#ricky writes

It’s been a while since they’ve been able to exist together like this, without interruptions or needless stressors.

They’re sprawled on the dock, sopping wet with lakewater, laid out to dry on the sturdy wooden panels they so love to lounge on. Dew is staring up at the sky, eyes squinted to see the outline of the clouds in spite of the glaring sunlight over the water. One of his hands is tracing mindless patterns into the palm of Rain’s hand with his fingertip, a self soothing reflex that Dew hasn’t been able to stop since he began.

Rain, however, is staring at Dewdrop.

His eyes started on Dew’s nipple, considering how close it is to his face. The silver rings threaded through them make them stand out so, so much more, pink and perky and pretty. They used to match the faded scars under Dew’s chest, crescent shaped, clean surgical scar tissue from his top surgery. As much as Rain loved his cute little tits, something about the scars is so much more beautiful to him. His hand comes to rest on Dew’s ribs and he brushes his thumb over the scars, narrowly avoiding Dew’s nipple.

It gets a giggle out of the stuffy little fire ghoul, who bats Rain’s hand away and huffs out a soft ticklish! as a warning.

Now, Rain could abuse that right now.

But he looks back up at Dew’s face and sees the way he grins down, the creases near his eyes and the little scrunch of his nose. He promptly decides to swear off bullying the little guy… for today.

Dew begins to wither under his gaze. The longer Rain stares, the more he tries to wriggle away, to escape. He curls in on himself and shakes out his hair in an attempt to cover up his face and the bright, ruby red blush across his cheeks.

Jesus, Rain hasn’t even said anything yet.

The Rain in question brushes the hair out of his eyes again regardless, smiling just as softly as when he started to stare. He lifts himself on one arm and pushes Dew down, until his back meets the dock again and he’s staring up at Rain, doe-eyed. He’s shaking.

“You’re so pretty,” Rain finally, finally says.

Dew responds with a very intelligent noise and turns his face away, pouting.

“You are, lovebug,” Rain coaxes, the hand not supporting his weight coming up to Dew’s chin— it takes so little effort to make him look again, and if Rain weren’t so in awe of his beauty, he would laugh. “Gorgeous.”

“Shut up,” Dew mumbles, averting his eyes again. It may not be as good as looking away completely, but it’s the best he can get and he’ll take it.

He knows he’s grasping at straws for control.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Rain warns, and even if it’s playful, it still makes Dew’s cunt clench around nothing, if only for the way he says it.

Dew, wisely, goes silent again. He’s helpless under Rain’s gaze.

The water ghoul brings him in for a kiss, which does wonders for his jittery nerves. It’s tender, but heated, clearly Rain has other motivations he hasn’t yet revealed, but Dew doesn’t find himself caring. The only thing he has the capacity to care about is the slow, luxurious slide of Rain’s tongue against his own. He almost wishes they’d brought a joint, but Dew has been going through his weed a bit too fast lately.

When Rain finally stops sucking on his face, Dew is utterly useless. Breathless, kiss drunk, swollen lips, and completely in love with Rain.

“Love your waist,” Rain huffs into the hollow of his neck, a cool hand resting on the curve of Dew’s waist, right where his mole is, “makes you look tiny. Pretty.”

If there were any breath to steal from Dew’s lungs, it would’ve been. But all he can do is let out a wheezy little whine and widen his eyes. “Love your thighs,” Rain says, strained as he rearranges himself to lay between Dew’s legs, “get my clothes behind your head. Prop yourself up.”

“But they’ll get—”

Rain narrows his eyes severely and it’s enough to make Dew shut up and listen. Dew takes their pile of discarded clothes— that he really doesn’t care about getting wet— and shoves it behind his head, now forced to meet Rain’s gaze from where he sits between his thighs.

“Where were we,” the water ghoul mumbles, pressing his lips to Dew’s inner thigh with a wet smack. “Love your thighs,” he says again as he runs a hand up and down the smooth skin, “so pretty when I bruise them.”

Dewdrop whimpers again, even if he tries to hide it.

Rain is so close. He’s right there. The fire ghoul’s little hips jump in anticipation, pulling a satisfied noise from his water ghoul.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs, head resting on Dew’s leg as his hand finds Dew’s, “all you have to do is ask nicely. You know the rules.”

His head is spinning. He might die here and now, burning under Rain’s gaze, opposite of their elements. Dew makes another strangled sound before struggling to open his mouth, to speak.

Damien had been pleasantly surprised when Mark had asked him to play a part in his newest project. Not just any part either, but the main character to boot. He enjoyed the time he got alone from his sister while on set. It had been forever since they had been in separate bodies. He hadn’t thought anything would come of it.

Until, months later, someone showed up on the doorstep.

Dark frowned in confusion as he looked the person up and down. The new Ego looked back, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “Uh, hi! I’m the Head Engineer.” They trailed off uncertainly when Dark raised an eyebrow.

“I know who you are, I’m just curious as to how you’re here.” Dark explained, stepping aside to let him in. “I was unaware anyone would be arriving.”

“Oh, um…” The Engineer looked nervous. “Sorry, I don’t mean to impose, but I don’t really have anywhere else to go, so…”

Dark raised an eyebrow. The way this new ego talked sounded familiar. “You’re not one of Marc’s, are you.” It wasn’t a question, more of an observation. “Who, exactly, are you?”

“Well, my name is Mark, but I go by Engie, if that’s what you mean?” Engie replied fiddling with his red beret. “It seems to fit better.”

Dark nodded, leading the way to his office. “I am Darkiplier, though you may call me Dark. I run this household, home to Egos and Others, as I’m sure you are aware.”

Engie nodded, looking around at the ornate halls in awe. “Yeah, I know, somehow.”

Dark nodded, opening his office door and letting the new ego in before entering himself and closing the door. “Good to know. That knowledge classifies you as an Ego, such as myself and most of this household. If you would give me a moment to sort out the paperwork that just arrived?”

This, too was not a question, which Engie clearly understood. The new ego sat down in one of the chairs spread about the room while Dark sat at his desk.

‘Alright, explain yourself Damien.’ Dark growled, staring blankly down at the paperwork that always came when someone new Arrived.

In the dark void that made up their mind-scape, Damien very clearly glanced sideways at his sister. ‘Uh…’

‘Don’t look at me! You’re the one who accepted the role!’ Celine rolled her eyes at her brother before turning to the fusion. ‘I had nothing to do with this, Dark!’

Dark sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose to ward off the impending headache he always got whenever the twins argued. ‘Are you telling me, that we have a child?’

Damien shifted. ‘Well, if we’re going by Marc’s definition…’

Celine snorted. ‘I can’t believe you went out and made a kid. My baby brother is a father!’ She was laughing aloud now. ‘This is gold!’

Damien scowled, only worsening Dark’s headache. ‘How was I supposed to know I could make an ego? It’s not like I planned for this to happen!’

‘Planned or not, there is still a new ego sitting in our office.’ Dark muttered.

‘Oh this is absolutely beautiful.’ Celine smirked. ‘I’ll leave this up to you two now.’

‘No, wait!’ Both Damien and Dark tried to stop the woman before Damien would inevitably be shoved into the driver’s seat.

“Dammit.” Damien muttered, now looking down at the paperwork and his hands outlined in blue. Dark silently fuming in their mind-scape was not helping his now pounding headache.

Engie visibly startled at his sudden exclamation, drawing the former mayor’s attention. “Sorry?”

Damien shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This whole mess appears to be by my own doing.” He stood, crossing to get a better look at the Engineer. “Damien Whitacre, one third of Darkiplier. Nice to finally meet you.”

Engie blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“It appears that my role in Mark Fischbach’s latest endeavor resulted in you being created.” Damien explained, sitting across from him.

“Are you… are you not Dark?” Engie asked, studying Damien.

“No, I myself am not Darkiplier. I am a part of Dark, however. They would not exist without me. I suppose they are the reason that you are the only ego to come from me as opposed to Marc. We’ve only recently learned we can split while in a story.”

“So… you’re saying that you made me?” Engie was trying to connect dots, and apparently he was succeeding. “Like, you’re my…father?”

Damien blinked, internally scowling at Dark, who had snorted a laugh. “I… suppose so?”

“Okay, okay yeah, why not?” Engie looked down at their hands. “Yeah, sure. Cool. Uh, nice you meet you?”

Damien smiled. “Nice to meet you, Engie. How about we find your bedroom?”

Engie nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Celine reappeared next to Dark. ‘Well, looks like we’re a father now.’

Dark rolled their eyes. ‘Celine, we’ve been parenting Artie for years, I thought that was a given.’

Celine shrugged and nodded. ‘I suppose. Just be sure to remind him that he can’t tell anyone who doesn’t know about us.’

Dark frowned at her. ‘Of course. Shove off Celine, I know how to do my job. I’ve been doing it for decades after all.’

Mary

Mary is at least part fae, explaining how she’s so old, her magic, and her proclivity to teach the children she nannies a lesson.

Not theory but related: she calls many other magical beings her family (“uncle” and “aunt” and such). She’s also known as the “youngest” by many of these family members.

Bert

Possibly also part fae?(leprechaun? “Shake a sweeps hand for luck” maybe)

One of the kids Mary nannied probably.

Perhaps it's an unfair thing to be scared of. They've gotten better at communication over the years, but they're both still painfully bad at saying exactly what is on their mind at the right moment. Never before have they gotten into a full-blown fight, or called each other names, or threatened divorce like his parents have. In fact, by all means, it seems like now might be a perfect time to have a baby.

But the words Peko had spoken only a few days earlier -- when Fuyuhiko's period was missed and he told no one -- keep ringing in his ears.

I don't think I'm ready for one right now.

At the time, he tried telling himself that it'd be fine. He's been late before. Testosterone will do that. It's not a big deal because there's no way he's pregnant, because why would the universe do something like that to Peko?

Which of course brings us to now.

He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, still staring blankly at the pregnancy test. Positive doesn't even look like a real word anymore, even though he keeps repeating it in his head and spelling it out over and over. Pregnant. He's pregnant, because the test says positive.

Fuyuhiko really doesn't realize he's crying until a few seconds later when he tastes the salt on his lips from the tears rolling down his face. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know where to go from here.

He needs time.

He doesn't have time.

///

It's a fine line he has to walk. Fuyuhiko knows he has to at least keep himself in decent condition to make sure he and the baby stay healthy, but at the same time, he can't give away any clues to his condition to Peko. Just the minor changes in his diet already feel like massive red flags to him, but still, his wife says nothing.

A part of him wonders if he's breaking her trust. The thought makes him sicker than he already is.

He doesn't tell Peko he's not going anywhere today. When she heads out in the morning to go to her job at the local library -- really, just something she does to pass the time -- he's still in bed. She doesn't expect him to still be in bed when she gets home, and yet, there he is. Sound asleep.

So it seems at first, at least. When she walks over to get a closer look, there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and upon pressing her wrist to his skin she can feel how hot he is.

That isn't normal.

"Fuyuhiko?" She says quietly, reaching out to push on his shoulder. He half-groans in response, obviously not fully awake as he bats half-heartedly at her hand. "Fuyuhiko. What's wrong?" He gives an answer, but it's so slurred between the groans and shivers that she can't actually tell what he's saying.

That's all the evidence she needs, though.

Mikan gets to the house in less than thirty minutes. They don't live far apart -- most of Hope's Peak's alumni tend to live in the same areas after graduation so they've found -- and she's one of the only medical professionals Fuyuhiko trusts. She's not entirely sure what's going on, but she'll be damned if she lets something happen to him because she didn't take action.

He's still not awake, but Peko holds his hand the whole time Mikan takes care of him. She swears they use half the ice in the house to cool him down, along with a portable IV Mikan brings with her just in case. That alone is worrying, nevermind what Mikan tells her next.

"He's g-going to be alright," the nurse finally stutters out after a few moments of trying to speak and failing. She sounds distracted. "H-he just needs to get more r-rest, a-and stop being so st-stressed. I-it was just a f-fever, but considering his condition..."

"Condition?" Peko repeats. She feels a brick of ice settle in her stomach. "What do you mean by condition?"

Mikan looks surprised and guilty for a moment, before she continues. "H-he didn't tell you? He's pregnant."

Pregnant.

Of course, that gets mixed results. Shuichi stays out of it for the most part. Kokichi suggests they name her after a meme (to which Korekiyo violently protests and Tsumugi laughs). Rantaro says they should name her after something they both enjoy, but Korekiyo and Tsumugi manage to agree that “Ramen” is not an appropriate name for a child. Everyone else has their own suggestions, but it’s mostly dominated with the more level-headed members of the group (namely, Kirumi and Ryoma) begging them to “please just name her something normal.”

Surprisingly enough, it’s Kaede who gives them what they’re looking for.

Name her after something she can look forward to! She sends to the group chat, chipper as always.

Korekiyo sees it first, and he pauses. Then he says, “Mirai,” rolling the name over his tongue and testing each syllable, each letter carefully. Future. Their daughter’s name will be future.

He has apprehensions about giving their daughter any sort of “M” name for a reason, but Mirai is far enough away from Miyadera to let him relax.

(Ignore the fact that there’s something whispering in his ear saying I know you want to do it, you want her named after me because I’m your true love, I’m the only one you could ever ever ever — and he digs his fingers into his thighs to stop the voice.)

Tsumugi’s weight against his chest gives Korekiyo pause, and he tilts his head down, his dark hair cascading over his shoulders and mingling with hers in a delicate fashion. He puts one hand on the swell of Tsumugi’s belly, hoping to feel her move. She doesn’t disappoint, giving her father a sharp kick to his palm.

“Mirai Shinguuji,” Tsumugi murmurs, letting her head rest fully against Korekiyo’s chest. “Doesn’t she feel so much more real now that she has a name?”

“Indeed,” Korekiyo agrees. “And what a beautiful name it is, for a no doubt beautiful child.”

They’ve been through so much just to get here. A bout of bad luck their first year trying to conceive almost led Korekiyo to believe he truly was cursed, that there was something wrong with him, that he would never be able to give his wife the child she so desired. But bad luck is all it was, and around a year after they first started trying, Tsumugi woke him with a kiss and pressed a positive pregnancy test into his hand.

And now, here they are. Weeks away from his beloved’s due date, and although she complains of sore feet and an aching back among other things, Tsumugi still smiles when Korekiyo leans his face in close to her belly to speak to their daughter.

When they first learned they were to have a girl, Korekiyo was unsure of how to feel. He had never been good with girls, not once in his life, and for a long time considered his relationship with Tsumugi to simply be a fluke. (Yes, he’s an anthropologist, but no one ever said he was good with modern people, dammit).

Then he imagines a little girl, a perfect little girl with long dark locks of hair and big blue eyes, and his heart aches with a longing he’s never felt before.

(It’s love, he thinks later. That’s what he’s aching with.)

  Mirai Shinguuji enters the world in their home with a loud cry on December 18th, and it breaks Korekiyo’s heart to hear her cry even for a moment. It doesn’t help that Tsumugi cries too, because twenty-four hours of hard labor will do that, and she’s exhausted. Korekiyo holds her for the better half of that time, murmuring to her and ignoring his own fears while he assures her everything will be alright.

He’s not sure he really believes it until the tiny bundle of blankets is placed on Tsumugi’s chest, and she pulls her shirt down a bit to make skin-to-skin contact with their daughter. For once, Korekiyo’s hands are bare, but even though he longs to feel the soft new skin on his fingers…

He doesn’t.

Instead, Korekiyo holds his family in his arms while Tsumugi nurses their daughter for the first time, and the midwife helps to clean the two of them along with the bed. All the while, he wants to touch her so badly, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel ready.

So he watches Mirai in Tsumugi’s arms for a while, until she finally blinks open big blue eyes and squints narrowly at him, her little face scrunched up, tiny hands curled into even tinier fists. Korekiyo and Mirai’s eyes meet for the very first time.

Korekiyo can’t blink. He can’t look away.

His bare, scarred hands move to the mask around his face, that he still hasn’t removed, at least not while the midwife is around, and he pulls it down to rest around his neck. Korekiyo bares his crooked jaw and terrible scars to the world as he leans down, gently, ever so gently, pressing his forehead against his infant daughter’s like a cat might do to its kittens.

“Hello, my future flower,” Korekiyo breathes. “I… I am your father.”

She yawns, and he cries tears of joy.

Carnelian did not sleep often.

The reason for this was, more often than not, because of her dreams. She always seemed to dream when she slept, cursed with the dreaded ability to remember them long after she woke. She often dreamed of those she had lost, of her lost mate, and of the offspring she never got to meet.

From what she has heard from gems who studied the Earth and its inhabitants, some of the Earthlings had developed the concept of heaven and hell, of going somewhere after you died or were shattered. Sometimes, Carnelian could not help but wonder if her mate and their unborn gemlings were in the good place, or if such a place even existed.

Still, Carnelian has had her time to mourn. Thousands of years of time. And she has five living, breathing gemlings with Fossil to think about. Five living gemlings had to be worth more than an unknown number of dead ones.

Even so, she is not sleeping tonight. Instead, she allows Fossil to curl up against her while she sleeps, resting her head on top of Fossil's with her eyes half-closed. There was a storm brewing outside, and rain pelted the windows, accompanied by the boom of far off thunder.

Carnelian has weathered many storms, so she thinks nothing of it, and does not think about how it could be affecting her gemlings. Now five years old (has it been so long since they were born?), they sleep in their own room, all five together often huddling together for warmth and safety.

But tonight, one of them was not with them.

Carnelian starts to doze off – not quite realizing she is doing it – until a noise startles her into waking. She whips her head towards the door, putting one arm around Fossil protectively until she can figure out what the intruder is. However, she lowers her hackles when she realizes there is no threat.

Their only fossil child, Lovebug, stands in their doorway, looking at her mothers with tear-filled eyes. Fossil is still sleeping, so Carnelian takes it upon herself to answer the call of their distressed gemling.

“Hello, little one,” she says calmly. Her words are punctuated by a yawn she cannot hold back. “What's the matter?”

“Had a bad dream,” Lovebug says in response. Although she's been able to talk for some time now, she did not truly begin speaking until long after her sisters did. Her parents chalked it up to her wild origins.

Carnelian pauses at Lovebug's words, before she lifts her arms and parts them, encouraging her smallest gemling to come to her. Though Carnelian is not what one would call warm and cuddly, her whole demeanor changes when she's with her babies.

“Alright, c'mere,” Carnelian says as Lovebug scampers over into her sire's arms. Carnelian lifts her up and puts her on her lap, giving a small smile. “Oof, you're starting to get big. One day you'll be too big for me.”

“Nuh-uh!” Lovebug squeaks, nuzzling underneath her mother's chin. “Never.”

Carnelian laughs softly, then leans back, still keeping Lovebug close to her chest as she leans against the pillows.