Chapter 0 - mother mine

He doesn't have a lot of memories with his father, because the man is often busy, and it's no secret, really, that he and his wife aren't close. It was an arranged marriage, Brady finds out, between two noble families. His father likely doesn’t love him any more than he loves his mother, and he accepts that when he’s young.

It makes it easier to accept the way his mother pushes him to meet higher and higher standards, always striving for the perfect, noble son. He knows she just wants to feel close to him, and he feels guilty that he’s so damn bad at it. But he can’t be anything other than himself, no matter how he excels at every task she lays out for him- he makes tea that could put hers to shame and plays violin beautifully and has read all the classics and then some- he still can’t fix his rough face, and his style of speech sticks, no matter how she loathes it.

She’s only hard on him because she wants to feel close to him, and she only scolds him because she wants him to better himself. He could never resent her for it, because he’s seen how cold his father is, and from childhood he tells himself that he could treat her better, that a husband should be loving and that if he has to be there for his mother, then so be it. This is how he develops a fixation with Maribelle, though he doesn’t realize just how twisted it has become until one afternoon when he’s practicing his violin.

It’s something that he enjoys, something that he thinks he would enjoy even if he weren’t doing it for his mother, and he practices whenever he has the free time to do so. A string snaps, somehow, and before he has the chance to react, it snaps back, striking him directly across the eye.

For a moment, there’s only white pain, and he drops his violin without worrying about the instrument. He opens his mouth and lets out a loud wail, and as his senses return to him, he’s terrified that he’s been blinded, though he can’t open his eye to see. When he reaches up, holding his face, his hand is immediately wet with blood, and he begins sobbing in earnest, because it hurts and he’s panicking and he doesn’t know what to do, and-

“Brady, what on earth is all this racket?” His mother’s voice fills the room and he opens one eye to look at her. She’s scowling, with her hands on her hips, but when she really sees him, her face first softens and then goes into one of panic as well.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

“Brady, darling, what happened?” In an instant, she’s at his side, trying to pull his hand away from his face.

“I-it hurts, ma,” he says, stating the obvious. It’s hard to think clearly, and he resists her at first before letting her move his hand. If anyone can help him feel better, it’s his mother.

“What happened?” she repeats, not balking at the sight of all the blood.

“M-my eye, I...my violin, the string, it…” He trails off, bawling and feeling like an absolute child right now.

Maribelle is used to the sound of him crying, which is why she wasn’t initially worried, but when she came into the room to see his violin on the floor and his face bleeding, and heard just how raw and pained his sobs really were, she knew that it had to be something serious. She’s seen enough carnage on the battlefield to know that this is nothing life-threatening, and she’s able to keep a cool head in situations like these, so she immediately sets to work, placing his hand back over his eye.

“Press down,” she says, “and don’t let up until I come back.”

Brady’s finally managed to calm his tears a little bit- he hopes that the fact that he’s still crying from his injured eye is a good sign- and he sniffs while he waits for his mother to return to him. He’s ashamed that he’s carrying on like this, but he’s always ashamed when he cries in front of her, despite that being something that happens very often. She always tells him to toughen up a bit, but this is the first time in years that she’s only comforted him and said nothing about his tears. He wants to try to be strong for her, but he doesn’t know how to.

When she returns, she has a wet cloth that she presses to his face, and he sits down with her leaning over him, trying to stop the bleeding and clean him up a bit. He keeps his good eye closed for the most part, but when he opens it, she always gives him such a gentle, loving smile, and he hasn’t felt so safe in years.

His mother sighs and says, “It’s a very deep cut. Even if I heal you, it’s likely still going to leave a scar. Can you open your eye for me?”

“H-hurts, but I…” Slowly, he opens it, and closes the other, and relief washes over him as he realizes that he can still see just as fine as ever. Even if it scars, and makes his face all the uglier...suddenly, he doesn’t feel so relieved anymore and he sniffs. “I’m so sorry, ma…”

“And just what are you apologizing for?”

“It was stupid, I’m just..I messed up, and I…” He’s soon sobbing again, and this time, he really expects her to scold him for it. Instead, she pulls him into a hug, his face pressed against her chest, and she pats one hand on his bag while running the other through his hair.

“Brady, there’s no need to carry on so,” she murmurs. “It’s alright, all that matters is that you aren’t hurt too badly, you understand?”

“M-ma…”

“You’re going to be just fine.”

He really feels so much like a child, and he hates it, yet he can’t help snuggling closer into her hug. “Thank you, mommy,” he says, without really thinking. She gives him a tight squeeze and pulls out of the hug, and he misses the warmth, the closeness, her scent…

“Do you feel better now?” she asks.

Nodding weakly, he sniffs hard and says, “Yes, ma’am.”

Maribelle shakes her head. “You’re going to try to be formal now, are you?” She leans down and kisses him on the forehead, right above his injured eye, and he feels warm all over, and that’s the moment when he realizes that there’s a problem.

“Just wait here so that I can heal you,” she says, rising and leaving his room again. Brady watches her go with a longing he knows that he’s going to have to suppress.

~X~

She's always been the most beautiful woman he knows, and he's never really had any sort of feelings for anyone, never looked at one of his friends or one of the girls Inigo is always chasing around and thought of them as particularly beautiful. If he thinks about it now, he's only ever thought of her as beautiful enough to turn heads, and it's all becoming too clear to him now.

Brady’s only ever touched himself to empty fantasies of featureless women, doing it more like a chore to ensure that he’s able to get sleep at night, but now...now there are soft, blonde curls and flashes of pink fabric and a confident sway of hips and an elegant stride and a familiar voice, a familiar scent. Once, these were all simply things he found comfort in, but now…

It’s never a surprise to find him with puffy eyes first thing in the morning, and she never says anything, but he can barely look her in the face now, knowing what he’s been up late crying about. He throws himself more and more into all of his lessons, knowing that he certainly won’t be worthy of her now, that no matter how much he improves, he doesn’t have a chance. She always deserved better than him, but he hopes that this way, he can at least come a little bit closer.

During the day, he worries about that and keeps as much distance as he can from his mother, and when he’s alone at night, he always falls victim to his fantasies, and once the pleasure has faded, he can only cry weakly until he falls asleep. She is just so very beautiful, and he's always wanted to take better care of her than his father ever could.

~X~

He’s already taller than her, and he has to be gentle; she feels so small and fragile, like his big, clumsy hands could break her with the wrong move. She isn’t nearly as fragile as she feels, he knows, because his mother is strong, a real spitfire behind her demure smile, and she’s always been the one protecting him. Still, when he has her like this, he can’t help but feel like he needs to be careful. Reverent, even. 

Her lips feel different when they’re against his, and yet not different at all. They’re as soft as ever, and she puts her whole weight on top of him, not that it’s much. He prefers her on top, so that she can lead him and take things at her own pace. This may be his own sick desire, but he wants her to be the one in control, always. He never wants her to stop taking care of him, no matter how much he wants to protect her. 

She pulls her lips from him to smile coquettishly and murmur, “Perhaps I’ll make a decent lover out of you yet.” Her hands find every each of him, and they’re soft, not like his, and small, not like his, and delicate, not like his… 

Except they aren’t, and the hands on him are his own. It’s such a familiar pattern now, but he still hasn’t completely mastered the art of forgetting himself and conjuring such vivid images of his mother that he can almost feel her touching him. His imagination is still limited, but his imagination is all he has.

If he were a stronger person, he would banish these fantasies all together and resume a normal life with his mother, like nothing ever happened, and he would be dedicated to impressing her only because that’s what a good son does, not out of some twisted guilt. He would be able to sleep properly and look her in the eyes, and if a fantasy came to mind, it would be about someone he’d seen on the streets or even about one of his friends.

Brady has always found reason to hate himself, but this is a new low. 

~X~

Maribelle knows that something’s changing about Brady, but she doesn’t quite know what it is. Perhaps it’s just part of getting older, but her son seems strange, stranger than usual, and she can’t help but feel a little sad about it. On the one hand, he dedicates himself to his studies with more fervor, and even tries to improve his speech a bit, but on the other hand, he’s more distant with her with each passing day. She knows that he’s a little old to need her to come running whenever some minor thing makes him cry, but ever since the day his face got cut, it seems like he’s trying to hide it from her whenever he cries.

It doesn’t help that she’s always been lonely, at least for years and years now. It’s no secret to anyone that her marriage is only one of convenience, and that any closeness between her and her husband was calculated only with the intent of her having a son. Now that she has one, she’s been left to raise him on her own, and her husband barely sees either of them. She knows that he thinks Brady is a disappointment, so she tries not to be too hard on him.

And so she doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly trying to change so much. She’s not been particularly critical of him lately, and his father hasn’t said anything to him that she knows of, and hasn’t been alone with him to say anything she doesn’t know of. Brady won’t tell her that anything is bothering him, and if she asks, he shrugs it off, which only further convinces her that it must be something serious. And, more selfishly, she just wants her son back, because it’s even lonelier without him acting like himself.

She tells herself that it’s because of her desperation to figure out what’s wrong that she’s clueless, that she opens his door without taking a hint. His door isn’t even completely closed, and she can nudge it slightly more open almost soundlessly, allowing her to peek in at him. He doesn’t hear her, but she quickly realizes that he might just be too distracted.

She heard him when she was still outside; she heard his irregular breathing and soft noises, and she should have known what was going on in here, but she pretends that she was clueless, that she’s only concerned about him. That doesn’t explain why she doesn’t close the door and move on like nothing happened, and it doesn’t explain why she stands there, eyes locked on her son.

He’s facing away from her, so she can’t see very well, but she knows what he’s doing. She can tell by the jerk of his shoulders, and the way he breathes, the noises he makes, that Brady is pleasuring himself. And it’s perfectly natural for a young man his age to do something like that, even if it’s something completely vulgar and improper for someone of his social standing.

At least, that’s what Maribelle would say under normal circumstances. She would scold him if she caught him and if he was aware that she caught him, and she knows that that’s what she should do, if not just run away as quickly as possible. Instead, she watches him, even though she can hardly see him, and she bites down hard on her lip.

She wonders what he’s thinking about, what kind of girl he imagines when he does something like this. Those thoughts are far more improper than anything he could be doing, not fitting for a lady and not fitting for his mother. Even more improper is the feeling that begins building in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that she hasn’t experienced many times in her life, and not in a very long time.

It’s been a long time for her, and she can’t help being lonely, living the life she does. She’s always depended on Brady for company, and now...now, as wrong as it may be, she understands just where her feelings for her son are leading. Finally, Maribelle turns away, leaving before he notices, but that doesn’t stop her from watching him in the future, whenever she happens upon him in such a state.

The two of them keep up the distance they’ve developed, and if Brady notices her own behavior changing, he doesn’t say anything. If he ever notices her lingering outside his door, he never says a word about it.

~X~

The worse the world becomes, the more his mother wants to do something to help the royal family, her friends. Brady can’t stop her from leaving, and he isn’t there to save her when she’s killed. His father remarries so quickly that it’s more than Brady can bear, and he refuses to accept this new woman as his mother. She is nothing like Maribelle, and she will never be anything like Maribelle.

He leaves home without a word, perhaps with some ridiculous, romantic notion of traveling and playing his violin on street corners, earning just enough money to get by, but in the end, he finds himself living with Lissa and her son. It’s just the two of them now, since she’s lost her husband, and Brady is welcomed as if he’s a part of the family. He knows that it’s what his mother would want, so he tries to help Owain protect Lissa, at all costs, but even she is lost.

Everyone is lost, as the world grows worse, until there is no hope left. There is nothing that can save this world except...except Lucina, dragging them into the past in the hope of saving the future.

~X~

His mother is younger, with less worry to her face and a sway to her hips and a snappier step, but she is just as beautiful as she always is, as she always will be. Brady has been lost in this unfamiliar time for so long now, helping others even as he searches for Lucina and his friends, and for his mother, and to have her happen upon him now, after all this time…

He wants to cry, but he doesn’t.

When she scolds him while hardly knowing him, picking apart things that only she would, talking to him just like she always has, he almost forgets that, ultimately, this isn't the same woman. As radiant as she is, and as similar as she is, she is Maribelle before she was his mother, before she was forced into a loveless marriage. This is a different time, and she is a different woman.

He still loves her instantly, in a way he supposed only a child can love their parent, but then, that isn't quite right. After all, there's always been more to his feelings, marking them as improper for a son to feel towards his own mother. If he isn't careful, he knows he’ll be taken in by the same desires once more, even though he almost managed to forget them in his mourning.

~X~

He settles into life with the shepherds more naturally than expected, though it helps that both Lucina and Owain are already a part of the group. The three of them concentrate their efforts on finding the rest of their lost friends, while finding ways to lend their specific strengths to the army. And as for the two of them, they want nothing more than to be as close to their parents as possible during this time. Brady isn’t so sure if he should get close to Maribelle or not.

She has her own ideas, however, and confronts him one day. “You aren’t honestly avoiding me because I’ve given you a few good scoldings, are you? If you’re a son of mine, you should be used to that sort of thing by now, and you should know that I only have the very best intentions regarding you and your upbringing.”

“‘Course I’m not avoidin’ ya, I just…” He just, what? It’s not as if he can tell her that he’s afraid of falling in love with her and so he’s keeping his distance. “I don’t wanna overwhelm ya or nothin’.”

“Nonsense! After all that I’ve been through, I can handle a bit of strangeness,” she replies. “Besides, I’m...very curious about what my life is like in the future. Before...before, I mean.”

So she does know that she dies prematurely, then. That makes things a little bit easier for him. “You’re...you’re a wonderful mother and teacher,” he answers honestly. “Maybe I ain’t the best student, but still!”

“What’s your father like?”

“He isn’t around much.” She probably doesn’t think he notices it, but her face falls at his words. “The two of ya...well, ya get married cos...cos…”

“It’s expected of me, I’m sure,” she finishes. “I can’t say that I’m surprised, arranged marriages can be beneficial for those of my standing. It might be odd of me to ask this but...do you know if there was any love? Even after the fact?”

“I don’t think there was,” he answers honestly, frowning. “I-I’m sorry, ma, I wish I had somethin’ better to tell ya, but that’s how it’s always been.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize for answering honestly.” She has a forced smile, but even that looks elegant and beautiful on her. “I suppose I can’t be completely lonely, if I have a son to keep me company.”

“Yeah!” he quickly replies. “I was always there, and ya taught me so much, and I always did my best even though it wasn’t...wasn’t always…” He trails off when he realizes that he’s starting to sound like an excitable child. Being with her again has him forgetting his place and forgetting everything that he’s trained himself not to do.

“You must miss her,” she says, perhaps noticing the troubled expression on his face. “Me? This is complicated, but I trust you know what I mean. The point is, you’ve kept me company, in your time, and in my time, I’ll look after you as best as I can. I may not truly be your mother, and you may be my age, but we are still family.”

There is a part of him that is touched to hear her words, so much so that he can feel tears welling up, but there is another, more guilty part of him that wishes she wouldn’t see him as family. How terrible is he, that he finds himself wondering if he could have had a chance with a younger version of his mother? That only makes him want to cry more, and he can’t hope to hold back his tears with her looking at him like that.

“Ma…” he sniffs, trying to look away from her, at anything but her.

She gives a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You really are sensitive, aren’t you? If anything, you’re certainly proof that appearances are deceiving.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trying to wipe away his tears before more fall. “The big, ugly, scary thug is actually a crybaby, I’ve heard it all before.” He chuckles, rather than sobbing, and shakes his head. “I couldn’t pull off being intimidating if I tried.”

“Now, now, I don’t know about that. I’d say you intimidate plenty, at least before you start bawling,” she says, though he isn’t sure if that’s meant to comfort him or not. “As for ugly, I will hear no such thing from any son of mine! You’re a very handsome young man, regardless of the way your face...occasionally looks...from time to time. In fact, if you look anything like my future husband, then perhaps I’m not so unlucky after all.”

She doesn’t mean to tease him so much with her words, but he’s afraid that his face is going to turn positively scarlet. Does she really think that there’s anything good looking about him? Once again, he catches himself thinking about what could have been, if she didn’t know that she was his mother, but then, things wouldn’t feel right if he could only treat her as a stranger- even though that’s all she really is.

The two of them remain close throughout the harsh war, with Brady always at her side, and he becomes like one of her closest friends, especially as Lissa grows busier with her husband and Owain. He isn’t sure how he is supposed to feel, being so close to her all the time, closer now than he was with his own Maribelle. Too often, he wonders where the two of them would end up, if only things were a little bit different.

He is with her when she receives word fro home, apologizing for the inappropriate timing, but informing her of her engagement to the man who will someday be his father. And so, he is there to see the way her face slightly falls, and the way the light drains from her eyes, just barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know her the way he does.

She tries to keep her distance, but Brady sticks by her side anyway, and when she finally gives in to her tears, he holds her, comforting her for a change. He holds her all through the night, and she clings to him shamelessly, neither one of them concerned for their closeness, or how it may look, or how it may feel. 

~X~

She comes to him often, and comes to rely on him in ways he never would have imagined possible. After all, to Brady, his mother was always one of the strongest people in the world, and he could only ever see himself as terribly weak. But somehow, he's become a pillar to her in this time, and whether she's his mother or not, it still feels wrong to be the one supporting her.

At the same time, however, nothing he does for her could feel wrong. He's always wanted to protect her, so perhaps he's finally getting what he always wanted. Perhaps he's being ungrateful and bratty and needy, feeling off whenever he holds her to help her sleep, much like she did- except it wasn't her - for him when he was younger. Even so...even so, he's happy to have any sort of closeness with her.

Maribelle sees him as a close friend and confidante now, no matter how she tried to see him as a son in the beginning. He supposes the real reason he can't allow himself to accept the change in their relationship is the fact that she seems less and less like a mother, and it's almost as if he never told her he was his son to begin with. Wasn't that what he wanted, once upon a time?

“This is terribly unladylike,” she mumbles one day. “I shouldn’t allow myself to be so...so…”

“It’s alright, ma,” he replies, mumbling as well. “Things’ll be alright, it’s okay to be sad cos, ya know...but, things’ll be okay.”

“I know that, I really do, but I still carry on like this.” She laughs bitterly. “I always knew that something like this was going to happen, or I at least suspected. When you told me about it, it only confirmed my suspicion, but I had plenty of time to prepare myself for this.”

“Just cos ya knew it was coming...well, that doesn’t mean anything! It’s still not easy, not for anyone! Ladylike or whatever...none of that matters. And I’m here for ya, no matter what happens,” he insists.

Maribelle holds him close to her and says, “Some mother I’m turning out to be.”

“You’re not…” He takes a deep breath. “You’re not really my ma, and ya don’t have to take care of me. I came back to save you, and protect you.”

“No, I suppose I’m not,” she says, only sounding more sad. “I know you came here looking for a mother, but it’s all been so strange and hard to adjust to. I haven’t even met your father yet, and so…”

“You don’t have to try to be her,” he says, shaking his head and hugging her tightly. “Ya don’t have to be anyone but yourself. I don’t have to be your son, okay?”

“I still love you,” she murmurs against him. “Whatever we are, I’ve come to care for you so much.”

“I’ve always loved you,” he confesses, and finally, the tears that have been threatening to spill for some time do. “Maybe you ain’t the same woman I know, but you are , I mean...you’re just like her, and I think you’re amazing, just like she is- was. I love you.”

Does she hear the weight behind his words? Is it possible that she understands everything he means? Does she know just how much he loves her? And is it a different sort of love, if she’s really a different person? Maybe...just maybe...they’re only kidding themselves by pretending that there are any familial bonds between the two of them. Her Brady and his Maribelle don’t exist, and they are nothing but strangers to each other.

She is the one to kiss him first, a gesture just childish enough to remind him that she’s young. Perhaps she’s even younger than he is; he’s never been able to keep ages straight, but that’s hardly important right now. Brady’s never been kissed by anyone before, and as far as he knows, this Maribelle has never kissed anyone before. The two of them are inexperienced together, and there’s nothing she can do to teach him, or guide him through this.

Once, he fantasized about his mother teaching him what he was supposed to do and taking care of him, but now that he’s finally this close to Maribelle, it’s all different, and Brady doesn’t think that he minds at all. He doesn’t mind being there for her in return, and he doesn’t mind being her first in this time. What a strange conclusion they’ve come to, and what a strange turn of events. Even trying to piece together this sort of timeline makes his head hurt, and he’s the one who traveled through time.

He traveled through time to protect his mother, but now he’s going to bed her, something he’s secretly fantasized about for far too long. It’s different in so many ways, but at the end of the day, it’s all the same. This is wrong, no matter how he may try to explain it, but as he helps his mother out of her clothes, he decides that he could no care less. Fresh tears well up when she climbs on top of him, looking down at him with a warm smile, the most sincere one he has seen since she first got the news about her engagement, and she gives a soft laugh.

“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Hearing those words from her only causes more tears to fall, and as she begins to sink down onto him, he is left sobbing. Even if he tried to, he’s sure that he wouldn’t be able to keep that under control, and all he can do is cry and cry, because he’s finally doing this and it feels so good and she’s so tight around him that he doesn’t know how to contain himself.

But her noise of pain snaps him out of it, and when he looks up at her, he can see her expression even through his tears. Of course, he thinks, how could he be so stupid about all of this? She’s never done this before, and he knows that, and still he didn’t think about the fact that they shouldn’t have rushed things. Even if she was the one to take things this far, he knows he’s stronger than her, strong enough, at least, to stop her before...and now she’s hurting, and he has to be strong enough now , and put a stop to this.

He grabs hold of her hips, gently pulling her off of him, letting her sit back and catch her breath. With one hand, he wipes his tears away, not wanting to cry now when she’s the one in pain. Maribelle steadies herself and looks down at him, confused, perhaps even a little hurt.

“Did you not want that?” she asks. “Did I take things too far?”

“N-no, ma, I...truth be told, I’ve always wanted ya so bad it hurt,” he admits. “But I don’t wanna do anything that hurts you, I wanna...I wanna try something else.” Taking a pause like this should be the part where they both come to their senses and decide not to go through with this, but that isn’t the case for either of them.

They shift positions, instead, and Brady kneels between his mother’s legs, hesitantly kissing the inside of her thigh. She gives a small shudder of pleasure, which he takes as encouragement, and kisses up further, taking his time due to nerves. He hopes that she’ll just think that he’s drawing it out to tease her, but really, he’s thinking through what he’s about to do, hoping that he doesn’t mess it up.

When he finally does bury his tongue within her, she lets out such a sharp gasp that he nearly stops, but he can tell that it’s a different sort of sound than the one of pain. He keeps going, then, tasting her and tracing shapes with his tongue, trying to determine what feels the best for her without being able to ask. Whenever he hears a particularly shameless moan, he knows that he must have done something good, and he can’t help but feel proud of himself for making a lady like her lose her composure so.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling it from time to time, but he doesn’t complain. As long as he can make her feel good, he's happy, and he can ignore the ache of his own need for now; he likes to think that he could ignore it indefinitely, in favor of making sure that she's content. He's taking care of her now, and that's all he's ever wanted to do, and the fact that they've crossed quite the line doesn't matter to him right now.

And then he hears the softest, most beautiful gasp he could possible imagine, and she tended and spasms and pulls his hair so hard he feels tears pricking at his eyes. If her reaction is anything to go off of, if it's anything like it is for his, then he thinks that she's come, that he's actually made her come.

“You're so good,” she murmurs breathlessly. “Such a good...such a good boy.”

How does she know that praise like that is exactly what he needs to hear? Oh, he needs her so badly, but just as long as he makes her happy, then he's happy. When he tilts his head up to look at her, she gives him a warm, gentle smile. He shivers in anticipation, all while trying to ignore his need. Even if it’s just his own hand, he’d love anything right now, but he won’t come out and ask for it. Instead, he stands silently and helps her to her feet.

“Now I have to take care of you, right?” she asks.

“N-no, ma, ya don’t have to do anything for me,” he mumbles.

“There’s no need to be ridiculous,” she replies, shaking her head. “What kind of mother would I be if I left you to fend for yourself? I already let you take such good care of me, my pride wouldn’t be able to take it if I didn’t return the favor.”

“But, but, you don’t…” As he speaks, she gets down on her knees before him, ignoring him, and no matter how much he may want to protest, he can’t find it in himself to really stop her. She kneels in front of him and wraps her lips around his cock, and then he can’t hope to hold back tears, because it feels so very amazing , so amazing that he can’t put it into words.

Brady cries softly while his mother who is not truly his mother sucks him off. Her tongue flicks gently along his tip, and he trembles, embarrassingly close from the beginning. He could blame it on the anticipation built up while pleasuring her, but he’s sure that he would feel like this no matter what. His hand could never hope to compare to this , and when he looks down, he sees her, gently sucking him at looking up at him with a playful look in her eyes.

And so, in no time at all, he’s hastily pulling back- because, even with his minimal experience, he knows that a lady should never have to swallow - turning away as quickly as possible, just before he comes. He makes a mess in the process, but of course that’s preferable to making a mess of her, and he’s sure that she appreciates it. His shoulders sag as he tries to catch his breath, also grateful that he’s turned away because he’s not sure how to face her, now.

He finished so embarrassingly quickly that he doesn’t want to look her in the eye, but there’s so much more to it than that. Neither of them can undo what they’ve just done, and after wanting it for so long, in so many different ways, he feels a sense of joy and satisfaction that he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t even begin to list all the things he’s done wrong by going through with this, but when Maribelle gets to her feet and he turns to face her, she looks happy, happier than she has in a while.

Happier than he ever got the chance to see his mother look.

He’s made a mess out of a lot of things, but he never thought that he would be able to make her smile like that. For all he knows, he could have just horribly messed up history; perhaps, if this affair continues, he’ll never be born, and that is a thought that is too confusing to process. He isn’t sure what that would even mean, or if it would be better for her or not, or what’s going to happen because of what they’ve done. The only thing he knows is that she’s happy, and he wants to keep making her happy from now on, no matter what that might mean.

He may have failed his mother, but he won’t fail Maribelle. 

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