#married reader

⚠️CW: dynamics, married!reader, unprotected sex, breeding kink, possessive behavior, marking, oral sex, praise kink, ownership dynamics, jealousy, emotional manipulation, guilt themes, forbidden romance, risky behavior, love confessions, morally grey themes, may be triggering re: cheating, 18+ MDNI

[affair au • secret lover!gojo x married!reader • forbidden romance • he wants you to leave your husband • morally grey • possessive gojo • hotel room meetings • risk and danger • "choose me" energy • breeding kink elements • 18+ MDNI]

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THE RITZ-CARLTON, 9:47 PM

Your phone buzzes on the hotel nightstand.

Husband: Working late again. Don't wait up.

You should feel guilty. Should feel something other than relief. Instead, you text back a supportive message and turn your phone face-down, redirecting your attention to the man currently pouring champagne in nothing but unbuttoned slacks.

Satoru Gojo. Six-foot-three of crystalline blue eyes, white hair, and complete disregard for the sanctity of marriage. Specifically, your marriage.

"He's working late?" Gojo doesn't even look at you, but somehow he knows. He always knows.

"Yes."

"Good." He crosses the penthouse suite—because of course he booked the penthouse—and hands you a glass. "Means I can take my time with you tonight."

You accept the champagne, very aware that you're wearing only his shirt from earlier, still smelling like his cologne and sex. "Satoru—"

"Don't." He cuts you off, sitting beside you on the bed. "Don't say his name when you're wearing my clothes."

"These are your clothes."

"Exactly." His hand slides up your bare thigh, possessive and warm. "And you look better in them than he ever made you look in anything he bought you."

You should defend your husband. Should say something about the ten years you've been together, the vows you took, the life you built. Instead, you set down your champagne and kiss him.

Gojo responds immediately, always hungry for you, always ready. His hand cups the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, tasting like expensive champagne and bad decisions.

"Missed you," he murmurs against your lips. "It's been four days."

"I know."

"Four days too long." He's already unbuttoning his shirt on you, sliding it off your shoulders. "Four days of you in bed with him while I'm here alone thinking about all the ways I want to fuck you."

"Satoru—" Your protest dies when his mouth finds your neck, kissing and biting a path to your collarbone.

"Does he still touch you?" The question is muffled against your skin, but the possession in his tone is clear. "When you go home after being with me, does he notice you're different? Does he taste me on your skin?"

"No." The truth is bitter. "He doesn't notice anything anymore."

Gojo pulls back to look at you, and something dark flashes in those blue eyes. "Good. Means more of you for me."

He lays you back on the bed, settling between your legs, and you're already wet just from kissing him. From being in his presence. From the wrongness of it all that somehow feels so right.

"Gonna mark you up tonight," he promises, kissing down your stomach. "Gonna make you so sore you feel me for days. Every time you sit down, every time you move, you'll remember my cock inside you."

"Please—" You're already begging and he's barely touched you.

"Please what, baby?" His breath ghosts over your inner thigh. "Tell me what you want."

"You. I want you."

"You have me." His tongue traces a path dangerously close to where you need him. "But I want to hear you say it. Say what you want me to do."

Your face flushes, but you've played this game before. "I want—want your mouth on me."

"Where?" He's teasing now, kissing everywhere except where you need him.

"You know where."

"Say it." His eyes meet yours, challenging. "Say it or I'll stop right now, leave you aching, send you home to him wet and wanting."

"My pussy," you gasp out. "I want your mouth on my pussy. Please, Satoru."

His smile is absolutely sinful. "Good girl. So polite for me." Then his mouth is on you, and coherent thought evaporates.

He eats you out like a man starving, like he's been thinking about this for four days and needs to make up for lost time. His tongue finds your clit, circling and sucking, while his fingers slide inside you.

"So wet already," he groans against you. "Always so ready for me. Does he make you this wet?"

You can't answer, can only arch against his mouth as he works you expertly. He knows your body better than anyone—better than your husband ever did, if you're honest. Knows exactly how to curl his fingers, where to apply pressure, when to slow down and when to speed up.

"Satoru—I'm close—"

"Not yet." He pulls back, and you whimper at the loss. "Not until I'm inside you. Want to feel you come on my cock."

He strips off his pants, and God, you'll never get used to the sight of him—all lean muscle and perfect proportions, cock hard and already leaking. He reaches for a condom from the nightstand, but you stop him.

"Don't."

He freezes. "What?"

"I said don't." Your heart is racing. "I want to feel you. All of you."

"Baby—" His voice is strained. "That's dangerous. If you get pregnant—"

"I know." You pull him down to you. "I don't care. I want you. Just you. No barriers."

Something primal flashes across his face. "You're going to kill me. You know that?"

"Then die happy." You wrap your legs around his waist. "Fuck me, Satoru. Make me forget I belong to anyone else."

He sinks into you with a groan, and you both freeze at the sensation—skin to skin, nothing between you, so intimate it's almost overwhelming.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel so—" He can't finish, just drops his forehead to yours. "So perfect. So mine."

"Yours," you agree, and maybe it's wrong but in this moment it feels true. "I'm yours."

He starts moving, and it's different without the condom—more intense, more intimate, more dangerous in every way. Each thrust feels like a claim, like he's marking you from the inside out.

"This is what you needed," he groans, picking up the pace. "Needed me bare inside you. Needed to feel owned."

"Yes—" You're clinging to him, nails digging into his back. "Yes, Satoru, please—"

"Please what? Want me to fill you up?" His hand slides down to press against your lower stomach. "Want me to come inside you, risk putting a baby in you? Mark you in a way he can't deny?"

The thought should terrify you. Instead it makes you clench around him, and he groans at the sensation.

"Fuck, you like that idea." He's fucking you harder now, deeper. "Like the idea of carrying my baby. Of everyone knowing you're mine."

"Satoru—" You're so close, teetering on the edge.

"Say my name when you come." His thumb finds your clit, circling. "Say my name and remember who you really belong to."

You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard he follows immediately, spilling inside you with a groan that sounds like a prayer and a curse combined.

He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing hard, and the weight of what you just did starts to sink in.

"I should—" You start, but he silences you with a kiss.

"Don't." He rolls to the side, pulling you into his arms. "Don't regret it. Don't apologize. Not for this."

"Satoru, that was reckless—"

"I know." He kisses your forehead. "I don't care. Let me be reckless with you."

You should get up. Should shower, get dressed, go home to your husband and your life and your lies. Instead you curl into Gojo's chest, feeling him still leaking out of you, and let yourself pretend.

Pretend this is your real life. That you wake up next to him every morning. That the ring on your finger is from him instead of a man who stopped seeing you years ago.

"Leave him." Gojo's voice is quiet but firm. "Leave him and be with me. Properly."

"You know I can't—"

"Can't or won't?" He tilts your face up to his. "Baby, I'm in love with you. Not just in lust, not just playing around. I'm in love with you and I want you. All of you. Not just stolen hours in hotel rooms."

Your breath catches. "Satoru—"

"You don't have to say it back. Not yet." He kisses you softly. "But think about it. Think about what we could have if you were brave enough to choose it."

"And if I can't be that brave?"

"Then I'll take what I can get." His arms tighten around you. "I'll take every stolen moment, every secret meeting, every lie you have to tell. Because having you like this is better than not having you at all."

You should tell him that's not healthy. That this needs to end. That someone's going to get hurt.

Instead you kiss him again, and he makes love to you slower this time—tender and thorough, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

Later, much later, you're getting dressed to leave. Back in your own clothes, wedding ring back in place, constructing your alibi for why you're getting home so late.

Gojo watches from the bed, still naked, looking like a god who's decided to care about one mortal woman way too much.

"Same time Thursday?" He asks, trying for casual and missing.

"If I can get away."

"You'll find a way." It's not arrogance, just knowledge. You always find a way back to him. "You always do."

You finish buttoning your blouse, check your appearance in the mirror. Erasing evidence of him from your body even though you can still feel him inside you.

"Satoru—"

"I know." He stands, crosses to you, pulls you into one last kiss. "Go home. Be safe. Text me when you get there."

"I will."

At the door, you pause. Look back at him standing in the middle of the penthouse suite, looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"Thursday," you confirm.

His smile is sad and hopeful at once. "Thursday."

You leave before you can change your mind. Before you can do something stupid like actually choose him over safety, over stability, over ten years of a life that stopped fitting years ago.

In the elevator down, you check your phone.

Husband: Still at office. Probably another hour.

Satoru: Miss you already. Meant what I said. Think about it.

You delete Satoru's message, respond to your husband, and step out into the night.

The Ritz doorman gets you a cab. You give your address. Settle into the backseat and watch the city lights blur past.

You can still feel Gojo inside you. Can still smell him on your skin beneath the perfume you reapplied. Can still hear his voice saying I'm in love with you.

Your phone buzzes.

Satoru: You're mine. Even if you go home to him. You're mine.

You should delete it. Should block his number. Should end this before it destroys everything.

Instead you save the message and text back:

You: Thursday. Room 2512. Don't be late.

His response is immediate:

Satoru: Wouldn't miss it for the world, baby. You're worth every risk.

The cab pulls up to your house. Lights on in the living room. Husband home early after all.

You pay the driver, walk up the path, unlock the door to your life.

And try not to think about how the man waiting inside doesn't look at you the way Satoru does. Doesn't touch you the way Satoru does. Doesn't love you the way Satoru does.

Try not to think about Thursday, and Room 2512, and decisions you're too much of a coward to make.

Try. Fail. Count down the days until you can be his again, even if it's just for a few stolen hours.

Warnings: Infidelity. Morally grey reader and Joel. Manipulation. John price makes a cameo as the husband :p Threesome. Pinv. Anal. Both Joel and reader are lying. Both chaps cum inside. Sweet!john.

My little notes: Ok so I’m dipping my toe with my first John Price, Joel miller crossover fic—there’ll prob be more if I’m honest, but this is just a little somethin somethin🩷

Joel rushed home after work, showered, got dressed and walked the two houses down to you..and your husband, John.

This is the third time. He’s such a helpful friend.

“Joel, mate—I need a favour.. you’re the one I trust to do this.”

John Price was a good friend, he had it all: good lucks, buff physique, charming accent—you. But he couldn’t give his wife everything—a baby.

So Joel—who had a vasectomy twelve years ago—agreed to help.

He fucks you when you’re ovulating but John has to be there also. To look over everything, to actually join you and Joel trying to conceive your baby.. that even you know will never come to be. “Joel, we can only do this for a little while, he might start getting suspicious since no baby will be coming.”

After weeks of you and Joel flirting, exchanging looks, you finally gave in and sucked him off in a bathroom at a birthday party. So for more weeks it was more blowjobs, he deliciously devoured your pussy whenever he could and when Joel wanted to go further—you hesitated. “I’m still a married woman, Joel.”

So after you brought up the topic of children again with your husband, John—knowing he couldn’t give you kids..you suggested. “Well we can’t do this properly cause it’s too damn expensive.. come on there’s got to be one guy who you’d trust to do this—it’ll be just sex, baby.” John was hesitant, but he knew exactly who to ask. Someone you know, you’re friendly with and comfortable with.. poor bastard just didn’t know how comfortable.

Now it’s four months later, Joel enters your home, no knocking needed these days and heads upstairs. You’re on the bed, naked, lying on your front reading a book. “There she iiiis.” He announces. You look over your shoulder, little smirk on your face, “well hello there handsome.”

He strolls over to the bed, starts walking his fingers from your feet to your ass. He grabs your ass cheeks and spreads them, diving in to eat you out. “Maybe—one day—I’ll get to—pound this hole too huh?”

You laugh as you grip the sheets, letting your cowboy take what he wants. “Baby, it’ll be kinda hard to get pregnant that way and johns not that stupid” He smacks your ass with warning. The sound of the shower turning off, breaks the moment. “But, hey Miller. One day it’s all yours.”

The first few minutes of all three of you being together is awkward as fuck—for John anyway. Joel just focuses on you as he lies on his back, hovering you over his cock, helps you adapt to his length once he’s fully in—he loves watching your face as take him whole. “So pretty.” he’d whisper as you push your face into the nook of his neck.

Then John would line himself behind you, teasing your puckered hole with his tip. He knows it’s a hurtful stretch so he takes his time entering. Hes too busy making sure you’re okay as you slowly rock on Joel’s cock. Loving every second of it.

You already feel full from Joel’s cock but once johns fully in, you can’t stifle your pained moans. Joel knows you can take it, whereas John stills. “Fuck me, John. Cmon honey, set the pace for us. Let’s make our baby.”

He starts with a slow pace at first, “fuckin hell baby, always love this—so fuckin tight.” He goes a little faster, starting to lose himself as the euphoric feeling takes over, your tight hole making his tip feel fantastic. He notices how quiet you and Joel are when he fucking your ass. Because he knows you two aren’t just fucking. You two are making love. Like you said—johns not stupid.

Joel’s hand rest on the back of your neck, holding you steady near him so he can soak up all your pretty moans and tell you all those sweet nothins as johns too gone to hear anymore.

“One day, baby.. just you and me.” Joel promised.

Thirteen servants were dead; Two estates on fire.

I never even made it to the gates.

The smell of smoke lingered in the air. Clung to his hair and skin, even after bathing. Because no amount of scented oils, scrubbing, could erase his sin. The scent of iron and cooking flesh. Cruel scents of ancient houses ablaze. Innocent people being slaughtered. For... for the crime of trying to help me.

It was all my fault.

Please and thank you ☺️

You are such a good writer and I would appreciate it so much, but also no pressure if you decide not to. Xox

No worries anon. And I apologize for the wait.

Mistaken Identity

Zed Conagher x wife reader

Warning: smut, mistaken identity. Emesis Blue creepy shenanigans.

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The sun was beginning to sink behind the hills as you pulled up to the rusted gates of the Conagher Slaughterhouse. The old building loomed above like the shriveled arm of a too shallowly dug corpse. It's been ten days. Ten long, grueling days without word of Dell. Anxiety and fear were constant companions each night as the sun gave way to the night sky. The darkness of the quint town house you both built together felt wrong. It was made for two in mind, not one. Not one half of a whole. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you blink them away rapidly-almost as if they were never there. Your hands tremble as you clutch the steering wheel. Your wedding band pressing into your delicate skin. It had been ten days. Ten days of unanswered calls of blank-eyed neighbors muttering “probably just left” But Dell wouldn't do that. Not without telling you.

The crunching of gravel assaulted your ears as the car rolled slowly forward, the sounds like bones cracking and popping under the weight like a morbid chorus, tightened like a boa constrictor in the pit of your stomach. The Conagher Slaughterhouse stood like an old war wound—cracked, abandoned, and somehow still breathing. Ugly against the sky as if an afront to god himself. Its windows, now shattered and hollow, stared out like sunken eyes.

This was the last place Dell would have wanted you to be. And you knew it.

"Remember Darlin, If anything happens. Just stay in place." His honeyed drawl would whisper lovingly into your ear as you both enjoyed the warmth of the summer night.

"Dell, I'd help you no matter what. I'm your wife."

His warm chuckle and the weight of his thick chest against you back quieted you as he nuzzled his nose into the top of your head.

"Don't go lookin for me sugar. Dont be callin the cops, just..continue bein your sweet lil self."

The memory stung like a hot knife from a forge being thrust and twisted into your gut. You knew your husband wasn't a good man. You knew he got his hands dirty, but with what was better left unsaid. So, going to the police for help was easily ruled out. And ten days alone..Dell always left little post-it notes around the house. The little messages either conveyed his love in messy chicken scratch or left and estimated day of his return...But it's been ten days since he was supposed to be home. Something just didn't feel right.

You pulled the car into a small dirt patch just outside the entrance to the derelict looking slaughterhouse. Killing the engine, the abrupt silence trills loudly in your ears. The hum of the wind in the distance sounds like screaming. With a soft snarl, you pushed the heavy car door open. The smell of the damp air and petrichor of the soil welcomed you as you all but flung yourself from the vehicle's confines.

Treading forwards tentatively, the sound of gravel underfoot soon gives way to the sound of heels on the concrete.

Dell had loved this town. Loved the quiet mornings with the sun rising over the hills, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and the way the river would glisten like liquid silver in the afternoon. It had been a simple life, but it had been yours—together. It hadn’t always been easy, of course, but the small joys, the shared silences, the simple fact of knowing that he was there beside you—these were the things that kept you going.

He loved you more than anything. Love you so much that he left some of his family just to be with you. Never once did he mention his life, where he grew up of what schools he went to. But just by looking at him from the moment you both first met you could tell the man was more than just smart.

The air stank of rot, not the sweet, earthy smell of decay, but something sharper, more metallic. Scrunching up your nose in disgust, you are forced to squint your eyes to try and peer through the darkness.

There, lying in the middle of the hallway was a pool of dark, viscous liquid. It glinted in the low light—too dark to be water, too rich to be anything else. 'Blood' your mind whispered. Your stomach twisted.

Then, the creak of the floorboards behind you made your heart skip a beat.

You spun around, every muscle in your body tensed, ready for a confrontation, the autonomic nervous system of your body going into overdrive as you search the darkness with your eyes desperately. But there was nothing. No one. Just the quiet darkness, and the sense that something—no... Someone—was watching you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

swallowing the heavy lump in your throat you croak out a soft bleat. Forcing your voice to break the cumbersome silence. “Dell? Is that you?” The words felt weak, whispered to the point of a squeak. As fragile as they might shatter the moment, they left your lips.

No answer.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, pressing down on you, smothering you. You wanted to scream, to demand an answer, but your throat was tight with the weight of your own fear.

"Dell?!"

The shadows of the slaughterhouse stretched long and distorted, as if the very building was bending to watch you. The silence was oppressive, pressing in on all sides. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind, seemed amplified, as though it were part of some cruel orchestration designed to keep you on edge.

"Dell?! Please?! Where are you?"

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, knuckles white against the fabric, as you slowly made your way through the hall. Gingerly stepping over the puddle of what you want to think is water, you can't help but clutch the shawl around your shoulders tighter for warmth. With each step the hairs on your arms stand up straight, goosebumps form without a second's notice. 'Just cold' you think to yourself even though you feel as though they could feel an unholy presence you had started to sense in every corner of the pitch black.

A low, rasping sound echoed from behind you—a dragging noise, like something heavy being pulled across the ground. You spun around again, your breath quick and shallow, but again there was nothing.

Without warning, a pair of large warm hands grab you and hold you steady. A startled screech of bloody murder never leaves your lips as one palm is placed firmly over your mouth, and the other around your middle. Blanking out of terror, your body freezes in place. Your mind going numb as you can barely register being dragged and manhandled to another location.

The person dragging you stops, and for a moment, there's nothing but the sound of your own harsh breathing, mingling with the distant wind. The overwhelming silence presses in, and you're acutely aware of how alone you are, trapped in this nightmare. Slowly, painfully, the pressure on your mouth loosens, though the grip around your waist remains. You feel like you could break into a thousand pieces, but a voice—familiar, low, comforting—whispers from behind you.

"Shhh... Don't fight it. You’re safe now."

That voice.

It’s his. Your heart stutters. Dell?

You whip around, nearly losing your balance as the sudden motion threatens to tip you over. Your eyes meet the shadowed face of the man behind you, the face of the man you thought you'd lost.

But it's not quite the face you remember. His features are darker, his expression harder. The eyes that once held love, tenderness, are now cold, calculating. A glint of something—fear, or maybe something worse—flickers behind them.

"Dell?" The word escapes you like a prayer. It's more of a whisper, thick with disbelief.

"Dell?" The word trembled in the air between you, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment.

He didn't answer immediately. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your ribs in a way that felt wrong, like he was trying to keep you in place, to stop you from moving. The weight of his touch was heavy, like it carried more than just his strength. There was something unfamiliar about him now, something that made your skin crawl, even though the voice was undeniably his.

He didn’t speak right away. His gaze drifted over you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as he took you in—examining you like you were a thing to be inspected, not a person to be cherished. The man who had held you close in the dark, whispered sweet words of love in your ear, was gone. In his place stood a stranger.

"I—I thought you were dead," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate, like you were trying to hold onto the fragile thread of sanity that was slipping away from you.

Dell didn’t respond. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if the words he wanted to say were being kept behind a locked door. He studied you for a long moment before letting go of you entirely, his hands retreating from your skin with an unnatural slowness, like he didn’t want to let you go.

"Why... why didn’t you come back?" Your voice cracked, barely a whisper now. The air was thick with tension, the silence between you suffocating, and the weight of his unreadable stare was unbearable.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for the right words. "You shouldn't have come here," he muttered. The words felt heavy, thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Blinding white hot anger surged within your very soul, without thinking. Your arms find their way to Dell's lapels, and before you know it familiar feeling lips crash against your own. Whining into the kiss, you hike your right leg up to hook behind one of his own, the modest dress you have on rises up to rest on the meat of your upper thigh as you try to meld with the man you've spent so long missing.

Your kiss is hungry, needy, and longing. As if you're conveying all the emotions, you've tucked away for your own sake. But his lips against your feel ravenous. Sparks of pleasure ignite on your lips as stubble scratches the delicate skin around your mouth. The smell of grease, oil and his sweat fills your nostrils. The way he snakes his hands round to play with the flesh of your ass through your clothes has you whimpering.

"mnah- Dell, fu- you know I-inngh don't like you grabbin so har-d."

His grip loosened just enough for your breath to return, but not enough to forget how tightly he’d held you—how easily he could do it again. He pulled back from the kiss, breath hot against your lips, his eyes flickering with that same strange hunger you couldn’t place. For a heartbeat, there was your Dell. Your husband. But it vanished behind something feral. Something darker.

"I missed you,” he murmured, almost tender. “Missed you so bad I damn near lost my mind.”

Leading you by the hand like a knight in shinning armor. Dell walks you to a larger room. The walls bare safe for a large viewing window, and a map covering the farthest wall. furrowing your brows as your eyes adjust to the light, you could have sworn Dell didn't have a jacket like the one he's wearing. But all thought leaves your mind as he sets you up on the desk like a meal ready to be devoured.

Dell’s breath catches as your body presses against his, and for a heartbeat, everything falls silent. It’s just the two of you—his warmth surrounding you, his scent grounding you in this moment that feels like a dream. His lips brush softly over yours, hesitant at first, as if he’s afraid to rush this. But it’s impossible to hold back the flood of emotions that surge between you. The kiss deepens, slow and gentle, a quiet exploration of the love you’ve both held in your hearts for all this time.

You pull him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as he swiftly pushes aside the fabric of your dampened panties.

“mmm, so sweet for me.” he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick with emotion, rough with the weight of everything he’s been holding back.

You meet his gaze, your own heart racing with the intensity of the moment. Without a word, you close the distance between you again, your lips pressing to his with more urgency this time. It’s slow at first—tentative—but the yearning between you both is undeniable, and soon the kiss deepens, growing more heated, more desperate, as though this moment, this connection, can never be enough. His lips trail along your jawline, down your neck, leaving blossoms of reds and purples.

Dell’s hand moves to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your silky hair as he deepens the kiss. His touch is possessive but gentle, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real, that you’re really here. That you're here for HIM.

His lips leave yours reluctantly, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, each kiss more urgent than the last. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the way his mouth moves with a purpose, a hunger. The thought makes your core tighten and clench with need.

When his lips reach the sensitive spot just below your ear you shiver, and Dell smirks, his teeth grazing the spot just enough to send a His hand moves down, resting gently on the small of your back, pulling you even closer, until you can feel the impressively hard outline of him against your slick folds.

You’re overwhelmed by the sensation of him—his body against yours, the fabric of his overalls getting stained with your juices with each small jut of his hips. The pressure of his touch, the need in his every movement. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, tugging at the hem of his shirt, urging him to get closer, to feel more of him. He hesitates for just a moment, then pulls his shirt over his head with a single, fluid motion. You let out a shaky breath as you take in the sight of him, the strong, familiar lines of his body that you’ve missed more than you can say.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough, filled with awe and desire. His eyes trace over you, his gaze heated, intense, as if he can’t quite believe you’re really here.

You smile softly, reaching for his hands, guiding them to your own body, showing him where you need him, where you want him. He follows your lead eagerly, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid of breaking you. But you need him to touch you, to hold you, to pull you into him with the same hunger that you feel in your chest.

His lips find yours again, and this time the kiss is raw, all of the pent-up longing between you finally coming to a head. You’re both desperate, your bodies pressed so tightly together that it feels like you’re two halves of the same whole. His hands move with purpose, and you respond in kind, every touch, every caress a hidden language all its own.

You feel the pulse of desire in every inch of your body as his fingers trail up your spine, brushing against your skin, igniting a fire that only he can fuel. You pull him closer, if that’s even possible, your hands slipping beneath the waistband of his pants, feeling the heavy heat of him, and the undeniable evidence of his own throbbing need.

The kiss breaks, and Dell’s breath is hot against your ear as he murmurs, “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, how much I’ve needed you.” His voice cracks slightly, raw with the emotion he’s trying to hide. You tilt your head back, offering him your neck, your body—everything.

“I’m here,” you breathe, your voice shaky, “I’m right here, Dell.”

The air is thick, heavy with the scent of anticipation. It clings to everything—the warmth of your bodies, the heat of your breaths, the intoxicating pulse of your connection. Without missing a beat Dell grunts as he frees himself from the confines of his overalls and gently teases your already moist opening. Hand too large to be Dell's grabs your knees to force them just a tad wider as he gently splits you apart. Inch by inch, he makes you take him. The stunted gasp that tears its way from your throat makes you grasp his forearms tightly. Looking down, you can see how you're stretching to take him, more so than usual.

"wha-?" Your half formed question gets promptly ignored and instead answered by an experimental thrust of his hips that has you seeing stars. The chuckle the erupts from his lungs sounds mixed with a low, crooning moan as he slides out with a wet squelch, only to slide back in. The heavy slap of his balls against your rear and the feeling of being way too full knocks you back into bliss and alarm.

"Wah-when did youuugh~ get so big?"

You can feel him smirking against your neck as he speeds up. The feeling of your insides being churned like butter has you spiraling into a fast and heavy freefall. The coil within your stomach aches as your gummy walls spasm. Dell's name leaves your lips like a heavenly prayer as the sounds of flesh on flesh fill the room. In the throes of ecstasy, you don't register the sound of 'Dell' speaking as the sound of heavy bootsteps saunter closer.

"D-Dell!~ ohh fu-huuck~"

Convulsing as you ride out your high and soak your 'husband' in your fluids. You feel a handkerchief being pressed to your temples. Taking it without a second thought. You dap away at your sweat soaked skin as Dell remains seated inside you. Panting softly, you open your teary eyes. Blinking in shock, you say nothing as your blurry vision gradually grows clearer. Gasping in shock you squeak as 'Dell' makes a small, slow grind against you. A southern drawl so similar to Dell's fills your ears as he smiles sickeningly sweet down at you.

"Howdy sugar, seems you're 'well acquainted' with Zed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

T // An Alex Cross Drabble // WC: .5k // masterlist //

"Detective Cross?"

You were sitting on the edge of Alex's desk and he was sitting at his chair, both of your heads were down looking at a very important something for an very important case.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their characters, or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Suggestive themes, emotional distress, physical exhaustion, pregnancy. 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K words

Summary: Batmom! reader finds out she is pregnant a short time after marrying Bruce Wayne, not in the most pleasant of ways. Telling him won't be easy, but Alfred gives her some encouragement.

Author's note: After four hours of work, I deem my first fanfiction suitable for posting. Thank you for all the support. I hope you enjoy.

Listen on Spotify while you read…

It'd been two months since that beautiful, blissful, romantic day. Actually, two months, two weeks, and one day. But who was counting, right?

The newspapers were. Headlines of gossip news, huge block letters in bold, depicted that I had been spotted at the gym alone again, also describing their support for my "weight loss journey" since I had been "losing my figure". I had been reading this article over and over for about an hour. Damn. I inspected the black and white photo of myself in leggings and a tank top. The worst part about, well, everything, is that they were right. I was losing my figure, noticeably. 

I didn't even notice Alfred behind me until he spoke. "No matter how many times you read them, the words are not going to change, ma'am."

I jumped slightly. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all, my back and chest ached too much to relax, and heartburn hit me like a batarang after meals. I think I had gotten thirty hours of sleep in the last week, and maybe one meal a day. "Thank you, Alfred. Do you know when dinner will be ready?" 

"In a half hour, ma'am." The butler moved to the other end of the kitchen table to face me. "Those words in the paper are words that all who love you disagree with."

Alfred's words touched me if only a little, and I set down the paper. "Thank you, I think I'm going to take a walk." 

He looked concerned, but just for a moment. "Alright, ma'am. Try not to be late, the chicken may be devoured." 

Chuckling, I stepped out into the early evening light. I would not be late for dinner, living with five hungry men teaches you a lot. The sunlight embraced me, bathing me in its gentle rays, glimmering over my face. I felt positively glorious. Closing my eyes, I soaked it in. My husband would soon be home to kiss me and keep an arm around my waist. The simple thought of his touch made my mouth stretch into a smile. Five more minutes, and I'll go in. 

Five minutes turned into twenty. Being amongst the blooming flowers and the busy insects kept me occupied. Not only that, but a sudden headache had overtaken me. I sat in the grass, unladylike, watching the bees collect their last supply of nectar from the flowers for the day. Grass stains never bothered me anyway. I knew time was getting away from me, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to focus on anything. I didn't want to go inside because I didn't want bedtime to arrive. It was too painful to even think about. My head and back reminded me of that even now. 

My vision blurred slightly, I could only focus on a single flower on the bushes before me, bees continuing to fly around it. This was nice. I couldn't focus on a single thing, or think about anything, or worry.

I felt myself fall, sort of, to the ground. Fall was the best word I know to describe it. I was already sitting on the ground, but my muscles suddenly felt like pudding. My head bumped to the grass and laid to rest. Terror gripped my heart and throat for a single second before everything just... relaxed. My vision went next, but I was okay with that. This was so relaxing. I wanted to stay.

...

"Madam. Madam (Y/N)!" The voice came from... maybe a mile away. Maybe. Maybe ten miles. Maybe a hundred.

"(Y/N), madam (Y/N)!" Something cold was on my face. Ugh. I don't like that. The wind bit and stung at where the cold wetness was on my cheek. Ouch.

"Wake up, madam!" No. I don't want to. Go away. But the voice sounds scared.  

I slowly, slowly, with great effort, opened my eyes. Instantly they closed again. My friend the butler was hovering over me. What was his name again?

"Mom!" New voice. Go the hell away. I open my eyes again. 

"I'm here, I'm fine." Sitting up took much more strength than opening my eyes, but I managed to do so. Dick and Alfred worriedly stare at me. "I was just taking a nap."

"That wasn't a nap, it looked like you passed out." Dick was the one with the cold wet cloth. He put it to my head again. I gave him a withering glare, and he pulled it away again, looking apologetic. 

"It was a nap, of course I didn't pass out. Now let me return to it," I waved my hand in no particular direction, trying to shoo them away like mice.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to sleep on the cold ground in nothing but your loungewear, ma'am." Alfred took the cloth from Dick and put it to my forehead. 

Lord, they were being so annoying, I just wanted to go back to sleep. My eyelids drooped and my words slurred. "Bed hurts too much right now... just come back later..." my head finally dropped forward as vision began to diminish again. 

I couldn't really tell what they said next. What I could remember was, "Inside now... call the... when they can see her..." and "...got her... go and tell him... I've got it..." 

The sensation of being lifted did not startle my dozing. Neither did the shouting, nor the feeling of hands on my face. I had earned this sleep, and I was going to... enjoy... it...

...

I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. It wasn't time. Please don't let it be time. I peeked a glance at my watch. Eight in the morning on a Sunday? Yeah, back to sleep we go. 

Before I could return to my dreamless sleep, I became aware of unidentified breathing beside me. Was that Titus? Or maybe Alfred. Maybe I had been kidnapped. Did I care? Hell to the no. All I cared about at this present moment was slumber. If I was kidnapped, I could sleep all I wanted while I waited for them to rescue me.

Then, like a train, uninvited and on its own, the back pain hit my lower body. I couldn't help the moan of discomfort that tore from my throat.

Instantly, a hand went to my forehead. It felt so cold against my warm head. I'd better see who this person with the cold hands is and tell them to go stick their fingers in a campfire before touching me again.

 When I opened my eyes, I realized I wasn't even in the garden anymore. Alfred, I told you I wanted to stay on the ground. But it wasn't Alfred who had put freezing digits on my forehead. It was my husband, my dearest Bruce, my wonderful partner in... crime didn't seem like a good choice of words. His worried blue eyes bored into my sleep-deprived (Y/C) eyes. Ouch, that gaze made my headache come back.

"Hello. Go warm your hands up," I told the love of my life before closing my eyes again. The light from the window seemed to be penetrating my very brain. 

"My hands are warm," replied the bearer of freezing fingers.

"Please, feels like your hands went to the Artic circle for winter vacation." My stubborn retort took a lot out of me, but I could practically hear his small smile. 

"There's my girl," he murmured. I opened my eyes again to smile at my wonderful... freezing... man. 

"Yeahhh, your girl's going back to dreamland. Night night." I grunted at the pain stabbing me in the back, the throbbing in my head, and the emptiness in my stomach.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Stay right here. The doctor's going to be here at ten, you should freshen up a bit." 

I opened one eye to glare unhappily at him. "Don't need a doctor. Need a nap."

His chuckle annoyed me to the very core, almost scaring away the shooting pains in my back. "I'm sorry, but this needs to happen. Do you know how worried we all were when we heard you had fainted in the garden? The boys hardly wanted to go on patrol, they wanted to look after you."

"The boys didn't want to go on patrol? You didn't want to look after me?" I glared playfully at my handsome knight. "And I didn't faint... just took a nap."

"On the cold hard ground?" His questioning gaze made me open both my eyes.

"Yes, it felt nice on my back." 

"Does your back still hurt, sweetheart?"

"Yes, it still hurts." 

"And you didn't feel like sleeping in the bed?"

"The hell is this, an interrogation?" 

"Maybe," he grinned.

"Go away," I retorted, closing my eyes. "I have to go to work, no time for doctors."

"I called and told them you can't come in this week."

"This... this is why I married you."

It didn't take long to fall back into blissful, painless paradise. Bruce left me alone, but I knew he was close by, watching over me. The mansion was so quiet and peaceful, I knew the boys were fast asleep.

Much too soon, I was being kissed awake. 

"Darling, Doctor Thompkin's here. It's time to wake up." Bruce's forehead kisses were, for the very first time in our relationship, annoying. 

"Ugh." I rolled over to escape, my back cracking. 

"Upsy daisy." He stroked my back, gently massaging my painfully aching muscles.

Sitting up took all the strength I had, and yet I had to find more to answer the questionnaire the doctor was springing upon me. Bruce stepped out mid-examination to answer a phone call, leaving the woman to observe my body and take into consideration my answers to her questions. Her questions seemed endless. "Have you been out of the country in the last month?" 

"No."

"Have you been feeling depressed or hopeless?"

"No."

"Are you on any medications?"

"No."

"Do you or any family members have history of scoliosis?" 

"No."

"History of heartburn?"

"No."

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

"It's marked on the calendar, couple pages back." 

"Do you know what year it is?"

I gave her a funny look. "Of course I do, what's wrong with you?" Now I feel bad for saying that, but I certainly didn't in the moment.

The doctor chuckled, her friendly eyes had laughter lines around them. "Just wanted to make sure you're still with me. Are you on birth control?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been on birth control?" 

"Couple months. I went on it during our honeymoon."

"During?"

"Yes, we realized condoms and plan B weren't as convenient as the pill."

"I'm going to need a blood sample and then we're done here. I'll be in touch with the results. You don't seem to be suffering from scoliosis, but I'll contact you about x-rays to confirm. I haven't made a house call in a long time, or practiced family medicine, but I'll do everything I can to make sure we get to the root of this."

"Okay." 

The blood draw seemed to take longer than I remembered blood draws taking. The prick of the needle didn't disturb the haze of sleepiness that still surrounded me. The woman's departure signaled another wave of sleepiness to wash over me. Bruce and Alfred were showing the doctor out as my head hit the pillow. Pain shot up my back, but sleep had already captured me. 

Tomorrow turned into today, and then today became yesterday. It felt like I slept the whole Monday, skipping work and family dinner. Tuesday morning came with sunshine and kisses from my darling husband as I slowly opened my eyes. 

"Hi," I smiled at him. One of Bruce's arms was holding me almost loosely as he lay next to me in the white sheets. He looked worn and tired from a long night of patrol. I sniffed him. Good, he had showered. 

"Hello." His tired kiss on my lips was slowly waking me. "I love you."

"I love you too," I told him. My smile was getting bigger and my world was waking up. I traced the shape of his exhausted eyes. "Close your eyes. Sleep." 

"Mmph." His eyes closed and his body relaxed under my touch. Normally, Bruce was the one to hold me tight and kiss me to sleep, to caress my body and keep me safe. Looking over his body, I realized that he had been through a difficult night of patrol. A stitched gash across his back, an unhappy bruise on his jaw, scratches on his forearms. Worrying about my "condition" probably hadn't helped him stay alert out there in the dangerous night of Gotham. Guilt washed over me. My arms protectively wrapped around my dearest husband, my lips pressing to his forehead. Today, I was going to keep him safe, I was going to comfort him through his slumber.

...

Bruce's snoring wasn't exactly a lullaby, so I was up and about after a few hours. The boys were crashed in their rooms and Alfred was busy baking something that smelled like chocolatey deliciousness. I was looking over the morning paper, again, skimming for any mention of my family or I. Unhealthy habit, you could say. I was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, keeping the rustling of the newspaper pages to a minimum.

Vibrations of Bruce's cell phone made me look up. As silently as I could, I leaped up and grabbed the phone from the bedside table on Bruce's side. My husband's sleep was important to me, and if I had it my way, nothing at all would disturb it, not even nightmares. 

I carried the cell phone out of the bedroom and glanced at the caller ID. Doctor Thompkins. Results. Yes. This wasn't the first time I had answered my husband's phone, so I wasn't going to feel guilt over finding out my own test results. "Hello?"

"(Y/N), hello. I'm calling with your results."

"Tim's been telling everyone in the family it's yellow fever, please prove him wrong."

"Hah, no, it is not yellow fever... I'd say it's something a little more... serious."

I stiffened. My aching back didn't like that. "What's up?"

"We spoke about your history with birth control, but we need to talk about it again. It would seem that there was some window of time where you and Bruce were not using protection."

My backache must've hit my brain, because looking back, I can't believe I didn't catch on. "Bruce gave me a disease?"

"Not a disease. You're pregnant, (Y/N). I can't make an estimate on how many weeks you are, but I'm going to give you the contact information for an OBGYN. Make an appointment as soon as you can. Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne."

...

When Bruce woke up, I had to apologize to him for his cracked cell phone screen. I told him the truth, that I'd dropped it, but I didn't explain that it was from shock. He told me it was alright, that he'd pick up a new one, but he wasn't quite sure why I looked so very upset over dropping his phone. That would explain itself in time.

I didn't eat a thing at dinner that night, despite my full plate and coaxing from my family. Even the finest cut of steak is unappealing when something like that is on one's mind.

Who wouldn't overthink a thing like this? Pregnant, after a literal two months of marriage? Pregnant, while caring for four boys that you saw as your sons? Pregnant, after your husband had told you he didn't want anymore children? Pregnant, after you had both tried to be careful? Pregnant, to one of the greatest vigilantes and most successful businessmen in the world? Pregnant. I am pregnant. I might have my husband's baby.

"Mom!"

My head jerked up and I was greeted by five concerned faces. 

"Ma, you look like you're in another world," Jason forked a piece of potato. 

"Maybe I am in another world, Jay-Jay." I smiled slightly before standing. Ten eyes observed my every move. 

"Ummi, where are you going?" Damian, the one who I expected would be the least concerned, watched me with huge, worried eyes. 

"I think I need to sleep more. I will see you all tomorrow morning." I kissed every head at the table, my lips lingering on my husband's forehead. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down for a gentle kiss. I think he noticed my hesitance, but I didn't stop to think about it or explain. My back only permitted me to walk up the stairs, but if I could've run, I would've.

Once Bruce and the boys had left for their night of patrol, I breathed again. Laying on the bed, clutching my pillow to my chest, trying to rehearse how I would address the situation to Bruce, it took a lot out of me. "Bruce, I need to tell you something," I mumbled. "No... Bruce, we need to talk." 

"Madam, I am not sure if you have noticed, but Master Bruce is not here." Alfred's voice startled me for the second time this week.

"I wish he was. I'm sorry, I'm... practicing." I tried to give my friend a reassuring smile but it came out as a grimace. 

"Good luck, madam," Alfred set down a cup of tea on my bedside table and gave me a genuine Alfred smile. Before he was out of the room, he turned back and looked me dead in the eye. "Master Bruce loves you very much, Madam (Y/N). He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink." 

I looked straight back into this wonderful gentleman's eyes. "Thank you."

...

I tried to sleep through the night, I really did. When dawn and my boys arrived, I was still wide awake, not having slept a wink. I trotted down the stairs to the batcave, taking extra care not to trip. Once on the floor, we went through our post-patrol routine of inspecting each one of my boys. First Damian, who shrugged me off several times before allowing me to look over him, then Tim, who accepted my worrying for what it was, then Jason, who pretended to be annoyed for show, then Dick, who looked over me as carefully as I looked over him, then finally Bruce, who would not stop kissing me, barely giving me a chance to check him for injuries. 

No one was truly hurt, but all but one were tired as they pulled off their suits. The boys trudged upstairs to their rooms, but my husband carried me valiantly up the stairs to our place in the master bedroom, like a knight carrying his princess.

Once the bedroom door was shut and he had set me down, I was instantly on my back laying on the bed, Bruce's lips showing affection to my neck and collarbone. A soft, throaty moan left my mouth as my husband kissed me, his hands working their way over my body. I was clothed in my favorite outfit of a tank top and leggings, and I knew they were at risk of being torn from my torso and limbs if I allowed this to continue. Besides... I had to tell Bruce. 

"Darling..." the word I said was half-moaned. "Darling, please, you need to shower."

"I thought you liked my scent?" Bruce chuckled, looking up at me, his hands working their way up my shirt. 

"Mmm, I do, but you are going to dirty our sheets that Alfred worked so hard to wash." 

"You have a valid point, but I don't like it." Bruce grinned and pulled off the little clothing he wore. I chuckled and rolled my eyes, watching him make his way to the shower. If I hadn't had such a burden on my mind, I would've joined him. I could hear him muttering insults at the slippery bar of soap that his large fingers always seemed to have trouble grasping, and it made me smile. My hand absentmindedly rested on my stomach and I wondered if his child would have the same troubles as their father.

Bruce's shower was shorter than usual. Much shorter than if I had been in there with him. Chuckling, I made room for my knight in the bed. He hadn't bothered to put on clothes, or dry his hair. Bruce climbed on top of me, drops of water falling from his hair to my chest. His lips reattached to mine, devouring the kiss like a wild man. I knew what he had on his mind from the way he caressed my body, and I had to put a stop to it. 

"Bruce... Bruce, wait." 

Concerned eyes met mine. "(Y/N)?"

Alfred's words replayed in my mind. He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. I stared into the beautiful blue eyes I had grown to take comfort in. "Bruce, Doctor Thompkins diagnosed me."

Instantly, his desire was forgotten. Bruce sat back on the bed and pulled me onto his lap. "Tell me, darling, what is it?"

His arms made me feel so safe. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink. "I... you need to expect the unexpected."

"So I'm guessing it's not yellow fever, since that's what Tim expects," Bruce smiled. The gentle attempt at humor didn't lift the worry in his eyes. 

"Heh, no... not exactly. It's... it's a baby." The last three words were much quieter than the others. 

Bruce looked at me quizzically. "I don't think I heard you correctly." 

"A baby," I honestly voiced my diagnosis, somewhat fearfully looking into his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Bruce's glare pierced mine. He gently slid me off his lap and set me on the bed before standing and walking to the window to silently stare out of it. His breathing had changed, his body was stiff, everything about him seemed cold and hardened. 

My worst fears bit and tore at my heart, anxiety gripping my throat like a murderer. Oh Lord, he doesn't want me anymore. I didn't know whether to go to him, or leave the mansion, or stay in the bed, or cry, or speak. So I just waited, for a full two minutes, staring at my husband's scarred back. After waiting that long, tears began to prick at my eyes. I finally laid down and curled into the cold sheets. "I'm sorry."

I heard him turn. "What are you sorry for?"

"Not paying attention to my birth control. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," my tears left wet spots on the pillowcase. I closed my eyes tightly. 

Then I felt his weight on his side of the bed, he was laying beside me. Bruce collected me into his arms, tilting my chin up, asking me silently to look at him. I opened my wet eyes. 

"I'm not angry with you. I'm thinking about it. Just let me think." Bruce's rough, calloused fingers brushed against my peach soft cheek.

"Okay." I closed my eyes to fight back angry, hot tears. He pulled me to his chest, holding me to himself. I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. 

He must've held me like that for an hour before he finally, finally spoke. "Well, this isn't what I thought two months into our marriage would look like." 

My tears had left stains on his chest. Only a surge of bravery made me look up at him. "Yeah."

He looked down at me, smiled, kissed my lips, and I felt my husband's love course through my body. He may have turned me away physically, but he had never turned me away emotionally. I sat up on his lap, straddling him, my forehead resting on his, my hands on his cheeks. "I love you."

"And I love you," Bruce's fingers brushed against my waist. He seemed hesitant, and his eyes met mine. "May I?"

I was confused for a moment, but then I realized and nodded, beaming. "Yes."

His large hand rested on my stomach. The wheels in his head were still turning, but they had calmed, and they were only turning in the name of love. 

"Expect the unexpected." 

✧ Masterlist

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In this story, you are a witch that is married to Divus Crewel. Before you met Crewel, you had traveled a lot helping other people during their time of need. During this time you had bump into children of many kind and help them in some way. Malleus was the first one and others came after since Malleus is older than them. You ended up vanishing from their lives so suddenly, causing many of them to try and find you. They kept searching from childhood to their college years with the Vice Dorm Leaders helping. They almost gave up until JUST recently you showed up again, but married to one of their teachers! This leaves a very bitter taste in them. Their view of you being a mother figure soon turned into a love obsession making them crazed suitors. But your husband may also be one who had destroyed past rivals trying to win your heart before marrying you. But don’t take my word for it! You’ll have to find out yourself!

I would like to warn those who are under the age of 18 to please leave. This story is for 18 and above. The reason why is that this is a dark romance story with Yandere and other things that may be uncomfortable.

The requirements of what the story holds are Yandere, dark romance, forceful NSFW (maybe), and other things that will be listed in later chapters! If you are uncomfortable with these then please leave!

Chapters with those types of warnings will be put within the chapter before the chapter begins! There will also be fun facts at the end of the story!

FYI: In this information about who you are in this story. I had already made your personality, hobby, likes and dislikes, and background while the rest you decide! If they are wrong then I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are, what you look like, etc. This is all based on fanfiction!

Thank you and enjoy!

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

Name: (Y/n) Divus

Gender: Female

Age: for this story, you are somewhat as old as Lilia but a bit younger. So either pick a number between 500 and 600 years old. (You are this old because you met Malleus when he was a child or a baby. Malleus is 178 years old (18) in the main story. So I’m trying to get you to meet him early on so he won’t forget about you)

Height: you decide

Body figure: you decide

Hair color and length: you decide

Eye color: you decide

Skin color: you decide

Sexuality: straight

Wording shortcuts: (Y/n)=your name, (L/n)=last name, (h/l)=hair length, (h/c)=hair color, (e/c)=eye color, (s/c)=skin color, (fav/f)=fav food, (fav/c)=fav color

Origin: you decide

Family:

(F/n) (L/n) (father/deceased)

(M/n) (L/n (mother/deceased)

Divus Crewel (husband/alive)

Best friend:

Crowley

Trein

Coach Vargas

Sam

Species: witch

Occupation: married woman

Spouse: Divus Crewel

Suitors (some are aged up to be safe):

Riddle Rosehearts (aged up since he’s 17)

Trey Clover

Leona Kingscholar

Ruggie Bucchi

Azul Ashengrotto (aged up since he is 17)

Jade and Floyd Leech (both aged up since they are 17)

Kalim Al-Asim (aged up since he’s 17)

Jamil Viper (aged up since he’s 17)

Vil Schoenheit

Rook Hunt

Idia Shroud

Malleus Draconia

Lilia Vanrouge

Platonic relationships:

All 1st, 2nd years, some even 3rd years if I had left anyone out.

Ortho

Checka

Grimm

Yuu

Personality:

In this story, you act like a noble lady. You carry yourself as mature and a powerful figure type. Not one to be scared or frightened of certain situations. Despite this, you are a kind woman yet tend to be childish. You know how to judge correctly in times of needs. You care for young children who are either saddened or hurt by something or someone. This leads you to have a motherly behavior around them to help aid and comfort them. You are also powerful in history despite being a witch. You will never grow old or die as you were able to make yourself immortal. Despite being noble-like grown woman. You’d instantly melt (not literally) in the arms of your loving husband Divus Crewel.

Hobbies:

In this story, you love to travel around the world of Twisted Wonderland. You love to help people, especially children as you’d often give large sums to orphanages in need thanks to you being married to a wealthy man. Your husband LOVES to spoil you rotten, but you can’t help but donate them to people in need. That doesn’t mean you throw his gifts that mean a lot to you away though!

Likes:

You love children and want kids. But you and Crewel are too busy with things going on, so it’s been put on the bottom of a to do list. You love to read and paint as well as playing the piano. You are fascinated when it comes to vintage things like antiques!

Dislikes:

You hate it when parental figures harm their own children. You end up turning them into a toad and sometimes cook them if you’re feeling evil.

Background:

You are a witch from no noble blood, but you act like it which surprises many when finding out you’re just a normal witch. You had managed to extend your life and the very thing keeping you alive is ???

You married your husband later in the years after many traveling. You both want children but have so many things to do before being able.

Fun extra fact: You dislike silver metals and iron as they are your weakness! (Like Maleficent’s weakness is iron. Only difference is that silver metals are also involved)

These are what you wear as Crewel’s wife. Man has a thing for mermaid dresses

MASTERLIST

STORY SUMMARY

PROLOGUE COMING SOON

Synopsis: You were young when you fell in love, you got married, you had children, and you understood that the prediction of Mirabel was hard on him, it was the first time you saw a future that had no defined outcome, but it didn't not stop the hurt you felt when he disappeared.

Themes: Reunion, Family bonding, husband Bruno, fatherly Bruno, time skips.

Warnings: Generational Trauma, abandonment, essentially everything that happened in Encanto that maybe triggering.

Word Count: 1,389

Note: This sat unfinished for months because my phone hates it when I try to write fan fiction during breaks in my college classes. I published it because it would not let me save it as a draft, and I wanted to throw myself off a bridge because it happened again. I appreciate you guys so much; thank you for your patience. Apologies for the double-publishing notifications in the same post. AGAIN. I also apologize for the long ass wait.