circecyerce

[circecyerce]

Type Dangerous - R.S.

Synopsis. Five times Ryomen Sukuna’s “wingmanning” family is the biggest cóckbIock in existence, and the one time he finally gets what he wants - you, his nephew’s hot preschool teacher.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!teacher!reader, 5 + 1 things, Itadori family shenanigans, unckuna, he has the BIGGEST crush on you, making him blush, face-ríding, síxty-nine, Sukuna with tattoos, PÚSSYDRÚNK Sukuna, he goes feraI, p sIapping, p talking, he’s BIG, chokíng, tummy buIges, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, creampíes, through pantíes, cúmplay, slight bréeding, getting together, nosy families, lowkey crackfic, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.6k

A/N. HEHE TOLD Y’ALL I’D WRITE IT…

“This is my uncle, he just got out of jail.”

“Hell yeah.” Not the most courteous introduction to Yuji’s wide-eyed lil’ friends - but if Jin had bugged n’ blackmailed him into picking the brat up from preschool today then he was going to make sure it never happens again.

And as Yuji starts swinging from Sukuna’s broad, beefy biceps, he grins at his miniature crowd. “He also has tattoos and likes to drink.”

“Hell yeah- don’t forget about the cars, twerp.” Sukuna’s nodding, breezing past the horrified faces of parents that tugged their children at least seven feet away. Seriously, how long was this teacher going to take? He could see your back hunched by another corner of the classroom, hugging a sniffly student goodbye.

“Oh yeah- and he likes driving fast and slashing tires.”

You straighten, probably hearing every word - not that he cared, Sukuna couldn’t imagine who’d want to be around this all day. “Hell ye- oh.”

Until you turned his way.

And Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart drop- right along with the muscular right arm that was stuck out for Yuji to climb all over like a handlebar. And with it, his nephew. 

Who seems quite disgruntled at his sudden meeting with the soft, padded floor of the preschool classroom, standing on his own two feet for the first time since Sukuna had arrived here. He furrows his light brows, “Hey- wha’s the big- oh! Teacher!”

Seems like it runs in the family, Sukuna muses - because all it takes is one glimpse of you starting to head their way before Yuji lights up as brightly as the Sun itself. And to Sukuna, whose nephew was a perpetual Christmas tree, it almost made him wish he wore his usual shades.

At least that would’ve hid the way his crimson eyes sweep up n’ down your figure, languidly. Breath stuttered, mouth partly agape. 

Sukuna’s utterly forgetting himself before he’s called out by one of Yuji’s friends- a squeaky, orange-haired girl no older than five. “Ewwww- why are you red?”

“Shut it, bob-cut.”

“So—” Perfect timing, you sidle up to the bustling little group right as Sukuna spits out the tail end of his sentence. A brow of yours raised, bob-cut? 

And oh- you’re even more perfect up close. Is it really too late for him to enroll in preschool? He didn’t see any age restrictions around, and he could count till ten, surely. Genuinely considering, he’s gulping at the way your pretty eyes narrow. “Jin’s not here today? Yuji, do you know this man?”

The boy in question bounces with excitement, “Of course! This is Sukuna, my uncle who just got out of jail and drives fast cars.”

“Ah- ahah.” Said Sukuna chuckles gingerly, eyes flitting between his beaming nephew and your blank expression. Finally settling on the kid, “Yuji! What have I told you about uh- the benefits of um- safe driving and caring for our fellow civilians on the road?”

And there was Sukuna’s first mistake - asking a question, because surely that was a sign for Yuji to nod solemnly. “That it’s for lame pussies who- mmpf!”

“Ah…” You blink.

The damage was already done- but Sukuna’s clapping a meaty palm over Yuji’s mouth already. Oh, he was smashing this kid’s iPad when they’re home. A thin line of nervous sweat beads down his temple as he stares up at you, “K-kids these days, right, ma’am?”

Yuji frowns, “But you do call them lame pussies who-”

“Yuji!”

“Right right, miss.” The lively girl from before - Kugisaki, he thinks her name was - latches onto your swaying skirts. “And he also likes to drink.”

“And slash tires.”

“Tuna mayo.” 

The crowd mercifully quietens down for a split-second. “…”

Until a grumpy black-haired boy peeks through his bangs at that last line, as if translating. “He says he also sets fires.”

Sukuna never said that - but he doesn’t get a single chance to say so. Too busy staring at the constant knit of your brows, the way your gaze was darting from the children to Sukuna like a tennis match, trying to bite back a smile. “I-is that so?”

“And he has a lotta tattoos.” Yuji pries off his uncle’s muffling palm, back to climbing him like his very own jungle gym. As if to prove his point, he pokes the bulging band of black ink that encircles Sukuna’s bicep. “See?”

And if he was any less devastated about making himself look like an absolute fool in front of his nephew’s pretty preschool teacher, then maybe he’d have noticed that look in your eyes. 

Maybe.

Maybe he’d have seen the slight glint in them as you followed Yuji’s pudgy, directing finger - from the wide tattoos at his biceps, to his wrist, to the circles peeking through Sukuna’s off-white undershirt. So tight that it was like the pale color was nearly painted onto him- if Itadori Jin was the sweet, soft single dad that was always early for pick-up, then Sukuna was just rugged. 

From the dishevelled state of his twinning rosy hair, to the studded piercing on his left earlobe, to the naturally-honed muscles that made him look hulking.

And it almost seemed like you were…checking him out? But surely that was a figment of Sukuna’s imagination, right? Right?

You’re nodding as Yuji looks to you impatiently for approval, “Why, you’re quite right, Yuji.” The corners of your glossed lips curl upwards as you turn to Sukuna - and he feels electricity pang down his body. “Uncles these days, huh?”

Ah, he was gone for. 

It was almost a comical sight, you’re thinking - such a large, towering man well over six feet, speechlessly gawking at you. Leaned forwards, ears red; barely even registering the way his nephew grabs onto the tufts of his coral pink hair like a horse- whispering for the rest of his friends to join in.

Kugisaki makes two treks grabbing onto his sides before she’s looking up and crinkling her nose, “Ew. You’re red again, Mr. Felon.”

“He’s not Mr. Felon, he’s Mr. Tire-slasher.”

Yuji shakes his head, “No, he’s Mr. Mugshot.” Seated upon Sukuna’s broad shoulders, the boy adjusts his body to stick a hand inside his backpack and search. “Would you like to see the mugshot, miss-”

“Okay, time for us to get home.” 

Firmly, Sukuna tries to shoo away the army of toddlers trying to climb him as gently as possible - only four glares, now that’s a record. Nephew still on his back, bag now wrestled into his hand and well away from where Yuji could procure any printouts of his (admittedly flattering) mugshot. 

He’s feeling his heartbeat pick up just a lil’ as he darts his eyes back to you, “I-it was just probation, by the way. Happened to slash some uh- tires…” 

“And also drive fast!” Yuji pipes up happily.

“…That too.” Grouchy face wincing at the amused smile on your face- goddammit he’s never going to be able to show his face here ever again. Sukuna simpers out a wave, making sure to flex his chiseled biceps at you ever-so-slightly - if he couldn’t keep reputation, at least he could make you stare. “See you ‘round, teach.”

“See you around, Mr. Mugshot.”

Fuck. 

.

.

.

“I thought I said I’m not doing shit for the brat’s school again.” 

Jin patiently gestures for him to hush with the swearing in front of the gaggle of children, humming as he keeps handing out sugar cookies - half-off for dealing with Sukuna’s shoddy customer service. “Well, technically, we’re not in the preschool. We’re in the park.”

His younger brother seethes, flicking the ribbons of his pretty pink apron (Jin’s doing, of course.) “Having a damn bake sale-”

“Shush, Ryo. There are children around.”

“Exactly my point!” Was Sukuna the crazy one? He must be the crazy one. And he’s running a grumpy hand through his unruly pink locks- before remembering that one of those damn kids running around this bake sale had called him cotton-candy head and now he’s both irritated and unable to self-soothe.

It’d been Jin’s idea to drag him to the preschool bake sale, held at the nearby children’s park- something about raising money for a talent show.

Honestly, fuck talent shows. It didn’t even take two minutes surrounded by all the fanfare for him to have half the mind to eat those sweet treats himself and just leave-

“Oh hey, you’re Mr. Mugshot.” A little boy wearing a panda mask, one he’s never even seen before, points up at him and giggles as Sukuna glares. Did that nickname really spread?

He’s bending over their frilly pink stall with a damn good word or two about-

“Oh! Jin, thank you for coming.” Before he’s hearing the sound of the pearly gates of heaven, and an angel to accompany right along with it. You. Who’d silently meandered up to their cookie stand with an expression of both delight and concern. Your gorgeous mouth pursing as you stop to think, “And…Sukuna, right? Thank you, too, the children really appreciate the work you’re putting in.”

You remembered his name. He has to hold back a squeal. 

“A-ah, yeah- yeah! Of course, of course.” He’s swiftly leaning over the stall, arms crossed so that you can fully take in the way they streeetch his tight sleeveless turtleneck. 

In the faint distance - honestly, it feels like miles away - he’s hearing the panda-mask boy unsubtly whisper something to his father about how ‘Mr. Mugshot has turned red.’ 

Not! Obviously not- smooth. Ryomen Sukuna is supposed to be smooth, and he’s desperately attacking his features into something that resembles suave nonchalance. “I’m a…real philanthropic type of guy, y’know?” Cocking his head with a smug grin, “So, you come ‘round here often?”

You’re smirking, your giggle sounding like his favorite song. “Well, it is my preschool class.”

Ah, shit. His eyes widen just a fraction, right. 

Scoffing, “Tch, uh, yeah. I knew that.”

So many days spent mentally praying that yet another one of Jin’s work meetings went over time again - just so that Sukuna would have an excuse to see your pretty face. And that’s the first thing he says?

Suddenly, he’s too aware of the ogling toddlers, of the snug pink apron that he was currently donning - and the way your eyes seem to stray down to the gaudy bow settled between his pecs.

At this point, it seems even his brother takes pity on him. Adjusting his glasses with a soft chuckle, “It seems Ryo here had the greatest time at pick-up last week, he only had good things to say about you, ma’am.”

You blink in slight surprise, eyes taking in Sukuna’s large, fidgeting figure. “I’m quite flattered.”

Yes! Sukuna’s pleading eyes snap to the interested twinkle in your eyes, and then to the other man- yes, keep going!

“Of course, Yuji did tell me he was upset he didn’t get to show you his printed mugshot of him. It was all that he could-”

Fuck no! 

Catching the other’s urgent eyes, Jin sputters- “B-but- but, it was just a little vandalism, of course. Just a little ah…a little driving and- eek!” Cutting himself off promptly as soon as Sukuna steps down on Jin’s foot, syllables stumbling, looking ‘round anywhere for any distraction. “Why don’t you- ah! Why don’t you give our lovely teacher here a cookie, Sukuna. Free of charge.” 

You’re waving your hands, oh-so-sweetly, “I could never, please let me pay-”

“Nah, a pretty girl like you? I should give you more, ma.” He could give you a totally different type of cookie but this might just not be the place to say those words out loud- ah, he’s still got it. 

Sukuna’s thumbing out the biggest baked treat between a fluffy tissue and handing it over to you- ready to feel the sweet, sweet graze of your fingertips, if he was lucky.

But oh- it seems like the gates of heaven really have just opened up to him, because instead of taking it from his hands, you’re leaning down and taking a bite. Straight from where he held it. Humming as the candied taste floods your mouth, the soft pushness of your lips taps against the edge of his thumb.

And he wonders how they’d feel on his lips, instead. 

“Ah, sorry.” You’re taking a peek at him through your lashes and maybe he doesn’t still have it because Sukuna feels his breath hitch. “It just looked so good, and my hands are a little…”

And it’s only then that he’s noticing just how many boxes upon bags of things you’d bought from nearly every stall here. Happy to support your students - oh, you really were an angel. 

“Oh, let me.” Ever the gentleman, Jin hastens to move around a few bags so that you’re more comfortable. All while Sukuna can only hold out the cookie and freeze. Slack-jawed. 

Completely ridiculous. 

He doesn’t move a single millimeter, not even when you’re now able to easily grasp the baked good from him. Expectantly waiting, palm raised - while he only ogles you. 

“I uh- let me just-” And it takes Itadori Jin both hands to pry the crumbling cookie from Sukuna’s hands, sighing before wrapping up about two more in apology and handing them over to you. “We do hope you like them, ma’am.”

“Mhm—” Rubbing over the crumbs at the edge of your lower lip with one hand, you look dead-set on Sukuna as you murmur. “It was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”

Sukuna might not have been the chef - baker, whatever you said goes - it was Jin, but he can’t help but feel on top of the world as if he was. Waiting just until you’re out of sight, walking through the sunny Spring park up to the next parent-manned stand, to pump his fist with a low ‘hell yeah!’

“Ryo, you haven’t been this smitten since- well, ever.”

“Daddy, Mr. Mugshot is really weird.”

Sukuna whirls at a few staring parents- “The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

.

.

.

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

Arguing with a thirteen-year-old wasn’t very high on Sukuna’s bucket list, and yet, it seemed to happen on a nearly daily basis. He would blame middle school for being the root of Choso’s attitude, but he suspects the new emo look has something to do with it, too.

And maybe the fact that the older man was accompanying one of his weekly visits to Yuji’s preschool playground. Cutting off just the last of Friday’s classes just so that he could walk down the street to see his little brother. Despite seeing him at home every day, but still. 

That’s also what Sukuna himself was here for- of course. Why else would he-

“Ah ah- Kugisaki, what have I told you about using the toy construction hammer for things other than construction? We don’t hit, m’kay?”

Sighing, the way that Sukuna’s towering frame leans against the playground’s cherry blossom tree for support draws such disgust from Choso. Dark eyes flickering between his blushing uncle, and you - in the middle of the sand pit, trying to wrangle a class of toddlers. “You’re pathetic.”

“Shut it, scrawny.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

Sukuna’s life flashes before his very eyes, and strangely it’s mainly made up of every moment where he’s embarrassed himself in front of you. Looking away with a huff, “It’s…complicated.”

The other snickers, “Well, it’s about to get a whole lot more complicated because she’s coming up to us right now.”

Oh, fuck.

Now, he might have had the sense to ‘accidentally’ bump into his oldest nephew just as he was on his route to meet Yuji (Sukuna had memorized his schedule, sauntering by this very block for an hour until he’d run into Choso) - but he didn’t have enough wit for this.

Conversations? With both parties and a classroom of preschoolers participating? 

He was just about ready to race right out of here and leave Choso to the wolves-

“Cho! You’re here as always.” You’re smiling as you waltz up to them, a neat line of toddlers following you as they would a mother duck. Hitting him with your scent of flowers n’ the sunniest of days, “And I see you’ve brought along a guest with you- how are you, Sukuna?”

“F-fine.” F-fine? With a stutter? Sukuna simply bristles at the smirk his nephew shoots his way, already feeling the tips of his pierced ears start to scald bright hot. 

“Bubba!”

Saved by the bell-like shriek of Yuji, enough to make Choso take a few steps over and hug his toddling brother so tight that the former squeals. Checking him over for scratches, dust, stickers- you name it. 

You’re catching the raise of Sukuna’s brows and chuckle, “He is always quite the attentive older brother. You should join us more often, I’m sure Yuji would enjoy having his favorite uncle around.”

Mouth dry, “I’m- I’m his only uncle.”

Yet, your grin still stands - a slight knowing curve in them that makes his brain fuzzy, and his lips just a bit too loose. Did he say he liked drinking again? What a fucking lie, you got him more buzzed than a shot of straight vodka pumping through his nerves. 

And he’s finding himself reaching over to brush a stray petal of cherry-pink from your crown. Blurting out before he can stop himself, “Hey…so what’s your ty- I mean, are you seeing any-”

“She’s mine!” Cuts off an annoying, grating voice - one that understood what you evidently didn’t, with the few syllables that Sukuna had been able to croak out.

And he’s looking over your shoulder to find himself being stared down (stared up at?) by a boisterous, buzz-cut boy slightly older than Yuji. Protectively standing behind you as he glared daggers, “When I’m old like you, she shall be my bride, Mr. Mugshot.”

Huh.

You’re droning out in your nicest tone, wagging your finger. “Now now, Todo Aoi, what have I told you about not proposing to your teachers?”

“To not.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Proposing.” Stifling a sigh, you realise that it would be yet another chat with Todo’s guardian about the boy’s harmless little puppy crush. 

But before you can direct the conversation back towards anything else, he’s stabbing an accusing index up at Sukuna’s looming frame. “Miss teacher here-” Not quite your name, but close enough. “-and my sweet idol Takada-chan are the only ones I shall marry. You can’t have either!”

“Who the hell…” Sukuna furrows his brows- what was this boy talking about? “Listen, kid, I-”

“Pffft–!” He could recognize that burst of muffled laughter anywhere, and at least Choso was having a grand ol’ time- whispering to Yuji, “Don’t you think this is like those late-night dramas dad pretends not to watch?”

No! Sukuna’s internally groaning. 

“Oh- oh yeah!” An over-hearing Kugisaki bounces at the mention of dramas, “My mommy watches those. Times like this the two guys will fight over the pretty girl.”

Todo puffs up his chest, “Then fight me, old man- I demand a duel!”

“I’m not even thirty?”

“That’s old.” Choso nods.

“You’re thirteen.”

“I’m five!” Yuji jumps up, and immediately his older brother’s pulling his phone out to snap a few hundred photographs at the cuteness. 

Todo stomps, “Fight me, fossil–”

And his young nephew - that traitor - is the next one to shrill with glee at the altercation, clapping his hands once Todo charges forward with a damn war cry to pummel Sukuna’s abs with hits about as fierce as cotton. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

At the slight raise of your brows at the chaos, Sukuna rushes to explain, “Please excuse my nephew’s behaviour, ma’am, I don’t know where he got it from-”

Choso deadpans, “But you’re the one that taught us that the best talk is to talk with your fists because-” The two brothers turn to each other in unison, as if preaching the truth and nothing but the truth. “-we’re no weakass bi-”

“Their father.” Sukuna grits out- okay, maybe that kid’s punches were getting a little more painful. Or maybe it was just the way you were cocking your head at him that made his stomach churn, “Surely.” 

“Defend the honor of your woman, geriatric–!”

Seemingly snapping out of the little reverie of taking in whatever the fuck this was, you clap your hands in that teacherly way to demand silence. “Alright alright, break it up. You wouldn’t want me to take down any of your star points, would you, Aoi?” Tugging away the boy from Sukuna, you grimace up at him. “I’m so sorry about all of- well- this.”

Waving off- remember, Sukuna, nonchalance. Nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it, mama.”

“Y’know how they apologize to each other in the dramas?” Kugisaki speaks up, and honestly, this girl really did speak up at the most inopportune times. She glows at all the attention on her, “They kiss.”

And she was a genius.

An absolute genius, bob-cut!

Yuji - ever his lil’ ally - starts pumping his fist with whoots- “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Starting up a slight chant within your group, you turn to him in question.

“I uh…” Sukuna starts, tilting his body down ever-so-slightly, until you could could nearly every thread on his dark hoodie. The way his slashing tattoos framing his jaw ripple as he gulps, “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, ma- that’s assuming you wanted to do something, and what I meant was-”

It was one second. A singular, heavenly second that your lips graze the right side of Sukuna’s cheek as he rambled - fluttering away right before his skin started to scorch with a blush.

Quite frankly, fuck nonchalance. 

“Ewww, he’s red again. What’s wrong with him?”

“Were you this red when you were setting fires, Mr. Mugshot?”

“He looked nothing like this in his mugshot- wanna see?”

“Salmon.”

Ears tinting a shade that matches his hair, voicebox void of any coherent words, Sukuna barely even functions until he’s hearing the sharp ka-chick! of a camera shutter. Whirling his head ‘round to find Choso with his phone pointed at him, catching him in all his flustered glory. “I’ll send it to the family groupchat.” He turns to you. “And to you on the preschool groupchat.”

Imagine Sukuna’s surprise when he finds you nodding, “Mhm, oh, and I should really be getting the kids back now, it’s almost time for the bell.” Making the kids waddle into a neat line once more, you wave. “Thank you for the visit- do come again, it was quite…interesting.”

And they stare - Choso at Yuji, Sukuna at you - as you and your classroom disappear back within the preschool walls. “No phone for you for two weeks.”

“No hot teacher’s number for you forever.”

Only after a second- “Hey- hey kid. Show me that number again? I’ll make it one week.”

.

.

.

Sukuna had almost, mercifully, forgotten about that damn talent show. 

The bake sale? Gaping at you for nearly five full minutes straight? Never happened. 

And he’d almost convinced himself of that- until the time came for him to be seated right on the very front row of the cozy preschool auditorium. Taking up nearly three chairs as he squeezes himself into the humble seat, arms crossed and scowling. 

“You know…” Jin claps as Yuji and Kugisaki fight to clamber onto stage first, with a reluctant Fushiguro in tow. About to showcase whatever it is that they’d been practising with doves and sticks all week. From the corner of his mouth, “When we had the kiddos over, Megs told me something very interesting the other day.”

“Hm.” Sukuna’s grunts noncommittally when Yuji pulls out a comically large fairy wand - ah, a magic show.

“Something about you duelling with a kid for the hand of a certain someone.”

Letting out a strangled groan, his eyes immediately find you - as they always seemed to do. Stuck on the way you were kneeled by the front of the stage, motivating each little performer tonight. “Y-ya don’t say…”

Jin beams, “You know, you should really ask her out, Ryo- oh! Do you need our help? I can tell you this, the Itadori family makes great wingmen.”

“Ya don’t say.”

Tattletale, Sukuna’s grousing. And just as Fushiguro Megumi finds himself being stuffed into a box - to be sawed in half as all good magicians did, apparently - the older man slowly, menacingly pulls out his prized camcorder. 

Just in time for Fushiguro to glance over and have his face pale at the blinking, recording lens. 

“After all, Megumi did say you were blushing like a- what was it- ‘maiden in love’ that day. How cute.” 

“Ya don’t say.” Sukuna zooms in, right on the black-haired boy’s ashen face once the saw raises high in the air to magically cut him in half. And to make things even worse, he starts pointing at his camera, mouthing through a grin, ‘Oh yes.’ At Fushiguro’s slight shake of his head. ‘You are dead.’

But, alas, it was too good to be true.

And instead of having the little snitch be the casualty in one of Yuji’s magic tricks, the talent show goes shockingly smoothly. Hell, Wasuke slept through only about half of it, which was as much of a compliment as one could get. 

All because of your efforts, surely - and when the entire thing ends with (surprise, surprise) every little brat getting awarded a winning prize, Sukuna finds himself not half-annoyed that he’d actually sat through all of it.

Well, right up until about when it was time for the exhausted preschoolers to be taken home by their families. 

And Yuji comes bounding up to the four with a squealing—“Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps–! Mr. Mug-”

“Another word out of you and I’m throwing your iPad out the window.” Sukuna grumbles, heart leaping to his throat when he’s spotting your chuckling figure follow up behind his nephew, as if Jin’s elbowing wasn’t a sign enough.

Yuji frowns, “Aw, but I already told everyone here.”

Damn gremlin- but before he can get another word in, you’re already greeting his brother and father with a smile. “It’s so great to see you again, Mr. Itadori- I hope that blood pressure you were telling me about is better now.”

“Ah, ya know- I won’t be dying any time soon.” Wasuke barks out a hoarse noise of laughter, before beadily eyeing Sukuna. “This one, however…”

Your gorgeous face drops in worry, and he doesn’t know whether to whine at his father for letting you make that expression, or giggle because you cared about him. Fuck. “Oh no- everything alright, Sukuna?”

But Wasuke answers for him, “No. Not at all, quite the incurable disease, my dear.”

He watches on in matching confusion with Yuji as Jin lights up beside him, “Ah- ah! Right right, that-” Soothing his face into something pitiful as he turns to you, “That ah- thing that only heh- one person can solve.”

About as subtle as a sledgehammer. 

And just as efficient in bagging the woman of one’s dreams.

Because you only furrow your brows in confusion, “I’m…sorry? What?”

Sukuna’s older brother’s smile tightens in desperation, nervously laughing. “You- you know…that thing?” And you tilt your head, eyes darting between the four as if trying to work out the punchline. “The thing like- the heart condition? No- not something serious but like…the butterflies?” Now looking to Sukuna for help - as if the other man wouldn’t just let him rot in the very grave he’d dug for himself. 

Then at Choso, who’d been quietly attempting to disappear into the wall plaster. Trying not to laugh as he dotes on Yuji, “The doki-doki.”

Jin snaps his fingers, “Yes! Like the doki-doki? The-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake- he wants to fu-”

“That’s enough for tonight, pa.” It really does run in the family - because in a split-second, Sukuna has his palm clapped over Itadori Wasuke’s mouth. Smile painfully plastic, “Did you take your meds today, dear father? I don’t believe you took your meds today.”

He plunges his sprightly father into Jin’s arms, “Say, Jin, why don’t you get dad his meds.” Making note of the way that you - still thoroughly confused, and now thoroughly off your shift helping each student get to their guardian - were toyin’ with the cute decorations of your car keys. 

Letting his mouth work before his brain could regret anything- “And why don’t I walk you to your car, ma?”

“I- what.” You’re somewhat shocked at being addressed so directly, and at the kindly incline of Sukuna’s head. “Don’t you have a heart condition? I wouldn’t want to exert you, Sukuna.”

Wasuke grunts, “Exert him in another- mmpf-” Hastily shushed by Choso’s palm, more for his sanity’s sake than his uncle’s.

These damn- he narrows a glare down at an unabashedly-eavesdropping Jin and Wasuke. “No. No, don’t worry about it, they were just joking. Ha. Ha.” 

Well…it was quite dark outside the building, even with the surrounding streetlights. And your vehicle might just be a little ways away but it never hurt to be extra safe, did it? Especially when his stature was so intimidating anyways?

And so, you nod. 

And he walks with you.

More like floats beside you on cloud nine, actually. Sukuna’s sure you two made quite a sight in the corridor, if the way passing parents whispered to each other signalled anything - him, with his ears flared red, unable to even look at you directly as you two were alone. You, as perfect as ever.

“Ah- so-”

“What did you-”

You’re both speaking at the same time once you’re out of the school building, laughing into the nearly-empty night air that forms clouds out of your puffs of laughter. The few minutes of a walk to the parking lot seemed like eternity - and Sukuna would have gladly let it be. 

“You speak.” You’re urging.

“No you.”

“You-”

“I refuse.”

“Fine.” Rolling your eyes, you never noticed the way he always seemed to nudge his head ever-so-closely to you whenever you spoke. As if he was hanging onto your every word. “What did you think about the talent show?”

“Brilliant. All because of you, of course- got so much blackmail to use in ten years.” He cackles.

Though, that’s stopped short very soon the nanosecond you’re nudging him playfully. Heat touching heat. And he shivers, “Hit me if this is strange.” Letting the tense air clog his throat, at least, that’s his excuse for it. “But do you remember that thing I meant to ask you that one time at the playground…”

“Yes—?”

“Are you-” Sukuna’s husky baritone cracks and he twists his face into a wince, “D-do you happen to be seeing anyone?”

You blink, and there’s something about the way you look at him that makes him feel like you’re holding back such a smile. How he wished to see it right now. Musing into the silent night air, only thrumming with your footsteps towards the car, “Nope.”

“O-oh.” And if this was any other time, then he’d be embarrassed about how obviously relieved he sounds. How you surely must have picked up on it.

Faking nonchalance, he’s stuffing his hand into the baggy cloth of his ripped jeans, “Cool.” And it was a damn good thing you didn’t have x-ray vision like all the heroes in all those weekend cartoons Yuji watched - because then you’d have seen the way his painted nails dig in so deeply into his palms in pure excitement. Nearly hard enough to draw blood. “Very cool.”

“Very cool.” You’re echoing, now stood by the driver’s seat of your car - just waiting for him to say something. Anything. 

Waiting as he opens his mouth- “What’s your ty-”

“Yuji- Yuji noooo- don’t interrupt your uncle’s k-drama moment- oh, dammit.” Itadori Jin, who’d been chasing after an adventure-hungry Yuji, balks at the way you were both so close. Snatching up his struggling toddler, “Forget about me! We- we never here- go back to doing whatever you were doing!”

And somehow, you lurch apart as if you’d just been shocked. Only now realizing just how warm the temperature of his proximity was, fighting to keep your professional façade in front of your spying audience. 

“I bid you goodnight, Jin- Yuji.” Gesturing out a wave, you’re getting into your ride so quickly that Sukuna thinks he must’ve been dreaming you up. “And you, Sukuna.”

Nevermind- not a dream. 

Definitely not a dream. Because even in his sweetest hallucinations he wouldn’t have been able to make you say his name like that. Almost a purr. Almost batting your lashes.

Almost ripping out his heart from his very chest as you then speed down the road.

“That’s the best ya could’ve done, sonny? Even after I taught you everything to know about wooing a woman?” How very much like Wasuke to manifest from nearly thin air, from somewhere out of the shadows of the building. 

“Not that.” 

“Especially that.”

The older man only waves off Jin’s bemoaning concern about ‘ruining the moment- they had a doki-doki moment!’ “Choso’s in the car, can’t believe I lost a bet to a middle-schooler. Dammit.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen, “You…bet on me?”

“Whaddaya think, sonny?” 

Jin smiles, “Guilty.”

“Gwuilty!” 

“No- no, Yuji, not guilty.”

Wasuke paces away, shaking his head. “Thought I raised you better- keh! Thought I’d get grandchildren from you, too. Tch, now I owe a middle-schooler fifty yen, oh, woe is me.”

It takes a second for Sukuna to register the words, “Wait- only fifty yen?”

“Yeah, that’s just about my belief in you, kid.”

.

.

.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

“Oi- oi, Jin. Go get the door.”

“I’m cooking dinner–! Cho, could you get the door?”

“I’m in the middle of homework- ask uncle.”

Sukuna grumbles, why the hell was he the one to always answer that damn door? Honestly, Yuji could buck up and get some experience yelling at sleazy salesmen sometimes. Sprawled out across the TV room couch, he stares at his nephew playing with a toy bow and arrows set on the floor, “Yuji, could you get the-”

“I can hear you, Ryo.”

Dammit- there was a reason why Itadori Jin was the older brother. 

And there was also a reason why Ryomen Sukuna had a reputation in this quaint neighborhood for being a boor - not that that was much of a brag. But at least it explained why he was stomping up to the oak front door, damn near ripping it off its hinges with a growl- “We’re not buying any- oh.”

‘Oh’ was right.

Because standing right there on his porch was a damn sight for sore eyes - you. 

You, with your mouth parted and your brows slightly raised as you looked from the messy bangs of his locks to the oversized sweater he was wearing. You, who doesn’t even flinch about the fact that he’d just answered the door yelling. You, donned in a pretty lil’ skirt that makes him gulp- 

“You okay, Sukuna?”

“No. So how are you doin’ on this fine day, ma? ”

“Oh!” A happy call of your name makes you turn - even though Sukuna just stares, shell-shocked. Jin shoves him bodily out of the way, opening the door wider, “Please- come in, we’ve been expecting you.”

Looking down at the slight stain of something at the hem of his sweatpants, the other man frowns. It’s not like that was news he’d ever forget - so why the hell was he looking like that? “We have?”

“Yes?” Jin’s showing you the way in- only for you to be dragged in by an overeager Yuji anyways. And as the two of you disappear down the halls, he’s turning to his taller brother in genuine confusion. “Did Cho not tell you that we were having Yuji’s teacher over for dinner tonight?”

At Sukuna’s sputtering, Jin wastes no time grasping a nearby broomstick and thumping the wooden end up against the ceiling. “Kamo Choso–!”

And out comes a muffled reply, “I told grandpa to tell him!”

“Haaah? I told Yuji to.”

It sinks in. The fact that you were here, all prettily dolled-up and at their family home - and you’d happened to see him in nothing but a stained, ratty sweatshirt and pants torn down the side of his thigh to show off one tattoo. 

Jin grimaces, “Um…we can still wingman our way through this?”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Murder does not, in fact, come before dinner; as all good manners dictate. And Sukuna decides that revenge can wait after he’s totally, completely, utterly made you swoon.

“S-so-” Only after a quick change into his best tightly-fitted turtleneck and his silver chains did he dare to show his face ‘round you again. Spritzing enough cologne to almost overpower Jin’s omurice, he tries to smize from where he was sitting right opposite you on the kotatsu. “Nice place, huh?” 

The shot of extra, extra strong sake that Wasuke slides over is a consolation as much as a ‘you’re not in a restaurant, you fool!’ He finishes the cup in one go.

“You do have a very beautiful home.” You’re nodding over at a proud Jin. 

“And the- food- how is the food?” Another cup- what moral support, father. 

“Mmm- amazing, I usually never have the time to cook much for myself with the kids n’ all.”

Which Jin takes as the cue for him to butt in on the conversation, helping it flow as smoothly as an enclosing dam would to a river. “You like kids, huh?” Kicking Sukuna underneath the kotatsu, he rattles the plates. “Our Ryo here also…tolerates children.”

“Really?” You’re teasing, “I couldn’t tell.”

“Why I love kids, yeah.” Sukuna tuts as he lifts his hand to pat the crown of Choso’s head- who only swerves out of the way, food finished n’ leaving the room to join his brother playing. Hiccuping, you were so pretty sat in front of him like this- too pretty, that the vision of you was starting to get blurry. 

And another cup.

He’s jostled by the tap of Jin’s hand on his arms- “And he’s actually quite sweet in his own way once you get to know him. I’m sure dad agrees-” Ignoring Wasuke’s ‘I don’t’. “-that he’d make such a responsible-”

“U-unless you don’t like kids.” Still stuck on that - still. Sukuna downs it and then shakily pours himself another. “In that case, I don’t like kids either. Yeah, can’t stand them.”

And another. 

Jin and Wasuke share a glance between themselves when the hulking man leans over the kotatsu towards you with what sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Would you want kids with me?”

And- 

“Sukuna-”

“W-well—time for Ryo to be put to bed, I think.” Jin hastily stands up, struggling to hoist his oversized younger brother from his seat. Failing, evidently, as in that time he’s managing to gulp down another two or three sake cups. “Dad- a little- help?”

Wasuke only shakes his head gravely at you, “You should know he was switched at birth.”

“We’re nearly identical twins–”

“Twins? What-” Sukuna babbles, “Does she want twins?”

Glassy eyes blinking n’ squinting furiously down at you as if trying to figure out whether you were real. Before ultimately giving up, it seems.

Because he’s stumbling a few unsteady steps forwards, pulled by Jin, before dropping to his knees and toppling his head over your lap, just by the gap of the kotatsu edge and your stomach. He’s nuzzling his face right against your tummy, “Mmm— maybe triplets. Would be the cutest fuckin’ things if they looked anything like hck! her.”

You giggle and he gasps- as if the epiphany had just struck him. “Quadruplets?”

Starin’ down at him, at the rosy blush painting his ears, you’re muttering. “You wish.”

“Dammit- even this hck! illusion of her is fine as fuck. Shit. I wonder if her type is…” 

Trailing off, he looks to his older brother for assistance- who helpfully supplies, “Sad and drunk?”

Wasuke’s contribution- “Zero game- as the kids say?”

“Dangerous?” You pretend to think, assessing over the mountainous heap of a man. “Actually- only pretends to be but is really a softie inside?”

“Yes! That- wonder if he type is dangerous…pretend dangerous. I’d give her all the kids she’d ever want- all big…n’ glowing…” It was almost like the setting of the sun, and just as quietly that Sukuna’s dipping past the edge of consciousness. “And…mine…if she wants. Oh, only if she wants- I’ve gotta- hck!” He turns up slightly to you, “-gotta woo her first, you see? Gotta date her…marry…but- but most of all…” Words slowing, heartbeat still racing whenever he looked at you. “I…just want to love you, pretty girl.”

And with that, he was out like a flickered light. 

With only Wasuke, Jin, and Choso with his camera snooping through the doorway as witnesses for when you’re snaking a hand down to the phone bulging in Sukuna’s pocket. Quickly entering a few coordinates and a date. 

And a heart emoji.

.

.

.

“Oh- oh, shit, mama.” Sukuna’s tongue lays over the sheeny insides of your thighs, throat muddled with groans and the cloying taste of your slick gluing to his rovering mouth.

Honestly, fuck whatever tips his family had made him memorize before coming over for his lil’ ‘talk’ at your cozy apartment, as promised. Because the two of you had barely made out two or three words before Sukuna found himself sprawled on his back on your bed. 

Your knees framing his face, your clothed cunt right near his mouth.

Right near where he’s dotting your skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your entire body tremble. Whimpering over your shoulder, “D-didn’t think you’d be such a tease, Kuna.”

“Because this isn’t real.” He’s breathing out, as if he’s just so sure of that fact. As if he can glide his ringed index down the dampened slit of your folds and drool- because this feels like a dream n’ he was going to savor every moment. “Fuck, there’s no way this is-”

And just at that very moment, he’s craning his head up further between your pretty, pretty legs. Greedy tastebuds darted out just so he can catch the treacly splat! of your leaking slit.

Dampening his tongue n’ drooling all down the edge of his tattooed chin, “Do you even know how many times I’ve imagined this exact moment?”

“Mmm- no-” You’re wrenching out a heady puff of air- spread on your front in the meanest sixty-nine. You gulp down your parched throat as you’re taking in the wet, bulging outline of Sukuna’s erection through his boxers. “But I can guess.”

He was just so big, aching- 

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just rock-hard. He was hard enough that he’s sure his round, bawling tip was damn near ready to fall off, twitching oh-so-painfully in his pants as he’s snapping back your soaked panties with a wet thwack!

Just a glimpse of the wet haven you were hiding and he’s groaning throatily, “Guess-” He hisses, close enough that the straight end of his nose slides down your puffy pussylips. Nudging your panties to the side and sniiiiiffing you, “You’ll never be able to guess how badly I want you, pretty girl.”

Never.

Never would you have even been able to register that within mere split-seconds, he’d have one beefy arm looping around your hips to make you sit on top of his mouth.

Slamming the edge of your cunt against his chin, plopping your full weight down until he’s nose-deep between your quivering legs. “Fuck-” Letting the first gush of your saccharine juices flood his throat, lips against lips. “Fuck fuck fuck- what was I even…saying?”

“W-wait–” Your breath hitches, spine arching into such a perfect curvature. You claw onto his meaty thighs in an attempt to regain balance, “You won’t be able to breathe like this, Sukuna-”

“You think I fucking care?”

It’s spat - spat - out right against the swollen nub of your clit. Hazed crimson irises rolling to the veeeery deep, dark depths of his skull at the first long gliiiide of Sukuna’s tongue from top to bottom of your pussy. 

Cheeks hollowed the very moment he’s pushin’ himself even closer, “You think I ngh- can care about anything else?” The very moment he’s tugging you back down - with the full force of his upper strength, hard enough that your heated aches with raw, primal bruises. “Be a good girl n’ put that hah- pussy on my face. Fucking- sit-”

“I don’t- fuuuuck—” Fingers twitching, it’s all you can do to fumble with the drawstrings of his wettened boxers. 

Thighs shaking at every flicker of his slimy tongue swirlin’ and stirrin’ every inch of your outer pussy. Your head muddles with the realization that Sukuna’s tongue was just so long that he could lap at your glisten hole n’ still have enough length left over to snag on your clit. “You’re not going to be the only hah- one-”

Whimpering, you find your eyes blurring up each time the ridged texture of his tastebuds glissade between your folds. Curlin’ in just past the elastic circle of your entrance-

And you’re gasping - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the lecherous intrusion or because of the way you’re pushing down Sukuna’s snug underwear to free his massive cock.

Reddened, swollen.

He’s bulging all solid and girthy that it makes your hole clench ‘round his flexible tongue. The cutest ruby-red at the top of his shaft, forming a gradient all the way down to his tight, heavy balls. Mentally, you’re counting about nine- fuck, maybe even ten damn inches that hit the end of your chin as he springs up. 

And from where you’re straddling him, you can make out what looked like a matching thick, black band of ink around his bulky hilt. 

Letting the polished pink crown of his cockhead smear out a generous dollop of pre, you’re teasing your tongue out just enough to taste the salted caramel taste. 

“You’re so…” Sinking him past your spit-slicked lips, his swabbing mushroom tip is just so big that your jaw aches just by looking at him. Just by fitting him inside, right until his drivelling slit- “-s-sho big, Sukuna.”

“Fuck- fuck-” He’s spitting into your cunt and you find yourself flinching, hard enough that his pearly white canines nip at your thighs and you cry out.

And he’s only holding you back - not letting you shift your restless hips even a single centimeter as he’s eating you out like a man dying of thirst. Dry tastebuds lavishing himself with wads of slick, Sukuna’s stuffing your tight hole with the entirety of his tongue. “You’re m-making me drool.”

You swear you’re feeling the thin line of his wet spittle stain the front of your cunt, whimpering around his bulbous cockhead. “Made ya stutter, too, Sukuna.”

“Ohhhh- talkin’ smart, are we?” Snickering, he lets off a loud spank against the front of your pussy - one that makes your bones reverberate, and your mind numb. Pushin’ back to ride the circling girth of his tongue, to ride him. “Why don’tcha put that mouth into use elsewhere?”

Elsewhere - his cock was so hot and throbbing between your swollen lips. Just the slightest slip n’ slide makes it feel like he’s pulsing all the way at the back of your throat. 

Creamin’ out a spray of syrupy precum that slides down your tongue, “So big- too big.” And yet- it was just so cute how you’re suckling him like your favorite lolly, eyes criss-crossing when you’re trying to take more. He couldn’t even bottom out. “Mmm– dunno if it’ll even all fit.”

“Well…” 

The way he’s drawling out in a smoky tone makes you ponder that this won’t be ending well for you. And Sukuna’s dark chuckle hits your cunt in a murky gust, “You’re takin’ it in from here—” Just at that sultry second, he’s crowning the snug circle of your hole with two fingers. 

Making you break out with a shrill waiiil as he sinks in the thick, calloused curves of his fingerpads. Letting such thick digits stretch you out fully, make your head spin. “So shut it n’ take this looong fucking cock, ma.”

All that it takes for him to plunge a few more throbbing inches past your maw, oh-so-big that you’re drooling down the sides of your mouth already.

Striking the edge of your throat and making you choke on his sheer size, your nose wrinkles as you’re tickled by the curly tendrils of his pinkish hair. “This enough or you want three, pretty girl-”

“I-”

Letting out such a cloying squelch that spurts from your pussy once he’s teasin’ your entrance, “Not you, mama. She wants three.”

Moaning away wildly after each pump of his fingers- Sukuna doesn’t even have to try to dip into each nook n’ orifice. Slamming to fingers down to each knobbly knuckle with a resounding slam- “See? See?” 

So cockdrunk on the feeling of his velvety tongue that you’re only partly registering the way his vocals are higher. Unsteady. 

The way you’re clamping your dewy walls in a cute, squelching smooch ‘round his digits makes his voice fucking crack. “J-just take it a bit- fuck- deeper.” Mindless little half-thrusts up into your heated mouth like he can’t even control it- “You can swallow it up like a reeeeal good girl, can’t you?”

“Mmm—” Purposefully letting off your pretty sounds all over his fleshy girth, “Yes- yes yes yes- more.”

“More?”

“More.”

As if he wouldn’t fucking ruin you if he could. 

“You want more?”

“Y-yes- oh.”

Only to be gifted with such a rude slap of his doughy palm, “Not you.” And he’s waiting for the soppy squelches leaking out from your cunt, the way you’re talking to him from your swollen lips just to continue. 

Squelch after squelch.

Your pleas only spur him to tug at the sweet, softened ring of your cunt, latching his lips over the flexing muscle. “If you say so—” Crooning, you can feel the cold hiss of his metallic rings upon the insides of your thighs. Sukuna’s biceps shifting as he starts to tug them off–

“A-actually-” You’re popping off of the strawberry-pink curve of his cocktip with a plop! a few glittery strings of pre and spit still connecting you lewdly to it. “…Keep them on?”

“Oh. Ohoho- you naughty lil’ thing.” He’s swatting over the slope of your dripping wet pussy n’ giving your clit a good pinch with his ringed fingers. “You like it like this- like- this-?”

He’s spitting out each word into your cunt, thrusting the barrelling tips of his fingerpads to graze just below your pulsating g-spot. “All those mouthy lectures?” In vulgar tandem strokes with the thwack! of his heavy, curvaceous balls slapping your chin. “And you wanna take it like- this- mama? Ohhh, it just makes me wanna…”

Trailing off, Sukuna’s body is just bulky - oh-so-tall that he can bend and reach down to cup your throat with his one free hand. 

Digging five of his fingertips into the side of your throat as he’s holding your neck and squeezing- feeling the cylindrical outline of his cock bulging your poor mouth. Up n’ down, up n’ down- he’s feeling for the precise moments his plump cockhead lodges at the back of your throat. 

“Who’d have known the cute lil’ teacher would be such a slut f’me. Cat got yer tongue, girl, orrrr—s’it just my dick?” Humming over your clit, he’s adding a fourth finger that swabs at the texture of your gummy walls. 

“F-fuck off- ngh-”

“Wha’s that? Try- try and say my name?” Squeezing. Only feeling your ripped, pathetic vibrations. “Can f-feel myself over here.”

With four neatly pushing fingers. 

Pulling back with a sluuurp–! Slowly, just so that you whimper that the knobs of his joints, just so that he can thump right on the target of your g-spot and make you cry out in cute bliss. “So s’only fair that I’m over here, pretty girl.”

“Yes- yes yes yes—” Words bubble out and slur out of your maw, in unison with such sloshing spurts of saliva. 

You’re drooling everywhere - from both pairs of lips. Your mouth over Sukuna’s hard, vein-covered erection, glazing his puffy lines of veins with sap. And your pussy slide-slide-sliiiiding down the gaping area of his mouth, wide open and eagerly lapping up each sloppy drag of your hips.

Faster.  

And now that Sukuna had actually found your most favorite spot, he couldn’t fucking stop.

Not when each whack at that same exact spot makes you splash your sweetened slick all down his throat, not when you were clenching your walls and cryin’ out at the frigid brush of his thick rings.

Again and again, he’s probin’ his crowned fingertips to push against the insides of your pussy, “Don’t think m’gonna last ngh-”

 “Yeah-” And that’s not to say his tongue was letting you off easy, either- simply aching with the feverish state of his movements. But it hurt Sukuna more any moment he wasn’t snogging your glossy cunt, n’ so he’s slapping your clit with a wet one-two. Spank after spank to make your hips jerk back and forth, “Whaddaya want? To cum? S’that it?”

Blubbering over the taste of his slick, sensitive slit, “Yes- yes, please- m’so fucking close.”

“Not. You.” Each word ended with two swats on your simmering pussy, you’re webbing his chin all down with syrupy sap. 

Moving off from your throat with a final squeeze, a bicep tightening ‘round your hips to squeeze you in place. “Not you- but you, pretty girl.” Slickly gliding back and forth all over your pried-open cunt, all over the quivering rim of your hole. Everywhere and anywhere. “Why don’tcha talk louder?”

And it’s not just you riding his tongue dry - it’s Sukuna bucking animalistically upwards, too. Pressing the ridges of his washboard abs up against your front, you’re just fountaining out so much sappy slick that it’s running down to the large mouth that he had tattooed across his stomach. As if both his ravenous mouths were gulping up each of your slick puddles. 

Crooning at the oversaturated squelch that spills out of you- he’s nodding like he’s never heard a sweeter sentence. Nudging his knuckles to bump against your g-spot, “If you say so—”

You don’t get to find out what he’s hearing - but you’re registering the gist soon enough.

Because by then Sukuna has his ringed index swiping your g-spot, coldly massaging that bundle of nerves. Hard. Sloppy. At the very same second he’s settling the fringes of his canines on your perky clit and streeeetching-

“O-oh my god I’m—” Keening out a whimper, your high runs you over like a rollercoaster. And you’re rocking your boneless body to and fro just as much, thumping your thighs into Sukuna’s sharp jawline. 

“Yes-” Clenching around his motions so hard that he has to fight to unstick his digits from the sides of your bubblegum walls, still fucking you through your lecherous high. “Oh, hell yeah, been so good for you, mama- why don’tcha reward me? Use me- hck- use me.”

As if you weren’t thrusting your cunt back into his face in a frenzy already, he’s using the arm holding onto your waist to keep you repeatedly moving. 

Tired-out. Fingers tugging into each crevice of your velvety walls. Cheeks aching and hollow where he’s putting such force on your throbbing clit to suck- “Ride my- mmmf-” Talking with his mouth full, “Ride my fuckin’ face raw- wanted to taste y’cumming on my tongue for so long.”

With your spine arched, you’re pulling off of the bulged tip of his cock just as he’s spewing out a slimy ribbon of ivory white. Just a single drivel of cum- just from the way you’re cumming. 

“God- god fucking dammit.” Sukuna spits, right into your cunt. And he barely even takes his eyes off of your slobbering pussy to snake a free hand down and plug his geysering orifice with his thumb.

Stopping himself promptly from cumming if it isn’t anywhere near your pussy.

But that didn’t mean he was letting you get away.

Oh, no- he’s still pulling you back with inclines of his head like a man addicted. Thoroughly drunk on the heady globs of slick that travelled between your legs, pushing and pushing himself upwards to glue his glossed lips all over your cunt.

You can feel yourself squealing with each lap of his scratchy tongue- the primal overstimulation too much that great droplets of tears take over your eyes. 

“O-oh– fuck- m’so sensitive, Sukuna.” You’re arching your back away- “I don’t know if I- oh!” Only to get pulled back down. Toes curling when this only spurs him to dive himself even deeper, flopping out the flexible end of his tongue to try n’ flit past your squeezing hole. 

Drawling, “Remember those fuckin’ sugar cookies? You taste- hah- even fucking better.”

Sniffling, your spine zings with a few more zaps of electricity as he’s starting to caress your sweetened g-spot once more. 

And the only thing you can do is try and pathetically pry his firmly-planted palm from his lengthy shaft, trying for the life of you to just get another taste-

“Oh. Oh.” Sukuna gasps from behind, pink brows raising. “I see what you’re doing, pretty girl. H-heh…hungry for more, are you?”

He didn’t need any further answer - because the way you’re cutely clenching to glaze his scouring digits tells him more than enough.

And before you know it, you’re finding yourself pulled off of his long, aching cock like some glorified ragdoll. Sukuna was just so large - in every sense of the word - that he could manhandle you with only one arm. 

Clinging onto the side of your waist as he’s sitting up, he makes you straddle the twitchy length of his cock. And now that you were seated upon his lap- oh, could you admire him.

Ryomen Sukuna was a fucking masterpiece. 

From the bands of tattoos circling his biceps, his wrists, straight down to the plush of his sculptured thighs. “Like what you see?” He tilts his head cockily down at you, slouching sexily back on your wooden headboard to let you take in all of his tensed core. 

Glistening pecs all temptingly large, abs ripped. 

“M’gonna get those pretty haaah- fucking initials of yours tatted.” He’s tapping the prominent side of his left v-line with a polished finger, “Right here.”

Climbing further upon his lap, you rest your ass cheeks back against his swaying cock, bobbing so hard n’ proud between your sheeny thighs. Pouting, “Only if you fuck me, Kuna— ngh-”

“Kuna? Tch- you see that lil’ tattoo here, mama?” He sounded as if he was shattering, and he’s leaning back so that you can take a goood, long look at the circular tattoo on his base. Nuzzled by the tufts of his pinkish happy trail, and his tender underside - but it was still there.

Like a target. And Sukuna’s thinking the exact same thing, “You’re gonna take it riiiight- till- here-” Lodging the swollen end of his shaft to plug your hole, it’s such a tiiight fit as he starts bullying inside. “Until- hah-” Feeling a hand down your tummy, your womb. “-here.”

He was going to fit himself until your pretty pussy won’t be able to forget him.

And it takes only seconds for you to be clawing onto his tattooed deltoids for dear life, feeling the inner parts of your thighs slip n’ slide down his own with perspiration. You scramble with the stringy, slightly-torn fabric of your panties still on- “Kuna- Su–Kuna, this-”

“Nah, let it stay.” Snickering, he claws onto the top of your scalp. “You have much…heh- bigger ngh- problems ta worry about, pretty girl.”

Bigger - his prolonged shaft was simply ravaging your walls. Plumply ballooned-up enough that his veiny layer rubs your sweetest spots without even meaning to, and you’re just seeing stars with every inch deeper his mazing cock spears through. “Fuck- fuck, it really is big-”

“Mhm– and you’re going- to take- it all.” Times like this he’s wishing he had just about four fucking hands. Because one’s pushing down, down, down on the lolling top of your head, the other’s pushin’ your trembling thighs apart just so you could straddle his meaty hips. “All hah- say my name. Say my name while you take it-”

And he always did love the way you said his name.

The way you’re letting free a few bubbly spurts of saliva as you’re babbling away–”Sukuna- Su-” Throat clogging up with so many sobs of utter bliss, “Kuna—”

“Again with the ‘Kuna’- s’not my name, silly girl.” Even though each sound of that slurring nickname makes him twitch against your deepest insides. 

But you can’t even hear him properly, eardrums distantly popped until the only thing you can feel is the thump! of your heartbeat between your legs. And the way that his reddened, slick-glazed tip was thrashing your tight insides, “Kuna- ngh, please, Kuna. Wan’ it a-all hck! Inside.”

The swabbing girth of his cock was so fat that he has you stupid with just his size, biceps bulging as he’s pressurizing down on your head. “God-” And you can only blink pathetically once he’s bringing up his free hand to your blurry line of sight. Hissing, “Bite down-” Lips smirking as you plant a kittenish bite, he fucks up into you once to make your force increase. “Bite down harder and take it.”

He wasn’t wasting any time - he didn’t have the fucking patience.

He barely even had the sanity to tease you and edge you for hours on end like he’d always wanted to. Instead fucking up into you like a damn animal- he’s swatting your cunt with the edge of his throbbing cock. Spitting through clenched teeth, “O-oh, if yer gonna ask for all of it then m’not playin’ around, ma.”

You sink your teeth in and nearly scream into the flesh of his forearm, gnawing down right at his tattoo. “Mmmpf- big- nghh–” Unable to fucking take it, the only thing you can do is arch your hips deeper and let his pummeling rams spike your poor insides.

Hitting the very back of your cervix with a wet thwack! that makes your eyes damn near bulge out of your head.

He…bottomed-out. 

“Lemme check now…” Taking a single peek at the way his hilt was all covered up by your bloated folds until he couldn’t see that tattoo anymore. “S’all in.”

And the towering man wasn’t celebrating once he did - he was pumping all his fleshy inches into you like he’d gone feral. 

Eyes dazed and hooded, mouth frothing with a line of silver drool - Sukuna grunts after each singular gliiiide of his watery orifice drawing down the bottom of your pussy. Sloppy. “F-fucking hell, never felt like this- what the…”

“Are you okay- oh god nghh–”

“M’fuckin’ more than okay.” Spitting out crassly, Sukuna swerves his hips off of the rickety bedsprings to drag his cock harder down your cunt. And it just felt so delicious to have his swollen veins stir up your walls, “S’just— who let you feel this good?”

Your honeyed cunt has made him way too pussydrunk that now he’s tattling out everything from his melty mind. And you can only whine– “Heh-” One hand grazing his scorched ear, “You’re blushing, Kuna- better not be ngh- tapping out on me.”

“Tapping out?” Punctuated by a hard spank against the door to your womb - exactly where he said he would be - and then a harder one against your mapped-out g-spot. “Me? Me tappin’ out?”

Blinking through the splotchy whites sparking in your vision, “Y-yeah- fuck!”

SPANK!

Oh-so-hard, he’s swatting your pussy with enough stinging force that it makes glittering drops of slick splash across his slamming palm. “You n’ this smartass pussy are gonna see.” He’s gritting through dangerously grinning teeth, “There’s a fuckin’ reason I’m Ryomen fucking Sukuna.”

Because he’s rude - and he fucks even ruder.

Pounding away upwards into you like he doesn’t care if he’s bruising great purple bruises at the bottom of your cervix. The mattress creaks in fervent protest after each gyration of his hips, “P-please-” The only thing you’re mewling out like a broken record, “I-it just feels so…”

Trailing off, your movements are sluggish as your hand starts to slither down between your rutting legs. Yearning to just touch your neglected clit-

SPANK!

“Oi- and who’d ya think you are to touch- hngh- my pretty girl?” He’s grinning, manhandling you in an instant. Before your candied brain can catch up, Sukuna has both your arms pinned behind your back, chin hitting his cushy pecs. “I’ll touch her when I feel like it-”

Such a fucking tease, at the constant timing of his slimy mushroom tip spearing your cunt like a headlight- Sukuna lifts off one of his hands downwards.

Replacing your own with his roughened fingers, he pinches your poor clit—“Sh-shit m’so sensitive there- keep going, Kuna–”

And at this point you weren’t just drooling you were sheening the entirety of his smooth pectorals with a shiny polish. Letting it smear down the side of your cheek as you drunkenly lean on them like pillows, “Chehhh-” He’s spitting out, staring down at the glistening glaze dripping down to his bumpy abs. “Tha’s supposed to stay inside, pretty girl.” 

“I-inside?” Dazedly, the only thing you can think of were your rummaging insides, the way that Sukuna was fucking you like he hated you.

But it was the complete opposite. And he’s draggin’ on your clit, giggling to himself like he’s in love as he watches you huff n’ puff. “God you love it like this- c’mon, ngh- teach, milk this fucking cock- why don’t ya?”

“I-I am-”

SPANK! 

“Harder, mama, make me feel it.”

With a right spank to emphasize his sentence, he’s jostling his hips upwards so you’re left throwing your head back at the full, stretching impact. Unable to even handle the slightly spring recoil that comes with striking your cervix, he’s bouncing you on his pelvis. 

“S’this what you thought about every- hah- time you saw me?” Taking hold of your neck for a brief moment, he’s spitting doooown your throat. “Wantin’ me to fuck this- ngh- pussy raw?”

And the locked restraint on your neck helps bend you into the perfect geometrical curvature to stare up at him as he collapses forwards. Hot breath wafting your features, you whimper- “Y-yes.”

“Not you.”

“Kuna.”

“I’ve been dreamin’ of this for aaages now-” His clammy forehead crinkles as he’s scratching down your clit with the rough texture of his happy trail. Leaving it all stinging n’ raw to make sure the impact is extra sensual as Sukuna rubs over a slooow ‘K’ right on top. 

Rutting into your poor cunt so hard that the skin surrounding his v-line was all reddened- and he can’t help but take one look and moan. “M’getting that tattooed.” Watching as his mean, curvaceous cock molded your walls constantly to him. “Oh- trust when I say-”

And then a ‘U’

“Fuh-fuuuuck, please-” It almost feels like you’re begging for your damn life by now, lungs ripping with moans every time he’s thumping up. You ride your hips in a sexy figure-eight and feel the way Sukuna’s thumb trembles on your clit. 

A wobbly ‘N’

And you already knew what was headed next- oh, you were already prepared. 

But what you weren’t ready for was the completely vicious way that he’s accelerating his papping hips, so fast that the dark tattoo nuzzling your entrance was almost a blur. Thump after thump- 

You’re falling over until that symbolic inking of a widely-opened maw on his stomach licks up your core. Body twitching with white hot flashes of something electric running through your veins, “F-fuck- fuck, s’not gonna last-”

“S’that soooo—?” Sukuna asks down at your pussy to confirm, and only after a few ‘uh-huh’’s does he bore into your stupidly heart-shaped eyes. Tongue lolling straight out for him to lap up into his own mouth, “She says you’re close-”

A firm ‘A’

Another SPANK!

“-and I say you’re cumming already.”

“Wh-what…”

He’s ending off with a perfect heart shape rolled over your clit. What’s that spell- he’s asking mentally. 

Only for you to mewl wantonly as if you’d just heard. “Kuna- Sukuna- Yes- yes m’cumming m’cumming—” 

It’s like you’re enveloped in a tidal wave - you didn’t know where your orgasm started and where it ended. Just that Sukuna’s moans break into something octaves higher as he fucks you through your bliss.

You claw down the expanse of his flexing back with each burst of pre splattering your gooey insides. Toes curled, eyes all teary. “I-it’s so- hck! Feels too good…”

Turning you into absolute mush every time he pumps his thorough inches into you- and the mean fingers on your nub just tug n’ tug.

And it’s only after a few more of your shrilling whines that you’re still feeling the hot entrance of his shaft plummeting through, your walls squeezing ‘round his flared tip. “I want you to cum, too, Sukuna.”

“F-fuck.” He lets out, softly.

Cupping his attractive face, if you thought you were gone then you weren’t ready for the way that Sukuna looked. Cheeks burning hot and red, mouth parted with overspilling drool, brows furrowed into such an expression that it almost makes you feel shy.

Repeating those very same words, you start sloppily swervin’ your hips straight to his. “Cum inside m- ngh, please?”

All this time and his cute lil’ teacher was still minding her p’s and q’s. 

So, of course, when you’re asking him that nicely- it’s the least he could do to listen. To let out a final, vulgar stroke that has him spilling over the edge.

In great, piling heaps of ivory cum that puddles at the bottom of your pussy. There’s so much of it that your ears ring with the lecherous sluuurp–! as your cunt walls suck up every last steaming drop. 

You can feel it trailing down the insides of your thighs like a waterfall and keen, “Just like that, f-fuck…” Almost like you’re hypnotized, you drag one of his much-larger hands to palm the outside of your tummy. “Can feel it all the way here.”

“O-oh my god…” He’s groaning, eyes drifting off to the back of his head as soon as you’re meeting his tempo. Slamming down to rob his aching balls, milking him all dry - you were overspilling and it still wasn’t enough. “Y’really are a dream.” 

And there’s something about the way he’s sluggishly brushing away a stray bead of perspiration from your temple. Something about that lazy, half-lidded look in his eyes, the complete n’ utter reverence in his tone as he asks- “So…s’your type ‘dangerous’, mama?”

Almost…shy.

Oh, it hits you. He’s pussydrunk.

You’d made big, bad Ryomen Sukuna completely and utterly pussydrunk.

To the point where his studded ears flare a deep crimson once you giggle, “Mmm- pretend dangerous, Kuna.” His eyes shine. You think back to that night at the Itadori household, “And I also remember something about quadruplets?” 

It’s then that Sukuna whimpers. 

Not even pulling out. Not even considering such an impossible feat for even a split-second before he rolls your weakened body over.

Hovering over you now, it’s so easy for his beefy arms to tug your legs over his shoulders. Still shaking. Still suffering from the aftermath of your orgasm as he’s holding them tight and bending down, down, dooooown.

Straight into a mating press. 

Oh, your breath catches.

“Before I pound you until you can’t haaah- walk, mama-” Uncharacteristically, Sukuna gulps as he shifts his crimson eyes away from you. “-m’I giving you quadruplets that’ll have my last name?”

Now that was a round-about way to ask someone out- and he knows it, too. 

But it only makes you shuffle up onto your elbows on the now-ruined sheets, sticking to you like glue. You place a lingering peck on Sukuna’s wobbly, overstimulated lips, “Mm- I love you, too, Kuna.”

Oh, how he loves you. He almost cums right then and there. 

Fuck.

He does. 

.

.

.

“You.”

“You.” Yuji narrows his eyes down at the sight of Ryomen Sukuna towering over the busy preschool pick-up. Trying to look over his broad shoulders for any sign of his father, “Huh? But dadda said he was coming to pick me up today?”

Sukuna gingerly scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, well…listen, twerp- I mean, kid. There’s something I need to-”

Only to be cut off by a dramatic gasp—“Oh no- Did dadda go to jail just like you-”

“No,”

“Did he drive fast-”

“No.”

“Did he drink-”

“No-”

“Did he slash tires-”

“Maybe once?”

And fuck- he really didn’t understand tiny children, because explain to him why the pink-haired boy starts bawling in his arms. Pitiful enough to draw the glares of parents wrenching their own children away from the perpetrator, loud enough to draw the sweet concern of you.

Walking from your station saying goodbye to one other student, “Yuji what- oh!” You’re pressing your lips together to contain your smile as you happen to see who was throwing Yuji on his shoulders to soothe him. Bouncing him lightly until he smiled- and you did, too. “I didn’t expect you so early today, Kuna.”

“Yeah, well.” He’s using Yuji’s palms to cover the pinkish ends of his blushing ears, “Decided I wanted to see ya off from work today.”

Now past grief and straight into utter nosiness- “Wait- what do you mean ‘see off’.” He gasps, “Is she going to ja-”

“Brat-”

“What your uncle means to say, Yuji-” Playfully pinching his chubby cheeks, you try to ignore the gawking stares of every other one of your remaining students as you promptly turn to face Sukuna. Giving him a sweet, sweet peck on his. “-is that you’ll be seeing a lot more of me around.”

Another gasp - well, multiple.

One from Itadori Yuji, who gapes, open-mouthed between you and his uncle - as if wondering how he ever managed to bag you, and wait does that mean you’re his auntie now?

About twenty from your crowd of students, right along with a few whispers. 

“Hey, isn’t that weird Mr. Mugshot?”

“So that’s why Mr. Mugshot was always red- eugh! In my momma’s dramas they don’t get together, they just die.”

Fushiguro frowns, “I would rather die than watch him like this. Gross.”

“Caviar.”

Walking up from the group, Fushiguro tugs on your skirt. Innocently - but Sukuna could feel the evil intent. He just knew that boy was a villain. “Inumaki asks whether you mind that he sets fires, miss.”

What the fuck is with the fires-

And then finally - three distinct, unfortunately familiar gasps that make Sukuna dread turning around. Struggling against it, even as his nephew tugs on his locks of pink hair with a delighted squeal- “Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps-”

You smile, watching Choso take flustered pictures of his uncle. “How the hell did you even win her over? All of these are going in the blackmail folder. Maybe your wedding presentation too.”

Sukuna bites back a shy blush- turning it into a scowl, “Maybe…”

“Well, I’ll be.” Wasuke nods his head in approval, “All thanks to the ah- ‘wingmanning’ as the kids say. I’ll be expecting at least three grandchildren in the future, sonny. And when I say ‘future’ I mean in nine months-”

“Dad! It’s too early for that.” Jin, ever-the-voice-of-reason, gives you a breezy handshake. “Congratulations- by the way.” And it’s all soft. It’s all sweet- that is, until you’re trying to pull your hand back and he only tightens his grip. Smile still tightly in place, “I will be the kids’ godfather, by the way.”

Settling an arm around you now, You and Sukuna don’t know whether to laugh or stand in shocked silence as Jin finally sets you free - but you don’t have to make the choice.

Because the annoying, grating voice of Todo Aoi breaks through—“Noooooo– my bride!” 

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

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serenity 🖤

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CREDIT: @Rrrrrrice-

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I just imagine sebastian being like wake up sleepy head to ominis (like the vine ) Only for mc to go what the fuck from the bed cue the running and laughing like the vine

Wake-Up Call | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

💚 The Vine, for reference. This was so cute and fun to write, thank you for the ask, Anon!!! I hope you love it ahaha

Words: ~1,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Friendship, Fluff/Crack

Morning came gently, slipping in through the curtains in soft, golden streaks. The world outside was quiet, still half-dreaming, and Ominis would have liked nothing more than to stay exactly where he was: tucked beneath the blankets, warm, content, and completely tangled up with you.

It still felt unreal.

Your breath ghosted softly against his collarbone, your body pressed against his side as if you belonged there. (And you did—you always had, he realized.) The weight of your leg draped over his own, anchoring him in place, and one of your hands rested against his bare chest, fingers curled lightly over his heartbeat.

Ominis tightened his hold on you slightly, just enough to feel the give of your body against his. The fabric of his oversized shirt—the one you had stolen to sleep in—shifted under his fingers, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel your skin again, warm and bare under his hands.

For years, he had resigned himself to loving you quietly, distantly, safely. He thought it was better that way, to spare himself the risk of losing you altogether. But last night had shattered all of that. The way you had touched him, whispered his name against his lips, told him you loved him—he could still hear it now, echoing through his thoughts like a spell he never wanted to break.

He had you. You loved him.

Ominis could have stayed like this forever, just holding you, listening to your steady breathing, pressing lazy kisses to your hair while the rest of the world ceased to matter.

But, of course, Sebastian Sallow had other plans.

The sound of heavy footsteps storming up the stairs made Ominis’s eyes snap open. A flicker of recognition—and dread—spread through his drowsy mind, but before he could react, the bedroom door slammed open so violently he almost expected it to come off the hinges.

“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!”

Sebastian’s voice exploded into the room, and just like that, Ominis’s perfect, dreamlike morning was utterly, violently ruined.

You jerked awake beside him with a startled gasp, sitting upright so fast that the blankets fell away from your shoulders. Your hair was an absolute disaster, your face still slack with sleep, your eyes bleary and unfocused as you processed the intrusion. And your voice—groggy, irritated, and utterly unimpressed—cut through the chaos like a knife.

“What the fuck?"

Ominis felt Sebastian freeze, could hear the split second it took for realization to dawn.

Then, Sebastian let out the single most obnoxious cackle Ominis had ever heard in his life—loud, breathless, utterly delighted.

Ominis didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He just sat there, shoulders hunched, gripping the bridge of his nose as the morning crumbled into absolute disaster.

Sebastian was laughing so hard he could barely stand. He was bent at the waist, one hand clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, the other pointing wildly in Ominis’s general direction. He gasped between fits of breathless cackling, his voice breaking into high-pitched wheezes, his entire body shaking with uncontrollable mirth.

Ominis inhaled deeply through his nose, his jaw tight, his grip on the bridge of his nose whitening his knuckles. He tried—tried—to will himself into calm.

It didn’t work.

Because Sebastian was still laughing. Because this morning—the most perfect morning of his entire miserable, tortured existence—had been utterly, violently desecrated by Sebastian bloody Sallow, who had apparently appointed himself agent of chaos and ruiner of happiness.

“OH—OH, THIS—” Sebastian wheezed, laughing so hard he snorted. “THIS IS INCREDIBLE—”

That was it. That was the last bloody straw.

Ominis had the vague, dull thought that murder was technically illegal, but at this moment, he was fully willing to risk it.

He flung back the covers with enough force to send a rush of cool air through the room.

Sebastian, meanwhile, still had the audacity to stand there, grinning, hands on his hips, clearly about to launch into a monologue about how he was right all along—

Ominis didn’t give him the chance. He surged to his feet.

Sebastian’s grin instantly faltered. “Ominis, wait—”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Sebastian had always been fast. Quick on his feet, trained in dodging punches, skilled in knowing exactly when to run for his damn life.

And run, he did.

He scrambled backward so fast he slammed into the doorframe, nearly knocking himself out, before turning and sprinting down the hallway like the devil himself was after him.

Which, to be fair, he was.

“Ominis, mate—”

“YOU BLOODY IMBECILE—”

“I WAS JUST SAYING GOOD MORNING—”

“DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO FUCKING KNOCK—”

You sat in bed for a long moment, blinking at the now-empty space where Ominis had been while listening to the heavy thud-thud-thud of feet flying down the staircase.

From the bed, you could only stare at the open doorway, watching the last fleeting glimpse of Ominis’s bare back before he disappeared completely down the stairs, hot on the heels of his laughing, screaming best friend.

“Merlin’s sake, Ominis, let’s be rational about this—!”

“Rational?! You just—”

Then came the sound of furniture scraping against the floor—probably Sebastian vaulting over the sitting room sofa in his escape. A muffled thud followed, then Ominis’s furious voice.

“STOP RUNNING AND FACE YOUR FATE, YOU COWARD.”

Sebastian’s response was a hysterical, “AS IF—”

Another loud thud followed. Something crashed. Possibly a chair.

“Okay, ow, that was unnecessary—”

You groaned, rubbing at your face, exhaustion weighing down your limbs. All you had wanted was one peaceful morning—one slow, perfect, love-drunk morning wrapped up in Ominis.

Instead, this.

That's when the back door slammed open.

You sighed, shoving the blankets off and forcing yourself out of bed, your body sluggish and still aching from last night (not that you were complaining). Tugging Ominis’s oversized shirt down your thighs, you stumbled toward the window, blinking sleepily against the morning light.

What you saw was nothing short of absurd.

Sebastian was sprinting across the grass in the back garden, kicking up damp earth in his wake, absolutely booking it toward the far side of the yard where the trellis climbed up the garden wall, and right on his heels—furious, relentless, and hellbent on bloodshed—was Ominis.

“I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE NICE!” Sebastian yelled, breathless as he dodged a thrown shoe (where did Ominis get that?)

“YOU ARE A PLAGUE UPON THIS EARTH, SALLOW!” Ominis shouted back.

Sebastian shrieked—an actual, honest-to-Merlin shriek—as he realized that Ominis was not slowing down.

He made a desperate grab for the trellis, yanking himself up in a frantic attempt to climb over the garden wall.

Big mistake.

Ominis was on him in seconds, gripping the back of his shirt and yanking so forcefully that Sebastian let out a strangled yelp and tumbled backward, landing in a heap on the grass.

You winced. That sounded painful.

Ominis, meanwhile, did not give him time to recover. He was on him immediately, shoving Sebastian onto his back, pinning him down by the shoulders with an iron grip.

“You are the worst human being alive,” Ominis seethed, breath still ragged from the chase.

Sebastian grinned up at him, eyes still watery from laughing too hard. “That’s a bit dramatic—”

Ominis shook him. Sebastian wheezed.

“You—” Ominis snarled, his voice low and deadly “—are lucky that I respect Anne too much to murder her brother.”

Sebastian, still grinning like an absolute menace, coughed, clearly thrilled by the whole situation. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis, you’re acting like I—like I walked in on you shagging her—”

Ominis’s grip tightened. Sebastian immediately regretted everything.

“WAIT—WAIT, NO—”

Too late.

Ominis decked him.

It wasn’t his full strength—just a precise, well-aimed punch to the shoulder, but it was enough. Sebastian yelped, clutching at his arm, curling in on himself like a wounded animal.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, rolling onto his side, still winded. “That was unnecessary—”

“So was your existence in my bedroom this morning, and yet here we are.” Ominis huffed, shaking out his hand as if debating whether or not to go for round two.

You, watching from the window, sighed deeply. You had a feeling that if you didn’t intervene, this ridiculous chase was going to last all bloody morning.

You leaned out the window, out just enough for your voice to carry across the garden.

“Ominis!”

He didn’t let go of Sebastian's shirt.

The brunette, however, perked up, flashing you the smuggest grin imaginable. “Good morning, darling!” he called sweetly, dodging a swipe from Ominis at the last second. “Sleep well?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Ominis, love,” you tried again, making sure your voice was sickly sweet, laced with just enough teasing to make him falter. “Are you really going to let him take you on a full lap around the garden when you could be back in bed with me?”

That did it.

His grip on Sebastian's shirt slackened, his breath still heaving from the chase, but his priorities had just been rearranged. Because you were right. He had far better things to be doing than entertaining Sebastian’s nonsense.

Ominis stood to his full height and turned on his heel, stalking back toward the house. When he reached the door, he paused, tilting his head slightly in Sebastian’s direction.

“For the record,” Ominis said smoothly, “if you ever pull something like this again, I won’t stop at one punch.”

Sebastian, sprawled dramatically in the grass, grinned up at the sky. “Worth it,” he sighed contentedly, massaging his shoulder.

Ominis didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turned back toward the house, his pace quickening as he climbed the stairs.

As soon as he stepped inside the bedroom, he felt you—warm hands against his chest, laughter still humming in your throat as you tilted your head up to press a kiss to his jaw.

“You look murderous.”

“I am murderous,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as if physically willing the memory of the past ten minutes out of his head. “He’s never going to let this go.”

You grinned. “Of course he’s not.”

Ominis let out a long, suffering sigh—but then you were pulling him back toward the bed, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

“Come back to bed,” you murmured.

Ominis exhaled slowly, his fingers finding your waist, curling into the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt. Just like that, the last remnants of frustration, irritation, and righteous fury toward Sebastian Sallow unraveled, dissolving into something softer. Something infinitely more important.

And so he followed you into the sheets without hesitation, sinking into the warmth of your embrace, determined to reclaim the peace that had been so disgracefully stolen from him.

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inofficial double date at the beach

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Also I needed some real solars for his trials because he ONLY EVER GIVES ME BONFIRE OR BUNNY

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Wip

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pov ur a rubber ducky

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the exile

— (rafayel)

.

'o desterrado' by antónio soares dos rei

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Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

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ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.13

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ angst(just a bit cause it’s me), Fluff, maybe ill do mama making baby cry too for some equality

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They cry because of their daddy

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The sea side estate was unusually quiet for a late afternoon.

The soft jingle of shell-beaded curtains, the warm scent of rose milk and vanilla from the diffuser, the subtle sounds of waves from the windows, all the usual markers of peace were there. But something was wrong.

You noticed it immediately when your two-year-old, your darling baby girl, came toddling into the living room with glassy eyes and quivering lips. Her purple curls, a perfect match to Rafayel’s, were fluffed from static, and her cheeks were red, not from warmth. From holding in tears.

“Mommy…” she hiccuped, crawling right into your lap like she always did when she wanted safety. “…D-Daddy yelled…”

Your heart dropped. “What?”

She nodded, bottom lip trembling hard. “I just wanted to show him my dress…”

You looked down and gasped quietly. She had on her sparkliest princess dress, the pink tulle one she begged you to get because “Mommy wears sparkly too!” And her tiara. Crooked. Like she’d put it on all by herself.

You gently brushed the tear off her plump little cheek. “Baby… what happened?” You cooed, already wrapping your arms around her soft body, her small frame trembling slightly.

“I said ‘Daddy! Daddy! Look at me!’ an’ he was talkin’ to the phone… and he said… ‘Not now, princess, stop shouting.’” She sniffled, choking up. “But… I wasn’t shoutin’, Mommy…”

Oh.

Your eye twitched. That was enough.

You pulled her close, peppering kisses all over her teary cheeks, rubbing her back. “No, you weren’t shouting, baby. You were just trying to show your pretty dress, huh?”

She nodded miserably, her fists clinging to your shirt. “I wanted to spin… and he didn’t even look.”

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby,” you murmured, rocking her slowly. “Mommy’s looking now. Wowww, look at you, the prettiest princess in the whole world. Mommy loves your dress. Mommy wants you to spin, okay? Want to show me?”

She sniffled, doing a slow, wobbly little spin in your lap. You clapped softly, gasping like she’d performed on stage. “So perfect. Mommy’s perfect girl. So sparkly and beautiful.”

That’s when you heard the bedroom door open.

Rafayel, still on the call, stepped out into the hallway. His hair was slightly messy, and his voice had that clipped, distracted tone he only got when dealing with thomas.

Then he saw you. And your expression.

And the sniffling bundle in your lap, looking like a broken porcelain doll with her chubby cheeks puffed and stained pink from tears.

“…I’ll call you back,” he muttered hastily into the phone before hanging up.

“Angel—”

“Don’t you dare ‘angel’ me right now,” you snapped, cradling your daughter tighter as she hid her face in your neck. “She came to show you her princess dress, and you told her to stop shouting.”

His brows furrowed, guilt already flickering behind those mismatched eyes. “I didn’t mean—”

“She wasn’t shouting, Rafayel!” you hissed. “She was excited. She wanted your attention. Your adoration, which she always deserves.”

His jaw clenched. He stepped closer, but your hand came up protectively.

“No. You don’t get to come over here until my baby stops crying.”

He froze. And that silence, that hurt him.

The girl in the world who looked like him, and the only two girls who adored him more than the stars in the sky… and she was hiding from him in your arms while you were glaring.

She peeked up, still sniffling.

Rafayel knelt on the floor.

“…Princess. I’m sorry.” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, barely above a whisper. “Daddy was being stupid. You look beautiful. I should’ve looked. I should’ve clapped the loudest. Can I… see your spin now?”

She hesitated.

You gave her one last kiss to her cheek. “Only if you want to, baby.”

She peeked at him again. Rafayel took off his jacket and placed it under her feet like a royal rug. “Princesses don’t walk on boring floors.”

Your daughter wiped her eyes and finally stood.

And she spun. Just once, with a little wobble.

Rafayel clapped like a maniac. “A-mazing! You’re perfect, you know that?”

She still didn’t smile fully. Not yet.

But she waddled toward him. And hugged his head.

“I’m still mad…” she mumbled into his hair. “…But you can hold my hand if you wanna.”

Rafayel almost broke. He kissed her little hand reverently, scooping her up and pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll hold your hand forever.”

You sighed, arms folded, still fuming, but your baby was no longer crying.

Still. You made sure he saw the glare you shot him.

He mouthed: I’m sorry.

You mouthed back: Make it up to her.

He nodded.

By evening, he had built her a pillow castle, made flower-shaped macaroons (badly), and played every princess song she liked, even the annoying ones.

And as your baby girl curled between you both that night, in her sparkly dress she refused to take off, she whispered:

“Mommy… Daddy’s okay now. But you’re the bestest forever.”

And you kissed her cheek again, gently brushing her curls.

“Of course I am, baby. I’m your mommy.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It was supposed to be a calm afternoon.

You were lounging in your favorite robe, your teacup warm in your hand, and the scent of your daughter’s baby shampoo still lingered in the air from her recent bath. She’d been playing beside you with her toy stethoscope and doctor bag, telling you she was “Dr. Zayne” with a very serious expression on her chubby face.

She looked just like him, down to the exact green-gold hue of her eyes, the neat black hair (always a little too tidy), and that naturally serious little pout.

Your mini-Zayne.

Your babygirl.

And like her father, she was quiet, observant, and incredibly careful, especially when it came to her “work.”

She tiptoed into Zayne’s home office, wearing her little white coat, clutching a clipboard scribbled with toddler drawings and stickers. “Daddy… I’m ready for my check-up rounds,” she said softly, hoping for a proud look.

Zayne was mid-call, reviewing surgery schedules and logistics. He hadn’t slept much. He’d been tense all day. But still… no one expected it.

His reply came sharp and low:

“Not now. Out.”

There was a long pause.

You didn’t hear anything more, just the click of the office door opening again.

And then the soft, broken sound of quiet sobbing.

You turned your head to see your baby girl standing at the edge of the couch, fists balled at her sides, eyes brimming with tears and her little doctor coat wrinkled from how tightly she was clutching it.

“He said… go out,” she whimpered.

Your heart shattered.

“Oh, baby,” you gasped, tea forgotten, scooping her into your arms. “Oh my baby girl, come here, come here. Mommy’s got you.”

She melted into you, hiccuping softly. “I just wanted to help him. I’m not bad, right, Mommy? I’m not bad…”

“No, baby, no,” you whispered fiercely, cradling her against your chest as you kissed her temple over and over. “You’re perfect. You’re Mommy’s perfect little helper. Never bad. He was wrong to talk like that to you. So, so wrong.”

You stroked her hair, kissing her damp cheeks and gently rocking her as your fury burned quietly behind your sweet tone. Your voice was full of sugar for her, but your eyes were ice when you looked toward the hallway.

The moment Zayne emerged, silent, composed, surgical tablet still in hand, you met him with the full force of your glare.

“She came in to help you,” you said coldly. “She dressed up like you, Zayne. With her little clipboard and coat. She wasn’t shouting, she wasn’t interrupting. She just wanted your attention.”

Zayne’s gaze lowered to the bundle of your daughter crying into your chest, and his expression shifted.

He realized.

His whole body went still.

He set the tablet down slowly. Then, with that physician precision of his, knelt in front of you both. “Angel,” he said quietly. “Let me see her.”

“She’s not ready,” you said flatly. “You made her cry. You don’t get to touch her yet.”

His jaw twitched. He never raised his voice. Never yelled. But his tone had cut her deep.

“I understand.” He bowed his head. “You’re right.”

Your daughter peeked up from your arms at the sound of his voice, her tear-soaked lashes heavy. “Daddy…”

His eyes shot up immediately. “Princess.”

“I was… I was just being like you,” she whispered. “I was doing check-ups, just like you do for Mommy. You said out…”

Zayne pressed a hand to his chest like her words physically struck him. “I was wrong,” he said simply. “I should never have spoken to you like that. I was overwhelmed, but that’s no excuse. You’re helping. You were doing your job. And you were perfect.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at him, betrayed and uncertain.

Zayne slowly reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

Her stethoscope.

“I can’t do rounds without my favorite nurse, can I?”

Her lip wobbled. “I’m the doctor.”

He nodded solemnly. “You’re right. You’re the doctor. I’m your assistant.”

You looked at your daughter. “Baby. Do you want Daddy to make it up to you?”

She sniffled. Then gave the faintest nod.

“Okay,” you whispered. “But we don’t forgive until he earns it.”

Zayne’s lips quirked just barely, almost in admiration. “What shall I do to earn your forgiveness, Doctor?”

She blinked. “You need to let me give you a shot.”

Zayne nodded. “Where?”

She pointed at his forehead.

You barely bit back a laugh.

He took off his coat, knelt on the plush rug, and let her press a toy syringe to his head. She jabbed it in with serious force. Then again.

Then she put a bandaid sticker between his brows.

“…You’ll survive,” she said sternly

“I’ll try to,” Zayne murmured. Then he looked up at you.

You were still holding your daughter’s hand. Still glaring. But there was softness under it now. You nodded once.

And only then did he lift her into his lap.

You watched her relax into his chest with a sleepy sigh.

“…You’re not in trouble anymore,” she mumbled.

He pressed his lips to her hair, holding her tight.

“I never deserved you two,” he said under his breath.

“You’re damn right you didn’t,” you replied. But you kissed the top of his head this time.

And for the rest of the evening, Dr. Zayne and Assistant Daddy tended to their most important patient: Mommy, who was suddenly sick with “Princess Flu” and needed cupcakes and kisses hourly to recover.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Your home was unusually quiet, too quiet.

Usually, the late afternoon was filled with the clinking of teacups, little feet padding across the penthouse floor, and your daughter’s soft, sweet voice narrating whatever game she’d created. Today, she’d declared herself a “moon bunny princess,” draped in sparkly tulle, silver bows, and star-shaped stickers all over her arms and cheeks.

You were only half-listening, curled on the couch reading, until you realized… she wasn’t talking anymore.

You looked up.

No sign of her in the living room. No sound. Just the faint murmur of Xavier’s voice down the hall.

You followed the sound and peeked around the corner into his office.

Your daughter stood near his desk, holding something behind her back. Her little eyes were wide, lips trembling ever so slightly.

“…I made you a present,” she whispered, revealing a silver foil crown she made from snack wrappers and glitter glue. “So you can be a moon king with me…”

Xavier barely looked up. His voice was low, distant. “Not now. Don’t touch anything.”

“But it’s for you…”

“I said not now,” he said, calm, but cool. Dismissive.

You gasped softly.

She didn’t cry right away. She just froze. Clutching the crown like it would disappear.

Then slowly, silently, turned and walked away.

When she reached you, her big blue eyes were full of unshed tears.

“M-Mommy,” she whispered. “Daddy didn’t want it…”

You knelt immediately, scooping her up into your arms and holding her tight.

“Oh baby, come here. Come to Mommy. My sweet girl, my precious princess…” you cooed, rocking her as you stroked her soft silver hair. “He didn’t mean it, love. He was being a grump. But you? You are so, so sweet.”

She buried her face in your chest. “I wanted him to be the king with me…”

You kissed her forehead gently. “He should’ve wanted that, baby. Because you’re the most magical princess in the whole world. And Mommy always wants to be in your kingdom. Always.”

You turned, eyes narrowed now. “Xavier.”

He’d followed silently. He stood in the hallway, blinking like he’d just realized something was wrong. He hadn’t even noticed what he’d done.

Then he saw her face, how red her cheeks were, how your hand was on the back of her head like you were protecting her from him.

“…She cried because of you,” you said, voice low.

“I didn’t yell,” he murmured.

“No, you didn’t yell. You didn’t have to,” you snapped, rising slowly with her in your arms. “You just turned her away like she wasn’t the most precious thing in the world. She made something for you, Xavier. She wanted to play with you. She worships you. And you… you acted like she was a file you didn’t want to open.”

His hands twitched at his sides.

Your daughter sniffled again. “I thought he’d wear it…”

Xavier knelt immediately. “Give it to me.”

She hid her face again. “No…”

“Princess,” he said softly. “I didn’t understand. But I do now. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

You glared. “You can say sorry. But you better prove it.”

He didn’t speak. He just… stood up, disappeared into the other room, and returned five minutes later in a full homemade outfit.

One of your old silver shawls wrapped like a cape. A pillowcase draped as a tunic. Your daughter’s crown glittering crookedly on his head.

And his expression? Dead serious.

“May I be the Moon King now?” he asked quietly.

Your daughter blinked at him. Then let out the tiniest breath of laughter. “You look silly…”

“I am,” he agreed, kneeling before her. “But I’ll look like anything you want, if it means I get to play with you again.”

You kissed her cheek. “Your choice, baby.”

“…You can come to the moon castle,” she said shyly.

Xavier bowed his head. “Then lead the way, Your Highness.”

He spent the rest of the afternoon crawling after her with a blanket tail, letting her stick stars to his cheeks, and sitting patiently while she declared laws like “no yawning until bedtime” and “everyone has to have a marshmallow.”

At one point, she stopped mid-game to climb into his lap and whisper something.

He looked confused. Then touched his cheek.

“…She kissed me,” he said, bewildered.

“Because I forgive you now,” she said.

You smiled smugly from your lounge chair, arms folded.

“And I don’t,” you called. “You’re still on thin ice.”

Xavier looked over at you with those sleepy blue eyes, glitter stuck to one eyebrow.

“…May I come cuddle later if I bring marshmallows?”

“…Fine. But you better sparkle, King.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

The living room was glittering with afternoon sun, your daughter’s castle fort still half-built across the velvet rug. She had her little clipboard, her play laptop open, and two dolls in sunglasses posed at the edge of the “council table.”

“Mommy’s company board is starting!” she called to you with serious glee.

You giggled, watching her from your chair as you drank your rose latte. “Is Daddy invited this time, or is he still on suspension?”

She looked around dramatically. “He can be the villain. But only if he says sorry for stealing Mommy’s lipstick last time.”

You smiled, heart so full it ached. She was Sylus’s copy, silver hair in bouncy twin tails, red eyes glinting with all the boldness and mischief of her father. But she was all yours when it came to loyalty. A certified Mama’s girl.

She marched toward his office, dragging a plastic briefcase nearly as big as her.

“Daddy!” she called sweetly through the door. “You’re late for the board meeting! I made a seat for you next to Mommy!”

You winced slightly. Sylus had been irritable all day, meetings back to back, a shipment of arms seized at a border, and one of his armory brokers was in deep shit for leaking data.

Still… she was knocking softly at his door. So hopeful.

The door opened.

And Sylus stood there in his crisp black shirt, expression sharp and tired, hair tousled slightly. “What?”

She held up a little drawing she’d made of you, him, and herself in tiny suits. “I made this! And I got your seat ready!”

He glanced at the drawing. Just a glance. Then exhaled sharply.

“Not now, princess. Go play somewhere else. I’m busy.”

His tone wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

You heard it from across the room, felt it like a dagger to the gut.

You stood halfway before you even saw her reaction.

Your daughter blinked once. Then twice. Her lip trembled. She crumpled the paper in her fist, the one she drew for him, and her eyes welled with tears.

You were already there before the first one fell.

“Oh, baby, no,” you gasped, kneeling down. “Don’t cry, Mommy’s here, Mommy’s got you, it’s okay, sweet girl…”

She sobbed into your chest, fingers curled into your dress. “I—I just wanted him to come to the meeting… I made snacks! I made him a cookie with a red icing tie! Mommy, he didn’t like my paper…”

Your blood boiled.

You glared over your shoulder.

Sylus stood frozen in the doorway.

“She made a cookie for you,” you said flatly. “She drew us. And she was excited. And you snapped at her like she was some intern who stepped on your shoe.”

He looked at your daughter, how she clung to you, how she refused to look at him now, cheeks blotchy from holding in her sobs.

His lips parted. “I didn’t mean to—”

“She doesn’t care about your intentions, Sylus,” you snapped, voice shaking. “She’s two. And you just crushed her over a drawing.”

He was silent.

Your daughter sniffled. “I don’t want Daddy to come to the meeting anymore…”

Sylus’s gaze shattered.

You gently rubbed her back, kissing her cheeks and whispering comforts, while Sylus just… stood there. Pale. Still. Like someone just shot him through the chest.

“…Do you want to fix it?” you asked him coldly. “Because if you’re going to, you do it now. You grovel, Sylus.”

He looked up at you. Nodded.

Then slowly dropped to one knee beside you both.

“Princess,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I messed up.”

She didn’t look.

He gently placed something on the floor in front of her: a silver pen.

Her favorite. The one he used to let her borrow to “sign treaties” when they played together.

“I didn’t even look at the paper,” he said. “I was so focused on stupid things. Things that don’t matter as much as your cookie. Or your drawing. Or your smile. And I’d do anything to see you smile again right now.”

She peeked over her shoulder at him.

He knelt lower. “Do you want me to be the villain again? Or the janitor who gets fired for bad behavior? Or should I just… leave the room until I earn my place back at the table?”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her fist.

“…You can come if you say sorry to the board,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry to the board,” he said immediately. “Very sorry. Deep regret. Please don’t fire me.”

She turned in your lap just enough to hand him the wrinkled drawing.

He took it like it was pure gold.

“…I love this,” he murmured, smoothing it carefully with both hands. “Can I hang it in my office?”

She nodded. Still wary. But the tiniest smile was forming.

He leaned in, and whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

“…Mommy’s still mad at me, huh?”

You glared at him.

Your daughter gasped dramatically. “You’re in trouble.”

He nodded solemnly. “I deserve it.”

You huffed. “You do. She should’ve fired you.”

But when he reached for your hand to kiss your knuckles with that stupid sly glint in his eye, you let him.

Because your babygirl was giggling again, and dragging him back to the board meeting with renewed purpose.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

It started off as the perfect day.

You’d dressed her in her favorite pilot jumpsuit, complete with shiny buttons and her pink headset, and she was zooming through the Skyhaven penthouse on her little electric plane, laughing and calling out orders like a true Farspace Fleet cadet.

“Commander Babygirl requesting permission to fly to Mommy’s café planet!”

“Permission granted!” you’d giggled from the kitchen, pretending to stir cosmic cake batter. “Bring reinforcements, Daddy’s mood is scary today.”

She’d saluted seriously. “Copy that!”

She adored Caleb, worshipped him. She had a little uniform that matched his. She slept in one of his old fleet jackets. She called him “Colonel Daddy” when she was pretending to be serious, and he always knelt to let her pin fake medals on his chest.

So she’d rolled her little plane up to his office door, knocked twice like she’d seen him do, and waited.

“Colonel Daddy?” she said through the door. “Can I come in for a mission?”

Caleb was mid-transmission. Stress levels at maximum. An entire orbital post was down, a commanding officer failed protocol, and the brass was breathing down his neck.

The door opened.

He didn’t even register the jumpsuit. The headset. The hopeful little smile.

“Not now,” he snapped. “Go do something else. Mommy’s out there.”

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

You didn’t hear a cry.

But when you stepped into the hallway to call her for her space snack, you saw her instead, slumped in the cockpit of her ride-on plane, head down, headset crooked.

And your heart dropped.

You rushed over immediately, kneeling beside the aircraft. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t look up. “Daddy said ‘not now’ in his scary voice…”

“Oh sweetheart…” you gathered her into your lap right there on the floor, the little plane engine still softly humming. “Come here, come here, Mommy’s got you. My poor baby…”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I was just playing like we always do. I wanted him to be the captain. He didn’t even look at me…”

You felt your chest twist. You kissed her cheeks, one after the other, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“Daddy was wrong, love. You’re his favorite mission. His number one. But even good colonels mess up sometimes. Doesn’t mean you weren’t perfect.”

Behind you, a shadow appeared.

You didn’t look. You knew it was him.

“…She saluted you,” you said icily. “Wore the uniform. Rode the plane you picked out. And you dismissed her like she was just some nuisance.”

Caleb said nothing for a second.

Then you heard it.

His voice, soft, back to your Caleb.

“…Can I talk to her?”

You looked down. “Baby? Do you want to hear Daddy?”

She hesitated. Then turned in your lap, still quiet.

Caleb knelt in front of her.

And saluted.

“I failed protocol,” he said solemnly. “It won’t happen again, starie.”

She blinked up at him.

He opened his palm to reveal a tiny star pin, one from his uniform, real metal, the one she’d always admired. He’d taken it off.

“For Commander Babygirl,” he said softly. “The highest rank in my fleet. If she’ll still have me.”

She gasped.

“You’re giving me a real one?”

“You’re the only one who deserves it.”

She climbed down from your lap, clutched the pin like treasure… then gave him a long, solemn nod. “Okay. But you’re grounded for two hours.”

Caleb bowed his head. “Yes, Commander.”

You crossed your arms. “Three hours.”

He smirked. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Your daughter climbed back into her plane, made a loop around the hall, then returned. “Mommy? You can be the admiral.”

You beamed. “I already am, sweetheart.”

And from then on, Caleb followed behind her with a clipboard, obediently listening to her daily “Fleet Reports”, complete with snack breaks and galaxy stickers.

Later that night, as you curled up with him on the couch and your baby slept on his chest (star pin clutched in her tiny fist), he murmured:

“…She didn’t salute back at first.”

“Because you broke her heart,” you whispered. “But you fixed it. Just barely.”

He kissed your temple. “Next time, I’ll drop everything. She’s the only mission that matters.”

You smirked. “Better hope she doesn’t reassign you to the cafeteria again.”

He groaned. “Not the mashed starch again…”

[circecyerce]

Maybe for mama’s princess, can you do a part where their daughter stops the Li’s from getting hit on?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.12

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack, anon this is such a cute idea, our baby really protected our assets fr

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your baby girl stops people from hitting on your husband

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You practically had to shove them out the door.

Rafayel was draped over your lap like a sleepy cat, babygirl wrapped around his neck like a baby sloth, and neither one of them showed any intention of getting up.

“Just go to the aquarium or something,” you sighed, gently peeling your daughter off your husband. “Give me two hours. Please. I want to sit in the tub without hearing someone cry or ask for my boobs.”

Rafayel blinked slowly. “…I would also like to ask for your boobs.”

You gave him a look.

So did the toddler, but she parroted him anyway:

“Boobs.”

You stared between the two of them, deadpan.

“Okay. Out.”

— ✧ —

The aquarium outing was a success, for the first twenty minutes.

They matched in little lavender hoodies and matching crossbody bags, your baby girl holding tightly to his hand while Rafayel dead-eyed a penguin exhibit.

She was thrilled.

He was tolerating it.

And then,

a pair of giggling young women approached.

“Awwww—oh my god, is this your little girl?”

“You’re, like, too handsome to be walking around with a baby, haha. Is she your niece?”

Rafayel blinked at them. Slowly.

He was mid-sip of his bubble tea, eyeing them with the exact same flat, tired, unbothered look he gave cockroach executives during Monday meetings.

“No,” he said bluntly. “She’s my daughter. And I’m married.”

“Oh no way,” one of the girls giggled, leaning in toward him. “Married men are always the flir—”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

Because suddenly, a tiny voice chirped:

“That’s my mommy’s husband.”

They looked down.

And there she was.

Two years old.

Pink tutu. Rafayel’s same bi-colored eyes staring them down like judgmental little searchlights.

Holding out her baby pink flip phone toy. Like it was a gun.

“I’m callin’ Mommy now.”

“You’re not ‘pposed to talk to my Daddy.”

Rafayel blinked.

The girls went quiet.

So did half the aquarium lobby.

“…I didn’t even teach her that,” Rafayel muttered, sipping his tea again, only a little proud.

“Come on, my little moonflower. Let’s go see the jellyfish. Maybe they won’t try to homewreck us.”

Your daughter clutched his hand again.

“Can you carry me like at home?”

“Mommy says you’re strong and pretty like a princ. But you’re my prince. Not theirs.”

Rafayel melted. Instantly.

He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, hiding his grin in her bubblegum-scented hair.

“Don’t tell Mommy I bought you gum.”

“But yes. I’m your prince.”

— ✧ —

When they got home hours later, you were still in the bath, blissed out and surrounded by bubbles.

Until your daughter stormed into the bathroom with her little bag, climbed on the counter, and announced:

“Mommy. I protect Daddy. From evil womens.”

You blinked. “…Evil womens?”

Rafayel wandered in behind her with his arms crossed and his cheeks pink.

“I didn’t even look at them,” he swore. “Your daughter’s just terrifying.”

You raised your brow.

“…What did she do?”

He deadpanned. “She threatened them. With a toy phone.”

Your daughter beamed proudly.

“I told them. He’s Mommy’s. He not yours.”

And you absolutely kissed her so hard on her chubby little cheeks and whispered:

“That’s my princess.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It took every ounce of effort to get Zayne out the door.

Your sweet surgeon husband, cold to the world but painfully soft for you, had been clinging to the kitchen counter, still dressed in scrubs, with your daughter latched onto his leg like a barnacle.

“I don’t want to go if you’re not coming.”

“Just… let’s stay home. We can eat snacks. You can sit on my lap. That’s your thing, right?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Zaynie.”

“Yes, baby?”

You pointed at the toddler clutching his thigh like a hostage.

“She hasn’t let me pee alone in three days. If you love me at all, you will take your child to the hospital banquet setup so I can lie on the floor in peace.”

Zayne gave you a look.

Your daughter mirrored it.

But five minutes later, he was grudgingly carrying her out the door, muttering to himself.

“Gonna sue the cleaning lady if she doesn’t come back. My wife’s suffering. My daughter’s jealous. My life is over.”

— ✧ —

The hospital was hosting a mini staff family event to prepare for the gala, press tours, final fittings, department photos.

Zayne hated it.

His daughter hated it more.

Because you weren’t there.

And because every woman in that building somehow forgot their professional license the moment Zayne walked through the lobby doors.

“Dr. Zayne, you’re looking well—”

“Is that your daughter? Oh she’s precious, looks just like you!”

“Are you single, I mean, is your wife coming to the gala?”

Zayne stared flatly ahead, ignoring all of them as he adjusted his daughter’s bow.

But babygirl?

Babygirl snapped.

She squirmed out of his arms, stomped forward in her pink Mary Janes, turned directly toward the gathered nurses and interns and, in perfect toddler rage, shouted down the entire cardiology hallway:

“THAT’S MY MOMMY’S HUSBAND.”

Silence.

The walls went cold.

Someone dropped their clipboard.

She pointed right at her daddy, pigtails bouncing, cheeks puffed in outrage:

“MY DADDY. MOMMY’S MAN. NOT YOURS.”

“MOMMY’S PRETTY AND SHE PACKED HIS LUNCH. YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM.”

Zayne stared.

She was heaving. Panting. Adorably furious.

His heart monitor watch spiked and flatlined from pride.

“…God,” he muttered. “She’s just like you.”

The nurses slowly slinked away.

Babygirl glared until every single one was gone.

Then she turned to her dad.

“You didn’t even say I’m Mommy’s baby. You let them talk too long.”

Zayne immediately kneeled down, lifting her into his arms.

“You’re right,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “You’re Mommy’s baby. You’re the prettiest. Just like her. I should’ve corrected them faster.”

“Mommy wouldn’t let anyone talk to you like that.”

“She gets mad. She throws the laundry basket.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath.

“She does. It’s terrifying. You did good.”

— ✧ —

When they got home, your daughter burst into the living room and announced:

“Mommy. I protect Daddy from the mean girls. I yelled SO LOUD.”

Zayne dropped the lunchbox you packed on the table and nodded solemnly.

“She inherited your rage. It was devastating.”

You blinked.

Your daughter blinked.

“…she what?.”

“Nothing. You’re beautiful. I need to sit down.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You had to bribe them to leave.

Xavier was half-asleep on the couch, your babygirl curled under his arm like a sleepy kitten, both of them blinking up at you with identical wide eyes and matching blue pajamas.

“Go where, pretty girl…?” Xavier mumbled, voice soft and slurred from a nap.

“You said I could lie here. I’ve been good. I haven’t even skipped a meeting since Wednesday.”

You gestured dramatically to the trail of glitter, stickers, and lollipop sticks leading from the kitchen.

“Okay. But your daughter ate five sugar sticks, painted the cat, and called me a side character for not having powers. I need a break. Take her with you to the lounge. Let her burn off energy somewhere else.”

Xavier blinked.

So did she.

“But Mommy’s the main character,” she said softly, snuggling closer to your leg. “You’re the prettiest. We don’t need to go…”

You kissed her forehead sweetly.

“I love you.

But if you two don’t get out of this house in 30 seconds, I’m moving to a cave on Europe and taking the cat with me.”

Xavier saluted you weakly and shuffled toward the door with her in his arms.

“Come, light. Your mother needs solitude. Let’s go terrorize someone else.”

— ✧ —

The Lounge was an enormous white-marble space filled with calm music, elite warriors, and mildly suspicious tea blends.

Xavier wandered in with his usual half-awake grace, your daughter perched on his hip, still in her pastel hooded cape.

Everyone paused.

Everyone stared.

Especially the newer recruits.

“He has a kid? He’s way too pretty to be a dad.”

“Do you think he’s single? He doesn’t look married.”

Xavier sighed and rubbed his temple, too tired to acknowledge the whispers.

But your daughter?

Your daughter heard everything.

And she was not having it.

She calmly reached into her sparkly purse…

Pulled out her limited-edition holo-charm wand…

And walked straight up to the group of women whispering about her daddy.

“My Daddy’s married to the prettiest girl in the world.”

“She makes him bentos with heart eggs and lets him kiss her tummy.”

Silence.

She held up a drawing she made, of you, with big sparkly eyes and long lashes, holding hands with Xavier and surrounded by hearts.

“My Mommy is the princess. You can’t have Daddy.”

“He only loves her. He naps in her lap. He says she smells like stars.”

The room went still.

One of the girls tried to giggle, “That’s cute, sweetheart, but—”

And the second she reached forward to touch Xavier’s arm,

CHOMP.

Your babygirl bit her hand.

Xavier blinked awake.

“…Sweetheart?”

“…Did you bite someone for Mommy again?”

She nodded proudly. “Yes.”

He gently picked her up and turned to the woman rubbing her hand in shock.

“You’ll survive,” he said blandly. “But if you so much as breathe in my direction again, she will bite harder.”

— ✧ —

When they got home, your daughter climbed into your lap immediately.

“I saved Daddy from the liars,” she said, very serious. “They were being so fake. I bit one.”

You blinked. “You what?”

Xavier walked in behind her with a yawn, scratching his head.

“She was very graceful about it. Honestly, it was poetic. I think I’m in love with both of you.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Are we going to get sued…?”

“No,” he said. “She was a volunteer recruit. We’ll just… deny everything.”

Your daughter cuddled against your chest and whispered:

“They were mean. You’re the prettiest. I only like you.”

And Xavier quietly leaned over, kissed your temple, and murmured in your ear:

“That’s our girl.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

“You’ll survive,” Sylus drawled. “You love being spoiled. And I love spoiling you. So, let me take my daughter out for the day and give my little wife her throne back.”

He was already kissing your temple as he lifted your toddler into his arms, both of them dressed like they were heading to a power lunch on wall Street.

Matching black trench coats.

Red accents.

Sunglasses.

Your daughter was clutching a mini briefcase that he had packed for her.

“We’re going to the main office,” he told you casually. “She needs to start seeing how the empire works.”

You blinked. “She’s two.”

“Exactly. By four, she should be fluent in contract law.”

— ✧ —

It was supposed to be a quiet tour.

Sylus strolled into his skyscraper HQ with his daughter perched on his hip like a miniature executive.

Employees scrambled to bow, straighten files, and shut up.

Until,

“Mr. Sylus! I didn’t know you had a daughter!”

“She’s adorable. Is her mother still in the picture?”

“You know, I’m free this weekend if you want help babysitting—”

Sylus didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at them.

He just kept walking with his daughter pressed against his side like a smug little marshmallow.

But the toddler?

Oh. She heard everything.

And she did not appreciate it.

She climbed down from his arms, carefully adjusted her sunglasses, and marched up to the small group of assistants who had been giggling too loud.

“Excuse me,” she said in perfect, eerie calm.

“That’s my daddy. He belongs to Mommy.”

“Mommy’s the boss. I’m the princess. You’re fired.”

The entire floor went silent.

“You can’t fire us, sweetheart,” one of them said nervously, trying to laugh.

Your daughter narrowed her red eyes.

Opened her little briefcase.

Pulled out a laminated flashcard sheet Sylus made for her, titled “Mommy’s Rights”, and began flipping through it with deadly seriousness.

“Clause 1: Mommy gets Daddy’s kisses.”

“Clause 2: Only Mommy gets Daddy’s lap.”

“Clause 3: You say anything flirty again, I call the guards.”

Sylus was watching from behind her with a smirk so proud it was dangerous.

“…This is my daughter,” he purred. “She’ll be replacing my second-in-command next quarter.”

The assistants fled.

Your daughter adjusted her sunglasses again and turned to look up at her daddy.

“I did good?”

“I protected Mommy’s property?”

Sylus lifted her in the air like Simba.

“Perfect execution. Five stars. I’m giving you a pony.”

— ✧ —

Back at the penthouse, you were curled on the couch when your daughter strutted in ahead of him like she ran the whole country.

“Mommy,” she said sweetly, climbing into your lap. “I stopped the office girls. They tried to take Daddy. But he’s yours.”

Sylus followed in behind her with his shirt half undone, lips lazily smirking.

“She threatened to unionize the HR department if they spoke to me again.”

You gawked. “What?”

He shrugged, pulling you gently onto his lap too, curling one arm around each of you.

“I’d kill for you,” he whispered into your neck. “She’s learning to do it legally.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

“You need a break, Pipsqueak.”

Caleb’s voice was low and firm, arms caging you against the vanity where you were trying to maybe put on a face mask.

But you hadn’t been alone for more than five minutes since your daughter woke up this morning crying “Mooommmmyyyyy” like a ghost haunting the Skyhaven penthouse.

“Caleb,” you warned, brushing his nose with a dab of moisturizer. “She’s literally under your cloak. She won’t let me breathe.”

He glanced down. Sure enough, her tiny face peeked out from the folds of his Farspace coat.

Purple eyes. Just like his.

Glaring.

You swore she hissed at you when you tried to touch her earlier.

He sighed. “Okay. Operation: Give Mommy Peace and Stop You From Turning into a Goblin. Let’s go.”

“But I wanna stay with Mommy,” she mumbled into his coat.

“You’ll survive,” he muttered, scooping her up like luggage and tossing his coat over her again. “She’s taking a nap and we’re going to the Skyhaven control tower. You can threaten the cadets and call it bonding.”

— ✧ —

The Skyhaven control tower was bustling.

Farspace officers in uniform. Loud orders over comms. Training cadets.

And then: Colonel Caleb and his toddler storming in like a war had been declared.

He sat her right on the edge of the command desk. She swung her legs, arms crossed like a miniature general, wearing his spare captain’s badge he let her keep.

Everything was going fine.

Until a new cadet, nervous, smiling, young, walked up.

“Colonel Caleb? Wow, I didn’t know you had a daughter. She’s adorable. I don’t suppose your wife is around…?”

Caleb didn’t answer.

He was reviewing long-range fleet data with one hand, casually unbothered.

But his daughter?

She froze.

And then slowly turned her head.

Like a horror movie.

Eyes wide. Smile fake. Legs still swinging.

“You’re not allowed to ask about Mommy.”

The cadet blinked. “Huh? Oh, I wasn’t trying to—”

“That’s Mommy’s husband,” she said, voice getting louder. “He belongs to her. Only her!”

Caleb paused.

Looked up.

Sighed.

“…Here we go.”

Your daughter leapt off the table, stood directly in front of the girl, puffed up like a marshmallow about to brawl—and yelled, in full toddler tantrum mode:

“DON’T LOOK AT MY DADDY!!!”

“MY MOMMY’S THE PRETTIEST! MY MOMMY GIVES HIM HUGS! MY MOMMY SLEEPS ON HIS TUMMY!!!”

The control tower froze.

Caleb watched, deadpan, as his daughter pointed to the door and shouted:

“GET OUT!!!”

The cadet turned white and practically tripped over herself running out.

Caleb dragged a hand down his face. Then reached over and picked her up by the collar like a cub.

“…You really are my daughter.”

— ✧ —

When they got home, your daughter stomped into your room, climbed onto the bed, and collapsed dramatically onto your lap.

“Mommy. Girls were looking at Daddy.”

You blinked, mascara wand mid-air. “Were they?”

She nodded.

“I yelled. I made her cry. Daddy said I did good.”

Caleb walked in, shirt tugged loose, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She declared you Supreme Commander of my heart in front of the entire fleet.”

“Then she kicked over a map table and told the recruits I belong to ‘the soft lady with sparkly lashes.’”

You choked. “She what?!”

Your daughter wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry. I scared them away. You don’t gotta do anything.”

“I’m your tiny soldier.”

Caleb collapsed beside you on the bed, pulling both of you against his chest.

“You’re the soft lady with sparkly lashes. And she’s the loud chaos I deserve.”

You snorted.

And whispered into your daughter’s hair:

“That’s my little monster.”

[circecyerce]

Love your work 💖💖💖

Can I ask for a scenario with the lads boys, wherein reader goes on a vacation trip with them and her family. Like reader planned the whole trip, but midway through, she gets sick (nothing major, but she need to stay in the hotel to rest) and just ask the boys to take her family sightseeing without them? Like how would the boys react and what would they do?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.10

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, just fluff as always, i’m really liking my new formatting, it’s fun

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You’re sick during vacation

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You’d planned a dream coastal getaway to a pastel seaside town, coral buildings, lazy beaches, ice cream stands, shell markets. You coordinated the suite, the matching outfits, the daily itinerary. Rafayel only had to show up pretty and love you (and obviously fund the trip and the thousands of new outfits for you and your baby). Easy.

- It starts with a sore throat and light fever. You try to hide it. Rafayel immediately notices.

- “You didn’t laugh at my shell pun,” he says flatly, touching your forehead. “You’re dying.”

- You wave him off from under your floral bedsheets, cheeks flushed. “I just need sleep. Please take our babygirl sightseeing like I planned.”

- He was devastated.

- “But I don’t wanna go without you.” Big watery eyes, frowning at you like you’ve personally abandoned him on the battlefield.

- Clings to the edge of the bed like a sad puppy. Starts drawing a get-well card with crayons with your daughter.

- The card reads: “MAMA GET BETTER OR ELSE!!! 💜💖” (he helped her spell it).

- Offers to cancel everything. “We can just stay in and snuggle and I’ll get room service and braid your hair and spoon-feed you mango pudding.”

- But when you insist that he should take your baby girl out, so she doesn’t miss the fun (even though she doesn’t wanna leave mommy), he finally relents.

⸻

On the outing:

- Straps your babygirl into her cutest pink seashell romper and massive sunhat (“It’s bigger than her body, Raffy!” “And yet she still looks small and perfect like her mama.”)

- Wears the shirt you packed for him, because he’s dramatic like that. He FaceTimes you before leaving. “Are you sure? Blink twice if you need me to smuggle back a pharmacist.”

- Takes your daughter to all your planned spots: the turtle sanctuary, the jellyfish cafe, the handmade tiara stall. He follows your itinerary religiously.

- Sends constant updates:

- Photo of her feeding a turtle: “She said it looks like you when you’re sleepy.”

- Clip of her dancing with local performers: “Your child is a menace. She just stole a tambourine.”

- Pic of her holding two massive ice creams: “One for you. She said she’ll save it in her tummy.”

⸻

Back at the hotel:

- Your daughter runs in, yells “MAMAAA!!!” and climbs right into bed with you.

- She tells you everything she saw in frantic baby babble while Rafayel unpacks shell souvenirs and hands you the ugly-cute necklace she “bought” for you (Raf did).

- Rafayel gets under the covers, arms around both of you.

- “I hated every second of it without you.”

- But he’s smiling because your daughter was laughing all day. And now his two favorite girls are cuddled up next to him.

- Kisses your temple and whispers, “Next vacation, you’re not allowed to get sick. I’m bringing a doctor in our suitcase.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You meticulously planned a serene countryside retreat, luxurious villa, lavender fields, little horse rides for your babygirl, a spa for you, and gourmet dinners. Zayne cleared his schedule for the first time in months just for you. All you had to do was relax… until you got sick.

- Zayne notices before you do.

- He hears the rasp in your voice, sees the flush on your cheeks, and presses the back of his hand to your forehead while you’re busy packing your daughter’s little woven picnic basket.

- “Lie down. Now.” Calm. Stern. Already reaching for the thermometer.

- You pout and beg him to take your babygirl out to the little garden tour you’d planned. “She was so excited, Zayne, just go without me this time.”

- He hesitates. He hates leaving you, especially when you’re unwell. But he sees the guilt in your eyes and nods. “You rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

- Immediately shifts into full physician-husband mode.

- Checks your vitals, leaves chilled lemon water on the nightstand, adjusts the AC, and gives you strict instructions to nap.

- “Text me if you feel even slightly worse. I’ll be back in ten seconds flat.”

- Dresses your babygirl in the little linen romper you picked. Her hair is tied back in tiny braids (Zayne’s skilled at this by now from all those years of doing your hair).

- “You’ll take care of Mama later, alright? For now, let’s go pick her some lavender.”

⸻

On the outing:

- Carries your daughter everywhere. She’s tiny, but Zayne acts like she’s 2.5kg of gold bricks, irreplaceable and precious (because she is to you)

- They go to all your planned stops, right on schedule. He quietly takes mental notes of every moment you would’ve loved.

- Sends you short video clips:

- Your daughter petting a white pony “She asked if this one can live in our backyard.”

- Her holding a fresh bouquet “She says it smells like Mama’s hair.”

- Her pointing at the spa “She said ‘Mama here? Where Mama?’”

- Zayne responds “Mama’s resting so she can be even prettier tomorrow.”

- Buys you a handcrafted necklace with a pressed flower inside. “For your memory box,” he tells you later. He knows you keep every memento.

⸻

Back at the villa:

- Babygirl climbs straight into bed, curls up against you with a sleepy whimper of “Mamaaaa.” She falls asleep instantly, exhausted but happy.

- Zayne sets everything down, peels off his coat, and slides in behind you both, his arm wrapping gently around your waist.

- “We missed you,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

- His voice lowers “Please don’t get sick on vacation again. You scared me.”

- You joke that it was just a fever, and he tuts. “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, even a cough is a threat.”

- Spends the night checking your temperature, massaging your back, and spooning you and your daughter like you’re the most fragile thing in the universe.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You planned a galaxy-themed retreat on a floating island resort, crystal lagoons, deep space observatory, themed dinners, and private stargazing decks. It’s lowkey and luxurious, perfect for your little family. You did all the organizing, and Xavier was just happy to follow your lead, quietly watching you from behind his sunglasses while carrying all your bags.

- It starts as a quiet headache and fatigue. You shrug it off, still slipping into your silky dress for the resort dinner. Xavier blinks at you once.

- “…You don’t look well.” His voice is low, distant, but his eyes are sharp on you.

- You try to wave him off, smiling gently. “Just tired. You should take her out, okay? She really wants to see the glow pool.”

- He freezes.

- “Without you?”

- His brows furrow slightly like you just asked him to walk into war unarmed.

- “No. We stay here.”

- You coax him gently, fingers brushing his cool cheek. “It’s just a fever. She’ll be sad if she misses it. Please?”

- After ten full seconds of internal struggle, he finally nods slowly.

- “You’ll rest. I’ll take her. But you must stay in bed. Promise me.”

- Carries your babygirl like she’s made of stardust. She keeps asking “Where Mama?” and Xavier keeps saying, “Resting. Mama’s tired. But we’ll tell her everything.”

- He doesn’t like being separated from you. He sends you grainy, shaky photos of your daughter by the lagoon. You can tell he took them awkwardly with one hand while holding her with the other.

- Photo: your babygirl pointing at stars. “She said ‘that one is Mama star.’”

- Photo: Her sticking her feet into glowing water. “She asked if you’d like it.”

⸻

On the outing:

- He’s quiet and gentle, answering her every question seriously like it’s a diplomatic meeting.

- “Can we take the stars home?”

- “…I will ask the staff.”

- Buys her a tiny star crown, and when she says “Mama will look sooooo pretty,” he quietly buys a full-sized one for you too.

- She throws glitter in the air and yells “WISH!” and he just sits beside her, head tilted, letting it fall on his silver hair without comment.

⸻

Back at the resort:

- Your babygirl crashes into your bed in her tiny silver cloak and yells “MAMA I LOVE UUUU” before conking out on your chest like a baby koala.

- Xavier enters after. Silent. Then kneels at the edge of the bed and rests his forehead against your thigh. Just stays there.

- “I don’t like being without you,” he murmurs against your skin. “It feels wrong.”

- Crawls into bed and wraps around both of you, long arms like a sleepy octopus, head resting on your belly.

- “We’ll do the stargazing again tomorrow. Together this time.”

- Kisses your warm wrist with worry still lingering in his eyes. “Don’t get sick again. Or I’ll cancel the universe.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You booked an exclusive luxury island where each guest gets their own private villa suspended over crystal water, with a glass floor, gold-plated breakfast trays, and private yacht excursions. You chose the itinerary, ordered the outfits, even arranged custom sunhats for you and your baby. He let you have your princess fun. Of course he did.

- It starts as a sore throat and dizziness during breakfast. You try to hide it and keep moving.

- Sylus doesn’t even look up from his tablet.

- “You’re sick.”

- “No I’m not—”

- “You are. Your voice cracked and you buttered your pancakes twice.”

- Tosses the tablet aside and walks over to feel your forehead. His cool palm lingers for too long. His brows lower.

- “Unacceptable. I brought you here to be spoiled, not to expire like milk.”

- You try to convince him to still take your babygirl to the reef tour you had planned. “Don’t let her miss it just because I need a nap, please?”

- He sighs like you’re personally causing him emotional distress.

- “You’re lucky I’d kill for you. Fine. I’ll take her.”

- But before he goes, he completely baby-proofs your suite like he’s preparing for battle:

- “You don’t get out of bed. Everything you need is within reach. I will know if you stand.”

- Brings in a physician from the mainland just in case.

- Dresses your babygirl in her little black designer swimsuit and oversized sunglasses. She looks like a miniature version of him. Total menace.

- “Say goodbye to Mama. She’s in exile until further notice.”

⸻

On the outing:

- He charters a private yacht instead of the tour boat. (“I’m not letting her touch public railings.”)

- He holds her hand as she throws flower petals into the water and names fish after you: “That’s Mama-fish! She’s prettyyy~!”

- Sends you videos with dry commentary:

- Video: her trying to touch the water. “She said she wants to bring some back for you in her bottle.”

- Selfie of them in front of a reef. “She demanded to take a picture for Mama. I look like a hostage.”

- Buys you a matching swimsuit you didn’t even ask for. (“You’ll wear it tomorrow. No objections.”)

⸻

Back at the villa:

- Your babygirl bursts in with sparkly seashells and leaps into bed to cuddle you. She shows you every souvenir.

- Sylus follows quietly behind, places a velvet box beside your pillow.

- Inside: a necklace shaped like a seashell, studded with tiny diamonds. “I had them make this today. Told the designer you liked the spiral ones. If you hate it, I’ll burn the store.”

- Slips off his coat and climbs into bed beside you, letting your daughter snuggle between you.

- Kisses your temple.

- “Next time we vacation, I’m wrapping you in silk and putting you in a glass case until you’re medically cleared.”

- But his arm curls under your neck and he lets your daughter nap on his chest, eyes drifting closed with a rare, genuine smile.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You planned a paradise escape to Skyhaven Dome Resort’s, moonlit pools, and soft artificial weather calibrated to the exact temperature you like. You even packed coordinating outfits for the whole family. Caleb just followed your lists like an obedient military husband, pretending to be grumpy while clearly loving every second of it.

- It’s just a little fever and fatigue from the flight, but you know the moment Caleb notices.

- “Pipsqueak.” His voice drops low and serious. “You’re warm. Sit. Now.”

- He’s already grabbing the hotel medkit and hovering like you’re a fallen soldier.

- You protest weakly: “Take our baby out, please? I planned everything… she really wants to see the butterflies…”

- His entire body stiffens at the idea of going out without you.

- “You want me to take her…alone?”

- “Yes. You’re her father, Caleb.”

- “I know. But you’re the sun. I’m just a satellite, Pipsqueak.”

- Finally agrees, but the moment you give him the green light, he switches into extreme colonel-protection-overkill-mode.

- Dresses your babygirl in three layers of sun-protective fabric, a hat the size of Saturn’s rings, and SPF 1000000 even though they’re indoors. (“I don’t care. The photons might glitch.”)

- Sends you hourly check-ins like he’s on a critical mission:

- Photo of her in her stroller, shaded by three umbrellas. “Sunlight level: minimal. No damage incurred.”

- Voice memo: “She touched a flower. It was pre-cleared. No allergic reaction observed. Returning with souvenir.”

⸻

On the outing:

- He has his arm around her or carries her the whole time. She has full authority over him and he’s scared to disappoint her.

- At the hover-butterfly dome, she shrieks “LOOK MAMA’S FAVORITE COLOR!!” and he nearly cries.

- “She said she’s gonna show you every butterfly later. I recorded 200 videos. I can make a PowerPoint.”

- Buys you every item your daughter even glances at, trinkets, treats, plushies.

- “She pointed at this scarf for 0.4 seconds. It’s yours now.”

⸻

Back at the hotel:

- Bursts through the door like he’s returning from war.

- “Pipsqueak. Mission successful. I have her. She was perfect. Nothing harmed her. She only tripped twice and I caught her both times before she even noticed.”

- Your babygirl launches herself into bed next to you. “Mamaaaaaaa!!! We saw butterflies and Daddy said I was glowing like a nebula!!!”

- Caleb kneels beside the bed like you���re a queen and he’s the knight returning your princess.

- “Never again. Don’t ever get sick again. My heart can’t take being alone with her for more than four hours.”

- But his arms wrap tightly around both of you. He kisses your cheek. Then your forehead. Then gently brushes your hair behind your ear.

- He whispers “You planned the perfect trip. You always do. But next time, I’m carrying you the whole way. Just to be sure.”

[circecyerce]

Idea for mamas princesses, maybe what if our princess accidentally overheard MC and the boys during sexy times, and thinks the boys were hurting mama, so she gives the boys the cold shoulder the next day and our boys have to find a way to appease her? And MC of course will be enjoying the shenanigans lol

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.9

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Fluff, suggestive leaning into smut? just adorable kids, me saying raf cause i’m not bothered to type his full name

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your babygirl thinks daddy is hurting you

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It had been a late night. You and Rafayel hadn’t even been trying to be that loud… but with a house that big and quiet, and a bed that creaked just so when he got a little too into worshiping you? Well. Little ears might’ve caught a thing or two.

Especially ears belonging to a wide-eyed 2-year-old girl in a ruffled pink nightgown who had padded into the hallway for her usual middle-of-the-night search for Mama.

And when she heard muffled moans and gasps and your sweet little voice crying, “Raf… too much, please—” followed by his husky, “Just a little more, baby. Take it for me—”?

She froze. She gasped.

And then she scuttled back to her room like a scandalized little gremlin, clutching her bunny plush with a stricken expression, “Papa hurting Mama…?”

⸻

The Next Morning…

Rafayel walked into the kitchen all smiles, lips still smug with the memory of last night and hair loosely tied up as he carried your favorite breakfast tray in one hand, his other reaching for his little girl.

“Goodmorni—”

“NO.”

She was sitting on the counter beside you, arms crossed, lips pouty, face set in the deepest baby betrayal known to man.

Rafayel froze. “…No?”

“No huggies!” she said firmly. “No kisses, no talkies.”

He blinked.

You blinked.

You were definitely not helping. In fact, you very clearly turned your face away, hiding your giggle behind your coffee mug like the absolute traitor you were.

Raf knelt down, confused. “Sweetheart… what did Papa do?”

She pointed at him. “You hurt Mama.”

His eyes widened. “I—I did what?”

“You were in Mama’s bed going ‘hnngh’ and Mama said ‘too much’ and ‘please’ and I HEARD YOU.”

There was a full beat of silence as Rafayel’s soul left his body.

You? You nearly choked on your coffee.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t—She liked it!” he burst out, turning to you in sheer panic. “Tell her you liked it! You were begging me for more five minutes later!”

“Oh my god—Raf!” You smacked his arm through your giggles. “She’s two! You cannot say that!”

Meanwhile, your daughter turned away dramatically, swiping a strawberry off your plate and pointedly feeding it to you, not her Papa.

“Only Mama gets huggies today,” she huffed, clinging to you like a little koala. “Papa’s mean.”

Raf stood there, clutching the breakfast tray like it was evidence in a trial. “…I’m being framed. I’m the victim.”

⸻

Later That Day…

He tries everything. Princess dresses, new plushies, a tea party invitation where he brings his best pouty bunny voice. Nothing works.

“She said no talkies,” he whispers to you, utterly destroyed. “I’m on probation.”

“She’s very mad at you,” you say, sipping your tea from your little porcelain cup. “I dunno, maybe you should’ve held back on the headboard banging.”

“I’m never touching you again,” he deadpans.

“Liar.”

He frowns. “You’re enjoying this.”

You grin, feeding your daughter a cookie and whispering to her conspiratorially, “Don’t let Papa win. Make him beg.”

Rafayel glares. “You’re raising a warlord.”

And then your little girl slowly slides a pink tiara across the table toward him.

He gasps.

“…I can be forgiven?”

“If Papa wears it and says sorry.”

He puts it on in under two seconds flat.

“I’m sorry, my little moonflower,” he declares with complete, dramatic flair, kneeling beside her high chair. “Papa will never hurt Mama again. Only gentle snuggles. Soft like bunnies.”

She stares him down.

And then opens her arms.

“…Huggie.”

He makes the most pathetic sound of relief and cradles her to his chest like he’s been saved from death row.

You just shake your head, sipping your tea, your job here done

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It started with a mistake.

Not your mistake, of course. It was Zayne’s, really, for thinking he could let go just a little in the comfort of your shared bed, in the privacy of the master suite, at 2AM on a night the baby monitor was turned off because your toddler had gone to sleep peacefully for once.

A few soft, low groans from Zayne. Your breathy pleas. The rhythmic creaking of the bed.

And just outside the door, a sleepy, pink-cheeked two-year-old clutching her favorite stuffed lamb, staring at the door, eyes wide.

“Mama said ‘don’t hurt people.’”

“…Is Papa hurting Mama?”

⸻

The Next Morning…

Zayne is freshly showered, in his robe, hair damp and swept back. He’s setting up your breakfast tray, fruit, poached eggs, tea exactly the way you like it. A perfect Saturday morning.

“Darling,” he murmurs, already lifting your hand to kiss it. “I’ll bring her in after breakfast so she can cuddle with you, she was half-asleep when I checked on her—”

The second he opens her nursery door:

“No.”

She’s standing there. In her bunny slippers. Looking up at him with betrayal written all over her tiny face.

Zayne blinks. “…No what, sweetheart?”

“No Papa today.”

“………”

You, watching from the hallway, immediately duck behind the wall because you are already cracking up.

Zayne steps inside slowly. Kneels down, professional hands cradling her soft cheeks. “What happened, honey?”

“You were hurting Mama.”

Her lip wobbles. “I heard her. She said ‘Zayne, stop’ and you didn’t!”

His soul evacuates his body. His face drops.

“I wasn’t—Mama was fine. She was—she liked it.”

He says that and then IMMEDIATELY looks up toward where you’re peeking around the corner, “She did like it— tell her you liked it—!”

You shrug, completely deadpan. “You didn’t stop, Zaynie.”

“You—”

He turns back to your daughter, panicked. “Sweetheart, listen to Papa—Mama was just—Mama was making a very special sound because—because—”

“Because you were being mean!”

She covers her ears. “Mama always says don’t touch people if they say ‘no!’”

She glares. “YOU said okay, but you didn’t stop!”

She storms off. To your lap.

⸻

Damage Control Zayne…

Zayne is devastated. She won’t come near him. She won’t even take the pink thermos he made her. She wouldn’t even let him clip her barrette in.

And of course, you’re no help.

“Oh, maybe she’s just confused,” you say sweetly as you let her climb into your lap like a little queen. “After all, you were a little… aggressive last night.”

“I was being intimate,” he mutters.

“You were pushing my knees up and whispering ‘take all of me.’”

“………”

“And then I was like, ‘Zayne no—’ and you said ‘shhh, good girl.’”

“………”

“She’s not wrong, love.”

He buries his face in his hands. “She’s two. I’m being trialed.”

⸻

The Apology Attempt…

He sits her down like it’s a serious consult.

She’s seated in your bed, arms crossed, wrapped in your silk robe that’s dragging behind her like a royal train.

Zayne’s got a clipboard and kneels down.

“Sweetheart. I’m very sorry that Mama sounded upset last night. But I promise I didn’t hurt her.”

“…Mama cried.”

“Mama cries when I make her feel really good.”

“Like when you get me strawberry mochi?”

“Exactly like that. Only for grown-ups.”

“…Hmph.”

He leans in and holds out a bandaid. Her favorite kind—little glittery ones with bunnies.

“I made you pancakes with mochi. And a smoothie. And I cleaned Lambie.”

She takes the bandaid.

But she stares at him hard.

Then she pokes his cheek. “Don’t make Mama cry again.”

“I swear I won’t.”

“…Okay. You can kiss my hand now.”

Zayne does it instantly, relief pouring off him.

And you? You just pull the covers higher and sip your tea like the smug queen you are.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It was late.

The stars above the penthouse glowed through the glass panels overhead. Your pretty daughter was wrapped in her bunny blanket, supposedly asleep in her moon-shaped bed in the nursery across the hall.

You and Xavier had finally settled in. One thing led to another. And then,

Soft kisses. Whispered, breathy praise. The low, sleepy groan of Xavier’s voice murmuring, “You’re so good for me…”

And then your teasing reply, something like, “You’re so mean when you’re sleepy—”

Followed by his usual, deeply out-of-it but filthy tone:

“Want me to be mean, baby? Can be worse. Want it rough?”

…Yeah.

Unfortunately, your daughter had wandered halfway to the kitchen for her midnight milk run when she passed your door and heard that.

She gasped. Clutched her bunny plush.

And turned right back around.

⸻

The Next Morning…

You’re in your fluffy robe, making pancakes. Xavier’s still sleep-mussed, wearing his pajama pants and his usual loose sweater, hair unbrushed, blinking like he’s got no idea what day it is.

Your daughter is sitting on the counter beside you, arms firmly crossed. And when Xavier walks in and sleepily leans forward to press a kiss to her cheek,

“No.”

He stops mid-lean.

Just.

Freezes.

“…No?” he repeats slowly, like he’s trying to reboot.

“No kissies. You were mean to Mama.”

He straightens. Blinks. Looks at you.

You raise a brow. Say nothing.

“…Mean?” he echoes. “I wasn’t—Mama likes me—”

He turns to you again. “You do like me.”

“Oh, I like you plenty,” you hum. “Even when you’re mean.”

He freezes again.

His daughter gasps. “You said he’s mean!!” she huffs, turning on you, completely betrayed.

“She did say that,” Xavier murmurs like a man on death row.

“You said, ‘stop, Xavi,’ and he said ‘want me to be worse,’” she mimics with full scandal, slapping her tiny palms to her cheeks. “Papa was mean to you in BED.”

You nearly choke on your pancake.

Xavier… walks out of the room.

He reappears one second later with a full pillow over his head.

⸻

Xavier’s Silent Crisis…

He follows you both around the house like a confused ghost. She hides behind you, clutching your dress. He kneels beside her toddler chair with a plate of fruit stars and whispers, “…forgive me.”

Nothing.

You? You’re giggling behind your hand the entire time.

“She’s very hurt,” you say dramatically. “You were… very mean. She might need therapy.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“She’s going to be an anti-men feminist now.”

“She’s two, she can’t even spell feminist,” he hisses back.

“She’ll remember this forever.”

“I didn’t do anything!” he protests, distraught. “You said you liked it!”

“I did.” You sip your tea. “But your daughter didn’t.”

He slouches in the corner, arms folded. His voice goes monotone.

“…I’ve ruined everything.”

⸻

The Peace Talks…

He brings her his prized glow-in-the-dark galaxy stickers.

She ignores him.

He brings her her favorite star-shaped jelly snacks, perfectly arranged.

Nothing.

Finally, he picks her up, carefully, gently, and places her in his lap on the couch. He presses his forehead to hers, eyes closed.

“I didn’t hurt Mama,” he says quietly. “I promise.”

“She said stop.”

“She said that in the way she says ‘stop giving me kisses’ but then she giggles.”

Your daughter frowns. “…She did giggle…”

He nods solemnly.

“She likes when I’m like that. But if you ever think something’s wrong, you can tell me, alright?”

“…Always?”

“Always.”

She looks at him.

Then throws her arms around his neck. “I forgive you.”

You walk into the room just in time to see your smug sleepy husband trapped under his toddler and sigh in relief.

“…Did I pass the moral interrogation?”

“Barely.”

She peeks over his shoulder.

“Don’t be mean next time, Papa.”

“I’ll try,” he says. “But Mama’s very pretty. It’s hard.”

You throw a pillow at him.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It had all started the night before.

You and Sylus had finally gotten a break. The estate was quiet. Your daughter was asleep, the phones were off, and you were wearing that red lace number he bought you in Paris, the one that makes him go insane.

You were cocky. He was worse. And at some point, while he had you pinned beneath him whispering, “Look at you. Mine. Say it—” and you were panting, “You’re being rough…”

Well. Your daughter had been up.

In her little silk pajama set.

And she heard everything.

Peeking into the hallway like a tiny security officer on patrol, gripping her plush saber-toothed tiger and scowling—

“Papa. Rough with Mama.”

”…Unacceptable.”

⸻

The Morning After…

Sylus was in the middle of finishing his black coffee and planning the acquisition of a rival armory when your daughter marched into the kitchen with all the grace and fury of a betrayed empress.

He crouched down automatically.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep—”

SLAP.(Okay not a real slap. But she smacked her hand onto his shoulder like he was under arrest.)

“You were being rough with Mama.”

He froze.

“…Excuse me?”

She scowled up at him, fire in her little red eyes (just like his). “I heard you say say it and Mama said no, and you said you can take more.”

Sylus blinked once. Twice.

Then he turned his head slowly toward where you were already choking on your croissant.

“Are you kidding me right now,” he muttered.

“I’m not the one who growled ‘take it, sweetheart’ with the door cracked open,” you said sweetly, reaching for your tea.

Your daughter crossed her arms and sat in your lap, smack in front of Sylus, like a tiny mafia boss issuing a silent verdict.

“You’re on timeout.”

He stared.

“…Excuse me?? I built this house.”

“You hurt Mama. Timeout.”

⸻

Cold Shoulder Warfare…

Sylus tries everything.

He sends her a chocolate fountain. She narrows her eyes and turns her nose up.

He tries to pick her up for snuggles, she squirms out and runs to you.

He holds up the emergency “Papa is sorry” briefcase (yes, he has one).

She closes the nursery door in his face.

You? You’re eating grapes on the chaise lounge like the queen you are.

“She’s very upset,” you sigh. “I mean… I was crying last night.”

“From pleasure,” he snaps.

“She’s two, Sylus.”

“She’s plotting my demise.”

“She gets it from you.”

⸻

Sylus’ Bribery Plan Fails

He finally sits her down like he’s about to negotiate an international treaty.

“Princess. I understand you think I hurt Mama. But I didn’t. It was a… special grown-up activity that involved some… theatrics.”

She frowns. “You were growling.”

“…I was being expressive.”

“She said stop.”

“And then said don’t stop.” He clasps his hands. “That’s very different.”

Her brow furrows. Sylus feels sweat on his spine.

He continues:

“She wasn’t sad. She was just… being bratty. Like you get when I take the TV remote.”

“…Mama was being bratty?”

“Yes. And I was punishing her.”

You spit out your drink.

Sylus slowly turns to look at you.

“You’re fired,” you say flatly.

⸻

The Redemption Arc

Eventually, he gives up.

He flops next to you on the bed, exhausted, sighing like a man who’s been bested in battle. “She hates me.”

“She does not hate you,” you reply gently, patting his chest. “She’s just confused. And dramatic. Wonder where she got that from.”

He rolls his eyes. “From you.”

From the hallway, your daughter appears with her tiger plush.

“…Is Mama okay?”

You hold your arms out. “Perfectly fine, baby.”

She walks over. Climbs onto the bed.

Sylus sits very still.

She pats his hand. “Don’t growl at Mama again.”

“…I’ll try.”

She leans over and kisses his cheek. “You can hold my tiger now.”

He holds it like it’s the holy grail. Looks at you with pure smug victory.

“I win.”

“You barely escaped a coup,” you mutter.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

It happened during a late evening on Skyhaven, stars glittering outside the glass panels, the entire penthouse quiet. Caleb had just come home from a long mission. Tired. Tense. And the second the door shut behind him, he grabbed you.

It was one of those kisses. One of those possessive, desperate, “I missed you too much” moments. The kind that ends with your legs wrapped around his waist and your breathy, teasing little voice whispering:

“Colonel, slow down…”

And him?

Low voice, eyes burning violet, growling right against your skin:

“No. Not after how long you made me wait—”

The creak of the bed. Your little whimper. His panting, shaky “That’s it, pipsqueak. Take it. You’re mine—”

What neither of you realized…

Was that your babygirl had just woken up from her nap.

She’d toddled into the hallway to find you.

And stood. Frozen. Plushie in hand. Eyes wide.

“…Papa… hurting Mama?”

⸻

The Next Morning…

Caleb’s up early, dressed in his soft black shirt and sweats, hair still tousled from sleep. He’s in the middle of pouring cereal into a tiny bowl when he hears soft footsteps behind him.

“Morning, baby girl—”

Silence.

He turns around with a warm smile.

His daughter is standing there in her little nightgown, clutching her bunny.

And glaring at him.

“…Sweetheart?”

“Don’t talk to Mama again.”

He freezes. Cereal box still in hand.

“…What?”

“You hurt Mama. I heard it.”

His soul leaves his body.

He turns immediately, “Pipsqueak. Babe. Help.”

You’re sipping coffee on the couch, silk robe draped off your shoulders, looking so damn amused.

“Mm. What did you hear, babygirl?”

“She said ‘Caleb no…’” your daughter says, looking horrified.

“And Papa said ‘yes.’ And then ‘take it.’”

Caleb literally drops the cereal box.

“I—I didn’t hurt her,” he says immediately, crouching in front of her, looking frantic. “It was—it was a hug.”

You spit your coffee.

“That was a hug???” you snort

Caleb shoots you a look like PLEASE, and turns back to your daughter.

“She wanted the hug. Even if she said no. I mean—she didn’t mean the no—I mean, she meant it in a good way—”

“You didn’t stop!” your daughter gasps.

“I—I—”

You lean back with a sigh. “Wow. Cancelled by a two-year-old. Tragic.”

⸻

Colonel in Crisis…

She won’t let him near her.

She won’t eat the little astronaut-shaped pancakes he made.

She says “Mama can feed me. Not Papa.”

She sits between you and him like a bouncer.

When he reaches for the remote?

“No touching.”

Caleb is spiraling.

He paces the penthouse. Carries the baby monitor with him like it’s a black box from a crashed shuttle. Keeps playing the last 30 seconds of the recording from the night before.

“She said ‘Caleb, no’ and then I said ‘shhh.’ That sounds—bad. It sounds BAD.”

You’re curled up on the couch with your robe and a smug smile.

“Well,” you hum, “you did get a little… feral.”

“I cried into her onesie.”

“You called me your ‘defenseless little wife.’”

“You said you liked it but She doesn’t know that!!” he hisses, clutching his head.

⸻

The Redemption Arc…

He finally kneels in front of her crib, holding out a tray with apology cookies, baby vitamins shaped like moons, and a drawing of your daughter with a crown on.

“Babygirl. I’m sorry.”

She peeks over the edge.

“You were mean.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have been rough. I’ll be more gentle with Mama.”

“…She cried.”

Caleb looks like he’s about to cry now too. “She only cries when she likes it a lot.”

You peek in. “That’s true.”

“…So Mama was happy?”

“Very.”

Your daughter narrows her eyes. Then slowly, reluctantly, walks over.

“Okay,” she mutters. “But next time, I’m checking on Mama first.”

Caleb picks her up immediately and hugs her like he’s been blessed by the stars.

And then she looks up at you. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“…Did you really like it?”

Caleb covers your mouth with his hand. “Do not answer that.”

[circecyerce]

isn't it delicate? (s.s.)

Plot: Sebastian is your best friend ... right?

or, Sebastian is being bullied (false), you can't possibly be falling in love with him (false), and he might have already, possibly, maybe, fallen in love with you too (true).

Tags: fluff on crack, jealousy, seb is a shit senior/lowkey bully (not rlly), imelda and ominis deserves reparations for their service to wizardkind, yandere!seb if u squint, kinda ooc but who cares, mentions of death and murder (rip anne, rot in hell solomon)

[A/N: This is me trying to beat writer's block if you even care. The scene in his dorm was so fucking difficult to write it was beating my ass. Anyways stream Delicate by T.Swizzle. Also, none of the photos are mine don;t sue me im poor]

Autumn was your favorite season – especially since it makes your short walks to Hogsmeade especially scenic.

After accepting defeat and admitting that you were hopeless at Herbology, you have made it a point to visit the Magic Neep every weekend to buy whatever you haven’t gathered yourself. The walk was a good excuse to get out from the walls of Hogwarts every now and then.

It’s surprising how loose the villagers are with their gossip when they’re just talking to a teenager. Plus, you do enjoy spending the afternoon with Mr. Timothy as he helps you improve your rubbish-handling skills with plants.

A noise from above alerts you that Imelda had the rookies on her team running drills just outside the quidditch field. The new players fight through the wind resistance as they make sharp turns and loops while they scream at each other in encouragement.

However, you can’t help but notice when one of them pointed at you while the other flew towards the stadium in a haste as if his broom had been on fire.  

Shrugging it off, you continued your pace, waving at familiar faces as you passed. You were just about to approach a couple of 2nd years you had been tutoring in Charms when there was a sharp breeze from above followed by a familiar silhouette dropping in front of you.

“Fun walk, pet?” he smirked when you jumped in surprise, roping you into a hug. From behind you, he casually shoo-ed off the 2nd years with a subtle flick of his head.

“Ew, Sebastian, no! You’re sweaty!”

Rather than acting like a gentleman, he drew you in close, leaning down to rub his cheeks against your neck despite your shrieks of protest as he lifted your feet off the ground.

Finally, you managed to push his stubborn form away, wiping away the skin that was now smeared in his sweat but he still managed to get ahold of your hand, pulling you close so you had to look up at him. Bastard.

Suddenly, it clicks, “Did you seriously have your rookies keep an eye on me?”

“It’s good practice,” He shrugged shamelessly, looking up at them in scrutiny, “Trains them to have sharp eyes, remain vigilant of their surroundings, and watch out for pretty witches on the ground that might be distracting while they’re in the skies.”

You slapped his chest, trying to ignore the burn on your face from his casually tossed compliments—and how solid he felt beneath his gear. “You and your brilliant ideas, Sallow.”

With the backbreaking, secret work (“You’ll see it soon enough, pet”) he does in Feldcroft to pass time along with the training he receives from Imelda along with a sprinkle of his glorious genetics, it was no wonder his social standing recovered as quickly as it did even when whispers of forbidden magic still followed him wherever he goes.

Not that he cared, you noticed. As he was clearly more than satisfied in spending his time with the same circle of friends despite the many girls that were bidding their time to steal him.

“Soooo, is there a real reason you had them monitoring me or is it just your unique form of torture?”

“Oh right,” you didn’t notice before but he had been carrying one of his satchels, digging into it to pull a grey knitted scarf that had an owl at the end of it. Before you could say anything, he was already wrapping it around your neck, even pulling up your hair for a second and tutting under his breath how ‘you never dress warm enough’. “It’s your scarf for autumn.”

It was tradition – something that started the first time you visited Feldcroft and he had let you borrow a spare scarf from his closet because you had lost yours in your haste to get to him. It was silly but that was the first time (aside from the troll) the two of you got into a real battle with only each other to watch the other’s back.

The scarf had become a source of comfort, especially on the nights that you had to do it on your own.

However, to Sebastian’s horror, you had worn the piece of cloth ragged. Refusing to let go of it because it was the first gift he had given to you. From then on, a compromise was established, he would be in charge of buying (and confiscating) your scarfs and you would pay him for it.

Only one of you held your end of the deal.

“And wear this,” he pushed your head on the hole of a sweater, helping you find the arms despite your grumblings about his fussing. “It’s getting colder now and you never wear your coat. And since we're always together, If you get sick that means I get sick. So please,” he glares at your petulant pout.  “Spare us both.”

“I’m sorry, mom,” you rolled your eyes. He pinched your cheeks painfully. “Hey!”

“No smart talk,” he chastises, chuckling. “And you better be back in the Great Hall once I’m finished here.”

You wave him off as you walk away. “Why? I like having you chase me around.”

“Don’t even think about it!” He screams, hands on his hips.

You laugh, poking your tongue out at him.

“Thanks for the scarf!”

“Do you have drills this weekend, ‘melda?”

Imelda stopped chewing her food to look at you with a raised, suspicious, brow. “No, why?”

You clapped your hands cheerfully, “I wanted to take Sebastian out on a day trip to Pitt-Upon-Ford before you guys start training for the upcoming game. One of the villagers told me a wild Dugbog was getting too aggressive and started killing their chickens.”

She nodded understandingly.

“Not the most romantic date but sure, just bring him back to the Quidditch Pitch in one piece by Monday.”

The nonchalant accusation plucked just the right string as your face morphed into a mixture of surprise, discomfort, and a hint of embarrassment. “It’s not a date! And how would you know what’s romantic?”

Imelda chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Melda!” you shrieked, face heating up even more when you realized you had caught the attention of other students at the nearby tables. “I’m just worried about him.”

That made the Quidditch Captain frown, what is there to worry about? Is Sebastian having a tough time again? Imelda may be a bit dense regarding other people’s emotions but even she could tell losing his uncle and his twin sister in such quick succession had quite a toll on her friend.

It would take quite a toll on anyone.

But Imelda was sure he had been managing well, especially with his dearest witch by his side who, if the rumor mills were to be believed, basically spent all summer nursing him back to health. Not that she could blame her, from what Ominis told Imelda, Sebastian had damn near been catatonic and wouldn’t give anyone the time of the day unless it was you.

“Is he alright?”

You were quick to wave off her worries with a hand and a nervous smile, “No, he’s fine! Doing better than fine. It’s just … I’m worried he might be getting … bullied.”

In the confusion between laughing or swallowing or insisting that even a full-grown troll wouldn’t be able to bully Sebastian Sallow, Imelda instead choked on the pumpkin juice she was nursing.

“Imelda!”

She stops your fussing with a raised hand before speaking through the pain. “What *cough* What ever gave you such a ludicrous idea?”

You fiddle with your hands, clearly having kept this ceaseless worry for quite a bit of time. “Because Sebastian – ever since – he’s not particularly … very nice. Plus, there are all these ridiculous rumors of him being a dark wizard,” you roll your eyes but Imelda can still see the poorly concealed anxiety in them. “I’m scared he’s being ostracized. And I can’t be with him forever, you know.”

“Did you tell him that? Because I have a baaaad feeling the two of you aren’t on the same page.” Imelda is fairly certain Sebastian has already named their future children and dogs if you asked her. And if there was anyone that could have some sort of sway on that stubborn mule it would probably be you.

You shook your head, “He’s a man. He’ll just tell me not to worry about it.”

“Not worry about what?”

“Godric’s bloody heart! Sebastian, you scared me!”

“She thinks you’re being bullied.”

Without missing a beat Sebastian just bashfully smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before straddling the bench to sit facing you amidst Imelda’s gagging. “Aw, you’re sweet, pet.”

Imelda watched in horror and disbelief as Sebastian just ignored her and cooed at you, teasingly trying to press kisses at your cheeks while you pushed away his face.

“Are you not even gonna deny that?”

“Should I?” Sebastian continued to stare as you stood up quickly, a flimsy excuse of getting some pastries on the other side of the table while huffing at Sebastian about misbehaving in public and creating misunderstandings. “I quite like it when I’m the only thing in her mind.”

“You’re seriously sick in the head, you know that?” she crosses her arms, studying him as his eyes stayed stuck while you got roped into a conversation with other students you were too polite to end quickly.

Sebastian just grinned, popping a grape into his mouth. “Of course, I know that.”

Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the side, spotting a sixth-year slyly stealing glances and eavesdropping on their conversation. He slammed his hands on the table, startling them. “Can I help you?”

“N-No – I’m sorry, Sebastian!”

Imelda shook her head, as the nosy students dispersed, prematurely ending their dinners. “Bullied, my arse.”

“Oh, if we have drills this weekend I won’t go, we’re going on a date.”

“I know that, Sallow.”

“Cheers, Reyes,” Sebastian tapped his fingers on the table twice and winked at his captain goodbye. Imelda watched as her prized beater decided he was done sharing you for the night. In a speed befitting a Seeker, he walked in your direction to grab you and your plate full of sweets towards the exit as you haphazardly screamed a goodbye to the witch.

Imelda stares at her cup before sighing, “Merlin, help her.”

Last night was the first time you had a dream about him.

Not a nightmare of losing him or a terrible recollection of the crimes you have buried together in the past – but a dream. A sweet, fuzzy dream that had you staring at your ceiling in a confusing blend of horror and butterflies as fuzzy memories of the touch of his lips on yours burned your cheeks.

You slap a pillow over your face.

“No, no, no.”

It would have been easier if it had been a nightmare. With one letter you and Sebastian would already be cocooned up the Room of Requirement and you would find sleep again under his careful watch.

But who do you call for this? When the one person you tell everything to is the one who can’t know.

This can’t be happening. You can’t do this to him.

You’ve been faintly aware of an attraction budding inside of you for your dear friend but you thought it was normal. Who wouldn’t be attracted to Sebastian?

He was tall, tanned, broad, and had that irresistible, mischievous grin that spells trouble—but somehow, it works. Because handsome features aside, he was protective, thoughtful, and was someone you could talk to for the rest of your days and never get bored with.

He’s your best friend.

And …

And you dreamt of kissing him.

You scream into your pillow.

Along with the life-shattering realization in the dark of the night is another horrible one in the morning: you’re probably not the only one who dreamt of kissing him.

You stare in horror at the small crowd of giggling girls that trailed after him, roping him into a conversation even when he politely excused himself once he saw you.

When has this happened?

The year you met, the two of you had been bombarded with problems bigger than each other that silly things like romance and crushes and jealousy were shoved and locked to the back of your minds. The year after that was spent recovering -- you had basically spent all of your days huddled together in whatever corner you both could find, too on guard to even think of socializing properly with other students.

Now, as you stand next to him, on the way to your next class, you finally see what you had been so obtusely blind to.

In a moment of grim clarity, you twigged that your good friend, one you had barely accepted as the boy that holds your adoration, was a handsome, talented gentleman in the race to become the most successful wizard to graduate in your year.

Of course, he would be bloody popular.

“Hey.”

You were so used to being at the center of all his attention (as depressing the context was) that you didn’t even comprehend otherwise – missed the flutter of their lashes, their shy giggles as he passed, or the coquettish whispers that followed him wherever he goes despite his aloof demeanor.

A couple of 5th-year Ravenclaws greet Sebastian sweetly as you pass by. You flinch at the tilt in their voice.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian notices the grimace in your face as you turn a corner, hands quickly soothing the back of your spine.

Well, you definitely see it now.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Avoiding him was definitely the wrong move – heedless, moronic, selfish –

But in your panic, it was the only move you had.

So, yes, it is horrendously short-term and stupid and back floating in the middle of the Black Lake in the morning of your weekend even more so.

Still, you and Sebastian had agreed months before the start of the term to pick mostly the same subjects as your last year, an idea that is now gloriously clashing with your ‘avoiding-him’ plans. Hence, you had no choice but to find solace in the big lake, submerging your ears under the water to tune out the noise of the rest of the world as you tried to think out of this predicament you have checkmated yourself in.

You are a brilliant student, a great strategist, and a powerful witch; you should be able to fix this.

He is suspicious, you know him well enough to know he’s slowly catching on to the fact that you would rather fight a graphorn wandless than be anywhere near him. He won’t be able to let it go. He’ll dig his claws in your brain and rip the reasons out of your mouth himself – which is something he definitely can’t find out.

You … like Sebastian – might even love him.

It’s the first time you admitted it to yourself, dunking yourself in the frigid waters to scream underwater (scaring the poor squid) before floating on your back again when you’ve sufficiently calmed down. You must positively look like an idiot but you have bigger fishes to fry than looking sane.

“I love Sebastian,” you whispered, trying and failing to get used to the idea, even if it was just on your tongue.

Should you tell him? That would be … difficult.

Everything is too delicate.

Your friendship was barely dangling on a thread a few months ago. If it wasn’t for your insistence to spend your summer together mending whatever was left of him and your bond outside the horrors in Feldcroft and in the small estate Professor Fig had left for you, you might’ve lost him altogether.

He tries hard to move on from it, to atone quietly, become a better man but you know he’s still struggling. On the worst nights you’ll find him staring at the empty walls of the Undercroft curled in on himself until you unwrap him out of his worst nightmares and into your arms.

Your feelings seemed infinitesimal compared to the demons he is fighting inside his head.

Does he even feel the same? Would he?

If you tell him, would you just become another one of his problems?

You slapped a hand on the water, trying to find the best outlet to let out your frustrations so you could piece together some form of answer or plan, cursing when a drop of water conveniently landed on your eye.

Realistically, he has his pick of the litter right now. Pretty girls tripping over themselves to be noticed by him. Beautiful, untraumatized, clean slates who would definitely be a sweeter companion than you.

The thought of seeing him with another makes your hands tremble – a strange combination of unjust anger, boiling jealousy, and a hint of heavy sadness flowing in your veins.

It feels strange to have your roles flipped. When you had arrived you were the new kid, a limelight at your every move and it was Sebastian who was always chasing after you, beating anyone else to hog your attention. As sick as it is to admit, you preferred it that way.

Being the jealous one wasn’t the kind of tune you were used to dancing in.

If you weren’t so caught up with saving the world maybe you would’ve been able to chain him to you.

Maybe it is too late now.

It feels unfair to add your confusion and emotions as yet another burden for Sebastian, who already carries so much. He’s happy now, finally finding some peace and stability. You refuse to be the one to break it all down.

You won't be another sin he'll have to take responsibility for, another person he stands to lose.

It's fine. This is fine.

“Accio.”

Your view went from the blue sky to a haze as you got rudely plucked out of the water and back into shore, face-to-face with the boy who had haunted your every waking (and sleeping) moment.

If you hadn’t been so dizzied you would’ve been offended.

“S-Sebastian?”

He does not look pleased. Fuck, fuck, fu –

“How many times must I tell you I don’t like chasing you around.” He quips but quickly removes his robes to wrap them around you. It was only when your feet were back on the ground did you realize all the eyes on you and the scene he had created.

Sebastian glared at the group of boys gawking and they scattered like ants. What a tyrannical senior he had turned out to be. You can’t believe you were worried about him getting harassed a few weeks ago. “We’re going back to the dorm to get you changed.”

Wait – what – “’s going on?”

One second you were having a heartbreaking crisis in the lake and in a blink, you were in his arms getting dragged barefooted back up the stairs.

He suddenly stopped waking, your face smashing into his back. You took quick steps backward when he gave you the most offended look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Oh no, you’ve messed up somehow. “Did you have somewhere more important to be than on one of my games?”

Ohhhh shit.

“N-No! I – I didn’t forget I swear it just … slipped my mind for a moment –”

And you didn’t! You even prepared your ensemble for today last night; it was hanging on your closet before you left your room. However, as you focused on not being seen by Sebastian the day had escaped you.

Your excuses seemed to just infuriate him even further because he just firmly grabbed your hand again and tugged you into the nearest floo. When you have teleported to the familiar walls of your Common Room you stopped on your tracks at the risk of lighting his fuse.

“I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t forget. I have my outfit ready in my –”

He stared, looking over your (no doubt) pitiful dripping form before sighing, pulling you so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s go to my room. We need to talk.”

It shouldn’t make you feel like a sulking child, but the way you are trailing from beside him with your head down had you fitting just the part. However, two firm squeezes on your shoulders were Sebastian’s silent way of telling you he wasn’t bringing you to his abode for a fight.

With his door closed and a quick silencing charm (when has he gotten so good at Charms) he was quick to pull out a spare skirt from the bottom of his bunk, unhooking one of his jerseys before handing it to you.

“Is this my skirt?”

A less secure boy would’ve been flustered but he just shrugged, you hate how his confidence just made him more attractive. “You left it when we were studying late here and you borrowed one of my sleeping shorts. Figured I’d just keep it here in case of emergencies.”

Even his reasoning was perfectly endearing and thoughtful. Clearing your throat, you gave him a grateful smile before going behind the dressing screen.

It was a few minutes of reprieve before he started his interrogation.

“Care to explain why I’ve barely seen you today?”

“Oh, I was just bu –”

“Or this entire week at all?”

You silently winced, seriously considering just apparating from behind the flimsy wood separating you. Though you had a feeling he'd just hunt you down again and that would just be awkward.

Because as much as he claims to hate chasing you, he does a perfectly good job at it.

Peeking from behind the wooden cover you flinched when he was already staring.

With a quiet sigh, he unwrapped his scarf from his own neck and threw it on his bed, his hands enclosed around each other as he leaned on his legs.

“I’m all ears, darling.” His frustration was evident, yet he was clearly extending his patience for you—a surprise, given his reputation for having a short fuse.

You finish zipping up your clothes, steeling yourself from behind the wooden screen before finally gathering all the courage you could muster and finally going out of your hiding spot and meeting his eye.

It was silent for a couple of long seconds before he decides to cut the tension by reaching out a reassuring hand which you quickly and gratefully accepted, letting yourself be dragged in between his legs as he stares up at you.

“Did I do something?”

“No!” You quickly reach a hand to his messy, brown, locks to placate him. A small smile gracing your face when he nodded quietly, earnest eyes hanging on to your every word. “It’s just …”

You squeaked when the door suddenly opened.

“Sebastian, Imelda said to get on the fie –”

“Out!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know your girlfriend – the captain said – I’ll let her know! I’m sorry!”

The door slammed with an echo, and Sebastian slumped into your stomach, hands loosely on the back of your knees. Despite the relief at being cut off, you can’t help but share his frustration. However, it didn't escape your notice his failure to correct what you believe is a common assumption among his teammates.

“We should go before it’s Imelda who bursts in next time. I think she won’t be as kind to your door.”

He sighs, nods, and stands up. However, instead of guiding you back to the floo he pulled you closer into him until you had to stand on the tip of your toes. His hooded eyes run through every inch of your face as he cradles it firmly, his work-worn thumb caressing your cheek gently while his other hand pulls you until you have to rely on his solid body for balance.

“Don’t think we’re finished talking about this,” he warns, his grip on your cheeks going tighter for a split second as the intensity of his gaze sharpens and he returns to the sweet, charming boy that stole your heart.

This is exactly what you had feared. Secrets weren’t a concept familiar to the two of you. Now that he had sniffed it out, it is only a matter of time before he gets to the bottom of it.

He gives you a mischievous smile at the unmistakable horror and guilt on your face, then leans in to press a kiss to your hairline. "Stop trying to run away from me while I'm still being nice."

"This is you being nice?" you tease but he only chuckles. "Maybe I should be running faster."

"You can play chase all you want, pet. But your chances of getting away from me are --" He mouths 'zero'.

"Oh? Zero?"

"To none."

The two of you laugh, and all at once, the small argument, the days spent avoiding him, and the guilt you feel about your emotions are lifted from your chest as you reach a bittersweet conclusion.

This was for the best.

This is how it's supposed to be. You shouldn't ask for more, not right now.

As long as he can keep laughing like a boy his age should after being forced to grow up so fast, and you remain each other's safe haven you can always retreat to, and he continues to look at you just ... like ... that ...

And you see it. Clear as day, you almost want to laugh at how silly and blind you had been.

In fast progression, you run through your memories, and it feels like falling through the ice-cold waters of the lake surrounding Hogwarts, like the path to Hogsmeade after an autumn rain -- clear and refreshing.

He hooks a strand of hair behind your ear and you realize that he knows you've finally figured it out.

"Is that a promise?" you ask.

It should be terrifying, it should terrify you – what you realize is his need for control of everything regarding you, his barely hidden obsession you had missed all this time, his unwavering dedication that only now did you see the depth of.

Instead, you beam, heart fluttering and meeting his commitment with a kiss pressed on his thumb.

You’re in love with Sebastian Sallow.

And for the first time since the two of you met, you finally see it – Sebastian Sallow might also be a bit in love with you.

"I promise."

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve been here but has the house gotten bigger?”

Sebastian stops his search on one of the chests in the storage to look back on his friend by the door. He looks up at the ceiling as if just noticing himself. “Oh, yeah, I did work on it over the past summers.”

Ominis frowned, raising his wand in different directions to get a clearer visualization of the new space, “I thought you spent the summer at her place?”

“I spent the first month finishing everything then flew back to hers for the rest. I’ve been working on it since the end of 5th year so there wasn’t much left to be done. It's honestly a good way to practice Charms.”

The Gaunt scion could barely believe the nonchalance in his statement, “And you added a second floor to your house because …?”

“Aha!”

In Sebastian’s hand was a fancy, brown velvet box, the emblem of the nearly fallen Sallow line embossed on the lid. With a quick peek, he confirmed that his mother’s ring was still safely tucked inside.

“Merlin, Sebastian.”

Ominis could almost hear his grin as he patted the dust off his pants before walking back to his frozen friend. “Are you planning to wed her by the time we graduate? Have you even courted her yet?!”

Sebastian just shrugged, looking around the house, a sense of pride filling his chest when he saw how perfect everything had been. Every nook and cranny made with only the thought of you in mind. Even the reading room you had mentioned in passing was thoughtfully plopped close to the backyard where he had hoped to improve your Herbology skills in the future when he manages to drag you into it.

“We don’t have to be married if she doesn’t want to be but we’re definitely getting engaged, I’m not risking it.”

“And you’re sure she’ll say yes?”

Sebastian scoffs and Ominis unfortunately quietly agrees at the stupidity of his question.

Ominis should be scandalized. The quiet, conservative part of him wants to scream about the impropriety of it all. However, with how headstrong you are and how stubborn Sebastian is he knew it would be a waste of his breath to scream about decorum and the formality of proper courting.

“Does she know about your grand plans yet?”

Sebastian slipped the box into the pocket on the inside of his coat. “My darling’s a skittish one but she’s getting there,” he smirks, the memory of the look of dawning on your face in his dorm room making his chest flutter in excitement. “If I make any moves now, I fear she’ll fly away.”

“Well, if a man told me he’s been obsessed with me from the moment we met to the point of building an entire house for a hypothetical future he has built for us without any of my say I’d be bolting for the hills too.”

Sebastian pushed the other boy enough to make him stumble.

“You wouldn’t understand, Omi,” he grins, smug. “We’re kindred spirits,” he releases the word like it had always been written – a fate he, for the first time in his stubborn life, was willingly letting himself get swayed into. “It was always going to end this way.”

Ominis couldn’t help but agree, both because of his confidence for his dear friend and a healthy part of it is of the potential horror he fears Sebastian would unleash on any other man that might risk taking you away from him.

He'd fancy not hiding another murder from the Ministry.

“For all our sake, I hope so too.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, pet?”

Sebastian casually flicks into the next page of the book carefully placed on your lap as you sit comfortably astride him. The wrinkle in between his brows a manifestation of his frustration with the Advanced Potions he was studying.

You could feel the stares and hear the whispers. Two of the younger Headboys tried to pretend not to see you improperly sitting in his lap while a group of girls gave you sharp glares as they passed by. You burrow yourself deeper into his lap, not forgetting to stare back with a sweet smile.

“Do you think we should start dating?”

Sebastian freezes, the speed at which his iris moved from the ink on the pages to your eyes was almost too comical but you held back your laugh, not giving him any space to misunderstand your words.

He does nothing but stare for the next 5 seconds before nodding, pushing a hand to rummage in his pocket before placing and opening a pretty brown box with a simple but beautifully carved ring inside it.

“Since we're already graduating, girlfriend seems a bit juvenile,” he clears his throat casually but a shake in his voice betrays his nerves. “Isn't it?”

You forced yourself to close your mouth as you stared at what undoubtedly is the Sallow’s family ring. It was only when he had plucked out the precious jewelry and gently slipped it into your finger that you finally managed to break yourself out of your stupor.

You sniff, now finally looking back at him, “You and your brilliant ideas, Sallow.”