Ran X You

Ran x you

Starring Tokyo Revengers Men In ✰ Eight Months In

Cast Line Up Ran, Rindou, Haruchiyo, Mikey, Kakucho, Hajime and Current Shuji

Rated TV-MA

Minors This Isn’t For You

Summary ✰ How The Men Treat You when You're Eight Month Pregnant with Their Baby, Baby Daddies treating you Like Royalty!

No pronouns up in here but the Reader has a Kitty 

Ran Haitani

✰ Ran proudly Admit How Weak He is for you now with your belly all round with his Baby

✰ Seeing you waddle around got him Feeling things he never felt before, His face lighting up whenever he sees you just Glowing 

✰ Will drop everything to attend to your needs even Partying is a thing of the past, Ran is in his Dad Era

✰ Ran is struggling to keep his hands to himself.  Your Belly is like a magnet to him and Your Hormones aren't helping, Got Him and His dick working overtime trying to keep you Satiated 

✰ Rindou and Sanzu's ears are about to fall off because all Ran do is talk about how much he stays buried in your pussy

✰ “Can't stay Long Guys, The love of my life needs my dick expediently” Ran says while pouring himself something to drink, “ Always Talking about your personal life, We’re not fucking Twitter” Sanzu Groans while Rindou tries his best to ignore this conversation. “ You're Just Jealous your family not Growing and Your babe not Glowing” Ran Grins while Sanzu just sighs as Rindou lays his head on the table

✰ Ran will Keep Bragging about you after all you giving him the best present he could ever receive

✰ “ You're so wonderful you know that” Ran whisper in your ear as he embrace you from behind

Ran Softly Thrust into you from behind while his fingers softly pinched your nipples, “ So fucking Beautiful and absolutely breathtaking” Ran Groaned while handing you an extra pillow to place under your belly for support

“ Ran, How good you make me feel” You whined as Ran rolled his hips making his dick hit that spot deep in you that always makes you a shivering mess, Your body was filled with ecstasy as Ran kept fucking you tenderly 

Ran's dick felt like heaven to your needy pussy as he constantly gave you long strokes that made you lean deep into the pillows that were under you, “Pussy always so Good and tight, Feels so fucking Good” Ran groaned while you clenched around him making him shudder

He laid kisses to the back of your neck while you whined under him so prettily, “ Your Moans sound like music to my ears” Ran Singsong while he fucked into you deep. “So Close Ran, So Close” You moaned as your pussy throbbed around him

“Come on Beautiful, Cum for me” Ran groaned while he kept fucking into your clenching pussy, Your body obeyed Ran’s words as you had an orgasm so strong that it made your body shake. Ran gave you two strong thrusts before he cumming deep inside you with a groan before resting while still inside you, “You were amazing baby like usual” Ran said while his hands roamed your body

Rindou Haitani

✰ Rindou could never be prouder of you, How beautiful you look so full with his baby

✰ Brings you whatever you want on a silver platter, He  would do anything to put a smile on your face

✰ Is very observant of your expressions.  he knows when you need Food, a massage, or some dick to ease the throbbing of your pussy

✰ Drops everything to get you whatever your hearts desire. Doesn't matter if he was at work, they know you come first

✰ Rindou is a Homebound king, He doesn't even go to the club anymore because he doesn't want to be far from you

✰ Your pregnancy got Rindou in a daze, His high off the thought of you being pregnant with His Baby and How he will soon be a father

✰ “ I want to keep you pregnant and bred” Rindou groans as he rubs your full belly

Rindou Laid on his back while you straddled him, his dick deep in your pussy as his left hand played with your clit. “You feel Good Baby?? You okay?” Rindou asked while he gave your pussy soft but deep thrusts, “Feel Good Rinnie, so good” You mewled back as you rocked your hips for more friction

“Ahh, I needed this so bad” You moaned as you closed your eyes enjoying the feeling of Rindou’s dick in your cunt. Rindou could only smile up at you as he propped himself on his arms so he could suck on your right nipple making you coo as he pushed his dick in and out of your pussy

The way Rindou was fucking you plus the way your hormones were making you feel had it That every touch, Every stroke, and every twirl of his tongue was amplified making your pussy throb as you bit back your screams of Pleasure

“Rinnie. Oh, Baby, I’m So close” You moaned while Rindou proceed to work his thigh muscles to fuck up into you, “Cum for me baby” Rindou groaned as your walls contracted around his dick. Your body spasmed as your climax hit you hard, you had put your hands on Rindou's chest for support. Rindou followed you as your pussy milked his dick so well his hips jolting as he released inside of you

“Fuck. Felt damn right Heavenly” Rindou Gasp as he rubbed your chin, “Now let me run you a bath and get you cleaned up,  yeah?” Rindou said before kissing your lips 

Haruchiyo Sanzu

✰ You being Pregnant have done something to Haruchiyo, He stays By your side and He's sober Now 

✰ The Thought of you carrying a new life got him going crazy, Haruchiyo can barely contain himself 

✰ Your Wish is his Command, Whatever you want Haruchiyo will happily give it to you even if it means waking out of his sleep to fuck you softly while you whine in his ear

✰ You and Your Swollen pussy got him fully subservient, If it wasn't for his work he’ll be home with you all the time 

✰ He takes your moodiness in stride, he just loves everything about you having his kid.

✰ “I'm Hooked on you being knocked up with my kid, Fuck. Let's have a house full of kids” Haruchiyo Grins while kissing your belly

Haruchiyo's fingers rubbed patterns on your clit as he fucked into you with care, “Fuck. How does that feel baby? Telling by how your eyes rolling back it feels good” Haruchiyo groaned while your pussy squeezed him in response. “Feel so Good Haru” You mewled back while Haruchiyo continued working your pussy

His dick massaging your walls while your pussy pulsed around him making him shudder, “Ah Fuck. You grip my dick so fucking good babe” Haruchiyo groaned before bringing his head down to suck on your perky right nipple

Haruchiyo actions were driving you wild as he stimulated you so good that you felt like you were touching heaven, Your pussy felt absolutely wonderful being spread open by Haruchiyo dick as his tip kissed your G-spot with every stroke

“Haru, Fuck. I’m cumming” You moaned as Haruchiyo fucked you toward ecstasy. Your body jolted against the mattress as he continued to give you deep strokes, his thrusts only becoming erratic when he began cumming inside you. “Fuck. you always drain me so good” Haruchiyo Groaned before pushing his hips into yours one final time, “Now what do you want to eat?”

Manjiro Sano

✰ Manjiro is in Heaven. You are finally all his, this baby solidifies that.

✰ All of Bonten is at your beck and call, snap your fingers and they will bring whatever you want 

✰ Even Manjiro is even more homebound Now, He can't keep his arms from being wrapped around your round belly

✰ He is obsessed with you being pregnant, Your change of Hormones excites him and He takes everything you toss at him with a smile on his face

✰ The fact that you are more dick hungry makes his dick so achily hard. He fucks you with such love and cares that you're wondering where the old Manjiro went

✰ He would never put The baby and you in Jeopardy, You two are the most highly valued people in his life right now. You Give Manjiro a reason to live.

✰ “I love you two so much” Manjiro softly says while his head gently rests on your belly

Manjiro languidly rocked his hips into yours pushing his dick deep into you make you whine, “Jiro Please rub my clit” You pleaded making Manjiro chuckle. “ How can I forget to pay attention to your pretty clit huh?” Manjiro grinned before sucking his thumb and using it to apply pressure to your clit making you moan

His free hand stayed on your belly as he concentrated on making you feel good, Manjiro's hips softly snapping as he fucked you just right making your toes curl. “  You are gorgeous, you know that right?” Manjiro groaned as your pussy tugged on his dick, “ Like an Angel” He whispered making your eyes lock with his

Your eyes stayed locked while Manjiro kept fucking you, his thrusts not letting up even as your cunt began clenching down on his dick hard or when you bought your left hand to his face. “ Jiro, you're beautiful too” You moaned making Manjiro's face heat up as he brought all his attention back to fucking you

You could feel that familiar sensation of your orgasm nearing as Manjiro worked your pussy like an expert, “Jiro, I'm cumming” You moaned as Manjiro fucked you into your bliss. Manjiro Hips spasmed as his own orgasm hit him so hard that his body shook, he was only able to give you one more shaky thrust before resting on his elbows. “ I love you so much” Manjiro whispered to you before kissing your lips 

Kakucho

✰ Kakucho has been a dream though your pregnancy, He's always there with what you need before you say you need it 

✰ He is elated to be a father and he can't stop talking about how beautiful you look with a round belly 

✰ He hates seeing you in distress  with your hormones, he will do anything to elevate the pains of your pregnancy 

✰ If you need good food? He's cooking. If your pussy needs his dick? He's ready to make tender love to you

✰ Kakucho is so gentle and soft with you, not like he could ever hurt you but every move he now makes is calculated and with the most care

✰ Kakucho always falls asleep with his hand on your belly, He needs to keep you safe even in his sleep 

✰n“I can't wait to meet Our Little One” Kakucho says while he caresses your belly

Kakucho's dick was in you as You two Spooned, his left hand resting on your belly while his right hand you close to him. His hips rocked into yours as he fucked you softly making you coo with every motion of his thighs 

“Kaku, You got me feeling like I’m in heaven” You moaned as Kakucho Lips kissed your left shoulder, “An Angel should feel Heavenly” Kakucho whispered in your ear while he pushed his dick deep in your cunt making your legs tremble

“ I love making you feel good” Kakucho Groaned as your pussy held him tight. You moved your hips trying to get Kakucho ever so deeper in your pussy, your eyes rolling back as his tip rubbed that spongy spot in you just right. “Kaku, Just like that don't stop” You moaned while Kakucho did exactly as you said 

Your pussy pulsating as your orgasm came out of nowhere, your body shaking Against Kakucho as he stroked you through your climax. Kakucho gave you two more solid thrusts before his hips began jolting as he started cumming in you, filling your pussy with cum. “Feels so beautiful. You are beautiful” Kakucho groaned while he gave you one more thrust before sliding out of you making you whimper

“Now Let me cook you something to eat” Kakucho said before kissing your lips

Hajime Kokonoi

✰ Hajime Spoils you 1,000,000,000 Times more since the moment you told him you are pregnant

✰ He works from home now, he can't pull himself from you and the baby

Whatever you want you already got it, This child will be the most spoiled baby around 

✰ Hajime can tell what you want by the tone of your voice, He knows if you need a good massage or  some TLC or to get dicked down

✰ Hajime doesn't want you lifting a finger, He hires maids to clean the house while he tends to your needs

✰ Literally feels like he's in the best dream he ever had, the Mere thought of fatherhood got him blissed out 

✰ He wakes up in the middle of the night to watch you sleep while his thoughts are consumed by how the two of you will be parents in a month

✰ “ You and this baby are priceless to me” Hajime whispers while kissing your stretch marks 

Hajime's dick was buried in you while he tenderly Massaged your shoulders, “Please Koko, Fuck me” You moaned making Hajime Move his hips making you Mewl out his name. “ That Feel Better Love?” Hajime asked before he began kissing your neck softly 

Hajime's Hands roamed your body as he fucked into your creamy cunt so good that you felt yourself losing control. your fingernails scratching his back making him close his eyes as he ground his hips against yours trying to reach the deepest parts of you, His hips pushing his dick deep as he rolled them making you whimper

“Koko. Right There Right there” You moaned out while he brought his lips down to your breasts to suck on them making you press yourself against him, Hajime savored all of you as he sucked on your left nipple making you writhe against the mattress

“Koko, Please don't stop. Gonna cum” You moaned while he kept sucking and fucking you so that your nerves felt like they were aflame, The fire only burning brighter as you began cumming around Hajimes dick. Your pussy squeezing Hajime inches so hard that he couldn't hold back himself from spilling his seed in your creamy pussy. 

“Got my mind hazy” Hajime Softy groaned before kissing your lips and rubbing your belly, “ Now let me get back to massaging you” Hajime whispered as his hands worked your shoulders 

Shuji Hanma  

✰ Shuji is still shocked about you being pregnant, it's like he's in a hazy dream, and he's living for it 

✰ Whenever you wake him up and he sees your belly so full with his baby he just can't help but admire you

✰ “Fuck. You're so gorgeous baby” Shuji said while his hand rub your belly

Shuji is so soft with you and delicate, You have never seen this side of him before. He literally says yes to whatever you ask him

✰ Your Hormones got him on his toes and he loves it, Hes a fiend for waking up in the middle of the night to bring you snacks and to give you that good dick

✰ Shuji always keeps a hand on your belly, Loves to feel the baby kick his hand and the way he always smiles up at you is priceless 

✰ Hate to admit it but he's addicted to you being pregnant with his baby, He has a growing Need to keep you constantly filled with his baby

✰ “ You know you look so beautiful Pregnant, wouldn't mind us having a couple more babies after this one” Shuji Says while massaging your shoulders 

Shuji had you on the edge of the bed while he worked your pussy with his dick so good that tears pricked into your eyes.  “Shu, A little deeper please” You moaned making Shuji laugh, “Deeper? Okay babe I’m Going to Give you what you want” Shuji Grinned before angling his hips to fuck you deep just like you asked

“Just like that” You cooed as Shuji fucked into you so good that you couldn't help but cry from pleasure as Shuji's dick rubbed your G-spot. Shuji brought his thumb to your swollen clit building on the mountain of bliss you already were on 

“Fuck. Do I love making you feel so good that all you can do is cry” Shuji Groaned while he rolled his hips as you writhed under him, His free hand massaging your right breast making you moan his name out. “ I can feel that pussy Pulsing for me, I know you're close baby. Let me have it, I can take it” Shuji Groaned while he kept stimulating you the way you like it

Right on cue, you began cumming on his dick as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, Shuji's hips still snapping into yours with precision even as his dick painted your walls with his cum. “ Fuck. Babe, You got me wrapped around your finger, you know that right?” Shuji Groaned while rocking his hips before giving you a sloppy kiss on the lips.

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Please Don’t Steal My Shit 

---

— Ran eyes the stairs that lead to his childhood home with hesitation. He glances at the rusted metal on the railing in remembrance — staring at the chipped paint on the walls next door. His initials are still carved into the wood below — his brother’s mirroring his own underneath. 

Ran hasn’t seen his mother in a long time. He hasn’t been back home for even longer. 

He's not sure he would even call this place home. 

He'd messed up terribly at the age of thirteen, and had spent a good amount of time in a correctional facility to make up for it. By the time he was out, he'd decided to leave the apartment he’d grown up in behind. He didn't give his mother much room to object — she didn’t have it in her to do so either. She'd grown weary of her words falling on deaf ears. She loved her boys, she really did. But there was only so much her heart could take — there was only so much destruction she'd allow them to partake in under her roof. She’d simply nodded when he told her he was leaving, not bothering to meet his gaze. But he remembers the fight she’d put up when Rindou had said he was coming too. He remembers the ache in his heart at being cast to the side. And he wonders if he would’ve stayed if she had begged him to. He wonders what it would be like for her to fight for him too. 

At fifteen, he’d dropped out of school. At twenty, he was an active member in a street gang. He never went to visit her — he never told her how he was doing either. Rindou left out as many details as he could when he did. For their sake and for her own, she never asked anyway. 

The two boys cleaned up their act as they got older. They'd started their own business — had grown extremely well known and successful in the industry too.

Still, he never called. Still, he rarely went to visit.

Yet here he was, standing at her doorstep, debating over whether or not he should knock ─ over whether or not it was wise to come speak to her. He had something to tell her; something really important. But a part of him didn’t want to see her look at him in disappointment — a part of him wanted to avoid her look of regret. It was that part of him that had decided to avoid her altogether. He despised that look — he hated how inferior and small it made him feel. Like he was fifteen all over again. Like he wasn’t edging thirty-five. Like he hasn’t long since been responsible for not only himself, but others too.

He had a difficult relationship with his mother. A push and pull he'd never been able to figure out. They were too much alike. He never felt like he was enough. 

She wasn't a cruel woman. She wasn't evil by any means. She'd been good to him — good to the both of them. She always has been. She always would be. 

But he's just like her — a part of her ribs, a part of her soul. He's just like her and it terrified her to her core. She’s just like him and it made him want to hate her even more. 

But a mother was a mother, and he was still her boy. A mother was a mother, and he had no choice. 

So he sighs, and he brings his knuckles up to the door. 

He hears her shuffle around before it opens and she blinks at him in surprise. She doesn’t smile but she reaches for him immediately and he bends to let her hug him. Her embrace lasts only for a moment. He doesn’t think he could stand it if it lasted any longer. Fragile arms hold his face, scolding him for looking so gaunt — criticizing him for smelling like smoke. 

He thinks he's home now, here with her words. He wonders if this was still home.

Whatever that meant at this point. Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

She ushers him inside and he's nervous all over again. He can't remember the last time he'd been this scared to face her. 

Maybe it was when Rindou had broken his arm and he had to be the one to tell her — when he was only seven and it was his fault. He should’ve looked after his brother better. He should’ve stopped him from his own stupidity. 

Or maybe it was when she'd stared at him behind the visiting glass at the juvenile prison — when she’d stared at the bruise on his face and the avoidance in his gaze and didn’t bother saying a single word to him. 

He furrows his brows at the flurry of thoughts. He doesn’t want to remember any of that at all.

She doesn't sit, so he follows her into the kitchen. He eyes the sliced meat and the cloves and the spices scattered across the counter. He takes a seat at the small dining table in his childhood home and she goes back to cooking. 

"What is it?" she asks him, breaking the silence. 

Her back is to him as she stirs the pot and he stares at her — at how small she is compared to him —at how small everything here was now that he was older and taller. 

"What makes you think it's anything?" he replies. 

She rolls her eyes, licking her teeth.

"Don't start with me, boy. You never visit without your brother."

He looks down at his knuckles. He eyes the emptiness in his hands.

"What's going on?" she says again. Her voice is still sharp but there’s a softness to it. Like she's prepared for the worst. Like she can handle it if he told her.

He sighs, leaning back in the wood chair. It creaks under his weight and he scratches at the worn out material of the table. It was old. Everything here was so old. She'd refused to let them move her out even after they'd had the means to. "Leave it alone,” she had said. “I'm fine with the way things are."

Ran had shrugged, dropping the subject after the first time they’d brought it up, but Rindou had kept insisting. 

He never got his way in the end.

"I've been seeing someone," he tells her. She pauses her stirring, but doesn't turn around.

He keeps going, rubbing the back of his neck as he tenses.

"For about a year. A little longer than that, I think."

She doesn’t say a word as she holds her breath, pretending to reach for the salt instead — as if she hasn’t used enough of it already — as if she needed anymore.

"She’s pregnant, Ma."

Her eyes are sharp and wide as she turns to look at him. He sees himself in her silent rage. He sees himself in the lavender of her fury. And he knows it's rage for your sake. He knows what she's thinking.

That poor girl. That poor, poor girl.

It's courtesy for you. It's concern and worry for a girl she hasn't even met yet.

Not for him. He doesn't think it's ever been for him. 

"Is she your woman?"

He dwells on the question for a moment, pondering between the literal and the figurative. He decides to go with the former. 

"She was.”

“Was?” 

“I messed up," he reveals.

"What did you do?" Her anger is silent ─ it's quiet and building.

"I said some shit I shouldn't have when I found out."

There it was. There it is.

That look of disappointment he'd wanted to avoid — that silence he hated drowning in. 

Your fault, the still air seemed to ring out. It’s all your fault.

"Is she keeping it?"

He glances at her when he replies.

"Yeah."

"Do you plan to be in their lives? Because if you don't, you leave that girl alone. You do your part financially, and you leave her alone. Do you understand me?"

The skin around her knuckles turns a ghastly white as her grip tightens against the ladle in her palm. 

She’s quick to speak — quick to assume. Quick to judge — quick to decide for him. She’s right, he knows that. She’s always been right. But he hates the lack of autonomy — he hates that he gets no say when it comes to her. He digs his nails into the skin of his palm and he wonders just how hard he'd have to press to dissipate his anger — just how much would it take to stop the pressure in his lungs.

But he thinks of you, and he decides against it. He thinks of you, and he decides to explain instead.

He tells her that you’d broken up with him after all that he’d said. He tells her that he'd apologized not even a week later. He would've apologized earlier but you had refused to see him. He’d wanted to say sorry immediately, but you wouldn't let him. 

He tells her what he’d told you — that he wanted to be with you, that he wanted to take care of you and the baby. And he tells her what you'd told him — that you'd quietly nodded, accepting his words, but that you wouldn't take him back. Not yet at least. Not so soon after that.

 "I need to have this child first," you had said at the time. "I need to know you won't leave when I do."

She leaves the ladle in the pot and moves to sit at the table in front of him, listening intently. It's the most she’s ever heard him say. It's the most he's ever directly said to her about his life. 

It's ironic and heartbreaking ─ the sad reality of a mother and son who know nothing of each other — the truth behind those who have made no attempts to forgive and to heal and to move on with one another.

She sits back.

"Smart girl. Good on her."

He runs a hand across his face, groaning. "Come on, Ma."

She sighs, her chin in her palm as she stares at her eldest son.

"I'm worried about your choice in women though."

He laughs at that. For the first time in a long time, he laughs with his mother. For the first time in a longer time, she smiles back.

He remembers when she’d walked in on him having sex just after he’d turned eighteen — at how angry she’d been that the woman had been in her late, late twenties. And though she’d been visiting the apartment out of concern for her kids and their terrible eating habits — she had still ended up throwing her shoes at the both of them. He thought she was crazy at the time. He had been convinced she was out to make his life a living hell. But he understands now — why she'd been so angry. He gets why she'd been so scared and hurt — why her fear that he’d get taken advantage of had blinded her with rage.

She remembers when Rindou had shown her a picture of the girl Ran had been dating when he was twenty-one. She remembers looking at the screen, shaking her head in disappointment. She could tell from her eyes alone that the girl had ill intentions — that she was no good at all. She’d told Rindou that much on his way out. He’d shrugged, thinking nothing of it. 

She’d found out later that the two boys had been robbed — that they'd nearly been jumped — and that the girl had been involved. 

Ran doesn’t speak to his mother in the hospital. She’d doted on Rindou the entire time instead. 

—

The two of them sigh synchronously.

"You’ll like her more than you like me," he says into the still air. 

She tilts her head at him, and she wonders what he thinks her perception of him is. It doesn’t seem good. It doesn’t seem good at all. And she can’t help but wonder if she is to blame.

“No, you’ll love her,” he reiterates.

There’s a fond smile on his face as he looks back at his mother, and she wonders idly about the girl that was able to bring a gentle expression to her son’s face at the mere mention of her presence.

"I'd like to meet her — the mother of your child. I want to meet her."

He looks at her, and he nods. He was hoping she’d say that. She looks back at him, and she tries to smile. She was hoping he’d agree. 

The two of them were a mirror image of each other in ways they would never understand, in ways they could never explain. They tore each other apart and the pieces never fit together properly again. There was room for Rindou. There was always room for his mistakes.

But Ran had to cut himself up piece by piece to find a place. He’d had to tip toe through the mess and cut his skin against her shattered fury before he’d given up altogether. She didn’t know he’d been looking so desperately. He didn’t know he didn’t have to look that far.

"Yeah.” He says. “Yeah, I'll bring her over."

She tells him that it seems like the two of you are on good terms despite it all, and he chuckles, nodding in agreement. He feels himself grow weary when he tells her that he's proposed to you multiple times since then, and that you'd rejected him every time. 

She laughs a little too loudly for his liking and he shoots her a glare.

"Bring her over soon. I need to meet this girl."

She goes to make him a plate, ignoring his protests as she places it in front of him on the table. He sighs in exaggeration at her insistence and she shakes her head as she stands before him, watching as foregoes his etiquette. She musses his hair before her gaze falls to a silver strand in the darkness of his hair, and her stomach sinks with guilt. She hadn't realized how much older he'd gotten. She hadn’t noticed all that she’s missed out on. She clears her throat, ridding herself of the thought as she peers at her son once more. 

"How old is she, by the way?"

His mouth is full, when he replies "twenty-four" and she smacks the back of his neck immediately — ignorant of the food he chokes on.

"You fucking idiot."

"Give it up, woman.”

She shakes her head, mumbling obscenities to herself as she washes the dishes. 

He doesn’t leave until he finishes his plate. 

—

He calls you on his way home, your voice soothing him as his phone connects to the speakers in his car.

"Hello, gorgeous,” he says, the moment you pick up.

"What’s wrong?"

He rubs at his temple at your response.

"I can flirt with the mother of my unborn child without there being an ulterior motive, you know."

"I know." you say. There’s a pause — a brief one from your end. "But there is something, isn't there?"

He stares at the screen. There is.

He wonders how you know. He wonders about all that you know. He avoids your question instead.

"What are you doing this weekend?"

You hum in thought.

“I have an appointment on Saturday.”

“For what?” He furrows his brow. He’d been consistently attending the ones you’d told him about. This was the first he’d heard of this one. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “I just need to get blood drawn, it shouldn’t take long.” 

“Alright. What are you doing after?”

"Nothing, I think,” you respond as you fold a t-shirt — his t-shirt. “Why?"

"My mom wants to meet you."

There's another pause from your end. There was more weight attached to this one — more emotion and fear, worry and concern.

"You told her?"

"I did."

"What did she say?"

You're nervous — a little scared, even. He can tell by the subtle change in the lilt of your voice. You didn’t want her to think of you as an ‘easy girl’. You knew that it was traditionally frowned upon to have a child before marriage. Your grandmother had given the two of you an earful herself. “Put a ring on her finger,” she’d scolded him. “She won’t let me,” he’d complained right back. It went well in the end. It went better than you would’ve thought. 

But you’d never met his mother before. He rarely spoke to you about her at all. And you're worried she’ll look down on you — that she'll hate you before you’re able to be anyone but the mother of her son’s child. You’re scared that your identity will be reduced to just that. 

The low tone of his voice brings you back, and you grip the phone to your ear as he responds.

"That she wants to meet you."

You furrow your brows.

"That's it?"

"Yeah.”

“Really?”

“What do you want me to say? That she cursed me out for knocking you up? She's on your side, you know. Called you a smart girl for not taking a ‘good for nothing’ man like me back. The hag gave birth to me but she's siding with you. I can’t believe this shit." He shakes his head in fake disbelief. He’d expected just as much from her anyway. But you didn’t need to know that. 

You laugh, and he loves it. You laugh, and he loves you. The sound makes its way around his car and he finds comfort in the beauty of your joy.

"I miss you," he says after a minute. It's been a few days since he'd last seen you — a few days too long.

You hum again in response. 

He drives in the quiet for a little, listening as you move around, and he wonders what you're doing in the apartment on your own.

"I miss you too," you finally confess.

Your voice is soft — quiet. He might’ve missed it had his phone not been connected to the speakers in his car. The gentle smile reserved just for you makes its way back onto his face and he glances at your name on the screen. 

"How are you? How's the baby?"

He nears the daunting building of his penthouse, but he finds himself thinking more and more about you and your one-bedroom apartment and all the space you let him take up when he was with you. He wonders if you'd let him come over. He wonders if you’d let him stay. 

Home. He thinks briefly of the word again and he finds that there’s a person attached to it now — and he knows that it’s never been a place. Not for him at least. Not since you.

You eye your belly, stroking the swell of your stomach.

"She's good. A little fussy today though."

“She's keeping you up?”

You sigh, and he knows then that the baby had been relentless in her efforts to do so. 

“She thinks it’s fun to kick my bladder.”

He snorts. Funny kid. 

"And you? How are you?"

Your heart flutters just a little at his incessant need to check up on you.

"I'm okay."

He tells you he wants you to keep talking to him. Talk about anything, talk about whatever — just until he gets home. He doesn't tell you why. He doesn’t need to either. You knew that his relationship with his mother was strained. You knew they had a hard time being around each other. And you knew that his nerves were probably shot.

So you sit on the couch and you tell him about your day — what you watched, what you ate, how many times your baby kicked, and a few of the names you'd been considering. You talk and it's everything to him — you talk, and you breathe life back into him. You're a little distracted in your speech, pausing at odd times, forgetting your train of thought here and there, and he figures you must be doing something else while talking to him. He doesn't tell you that he's been sitting in the garage of his penthouse for seven minutes now. He doesn't tell you that he's already home. It's selfish of him, but he needs you to ground him for just a little longer — for just a bit more.

"I have to pee, Ran."

He tilts his head against the headrest, grinning as you interrupt his train of thought.

"By all means, baby. Go ahead."

"Pervert.” 

He laughs and the concern in your chest eases up just a little. He's okay. He'd be okay. He tells you he'll see you soon, and you nod in agreement.

“I love you," he says before you can hang up.

And you want to say it back like you used to. You want to say it back like you've always done before.

But you don't. Not yet.

Not yet.

"I know," is your quiet response. 

And he's thankful for that at least. He's thankful that you know.

—

He lights a cigarette as he leans against his car in wait for you. You hated when he smoked in your apartment, but you’d despised it even more when you’d gotten pregnant. He’d resorted to smoking outside when he came to visit — a plastic chair set aside just for him now resided on your balcony. You’d read his text, but you hadn’t responded — so he smokes and he waits, and he eyes your door as he exhales. He takes another drag before he crushes the stick of nicotine underneath his shoe, and he runs a hand through his hair as he makes his way up to the second floor.

He knocks and he waits for a moment. He decides to wait another two. 

You open the door right before he’s about to knock again and his eyes soften instantly at the sight of you.

He was so lucky. He was so ridiculously lucky. You were always so lovely — always so beautiful.

But your eyes are wet and there’s a pout on your lips — a slight tremble to them that you’re trying to hide. He finds that he can’t even greet you properly. His first thought is to comfort you instead.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He moves one hand to the small of your back, the other shifting to cradle your bump instead. You’re beautiful in the dress you’d decided to wear and you’re pretty as you look up at him with tears in your eyes. 

“What’s wrong, love?” he says again.

“My shoes won’t fit.”

He blinks at you as he processes your words, and he resists the urge to smile.

“My feet hurt and my shoes won’t fit. Don’t laugh at me, asshole.”

You almost cry, and he moves his thumbs to your lash line before you do.

“Not laughing at you, baby,” he says, hiding his grin. “Come on, princess.” 

He takes your hand and guides you to the dining table. You sit, wiping at your eyes while he digs through the small pile of shoes in your closet. He finds a loose pair of sandals that he knew had to fit, and he waves them once over his head. 

“Ta-da.”

He kneels in front of you, reaching for your feet as he switches your shoes out for you. He slips the sandals on, long fingers gently tugging at the straps, and he rubs at your feet before he smiles up at you. He looks tired, you think. He looks a little scared. 

You go to reach for his face but he stands before you’re able to stroke his cheek. 

“Where’s your purse, baby? We gotta go.” 

You nod, grabbing your bag, and he takes your palm in his silently as he locks your door behind the two of you. He pockets your key and you understand. You know that he wants you to stay over at his place tonight. 

And maybe exes shouldn’t treat each other like you and him. Maybe they shouldn’t brush eyelashes off of each other’s cheeks. Maybe they shouldn’t have copies of each other’s keys. Maybe he shouldn’t kiss your jaw. Maybe you shouldn’t grip his wrist.

But the lines have been crossed in more ways than one, and the bridging continued to occur.

You don't let go of his hand the rest of the way there. He doesn’t think he wants you to either.

—

You’re scared.

You’re really, really nervous. Your hand naturally drifts to your belly, and you shy away to stand behind him when he knocks on the door. 

He turns to kiss your forehead, brushing your cheek gently in the process.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s okay.”

You listen as the door unlocks — you watch as it creaks on its own hinges and opens. Ran bends to kiss his mother’s cheek and you watch as a thin hand pats his back before a woman speaks. 

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s the girl?” 

He rolls his eyes and moves slightly out of the way. You peer at her from behind him and her eyes widen. You smile and it’s filled with nerves — filled with kindness and a gentle nature. 

She stares at you in awe. She stares at you in wonder. 

“Oh.”

What good could her son have possibly done in this lifetime, and how quickly was he repaid for it with you? She can’t help but reach for you. She hesitates for a moment, worried it’ll make you uncomfortable, but you step into her embrace and she hugs you. She hugs you and she says nothing else, and you want to cry at how tightly she holds you. You want to break down at how much she looked like him. 

She’s a thin, spindly woman — shorter than her son, but a little taller than the average woman. Her hair is long and black — her face framed with strands of gray. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles and your heart aches. The lavender in her gaze looked just like his. The subtle hurt in her eyes mirrored his own too.

He looks away — gazing into his childhood home instead. 

He can’t look at her. He can’t look at you. 

She ushers the two of you inside, and you follow her into the kitchen. She talks, and you listen. And though her gaze had drifted to your belly a few times over, she doesn't say anything about the baby. She doesn’t say anything at all. He watches as the two of you fall into a natural rhythm, and he lingers near the entry as you help her set the table, fingers twisting the ring in his pocket. He expects that rejection is inevitable tonight as well. 

Dinner is quiet. They don’t talk to each other much. The air isn’t tense, but it’s brutal in its presence. It’s a silence they’re used to — a silence they’re unable to live without. She asks about you, and you tell her all that you can. She asks and you answer and it isn’t so bad. It isn’t so bad at all.

You’re unable to read the expression on Ran's face as he picks at his food, and your brows furrow in slight concern as you stand to help her clear the table. 

It’s then that he rolls his sleeves up. 

It’s then that she gives a disapproving look and sigh as her gaze drifts to the tattoo wrapped around his arm. 

She shakes her head and he drops the plates into the sink. You flinch at the sound. 

“Are you gonna react like that every time?”

Her eyes flit to you for a second, before her gaze sharpens at her son. 

“When your kid comes home at thirteen with a tattoo covering the entire left side of their body, you’d be bitter about it for a long time too.”

“It’s been twenty years, Ma.”

“Like I give a shit,” she mutters as she moves to turn the sink water on. 

He’s angry now. You watch in worry as they bring out the worst in each other. You watch as they weave a web of sorrow — you watch as they strike and suffocate one another.

“My kid can mess up all she wants. She’ll still be my fucking kid.”

He doesn’t realize that she knows that already. He doesn’t get that she knows that very well. He’s still her son. He’s still her boy. And she hurts because he’d sought refuge in other vices instead of her. She hurts because she had no one to blame but herself. She quiets when her gaze drifts to you once more and she turns to the pot on the stove, busying herself with its contents.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at your lover. 

His chest rises and falls in resentment as he glares at her, before he reaches for his cigarettes, making his way back outside.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say. You don’t know who to comfort. You don’t think it’s your place to even do so.

It’s then that she turns to you, the lilac in her eyes shining underneath the dim kitchen lights. 

“You’re having a girl?”

It’s the first time she’s acknowledged the baby. You remember what he’d said in the car, as he’d gazed at the traffic with a forlorn expression. “She’s always wanted a girl.” He’d smiled in exhaustion before he’d turned to pinch your nose. “Now she gets two.”

You blink back at her and you nod. 

“Yes,” is all you can say. 

Her eyes soften, and she turns to occupy herself with the mess on the counter. 

Your gaze drift to the door as it shuts loudly behind him and you yearn for the man you love. You leave the kitchen quietly as you turn to look for him.

You find him seated at the bottom of the stairs, fiddling with the box in his hands.

The cigarette lights up his face momentarily as he brings the nicotine up to his face and he breathes out into the still air, shaking his head as he rests his arms on his knees.

He hears the front door open behind him and he knows it’s you. It could only be you.

Your smile is soft — nervous, even — as you close the screen door behind you gently. He puts the cigarette out before he scoots over a little, making room for you as you make your way down, and he laughs as you awkwardly situate yourself beside him. You pinch his bicep in fake irritation and he grins as he kisses your forehead in greeting. You sigh as you settle down beside him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you. 

“Are you?” you retaliate. 

Your voice is soft. He thinks you must be getting sleepy. 

“Yeah, I'm good. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

He doesn’t say anything else — looking out into the now quiet neighborhood instead. 

Soon, it would be loud again. Soon, the doors would open and people would make their way downtown — to pachinko parlors, and nightclubs, to convenience stores, and karaoke.

But right now, the air is still. Right now, Roppongi was surprisingly quiet. 

You reach for his hand in the flickering dark. You trace the lines on his palm. You trace the scars and the outline of his rings. You trace his name and you trace yours. You trace a heart in between. Neither of you says a word. But as you lean your head against his shoulder, you look out into the world and you wonder what he sees. The apartment complex he’d grown up in was worn down and dull. Yet it’s surrounded by bright lights. Everything was full of color. 

What was a child expected to do on their own in this hub of chaos? Where was a child expected to go? 

“She can’t stand the sight of me,” he says — breaking the stillness on his own.

“She thinks I corrupted Rindou,” he chuckles darkly at that. Your heart aches at his words.

“You didn’t.”

He pretends like he doesn’t hear you. 

“She thinks I’m gonna ruin your life too.” He glances at your belly. “Yours and hers.”

“You won’t,” you follow up — not bothering to entertain the thought.

He stares off, rubbing his hands together as he pulls his palm out and away from yours. 

“How do you know?”

“I won’t let you,” you whisper. 

You angle your knees towards him and you stare at the man before you with longing in your eyes. How hurt he was — sitting here beside you — how scarred and flawed, how abandoned and lost. 

You hold his face and you tilt your head in worry, and his heart races at the sight. It hurts. It hurts so bad. And he’s sorry. He’s sorry for all that he’s ever done. He’s sorry for what he might do. He’s sorry for any tears he’s made you shed. He doesn’t want to fail you too. 

You kiss his jaw and you pull him into you. His eyes widen at the words you utter against him. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say. 

He grips your dress. 

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat. 

He holds you tighter. 

He wants to believe you. He hopes that one day, he will. 

He drops his head to your shoulder. You hold him even tighter — you pull him in even closer. Your fingers run through the short strands of his hair and he kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder in silent appreciation. 

His mother watches the two of you from beyond the window. There’s a strange warmth that settles into her ache. 

You were good. You were so good. Maybe even too good. 

Too good for this family. Too pure for their hurt. 

He tells you he just needs a minute more, gesturing towards the cigarettes, and you nod as you stand. He kisses your hand before you make your way back up the stairs and you smooth the dark strands out of his face, gently stroking his cheek as he places a stick in between his lips. “Take your time,” you tell him. 

His mother waits for you in the living room. There’s a worn out tray on the chabudai before her, and you smile as you take a seat. She exhales as she pours the tea, and you thank her as she sets it down. 

“He’s never liked Sencha,” she tells you fondly as she stares at the cup in her hands. 

Yes, you want to say. I know that very well. 

But you want her to have this part of him — this little known fact that she’d managed to get a hold of. You want her to be a mother. You want her to be his mother. 

She traces the lip of the cup and you can’t help but ask her if everything was alright. Her quiet held meaning. Her silence meant questions. 

“Why are you with him?” she asks. It’s a blunt question — slightly aggressive in its nature — and you see her children in her. 

“I —”

She cuts you off before you’re able to explain. 

“He told me that you broke up with him, and rightfully so too.”

You wince a little at the wording. 

“But you’re here. You’re here and you’re good to him. Why are you good to him? Why him?” 

She tried, she really did try. But she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get it. She can’t seem to wrap her mind around it at all. You’re a good girl. You seemed like a wonderful woman. So why her son? Why not anyone else? Why not spare yourself the heartache and the trouble?

She doesn’t understand why you’re here instead.

Ran stands in the darkness of the hallway as he listens in. The cigarette pack is crushed beneath his grip and he regrets not making more noise when coming in. 

This was not good. 

This was not good at all. 

He tilts his head up towards the ceiling and curses his mother’s inability to feign ignorance. 

He could leave.

He could walk out and wait till the conversation was over and the two of you had moved on before he came back inside. But there’s a vile part of him that wants to hear your truth. There’s a sick part of him that wants you to make him hurt. Why were you with him? Why were you here at all?

You hum as your gaze drifts to the photos she had lined up near the tv. There’s a picture of the two boys outside. Their grins are wide and their hair a brilliant blonde. You smile softly because you know he despises his natural hair color. You know he hates it because of his father. And you know that Rindou had been too young to remember anything of the man. But Ran knew enough to detest him. He knew enough to never go back to blonde. You look at another photo, and you think he must be in his twenties. Rindou’s smile is the only one to be seen. Ran mirrors his mother — in stance and appearance. You think they must’ve argued before the photo was taken. And you wonder if he’d kept his hair long and dark to spite her — as if to say “Look at me. I’m everything you hate. Look at me. I look just like you.” He wanted her to look at him and wince. He wanted her to see herself in him. He was everything she failed at. He was everything she couldn’t control.

He’s beautiful, despite his pettiness, and you look back at her. 

Why are you with him? You smile at the loaded question. 

“Because I love him,” you tell her as much, and your chest blooms. It aches because you do — you love him. You love him. And sometimes you don’t know what to do with it all. Sometimes, you don’t know where you’re supposed to keep it — all this love; all these feelings. But you don’t think that’s what this is about.

You don’t think that this is what she’s asking about at all. 

You tell her she’d done well. You tell her that both of her boys were good men — that they were respected and revered and admired in their work. But then you tell her that if she kept holding on to the past — if she kept holding on to his past — then she’d only destroy them even further. Her eyes widen and you’re worried you might’ve crossed a line, but you keep going. You keep going because it’s not fair to him. You keep going because it isn’t fair to her.

“He’s riddled with guilt,” you say quietly. “It’s not his fault,” you say again. “It’s not.”

“Then whose is it?” She challenges. “Who is responsible?”

“I don’t know,” you respond. “But he’s not thirteen anymore. He’s not fifteen. He’s not twenty.”

She can’t help the slight sheen that covers her eyes — at all the time that she’d missed; at all that she’d desperately clung to. She’d been selfish in her approach. And she knows that it’s not her fault that she was alone. She knows it’s not her fault that she was always tired and away for work. But somewhere along the line, she’d forgotten that he’d had to bear the burden of raising himself and his brother — and that he’d done the best that any child could do. She looks away from you and she thinks he must’ve been scared. She looks away and she thinks he must be tired too. 

She holds her breath and you think she’s just like him in that regard — that they were both the type to shoulder their hurt and smile, as if everything was okay — as if the sharpness in their eyes didn’t dull and they weren’t affected by everything around them.

You can only imagine how isolated she must feel. You can only wonder how lonely it must be. 

Her gaze drifts back to your belly and you know she’s holding herself back. You know she wants to touch the baby — that she wants to seek comfort in a grandchild she’d only come to know about. It’s a lot to process. It’s a lot to take in. You silently ask her for permission as you reach for her thin fingers — placing her palm onto your stomach. To know that your oldest child had their own on the way and to realize that you had no place in any of it at all — it’s a damning feeling. And maybe she’d been a shit mother. Maybe she hadn’t done all that she should have. But she can’t help but wonder if it was too late. Would he let her be his mother? Would he let her be a grandmother? Was this all she’d come to know of the child?

She’s lost in her own thoughts when your brows furrow, and you wince when your baby kicks against her palm.

The woman before you starts to cry.

It’s quiet, the steadiness in which her tears stream down her face. They follow a common path – down the hollow of her eyes, down to the curved line of her mouth — down, down, down they go. 

“Forgive me,” she goes to say. You brush her apology off with a tired smile.

“She’s excited to meet her grandmother.” 

She blinks at you again – at your choice of words and the necessity of their timing – and she shakes her head at the irony. 

She laughs for the first time all night, and she decides that she doesn’t want you to see her cry anymore. 

The two of you sit together in the living room — your eyes fixed onto the tv and the late night game show.

Your lover makes his way back into the living room, looking away as he sits beside you. He pretends he didn’t hear a single word. He pretends he didn’t hear anything at all.

He pours himself a cup of Sencha, wincing at the flavor. 

His mother chuckles at the sight. 

Her hand doesn’t leave your belly. 

—

He takes you back to his place that night. You don’t object as you nod off in the car. You’re tired. You wonder if it’s always been like this for him — if he’s always felt at war in the very place he was supposed to belong. He reaches for your palm, fiddling with the emptiness of your ring finger as the red light washes over your figure. Your gaze is haunting and he falls in love with you all over — again and again, his heart falls victim to you. Again and again, he’s certain of his love for you.

The two of you don’t talk about tonight.

Not yet at least. Not right now. 

You lean into his side on the way up to his penthouse. He wraps an arm around your waist and strokes your jaw.

Still, you don’t say much. Still, you don’t say anything about it at all.

You’d resorted to sleeping in the guest bedroom after the two of you had initially split. On days that you’d had early appointments — on nights that you’d felt sick and alone — he’d preferred that you stay with him. You didn’t mind at all. His presence was comforting — safe and reassuring. 

He’d played along with the front you’d put up at first. He’d let you shut the door and pretend to sleep on your own for a day or two. It didn’t take long for him to find his way back to your side. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms while he drooled into the pillow overhead and you clutched his shirt tight.

But this time, when he unlocks the door and you make your way over to the guest bedroom, all he does is kiss your forehead in passing. All he does is stroke your cheek in goodbye. He doesn’t tease you at the entry way. He doesn’t fake a scene or hold you tight.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” is all he says.

You watch as he heads to his bedroom instead — you feel lonelier than you’d felt the first night you’d slept alone. 

And he knew you deserved better. He knew he didn’t think this through. He knew that this was too much — that this was all too much for the both of you. And he knew that any excess stress right now wouldn’t be good for you at all. 

But his head hurt, and his chest ached, and his shoulders were strained under the weight of all his burdens. 

You stare at him in concern, eyes filled with worry and hurt — and you want him back. 

You want your lover back. 

You sit in the guest bedroom after you’d washed and changed and you eye the clock in a daze. You think an hour passes. Maybe more.

Your daughter kicks impatiently and you exhale at the pressure, rubbing at the spot as though to comfort her. 

“Yes, I know,” you tell her. “I know, baby.” I know.

You don’t bother knocking on his door as you make your way into the master bedroom. It’s dark, save for the twinkling lights of the city below. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back facing the door as he hunches over — his hands covering his face. Slowly, you climb onto your side of the bed. Your palms smooth over the untouched blankets and you eye your pillow on his side of the bed. 

It’s been a while since you've slept here. It’s been a while since you’ve (more or less) split.

You sit on your knees directly behind him and you grip the sheets beside you as you let your forehead fall onto his back.

“Ran?” you whisper.

His muscles tense, but he doesn’t respond to you otherwise.

“Baby,” you say.

“Come back,” you nearly beg.

You trail a finger down his spine — finger smoothing over every ridge; heart aching with every touch. 

He turns to you then, slightly, as he peers over his shoulder.

Your eyes are wide and hopeful, and he shakes his head at the sight. 

“No good for you. I’m no good.”

“Yes, you are.”

There’s a slight tremble to his shoulders and you press your cheek to his back as you lean against him.

You wrap one arm around his waist, stroking the skin of his side. It’s too much. His heart can only take so much. 

“It’s okay,” you mutter, lips moving against his back. It’s not your fault. It’s not. You did good. You did well. You’re a good man, you tell him. And I love you, you say against him.

He stills. 

You say it again.

“I love you.”

He looks down at his palm — at the small ring settled down in the center. It sparkles in the dark and he closes his fist against it at the sight.

“Marry me then,” he says — as though it’s a challenge — as though he’s given up on any chance of you saying yes.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His brows furrow in confusion. He’s not sure he heard you right. He doesn’t know if you understand.

He turns to you immediately. Adoration lines his eyes as he stares at you and his gaze darkens as his nerves are shot with fear.

“What?”

Don’t play with me, his gaze seemed to say. Don’t mess with me right now. Not you. Please not you.

Your hand strokes the soft stubble on his cheek and you smile. It’s tired and loving, genuine and you. 

“Ask me again,” you say as he stares. He’s quick to oblige — quick to fulfill your request.

He’s scared you’re going to fade away. He’s scared you might still leave. 

“Marry me,” he pleads. “Marry me. Please.”

You think he’s dizzy from all that he’s feeling. You think he’s high off of everything that’s happened. But you know his heart and you know yours, and you know there’s only so much he can take. You know there’s only so much hurt he can handle.

And he loves you. He loves you. He adores you. 

“Yes,” you whisper, and you try not to cry as he slips the ring onto your finger. 

“Yeah?” he mutters, eyes hazy as he stares into your own.

“Yes,” you say again. “Yes.”

He kisses you then, with need and want.

He kisses you like you’re the love of his life.

He kisses you like you’re the mother of his child.

He kisses you like he wants to marry you — like he fully intends on doing so too. 

It’s been eight months too long, but you lay beside him on your side of the bed, and he smiles down at you in love and need. 

He kisses you once more as you whine for sleep, and he smiles against your lips at the complaint. Just one more, he says. Just one more, I promise. You push at his face and he laughs at your insistence. You feel your daughter move soon after, and you reach for his wrist, placing your palm on top of his as you guide him to her. As you always would. As you always will.

The two of you would enter parenthood soon — a marriage would follow soon after. You’re both a little scared. You’re both a little terrified. And you know he can’t help but think of all the ways it could go wrong. You know he’s afraid he’ll be the one to screw it all up — quick to take the blame; quick to deny himself the benefit of the doubt.

But you fit your hand in his and you hold on tight.

You trust him, and he trusts you. 

You love him, and he loves you. 

---

Doma watching his petal breastfeed her child

A.N.: I've been gone for a whole huh? Sorry about that. But I'm gonna try to update what I do have in my drafts and just... post those. Sorry for the wait! I'll explain more in a seperate post.

Anyway... yeah, we're into tiddy milk now.

◇◇◇◇

His love looked so beautiful feeding their child.

Nursing the very life he dreamed of for centuries, yearned for the moment he laid eyes on you, wished for once he had you in his grasp.

Yes, Doma was very happy.

Doma watched from the doorway with a smile of content, eyes crinkling in the corner from how wide his mouth stretched across his face. He takes in the heart-warming scene of your third-born in your arms, suckling and drinking the milk of their mother. You didn't seem to notice him, however, as you were too focused on how peaceful and adorable your daughter looked. Like a scene from a book — innocent and tender. Even if she looked like a spitting image of her father — like her brothers — you couldn't hide your own smile from gracing your tired features nor ignore the blooming love for your newest child.

Raising your hand, you brush away the stray strand of blonde hair from her face, gently stroking her chubby cheek with the pads of your fingers. You hum the moment she starts to whimper against your skin, adjusting your arm and balancing her little head, seeing how the milk began to bubble at the corner of her mouth. She pulls away, her face scrunching up whilst she begins to whine, closing her fist around your kimono, her bottom lip trembling.

You giggle to yourself. "Shh, honey, you're okay…," you mutter, bouncing her a bit, adjusting your hold as she begins to quiet down. Stroking her head, you whisper sweet nothings to her. Slowly, she latched back onto your breast, quieting down with small hiccups here and there. Not a second later she begins to suck weakly once again, now calm. A chuckle leaves you. Even after birthing twins, you couldn't help but be amused at how easily a baby was satisfied sometimes.

Your daughter was no different, but you didn't mind. As long as it kept Doma away from you, you were willing to dote on your children. Some part of you felt shame and guilt for feeling this way, using your children as some sort of escape from your husband. Don't get me wrong, you love your children dearly, but there were times you wished you had them under different, better circumstances.

Never did you imagine your life going this way.

Sometimes you wondered if you did marry the wealthy merchant from your past — would you be happier? Or more miserable? All you could do was think and rack your head for an answer, because no matter how hard you tried, Doma had already tainted your mind and the only answer you reached was that it didn’t matter. In one way or another, a man like Doma would come along sooner or later…

That was the answer… and you didn’t like it.

Because that meant if you ever got a second chance, that no matter how hard you tried, Doma was your future. And you couldn’t escape that.

As he watched you nurse, Doma couldn't ignore the heat forming in his chest, nor pay no attention to how the sight made his stomach churn and heart race. He shouldn't feel this way about watching his own child feed. No, but that didn't seem right. No, no, that was not it.

It was watching you; imagining himself with you in such a position.

Slowly did his mind begin to warp the very scene before him, picturing himself nursing on your soft supple breasts, mouth encasing over your buds and feasting on the milk meant for his child. Oh, the very thought seemed to grow the warmth that overtook his body, growing hotter and hotter until he seemed to be burning. Blood rushed to every part of him, eyes dilating as his gaze stayed glued to your chest. With a dopey smile, he giggles quietly in glee and walks off, still thinking about the new fantasy his mind conjured.

Tonight, he found himself looking forward to a new fascination to drag you into, a new vigor fueling him to have more of you.

Doma called forward a follower, the same one assigned to look after you and his children's meals. An old fellow who treated the demon’s family with the utmost care, he decided the man would be the best choice to watch after his beloveds’ diet. It did help that the man had been a farmer before joining the cult, so he was the perfect person to go to. With a gleeful tone, Doma asks, "What herbs are within our possession that increase the production of breast milk?"

"Excuse me?” The old man said in surprise, face flushing red as he processed the question. However, he quickly composed himself as he realized whom he was speaking to. Clearing his throat, he nearly choked out his next words, both curious and fearful to know why on earth the certain herbs were needed. “Is something wrong with Lady [Name], my lord…?”

“None of your business. You heard me. What herbs do we have that increase the production of breast milk?”

“Mm-ah, u..unfortunately, none, Lord Doma…"

Doma growled in annoyance and narrowed his eyes, sneering at the old man. "Is there any within the area?" He asks with a more harsher tone, getting restless in his seat.

The old man flinched and nodded his head, shaking as he looked to the floor, avoiding the demon’s burning gaze. "Goat's Rue and Fenugreek are said to be sold in a nearby village. I believe a patch of shatavari plants grow around the temple. All of them have a reputation of increasing fertility and milk production…"

Doma perked up at the mention of the last herb and hummed in delight. Though his original intentions were for his own fascination, the added benefit of increasing your fertility to give him another child was absolutely perfect. "Haha, excellent!” the demon chirped, clasping his hands together. “I want you to get a hold of them by tomorrow morning! My wife will need them for… personal matters."

••••

The very next day, the herbs were presented to Doma and a new light flickered in his colorful gaze. His fantasy was just a drink away and he couldn’t wait.

Like clockwork, Doma had the follower add the herbs to your tea every morning and every night, wanting to speed up the process. Though he became impatient throughout the next few days, the time eventually came for Doma to act out his plan. And god, was it worth the wait.

It started with seeing your chest looking fuller and firmer, listening to you whine about the back pain, and hearing from your assigned followers about how you’re now producing too much milk for your poor child. They even commented it was enough to feed all the children at least three times.

That’s all the man needed to know.

Doma surprised you one night when you finished the daily feeding of your daughter, catching you off-guard when you sat on the bed after putting your child in their crib.

It took nearly an hour to put her to sleep, but with a full belly and a lullaby, your youngest fell asleep into a deep slumber and wouldn’t wake you through the night. You, on the other hand, needed to close your eyes and take a break before your husband came back. Lord knows what mood he’ll get into if you don’t greet him when he arrives, but you didn’t want to find out.

Not again.

Doma watched with bated breath through the slit of the paper door, seeing you swing your legs onto the sheets and lay back, sighing in content. Without another second to waste, he straightens up and laughs loudly.

“[Name]...!” Doma sang, walking through the doorway with a sickly sweet smile. You froze in your spot, surprised to see him back before midnight. You cross your arm over your chest, face heating up as you look up to his towering form. No, no, no, not tonight! You were still recovering from last time Doma had his way with you! The scars were still new and hell, you couldn’t move without feeling your muscles scream for you to stop.

But Doma didn’t care if you were hurt by him. Afterall, this was his way of showing his love for you. “Awe, don’t hide yourself from me, petal!” Doma whines, striding to the bed and practically throwing himself onto the sheets. "Pretty petal, I want to taste mommy too!" Doma beamed, crawling over to your form, leaving you no time to fully cover your chest. He giggled, stretching himself across your body, swallowing your small frame with his giant body, and burying his face in between the soft mounds of flesh. He rested his chin on your sternum, a gleeful smile gracing his features as he looked up to you. “A little bird told me you were in pain from so much milk in your breasts, [Name]! And as your husband, it’s my duty to help my wife with her problem!”

“Doma, n-no,” you mutter, squirming from underneath him. “N-no, please, not tonight…! I’m okay — nothing I can’t handle!” You desperately tried to convince him that you’re not in pain, even as your back throbbed and begged for relief. Yet it's nothing but wishful thinking if you thought Doma would ever take no for an answer.

The demon rubbed his cheek against your smooth skin, humming, almost as if what you said didn’t phase him. “Mm, you don’t have to lie to me, petal… I’m more than happy to help you out — it’s been my dream to know how you taste without needing to scar your skin, how you taste now that you have bore me my children…”

Your blood ran cold and you looked at him in horror. Was he implying…. What you think he was?

Doma continued, nearing one of your nipples with a watering mouth, running his tongue over his lips.“And now, I finally have the chance to know… and I know you’ll be a good wife and let your husband help – right?”

“I… I don’t know…”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “We can do this without waking up our daughter, and you’ll let me taste you… or we do this and show our child early on how much I love you! And it’ll start when your pretty mouth lets out a beautiful scream…” His eyes darkened as he uttered each word, watching with empty eyes as fear washed over your facial features. To traumatize your child this early was something you didn’t want, not ever really — and Doma knew that. You wanted to protect them from this side of your marriage for as long as possible, so what choice was there…? He knew you would listen if it meant protecting your children a while longer. “So, what do you say, pretty [Name]?”

A monster he was. You avert your eyes and nod solemnly. “Yes…! I… I n-need you, Doma…”

His grin grows impossibly wide and he lets out a pleased laugh. “I knew you wanted this too, petal! Hahah, I love you so much!” He says cheerfully, wasting no time to begin. His wicked mouth attached itself to your pebbled bud, ever so sharp fangs digging into the tender flesh of your breast. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you unbearably close to him as if he were afraid to let go. Greedily, he sucked harshly at your nipple, lapping happily as the sweet liquid gushed into his mouth. A soft cry left you, shutting your eyes and arching your back, gritting your teeth as the sudden ache of pain went through you. Your hand immediately went to his head, tugging at his locks in an attempt to pull him away. Of course, you were still tender from feeding your daughter, and this just made the pain worse. Not that the man cared.

The demon ignored you, eyes fluttering shut as he savored the delectable milk, the flavors melting on his tongue as he flicked the muscle over your bud, downing each ounce down his throat with a smile. Even if demons didn’t need this source of nutrients, it didn't stop the man from feeling full the more he drank. Nonetheless, he was more than satisfied with the moment, engrossed in how his fantasy was nothing compared to this.

Except, now, he needs more of you.

It almost tastes as great as human blood. The sounds of wet clicks was all you heard as they mixed with his soft grunts. His hot breath fanned over your skin, quickening as he drank every last drop from you. You started to feel weak, eyelids getting heavy as Doma switched to your other breast. His hands kneaded your skin, claws scraping along your hips and thighs, pulling you closer and closer until he seemed to be melting into you. His hips grinded against the sheets, breathing heavily as he drank like a thirsty man. If he knew this was possible earlier, he would have started since your twins were born.

What a fool he was to let an opportunity pass by.

You could have sworn at some point he whimpered 'mommy' as he drank. But it slipped your mind as your hand fell from his hair and you welcomed the darkness. He rutted desperately into the bed and with a broken moan, a wave of bliss washed over him, wetting his pants and the sheets. Though, Doma didn’t stop there.

You didn't even know when you slipped into a deep sleep, but for hours did your husband nurse, leaving your nipples raw by the time he was done.

Doma let his cloak slip from his shoulder and draped it over you, humming softly. He sat next to you on the bed, just watching you in silence. Doma stroked your cheek with his knuckles, watching as you slept peacefully. He smiled with a sigh.

"My pretty petal… my beautiful wife… I love you…"

◇◇◇

After that night, your personal affairs in the bedroom changed drastically.

Doma added more herbs to your diet, to make sure you were producing more than enough milk for both your children and your nights with him.

Nursing on you became Doma's new way to destress from the day, snuggling up to you and burying his face into your supple breasts, drinking every ounce of milk until he was satisfied.

Though, some days, he just laid his head on your bare chest and had you run your fingers through his hair. During these moments, he stayed quiet, letting the peace stay.

You never dared question him, however. Afraid it would result in the same fate you lived almost every night. You needed these moments of peace. Even if you weren't completely alone, dealing with a docile Doma was better than a feverous one.

If this meant you got some type of mercy from the demon, you’re willing to partake in his sick fantasy again…

And again….

And again.

◇◇◇◇

©𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 || 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 || 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜.

◇◇◇◇

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i dreamt a creechur, his name is boris

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18+ MDNI

I cant stop thinking about Eren being desperate for you 24/7...

This man is so whipped for you, its actually comical.

He's constantly asking if he can put his dick in you for a little bit. He doesn't even care if you guys are actually fucking he just likes the intimacy.

He gives absolutely zero fucks about what you two are doing or where you are.

"Baby, let me stuff your pussy while you do your make-up please?"

"Come sit on my cock while I play this game."

Like just imagine...

You're on your bed laying on your stomach just minding your business, trying to take a nap, when you hear him come in. There's a few moments of silence until you feel him strip your yoga pants and panties down to rest under the swell of your ass. In your half asleep dreamy haze you feel him spread your ass open wide which makes you stir

"Shhh, just go back to sleep." You feel him stroke your hair lovingly and slip two fingers into your waiting cunt. You whine and whimper as you grow needier. A quiet whisper "Fuckkkk yesss" can be heard as his long and thick veiny cock sinks into you so deep making you feel so amazingly full as usual.

Don't even get me started on how he gets so horny for you doing mundane tasks

"Lift your skirt for me, please." Missing the questioning tone and sounding more like a demand.

"WE'RE IN A FUCKING GROCERY STORE!"

"So? No one's gonna see, I promise." You didn't even get a chance to reply before he has your skirt in hand. Pulling your panties to the side and thrusting himself violently inside you, bottoming out. You choke out a gasp at being fully impaled on him so suddenly. He kisses your temple when he hears you hiss and whimper as tears start to sting your eyes from the stretch with no prep. You shiver as you hear him mumble a soft "Such a good little whore for me," with a sigh of content in your ear. He starts moving in and out of you slowly, only stopping when another person walks into the aisle.

He let's your skirt hang around you as normally as possible, while he goes in as deep as he can and stills. Grabbing something off the shelves and putting in infront of you as if you both were reading the label. His jacket covering both your sides from view while the cart blocks your front.

The man walks past you both and leaves the aisle, without missing a beat Eren starts pounding into you again. "See, no one will know. So just be a good slut for me while I use this pussy to jerk off my fat cock, yeah?" He ended up cumming deep inside you, making both of you moan louder than you should. He pulled out and tucked himself back in his jeans pulling your panties back into place. He cups your pussy pressing his fingers on top of the cotton, and rubbed rough circles onto your fucked out hole. "Keep all of it inside, baby. We don't want people to ask questions if it starts to drip onto the floor."

How he'd just walk up to you on the couch and spread your legs while you watched you favorite show. He is very happy to see his personal fucktoy so ready for him, splayed out on the couch naked. Wordlessly laying between your thighs, taking his time to eat you out hard bringing you to atleast 3 orgasms before sitting up and sinking his cock into your needy pussy.

He whines so loud and deliciously as he buries himself to the base. He lifts your legs and pushes them to your chest, allowing him to go impossibly deeper. The scream that you let out when he starting roughly humping into you was enough to turn him into an absolute mess. He starts POUNDING that pussy so hard that he barley notices the bulge that forms in your lower belly.

But when he does tho.... he goes absolutely feral with the sight of his cockhead poking out under your skin just bellow your belly button.

He forgot what it even feels like to cum anywhere besides your wet and warm holes. Like this man straight up refuses to cum if he can't stuff it deep inside you one way or another. Even if you ask him to cum somewhere else he only agrees if he can push it into you with his fingers afterwards.

This man's moans, whimpers and whines are fucking immaculate. He is so vocal and absolutely unafraid about being heard, he is so pussy whipped he couldn't care any less if he was being too loud.

In conclusion this man has me by the neck and the pussy. I just know he's packing ONG!😫

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