i have too many notes to remember all this so ur getting my live reaction to rereading whatever the fuck past me was into.

okokok i thing im getting somewhere. first chunk is dick-jason-baby developing as a family while bruce is. hm. hes just a shitbag pretty much. plot pushing bad guy. timmy is also there, peeking his lil head above the fence kinda guy. jason turns out to be an alpha, bruce seems happy to now begin alpha father-son bonding activities and starts keeping him away from dick. blah blah sexism or whatever. bruce gets dick pregnant again, jason takes care of him like he did the first time dick was pregnant but bc hes an alpha now bruce gets pissy about it. jaydick happens, theres a bit of a choose ur own adventure at that point where bruce either throws them both out or uh. how do i put this. baby be gone? via violent and non doctor recommended method? yeah. and thats pretty much where past me got stuck.

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[kabillieu]

We made it back to Omaha in one piece. My 9yo Subaru with over 100,000 miles is sort of falling apart. I do NOT want another car, but Dominic is definitely going to buy a new car. Honestly, the only thing wrong with my car is that it has an oil leak and an ant infestation (yes, it happened to me AGAIN; I went to Alabama and got ants in my car). Also it needs new tires.

Dear Tom is feeling better, up to his annoying old cat antics, begging for food. I'm not certain that he's eating very much, but he's sounding more like his old self, at least. It was a minor miracle that we got him back here alive. He has a vet appointment tomorrow afternoon. I'm very thankful the long two-day drive went well for him and we didn't have to euthanize our cat in, say, Missouri.

When we got back to the house at 8pm, it was exactly as we left it in June: a disaster. I never had time to clean up from the chaos of having a baby then going back to my PhD work. It's a disaster here, and now it's work because our packed stuff for the summer has exploded. It looks like hoarders live here (maybe we're hoarders.) I don't know how this is going to get better in the week and a half I have left before I start my fall semester. One thing that will help is clearing out some of the baby stuff that R no longer needs. He went through a big transition this summer. He no longer needs all his bottles. I no longer need all my pumping supplies and the giant bottle sterilizer that takes up half of the counter in our small kitchen. I also don't need all the breastfeeding clothes and dresses I bought. I am still breastfeeding but starting tomorrow it will just be twice a day, in the morning and at night, and I don't need special clothes for that. My closet is jammed packed, a result of pandemic-spending and then buying maternity and then nursing clothes, and I just don't need most of that stuff anymore. It's going to hurt because I barely wore some of the things I bought, but I need to let those things go, and I need to free up space in my old-house closet (it is tiny.)

R goes back to daycare tomorrow, and I am sad about it!!! It feels ridiculous to be sad. I don't want to sit around all day tomorrow by myself and watch him in this dirty, cluttered house. Our house isn't even baby-proofed. He's so much more mobile now, and we are not prepared for it! But he's my buddy. We've spent every single day this summer glued together.

Baby Jesus be with me as I try to get through the transitions of the next three weeks.